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Title: That Dark Place Deep Down Inside
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Ianto, Owen
Rating/Warning: R. Angst/Mentions of Suicide/References to Cyberwoman
Summary: Owen discovers a drunk Ianto and he’s told a secret he never wanted to know.
Word Count: 1,453
Author's Notes: Written for my own personal 30-movie-quotes challenge.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Owen, Ianto, or Torchwood, dang it!
Quote: "Sometimes when I'm driving... on the road at night... I see two headlights coming toward me. Fast. I have this sudden impulse to turn the wheel quickly, head-on into the oncoming car. I can anticipate the explosion. The sound of shattering glass. The... flames rising out of the flowing gasoline."
~
The glaring sound of metal music pumped through Owen’s car stereo at full blast as he barreled down the empty streets towards his flat. Bobbing his head to the beat, he screeched out the lyrics with one hand banging on the dashboard and the other maneuvering the steering wheel.
Owen liked this time of night. Really late, bordering on morning. No one around, the music throbbing in your ears. You could think about anything you want or nothing at all.
As a particularly high note came up, he threw his head back and put forth his best effort. The song ended and he brought his eyes back to the road.
“Fuck!” he had to jerk on the wheel to avoid the figure in the middle of the road. Startled, the man spun around and landed hard on his arse, then sprawled out limply.
As the car screeched to a halt, Owen took a minute to calm his thundering heartbeat. Cursing a blue streak usually helped, so he slammed out of the car. “Are you bloody mad? I could have killed you!”
He got no response from the prone man on the ground. “Shit! Probably had a heart attack,” he complained as he quickly approached.
He knelt down, and then cursed some more when he saw the man’s face. “Ianto Jones! Should’ve known it was you, ruining my bloody night.”
It wasn’t a wonder why he hadn’t recognized him before. Whenever he’d seen Ianto he’d always been meticulously dress, stick up his arse and all. The suit he currently had on was wrinkled and looked to have been worn a good three days in a row, possibly a week.
Ianto didn’t respond to his voice. Owen slapped him non-too gently on the cheek. “Come on, now, I didn’t hit you. Just got startled some, come on.”
Another slap had Ianto rolling his head. He looked up at Owen blearily. “Have you come to kill me then? Hmm, I thought it’d be Jack to do it.”
Owen frowned at his slurred words. “I haven’t come to do anything to you, you moron. You were walking in the middle of the street. I almost ran you over.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I didn’t know it was you,” Owen retorted. Ianto snickered sloppily and Owen frowned. He leaned down, took a sniff and cringed away from the smell. “You’re sloshed.”
“I was getting there, before you came along.”
Ianto stretched out his arm to reach for something and Owen noticed a bottle that had probably rolled away when Ianto hit the dirt. He leaned over and picked it up. “Christ, Ianto, you’ve almost drunk the whole bloody bottle!”
There was no response and Owen looked back down to see Ianto was out cold. He checked his pulse and breathing. No sign of alcohol poisoning or concussion, it seemed he’d just conked out again.
Owen shook his head. “I should just leave you here, you know that?”
He got no response but for a snuffling snort from the drunk man.
“Damn it,” he sighed heavily. He shook Ianto’s shoulder. “Ianto, wake up.” Again, nothing so he shook him a little harder. “Wake up!”
Ianto groaned and pushed weakly at him. “No. Nothing to wake up to. No Torchwood, no Lisa. Nothing. Go away,” he mumbled.
“I wish,” Owen muttered quietly. “Come, Ianto. Time to go home now,” he said it in a singsong voice and felt like an idiot. He was drunk not three.
No amount of goading or bullying would move him. He’d very simply passed out cold. Cursing the day he ever met Ianto Jones – or Jack Harkness, for that matter – Owen got to his feet and leaned down. He took Ianto’s arm and hauled him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
It took Owen ten minutes to get Ianto into the backseat of his vehicle. When he got behind the wheel he was very tempted to turn the car on without turning down his music but the angel won out over the devil this time.
“You better not puke on my leather seats,” he said but the warning fell on deaf ears.
He pulled onto the road and began to drive. Then he frowned, “Where the bloody hell do you live?”
~
“Okay, in you go. One foot in front of the others, there you go. Oops, sorry. Should have warned you there was a wall there.”
Owen didn’t have a couch; just two chairs that reclined and he couldn’t very well dump Ianto in one of them, in the state he was in he’d likely end up on the floor, so he brought him into his bedroom. “You puke on my bed and you’re cleaning it up, drunk or not.”
He stumbled across the floor, Ianto’s arm over his shoulder and supporting most of his weight with an arm around his waist. He got to the foot of the bed and held Ianto upright. “Can you stay like that for a moment?” he asked, skepticism in his voice.
Ianto mumbled, shook his head this way and that and Owen took that as a yes. He let him go slowly and was relieved to find, although a little unsteady, he stayed upright. Owen took the disheveled suit coat off, grimaced at the smell.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Ianto, but you’re going to have to burn this.”
He turned him around and pushed until he sat heavily on the bed. The shoes were next to go and he frowned when he saw Ianto only had one sock on under them. “Having a rough go at it, aren’t you, you poor bastard,” Owen’s voice had none of the sharp sting to it as it usually did.
He pushed Ianto back onto the bed and said a silent goodbye to his bed linens before covering him up. “All right, then.” Having nothing else to say really he bid him good night and went to leave.
“Why don’t you just do it all ready?”
Owen stilled at the soft words. He knew exactly what he was talking about when he turned to face Ianto. The defeated look on Ianto’s face as he looked up at him had Owen looking away. “What are you waiting for? I betrayed you, almost got you killed. What the hell are you waiting for?”
“Ianto,” Owen said as calmly as possible. He didn’t like where this was going. “You…you need to sleep it off.”
“No. I need you to just do it. Just do it all ready!” his voice rose, heavy with emotions Owen knew of all too well. Ianto’s voice wavered and Owen clenched his teeth. “Some-sometimes I think about doing it myself, you know?”
“Stop it,” Owen tried but Ianto was past hearing him at this point.
“Go up to the roof of my flat…”
“Just stop!”
Ianto’s eyes had taken on a glazed, faraway look Owen didn’t like at all. It told him that this wasn’t just the alcohol talking. He’d thought this out sober. “Go out and buy a gun…”
Owen wished like hell he could cover his ears and block it out but he knew that was cowardly. Ianto began to stutter and slur his words as he continued. “Or-or-or turn my wheel head-on towards oncoming traffic. Go straight for the-the headlights and just wait. Jus-just wait for the glass of the windows to shatter. The flames from the petrol to-to roar to life and just swallow me up…”
A pained expression on his face, Owen closed his eyes tight against the terrible longing in Ianto’s voice. He didn’t want to know this, didn’t want to know Ianto’s pain. He didn’t want to connect with that dark place deep down inside Ianto that had him thinking of ways to kill the pain. The guilt. The rage.
The unbelievable pain.
Ianto muttered something unintelligible and Owen opened his eyes slowly. He’d finally fallen asleep, his arms flung out over his head and his mouth slightly open. Owen sighed a huge sigh but it didn’t expel the tightness in his chest or the words that would be echoing inside his head for a long, long time.
“Lisa…”
Owen froze where he was, watched Ianto shifting around on the bed, a smile on his face. It struck Owen how young he looked. How peaceful he was in that moment compared to just mere seconds ago, where he’d contemplated ending his life.
“Take whatever enjoyment you can get out of that dream. You’ll never get it back. Poor bastard.” Owen wasn’t sure whom he was talking about, Ianto or himself…
He took one more look at Ianto before turning the lights off and leaving him to his dreams.
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Ianto, Owen
Rating/Warning: R. Angst/Mentions of Suicide/References to Cyberwoman
Summary: Owen discovers a drunk Ianto and he’s told a secret he never wanted to know.
Word Count: 1,453
Author's Notes: Written for my own personal 30-movie-quotes challenge.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Owen, Ianto, or Torchwood, dang it!
Quote: "Sometimes when I'm driving... on the road at night... I see two headlights coming toward me. Fast. I have this sudden impulse to turn the wheel quickly, head-on into the oncoming car. I can anticipate the explosion. The sound of shattering glass. The... flames rising out of the flowing gasoline."
~
The glaring sound of metal music pumped through Owen’s car stereo at full blast as he barreled down the empty streets towards his flat. Bobbing his head to the beat, he screeched out the lyrics with one hand banging on the dashboard and the other maneuvering the steering wheel.
Owen liked this time of night. Really late, bordering on morning. No one around, the music throbbing in your ears. You could think about anything you want or nothing at all.
As a particularly high note came up, he threw his head back and put forth his best effort. The song ended and he brought his eyes back to the road.
“Fuck!” he had to jerk on the wheel to avoid the figure in the middle of the road. Startled, the man spun around and landed hard on his arse, then sprawled out limply.
As the car screeched to a halt, Owen took a minute to calm his thundering heartbeat. Cursing a blue streak usually helped, so he slammed out of the car. “Are you bloody mad? I could have killed you!”
He got no response from the prone man on the ground. “Shit! Probably had a heart attack,” he complained as he quickly approached.
He knelt down, and then cursed some more when he saw the man’s face. “Ianto Jones! Should’ve known it was you, ruining my bloody night.”
It wasn’t a wonder why he hadn’t recognized him before. Whenever he’d seen Ianto he’d always been meticulously dress, stick up his arse and all. The suit he currently had on was wrinkled and looked to have been worn a good three days in a row, possibly a week.
Ianto didn’t respond to his voice. Owen slapped him non-too gently on the cheek. “Come on, now, I didn’t hit you. Just got startled some, come on.”
Another slap had Ianto rolling his head. He looked up at Owen blearily. “Have you come to kill me then? Hmm, I thought it’d be Jack to do it.”
Owen frowned at his slurred words. “I haven’t come to do anything to you, you moron. You were walking in the middle of the street. I almost ran you over.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I didn’t know it was you,” Owen retorted. Ianto snickered sloppily and Owen frowned. He leaned down, took a sniff and cringed away from the smell. “You’re sloshed.”
“I was getting there, before you came along.”
Ianto stretched out his arm to reach for something and Owen noticed a bottle that had probably rolled away when Ianto hit the dirt. He leaned over and picked it up. “Christ, Ianto, you’ve almost drunk the whole bloody bottle!”
There was no response and Owen looked back down to see Ianto was out cold. He checked his pulse and breathing. No sign of alcohol poisoning or concussion, it seemed he’d just conked out again.
Owen shook his head. “I should just leave you here, you know that?”
He got no response but for a snuffling snort from the drunk man.
“Damn it,” he sighed heavily. He shook Ianto’s shoulder. “Ianto, wake up.” Again, nothing so he shook him a little harder. “Wake up!”
Ianto groaned and pushed weakly at him. “No. Nothing to wake up to. No Torchwood, no Lisa. Nothing. Go away,” he mumbled.
“I wish,” Owen muttered quietly. “Come, Ianto. Time to go home now,” he said it in a singsong voice and felt like an idiot. He was drunk not three.
No amount of goading or bullying would move him. He’d very simply passed out cold. Cursing the day he ever met Ianto Jones – or Jack Harkness, for that matter – Owen got to his feet and leaned down. He took Ianto’s arm and hauled him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
It took Owen ten minutes to get Ianto into the backseat of his vehicle. When he got behind the wheel he was very tempted to turn the car on without turning down his music but the angel won out over the devil this time.
“You better not puke on my leather seats,” he said but the warning fell on deaf ears.
He pulled onto the road and began to drive. Then he frowned, “Where the bloody hell do you live?”
~
“Okay, in you go. One foot in front of the others, there you go. Oops, sorry. Should have warned you there was a wall there.”
Owen didn’t have a couch; just two chairs that reclined and he couldn’t very well dump Ianto in one of them, in the state he was in he’d likely end up on the floor, so he brought him into his bedroom. “You puke on my bed and you’re cleaning it up, drunk or not.”
He stumbled across the floor, Ianto’s arm over his shoulder and supporting most of his weight with an arm around his waist. He got to the foot of the bed and held Ianto upright. “Can you stay like that for a moment?” he asked, skepticism in his voice.
Ianto mumbled, shook his head this way and that and Owen took that as a yes. He let him go slowly and was relieved to find, although a little unsteady, he stayed upright. Owen took the disheveled suit coat off, grimaced at the smell.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Ianto, but you’re going to have to burn this.”
He turned him around and pushed until he sat heavily on the bed. The shoes were next to go and he frowned when he saw Ianto only had one sock on under them. “Having a rough go at it, aren’t you, you poor bastard,” Owen’s voice had none of the sharp sting to it as it usually did.
He pushed Ianto back onto the bed and said a silent goodbye to his bed linens before covering him up. “All right, then.” Having nothing else to say really he bid him good night and went to leave.
“Why don’t you just do it all ready?”
Owen stilled at the soft words. He knew exactly what he was talking about when he turned to face Ianto. The defeated look on Ianto’s face as he looked up at him had Owen looking away. “What are you waiting for? I betrayed you, almost got you killed. What the hell are you waiting for?”
“Ianto,” Owen said as calmly as possible. He didn’t like where this was going. “You…you need to sleep it off.”
“No. I need you to just do it. Just do it all ready!” his voice rose, heavy with emotions Owen knew of all too well. Ianto’s voice wavered and Owen clenched his teeth. “Some-sometimes I think about doing it myself, you know?”
“Stop it,” Owen tried but Ianto was past hearing him at this point.
“Go up to the roof of my flat…”
“Just stop!”
Ianto’s eyes had taken on a glazed, faraway look Owen didn’t like at all. It told him that this wasn’t just the alcohol talking. He’d thought this out sober. “Go out and buy a gun…”
Owen wished like hell he could cover his ears and block it out but he knew that was cowardly. Ianto began to stutter and slur his words as he continued. “Or-or-or turn my wheel head-on towards oncoming traffic. Go straight for the-the headlights and just wait. Jus-just wait for the glass of the windows to shatter. The flames from the petrol to-to roar to life and just swallow me up…”
A pained expression on his face, Owen closed his eyes tight against the terrible longing in Ianto’s voice. He didn’t want to know this, didn’t want to know Ianto’s pain. He didn’t want to connect with that dark place deep down inside Ianto that had him thinking of ways to kill the pain. The guilt. The rage.
The unbelievable pain.
Ianto muttered something unintelligible and Owen opened his eyes slowly. He’d finally fallen asleep, his arms flung out over his head and his mouth slightly open. Owen sighed a huge sigh but it didn’t expel the tightness in his chest or the words that would be echoing inside his head for a long, long time.
“Lisa…”
Owen froze where he was, watched Ianto shifting around on the bed, a smile on his face. It struck Owen how young he looked. How peaceful he was in that moment compared to just mere seconds ago, where he’d contemplated ending his life.
“Take whatever enjoyment you can get out of that dream. You’ll never get it back. Poor bastard.” Owen wasn’t sure whom he was talking about, Ianto or himself…
He took one more look at Ianto before turning the lights off and leaving him to his dreams.
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