Chapter 12

And I could call you,
But why would I bother to?
You might not be in or he might misunderstand
Just like a man

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

Jack drummed a steady rhythm on the top of his desk.

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

He chewed the inside of his cheek in thought as he looked at the phone sitting only a few feet away.

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

His eyes flickered between the phone and his fingers several times before he sighed in annoyance and spun around, fingers leaving the desk and eyes leaving the phone. He was resisting the strong urge to call Ianto. The conversation he’d overheard that afternoon had thrown several things into sharp relief.

He could easily lose Ianto to the UNIT Liaisons offices in London, he would have to accept that Ianto had moved on and he would have to let him go completely. Jack wasn’t prepared to do that anymore. He’d thought the transfer was just a whim that would go away, but with him seriously considering it, Jack no longer found himself able to concentrate on anything but that. UNIT wouldn’t be poaching anyone from his team.

Mostly though, Jack just missed the sound of Ianto’s voice.

Clearing his throat decisively, Jack spun back around and grabbed the receiver, punching in the speed dial for Ianto’s home phone and leaning back as he held it to his ear, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip again as he listened to the rings.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone wasn’t the voice he was expecting. Shit, he thought, cursing himself for being so stupid. Without a second thought, he cut the connection and left his chair, needing to find something else to do to stop him from calling Ianto’s mobile instead.

*

The phone rung and Tom jumped up to get it, Ianto currently being tangled in a blanket on the sofa. He placed Tom’s plate of food on the coffee table with his own and sat watching the other man pad across the room, pick up the receiver and glance at the caller ID before holding it to his ear.

“Hello?” Tom frowned slightly and put the phone back down with an unusual amount of accuracy, a warning sign to Ianto.

“Who was that?” He asked, doing his best to remain calm.

“They hung up.” He murmured. Tom didn’t turn around, one hand still resting on the phone, the other holding his wineglass loosely.

“Okay, but who was it?” Ianto had disentangled himself and walked over to the kitchen area to get himself another beer. He turned around and leaned back on the counter, looking at Tom, who’d now turned to face him.

“Like you don’t already know…” Ianto was alarmed by the anger on Tom’s face, his knuckles now white around his glass. Ianto didn’t move an inch.

“I seriously don’t, Tom. What’s going on?” Ianto shifted slightly to brace himself against the counter, bringing his head forwards from where it was resting on the cupboard behind him.

“First he gets you into bed and then he calls for a chat.” Tom spat the last word out, venom evident in his voice.

“He did not ‘get me into bed’, Tom! As much as you may hate to think it, it was a two way decision, as much mine as his, so stop blaming him!” Ianto snapped, suddenly feeling defensive over Jack. He’d had enough of Tom thinking he was Jack’s victim. “Now, what’s going on?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” With the last word, he hurled the wineglass across the room. Ianto brought his hand up to shield his face as the glass shattered against the cupboard door, only inches from where he’d just flinched away from.

He felt several hot slices of pain across his palm and cheek as blood ran freely from several deep cuts. He pulled his hand away to look at it, but Tom was already at his side, pressing a clean towel to his hand.

“Oh God, Yan… I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m so sorry…” He was murmuring, tears evident in his voice, all traces of anger and annoynce now vanished.

“Tom, it’s okay.” Ianto forced his voice to be calm and used his free hand to lift the other man’s face so he could see him. “It’s okay. I need to call Owen for him to take a look, alright?”

Tom nodded slightly and Ianto took his hand from the other man’s grip, holding the towel against it and ignoring the pain in his cheek. He walked slowly through to the bedroom and found his phone in his jacket pocket. Flicking it open, he selected Owen’s mobile number and walked back through to the living area, sitting down on the sofa and angling his head to one side in a vain attempt to avoid blood dripping from his cheek onto his collar, despite the fact that there was already a growing stain where the material met his neck.

“Owen?” One the fourth ring, the doctor had picked up. “Owen, it’s Ianto. I need you’re help over at my flat… I’ve had an accident and I need you to take a look at some cuts… Yeah, several pretty deep, I’m thinking maybe stitches… I don’t think there’s any from what I can see… Irrigate? Warm salt water? Sure… Okay, see you in ten.”

With that, he snapped the phone closed and looked back over at Tom, who was already mixing up the solution to clean Ianto’s wounds. With his free hand, Ianto un buttoned his shirt to keep it as dry as possible, despite the fact that it was clearly already ruined, the blood soaked into the left hand side of the collar and right sleeve cuff.

“Here…” Tom took his injured hand gently and held it over the sink, washing the blood away. Ianto watched as the red tendrils dispersed through the water swirling down the drain, his mind still reeling from what had happened. “Ianto?”

“Hmm?” Ianto looked up in surprise, not realising how deep in thought he’d been. Meeting Tom’s eyes, he found they weren't showing the emotion his voice was conveying, they looked only vaguely worried. He smiled at Ianto before gesturing to his cheek.

“I need to wash your cheek now, so you’ve got to bend over the sink a little.” Tom shrugged apologetically and guided Ianto’s head down towards the sink, Ianto resting his uninjured cheek on the cool metal rim of the basin. Whilst the salt water stung the particularly deep cuts, it felt good to clean the now dried blood from his skin.

In no time, there was a knock on the door and Tom rushed to get it. He greeted Owen casually and showed him into the flat, the doctor heading over to the sofa where Ianto was now sitting again, pressing the towel to his hand. Owen laid down the med kit he’d brought with him and sat down next Ianto, pulling his face roughly into a position where he could see it best.

“You're lucky I hadn't had a drink... Next time you want to slice yourself up, tea-boy, don’t do it in the middle of the night, please?” Owen asked sarcastically, already busying himself with cleaning the wounds with antiseptic and assessing them. “Okay, your hand will need stitches, the one on your cheek and the one next to your eye will as well. A couple of the others will need steri-strips, but otherwise, you’ll survive.”

“Thanks, Owen.” Ianto managed to smile, wincing slightly at the sting of the needle in his hand as Owen began to patch him up.

“Dare I ask how this happened?” Owen concentrated on his work, but the intrigue was evident in his voice. Ianto opened his mouth to answer, but Tom beat him to it.

“He knocked something off the counter and bent down to get it. I put something down and it knocked his wineglass off. The shards hit him when they bounced up.” Tom met Ianto’s eyes sharply and for once, Ianto didn’t find it comforting. However, he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Yeah. I guess I should be more careful of falling breakables.” Ianto said, his voice still falsely calm so as not to alert Owen to any discrepancies in their recollections. Little did he know that Owen was putting on as much of a front as the other two men. Ianto wasn’t clumsy and flying glass shards wouldn’t have cut his face from the angle they must've done from the way Tom told the story. The fact that the other man had immediately jumped to explain reminded Owen of times in the hospital when the spouse gave the explanation for a black eye or a broken rib. He thought he’d left the horrors of domestic abuse behind when he'd left London.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, you don’t know that’s what happened. Owen scolded his medical side harshly. There’s never been any other signs of it, so why jump to conclusions now? He continued to reason, his logical side temporarily winning the fight with his intuition.

He finished working on Ianto in silence but had made a conscious effort to do his best work on the facial lacerations, not wanting Ianto to have bad scars, no matter how much they bashed heads together over issues at work. After several long minutes, Owen tied off the last stitch and covered the three major wounds with dressings.

“You know the drill with the stitches. Wound check in two days, just find me in work, and stitches out in seven. Keep your hand and cheek dry and change the dressings once a day.” Owen was using his best doctor voice to keep himself from showing how uncomfortable he was getting into the middle of whatever argument the two men had been having. Quickly, He taped several of the smaller lacerations up with steri-strips and patted Ianto on the shoulder.

He flicked his kit closed and picked it up, walking over to the door with a forced smile on his face. The other two men bid him goodbye and Owen left the flat with a feeling of unease. As he got into his car, he couldn’t shake the image of Ianto sitting on the sofa, covered in dressings, and Tom closing the door behind him with a weary smile on his face, one that didn't reach his usually friendly eyes.