Fandom: Torchwood
Pairings: None really, but heading towards Owen/Ianto.
Rating: Adult - but only for Owen's bad language.
Summary: Owen's got Man-flu.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Though if I owned Owen, I certainly wouldnt be sat here writing a fic... lol. This is part one. Comments = love = more fics.
** Plant godderch cyndyn - you stubborn bastard.
Owen folded his arms tightly across his stomach as he rolled onto his side. He ached absolutely everywhere. He hated being ill.
Jack had told him to go home and Owen had complained that he was fit enough to work. Jack believed him, until his employee had collapsed in a coughing fit while chasing a Weevil through Mermaid Quay. Jack escorted Owen home himself, and told him to stay there unless he wanted to be fired from Torchwood and dosed with a very high level of retcon.
Owen closed his eyes in order to try and get some sleep. He heard the latch on his front door click and his eyes bolted open. As silently as he could, he grabbed his gun from the bedside table and clicked the safety catch off. He quietly rolled out of bed, gun pointed in the air, and slowly headed towards the living room. He could hear shuffling coming from his kitchen. He frowned. Burglars and Aliens didn’t tend to target the kitchen. He turned the corner into his kitchen abruptly to point his gun at his "burglar" and instantly doubled over into a tremendous coughing fit. "Its a good job I'm not an intruder or else I'd have probably knocked you over the head and stolen most of your stuff by now..." came the voice of a welsh male.
'Shit... just what you dont need when you're ill. A teaboy running round your flat like a mother hen...'
He managed to stop himself from coughing and stood up as straight as his sore muscles would allow, putting the safety catch back on his gun. "Ianto, what the fuck are you doing here? And more to the point, how the fuck did you get in my flat?" He asked. Ianto held his left hand up, and a set of keys dangled from his index finger. "You shouldn't leave your keys laying around, you know. Anybody could pocket them when you're not looking and have a copy made." Ianto said, trying to keep a smirk from showing on his face. "You stole and copied my keys?" Owen asked in disbelief. "Yeah. Coffee?" Ianto smiled. Owen glared. "You Fu..." but he cut himself off by having another coughing fit. Ianto chuckled silently to himself before slipping his arm around the doctor to try and help him to bed. "Geroffme... I can look after meself... Im just cou...coughing up my spleen... in the process!" Owen scowled at Ianto through his coughing episode. "Aww, poor ickle Owen has man-flu! How cute." Ianto mused. "It's not cute, it's annoying." Owen huffed as he slid to the floor in defeat. "Come on, to bed with you. You and I both know you'll be a lot more comfortable there." Ianto said, trying to help his colleague off the floor. "No. Im staying here, and if you dont like it you know where the door is." Owen said, sniffling, trying to clear his blocked nasal passage. He sniffed so hard he made himself feel dizzy. He was thankful that he'd sat on the floor or else he'd have probably collapsed.
'Nah, cause teaboy would love that. Mothering me to death. Ohh no, I ain’t giving him the satisfaction.'
Ianto flicked the switch on Owen's kettle. "Plant gordderch cyndyn**..." he muttered. Owen looked up. "Eh?" the doctor frowned. "Hmm?" Ianto asked innocently, looking at Owen. "What did you just say?" Owen asked. "I never said a word." Ianto told him, returning his attentions to the mountain of pots in Owens sink. He'd need to work his way through those in order to get two clean cups. "Dont go mumbling a load of foreign muck at me then act like you didn’t say anything!" Owen pouted. Ianto ignored his remark as he ran the water, squirting washing up liquid into the bowl. Owen, deciding he needed a drink, reached blindly around the counter-top for the bottle of milk he'd left out before he'd gone to work. He nudged the bottle in the wrong direction and it fell over, pouring milk over his head. This time, Ianto didn’t even try to suppress his laughter and burst into a fit of giggles as Owen glared at his now milk-matted hair. "You know, I think your milk might be off, Owen. It’s all congealed in the bottom of the bottle..." Ianto commented. Owen averted his glare to Ianto. "No shit Sherlock..." he huffed.”Well what else would you expect, leaving your milk out in this heat? The milk is supposed to go in the fridge. You know that thing you're sat opposite?" Ianto said. "Have you not got anything better to do than my bloody pots? No weevils need chasing? Paperwork needs doing? Bosses need shagging?" Owen asked sarcastically. This time it was Ianto's turn to glare at the doctor. "No, no, no... And no." He sighed. "Ahh, what’s the matter? Has he finally found someone who's a better shag than you and dumped you?" Owen mocked. Ianto didn’t even look at Owen, he just remained silent.
'You fucking idiot, Harper... Learn to engage your brain before speaking...'
“Ianto…” Owen began. “So is this where you say I told you so and rub it in? After all, im just the teaboy and Jack could do so much better. Isn’t that right Owen?” Ianto asked his colleague, bitterness evident in his voice. Owen didn’t know what to say. Sure, he could empathise, but he was shit when it came to words and it’d all just come out wrong. “Ianto, mate... Im sorry.” Owen said, grabbing onto the edge of the kitchen counter to help himself stand up. Ianto scoffed and turned to make them coffee. “Do ya… want a hug or something?” Owen asked awkwardly as scratched the back of his head. “Sod off, you’ll get sour milk all over me!” Ianto laughed softly. Owen nodded in understanding. “Go get a shower, you absolutely stink.” Ianto smiled faintly. Owen nodded walked over to his bathroom. Ianto started busying himself drying the pots. Owen paused by the door. “Im a bit shit with words…” he said. Ianto turned to face him. “But for what it’s worth, I think he’s a fucking idiot.”
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