Fic, "The New Man," 1/3 (Undead!Owen/Tosh)

[loveslashangst]

Okay, so here's the dealio...

Computer's in the shop. Stealing time on ButMad's computer to edit. O's been under the weather (and she has a life.) Yada yada yada.

Fen *glare*

LSA, "Yeah, I know, but this one wasn't my fault. I wrote all three of these chapters PLUS the Spuffy in about 48 hours."

Fen *pointedly check inbox for Chapter 26*

LSA *meekly goes back to longhand [no computer, remember?] draft of Weevil!crack chapter*

On with the show...

Story: The New Man
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! loveslashangst
Beta: the patiently supportive ophymirage
Characters: Owen Harper, Undead!Owen, Toshiko Sato, Ianto Jones, Captain Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Captain John Hart (implied)
Rated: Adult for implied slash, canon bisexuality, mature content, language, necrophilia (it IS undead!Owen), and implied sex of various kinds. Softer-core than what I usually write, but still not ready for prime-time
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did "Exit Wounds" WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED.
Spoilers: If you haven't seen the first two series of Torchwood, you WILL be spoilered. I like to mess with canon, especially when it pisses me off.
Summary: AU. Platonic Owen/Ianto. Romantic Undead!Owen/Tosh. I rewrite the brief history of Owen's life and death with TW3, starting with Ianto's first day on the job.




The new man walks into the Hub at quarter to eight in the morning precisely. At least an hour before Suzie usually shows up, by Owen's estimation. Several minutes before Tosh hauls her nerdy carcass in. (Where Jack is, is anyone's guess. Man keeps insane hours and probably doesn't ever actually go home.)

The new man is pretty, Owen has to give Jack that. Nicely built. Beautifully tailored suit. High forehead. Clear skin. Short dark hair. Attractive in a pasty-white, snub-nosed, Welsh sort of way.

And unless he is very much mistaken, the new man is the sort of bloke who has an invisible "kick me" sign permanently taped to his back. He raises hackles with his very existence, just like Tosh does. (And the nervous way the new man tugs at the hem of that nicely-tailored jacket only makes Owen hate him more. It's the irrational, visceral, instant, and burning hatred that reminds him why he despises working with people.)

He especially despises working with NEW people. The new man looks green as anything, because who wears a suit like that to a job like this? That means he'll have to be trained. And because this stupid sod doesn't look like he knows one end of a soldering iron from the other, Suzie will probably dump him off on Tosh. And because Owen highly doubts the new man knows much more about computers than he does about appropriate business attire, this can only mean that this is some kind of new "secretary" for Jack. Or assistant or whatever the fuck you're supposed to call them nowadays. (Though the only thing Owen expects this pretty poof to "assist" Jack with is testing the strength of the bolts that hold Jack's desk to the floor of his office.) Anyway, Tosh's anal-retentiveness doesn't extend to hard copy, which means she'll turn the new man over to Owen, because he's been the poor bastard in charge of reporting and filing.

Until now.

Right on cue, in bounds Jack from wherever he'd disappeared to overnight. "There you are!"

"Sir," says the new man.

The single syllable earns Owen's undying contempt forever. ("Sir", like Jack's some kind of fucking upper class twit in need of a bloody valet.)

"Everyone." Jack pitches his voice to carry. "I'd like you to meet Ianto Jones, the newest member of Torchwood."

And of course Suzie's civil as always, though she throws Owen a quick "who the fuck is this?" look. Tosh is sweet and effusive and socially inept as ever. She leaps at the chance to show this "Ianto" her work station, and that's the point at which Owen loses interest in the conversation. He retreats to his med bay in the hope that being up to his elbows in something squishy and alien will save him from having to exchange pleasantries with Jack's latest fucktoy.

He chooses the Euclidean Some-Name-He-Can't-Remember-Let-Alone-Pronounce because the slime glands promise to make it really unpleasant. That and it smells like rancid cat-sick. He puts in his nasal filters and grins at the prone carcass. "You beauty."

But does this "don't fucking come down here, I haven't got time for you sods" autopsy stop Jack? Oh no. That would be a mercy. That would be civil. That would require the sense that God gave the most stone-stupid Cocker Spaniel. No, Jack makes it over halfway down the stairs before the stench stops him cold.

"Whoo!" Jack says, hand below his nose. "What an amazing smell you've discovered!"

He doesn't look up from the alien he's opened from demi-sternum to the cartilage that might serve as a pelvis. "All in a day's work, Captain."

"Ianto, Doctor Owen Harper here is our medical expert."

He tugs extra hard on the slime gland and represses a wicked smile when the resulting spray makes the new man duck, yelping, as purple goo spatters above his head.

"Sawbones and alien guts," says Owen with a tinge of pride. "That's me."

He half expects "Ianto" to pull out a scented and monogrammed handkerchief to press delicately to his nose. (Smelling salts would be equally hilarious.) As it is, the new man just looks a little green and gasps out "Charmed," then goes back to holding his breath.

And thus begins a long and torturous mutual hatred.

It's not that Ianto really DOES anything to continually piss him off. It's just that he's so... IANTO. Sweet. Self-effacing. And so attentive to every little fucking thing Jack desires. Even before the two of them end up in bed -- and how does THAT work when you have the very shaggable new PC Gwen about? -- it's like the new man's just panting at the chance to bend over for Jack. Right after he finishes filing in triplicate.

Why does the new man bother him? Some of it is that Ianto winds up with the cushy (and, in Owen's estimation, pointless) job of attending the fake little tourist shop. And he cleans. And files. And sorts and straightens. And orders food. And makes fucking INCREDIBLE coffee. And is sweet to Tosh and so goddamn HELPFUL and CONSIDERATE.

Some of it is Ianto does fuck-all while the rest of the team go out and get their asses shot off or ripped open or whatever. (Or, in Jack's case, all of the above.)

But Jack is right that still waters run deep. Turns out that Ianto was a busy boy while the lot of them were off saving the world. Ianto surprises the whole team with that homicidal bitch girlfriend of his. Owen would be impressed with the sheer scope of the betrayal if he weren't so busy being pissed off that Jack takes "almost got the whole team killed and destroyed the world as we know it" as "would make a fantastic partner for spoo-gargling".

In other words, not long after that, Owen notices that the bolts on Jack's desk could use a bit of tightening.

Even after things supposedly return to normal, something about Ianto's placement with the team seems decidedly unfair. On some days, Owen hates Ianto because it's unfair that one member should stay behind while everyone else works their asses off. On other days, he hates Ianto because it's unfair that one member of the team should have to clear away everyone else's shit while the rest of them dirty the place like a pack of Philistines. Mostly, he hates Ianto for reasons that are too dark and Freudian for him to really look at, the chief of which is that he seems to make Jack a little less careworn and a little more prone to smile and laugh.

And he hates that he hates Ianto for that. How's THAT for fucked up?

(But he still half expects any day to come back, bruised and bloody and exhausted, from a mission with the team to find Ianto in a bathrobe, painting his toenails "fuchsia splendour", munching chocolates, and poring over the latest issue of HELLO.)

Gwen loves Ianto like her baby brother. Tosh loves Ianto like her one true friend. Jack loves Ianto as the quiet enabler he is. Owen keeps telling himself it's not envy he feels for the heated looks that pass between Jack and Ianto when neither of them think anyone is paying attention. It's not that Jack doesn't have the right to shag whoever he likes, wherever he likes, but the intimacy between them chafes as much as the unprofessionalism.

Then again, he shagged Gwen, so he should talk. (And just thinking about it makes him itch to go sterilize his dick again. When Jack hired a new company bike, he could've at least got one with fewer Issues.)

Besides, he has plenty of alien cologne to use and plenty of new birds to shag. (And would Tosh PLEASE stop with the hangdog look? And get a life? Or at least, stop trying to worm her way into his?)

It's not really until Ianto shoots him that Owen admits to finding Ianto the least bit interesting. Of course, the shooting doesn't really do much to endear Ianto to him either, so all in all, he'd call it a wash. He'll continue to hate Ianto with unrelenting irrationality, but at least now it's more the hatred of equals, because after a man shoots you, he kind of ceases to be your social inferior, even if he won't stop calling Jack "sir".

When Jack disappears, Ianto just gets mouthier and mouthier. It's kind of fun to cross words with him, though that's annoying in and of itself. He doesn't want to like Ianto, but with the absence of their Captain-leader, Owen has to admit that Ianto does rise to the challenge. This new man has a poise and calm all outside of expectation. Smarter than he looks, too, which is a mercy. Fast on his feet. Damn fine shot. Protective of him and the girls.

And he still makes fucking INCREDIBLE coffee. And files in triplicate. If he were a bird, Owen would shag him, if only to find out if what Jack says about the straight-laced ones is true.

It's something of a disappointment when Jack returns. Not that he didn't miss Jack too, but suddenly Owen finds himself in the uncomfortable position of not liking Jack very much for what he does to the team. It's not the shagging Ianto -- it's the everything else. Barking orders. Keeping secrets. Not apologizing for swanning off, or for bringing home his psychotic ex. Not explaining anything about where the fuck he's been or why he didn't tell them he was going. No. Jack just exudes the same irritating air of "As you were" he uses when the team elbows their way into a crime scene.

The truth is Jack's little team had done quite well without him, thank you very much, and this new man, this Jack-the-wounded-and-still-not-wiser, only upsets the balance again. (For fuck's sake, he'd almost started to like Tosh and RESPECT Gwen before Jack came back. That should tell you how much things had changed.)

Ianto devolves back into playing the placating fucktoy. Tosh looks at Jack like he's the goddamn returning Messiah. Gwen goes back to trying to pretend she doesn’t regret letting that sack of pasty white flesh she calls a boyfriend give her a ring.

They do well enough under wounded-but-no-wiser Jack, but none of the team can completely forget what it was like to be kingless. Fortunately, eventually, the benevolent dictator-shit behaviour relaxes into a constitutional monarchy where everyone's vote actually counts for something.

In Gwen's case, Owen's not sure this is a good thing. Freedom was never so shrill. And Tosh is still weird, though he has to admit that the whole team would've been thoroughly fucked while Jack was gone if it weren't for her Professor-like ability to make random weapons and scanners out of coconut-shells and unfiled reports.

Though, with Ianto around, there are very few unfiled reports.

But Owen's life, like that of so many others in the group, always turns on death. Bullets fucking HURT, and so does coming back from the dead. And so does the new numbness that pervades him. Lack of hormones. Lack of blood. Lack of breath. Lack of passion. Lack of... life, he supposes. Takes a fuck of a lot of getting used to.

And because he discovers suicide is Not An Option to the point of panto, he starts to settle into what is not exactly contentment -- who the fuck is fucking HAPPY about being a fucking zombie? -- but at least something bearable.

When Jack strips him of his gun and his membership with the team, it kills him a little. When Jack orders him out of the med bay, it hurts more than any GSW ever could. Suddenly, HE is the new man. The fifth wheel. The poor sod who stays behind while everyone else plays Alien-Killer-Hero with Jack.

Though he won't apologize for taking it poorly, he is sorry for coming unglued in front of Tosh. She may be weird and hopeless, but she didn't deserve to see him throw a temper tantrum worthy of Jack's drum majorette psycho ex.

He hates Tosh for understanding. He hates Gwen's look of concerned sympathy. And most of all he hates Ianto for all the little ways he tries to ease the blow when Jack demands that Owen forget he was ever a doctor and become the undead butler of Torchwood.

Oh, and King of the Weevils. Talk about insult to fucking injury.

Then he saves a woman from suicide. And lets a dying man slip away. And rescues an alien heart that sends out song and light into the night in beautiful tendrils of sound and colour. And he stands like a hero on a rooftop. And dares to think maybe the whole thing isn't just one big cosmic joke at his expense.

But that doesn't stop him from being wary as hell the next day when Ianto asks him to follow him down into the Archives. Mercifully, Owen's senses are dulled enough that the dust and reek of how many hundred years of slowly-mouldering files don't make him sneeze. (Have to be able to breathe to sneeze.) As it is, he expects that any minute this Ianto, the stronger-and-increasingly-more-equal new man, will pull out something horrible that will eat his face off.

Or maybe not. Come to think of it, face-eating aliens really aren't Ianto's style. He'd just passive-aggressive you to death. (Or slip RetCon in your coffee, shiv you quietly, and dump your amnesiac arse in the nearest A&E as the "victim" of a "mugging".)

Ianto counts the doors under his breath. It's a hallway Owen's never been in, not that he does much exploring, though come to think of it, he probably should -- he can't sleep for shit anyway and there's only so long you can play strip poker with Jack before it ceases to be embarrassing and funny and starts to just be pervy and sad.

Ianto pauses. Digs a key out of his pocket. Slips it into the lock. Jerks the door open. Heads inside, not bothering to see if Owen's following.

And damn him if he doesn't follow.

"Jack is never to know we were in here," says Ianto quietly. "I disabled all the CCTV coverage along this route. Tosh gave me looped footage -- we both know Jack's not particularly observant unless he gets suspicious. If we don't tip him off by acting too obviously 'innocent', we should be fine."

"Okay." Now he's playing Super-Spy with Ianto? And Tosh is helping? Just when he thought his life -- er, undeath -- couldn't get any weirder. He lets go the door. It locks shut behind them.

Ianto's fingers flit across several drawer handles. He pulls on one. Sneezes violently at whatever's inside the drawer. Shuts it. Pulls the next one open. Smiles briefly. Takes out a canister.

Owen folds his arms. "And this is the part where I'm supposed to go 'oooooooooh, what's in there, Ianto?' right?"

Ianto sets the canister down on the built-in counter unit in the centre of the room. "I'm not supposed to know about these. They scare the hell out of Jack, though I could never get him to say why."

He resists the urge to fumble for the doorknob. "Is this some kind of hazing, Teaboy?"

The end of the canister opens with a hiss. Out pours a mist of golden somethings.

He flattens his back to the door. "Ianto--?"

"Nanogenes," Ianto says simply. "Alien tech. They must be from wherever or whenever Jack's from, because he seemed more than a little familiar with them." Then Teaboy fucking SPEAKS to them. "Gunshot wound. Broken fingers. Lacerations."

The things fly at him. Fly INTO him. Seep into his flesh. He shrieks. Fumbles for the doorknob. Have to get out before they--

The flesh of his chest is moving. More curious than horrified, he opens his shirt. The hole in his chest is closing. The flesh is still grey. Still dead. But as the moments pass, the wound fills and disappears. "That's weird."

Ianto shrugs. "I doubt they can bring you back all the way, but I thought you might like some relief from the bumps and bruises."

Hate. He wants to hate Ianto, the presumptuous little prick. Hate him for holding out on him for this long. Hate him for knowing about something that could've saved him a fuck of a lot of work over the years. Hate him for plotting with Tosh behind his back. But as the little whatevers reset and straighten the fingers he broke in front of Tosh, all he can feel is a vague gratitude.

"Why?" he says at last.

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Crossposted to torchwoodslash