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Ianto hadn’t noticed how disturbed the team, bar Jack, was by the resurrection of his once-was persona until, on Saturday morning, after wordlessly handing over a coffee to Owen, the man shoved the mug aside and stood to confront him. “What’s this about, Ianto?” “What’s what?” “This.” “What? I’m not doing anything.” “Precisely.” Ianto placidly waited for more until Owen was forced to grind out: “The silent treatment?” “Isn’t that what you wanted? Sick of the sound of my voice, wasn’t it?” “I didn’t want this, no.” Owen moved closer and spoke confidentially. “What’s he done?” Ianto shrugged. “Nothing in particular.” Unlikely consideration having proven unnecessary, Owen’s volume rose and then some. “Then why?” “Didn’t you want normality?” “This isn’t— Yes, all right, it was, once, but… Where’s the nagging? There’s a security comes from being nagged, y’know. Where’s all the moaning?” “Only I get to make Ianto moan,” Jack’s voice drifted into the conversation. “‘Use a fucking coaster’ twenty times a day…” “I never called it a fu…” “…anything was better than this.” “Anything?” Ianto challenged. “That’s what I said.” Ianto picked up Owen’s gun from where the doctor had been cleaning it on his desk. He cocked it and casually aimed at Owen’s right knee. “Anything?” Owen fidgeted and the gun’s aim rose to his groin. Side-stepping the line of fire, Owen reclaimed his gun and carefully released the hammer. “Not funny.” Ianto gave him his professional smile. “Is that all I can do for you, Doctor?” “No,” Owen snarled, putting the safety lock back on the pistol. “Bend over.” Ianto took the two steps that brought him close to Owen, lowering his mouth to Owen’s ear. “In your dreams, Owen. In your sad. Wet. Dreams.” Recognition, and Owen began to laugh, some of the most genuine laughter Ianto had ever heard from him. He stepped out of the doctor’s space, gave him a shallow nod, and quietly carried on with his duties.
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