Just when I think it's going to be endless, here's the end...they've decided to sober up, I suppose. Hope you enjoy!

They're out of things to say, so they're singing again. Taking turns. Ianto's run out of show tunes so it's Owen's turn. One last song before Harkness arrives to break up the party. One more thing to forget by morning. One last prod towards the edge, then Owen's duty is done, and his conscience can go back into whatever pit it's dug itself out of tonight.

"He thinks you're gor-geous," Owen singsongs, watching with interest as the other man's complexion begins to darken. "He wants to kisss you."

"You had the nerve to disparage me about Cats," Ianto says, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "And you're quoting from Miss Congeniality."

"He wants to hug you," Owen warbles. That particular chick-flick doesn't hurt. It was playing in the background the time he shared night duty with Tosh during those weeks the Rift was having a tantrum. They had some good laughs that night. It was nice.

"Shove it, Owen," Ianto says, but the bloke's actually blushing. How about that? Bullseye to Harper. OK, he knew Jack was keen, but there was still the possibility that it really was just shagging, and anything extra was just Jack on the hunt, doing whatever it took to bag the prey that kept dodging. But this - Kisses and hugs, huh? That's not shagging, that's…..shit, that's romance.

"He wants to loooove you…" Owen concludes, frowning slightly. There are more lines, but he can't remember them. Probably a good place to stop, anyway. Because if it is like that, if Jack's over the edge already, maybe it's OK if Ianto does take the leap. Maybe Jack won't break Ianto after all, not if they're down in that pit together. Or if he does, at least he'll have put him back together first. Bones are always strongest around the breaks, after they've mended. Tougher. Don't break as easily, at least not in the same place. So maybe the second shattering won't be as bad, if it happens at all. Progress.

Ianto's looking at him, blue eyes defenseless again.

"Are you gonna let him?" Owen finishes.

Ianto's mouth opens and shuts with no words coming out. Owen isn't sure whether it's due to alcohol, anger or embarrassment and frankly, my dear, he doesn't give a damn. He's too full of the world's first anesthetic to feel much if the other bloke does go the punch now. Doesn't even care, as long as it does some good. As long as it makes him think a bit.

"It's not like he can die on you," Owen points out, and the words hurt his throat. OK, he's pushing. Pushing for both of them, if the truth be told. One of them ought to jump. Better him than me, Owen thinks. Or maybe, just maybe, if he goes first, I'll grow the balls to follow.

"But he can leave," Ianto says, softly, like a whisper except too loud. "He did leave."

Pictures from the past flicker across the edge of Owen's vision. Pictures of Ianto, and he's surprised how clearly he remembers. Owen saw Ianto crying into Jack's coat, while he lay dead with Gwen making sure no-one else came near him. Saw all the bloody barriers waver, just for an instant, when Jack hauled him into that kiss. Saw them fly up again when Jack disappeared. Honestly, Owen could've shot the wanker again, for leaving after that.

"But he came back," Owen says. "He came back for you. He said so. We all heard him."

Ianto's eyes harden. Not concrete hard. Windscreen hard. Brittle. "He said it to Gwen too. Privately."

There's that breath on his face again as the Welshman sways towards him. Intoxicating breath. That'd be the alcohol, Owen assures himself. Alcoholic fumes, intoxicating. Ianto's in his space again, in his face. Threatening, almost, even if Owen's not sure exactly what the threat is. Not threatening enough to make Owen back off, anyway.

"So he's got a thing for Gwen, big deal," Owen says, in as offhanded a manner as he can dredge up. "It's not like she'll ever leave Rhys. For Jack, or anyone."

Owen's not bitter about that. He didn't want Gwen to leave Rhys for him. Gwen will never leave Rhys, even if she doesn't know it yet herself. Owen knows, he can see it, always could. And he used it. Made it safe for him to go after Gwen, way back then, before Diane. Rhys is Gwen's Lisa, her Katie, and she's bloody lucky she hasn't had to learn that the way Ianto and Owen did. Except she has, kind of. She opened the Rift for him, didn't she? Only the Rift brought him back, and she's forgotten what it felt like to have the centre of your universe torn away.

Owen hopes for Gwen's sake she's never reminded again, but the universe is rarely that kind, and Torchwood is worse.

There's something damned close to a snarl in Owen's ear. He blinks his way back into the present, and Ianto's face is so close to his own their noses are practically bumping. Owen thinks with a flash of what might be humor that he could kiss Ianto just to shut him up, but the little bugger might take his tongue off, with a face like that. Thunderclouds have nothing on it. Snow-storm, maybe.

"So I should just take Gwen's leavings, is that it?" Ianto says, and yes, that's definitely a snarl. "Settle for being Jack's consolation prize?"

An ungracious snort makes its way out of Owen's mouth. "If that isn't the pot bagging the kettle…"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Ianto demands. His eyes are blazing, and whoever said blue was a cool color forgot about the heart of a flame. The hottest part, the part that burns before you've felt the heat.

"It means that you've got a hell of a nerve, playing the noble suffering card," Owen hisses, with enough venom to make Ianto back away. "You say he's settling for you, like he's committing some crime, but you're doing exactly the same to him. Settling for him 'cause you can't have Lisa."

Ianto sags back against the couch, closes his eyes. Owen studiously ignores the single drop of moisture leaking from beneath each lid.

"What if I am?" Ianto mumbles eventually. "What's it to you?"

Owen waits until the eyes slide open.

"I want you to stop hiding," he says quietly. "I want you to start living."

Ianto's eyes narrow. "What was that about kettles and pots?"

Owen shrugs. "Well," he drawls. "If it doesn't kill you, maybe I'll have a go myself."

He expects Ianto to brush it off, laugh, throw an insult, something like that. Instead, he gets eyes clearer than anyone's should be with half a bottle of scotch under their belt.

"I might need a bit of a push," Ianto says softly.

Their eyes meet for an endless moment. That's trust, that is. Owen can't help wondering what he's done to deserve it.

At the point when the eye contact goes from uncomfortable to plain old weird, Ianto's lips twitch into a smile. "Just to clarify, Owen. When you say you'll have a go yourself, does that mean having a go at Jack? Because I didn't think he was your type, to be honest."

Punching Ianto in the arm feels much more natural than patting him on the shoulder did. "Idiot," Owen says scathingly. "He's even less my type that you are."

The laughter's back. They're two mates mucking about, getting shit-faced and having a laugh, and it feels good.

-XXX-

They're on to debating safer matters, such as the advisability of a third cup of coffee, when a key turns in the lock. Bloody Harkness. Just because he's got a key to all their homes, doesn't mean he's got the right to use it without knocking first.

Then Owen remembers what didn't happen, not long before and not just once, either. His lips stretch into a manic grin as he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Jack is trying to catch Owen in the midst of debauching his poor innocent little Welsh boy. He'd want proof before he took Owen's head off, wouldn't he?

If either of them had any doubts about who Ianto belongs to, the way he throws himself into Jack's arms has to dispel them. Owen doesn't miss the surprise on Jack's face at the gesture, or the unguarded pleasure that follows it. He's never seen Jack like that, so open. Funny, he's been having this internal debate all night, over whether Jack's good for Ianto, and he hasn't stopped to think how good Ianto is for Jack.

Jack's arms twine around Ianto's shoulders, and he looks down at Owen, shaking his head in what can only be described as a fatherly fashion. "What have you two been doing?" he asks. Owen can tell Jack's trying for exasperated, but it's losing out badly. Ianto's trying to snuggle into the collar of the greatcoat and it must be tickling because Jack can't get the smile off his face. A particularly dopey smile that makes him look human, for a change.

"Drinking," Owen answers simply. "Drinking the good stuff, I might add."

"He got me plastered," Ianto confesses, pulling back just enough to look into Jack's face. Owen sees Jack's nose wrinkle as he cops the alcohol breath.

"I doubt he did that all by himself," Jack chides.

Ianto nods solemnly. "It was Laphroaig. I couldn't knock back Laphroaig, Jack." He frowns into Jack's face. Jack's trying hard to keep up the fatherly disapproval, but that's crumbling too. Ianto is a damned cute drunk, and it's just part of the unfairness of the world.

"Or I couldn't not knock back Laphroaig," Ianto corrects himself. "Whichever makes more sense, I suppose."

"Is that how you say it?" Owen asks. "I always manage to get more consonants in there."

"Sounds better with Welsh vowels," Ianto brags.

Jack loses out to the smile and tucks Ianto back under his arm. "Everything sounds better with Welsh vowels, when they're yours. Come on, Ianto, let's get you home. Away from Doctor Harper's unwholesome influence."

Now that's bloody unfair. Ianto gets the indulgent smile, Owen gets The Look. "Honestly, Owen. What were you thinking?" Jack asks, doing a much better job with the exasperation this time. "I've never seen him this bad."

"I wasn't pouring it down his throat, Jack," Owen answers blandly.

"Course not," Ianto pipes up, emerging from folds of the greatcoat. "You were leaving room for your tongue."

The room freezes. Just like that. Ianto blinks at the other men with an innocence so fake Owen would laugh if he wasn't waiting for Jack to knock his head off his shoulders. Proof positive, if he needed it, of how bad Jack's got it, that he can't see right through the act to the scheming Welshman beneath.

"I didn't," Owen says, hastily. "Bloody hell, Ianto. Tell him I didn't."

Ianto looks over at Owen, eyelashes fluttering. "There's nothing to worry about, Owen. It's not like we're exclusive, are we, Jack?"

Owen can see the movement in Jack's throat as he gulps over that. Stuck between jealousy and hypocrisy with no answer to give except one that'll blow his charade to pieces. Bloody Ianto. Have to admire him, though. Owen knows now exactly what the little shit's doing. Taking the leap, dragging Jack over the edge with him, and hip hip bloody hooray for him. Hooray for them both.

But, honestly, Owen thinks with irritation, did he have to climb on my shoulders to do it? On second thought, maybe he did. This is the push he asked for. And all Owen has to do is look smug and stay silent, which he's good at. The smug part, anyway.

Ianto glances around with that façade of innocence again, and continues. "Jack thinks monogamy is a….what was it, Jack? Oh yeah." He pauses for effect before reciting "Twenty-first century method of dooming every relationship to failure." Ianto blinks up at Jack, wide-eyed, radiating pride at having gotten the quote right, while Jack looks like he's swallowed a goldfish, possibly a blowfish. Owen chokes back a laugh.

"That's right, Jack, isn't it?" Ianto presses. Little shit. Clever little shit.

Jack glances from one to the other, hunted, haunted. Owen returns the gaze with as innocent an expression as he can muster, which isn't very innocent. Ianto turns the wide eyes on them both, then shatters the tension by laughing. Snorting, even.

"Honestly, Jack," he splutters. "Owen? You must know I've got better taste than that."

Jack unfreezes. Owen snorts. "Thank you very bloody much."

Ianto winks at him. Actually winks. "You thought about it though."

Owen thinks he might actually be blushing. Nah, that's got to be the booze.

Jack smiles at Ianto fondly. "Who could blame him for that?"

Ianto smiles back up at him, a real smile. No more acting. And just like that, Captain Harkness is back. He's firmly in possession of his Welshman, and he's going to get him out of Owen's clutches, and so help him, Owen is not going to ruin all Ianto's hard work by laughing into Jack's face.

"It's time to say goodbye to your drinking buddy," Jack says briskly. "We're leaving." His arm is still wrapped firmly around Ianto's waist, and he's tugging the Welshman towards the door.

Ianto resists, just for a moment. "You gonna be OK, Owen?"

Their eyes meet, and everything they've said tonight hangs between them. Jack's eyes flicker from one to the other. He's not stupid; he knows there's plenty going on beneath the words. Owen watches confusion and concern and what has to be jealousy chase each other across Jacks face. It's a good sign, Owen thinks. Jack's never looked like that when Gwen gets lovey-dovey with Rhys. Maybe Jack's had the push he needed, too.

"I reckon I will," Owen says. "You?"

Ianto smiles at Owen from under Jack's arm. He looks all right. He looks safe.

"I'll be fine," he murmurs.

"I'll look after him," Jack says. It's not his usual voice. A bit possessive. A bit uncertain.

Owen meets Jack's gaze. "You'd better," he says gruffly. "Or else."

The threat hangs in the air, and it's not an empty one. If Jack breaks Ianto, Owen intends to be there to pick up the pieces. Wherever that takes him. Wherever that takes them both.

Jack nods slightly. "I'll look after him," he repeats. Owen returns the nod, and his brain isn't wobbling anymore. He might actually get some sleep, after they leave.

"And you look after yourself," Jack concludes, with another attempt at severity. "Don't even think about driving into the Hub. We," and here he stops, flicks a quick glance at Ianto, and smiles fit to crack his face when Ianto's head bobs in a shy nod. "We'll pick you up on our way in."

The door clicks shut behind them. Owen lugs the empty coffee mugs to the sink. We. Our. How about that? Jack Harkness talking in plurals. Miracles do happen. People do get saved. People save each other.

People do get second chances. The problem is finding the courage to take them.

Owen finally makes it to bed. There's water on the bedside table next to a bottle of painkillers. Owen's pretty sure he didn't put them there. Ianto must have done it, before the scotch. Owen's grateful for them, anyway. He fully expects to feel like hell tomorrow.

But he'll be all right, in the end. They both will. They all will, Rift permitting, if they work at it.

Owen thinks he might even bring up that pool tournament again, next time he's got a moment alone with Tosh. Seriously, he can't be more of a wimp than the Teaboy, now can he?

Thank you for reading lovely people!