Title: Otherwise engaged
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,193 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 516 - Late
Summary: Ianto has a prior engagement that couldn’t come at a worse time.


Ianto’s phone buzzed as it vibrated against the metal bench beside him. Oh, bollocks, he mentally swore, realising who was calling even before seeing the name pop up on the tiny display. He glazed furtively around the hub, before remembering he was the only one here, reaching across to answer the phone. ‘Mum?’

‘And here I was, thinking you were going to just let me go to voicemail.’

‘I wouldn't do that,’ he replied. If only because she’d leave a voicemail twelve minutes long, the first two minutes being mostly dead noise as she realised that it hadn’t hung up on her and then proceeding to fill the next ten minutes like they were having a one-way conversation.

‘You promised to be round at seven for tea. It’s a quarter past already.’

‘I know.’ And he really didn’t want to break that promise. She’d had her chemo appointment last Thursday — the one he’d taken time off work to drive her to and then sit and wait to take her back home again, lying to his boss, citing that his car had a flat tyre and that he’d had to wait for road services to come and sort it out – and his mum was always a bit rubbish in the days after her chemo. He owed it to come over and make sure she wasn’t just putting on a brave face, that dishes weren’t stacked in the sink unwashed, or worse, that she hadn’t eaten for days and that this would be the first proper meal since, which she’d pick at and then blame on being too busy talking to him before it had gone cold.

‘What is it? Bad traffic? That new one-way system buggering up everything? They’re saying in the paper that’s what’s made everything worse, not better. Of course, you can’t always believe everything they say in the papers either. Not since–’

‘Mum,’ Ianto said, interrupting her. ‘It's not the traffic. It's…’ he fumbled for a lie that wasn’t too outrageous. ‘It’s–’

‘Hold on for a sec,’ she said, cutting him off before he could begin his fabrication in earnest.

Ianto paused awkwardly on the other end of the line. He didn’t have time for this, and yet…

‘Sorry, love. The ad break was just about over and I had to go pop on the video recorder so I don’t miss the end of Emmerdale. I know what you’re like once you’re on the phone. And Cheryl from down the road will be calling after wanting to know what I think about Len breaking up with Tiffany so that he can go off and marry that slag–’

‘Mum!’

‘Well, that’s what she is, Ianto! I’m sorry if you don't like me using that sort of language, but some women are just trouble, you know? And she’s only a fictional character. It's not like I'm passing judgement on a real person or anything.’

Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose. How on earth had they ended up in this conversation? At least it didn't sound like she was struggling, but then again, his mum had always been good at distracting him. He’d learned from the best. ‘I’m sorry I'm running late.’

‘Oh, so you are still coming then?’

He winced on the other end of the phone as he looked down and surveyed the damage to his leg which he'd only just begun to irrigate. It was his own stupid fault. He should have left the Hoix unfed until the morning. Of course, it should also still have been heavily sedated, but that hadn't been the case either. Before Ianto had realised that it wasn't nearly as groggy as it should have been, it had decided that he was the kind of meal that came conveniently delivered, swiping and taking a bite out of his leg. Fortunately he'd managed to kick free and escape the cell, but not before it had gotten just a taste of Welsh rarebit.

There were small holes where the skin had been chewed away, still bleeding despite the tourniquet he'd applied just below the knee. He needed to patch himself up before he could go anywhere, and he definitely, definitely, wasn't going to call Owen back in to do the job. He didn't need the grief. It would be fine. A bit of saline and disinfectant to clean the wound, a sturdy bandage, and some painkillers so that it wouldn't be obvious that he was struggling to put weight on it. All of that would take time though, and he was late as it was.

‘I’m just trying to finish up something for work,’ he said. ‘It’s really important,’ he impressed upon her. ‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’ Of course, feeding the residents was important, but no one had ever starved on his watch just because he hadn’t felt like being extra conscientious. The Hoix would have been fine. It had probably been gorging itself on a buffet of dumpster waste before Jack had captured it and sedated it. But a Hoix was always hungry, and would eat just about anything, including human flesh.

‘We can always reschedule,’ his mum replied, unintentionally layering on even more guilt. ‘I don't want to get in the way of a big deadline. Not if you’re making up the time because of taking me to the hospital last week.’

‘I just need half an hour. An hour tops,’ he promised. He could always have a second go at first aid when he got home later. He just needed to stop the bleeding and risk of infection. God knew what kind of diseases a Hoix carried, especially one that had been feasting on rotten food and car battery acid. At least he had a key for the cupboard where Owen kept the really good painkillers – the ones that didn’t make you drowsy given the strength of them.

‘If you’re sure…’

‘I am.’ Ianto's sense of determination grew stronger. Gossip about the neighbours, his sister and the fictional characters of British soap opera royalty couldn't possibly compare to this kind of pain. ‘You know me. Never late unless it’s the end of the world.’ Which it frequently was.

His mum sighed on the other end of the phone. ‘Alright, then. I’ll pop the oven off for a bit and put it back on later when you’re closer to coming round. Text me if you change your mind.’

‘I won’t. And if I did, I'd call you, not text.’

‘You’re a sweet boy, Ianto,’ his mum replied, beaming on the other end of the line. ‘Not like your sister sometimes. Do you know what she said last week?’

‘Mum, I really have to get back to this,’ he said, noticing a couple of droplets of blood on the floor. ‘I'll see you soon. Love you.’

‘Love you, too.’ Then she finally, mercifully, hung up.

Ianto pulled his leg back up onto the gurney and lifted his trouser leg, inspecting the wounds again. That one was going to need stitches, he thought ruefully. Stitches were definitely not in his wheelhouse of medical expertise. He sighed heavily. Tonight was going to be a very long night.