Summary: Daleks vaporized his arm. Cybermen gave him a new one. Somehow, Ianto Jones survives.

So, I would like to mention now that unless someone comes out with an actual timeline for these episodes (and I mean that as actual time), I'm just going to take things in a wibbly-wobbly fashion.

So while the time between each episode may be different to you, depending on your headcanon, I don't particularly have a timeline headcanon myself so I'm being flexible here.

I'm glad you've all been enjoying this so far, and in response to the anonymous Guest who commented, yes, this Ianto is a bit entitled seeming, but I think that's explainable, seeing as how not only does he have to deal with the sh*t of Lisa's situation, he also has to deal with trying to cope with having lost an arm, had it forcibly replaced, and being stressed hiding his arm and Lisa while trying to find a 'cure'. Also, glad you're enjoying my AIWU and T3W 'verse, and thanks to a friend of mine and her insane ability to gave me a dozen prompts, I'm likely going to be posting more stories in the near future…

*shakes fist*

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2

When Ianto contemplated how he would be found out—because he would, eventually be found out—he did not envision it like this.

Then, of course, he never really contemplated cannibals in his future, so he supposed he should be giving himself some slack.

He wished the ropes that bound his hands had some slack to them.

His hand was losing circulation—the give of having two flesh wrists bound being restricted to the one was… unfortunate.

Tosh stared back at him from the other side of the room—hovel thing, really—eyes wide and terrified.

For the moment, it was because of the bat one of the men was hefting.

Ianto thought that in another moment, when the man tried to bludgeon Ianto with it, the fear in her eyes would have to do with Ianto, hah, single handedly killing their captors.

Single Handedly.

Not necessarily with one arm behind his back, but the idea was still there.

He had the vain hope that perhaps the arm would find a more… discrete way of violently protecting him, but he might as well be wishing to not be in this situation at all.

It would be more likely to happen, anyway…

If he was honest with himself, and he might as well be, he could admit that he was surprised he'd lasted this long.

After… well, after Lisa he'd figured he'd last maybe a week if he was careful, but instead here he was a good two months and a band of Faeries later… still alive, still not locked up, still… whatever.

Now, not so much.

This… this is why I was happy not going out into the field. This is why.

After being bludgeoned from behind, he'd woken up in a dark space with Tosh… Tosh was still out of it, and he hadn't been tied up. He remembered this time fondly.

He'd never thought about it before, but he rather liked not being tied up.

He'd pulled off his left glove and felt the back of his head, pressing gingerly at the knot, and when he heard Tosh stirring pulled his glove back on.

He was stained and dirty but he wouldn't be wandering around with only one glove on.

(that sort of thing had people asking things like 'why do you only have one glove on?' and 'what happened to your hand?')

"You know… I never liked camping."

And he didn't. Lisa had, which was why he knew so much about it, but it wasn't something he enjoyed.

You could never brew a good cup of coffee 'out in the bush'.

Tosh looked around, and he told her they'd taken the guns…

He'd been awake a while longer than she had, and had all that time to look around their makeshift cell.

Solid doors that in any other situation he would admire for their sturdiness, too-small windows, and no real way of getting out. No way of lighting up the place, either.

Of course, even as he thought this Tosh pulled out a small torch from her pants leg.

Ianto wondered if she'd been a girl scout.

Brought up his mental file on her… no, no, she hadn't.

He brought it up again when she says that she hasn't yet found a cell she couldn't get out of, remembering the notes UNIT had made on her while she was imprisoned, and felt cautiously optimistic.

He'd still prefer she answer his question on their chances of rescue, all the same, but if he had to be stuck in a cell with someone he'd prefer it be with Tosh…

Or Jack, but that was because Jack had a way of slipping out of troublesome situations.

But Tosh was good, because she had more of a reason than anyone to make sure she wouldn't be helplessly stuck in a cell ever again, and that was good.

Sad, but good.

She asked him to try to get a light to work—and oh, thanks, he hadn't thought of doing that, but he decided to give it another try all the same.

Commenting on the fact that she and the rest of Torchwood seem to be addicted to being in situations like this—situations where things get out of control, where there's danger spilling over the horizon, the look of satisfied enjoyment in their eyes…

He wondered if any of them would enjoy having a cybernetic arm.

He considered who, exactly, he was trapped with, and couldn't help but laugh.

It broke some of the tension between them, and Ianto laughed again that she should have had that suspect cheeseburger, earlier.

And then there was no more laughing, because shoes should never seem so foreboding.

Thinking back on it now, it's almost funny how scary all the shoes had been, considering now there was… well, cannibals.

They might be aliens who look like humans, but—cannibals.

Cannibal hicks.

It probably wasn't wise, but a hysterical laugh bubbled out of him, because gods if he could have a choice of what kind of person killed and ate him, he'd prefer someone like Hannibal Lecter over these people…

At least then he'd know he wouldn't be fried up like bacon, or, or—

He couldn't think of anything else.

He knew he'd eaten other things than bacon, but that was the only thing that came to mind.

He supposed there were worse things, but—bacon?

And, if he weren't turned into bacon, he'd still be locked up after this, because unless they knocked out or killed Tosh before they came after him, he wouldn't be getting out of here without the promise of being locked up.

He looked at Tosh again, and thought how much he'd really like her not to die. They weren't exactly friends—Ianto wasn't friends with anyone in Torchwood—but he didn't want her to die.

He looked to the side, where the blonde woman from before was, and thought that he really wouldn't mind if she died…

He was still annoyed at himself for falling for her I'm a victim too routine.

So, when Big And Ugly turns to him, he smiles his biggest, fakest smile, and takes some satisfaction in head-butting him.

It hurts—fuck, it hurts, but he's distracted, and maybe if they run fast enough he won't end up alive and locked up after this.

It was still the preferred option to dead and eaten, but he was doing his best to stay optimistic.

That was hard to do when their escape plan gets him a punch in the face.

And then kicked in the kidne—

It feels like his arm is going to be ripped from its socket, like his hand is going to be ripped off before that, and he's wrenched around.

He feels it, vaguely, in his shoulder when the kick lands on his arm, but the three-second wrenching in his arm earlier hurts more.

His hand gets a gentle pat on it, and it's startling to realize that his arm—the cybernetic one—intentionally moved him so he would get the least damage.

He's shocked enough that he doesn't move when the but of the gun comes down on his face, and he only has a split moment to be thankful that at least Tosh got away.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Danger.

Danger.

Danger.

Danger.

Must Defend.

Protective Measures:

Calculating…

Calculations Finished.

Recalibrating Survival Mode.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

He keeps that feeling of being thankful in mind as his face is being beaten in.

He'd like to keep in mind that at least the worst of it is happening to his face, except that some kicks and beatings hit elsewhere.

His torso is fine for the most part—he didn't know he could squirm like this until his own arm was twisting and wrenching him into each position…

He's worried about his legs, as he can only redirect the hits so much to his arm, but it's getting harder and harder to focus on the positive. There's only so much his head and face can take before things stop making sense.

Stop making sense, like why wasn't his arm getting him out of this situation already? Why was it just redirecting 80% of the blows, when it could get him away from 100% of them?

He'd understood the reason earlier, earlier when his head wasn't aching, when he didn't just want to sit down and sleep… something about how if Tosh escaped, the rest of Torchwood would come to the rescue. If Tosh escaped, and he had to believe that she did, Tosh was clever like that, she was really lovely and he thought that perhaps he'd like to be friends later, maybe, possibly, especially if she got the rest of Torchwood here to stop all this, because then she would be the cleverest and most lovely woman of all time, and why was Owen such a prat to her?

Ianto didn't know, but then he didn't know lots of things.

Like why his stupid cybernetic arm wasn't getting him out of this situation.

He remembered, vaguely, that if he revealed his arm he was likely going to be locked up if he wasn't shot execution style, but really, what was wrong with being locked up?

It had a number of good points going for it, certainly, like not being beaten, like not feeling like his head would explode into one big bruise, like… like….

Well, he'd really like it if they'd stop beating him.

Being locked up, he'd likely also get some ice for his aching face, and he wouldn't be thrown to the hard ground like he is right—

Oof.

He'd also like the gag out of his mouth, it'd likely be easier to breath without it, easier to catch the breath that was just punched out of him.

Oh, the ground, it was rather nice, he'd like to sleep now.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Assessing Condition:

Calculating…

Calculations Complete.

Unsatisfactory.

Assessing Surroundings:

Calculating…

Calculations Complete.

Results:

Positive.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

"What have you done to Ianto?"

The sound of his name rouses him, damn it all, and he just wants to sleep.

This headache is worse than any hangover, it's worse than anything imaginable, and Big and Ugly needs to take a bath because the stink of him is making all the bad things worse.

He's making things even more worse with the cleaver he's holding against his throat.

His eyes skim over the members of Torchwood, thinking oh, how nice of them to show up to see him killed.

Oh, how nice of them to take advantage of Tosh escaping to get caught themselves.

Oh, it was actually nice of them to ask after him… he thinks this last bit honestly, because even through the thick film separating him from reality, he'd heard the frightened concern in their voices. The noise of alarm from Owen was probably due to the fact that Ianto was likely looking like one big bruise, the Doctor in him taking it all in, but the concern was still there.

It was nice.

Owen was still a prat.

The hug from Gwen was nice, but painfulpainfulpainful, and likely less painful than if he'd been thrown to the ground again.

He hopes she doesn't feel the hard metal of his arm.

It would really suck if even after keeping his arm hidden after all this time, he was still found out.

And from a hug.

Gods, that would be embarrassing…

And then Jack breaks through the wall with a tractor, guns blazing, and he'd laugh if his ribs weren't bruised.

He wondered if Jack knew that he wasn't actually the leading character in an action movie…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Later, when Ianto is avoiding Owen and trying to make it look like he's been checked out by the medics out of the ambulance, while also trying to reassure them that he was getting looked after by his teams Doctor, he catches part of Gwen's 'interrogation', and wants to shut at her for letting his teeth so close to her face. So close to her throat. He half-expects that Big and Ugly is going to bite off her ear or something equally horrible, but it doesn't happen.

That shows him for being pessimistic.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Recalibrating…

Reassessing…

New Data Extrapolated.

Base Functions:

Calculating…

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Though he wants to, and he can tell Tosh wants to, neither of them ask the other to stick around.

Neither asks the other over to their place.

Neither ask for the comfort they both need.

Instead, Ianto stops by Tesco (and ignores the looks his beaten and bruised face gets him) and gets bags and bags of ice.

The walk home is slightly lop-sided, as he holds all of his ice in his right hand (his left hand still tender and shaking), and he's never been so happy to have a full bathroom in his life.

He fills his tub with ice and water, and leaves to get his bed made up, to reset the thermostat, and starts stripping.

His shirt is entirely ruined. The dirt stains will never come out of it.

Sinking into the bath is a painful relief; bruises throbbing heat under the chill.

He cups his hands, the metal on his right still looking strange in contrast, and presses ice to his face and neck in turn.

When he can no longer stand the cold of the water, he gets out and huddles in a thick towel, pressing the now cold metal of his hand to his face again and again to keep the swelling down.

He's physically and mentally exhausted, almost falling asleep in the bath once he gets back in it, but his thoughts still race in circles around his head.

Because he could've been discovered this time.

It was a very close thing.

He could have died.

That was also a very close thing.

He could have been discovered, and then killed.

With the way Jack was strutting around, doling out bullets like they were party favors, that was a very likely thing to happen…

If he'd been discovered.

But he hadn't.

He hadn't.

He hadn't.

He kept reminding himself of that, even after the ice cubes had all melted, even after he'd drained the tub and crawled into bed, even after he'd cocooned himself in blankets, and it was his last conscious thought when he finally fell asleep, shivering.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

Calculating…

Calculations Complete.

Base Functions Reset.

Initiatives Updated.

Vitals Noted.

Sleep Mode.

.-~-~-~~-~-~.

So, I hope you enjoyed that, and if you're disappointed that I'm not doing an episode/chapter, with each episode, sorry but there are some episodes where Ianto just isn't a big part of things, where he's mostly left to his own devices, so yeah. Feel like I should be saying more on this, but after discovering that Ianto's actually a badass, and not just a butler who has great one-liners, re-watching the series brings attention to the fact that for the first while he really *isn't* that big of a character.

I like him, but he's not really a big part of season 1. I know, sadness :C

I'm working on all my other stories at the moment, or at least all the ones I've been working on the past two years, and while I know it's difficult, please have patience.

Also please stop shouting at me to update, it's making me nervous when that's all you have to say. :S

Next chapter should be up relatively soon, because if you didn't know that Camp Nano is happening, well, it is (similar to NaNoWriMo, so….), and I'm WAAAAAY behind.

So yeah, rewatching a great deal of Torchwood, and writing, and look forward to more :)

RandomPersonOfDoom, I still curse you giving me so many prompts.

*shakes fist*