Something Like Hope by amazonqueenkate

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Title: Something Like Hope
Author: amazonqueenkate
Genre: Romance, Mpreg
Rating: R-rated
Summary: “What do you mean, ‘don’t say it’?” Owen gestured to the monitor. “I’m staring at your fucking – I don’t even know what to call it! I don’t know how it happened! Bloody hell, just when I thought I couldn’t miss drinking any more than I already did.”
Status: Complete
Length: Oneshot
Warnings: MPREG
Comment or Excerpt from fic: Okay, don't let my summary of the fic fool you (The author didn't have a summary) This is an EXCELLENT MPREG FIC, one of the most In Character  mpreg fics that I've ever read.  Exactly how I would imagine Ianto taking the news, and I love it that he doesn't become a crybaby/emotional and stuff, he takes it normally and doesn't want anyone to see how scared he is, he's not panicking in front of anyone and stuff and I love how Jack becomes so supportive and that it seemed he wants the baby more than Ianto did. (And I like it when he's protective):D And the reason why Ianto got pregnant? totally possible in the Torchwood Universe. For people who don't like MPREG, I STILL URGE U TO READ THIS NOW!
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“Bloody hell,” Owen said.

Ianto’s head snapped up and he looked at Owen first. For a dead man, he wore “utter shock” quite comfortably. Wide eyes, dropped jaw, disbelieving stare at the monitor. An Oscar-winning performance. It certainly made Ianto’s heart leap into his throat.

It took a good thirty seconds to breathe properly again, and another thirty to turn his head the last few feet and look at the monitor.

In a way, it was lucky that Owen hadn’t taken advantage of the situation and decided to project the image onto the wall like he did with other full-body scans, a larger-than-life representation of Ianto’s innards. Someday, he’d probably thank Owen (mentally and only mentally) for that small show of – what? Kindness? More likely, it was just a lack of forethought. Whatever it was, it meant the live video feed of his internal organs only popped up as a window on a seventeen-inch monitor. Far less intimidating, save for its contents.

Those contents being live-action footage of a strange-shaped blotch, neatly contained in some sort of sac and curled into itself in a spot between some of Ianto’s most beloved vital organs.

A blotch, it was worth noting, with a head. And limbs. And what looked a frightening lot like fingers and toes.

“This isn’t possible,” Owen murmured, very quietly.

“Logical.” Ianto’s own voice sounded foreign to his ears, like he was saying it into a vacuum. “Not medically logical, but…possible.”

 “This is a fine time to be mocking me, now that you’re – “

“Don’t say it.”

“What do you mean, ‘don’t say it’?” Owen gestured to the monitor. “I’m staring at your fucking – I don’t even know what to call it! I don’t know how it happened! Bloody hell, just when I thought I couldn’t miss drinking any more than I already did.” He looked at the monitor again. The headed-, armed-, legged-, fingered- and toed-blotch moved and he stepped bodily away from it, like it might come get him. “We need to call Jack,” he decided. “Where’s my mobile? We’ll call Jack, and he’ll – “

Ianto sat all the way up and swung his legs off the end of the cot. “No,” he said firmly.