Torchwood: Fanfic: Grim diagnosis

[m_findlow]

Title: Grim diagnosis
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Owen
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 775 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for badly_knitted's prompt "Torchwood, Ianto, covered in sticking plasters" at fic_promptly
Summary: Someone is in need of medical attention

'I am never, repeat, never, letting you convince me to go along with one of your hair brained ideas ever again,' Ianto complained, perched on the edge of Owen's autopsy table and crossing his arms with difficulty.

'C'mon Ianto,' Jack pleaded, 'don't be a spoilt sport.'

'Spoilt sport! Spoilt sport!' came the echoed chanting.

Ianto uncrossed his arms, 'Calling me a spoilt sport infers that I'm in fact being spolied. I'm fairly certain that this doesn't even come close to being spolied.'

'Are you seriously telling me you're not having fun?'

Ianto was definitely not having fun. His appearance alone should have demonstrated that.

'Yes,' he affirmed.

'Well, I'm having fun, and they're having fun. Aren't you having fun, Owen?'

'Loads,' Owen replied from his desk not far away, glad for once to be attending to paperwork, but smirking at the look on Ianto's face in his current situation.

'Gwen and Tosh are busy helping out fixing the crashed spaceship with the crew,' Jack explained. 'The least we could do was offer the babysit their younglings whilst they're tied up.'

Ianto gave them a considered look. They were quite cute, little three foot high bipeds with soft brightly coloured fur in shades of pink and green and blue. Their round, furry ears bobbled on top of their heads on thin antennae. Cuddly was the only way to describe them, even though Ianto wasn't big on hugs.

'And we couldn't have just given them some colouring books? I'm sure there's some in the archives. Or toys.'

'It's not my fault they saw what Owen was doing and wanted to play.'

Owen had been patching up one of their travelling companions when the younglings spied his activities and wanted to have a go.

'But it is your fault for suggesting that we play "doctors" with them.'

Jack surveyed the scene. Perhaps they had gone just a little bit too far. Too late to admit it now.

'Another cut Uncle Jack,' one of the small furry children cried, pointing at Ianto's arm. There was nothing wrong with his arm, but like all good children, they had very vivid imaginations.

'Well, you had better patch him up before he bleeds to death,' Jack suggested, smiling and receiving a vexed look from their "patient".

The tiny green youngling gleefully tore open another band-aid and applied it to the only spare patch of skin on Ianto's forearm that he could find. The one that wasn't currently tied up in a sling. He tried to look appreciative for their sake.

It was probably fortunate that the majority of Ianto's head was covered with a long white bandage, so that Jack couldn't see the look of abject displeasure being directed at him. He could only think how much it was going to hurt later, when he'd have to peel all the sticky plasters off his arms, taking most of the tiny arm hairs with it. Kids were not his forte. Even his own nice and nephew were challenging enough, let alone children of a completely different species. Only Jack could be enjoying this so much. He was a natural with kids, probably on account of being the biggest one in the room. He just hoped that Jack didn't think to offer for them to plaster cast his legs, or something equally unwieldy. That's when the idea struck him.

'Hey,' he called out. 'Uncle Jack doesn't look too well. I think he might need to have his spleen removed.'

The pink youngling cocked her head at him, confused. 'What's a spleen?' she asked, crawling up on to his lap. It was difficult for him to hold on to her, to make sure she didn't fall off the tall table, given his sling, as he wrapped his free arm around her.

'It's a special bit inside his tummy. We'll have to get him to lie down on the table while we cut it out. What do you say?'

'Cut it out, cut it out!' all three of them repeated. 'Lie on the table Uncle Jack. We'll save you!'

Jack suddenly paled. 'You wouldn't, would you?'

Ianto called to Owen for confirmation. 'Immortals don't need a spleen, do they?'

'Definitely not,' Owen yelled back. 'Besides, I'm sure it'll grow back if he needs it.'

'Yay!' The kids screamed, already crawling on top of him and tackling him to the ground.

'Okay, this is not funny guys! There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine. Better than fine, actually. Never better!'

'Don't worry Uncle Jack,' Ianto replied menacingly as he snapped a rubber glove over his absurdly over bandaged fingers. 'I promise you won't feel a thing.'

Comments

[jo02]

Well, this certainly took a sinister turn !

[m-findlow.livejournal.com]

He he, that's the thing about Ianto. He makes it sound so serious and convincing that you can't guarantee he's not going to go through with it. Don't worry, Jack, Dr Jones will take good care of you. ;)

[bk_forever]

Ianto wouldn't REALLY cut into Jack with the kids present, would he? That would probaly upset them with all the actual blood, or give them dangerous ideas that the parents wouldn't thank him for...

Poor Ianto, but I'm sure jumping into the shower with plenty of bodywash will get those sticking plasters off with the minimum of discomfort. Plasters these days don't stay stuck in the presence of water.

Thanks for the fill!

[m-findlow.livejournal.com]

No, but he loves that fact that he can convince Jack he's genuine about it. Psychological torture is the only defense against Jack sometimes. ;)