m_findlow

Title: First aid
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 500 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 470 - Amnesty / Challenge 171 - Wound/Wounded at slashthedrabble
Summary: Jack knows there'll always be someone willing to patch him up.

'Ow!' Jack complained, flinching his head violently away.

'Don't be a sissy,' Ianto scolded, dipping the cloth back into the warm water, and squeezing out the red stains.

'Couldn't you do it without the disinfectant in the water?' Jack asked. 'It stings.'

'Then what would be the point? I'm nearly done, anyway.'

Jack sighed and let Ianto continue his ministrations. In truth, he was being very gentle, just as always. He could have been a nurse. He had the patience for it. As much as Jack hated the fuss, he appreciated that someone cared enough to clean his many cuts and scrapes, applying band-aids and bandages, even if it seemed a moot point.

That was the problem with being immortal. It wasn't so much the dying and coming back from death, as it was the recuperating from non life-threatening injuries. He still healed way faster than regular mortals, but even he couldn't heal instantly. Simple things like cuts and bruises cleared up in twenty four hours. Broken bones took a few days. More exotic injuries might take a week, depending on what it was.

Ianto always fussed regardless, insisting Owen do what he could. Owen would then give him a perfunctory look over and declare he'd live, before leaving him to sort himself out. If it required stitches or something more medically challenging, he'd stand there and patch Jack up, grumbling all the while, doubly annoyed if Jack told him he'd heal on his own soon enough. If he made too much of a thing about healing, Owen would just up and leave, even if he was halfway through, telling him to fix himself then. Ianto would tut and lecture him, before convincing Owen to come back and finish what he'd started, even grumpier than before.

It was much better when Ianto chose to do the job himself. Once more he'd insist that it wasn't necessary, and that by morning he'd be fine, all brand new and shiny, but unlike Owen, Ianto couldn't be deterred.

Jack couldn't deny he enjoyed the attention, and Ianto was nothing but tender as he gently cleaned Jack's wounds, removing blood and dirt and whatever else had gotten caught up in them. Even when Jack was himself to blame for his own predicament, Ianto might rage and lecture at him for his own stupidity, selflessness or bravery, but never once did he take out his frustrations on Jack's injuries. It took a certain kind of person to show that much restraint. He loved Ianto all the more for it.

Ianto gently pressed a small sticking bandage over the cut on Jack's forehead. 'All done,' he said adding a feather light kiss just above the cut, and a second one on Jack's cheek.

'Thanks.'

'No problem. You'd do the same for me.'

'I much prefer your bedside manner to Owen's,' Jack said. 'He never kisses anything better. That's the best part.'

'That's good,' Ianto replied. 'Because if he did, he might need some medical attention himself.'