Torchwood: Fanfic: The pointy end of things

[m_findlow]

Title: The pointy end of things
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Owen
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 931 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for oneill's prompt "Any, any, You're not afraid of needles, are you?" at fic_promptly
Summary: Jack is subjected to his first medical exam by Owen.

'Alright, Harkness, park yourself on that table there,' Owen said, pointing to the metal table that doubled as his autopsy table.

'Sitting or lying?' Jack asked.

'What do you reckon?'

'Just thought I'd check. I'm flexible if you are,' he teased.

'Save your sexual overtures for someone who's interested,' he replied, pulling a set of gloves out of a box and pulling them on. Owen picked up a clipboard and studied it.

'This is all very formal, isn't it?' Jack asked.

When he'd taken Owen on board as their resident medic, he'd expected him to be a bit loose and rough around the edges. That was certainly the impression he'd gotten when he'd first pulled Owen out of his everyday life and into the insanity that was Torchwood. That he'd taken a few weeks to really find his feet, still lost in his grief over Katie, had hidden some of his true personality, but he'd come out the other side and shown that when push came to shove, he could roll with the best of them, keeping his head under pressure.

'You asked me to be responsible for the wellbeing of everyone here, so that means at some point I need to get a baseline for what constitutes everyone's normal, and check it regularly,' Owen replied.

Jack shuffled slightly at the explanation. What was considered normal for a guy who couldn't die? Would anything Owen do end up revealing that fact? He didn't think so, since none of his colleagues from any iteration of Torchwood in years gone by had been able to identify the problem, as he called it, or any physical indications of his condition. None of them had lived long enough to make the very simple observation that he just didn't get any older. Perhaps that was a good thing. Torchwood was weird enough most days without him adding to their workload.

Owen paced around the narrow space, making his standard observations of his height, weight, and blood pressure. All things that should have been on file from a predecessor somewhere, though they were years out of date now, he realised. No one had helped out in a medical capacity here in at least eight years. Not that he expected any of his stats to have changed. Nothing else had in over a hundred years, so why now?

'Any hereditary conditions I should be aware of?'

'Don't think so,' Jack replied.

'These records aren't great,' he said, referring to Jack's old files, the ones he thought were harmless, expunged of anything that might reveal his rather permanent status.

'Any serious illness or injury since these were last updated? Broken bones, surgical procedures?'

'Nope,' Jack lied. It'd take him a week to list out all of the times he'd been sick, injured or killed. None of it mattered. He always came back just the way he was. He wasn't a carrier for anything contagious once he died and it left his system, as if it had never been there in the first place, and everything else just knitted itself back together.

'Exercise much?' Owen asked, making further notes on his chart.

'What, with this job? Who's got the time? Most days are like a marathon, anyway.'

'Allergies? Reactions to anything external?'

'Does an aversion to small-minded bigots count?'

Owen smirked at that, but didn't note it on his chart. 'Okay, so I'll just take some blood samples and we'll be done for now,' he said, reaching over to a small tray of implements and picking up a large needle. 'I'd say roll, up your sleeve, but well, already done that, haven't you?'

Jack started slightly as Owen brought it over. Owen caught the slight hesitation. 'You're not afraid of needles, are you?' Owen asked, sounding surprised. The guy hunted aliens for a living, for God's sake.

'Um, no,' Jack lied, though the lie was obvious.

Owen stared at him. 'Seriously?'

'Problem?' Jack said, sitting up a little straighter and trying to regain a little dignity at the not quite admission of his completely irrational fear.

'Just look the other way if it makes you queasy,' Owen said, determined to get on with things. For someone who'd been all jokes and innuendo five minutes ago he'd certainly change his tune.

'Do we have to?'

'Yes, Jack. We do. Listen, just close your eyes and think of warm, sunny beaches somewhere.'

Jack reluctantly complied, though he was cringing and pulling faces even before Owen had his needle anywhere near his arm. Big baby, Owen sighed, making sure he gripped the arm firmly in case Jack suddenly pulled away. 'Any reason you hate needles in particular?' he asked, trying to distract his patient.

'I have to have a reason?'

'No, just most people usually do. Bad childhood experience or something like that.'

'Maybe I just don't like being poked,' Jack replied.

Owen scoffed. 'I find that hard to believe.'

'That's totally different,' Jack chuckled. As he began regaling Owen with some highly inappropriate story, Owen slipped the needle into the crook of his arm and let the ampule fill as he made disgusted noises at Jack's lurid descriptions. The man really had no shame.

'Alright, I've had enough,' Owen said. 'Stories and blood,' he clarified, pressing a cotton ball to the tiny pinprick hole left by his needle.

'Hey, how'd you do that?' Jack said, surprised to find his arm still in one piece. 'I was still waiting for you to stick me.'

'I'm just that good,' Owen replied. 'You should be less scared of needles and more scared at what I can do.'

Comments

[bk_forever]

Poor Jack *pets him*

Some people are so good at taking blood you barely feel it. Unfortunately, the usual phlebotomist at my doctor's practice is so bad and so brutal she leaves massive bruises and blames the patient. Can I have Owen do it next time?

[m-findlow.livejournal.com]

It's very much a flip of the coin with needles. My last flu shot I wasn't even sure she'd stuck it in. The year before that we had a butcher.