Slashthedrabble Challenge 541 - Long road to recovery

[m_findlow]

Title: Long road to recovery
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 500 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 541 - Recovery at slashthedrabble
Summary: Jack has to sacrifice the comfort of having his lover here in order to protect his secret.

Jack leaned heavily against the door as the keys slipped into the lock. He was grateful they turned, since he could barely see straight, doing it by feel alone.

He staggered inside, gripping the dust-covered sideboard as he hunched over, feeling another wave of nausea strike.

Don't throw up on the carpet, Jack, he told himself. The linoleum if you must. Not that the carpet didn't need replacing. This old house had been off the market for years. Every agent told him it needed a full overhaul. No one wanted seventies chic anymore. Jack didn't care, though. At least it gave him somewhere to hole up when he couldn't go back to the hub.

He retched in the hallway, but there was nothing left in his stomach. Not unless he counted the stomach itself. He felt like throwing it up might solve all his problems.

He just needed to get to bed, then he could write himself off for a few days, praying the team didn't need him.

Jack stumbled up the narrow staircase. He gripped the railing hard as his knees buckled out from underneath him, jarring his shin painfully against the edge of the stair. He let go of the railing just in time to put his arms out in front of him, stopping him from smashing his face in much the same way. He lay there crumpled in a heap halfway up the stairs, trying to focus on breathing to clear his head as it swam circles.

Part of him wished Ianto was here - that he'd dragged him along to investigate the eternal mystery that was the Tretarri Estate. Ianto would be here right now with a gentle arm wrapped around his waist to keep him from stumbling, reassuring words spoken in those lovely, deep Welsh vowels, taking him carefully up the stairs and tucking him into bed. He'd be there to brush a hand through Jack's hair until he fell asleep, and still there later when Jack woke up, aching all over, mouth dry as dust, and his head pounding out the beat of an eighty piece marching band.

But he equally knew Ianto would also fuss and worry. Jack didn't get sick. Not normally, in any case. He was just immune to most of those common cold type bugs. A real nasty strain of the flu would take him down just as easily as anyone else. Being immortal didn't make him impervious, as he'd managed to demonstrate time and time again.

This was different though. Ianto would want Owen analysing everything, poking Jack like he was a pincushion, so that they could understand why a derelict section of the old dockyard housing estates made him so instantly and horribly sick.

He remained there, curled up awkwardly on the stairs, even though they pressed uncomfortably into his ribcage, shoulder and thigh. He couldn't get up even if he wanted to. He'd just have to stay here until the first day of excruciating hangover style illness passed.

Comments

[mscatmoon.livejournal.com]

Poor Jack. I wish Ianto was with him, too. He shouldn't have to be sick alone.

[m-findlow.livejournal.com]

Here's hoping he'll let Ianto in on the secret before he attempts it again.

[bk_forever]

Poor Jack, he needs looking after, but all he can do is lie there on the stairs and suffer.

Is this from one of the books or audio dramas, and if so which one? The Tretarri Estate rings a distant bell but I can't place it...

[m-findlow.livejournal.com]

It's from The Twilight Steets, which is one of my favourite books. :)

[bk_forever]

Ah! Yes, been a long time since I read that one! I liked it too.