Torchwood: Fanfic: A slippery patient

[m_findlow]

Title: A slippery patient
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Owen, Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 756 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for badly_knitted's prompt "Any, any, Sticking plasters that won't stick" at fic_promptly
Summary: Owen is finding it difficult to treat his patient.

'This is ridiculous,' Owen complained, battling to tear the paper off yet another sticking plaster. He pressed it against Jack's skin, but just like all the others, it refused to stay in place.

'What the hell is wrong with these things?' He snatched up another box, tearing it open and extracting a wad of them, determined to get these ones to stick to his patient.

'You know,' Jack began, 'at this rate I'm gonna heal before you manage to get any of those on me.'

'Stop your whining,' Owen grumbled. 'I'm doing my best.'

Jack looked like he'd been sent through a tumble dryer full of razor blades, which wasn't in fact all that far from the truth. Somehow, the infestation of razor flies that they'd captured two days ago, and which had been sitting in a tank in Jack's office until he could brew up a spray that would kill them, had escaped their confines in the middle of the night and gone after the one thing they liked to eat most. Blood.

If was pure fluke that the moment they broke out of that tank and dived straight down Jack's bunker hole was the moment Ianto had gotten out of bed to use the bathroom. Jack's howls of pain were interrupted only long enough for him to yell at Ianto to shut the door and keep it shut, sealing himself inside.

It must have been a pretty scary thing to go through, Owen thought, as Ianto had recollected events, fussing over Jack and his injuries. There'd been a lot of Jack screaming in pain, Ianto helpless to do anything until Jack could reach for the portable cell he always kept nearby on a shelf on his bunker. He managed to trap most of the razor flies within the cell, diving away from them at the last second before the cell was activated. The rest he was forced to slap dead as they tried to slice chunks out of his arms and neck. At least he wasn't trapped inside the cell with the majority of them, which was a plan of last resort. If he had been, he'd probably had died and resurrected to face a similar death a dozen times over by now. By the time he had it under control, giving Ianto the all clear, he was a bloody mess. He tried to assure Ianto it looked worse than it was, but it didn't stop him calling Owen and demanding he get himself to the hub straight away. Owen knew better than to argue with Teaboy when it came to Jack.

'I've already cleaned the blood from the floor and walls and changed the bedsheets,' Ianto said, standing at the top of the steps, directing his report more at Jack than Owen. 'Oh, and the portable cell has been moved down to the isolation unit before the power runs out.'

Jack gave a weary sigh. 'Good. Thanks, Ianto. So much for a quiet night, huh?'

Ianto turned his attention to Owen 'I thought you were supposed to be patching him up, Owen,' he remarked, looking rather annoyed that he'd seemingly made zero progress.

'I'm bloody trying! Can't you see?' he said, pointing emphatically down at the floor, now littered in used sticking plasters, whilst Jack sat there still covered in burning red cuts all over.

Ianto frowned. 'You wiped him down with alcohol rubs, didn't you?'

Owen rolled his eyes. 'Of course I did. I know all about basic infection control, but thank you for reminding me in case I'd forgotten. Your boyfriend here bitched so much about how it stung that I gave up.'

Ianto sighed. 'Well no wonder you're not having any luck getting those to stick.'

Owen glanced up at him. 'Huh?'

'He's covered in massage oil. Didn't you notice the smells like blueberries? I thought that was a dead giveaway.'

'I've got a cold,' Owen snarked. 'I can't smell a bloody thing. You could've mentioned that earlier.' He wasn't sure if he was berating Ianto or Jack or both of them.

'Didn't think I needed to,' Ianto replied. 'You're the doctor after all.'

Owen tossed aside the box of sticking plasters, a look something close to glee crossing his face. 'Sorry, Jack, but things are about to get a whole lot more painful for you, and not in a good way.' He grinned, tugging on his gloves and bringing out the bottle of alcohol rub and a large cloth. 'Almost going to make ruining my night's sleep worth the while.'