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m_findlowTitle: Misery loves company
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Word Count: 500 words
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for Challenge 220 - Coddle at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
anythingdrabble
Summary: Jack is having misery heaped on misery.
Jack squirmed in the bed, or would have done if Ianto didn't have the covers tucked so tightly around his body. He might have had chills earlier, but he was fairly certain that he would more likely be suffering from overheating the way things were going. Where on earth had Ianto learned to make beds like this? He must have been a nurse in an army mental hospital in a previous life. Jack was sure he'd been hospital cornered to within an inch of being able to move. One thing was for sure, Jack wasn't going anywhere.
Ianto padded back into the room, bringing a fresh glass of water and some paracetamol, along with a tiny brass bell which Jack had absolutely no idea where it had come from.
'Here you are,' Ianto declared, setting them all down for Jack to partake in at his leisure - assuming he could free an arm out from under the flat sheet restraints. 'I'm going to put on some chicken soup in a little while, watered down so it doesn't play havoc with your delicate stomach.'
'I'm not delicate!' Jack protested, taking offence at the description. He was Captain Jack Harkness and that was as badass as they came. In his opinion.
'I said your stomach.' Ianto's reply was calm and measured, without even the slightest hint of a raised voice, which made Jack detest it even more.
'It's not delicate either!'
'Tell that to the bucket by the bed.'
Jack sulked at the comment, trying to forget having used it already. 'I don't need you coddling me.'
'You hardly ever get sick, but when you do it's inevitably a doozy. You absolutely need coddling, or at least a firm hand to tell you that you won't be getting up and exerting yourself until two trained professionals deem it so.'
Jack bristled at the insinuation only he and Owen would have any say in his ongoing situation. He genuinely wasn't feeling nearly so bad as he had been yesterday, but then again, he hadn't tried standing up and his limbs did feel extremely tired and heavy, even if he didn't like to admit it. Captain Jack simply didn't have sick days.
'Besides,' Ianto continued, 'you love me spoiling you rotten the rest of the time. Why start making an exception now?'
Jack grumbled something incoherent in response. You were supposed to enjoy being spoiled and this was anything but enjoyable. It was downright miserable. He cast a sideways glance at the bedside table.' So, what's with the brass bell?'
'It's for you to ring whenever you need anything, so I can work in the study and not disturb you while you're resting up.'
Jack gave it a test run, tinkling it. 'I need to get out of here.'
'Har har, very funny. At least your sense of humour isn't suffering.'
'It'll be the second last to go, just before my will to live.'
Ianto smirked. 'Well, we can always hope you get better first.'
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Word Count: 500 words
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for Challenge 220 - Coddle at
anythingdrabbleSummary: Jack is having misery heaped on misery.
Jack squirmed in the bed, or would have done if Ianto didn't have the covers tucked so tightly around his body. He might have had chills earlier, but he was fairly certain that he would more likely be suffering from overheating the way things were going. Where on earth had Ianto learned to make beds like this? He must have been a nurse in an army mental hospital in a previous life. Jack was sure he'd been hospital cornered to within an inch of being able to move. One thing was for sure, Jack wasn't going anywhere.
Ianto padded back into the room, bringing a fresh glass of water and some paracetamol, along with a tiny brass bell which Jack had absolutely no idea where it had come from.
'Here you are,' Ianto declared, setting them all down for Jack to partake in at his leisure - assuming he could free an arm out from under the flat sheet restraints. 'I'm going to put on some chicken soup in a little while, watered down so it doesn't play havoc with your delicate stomach.'
'I'm not delicate!' Jack protested, taking offence at the description. He was Captain Jack Harkness and that was as badass as they came. In his opinion.
'I said your stomach.' Ianto's reply was calm and measured, without even the slightest hint of a raised voice, which made Jack detest it even more.
'It's not delicate either!'
'Tell that to the bucket by the bed.'
Jack sulked at the comment, trying to forget having used it already. 'I don't need you coddling me.'
'You hardly ever get sick, but when you do it's inevitably a doozy. You absolutely need coddling, or at least a firm hand to tell you that you won't be getting up and exerting yourself until two trained professionals deem it so.'
Jack bristled at the insinuation only he and Owen would have any say in his ongoing situation. He genuinely wasn't feeling nearly so bad as he had been yesterday, but then again, he hadn't tried standing up and his limbs did feel extremely tired and heavy, even if he didn't like to admit it. Captain Jack simply didn't have sick days.
'Besides,' Ianto continued, 'you love me spoiling you rotten the rest of the time. Why start making an exception now?'
Jack grumbled something incoherent in response. You were supposed to enjoy being spoiled and this was anything but enjoyable. It was downright miserable. He cast a sideways glance at the bedside table.' So, what's with the brass bell?'
'It's for you to ring whenever you need anything, so I can work in the study and not disturb you while you're resting up.'
Jack gave it a test run, tinkling it. 'I need to get out of here.'
'Har har, very funny. At least your sense of humour isn't suffering.'
'It'll be the second last to go, just before my will to live.'
Ianto smirked. 'Well, we can always hope you get better first.'
