[Torchwood] "Sympathy Pains" (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for any, any, the last thing s/he needs Part of the "Never Doing That Again?" series. Involves a strange phenomenon known as couvade syndrome.
Most mornings these days, Jack awakened feeling royally nauseous, but somehow, his strong constitution kept him from actually ending up 'ringing Ralph on the porcelain phone' as the phrase went. The feeling persisted throughout the day, but it rarely had him incapacitated. Well, except for the one time involving that especially nasty scene of a Weevil attack, but that could happen to anybody, and he had a medical excuse.
On the other hand, when Ianto woke up, he tended to bolt out of the bed and run for the washroom, banging the door shut behind him. Jack closed his ears to the retching noises that ensued, but some gleefully sadistic part of him smirked a bit at how well his lover and the father of his unborn child was taking the situation.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was you that's pregnant," Jack said, as Ianto returned, his face and mouth still twitching at the bad taste that likely lingered in his mouth.
"Don't even joke like that," Ianto grumbled, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on. "That's the last thing that I need right now. Or you."
"Better have Owen take a look at you, make sure you didn't catch a stomach bug. I can't risk being exposed in my delicate condition," Jack teased, reaching for his trousers and pulling them on.
"Oh shush, if you're so delicate," Ianto grumbled, not amused.
* * * *
"Well, he's not running a fever," Owen said, after examining Ianto. "Not even a smidge of one."
"So what is it?" Jack asked, concerned. Considering the number of things that came across the Rift, unknown conditions caused by alien microbes (or bigger things) were not out of the question.
"It's couvade syndrome," Owen said, nonchalantly.
"Is it curable?" Ianto asked, his usually calm face visibly worried now.
"Well, he'll get over it when Jack stops being pregnant," Owen said. "It's a psychosomatic condition: happens in some men when their wife is pregnant. Guess it works for whoever's with whatever you are, Jack. Some simply have morning sickness and nausea, some start to get sensitive around the nipples, others even go so far as to start swelling around the middle a bit."
"Can't have that happening: it's bad enough I went up a trouser size, wouldnt due to have the two of us looking like we'd swallowed planetlets," Jack said.
"So what's the cure or the treatment or... whatever I need to make it go away?" Ianto asked.
"Well, being aware of the condition is half the cure, or some cases all of it," Owen said. "I've heard of a folk cure involving a staged mock birth, putting the affected man to bed and having him go through a mock labor with a doll or a bundle of rags through his clothes."
"Ugh, I don't think I need that: the cure sounds worse than the condition," Ianto said, darting a look at Owen.
"Try being the guy who had to go through a real birth," Jack put in.
Most mornings these days, Jack awakened feeling royally nauseous, but somehow, his strong constitution kept him from actually ending up 'ringing Ralph on the porcelain phone' as the phrase went. The feeling persisted throughout the day, but it rarely had him incapacitated. Well, except for the one time involving that especially nasty scene of a Weevil attack, but that could happen to anybody, and he had a medical excuse.
On the other hand, when Ianto woke up, he tended to bolt out of the bed and run for the washroom, banging the door shut behind him. Jack closed his ears to the retching noises that ensued, but some gleefully sadistic part of him smirked a bit at how well his lover and the father of his unborn child was taking the situation.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was you that's pregnant," Jack said, as Ianto returned, his face and mouth still twitching at the bad taste that likely lingered in his mouth.
"Don't even joke like that," Ianto grumbled, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on. "That's the last thing that I need right now. Or you."
"Better have Owen take a look at you, make sure you didn't catch a stomach bug. I can't risk being exposed in my delicate condition," Jack teased, reaching for his trousers and pulling them on.
"Oh shush, if you're so delicate," Ianto grumbled, not amused.
* * * *
"Well, he's not running a fever," Owen said, after examining Ianto. "Not even a smidge of one."
"So what is it?" Jack asked, concerned. Considering the number of things that came across the Rift, unknown conditions caused by alien microbes (or bigger things) were not out of the question.
"It's couvade syndrome," Owen said, nonchalantly.
"Is it curable?" Ianto asked, his usually calm face visibly worried now.
"Well, he'll get over it when Jack stops being pregnant," Owen said. "It's a psychosomatic condition: happens in some men when their wife is pregnant. Guess it works for whoever's with whatever you are, Jack. Some simply have morning sickness and nausea, some start to get sensitive around the nipples, others even go so far as to start swelling around the middle a bit."
"Can't have that happening: it's bad enough I went up a trouser size, wouldnt due to have the two of us looking like we'd swallowed planetlets," Jack said.
"So what's the cure or the treatment or... whatever I need to make it go away?" Ianto asked.
"Well, being aware of the condition is half the cure, or some cases all of it," Owen said. "I've heard of a folk cure involving a staged mock birth, putting the affected man to bed and having him go through a mock labor with a doll or a bundle of rags through his clothes."
"Ugh, I don't think I need that: the cure sounds worse than the condition," Ianto said, darting a look at Owen.
"Try being the guy who had to go through a real birth," Jack put in.