[ficlet] torchwood - tea and sympathy - gwen + ianto, gen
Yesterday, solsticezero was sick, and because I am an awesome friend, I mostly told her how adorable her whining was. Then, I decided to write sick-Ianto-whining-to-Gwen fic to make her feel better! But then she went to bed before I finished. And it turned out hella self-indulgent and ridic. But, you know, whatever. I've posted things here that are MORE self-indulgent than this. Probably.
***
Title: Tea and Sympathy
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Gwen, Ianto
Rating: G
Length: ~1700
Summary: In which Ianto is petulant and congested and Gwen indulges him.
Notes: For solsticezero. ilu, bb. However, this is unbetaed, unedited, and mostly just a passing fancy. Please do not mistake it for actual fic with, like, a plot and stuff. Mostly, it's just an excuse to write petulant!Ianto and unsexy!cuddling.
Gwen doesn't bother with the buzzer. She's had a key longer than anyone--longer than Jack, even, who wasn't officially given a key in a boyfriendly capacity until shortly after the Tommy Brockless incident--and, more than that, if Ianto's feeling ill enough to skip out on work, she can't imagine he's up for opening the door.
She hopes he's sleeping, so she opens the door as quietly as she can and tiptoes into the flat. She has soup and tissues and dvds and cough syrup, all of the things that she yearns for when she's sick. In all the time she's worked for Torchwood, Ianto's never taken a sick day, so she assumes this is serious. With Jack in London, she's decided it's her duty to care for him; he doesn't have anyone else and she hates the idea of him being alone.
The couch is empty. It's Gwen's favorite place to be when she's sick, the epitome of indulgence, but maybe Ianto's idea of a sick day is different from hers. Worse yet--maybe he's too sick to make it to the living room.
That thought speeds her steps--she walks quickly and quietly into Ianto's bedroom, cracking the door open just enough to glance inside. Ianto is in bed, but before she can check to make sure he's breathing, he rolls over and moans.
"Are you awake, sweetheart?" she asks quietly. Ianto moans again, and opens his eyes, his mouth screwed up into a pout of epic proportions. He's pale, except for a splash of pink high on his cheekbones. His hair is a mess and the blankets of the bed are pulled and twisted around him.
"I brought some things for you," Gwen says, walking into the bedroom and pulling the door shut behind her. "Soup and cough syrup and some movies, if you're up for them."
"I feel awful," Ianto... well, there's no other word for it. He whines it. He whines and pouts and looks up at her with a pitiful stare that's all big blue eyes. It makes something affectionate burn in her chest. She wants to straighten his hair and swaddle him with blankets and feed him soup. She also wants to laugh at how utterly ridiculous he's being. He doesn't look as bad as she imagined, more put out and frustrated than weak and sickly. Gwen sits on the edge of the bed and presses her hand to his forehead. He's got a slight fever and his skin is clammy.
"Oh, sweetheart," she says, brushing his hair off his forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"Everything hurts," Ianto mumbles, rubbing the side of his face with a clenched fist. There's a slight nasal hiss to his voice. "My head, my throat, my ears. My ears hurt." He reaches for an ear, rubbing it gently and then attempting to stick his finger inside. Gwen swats his hand away.
"Stop that," she says. "You're not supposed to stick things in your ears." He pouts at her again.
"I'm coughing," he says. "I can't sleep. It's awful."
"I'm sure it is," Gwen says with a fond smile. "When was the last time you were sick, love?"
"I got Prufrian Measles my first week in Cardiff," Ianto says, rolling over and burying his head in a pillow. "Jack quarantined me."
"The last time you had a cold, I mean," Gwen says.
"I don't have a cold," Ianto mumbles into his pillow. "I'm dying of the plague, obviously."
"Oh, obviously," Gwen says and rubs his back. His t-shirt is damp and the entire room smells a bit stale. "Why don't you take a nice shower and I'll make you some soup? The steam will help your head and chest."
Ianto groans into the pillow, but Gwen takes it as acquiescence and gets up, grabbing the shopping bag from the floor and slipping out of the bedroom.
The kitchen looks like a bomb hit it, and Gwen is incredibly grateful that she checked the bedroom for Ianto before peeking in here. If she had seen the kitchen before she saw Ianto, she would have feared the worst. There are dirty pots on the stove, dirty dishes in the sink, and garbage left on the counter. Ianto's only been home on his own for twenty-four hours. She has no idea how one sickly twenty-something could have possibly made such a mess in twenty-four hours, especially one as house-proud as Ianto.
She clears a space on the stove and finds a clean pot to warm up the soup. She doesn't dare make coffee, but the tea kettle looks serviceably clean and Ianto's got a full canister of tea in one of his cupboards. Soup and tea will both help his throat and hopefully wash down the rather horrid taste of cough syrup. Not coughing all night will hopefully help him get some sleep, which might help him lose the petulant attitude.
Of course, it's entirely possible that Ianto is grouchy and peevish entirely because he doesn't like being sick. Which means, unfortunately, that she's stuck putting up with it until Jack comes home or Ianto get better, whichever comes first.
Jack's supposed to be in London for a week. She really, deeply hopes it's the latter.
With the soup and water slowly heating up, Gwen ducks back into the bedroom and opens the windows. The October breeze is cool, but once air is circulating through the room and it doesn't feel so heavy, she'll close it again. She also strips the sheets off the bed and pulls the spares out of the linen closet. A shower won't be much help if he's climbing back into the same germs, and it's quick work to replace the sheets. She still has plenty of time to go back into the kitchen and check on the soup and tea, right as the shower in the bathroom switches off.
Gwen puts her hands on her hips and surveys the kitchen. She loves Ianto like a brother, but he's far too neurotic about his things for her to even consider starting to do his dishes. She does throw the crumbled up takeaway bag and the balled up tissues in the garbage, though. She figures that, at least, probably won't disrupt Ianto's anal-retentive kitchen system.
When she hears the bedsprings creaking in the other room, she pours the soup and the tea and makes a tray to bring into the bedroom. Ianto is back in bed, but he looks a little less bleary and pathetic.
"Soup and tea," Gwen says cheerfully, balancing the tray on top of the books on the bedside table. "They'll help your throat. But first, I've got some cough syrup, too, so maybe you can sleep."
Ianto sniffles, pitifully, and takes the tiny measuring cup off of the tray. "Thank you," he says.
"No need to thank me," she says. She crosses the room and closes the windows, satisfied that the air smells fresh and they can both breathe a little easier. She pulls the blinds shut, too, and sits on top of the blankets on the other side of the bed. Jack's side, she would reckon, from the two expense reports and the aeroplane cufflinks sitting on the nightstand next to it. "Being taken care of is the best part of being sick and it's no fair that you have to miss out just because Jack's out of town."
"I'm going to die from lack-of-sleep before Jack gets back," Ianto mutters into his tea, giving Gwen another miserable, big-eyed pout.
"A few days and you'll be fine," Gwen assures him.
"And I'll go back to the Hub and be buried under rubbish and paperwork," Ianto says.
"Yes, of course," Gwen says. "Your life is so difficult."
"It is," Ianto agrees, and replaces his tea on the tray, pulling the fresh blankets around his shoulders and lying down again. Gwen places a hand on his forehead to check his temperature again and lets it stray to his hair when he leans into the cool touch.
"When I first started at Torchwood One," Ianto says quietly, the words barely louder than the wheezey breaths rattling around in his chest.
"Sorry, what?" Gwen asks. Ianto rolls a bit closer, his head resting gently against her hip.
"The last time I was sick," he says without raising his voice. "I'd just started at Torchwood London. Less than a month, I think it was, and I got the flu. I was living alone and I was miserable. I was anxious, too, afraid they'd sack me for not coming in when I'd only been there a few weeks. It wasn't the best week of my life. Before that... I dunno. I hadn't been sick since I was a child."
Gwen keeps stroking his hair, her heart breaking just a little bit. She feels like her heart is always breaking for Ianto. It wasn't fair to put someone that young through that much.
"Well, it's much better when you've got someone around to coddle you," she tells him. "You can just keep giving them those big, innocent pouts you're so good at and they'll be eating out of your hand. I've been here twenty minutes and I made you lunch and changed your sheets. I imagine once Jack gets back, he'll be giving you sponge-baths and feeding you by hand."
Ianto laughs hoarsely and presses his face into her hip, but she catches his sleepy, sappy smile as well. The only thing worse than being sick and having no one to take care of you is being sick and being away from the person who would gladly take care of you. Gwen rubs his temple with her thumb and smiles to herself, glad that she can provide some relief, even if she's maybe not the person Ianto wants most right now.
"The soup," Ianto says, looking up at her tiredly. "I forgot."
"It's okay," Gwen says, gently guiding his head back down to the pillow. "I can reheat it later. Sleep if you can."
"Mm," he says, but he looks up one more time. "Gwen?"
"Yes?"
"I... I appreciate this." The look he gives her says Thank you and I love you more clearly than he could ever manage with words. Gwen leans over and kisses his forehead.
"Any time, darling. Go to sleep." She hopes the hand still stroking his hair is enough to say You're welcome and I love you, too in return.
***
Title: Tea and Sympathy
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Gwen, Ianto
Rating: G
Length: ~1700
Summary: In which Ianto is petulant and congested and Gwen indulges him.
Notes: For solsticezero. ilu, bb. However, this is unbetaed, unedited, and mostly just a passing fancy. Please do not mistake it for actual fic with, like, a plot and stuff. Mostly, it's just an excuse to write petulant!Ianto and unsexy!cuddling.
Gwen doesn't bother with the buzzer. She's had a key longer than anyone--longer than Jack, even, who wasn't officially given a key in a boyfriendly capacity until shortly after the Tommy Brockless incident--and, more than that, if Ianto's feeling ill enough to skip out on work, she can't imagine he's up for opening the door.
She hopes he's sleeping, so she opens the door as quietly as she can and tiptoes into the flat. She has soup and tissues and dvds and cough syrup, all of the things that she yearns for when she's sick. In all the time she's worked for Torchwood, Ianto's never taken a sick day, so she assumes this is serious. With Jack in London, she's decided it's her duty to care for him; he doesn't have anyone else and she hates the idea of him being alone.
The couch is empty. It's Gwen's favorite place to be when she's sick, the epitome of indulgence, but maybe Ianto's idea of a sick day is different from hers. Worse yet--maybe he's too sick to make it to the living room.
That thought speeds her steps--she walks quickly and quietly into Ianto's bedroom, cracking the door open just enough to glance inside. Ianto is in bed, but before she can check to make sure he's breathing, he rolls over and moans.
"Are you awake, sweetheart?" she asks quietly. Ianto moans again, and opens his eyes, his mouth screwed up into a pout of epic proportions. He's pale, except for a splash of pink high on his cheekbones. His hair is a mess and the blankets of the bed are pulled and twisted around him.
"I brought some things for you," Gwen says, walking into the bedroom and pulling the door shut behind her. "Soup and cough syrup and some movies, if you're up for them."
"I feel awful," Ianto... well, there's no other word for it. He whines it. He whines and pouts and looks up at her with a pitiful stare that's all big blue eyes. It makes something affectionate burn in her chest. She wants to straighten his hair and swaddle him with blankets and feed him soup. She also wants to laugh at how utterly ridiculous he's being. He doesn't look as bad as she imagined, more put out and frustrated than weak and sickly. Gwen sits on the edge of the bed and presses her hand to his forehead. He's got a slight fever and his skin is clammy.
"Oh, sweetheart," she says, brushing his hair off his forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"Everything hurts," Ianto mumbles, rubbing the side of his face with a clenched fist. There's a slight nasal hiss to his voice. "My head, my throat, my ears. My ears hurt." He reaches for an ear, rubbing it gently and then attempting to stick his finger inside. Gwen swats his hand away.
"Stop that," she says. "You're not supposed to stick things in your ears." He pouts at her again.
"I'm coughing," he says. "I can't sleep. It's awful."
"I'm sure it is," Gwen says with a fond smile. "When was the last time you were sick, love?"
"I got Prufrian Measles my first week in Cardiff," Ianto says, rolling over and burying his head in a pillow. "Jack quarantined me."
"The last time you had a cold, I mean," Gwen says.
"I don't have a cold," Ianto mumbles into his pillow. "I'm dying of the plague, obviously."
"Oh, obviously," Gwen says and rubs his back. His t-shirt is damp and the entire room smells a bit stale. "Why don't you take a nice shower and I'll make you some soup? The steam will help your head and chest."
Ianto groans into the pillow, but Gwen takes it as acquiescence and gets up, grabbing the shopping bag from the floor and slipping out of the bedroom.
The kitchen looks like a bomb hit it, and Gwen is incredibly grateful that she checked the bedroom for Ianto before peeking in here. If she had seen the kitchen before she saw Ianto, she would have feared the worst. There are dirty pots on the stove, dirty dishes in the sink, and garbage left on the counter. Ianto's only been home on his own for twenty-four hours. She has no idea how one sickly twenty-something could have possibly made such a mess in twenty-four hours, especially one as house-proud as Ianto.
She clears a space on the stove and finds a clean pot to warm up the soup. She doesn't dare make coffee, but the tea kettle looks serviceably clean and Ianto's got a full canister of tea in one of his cupboards. Soup and tea will both help his throat and hopefully wash down the rather horrid taste of cough syrup. Not coughing all night will hopefully help him get some sleep, which might help him lose the petulant attitude.
Of course, it's entirely possible that Ianto is grouchy and peevish entirely because he doesn't like being sick. Which means, unfortunately, that she's stuck putting up with it until Jack comes home or Ianto get better, whichever comes first.
Jack's supposed to be in London for a week. She really, deeply hopes it's the latter.
With the soup and water slowly heating up, Gwen ducks back into the bedroom and opens the windows. The October breeze is cool, but once air is circulating through the room and it doesn't feel so heavy, she'll close it again. She also strips the sheets off the bed and pulls the spares out of the linen closet. A shower won't be much help if he's climbing back into the same germs, and it's quick work to replace the sheets. She still has plenty of time to go back into the kitchen and check on the soup and tea, right as the shower in the bathroom switches off.
Gwen puts her hands on her hips and surveys the kitchen. She loves Ianto like a brother, but he's far too neurotic about his things for her to even consider starting to do his dishes. She does throw the crumbled up takeaway bag and the balled up tissues in the garbage, though. She figures that, at least, probably won't disrupt Ianto's anal-retentive kitchen system.
When she hears the bedsprings creaking in the other room, she pours the soup and the tea and makes a tray to bring into the bedroom. Ianto is back in bed, but he looks a little less bleary and pathetic.
"Soup and tea," Gwen says cheerfully, balancing the tray on top of the books on the bedside table. "They'll help your throat. But first, I've got some cough syrup, too, so maybe you can sleep."
Ianto sniffles, pitifully, and takes the tiny measuring cup off of the tray. "Thank you," he says.
"No need to thank me," she says. She crosses the room and closes the windows, satisfied that the air smells fresh and they can both breathe a little easier. She pulls the blinds shut, too, and sits on top of the blankets on the other side of the bed. Jack's side, she would reckon, from the two expense reports and the aeroplane cufflinks sitting on the nightstand next to it. "Being taken care of is the best part of being sick and it's no fair that you have to miss out just because Jack's out of town."
"I'm going to die from lack-of-sleep before Jack gets back," Ianto mutters into his tea, giving Gwen another miserable, big-eyed pout.
"A few days and you'll be fine," Gwen assures him.
"And I'll go back to the Hub and be buried under rubbish and paperwork," Ianto says.
"Yes, of course," Gwen says. "Your life is so difficult."
"It is," Ianto agrees, and replaces his tea on the tray, pulling the fresh blankets around his shoulders and lying down again. Gwen places a hand on his forehead to check his temperature again and lets it stray to his hair when he leans into the cool touch.
"When I first started at Torchwood One," Ianto says quietly, the words barely louder than the wheezey breaths rattling around in his chest.
"Sorry, what?" Gwen asks. Ianto rolls a bit closer, his head resting gently against her hip.
"The last time I was sick," he says without raising his voice. "I'd just started at Torchwood London. Less than a month, I think it was, and I got the flu. I was living alone and I was miserable. I was anxious, too, afraid they'd sack me for not coming in when I'd only been there a few weeks. It wasn't the best week of my life. Before that... I dunno. I hadn't been sick since I was a child."
Gwen keeps stroking his hair, her heart breaking just a little bit. She feels like her heart is always breaking for Ianto. It wasn't fair to put someone that young through that much.
"Well, it's much better when you've got someone around to coddle you," she tells him. "You can just keep giving them those big, innocent pouts you're so good at and they'll be eating out of your hand. I've been here twenty minutes and I made you lunch and changed your sheets. I imagine once Jack gets back, he'll be giving you sponge-baths and feeding you by hand."
Ianto laughs hoarsely and presses his face into her hip, but she catches his sleepy, sappy smile as well. The only thing worse than being sick and having no one to take care of you is being sick and being away from the person who would gladly take care of you. Gwen rubs his temple with her thumb and smiles to herself, glad that she can provide some relief, even if she's maybe not the person Ianto wants most right now.
"The soup," Ianto says, looking up at her tiredly. "I forgot."
"It's okay," Gwen says, gently guiding his head back down to the pillow. "I can reheat it later. Sleep if you can."
"Mm," he says, but he looks up one more time. "Gwen?"
"Yes?"
"I... I appreciate this." The look he gives her says Thank you and I love you more clearly than he could ever manage with words. Gwen leans over and kisses his forehead.
"Any time, darling. Go to sleep." She hopes the hand still stroking his hair is enough to say You're welcome and I love you, too in return.