Double Drabble: Jack Is Dying
Title: Jack Is Dying
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack, Ianto.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 778: Sick at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Poor Jack is convinced he’s dying.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Huddled shivering on the narrow cot in his bunker, Jack groaned pitifully. “Somebody please shoot me,” he begged in a hoarse, croaky voice. “I’m dying anyway; it would be a mercy. I’d do it myself, but my hands are shaking, I might miss.” Teeth chattering like castanets, he tried to pull the blanket higher, but the effort only triggered another coughing fit.
“You’re not dying, Jack.” Ianto patiently rearranged the covers over his stricken lover, adding a warm quilt.
“How d’you know? I might be! Maybe I’ve caught a rare alien disease. Maybe it’s Murette’s Syndrome! Are there purple spots behind my ears?”
“No, Jack, there are no spots of any colour behind your ears, or anywhere else; I know that because I just helped you undress and put you to bed. You’ve just got a bad cold, and with your fast healing, you’ll probably be fine by tomorrow. Now, stay there and I’ll make you tea with honey to soothe your sore throat.”
“But I’m dying!” Jack whimpered. “Shouldn’t you at least call Owen? I want a second opinion; you’re not qualified to diagnose my symptoms.”
Ianto sighed. “It’s a cold. I can’t believe you’ve never caught one before.”
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack, Ianto.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 778: Sick at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Poor Jack is convinced he’s dying.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Huddled shivering on the narrow cot in his bunker, Jack groaned pitifully. “Somebody please shoot me,” he begged in a hoarse, croaky voice. “I’m dying anyway; it would be a mercy. I’d do it myself, but my hands are shaking, I might miss.” Teeth chattering like castanets, he tried to pull the blanket higher, but the effort only triggered another coughing fit.
“You’re not dying, Jack.” Ianto patiently rearranged the covers over his stricken lover, adding a warm quilt.
“How d’you know? I might be! Maybe I’ve caught a rare alien disease. Maybe it’s Murette’s Syndrome! Are there purple spots behind my ears?”
“No, Jack, there are no spots of any colour behind your ears, or anywhere else; I know that because I just helped you undress and put you to bed. You’ve just got a bad cold, and with your fast healing, you’ll probably be fine by tomorrow. Now, stay there and I’ll make you tea with honey to soothe your sore throat.”
“But I’m dying!” Jack whimpered. “Shouldn’t you at least call Owen? I want a second opinion; you’re not qualified to diagnose my symptoms.”
Ianto sighed. “It’s a cold. I can’t believe you’ve never caught one before.”
The End