Fic: Wake-Up Call
Title: Wake-Up Call
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1536
Spoilers: Set a few weeks after Exit Wounds.
Summary: Trying to cope with too much work after Tosh and Owen's deaths, Ianto accidentally injures himself.
Content Notes: Blood and injury.
Written For: Challenge 401: Cut at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
It was his own fault, and Ianto knew it. He’d had no business opening the recently delivered boxes of leaflets and timetables while he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but that was life at Torchwood these days. They were all tired, even Jack, who, since he didn’t need as much sleep as the rest of them, had been taking all of the night-time Rift alerts by himself, only calling Ianto or Gwen in to assist when absolutely necessary.
The three of them were running on fumes, trying to do the work of five people on too little sleep. Waiting to unpack the boxes until he was less tired wasn’t an option, because then it would never get done, so since he’d been at the Hub early, having spent half the night helping Jack round up a couple of rogue Weevils, he’d decided to get the job out of the way. Only, his hand had slipped while he was slicing through the tape sealing the boxes, and his other hand had inadvertently been in exactly the wrong place, so now…
It really was amazing how vividly red blood could be, and there was quite a lot of it. Ianto knew he ought to do something about it, but his brain felt so slow and muzzy that he couldn’t quite figure out what. Neither could he seem to take his eyes off the deep cut in the palm of his left hand, and the bright scarlet droplets dripping onto the floor.
“Ianto!” The bead curtain clattered distractingly as it was thrust to one side and Jack burst into the tourist information centre. He must have come up the hidden staircase behind the small office. “What happened?” He dropped to his knees beside his lover and grasped his wrist.
“I cut myself.” Ianto looked at the boxcutter still gripped in his other hand, its blade gleaming wetly in the dim light through the dusty window, then back at his bleeding hand. Pain belatedly registered and his breath hissed through his teeth. “It hurts.”
Jack’s hand squeezed tighter, cutting off the blood flow to Ianto’s hand, and he fumbled through his pockets until he found his handkerchief, unused and still neatly folded. He pressed it against the gash in Ianto’s palm, drawing a yelp from the Welshman’s lips, and folded Ianto’s fingers around it.
“Squeeze that, as tightly as you can. It’ll slow the bleeding.”
As Ianto did as he was told, gritting his teeth against the searing agony radiating up his arm, he thought he heard Jack muttering something about Owen, but then his lover was pulling him to his feet, marching him towards the secret passage to the lift.
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going to need stitches, and since we don’t have a medic anymore, I’ll have to take you to casualty.”
“We’re going the wrong way,” Ianto pointed out. Jack must be so worried about him that he wasn’t thinking straight.
“I’ll have to drive you, and this is the quickest way to garage.”
“Oh. Right.” Maybe it was Ianto himself who wasn’t thinking clearly. “Good plan.”
Five minutes later, they were on their way in the SUV. Ianto had wanted to take his own car, but Jack had insisted on Torchwood’s official vehicle, so now they were hurtling along the city streets with the blue lights flashing, warning everyone to get out of their way. Typical; Jack would use any excuse to break the speed limit. The journey passed in a blur, and then Jack was pulling into a vacant space outside Cardiff General’s Accident and Emergency department, unclipping Ianto’s seatbelt, and guiding him out of the vehicle.
Steering him through the double doors, Jack checked them in at reception, reeling off Ianto’s details and explaining what had happened. Despite the early hour, there were already quite a few people awaiting treatment, so they found a couple of seats and settled in to wait. Despite the handkerchief he was gripping, blood was already seeping out of Ianto’s fist again, so Jack went back to reception and returned with a roll of absorbent dressing to replace the sodden cloth.
“You don’t have to wait with me,” Ianto said when Jack settled in beside him again. “What if there’s an alert? When Gwen gets in, she’s going to be all by herself.”
“I’m staying. If there’s an alert, I’ll be notified.” Jack tapped his wrist strap. “I already called Gwen and told her what happened. What were you thinking, cutting those boxes open when you were half asleep? You could’ve accidentally sliced your wrist open instead of just your hand!”
“Work isn’t going to stop just because we’re tired, Jack. Life goes on and we just have to try and keep up.” Ianto’s hand was throbbing in time with his heartbeat; he wished someone would offer him a painkiller, but there’d be none of that until he was seen by a doctor, which might not be for several hours yet.
Jack sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “We can’t go on like this, Ianto. When we get back to the Hub, I’m going to start looking for a new medic and another field agent, maybe two. I’ll call Martha, see if she could join us temporarily, fill in for a few weeks until I can find someone permanent.”
Ianto sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I hate the thought of replacing Owen and Tosh, but we’re running ourselves into the ground and it’s not going to get any easier. We’ve been lucky so far, but we can’t count on that lasting. The next time someone gets hurt, it might be something far worse than just a cut hand.”
Before Jack could reply, Ianto’s name was called. Some of the people who’d been waiting longer glared at him as he passed, annoyed that he was jumping the queue, then noticed the blood dripping from his hand and looked away. Open wounds tended to take priority.
Returning to the waiting room after treatment, ten stitches in his palm and a bloody great bandage swaddling his hand so it looked like it belonged to a mummy, Ianto found Jack pacing restlessly back and forth.
“All patched up.” Ianto held up the snowy white bundle on the end of his arm and tried a brave smile on for size, waving the prescription he was clutching in his other hand. “Just got to pick up painkillers and antibiotics.” His injured hand was blessedly numb now, thanks to the local anaesthetic the nurse had injected into it. The relief from pain was welcome, if disconcerting since he couldn’t feel anything below his elbow, but he knew when the feeling did return, he was going to wish it hadn’t.
Jack smiled back, looking relieved. “We’ll stop at a chemist on the way back; it’ll be quicker than queueing at the hospital pharmacy.”
“I could get a taxi if you’d rather head straight back to the Hub.”
“No.” Jack took Ianto by his good elbow and led him towards the door. “We’re going back to the Hub together, and then you’re going to rest where I can keep an eye on you. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you’re not going to be able to do much anyway until your hand heals.”
“I can still hold a gun, Jack. I’m not helpless.”
“Never said you were, but if you’re taking strong painkillers that’s going to affect your reaction times, so you won’t be going out in the field until you’re a hundred percent again,” Jack said firmly.
“Jack…” Ianto tried to protest, only to be cut off.
“You’d be a liability to yourself and to others, Ianto. I don’t need more to worry about. It’s my fault you were so tired you injured yourself, and I’m not going to risk something worse happening to you.” Jack gave his lover such a pleading look that Ianto gave in.
“Fine, but only until the stitches come out.”
“We’ll see. Hopefully by then we’ll have a couple more people to do the heavy work and you’ll be able to ease back into things gradually.” Jack opened the SUV’s passenger side door and let Ianto slide into the seat. Clipping his seatbelt on, Ianto leaned back against the leather upholstery and closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he felt Jack settle into the driver’s seat.
“What for?”
Ianto turned to look at his lover. “Being stupid. Getting hurt.”
Leaning across the central console, Jack kissed him. “I’m sorry you got hurt, but I think maybe it was the wake-up call I needed. I’ve been dragging my heels over hiring new people; I shouldn’t have waited so long.” He squeezed Ianto’s knee. “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ve lost too many people already, and I’m not going to lose you just because I let you get too tired to do your job safely.” Sitting back behind the wheel, Jack started the engine and backed out of the parking spot.
“The end is where we start from,” Ianto murmured, repeating what Jack had said right after they lost Tosh and Owen.
Jack smiled softly. “Exactly. It’s about time we got on with it.”
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1536
Spoilers: Set a few weeks after Exit Wounds.
Summary: Trying to cope with too much work after Tosh and Owen's deaths, Ianto accidentally injures himself.
Content Notes: Blood and injury.
Written For: Challenge 401: Cut at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
It was his own fault, and Ianto knew it. He’d had no business opening the recently delivered boxes of leaflets and timetables while he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but that was life at Torchwood these days. They were all tired, even Jack, who, since he didn’t need as much sleep as the rest of them, had been taking all of the night-time Rift alerts by himself, only calling Ianto or Gwen in to assist when absolutely necessary.
The three of them were running on fumes, trying to do the work of five people on too little sleep. Waiting to unpack the boxes until he was less tired wasn’t an option, because then it would never get done, so since he’d been at the Hub early, having spent half the night helping Jack round up a couple of rogue Weevils, he’d decided to get the job out of the way. Only, his hand had slipped while he was slicing through the tape sealing the boxes, and his other hand had inadvertently been in exactly the wrong place, so now…
It really was amazing how vividly red blood could be, and there was quite a lot of it. Ianto knew he ought to do something about it, but his brain felt so slow and muzzy that he couldn’t quite figure out what. Neither could he seem to take his eyes off the deep cut in the palm of his left hand, and the bright scarlet droplets dripping onto the floor.
“Ianto!” The bead curtain clattered distractingly as it was thrust to one side and Jack burst into the tourist information centre. He must have come up the hidden staircase behind the small office. “What happened?” He dropped to his knees beside his lover and grasped his wrist.
“I cut myself.” Ianto looked at the boxcutter still gripped in his other hand, its blade gleaming wetly in the dim light through the dusty window, then back at his bleeding hand. Pain belatedly registered and his breath hissed through his teeth. “It hurts.”
Jack’s hand squeezed tighter, cutting off the blood flow to Ianto’s hand, and he fumbled through his pockets until he found his handkerchief, unused and still neatly folded. He pressed it against the gash in Ianto’s palm, drawing a yelp from the Welshman’s lips, and folded Ianto’s fingers around it.
“Squeeze that, as tightly as you can. It’ll slow the bleeding.”
As Ianto did as he was told, gritting his teeth against the searing agony radiating up his arm, he thought he heard Jack muttering something about Owen, but then his lover was pulling him to his feet, marching him towards the secret passage to the lift.
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going to need stitches, and since we don’t have a medic anymore, I’ll have to take you to casualty.”
“We’re going the wrong way,” Ianto pointed out. Jack must be so worried about him that he wasn’t thinking straight.
“I’ll have to drive you, and this is the quickest way to garage.”
“Oh. Right.” Maybe it was Ianto himself who wasn’t thinking clearly. “Good plan.”
Five minutes later, they were on their way in the SUV. Ianto had wanted to take his own car, but Jack had insisted on Torchwood’s official vehicle, so now they were hurtling along the city streets with the blue lights flashing, warning everyone to get out of their way. Typical; Jack would use any excuse to break the speed limit. The journey passed in a blur, and then Jack was pulling into a vacant space outside Cardiff General’s Accident and Emergency department, unclipping Ianto’s seatbelt, and guiding him out of the vehicle.
Steering him through the double doors, Jack checked them in at reception, reeling off Ianto’s details and explaining what had happened. Despite the early hour, there were already quite a few people awaiting treatment, so they found a couple of seats and settled in to wait. Despite the handkerchief he was gripping, blood was already seeping out of Ianto’s fist again, so Jack went back to reception and returned with a roll of absorbent dressing to replace the sodden cloth.
“You don’t have to wait with me,” Ianto said when Jack settled in beside him again. “What if there’s an alert? When Gwen gets in, she’s going to be all by herself.”
“I’m staying. If there’s an alert, I’ll be notified.” Jack tapped his wrist strap. “I already called Gwen and told her what happened. What were you thinking, cutting those boxes open when you were half asleep? You could’ve accidentally sliced your wrist open instead of just your hand!”
“Work isn’t going to stop just because we’re tired, Jack. Life goes on and we just have to try and keep up.” Ianto’s hand was throbbing in time with his heartbeat; he wished someone would offer him a painkiller, but there’d be none of that until he was seen by a doctor, which might not be for several hours yet.
Jack sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “We can’t go on like this, Ianto. When we get back to the Hub, I’m going to start looking for a new medic and another field agent, maybe two. I’ll call Martha, see if she could join us temporarily, fill in for a few weeks until I can find someone permanent.”
Ianto sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I hate the thought of replacing Owen and Tosh, but we’re running ourselves into the ground and it’s not going to get any easier. We’ve been lucky so far, but we can’t count on that lasting. The next time someone gets hurt, it might be something far worse than just a cut hand.”
Before Jack could reply, Ianto’s name was called. Some of the people who’d been waiting longer glared at him as he passed, annoyed that he was jumping the queue, then noticed the blood dripping from his hand and looked away. Open wounds tended to take priority.
Returning to the waiting room after treatment, ten stitches in his palm and a bloody great bandage swaddling his hand so it looked like it belonged to a mummy, Ianto found Jack pacing restlessly back and forth.
“All patched up.” Ianto held up the snowy white bundle on the end of his arm and tried a brave smile on for size, waving the prescription he was clutching in his other hand. “Just got to pick up painkillers and antibiotics.” His injured hand was blessedly numb now, thanks to the local anaesthetic the nurse had injected into it. The relief from pain was welcome, if disconcerting since he couldn’t feel anything below his elbow, but he knew when the feeling did return, he was going to wish it hadn’t.
Jack smiled back, looking relieved. “We’ll stop at a chemist on the way back; it’ll be quicker than queueing at the hospital pharmacy.”
“I could get a taxi if you’d rather head straight back to the Hub.”
“No.” Jack took Ianto by his good elbow and led him towards the door. “We’re going back to the Hub together, and then you’re going to rest where I can keep an eye on you. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you’re not going to be able to do much anyway until your hand heals.”
“I can still hold a gun, Jack. I’m not helpless.”
“Never said you were, but if you’re taking strong painkillers that’s going to affect your reaction times, so you won’t be going out in the field until you’re a hundred percent again,” Jack said firmly.
“Jack…” Ianto tried to protest, only to be cut off.
“You’d be a liability to yourself and to others, Ianto. I don’t need more to worry about. It’s my fault you were so tired you injured yourself, and I’m not going to risk something worse happening to you.” Jack gave his lover such a pleading look that Ianto gave in.
“Fine, but only until the stitches come out.”
“We’ll see. Hopefully by then we’ll have a couple more people to do the heavy work and you’ll be able to ease back into things gradually.” Jack opened the SUV’s passenger side door and let Ianto slide into the seat. Clipping his seatbelt on, Ianto leaned back against the leather upholstery and closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he felt Jack settle into the driver’s seat.
“What for?”
Ianto turned to look at his lover. “Being stupid. Getting hurt.”
Leaning across the central console, Jack kissed him. “I’m sorry you got hurt, but I think maybe it was the wake-up call I needed. I’ve been dragging my heels over hiring new people; I shouldn’t have waited so long.” He squeezed Ianto’s knee. “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ve lost too many people already, and I’m not going to lose you just because I let you get too tired to do your job safely.” Sitting back behind the wheel, Jack started the engine and backed out of the parking spot.
“The end is where we start from,” Ianto murmured, repeating what Jack had said right after they lost Tosh and Owen.
Jack smiled softly. “Exactly. It’s about time we got on with it.”
The End