Ficlet: Sleep Deprived
Title: Sleep Deprived
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Lisa.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 863
Summary: Coffee is all that’s keeping Ianto going, but while it can keep him awake, it doesn’t make him any less tired.
Spoilers: Fragments. Set pre-Cyberwoman.
Warnings: None needed.
Written For: templefugate’s prompt ‘Any, any, still being tired even after drinking coffee,’ at comment_fic.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood or any of the characters.
So much for an easy, or at least manageable, workload. Ianto had thought that getting a job with Torchwood Three would solve most of his problems. He’d have a safe place to hide Lisa while trying to find someone who could restore her to the woman she used to be, all the resources he needed to care for her, and access to Torchwood’s databases. Where better to research cybernetics specialists? The pay would come in handy as well, although he hoped he might be able to either steal any medical equipment and drugs Lisa needed from Torchwood’s supplies or add them to the team doctor’s requisitions, instead of paying out of his own pocket.
When he’d thought about the work he might be doing as a Torchwood Three employee, he’d assumed it would mostly be filing and making coffee, leaving him plenty of time to spend seeing to Lisa’s needs, and ample opportunity for napping whenever the team was out of the Hub.
Instead, Harkness expected him to care for the pterodactyl and the alien residents in the vaults, feeding them and mucking them out, provide food and countless cups of coffee for the team, wash the dishes, tidy the Hub, take care of the Captain’s laundry and dry cleaning, carry out repairs to equipment and essential systems, run the tourist office, see to the SUV’s maintenance, both inside and out, do the shopping, restock everyone’s field kits after missions, drive the team around… The list went on and on, enough work for at least three people, and Harkness had claimed there weren’t any vacancies, that they didn’t need him. Who’d done all the routine tasks before he came along? Actually, judging by the state of the place, probably no one had.
And then there were the archives. Even the name was a joke! Overstuffed filing cabinets with paperwork crammed in wherever it would fit, endless shelves and boxes of artefacts jumbled together willy-nilly, and so many layers of dust that trying to find anything down there was akin to embarking on an archaeological dig. Somehow, sorting that mess out had ended up being his responsibility too.
On top of all that, he still had Lisa to care for, and his own research to carry out, whenever he could spare a few minutes between his other duties. It left him precious little time for sleep, and when he did finally close his eyes, nightmares plagued him, visions of blood, smoke, and flames, the screams of the dying echoing through endless corridors and stairways. Twisted images of the battle, of Cybermen and Daleks, of his friends and colleagues dying around him. Memories, all too real, of searching for Lisa, dragging her, mutilated and in agony, from the conversion unit, and escaping with her from the ruins of Torchwood Tower.
To say he was exhausted was like saying the sea was a bit damp. He was existing on maybe two hours of sleep a night, if he was lucky, and what little he got wasn’t what anyone would call restful. The rest of the time, he relied on copious amounts of coffee to keep him functioning, but even that was barely helping these days; the weariness had settled deep into his bones, making every part of him feel heavy as lead.
Plucking the carafe from the coffee machine, he poured himself another mugful, industrial strength, drinking it hot and black, and trying his best not to imagine what it was doing to his insides. Wearily he rubbed his eyes, sore and gritty from lack of sleep. The caffeine made him jittery, but no matter how much he consumed, he never felt any less tired.
Gulping down the last couple of mouthfuls, he rinsed the empty mug under the tap and left it to drain, ready for the next round, then fetched a black bag and started the next task on his long list of chores, collecting empty pizza boxes and other rubbish to be consigned to the incinerator. He still had a lot to do, and keeping busy helped to distract him from his exhaustion, at least for a bit.
In a while he’d find an excuse to escape to the lower levels and check up on Lisa. He hated leaving her alone for such long periods, but it was unavoidable, and anyway, the machines did most of the work, keeping her breathing, and administering sedatives and pain medication in carefully controlled doses. It was safer that way; there was no chance that they’d make a mistake and give her too little, or too much, as he might so easily do in his sleep deprived state.
A few more hours, and he could pretend to leave, then slip back in through the access tunnel he’d discovered, unroll his sleeping bag in Lisa’s room, and try to get an hour or two of rest before starting all over again.
It wouldn’t be for much longer, he told himself. Just a few more weeks, then Lisa would be herself again, and they could leave and never look back. Until then, no matter how tired he felt, the coffee would have to be enough to keep him going.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Lisa.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 863
Summary: Coffee is all that’s keeping Ianto going, but while it can keep him awake, it doesn’t make him any less tired.
Spoilers: Fragments. Set pre-Cyberwoman.
Warnings: None needed.
Written For: templefugate’s prompt ‘Any, any, still being tired even after drinking coffee,’ at comment_fic.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood or any of the characters.
So much for an easy, or at least manageable, workload. Ianto had thought that getting a job with Torchwood Three would solve most of his problems. He’d have a safe place to hide Lisa while trying to find someone who could restore her to the woman she used to be, all the resources he needed to care for her, and access to Torchwood’s databases. Where better to research cybernetics specialists? The pay would come in handy as well, although he hoped he might be able to either steal any medical equipment and drugs Lisa needed from Torchwood’s supplies or add them to the team doctor’s requisitions, instead of paying out of his own pocket.
When he’d thought about the work he might be doing as a Torchwood Three employee, he’d assumed it would mostly be filing and making coffee, leaving him plenty of time to spend seeing to Lisa’s needs, and ample opportunity for napping whenever the team was out of the Hub.
Instead, Harkness expected him to care for the pterodactyl and the alien residents in the vaults, feeding them and mucking them out, provide food and countless cups of coffee for the team, wash the dishes, tidy the Hub, take care of the Captain’s laundry and dry cleaning, carry out repairs to equipment and essential systems, run the tourist office, see to the SUV’s maintenance, both inside and out, do the shopping, restock everyone’s field kits after missions, drive the team around… The list went on and on, enough work for at least three people, and Harkness had claimed there weren’t any vacancies, that they didn’t need him. Who’d done all the routine tasks before he came along? Actually, judging by the state of the place, probably no one had.
And then there were the archives. Even the name was a joke! Overstuffed filing cabinets with paperwork crammed in wherever it would fit, endless shelves and boxes of artefacts jumbled together willy-nilly, and so many layers of dust that trying to find anything down there was akin to embarking on an archaeological dig. Somehow, sorting that mess out had ended up being his responsibility too.
On top of all that, he still had Lisa to care for, and his own research to carry out, whenever he could spare a few minutes between his other duties. It left him precious little time for sleep, and when he did finally close his eyes, nightmares plagued him, visions of blood, smoke, and flames, the screams of the dying echoing through endless corridors and stairways. Twisted images of the battle, of Cybermen and Daleks, of his friends and colleagues dying around him. Memories, all too real, of searching for Lisa, dragging her, mutilated and in agony, from the conversion unit, and escaping with her from the ruins of Torchwood Tower.
To say he was exhausted was like saying the sea was a bit damp. He was existing on maybe two hours of sleep a night, if he was lucky, and what little he got wasn’t what anyone would call restful. The rest of the time, he relied on copious amounts of coffee to keep him functioning, but even that was barely helping these days; the weariness had settled deep into his bones, making every part of him feel heavy as lead.
Plucking the carafe from the coffee machine, he poured himself another mugful, industrial strength, drinking it hot and black, and trying his best not to imagine what it was doing to his insides. Wearily he rubbed his eyes, sore and gritty from lack of sleep. The caffeine made him jittery, but no matter how much he consumed, he never felt any less tired.
Gulping down the last couple of mouthfuls, he rinsed the empty mug under the tap and left it to drain, ready for the next round, then fetched a black bag and started the next task on his long list of chores, collecting empty pizza boxes and other rubbish to be consigned to the incinerator. He still had a lot to do, and keeping busy helped to distract him from his exhaustion, at least for a bit.
In a while he’d find an excuse to escape to the lower levels and check up on Lisa. He hated leaving her alone for such long periods, but it was unavoidable, and anyway, the machines did most of the work, keeping her breathing, and administering sedatives and pain medication in carefully controlled doses. It was safer that way; there was no chance that they’d make a mistake and give her too little, or too much, as he might so easily do in his sleep deprived state.
A few more hours, and he could pretend to leave, then slip back in through the access tunnel he’d discovered, unroll his sleeping bag in Lisa’s room, and try to get an hour or two of rest before starting all over again.
It wouldn’t be for much longer, he told himself. Just a few more weeks, then Lisa would be herself again, and they could leave and never look back. Until then, no matter how tired he felt, the coffee would have to be enough to keep him going.
The End