Fic: Odd Ailment [TW-DW]
Title: Odd Ailment
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Owen, Tenth Doctor.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto has contracted an odd ailment, but since neither Owen nor Jack know what’s wrong, he’s having some doubts about whether he’ll recover from it, despite Jack’s assurances that he’ll be okay.
Word Count: 1481
Written For: Prompt 217 - Recovery at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood/Doctor Who, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
“Just rest,” Jack said firmly, settling Ianto as comfortably as possible on the cot he’d set up in the med bay, where he and Owen could keep a close eye on the patient. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
Ianto sighed. “You keep saying that, but I’m not sure who you’re trying to convince, me or yourself.”
“You, of course. You look worried, and worrying never helps.”
“Of course I look worried, I AM worried!” Ianto snapped irritably. “I’ve contracted some kind of weird alien disease and Owen has no idea what it is, never mind how to cure it! Seems to me that’s more than enough reason to worry. What isn’t helping is you telling me I’ll be okay when you’ve already admitted you have no idea what’s wrong with me either! If you don’t know what the problem is, how can you promise me anything?”
He sank wearily against the pillows Jack had piled behind him; being exasperated with his lover was a familiar state of affairs, but it had never felt more exhausting. When he’d started to feel unwell earlier, he’d thought at first that he’d caught a touch of the flu, despite having had his annual flu vaccination at the same time as the rest of the team. He ached all over, and was a bit feverish, both of which were standard flu symptoms, but he was pretty sure people with flu didn’t usually start sprouting grey, warty lumps all over them. Grey, warty lumps that had something moving inside them. At that point it had seemed wise to visit the team’s doctor.
On examining the lumps, Owen had immediately decided that it might be some kind of parasitic infection, but when he’d attempted to lance one of the warts to get at what was inside, it had… evaded him, sinking deeper and shifting to a new location. Ianto had vetoed any further attempts at extraction because having the whatever-it-was tunnelling through him had been bloody painful! The last thing he needed was to have his insides turned into Swiss cheese.
Jack did his best to soothe his lover. “I can promise you’ll be fine, because I’ve called the Doctor.”
“Oh, like that’s going to do any good! We already have a doctor, and he’s clueless.”
“Oi! I’m working on the problem, alright?” Owen grumbled from where he was studying the scans he’d taken, trying to make sense of them.
“I didn’t say A doctor, I said THE Doctor,” Jack said, somehow managing not to lose patience with his understandably irritable lover.
He’d barely finished speaking when the TARDIS began to materialise a short distance away. Moments later, the Doctor bounced out and looked around himself. Wandering over to the medical bay, following the sound of voices, he leaned on the railings.
“Ah, there you are. What are you all doing down there?”
Jack turned to his friend, a relieved expression on his face. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Doc. Ianto’s caught a mystery disease. I was hoping you’d know what it is and how to cure it,” he explained.
“I knew it,” Ianto muttered. “You don’t know if he can fix me, you’re just hoping he can. All this ‘you’ll be okay’ nonsense is nothing but wishful thinking on your part. I’m doomed.”
“Mystery disease?” Pulling out his glasses, the Doctor put them on and leaned further over the railing. “What have we here, grey warty lumps?” he asked. “Move around if you try to do anything to them?”
“Yes,” Ianto and Jack replied in unison.
“That’s wonderful!” The Doctor beamed down at Ianto before making his way down the steps to stand at the end of the cot, bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning that slightly mad grin.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying my discomfort.” Ianto scowled at the Time Lord, but the sarcasm seemed to go right over his head.
“Oh, that.” The Doctor waved one hand airily. “I shouldn’t worry about it if I were you, it won’t last much longer.” He leaned forward to scrutinise Ianto’s grey, lumpy chest. “Another five or six hours, I should say.”
“I’m terminally ill?” Ianto didn’t sound surprised, just resigned. He’d always known Torchwood would be the death of him, although he’d hoped he might have another year or two.
“No, of course not! In fact, you’re not ill at all, you’re… Well, sort of pregnant, just not with your own young.”
“So I was right, they’re parasites!” Owen was suddenly all enthusiasm, but the Doctor shook his head.
“Not in the traditional sense. Tell me, did you come across an alien recently. Small, grey, fuzzy, dropped dead suddenly?”
“Yes, a few days ago.” Ianto frowned up at the Doctor. “It came through the Rift, but it died before I could even get it back to the Hub.”
“Just as I thought. A Nixxinax.”
“Nicknack?” That was Owen of course.
“Nixxinax,” the Doctor corrected. “Couldn’t survive in earth’s atmosphere, so as it was dying it transferred its young to a host body to give them at least a chance of survival. Come along, Mr Jones. Let’s get you into the TARDIS, so I can get the babies into a suitable environment the moment they pop out.”
“Pop out?” With Jack’s help, Ianto dragged himself wearily off the cot. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”
“You’ll barely feel a thing,” the Doctor assured him. “I’ll see to that, and I’ll make sure the babies get back to their own world. You’ve done a splendid job of incubating them. They look very healthy.”
“Well, isn’t that nice. They’re all healthy, while I ache all over.”
“That’s because they’re taking nutrients from your body. That and their biology isn’t completely compatible with yours, so you’re probably having a bit of an allergic reaction to them.”
“Charming! I keep them alive, and in return they poison me!”
“Now now, you can’t blame them for that,” the Doctor chided. “They’re not doing it on purpose.”
“Well I’m not doing this on purpose either. I never volunteered to play host to someone else’s babies.” Ianto scowled down at his warty chest. “They took up residence inside me without my permission, which makes them squatters.”
“Only for a little while longer,” the Doctor assured him. “Just until they’re big enough to survive outside the parent, or in this case the host body.”
Muttering under his breath, Ianto let Jack and the Doctor help him up the steps and into the TARDIS.
A little under six hours later, inside the TARDIS’s medical suite, the Doctor vacuumed the last tiny Nixxinax into an artificial environment the TARDIS had created for them. They looked a bit like wingless bumblebees, fuzzy, an inch long, but with tiny tentacles instead of legs, and grey fur instead of yellow and black stripes.
“Well done!” The Doctor was beaming at Ianto again. “Thirty-seven fat, healthy baby Nixxinax!”
“Good for them.” Ianto blinked blearily. “I still feel like crap.”
“Ah, well, you will for a bit. It looks like your immune system reacted to them as if they were an infection, but you’re already well on the way to recovery. Your temperature’s going down now you’re not supporting all those extra lives, and the incubation chambers the babies created for themselves are already being reabsorbed. You’ll be good as new in a day or two; you can stay in the TARDIS until then. Jack, why don’t you take him to your room? It should be right across the hall.”
Jack helped Ianto up off the treatment table and supported him out of the medical suite, across the hallway, and into a room dominated by a large bed. Settling Ianto against another pile of pillows, much softer and more comfortable than the ones on the cot in the Hub’s medical bay, Jack tucked him in and left for a few minutes, returning with a tall glass filled to the brim with a quite alarmingly vivid pink liquid. It had a curly straw sticking out of it.
“Here you go, get this down you. The Doc says what you need now is rest and plenty of fluids. Apparently, this has all the nutrients you need to replace what the babies took out of you.”
“Thanks. I think.” Ianto accepted the glass, eying the contents warily, and after a cautious sniff, took a sip, surprised to find it tasted a lot better than it looked. It was cool, fruity, and pleasantly refreshing. He drank some more.
“Didn’t I tell you the Doctor would sort you out?” Jack plonked himself down on the edge of the mattress and patted Ianto’s knee. “Just rest, everything will be okay. You should be proud of yourself. Think of all those innocent lives you saved!”
Ianto sighed. “Lucky me, laid low because I was incubating thirty-seven baby aliens.”
Jack grinned. “That’s Torchwood!”
The End
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Owen, Tenth Doctor.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto has contracted an odd ailment, but since neither Owen nor Jack know what’s wrong, he’s having some doubts about whether he’ll recover from it, despite Jack’s assurances that he’ll be okay.
Word Count: 1481
Written For: Prompt 217 - Recovery at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood/Doctor Who, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
“Just rest,” Jack said firmly, settling Ianto as comfortably as possible on the cot he’d set up in the med bay, where he and Owen could keep a close eye on the patient. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
Ianto sighed. “You keep saying that, but I’m not sure who you’re trying to convince, me or yourself.”
“You, of course. You look worried, and worrying never helps.”
“Of course I look worried, I AM worried!” Ianto snapped irritably. “I’ve contracted some kind of weird alien disease and Owen has no idea what it is, never mind how to cure it! Seems to me that’s more than enough reason to worry. What isn’t helping is you telling me I’ll be okay when you’ve already admitted you have no idea what’s wrong with me either! If you don’t know what the problem is, how can you promise me anything?”
He sank wearily against the pillows Jack had piled behind him; being exasperated with his lover was a familiar state of affairs, but it had never felt more exhausting. When he’d started to feel unwell earlier, he’d thought at first that he’d caught a touch of the flu, despite having had his annual flu vaccination at the same time as the rest of the team. He ached all over, and was a bit feverish, both of which were standard flu symptoms, but he was pretty sure people with flu didn’t usually start sprouting grey, warty lumps all over them. Grey, warty lumps that had something moving inside them. At that point it had seemed wise to visit the team’s doctor.
On examining the lumps, Owen had immediately decided that it might be some kind of parasitic infection, but when he’d attempted to lance one of the warts to get at what was inside, it had… evaded him, sinking deeper and shifting to a new location. Ianto had vetoed any further attempts at extraction because having the whatever-it-was tunnelling through him had been bloody painful! The last thing he needed was to have his insides turned into Swiss cheese.
Jack did his best to soothe his lover. “I can promise you’ll be fine, because I’ve called the Doctor.”
“Oh, like that’s going to do any good! We already have a doctor, and he’s clueless.”
“Oi! I’m working on the problem, alright?” Owen grumbled from where he was studying the scans he’d taken, trying to make sense of them.
“I didn’t say A doctor, I said THE Doctor,” Jack said, somehow managing not to lose patience with his understandably irritable lover.
He’d barely finished speaking when the TARDIS began to materialise a short distance away. Moments later, the Doctor bounced out and looked around himself. Wandering over to the medical bay, following the sound of voices, he leaned on the railings.
“Ah, there you are. What are you all doing down there?”
Jack turned to his friend, a relieved expression on his face. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Doc. Ianto’s caught a mystery disease. I was hoping you’d know what it is and how to cure it,” he explained.
“I knew it,” Ianto muttered. “You don’t know if he can fix me, you’re just hoping he can. All this ‘you’ll be okay’ nonsense is nothing but wishful thinking on your part. I’m doomed.”
“Mystery disease?” Pulling out his glasses, the Doctor put them on and leaned further over the railing. “What have we here, grey warty lumps?” he asked. “Move around if you try to do anything to them?”
“Yes,” Ianto and Jack replied in unison.
“That’s wonderful!” The Doctor beamed down at Ianto before making his way down the steps to stand at the end of the cot, bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning that slightly mad grin.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying my discomfort.” Ianto scowled at the Time Lord, but the sarcasm seemed to go right over his head.
“Oh, that.” The Doctor waved one hand airily. “I shouldn’t worry about it if I were you, it won’t last much longer.” He leaned forward to scrutinise Ianto’s grey, lumpy chest. “Another five or six hours, I should say.”
“I’m terminally ill?” Ianto didn’t sound surprised, just resigned. He’d always known Torchwood would be the death of him, although he’d hoped he might have another year or two.
“No, of course not! In fact, you’re not ill at all, you’re… Well, sort of pregnant, just not with your own young.”
“So I was right, they’re parasites!” Owen was suddenly all enthusiasm, but the Doctor shook his head.
“Not in the traditional sense. Tell me, did you come across an alien recently. Small, grey, fuzzy, dropped dead suddenly?”
“Yes, a few days ago.” Ianto frowned up at the Doctor. “It came through the Rift, but it died before I could even get it back to the Hub.”
“Just as I thought. A Nixxinax.”
“Nicknack?” That was Owen of course.
“Nixxinax,” the Doctor corrected. “Couldn’t survive in earth’s atmosphere, so as it was dying it transferred its young to a host body to give them at least a chance of survival. Come along, Mr Jones. Let’s get you into the TARDIS, so I can get the babies into a suitable environment the moment they pop out.”
“Pop out?” With Jack’s help, Ianto dragged himself wearily off the cot. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”
“You’ll barely feel a thing,” the Doctor assured him. “I’ll see to that, and I’ll make sure the babies get back to their own world. You’ve done a splendid job of incubating them. They look very healthy.”
“Well, isn’t that nice. They’re all healthy, while I ache all over.”
“That’s because they’re taking nutrients from your body. That and their biology isn’t completely compatible with yours, so you’re probably having a bit of an allergic reaction to them.”
“Charming! I keep them alive, and in return they poison me!”
“Now now, you can’t blame them for that,” the Doctor chided. “They’re not doing it on purpose.”
“Well I’m not doing this on purpose either. I never volunteered to play host to someone else’s babies.” Ianto scowled down at his warty chest. “They took up residence inside me without my permission, which makes them squatters.”
“Only for a little while longer,” the Doctor assured him. “Just until they’re big enough to survive outside the parent, or in this case the host body.”
Muttering under his breath, Ianto let Jack and the Doctor help him up the steps and into the TARDIS.
A little under six hours later, inside the TARDIS’s medical suite, the Doctor vacuumed the last tiny Nixxinax into an artificial environment the TARDIS had created for them. They looked a bit like wingless bumblebees, fuzzy, an inch long, but with tiny tentacles instead of legs, and grey fur instead of yellow and black stripes.
“Well done!” The Doctor was beaming at Ianto again. “Thirty-seven fat, healthy baby Nixxinax!”
“Good for them.” Ianto blinked blearily. “I still feel like crap.”
“Ah, well, you will for a bit. It looks like your immune system reacted to them as if they were an infection, but you’re already well on the way to recovery. Your temperature’s going down now you’re not supporting all those extra lives, and the incubation chambers the babies created for themselves are already being reabsorbed. You’ll be good as new in a day or two; you can stay in the TARDIS until then. Jack, why don’t you take him to your room? It should be right across the hall.”
Jack helped Ianto up off the treatment table and supported him out of the medical suite, across the hallway, and into a room dominated by a large bed. Settling Ianto against another pile of pillows, much softer and more comfortable than the ones on the cot in the Hub’s medical bay, Jack tucked him in and left for a few minutes, returning with a tall glass filled to the brim with a quite alarmingly vivid pink liquid. It had a curly straw sticking out of it.
“Here you go, get this down you. The Doc says what you need now is rest and plenty of fluids. Apparently, this has all the nutrients you need to replace what the babies took out of you.”
“Thanks. I think.” Ianto accepted the glass, eying the contents warily, and after a cautious sniff, took a sip, surprised to find it tasted a lot better than it looked. It was cool, fruity, and pleasantly refreshing. He drank some more.
“Didn’t I tell you the Doctor would sort you out?” Jack plonked himself down on the edge of the mattress and patted Ianto’s knee. “Just rest, everything will be okay. You should be proud of yourself. Think of all those innocent lives you saved!”
Ianto sighed. “Lucky me, laid low because I was incubating thirty-seven baby aliens.”
Jack grinned. “That’s Torchwood!”
The End