[#169] Poor Ianto (Torchwood/Doctor Who)

[badly_knitted]

Theme Prompt: #169 – Sick Day
Title: Poor Ianto
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Poor Ianto; his first trip aboard the TARDIS and he’s come down with a horrible alien illness.



“Okay, Mister Jones, up and at ‘em!” Jack said, shaking his lover to wake him. “I promised you sights you’ve never seen, and today we’re going to visit the rainbow springs at Vooshna. I’ve got everything planned, we’ll enjoy a picnic lunch while we watch the sky fill with double and triple rainbows. You’ll love it!”

Far from jumping eagerly out of bed, Ianto just groaned. “You go if you want to. I’m tired, I just wanna sleep.”

“Sleep?” Jack echoed. “Why would you want to sleep? There’ll be plenty of time to sleep later. I persuaded the Doctor to bring us on this trip, arranged visits to the most amazing places in the universe, and you lie there like a lazy lump! That’s not like you.” Jack pulled the covers off. “Up you get!”

“Jack, please, don’t shout,” Ianto whimpered. “I don’t feel so good. My head hurts.” He shivered miserably, curling up in the middle on the big bed the TARDIS had provided for them in what used to be Jack’s room.

Frowning, Jack reached out a hand and rested it on a bare shoulder; Ianto’s skin felt hot and dry. “Oh. That’s not good.” He pulled the covers back over his lover. “Stay there; I’ll be right back.”

“Not going anywhere,” Ianto mumbled, huddling beneath the warmth of the downy comforter, but continuing to shiver. He vaguely heard Jack leave, and then he must have dozed off for a bit because the next thing he knew, there were people around him, muttering, and he was much too hot. He battled his way weakly out from under the heavy covers, feeling like he was about to spontaneously combust. Someone immediately tried to cover him again.

“Hot!” he whispered, voice hoarse and grating. His throat hurt, his head pounded, and he felt itchy and sore all over. Even his hair itched, and his eyeballs. His pyjama trousers felt like sandpaper against his skin.

“Temperature’s a hundred and four,” a quiet voice said. “Leave the covers off; we need to cool him down, not make him hotter.”

Ianto thought he recognised the voice, but he hurt too much to think who it might be.

“I’m sorry, Ianto.” Jack’s hand gently smoothed his hair back from his forehead; normally that would have been soothing, but now it just made him flinch and whimper. “Sorry,” Jack’s voice said again as the hand jerked away. “What’s wrong with him?”

“My fault,” another voice said. “I should have insisted on your Ianto being vaccinated as soon as he came aboard. There must have been an outbreak on Mirramel, that’s the only place we’ve been.”

“An outbreak of what?” Jack’s raised voice made Ianto try to crawl under the pillow as the pounding in his head got worse.

“Rigellian measles, unless I miss my guess. The spots should start appearing within the next hour or two. We need to move him to the infirmary before that happens. The sooner we start treatment the better, but he’s going to be very unhappy for the next few days. Sore, itchy, feverish…” The voice trailed off, and then hands clapped together so loudly that a distressed whine forced itself out past Ianto’s lips. He started shivering again.

“We’ll have to carry him,” the other man’s voice said.

“One to a corner.” This time Ianto recognised the Doctor’s voice. “That would be the best way.”

“Don’t ‘ave corners,” Ianto muttered, but everyone ignored him.

“Rory, you and Amy take that end. Jack and I will take this end. All together now, and lift!”

Ianto felt himself rising off the bed, the sheet he was lying on rubbing roughly against tender skin. He kept his eyes closed and the world went away. When it came back, he was somewhere else, lying on something cool and spongy. The light was comfortably dim, and there were sky blue pink bats with yellow dots flying around, arguing about what kind of pizza to order for dinner.

“Tell the bats to shut up,” he rasped.

“No bats,” a voice assured him. “You’re hallucinating.”

Ah, that made more sense than the bats. “Thirsty,” he whispered.

“Here.” Someone held a straw to his chapped lips and he sipped something cold and fruity.

The bats vanished, replaced by a jungle, where ostriches striped like tigers stalked their prey, dozens of tiny Owens and Gwens. Ianto smiled, but that hurt his spotty lips, so he stopped, wincing. He couldn’t see the spots, but he could feel them, and they were everywhere: his whole body, inside his mouth, his eyes… even his hair felt spotty.

“It is,” the voice told him. “Worst case of Rigellian measles the Doctor’s ever seen, apparently.

Ianto wasn’t sure whether he was hallucinating right now or not, but he didn’t really care. “Jack?”

“He went out. Said he was going to get something to cheer you up. Bit of a tall order, that. Don’t suppose anything’s going to cheer you up much until you feel better. Good thing there was a nurse on board to make sure you get the proper care. You just rest now.”

“Trying,” Ianto mumbled. It was a bit hard to rest when there was a group of Weevils performing scenes from Shakespeare at the end of his bed. Still, at least they took his mind off his discomfort. “Hot.” Like a miracle, a fan came on, cooling him, or was that the Weevils, waving giant palm fronds? Either way, it felt nice.

Afterwards, when he was over the worst, Ianto didn’t remember much about the two days he lay in the TARDIS infirmary, feverish, itchy, and hallucinating all manner of bizarre things. It was probably better that what memories he did have were vague and fragmented. He’d have to rest for a couple more days, but now he had Jack and Sparkle, the purple flying unicorn Jack had bought to cheer him up, for company instead of just Rory.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Jack said.

“So am I.”


The End