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fandomweekly2024-04-19 05:50 pm
badly_knitted) wrote in fandomweekly2024-04-19 05:50 pm
Entry tags:
[#217] Odd Ailment (Torchwood/Doctor Who)
Theme Prompt: #217 – Recovery
Title: Odd Ailment
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 1000
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.
“Just rest,” Jack said firmly, settling Ianto as comfortably as possible on the cot he’d set up in the med bay. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”
Ianto sighed. “You keep saying that. Who’re you trying to convince, me or yourself?”
“You, of course. You look worried.”
“Of course I’m worried! 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 reason enough 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, in which case you can’t promise me anything.”
Ianto sank wearily against the pillows Jack had piled behind him. 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, 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.
Owen had thought 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!
Jack tried to soothe his lover. “I can promise you’ll be fine, because I’ve called the Doctor.”
“We already have a doctor, Jack, and he’s clueless.”
“Oi! I’m working on the problem, alright?” Owen grumbled from where he was studying the scans he’d taken.
“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. He leaned on the railings.
“Ah, there you are. What are you all doing down there?”
Jack turned to his friend. “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 wishful thinking. I’m doomed.”
The Doctor put his glasses on and leaned further over the railing. “Grey warty lumps?” he asked. “Move around if you try to do anything to them?”
“Yes,” Ianto and Jack replied in unison.
“Wonderful!” The Doctor beamed down at Ianto before making his way down the steps to stand at the end of Ianto’s 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.
“Oh, that.” The Doctor waved one hand airily. “It won’t last long.” 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.
“No! You’re not ill at all, you’re… sort of pregnant, just not with your own young.”
“So I was right, they’re parasites?” Owen was suddenly all enthusiasm.
“Not in the traditional sense. Tell me, did you come across an alien recently. Small, grey, fuzzy, dropped dead suddenly?”
“Yes.” Ianto frowned up at the Doctor. “It came through the Rift, but it died before I could even get it back to the Hub.”
“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?” 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.”
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 again. “Thirty-seven fat, healthy baby Nixxinax!”
“Good for them.” Ianto blinked blearily. “I feel like crap.”
“Ah, well, you will for a bit. Your body reacted to them as if they were an infection, and they were feeding off you as well, 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 warts 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, Jack tucked him in and brought him a drink.
“The Doc says rest and plenty of fluids. This has all the nutrients you need to replace what the babies took out of you.”
“Thanks.” Ianto sipped the drink, which was cool, pleasantly fruity, and refreshing. He drank some more.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Jack plonked himself down on the edge of the mattress. “Just rest, everything will be okay. Think of all those innocent lives you saved.”
“Laid low because I was incubating baby aliens.”
Jack grinned. “That’s Torchwood!”
The End
Ianto sighed. “You keep saying that. Who’re you trying to convince, me or yourself?”
“You, of course. You look worried.”
“Of course I’m worried! 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 reason enough 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, in which case you can’t promise me anything.”
Ianto sank wearily against the pillows Jack had piled behind him. 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, 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.
Owen had thought 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!
Jack tried to soothe his lover. “I can promise you’ll be fine, because I’ve called the Doctor.”
“We already have a doctor, Jack, and he’s clueless.”
“Oi! I’m working on the problem, alright?” Owen grumbled from where he was studying the scans he’d taken.
“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. He leaned on the railings.
“Ah, there you are. What are you all doing down there?”
Jack turned to his friend. “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 wishful thinking. I’m doomed.”
The Doctor put his glasses on and leaned further over the railing. “Grey warty lumps?” he asked. “Move around if you try to do anything to them?”
“Yes,” Ianto and Jack replied in unison.
“Wonderful!” The Doctor beamed down at Ianto before making his way down the steps to stand at the end of Ianto’s 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.
“Oh, that.” The Doctor waved one hand airily. “It won’t last long.” 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.
“No! You’re not ill at all, you’re… sort of pregnant, just not with your own young.”
“So I was right, they’re parasites?” Owen was suddenly all enthusiasm.
“Not in the traditional sense. Tell me, did you come across an alien recently. Small, grey, fuzzy, dropped dead suddenly?”
“Yes.” Ianto frowned up at the Doctor. “It came through the Rift, but it died before I could even get it back to the Hub.”
“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?” 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.”
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 again. “Thirty-seven fat, healthy baby Nixxinax!”
“Good for them.” Ianto blinked blearily. “I feel like crap.”
“Ah, well, you will for a bit. Your body reacted to them as if they were an infection, and they were feeding off you as well, 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 warts 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, Jack tucked him in and brought him a drink.
“The Doc says rest and plenty of fluids. This has all the nutrients you need to replace what the babies took out of you.”
“Thanks.” Ianto sipped the drink, which was cool, pleasantly fruity, and refreshing. He drank some more.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Jack plonked himself down on the edge of the mattress. “Just rest, everything will be okay. Think of all those innocent lives you saved.”
“Laid low because I was incubating baby aliens.”
Jack grinned. “That’s Torchwood!”
The End
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