Ficlet: Medical Emergency
Jan. 12th, 2026 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
badly_knittedTitle: Medical Emergency
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Owen, Ianto.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 659
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto is injured, and at the mercy of Torchwood Three’s medic, much to their mutual disgust.
Written For: The prompt ‘Any, any, clothes cut off,’ at
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threesentenceficathon.Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Working for Torchwood is dangerous, that goes without saying, or at least it should. Handling unknown alien technology is a risk, unknown aliens can be unpredictable, and many of the known aliens are hazardous to the average person’s health. This is especially true for Weevils, Hoix, and Blowfish, the three most common alien species to be found in and around Cardiff.
Because of the dangers to life and limb, Torchwood Three has its own doctor. It means Jack doesn’t have to keep retconning the staff at the local Accident and Emergency department. Of course, Torchwood being Torchwood, and Jack being the kind of person he is, the medical professional he’d added to his staff after he took charge of the Cardiff branch is… good at what he does, but not the most delightful person to be around. Owen Harper has a strong dislike of people in general, and patients in particular, a tongue sharper than one of his scalpels, and no bedside manner whatsoever. Every member of the team is painfully aware of all this, and so they do their best to avoid needing the medic’s attention, but accidents still happen.
“Don’t…” Ianto forces out through gritted teeth as Owen comes towards him brandishing a pair of shiny, very sharp scissors.
“Shut up and don’t move,” Owen snaps, glaring at his patient; he really hates dealing with living people, because they bitch and moan about every little thing, try to tell him how to do his job, and they keep wriggling even after he’s told them they have to stay still. Unfortunately, tying them down is usually considered unethical, which is a shame because it would make his life a hell of a lot easier. Either that or clobbering them over the head. Unconscious patients don’t move, and they don’t talk back, which is just the way Owen likes them.
Ianto, however, is not easily intimidated and glares right back at him. “I LIKE this suit! I’d rather it stayed in one piece! Do
you have any idea how much it cost?”
“Don’t know, don’t care, would’a thought your leg mattered more to you than a damn suit, and anyway, it’s your own stupid fault for wearin’ expensive suits when you work for Torchwood.”
“Technically, I wasn’t at work tonight. I was on a date.”
“A date? With Harkness? He does dates?” Owen snorts a laugh, snipping the air with his scissors.
“Yes, with Jack; it’s hardly our fault a Rift alert interrupted our dinner… DON’T!”
“Shut the fuck up, Jones! It’s your trousers or your leg, and I’m the doctor here, so I’m not givin’ you a choice,” Owen snaps, starting at the cuff of Ianto’s left trouser leg and cutting upwards through the blood-soaked fabric. “It’s not like they could be fixed anyway. There’s a bloody great hole in them to match the one in your leg,” he adds as he slices his way up past the jagged gash in the outside of Ianto’s thigh. “Even you’re not THAT good with a needle and thread.” He pauses again, a look of disgust on his face, and grumbles, “Crap, got to cut your shorts off too. Looks like it goes right up to your hip. That’s all I need!”
“All YOU need?” Ianto groans. “Just kill me now…”
“Don’t fuckin’ tempt me!”
Covering his eyes with his forearm, Ianto mentally bids farewell to another really nice suit, and curses both his bad luck at getting injured, and Owen’s complete lack of respect for anyone else’s belongings.
“You’re getting the cheapest, nastiest decaf I can find once I can get to the shops.”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you should try thanking me for saving your leg rather than bitching over some poncy suit that can be replaced. At least I have my priorities right, which is more than I can say for you.
The worst of it is that Owen’s probably right. It just doesn’t make Ianto feel any better.
The End
Because of the dangers to life and limb, Torchwood Three has its own doctor. It means Jack doesn’t have to keep retconning the staff at the local Accident and Emergency department. Of course, Torchwood being Torchwood, and Jack being the kind of person he is, the medical professional he’d added to his staff after he took charge of the Cardiff branch is… good at what he does, but not the most delightful person to be around. Owen Harper has a strong dislike of people in general, and patients in particular, a tongue sharper than one of his scalpels, and no bedside manner whatsoever. Every member of the team is painfully aware of all this, and so they do their best to avoid needing the medic’s attention, but accidents still happen.
“Don’t…” Ianto forces out through gritted teeth as Owen comes towards him brandishing a pair of shiny, very sharp scissors.
“Shut up and don’t move,” Owen snaps, glaring at his patient; he really hates dealing with living people, because they bitch and moan about every little thing, try to tell him how to do his job, and they keep wriggling even after he’s told them they have to stay still. Unfortunately, tying them down is usually considered unethical, which is a shame because it would make his life a hell of a lot easier. Either that or clobbering them over the head. Unconscious patients don’t move, and they don’t talk back, which is just the way Owen likes them.
Ianto, however, is not easily intimidated and glares right back at him. “I LIKE this suit! I’d rather it stayed in one piece! Do
you have any idea how much it cost?”
“Don’t know, don’t care, would’a thought your leg mattered more to you than a damn suit, and anyway, it’s your own stupid fault for wearin’ expensive suits when you work for Torchwood.”
“Technically, I wasn’t at work tonight. I was on a date.”
“A date? With Harkness? He does dates?” Owen snorts a laugh, snipping the air with his scissors.
“Yes, with Jack; it’s hardly our fault a Rift alert interrupted our dinner… DON’T!”
“Shut the fuck up, Jones! It’s your trousers or your leg, and I’m the doctor here, so I’m not givin’ you a choice,” Owen snaps, starting at the cuff of Ianto’s left trouser leg and cutting upwards through the blood-soaked fabric. “It’s not like they could be fixed anyway. There’s a bloody great hole in them to match the one in your leg,” he adds as he slices his way up past the jagged gash in the outside of Ianto’s thigh. “Even you’re not THAT good with a needle and thread.” He pauses again, a look of disgust on his face, and grumbles, “Crap, got to cut your shorts off too. Looks like it goes right up to your hip. That’s all I need!”
“All YOU need?” Ianto groans. “Just kill me now…”
“Don’t fuckin’ tempt me!”
Covering his eyes with his forearm, Ianto mentally bids farewell to another really nice suit, and curses both his bad luck at getting injured, and Owen’s complete lack of respect for anyone else’s belongings.
“You’re getting the cheapest, nastiest decaf I can find once I can get to the shops.”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you should try thanking me for saving your leg rather than bitching over some poncy suit that can be replaced. At least I have my priorities right, which is more than I can say for you.
The worst of it is that Owen’s probably right. It just doesn’t make Ianto feel any better.
The End
(no subject)
Date: 2026-01-13 12:48 am (UTC)