"I told you to sit, damn it!" Owen glared at Ianto.
“I’m not a bloody dog, Owen!”
“Could’ve fooled me, the way you go panting after Jack.”
“Actually, it’s usually the other way around.”
Owen thought about that for a moment and shrugged, conceding the point. “You’ve got me there.” Then he frowned. “Stop changing the subject!”
“Nitpicker! Sit down and shut up, doctor’s orders. You’re injured, that makes you the patient, so you ‘ave to do as I say. Got it?”
“Fine! If it’ll stop you complaining, I’ll sit.” Ianto paused, looking dubiously at the autopsy table, which doubled as Owen’s treatment table. “Ah, I might need a hand getting up there.”
“You bellowed?” Jack appeared at the railings overlooking the sunken medical bay.
“Yeah, make yourself useful and give your boy toy a leg up so I can examine ‘im.”
Jack didn’t need telling twice; he was down the steps like a shot, helping Ianto up onto the cold metal table.
Ianto’s breath caught as the chill seeped through his trousers. “Okay, I’m sitting. Hurry it up before I freeze my bloody arse off!”
“Enough with the name-calling, you two!” Jack snapped. “Owen, just do your job.”
“Take all the fun out of it, why don’t you?” Owen scowled at Jack before turning his attention to his increasingly impatient patient.
“I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss anyway; it’s hardly more than a nip,” Ianto grumbled.
“That Weevil was using your leg as a chew toy,” Owen disagreed, turning back to him with a large pair of scissors in his hand.
“Great, another suit ruined.” Ianto watched mournfully as Owen snipped away at his already shredded trouser leg, slicing it from ankle to knee and leaving it hanging in tatters.
“Better the trousers than your leg.” Owen grabbed swabs and antiseptic, cleaning around the wounds in Ianto’s right calf so he could see what he was dealing with. “Huh. Could’ve been a lot worse. You’re lucky it didn’t rip through any major blood vessels,” he commented as he examined several deep puncture wounds. “You’ll need stitches and a course of antibiotics, just to be on the safe side. You’ll ‘ave to keep off this leg as much as possible for a few days too, give it a chance to start healing.” He sprayed a local anaesthetic over the area, and started stitching before it was fully numbed.
Ianto winced as the needle went in. “Sadist.”
“What d’you expect after makin’ me get out of bed in the middle of the night?”
Rolling his eyes, Ianto sat silent and stoic, leaving the medic to get on with it. Jack hovered beside him, trying not to get in the way, but unwilling to leave.
The numbing agent finally took effect around the time Owen finished the stitching. Ianto barely felt him bandaging his leg.
“There you go; all done.” Owen glanced at Jack, tossing a pack of pills towards him. “Take Teaboy home and make sure he takes one of those every six hours until they’re all gone. Got it?”
Jack nodded. “I think I’m capable of remembering that.”
“And for fuck’s sake let ‘im rest. I don’t want to find out tomorrow that he’s popped a stitch or two because you couldn’t keep your hands off ‘im for a few days.”
“What do you take me for?” Jack asked, sounding hurt and offended at the same time.
“I know what you’re like.”
“You really don’t,” Ianto smirked, letting Jack help him down off the table. “Are we done?”
“Get outta here.” Owen scowled at the pair, watching as Jack swept Ianto off his feet, carrying him up the steps while Ianto yelled to be put down.
“I can walk, you twpsyn!”
“Owen said you should stay off that leg as much as possible.” Jack set him down at the top of the steps, supporting him as he hobbled towards the garage. “Just so you know, I’m driving.”
“No argument from me.”
“That makes a change.”
Their voices faded off into the distance as Owen turned his attention to clearing up, his face relaxing into a relieved smile. He hated getting phone calls in the middle of the night saying one of the team was hurt, dreading the moment he’d find himself fighting a losing battle to save a friend’s life. But he’d dodged that bullet once again; Ianto wasn’t seriously injured, he’d be fine. Silently Owen sent up a little prayer of thanks. The people he worked with could be an annoying bunch, but they were the closest thing to a family he’d got and he’d sooner die than lose any of them. He just wasn’t about to admit that to any of them, he had a reputation as a miserable sod to maintain.