In the ICU
It was quiet. Unbearably quiet in Ianto Jones' opinion. It was the ICU, so it wasn't really a surprise, but it was highly unnerving; he could barely stand it. He had really only been in one of these rooms a few times in his lifetime, most of those times it had been him lying in the bed.
Not this time
He looked over the top of the book he wasn't really reading and swept his gaze over the prone figure; eyes coming to rest on the rising and falling movement that kept both patient and concerned visitor alive.
It was probably overdramatic of him to think like that, linking his life expectancy with that of the man before him. After all, it's not like the bed's occupant was going to die anytime soon.
Although Ianto did have his doubts. Jack often said he couldn't die, that he was a 'fixed point in time' but there was always a small doubt wriggling uncomfortably in the back of the Welshman's mind; what if there was a way and Jack just hadn't stumbled across it yet?
Ianto placed his novel on the table beside the bed, finally giving up on it, and just looked at his captain.
Jack's face was calm, emotionless, as the drugs did their work, forcing him to sleep and riding his body of the pathogen no one had noticed.
Not until it was too late.
They had been so busy the last month. It was like that these days; after Tosh and Owen had died there was a hole in Torchwood that was felt physically and emotionally.
Sometimes weeks would go by with simple weevil and 'anti-rift spike' signals to deal with. Then there would be a period of non stop activity, like a roller coaster. They were just reaching the end of an activity explosion when things had finally fallen apart.
None of them had been sleeping much, they took turns when they could, but Ianto knew Jack hadn't been sleeping well, if at all the last week. One thing about them being a 'couple'; when one didn't sleep, neither did the other. Then there was all the rain and cold and alien encounters, all these things had spawned some new form of sickness that Jack's body couldn't seem to handle.
If Jack had had his way, Ianto knew Jack wouldn't have wanted him or Gwen to have found out. However Ianto had been there at the first serious signs of sickness. After Ianto had made Jack breakfast at his flat, Jack had rushed to the bathroom where he began to make very unpleasant sounds.
That was the first major sign, Jack never got that sick. Ianto had tried to get him to go to a doctor, seeing as they didn't have one, but the captain had stubbornly refused.
A couple days later, Jack collapsed at a restraint and Ianto had to call 999.
Ianto snapped back to the present, the gentle beep-beep—beep-beep of the heart monitor the only sound in the room.
The doctors had said it was dehydration, exhaustion, and some virus that had caused Jack to be like this. He was supposed to make a full recovery.
"What am I supposed to do with you?" Ianto's voice broke through the overwhelming silence. He took hold of Jack's limp hand, running his thumb across the back of it. Ianto knew that Jack would probably be laugh at him if he could, telling Ianto that he worried too much and that he would just bounce back as always.
But Ianto worried anyway. It's what he did, especially when it came to Jack. "Can't even take care of yourself…" He let the sentence hang; almost hoping Jack would open those beautiful blue eyes just so he could protest.
Ianto wanted to hear the rough American accent and see hat cheesy 1000-watt smile that was the Captain Jack Harkness trademark, but more than anything, he wanted to see that soft, small, smile the captain gave only to him. The one that let Ianto know he really was important to the immortal man, no matter his own doubts.
The hospital chair moved closer to the side of the bed as Ianto placed his head on Jack's thigh.
"Please, Jack, just get better soon."