Set sometime in Series One - no spoilers.
Wrong Time, Wrong Place
Doctor Owen Harper groaned and threw up. And then he did it again, in reverse order. He lay back wearily on the table in the autopsy bay. Jack had carried him there from the garage, hours earlier, and put him gently to bed after first confirming Owen's terse self-diagnosis.
Owen closed his eyes against the blinding headache. Lying down was a concession to the rest of his tired body. It really didn't matter what position he was in – lying, sitting, or standing – his head still really, really hurt and he still felt very, very sick. The only position he hadn't tried was hanging upside down like a bat, but the mere thought of that intensified the pain behind his eyes, and he dismissed the idea before he threw up again.
He grimaced as the sound of boisterous footsteps clattering down the metal steps drilled more deeply into his pain than he could have ever imagined possible. Without opening his eyes, he turned to face the source of the disturbance. He greeted his visitor. "Fuck off, Harkness."
The approaching steps faltered momentarily but then resumed. "Can I get you anything?" Jack offered, sympathetically.
Owen felt the warm cloth on his forehead exchanged for a welcome cool one. He knew, without looking, that Jack had also replaced the basin into which he'd just vomited. He felt Jack fuss with his blanket, pulling it higher around his shoulders, tucking it in, wanting to make him comfortable; wanting to make things better.
Owen's manner momentarily softened in response. "No, you can't." he replied "But, thanks anyway, Jack." A sudden thought hit him. "Not unless you can get the teaboy to make me a …."
He felt a consoling hand squeeze his shoulder.
"Sorry, Owen. No coffee with concussion. You know your own rules. You need to rest. The caffeine would over excite you." said Jack, soothingly. "And anyhow, it would be a terrible waste of those Guatemalan single estate beans Ianto bought last month. You'd just chuck it straight back up." Jack realized, belatedly, that he hadn't been overly sensitive with that last remark. Accurate, yes. Sensitive, no. Consequently, he wasn't surprised when Owen shrugged off his hand and again growled: "Fuck off, Harkness."
Jack retreated swiftly, returning to the main part of the Hub where the others were gathered. Three pairs of anxious eyes turned questioningly towards him.
"How is he?" asked Tosh.
"He's awake," replied Jack. "And he clearly remembers what happened. But he's still hurting. And he's still angry with me."
Ianto looked directly at Jack, freezing him with an icy stare. "And whose fault is that, sir?" he asked quietly. "You can't say you don't deserve it." Ianto demonstrated an unusual solidarity with the injured medic. "Next time, do us all a favour and check that no one is still unloading the SUV's boot before you slam the tailgate."