Torchwood: Divergence
Book One: Dychwelyd
Chapter 16
Martha had set Turlough to suturing the deeper areas of the claw marks on Gwen's arm, while she worked to better mitigate the damage that Jack and Ianto had taken, to help speed their repair. She'd used plenty of local anaesthetic then thoroughly cleaned the horrific shoulder injury their leader was nursing. Since the vasculature had already knitted itself back together save for a few tiny areas that were still oozing slightly, she'd worked to get ripped tissues and broken bones back into something akin to normal alignment, and used surgical glue to hold things in place under non-stick pads. Then she'd bandaged the lot for maximum immobilization before placing the man's arm in a sling that secured around his torso to keep the joint immobile.
Now she was tackling the harder job of working on Ianto. The young Welshman had ribs needing realigned, a huge area of shredded muscle and skin, as well as a rip in his lower left lung that hadn't fully sealed itself yet which had required giving him supplemental oxygen via a nasal cannula. The challenge was draining the blood from his lung and abdominal cavity, surgically gluing the remaining rip, shifting the broken bones then tucking the muscles and skin back into place, without completely torturing him. Neither local anaesthetics nor heavy narcotics had any effect on Ianto now as a result of what the Scieron had done, which meant there was no way to work on his injuries without causing him horrific pain.
"Just do it…" Ianto grated breathlessly from where he lay mostly on his right side atop the exam table, closing his eyes and turning his face into the pillow beneath his head as he tried to steel himself against the nerve searing sensations bound to come.
"Here…" Martha murmured, touching something smooth and semi-hard to his lips. "Seizure bit… it'll keep you from breaking your teeth. I'll try to be as quick as I can. Breathe through your nose so you're getting the oxygen you need. If you want me to stop, just put up your hand, yeah?"
The young brunette nodded and allowed her to place the formed tempered rubber tray in his mouth, silently telling himself that the treatment couldn't be any worse than what he'd gone through with the Scieron… and at least he knew for sure what the gag was actually made from this time.
"Jack Harkness, you get back in that chair," the physician snapped, even as she turned on the suction machine.
"I'm just gonna give him a hand to hold," the Captain insisted.
"No, you bloody well are not," Gwen put in from nearby. "You've only got one hand working for at least twelve hours, likely more. Do you want him feeling guilty about breaking the good one? Get back in your chair and rest… I've got him. Turlough, hand me that, would you?"
Ianto was about to spit out the seizure bit and protest that he'd feel even worse if he hurt Gwen, but then he felt her slipping something cold and heavy into his left hand where it rested up by his throat.
"Owen's prize alien ore dumbbell," the green eyed woman murmured close to his ear, gently finger combing his hair. "Squeeze all you want, pet. Now breathe through your nose like Martha said, and try to lie still. I know it's going to hurt something awful, but I'm right here for you and Jack's just a few feet away."
"Here we go," the young black woman at his back warned, carefully feeding the tip of the suction device down into the visible rip in his lung.
Her patient made a small choking sound, but managed not to jerk away from the treatment, his grip on the metal weight tightening noticeably.
"Turlough, grab the Bekaran for me," Martha called after a few minutes. "Focus right about there… I need to see how to get the blood out of his abdominal and chest cavities without bumping anything important. Oh, perfect… there's a tiny tear in the peritoneum that hasn't closed yet."
"You're doing great, sweetheart," Gwen crooned to the injured brunette on the exam table, gently stroking his hair and neck.
Ianto twitched, his left hand gripping the chunk of metal he held even harder, and his right grabbing the edge of the table beneath it as the suction was carefully inched past broken bones and torn flesh to clear out the rest of the accumulated blood below his ribs. Finally, the machine geared down, and he could feel the doctor using the tip on the damaged lung again, then the strange sting of surgical glue. The sensation made him gasp, then cough, which nearly saw him spit out the gag he'd been given perforce.
"Sorry," Martha called, reaching over her patient to briefly remove the piece of hard rubber from between his teeth. "Go ahead and cough, then take some nice deep nasal breaths… good… the glue's holding. Now I need to disinfect the torn muscles before I get them and your ribs back in place. Get ready for a lot of burning."
The young Welshman was doing his best to follow instructions, a fine trembling setting into his arms and legs as the seizure bit was repositioned and the treatment continued. The trembling grew worse as the irrigation and suction proceeded, Gwen patiently caressing his hair and neck as she told him how brave he was.
"Okay… I'm about to shift the ribs and muscles back into place," Martha warned. "Then the worst will be over, yeah? Turlough can help me get you cleaned up and sitting; we'll bandage the lot and let you rest."
The twenty-six-year-old simply nodded, somehow managing to hold back everything but a choked moan against the urge to scream or cry as Martha began manhandling the mauled flesh along his side. By the time four ribs as well as a large swath of ribboned muscle had been pushed or pulled back into basic position, and the torn skin smoothed over all with surgical glue, Ianto had broken out in a cold sweat. He was shaking as though violently chilled and unconsciously trying to curl up in a foetal ball atop the table, his breathing ragged.
"All done, Ianto," Cooper murmured soothingly, gently kissing his left temple as she eased the deeply imprinted rubber bit from his mouth, then carefully tried to take the weight he held in a white-knuckled grip. "Can you let go? No? Turlough will give you a hand, okay? There we are… now let's get you up… and Jack can come to sit with you while the bandages go on."
The young Archivist blinked rather dazedly, his eyes red rimmed and teary, but he didn't break down the way he had when his memories had been locked. He tried to breathe evenly through his nose, still trembling as though chilled or fevered, the palm of his left hand bruised black from how hard he'd been holding onto the alien ore dumbbell. Jack came to smile at his partner and gently stroke his scarred cheek, then took up his battered hand and carefully kissed the damaged area, a little alarmed by how much heat the younger brunette was now radiating.
"You are tonnes braver than I am," Harkness stated, his eyes bright but worried. "I would've been cursing and howling loud enough to shake the walls if I had to endure that kind of treatment without painkillers of some kind."
"I've developed a lot higher pain tolerance than I used to have," Ianto breathed shakily, shifting to interlace the fingers of his right hand with his partner's left. "I spent almost two years getting sliced up with hot knives for days at a time, so as painful experiences go this really wasn't too bad. Not my choice of mid-morning entertainment by any stretch, but more bearable than some things I've gone through."
"And hopefully cut at least a quarter off the time it'll take you to heal," Martha put in as she and Turlough wiped down their patient's naked torso and got heavy bandages in place to buffer the injuries.
"I suppose this means the trip to storage and Mr. Simmons' will have to be delayed until tomorrow," Ianto sighed as the gauze was taped into place across his back. "And I've destroyed another of your shirts, as well as a pair of trousers, and managed to drip blood all over Turlough's boots."
"They'll come clean with a soft cloth and bit of petroleum gel," the redhead reassured as he helped Martha put away the medical equipment. "They've got a Metlothian Carbon topcoat. If they fit well, you're welcome to keep them. I have several pairs, one of which I had in my car by chance, so I'm not stuck in stocking feet for the day."
"Someone's been doing some intergalactic future shopping," Jack smirked. "Climate control mesh lining, bio-flex arch support, non-compressing cushioned innersole, and Kalphon infused laces?"
"Of course," Turlough smiled. "And now that you have the laces done up comfortably, you can just press your finger against the top and run it down the inside of the ankle to the sole, and the shaft will open like a zip so you can just slide your feet in and out of them still tied. Very posh."
"Keep 'em," Harkness advised his partner. "They'll last a good half century or more, barring long term exposure to molten lava or gallons of Hoix stomach acid."
"I'll trade you an introduction to my tailor," Ianto offered when the slender redhead nearby met his gaze. "Tonnes better than the department stores and surprisingly affordable for bespoke suits, took me ages to find him."
"If he'll give me a good deal on a three piece like the one from the drycleaner's, you've got a bargain," he nodded, then completely changed the subject. "I'm going to try Johnson's mobile again. It's gone beyond strange that she hasn't turned up yet."
"Um..." Lois' voice called from up by the workstations. "There's a pop-up on one of Gwen's monitors that says something about a low-level Rift surge during system back-up protocols at 4:00 am this morning. Should somebody check on that?"
"Wasn't big enough to override the re-boot and engage the alarms," Turlough surmised, jogging up the stairs to go take a look at the system. "May have just been a prelude to this morning's Maw incursion, an initial spike without mass transmission. Let's see where it was and check for any complaints or disturbances in that area just in case."
Down in the Autopsy Lab, Martha checked Ianto's pulse-ox before removing the oxygen, and then helped him ease off the slab/exam table. Gwen headed up the stairs to grab the spare shirt she kept in the lockers under the kitchenette risers, the team's doctor close behind to go pull her supplies from the van she'd used earlier. The two walking-wounded of the group made their way up to the work area a little more slowly, both aiming for the couch nearby.
"Bugger..." Turlough cursed quietly, then raised his voice. "I think I know why Johnson's not here. That low level surge occurred on the roof of the building her flat's in. Constables report that maintenance workers were called in at 7:00 am to check the air units this morning, after multiple residents fled complaining of loud banging from the ducts and fumes that caused extreme dizziness. The fire brigade was dispatched when workers claimed to have found the door to the roof melted shut, and that prolonged exposure to what appeared to be yellow tinged smoke in the upper level had resulted in three men collapsing after starting to speak gibberish and bleed heavily from the nose and ears.
"The tower has been evacuated, and some residents of neighbouring buildings told emergency crews they were awakened in the predawn hours by a bright flash of light that most assumed was lightning. One couple claimed to have seen a glowing mist atop the building under investigation shortly before sunrise when they got up around 5:30, but the statement was dismissed when they also said they'd seen a woman in pyjamas appear on the roof from a ventilation access panel about half an hour later and fire a gun into the supposed mist."
"Johnson," Jack nodded. "Contact Andy and let him know that there's Rift involvement at that site, that we think Johnson is in the middle of it. See if UNIT can mobilise and handle the situation, tell them that Torchwood has wounded but we'll try to get their people support if they decide the problem's too far out of their comfort zone."
"On it," the sharp featured redhead acknowledged, reaching for his mobile as Gwen exited the bathroom in a blouse that didn't have one sleeve in tatters.
"If Johnson's been on that roof over three hours, shouldn't we go after her?" the former PC queried with a frown.
"I'm out of action till my arm re-attaches," Harkness pointed out evenly. "You can't use a gun with as stiff as that elbow is right now, Ianto's not in any shape to fight or anything else for the rest of the day, and Lois isn't trained for field work. That leaves Turlough and Martha, who I'm sure are up to a tussle, but only if UNIT can't handle it. I don't want our entire team headed for NHS the first day the Rift kicks back in, yeah? Besides... we don't know what's on that roof yet or what we'd need to deal with it."
"Any chance of getting a helicopter to do a fly over?" Cooper prodded Turlough when the young alien disconnected his mobile call.
"UNIT's on site but they're not sure what to do," the alien tech specialist explained. "And all air traffic in the area has been suspended or rerouted. A news team tried to get in for a closer look and barely made it back to the heliport without crashing, because the pilot and all three of the news crew on board suffered the same symptoms as the maintenance workers. They're all at hospital now for evaluation and treatment... St. Helen's looks to have all of the victims at the moment."
"I think I should go have a look at them," Martha suggested as she re-entered the main Hub area. "That may give us a clue as to what we're dealing with. But I agree that we really need to see what's happening on that rooftop."
"Maybe from a neighbouring building?" Turlough suggested. "They've evacuated everyone for a two city block radius on the premise of a major gas leak and possible explosion danger."
"If I'm remembering correctly," Ianto put in helpfully. "Only one of the nearby complexes is any higher than the problem building and we'd get as good a view as the couple the constable's ignored."
"Close but not close enough," Jack sighed in annoyance. "We really need a bird's eye view of the situation."
"Sorry, all out of camera carrying pigeons," Gwen quipped, obviously not happy either. "We can't just leave her there."
"Martha, can you order the UNIT personnel to stand down and get everyone on site indoors?" Ianto suddenly asked before Jack and their green-eyed teammate could start arguing, even though his gut instinct was to do exactly what Cooper was protesting. "Tell them Torchwood's going to try a risky operation to ascertain the threat level, and we don't want anyone getting hurt or seeing classified equipment?"
"I..." the young physician stared at the Welshman in mild shock, wondering what he might be planning. "I'm sure I could pull rank. What've you got in mind?"
"I think I can get a good look at what's causing the problem and maybe even pull Johnson out," Jones replied, his eyes troubled but his expression determined. "I'll need you and back-up on the roof of the closest building though, all your medical gear in case Johnson's hurt or I run into trouble."
"You're already injured," Martha protested. "You can't..."
"I can manage," the eternal twenty-six-year-old insisted, carefully rising from the couch. "And we're low on options."
"Turlough, you keep us up to date from here," Jack called, managing to stand up as well. "Gwen, keep an eye on the Rift monitor for anymore spikes, and encourage the lightning and gas leak stories. Lois, help Martha load her gear back in the van, you're coming with us in case we need an extra pair of hands. Martha, contact UNIT and tell them we're on our way. One picture of what we're doing shows up anywhere, and they'll be the ones taking the heat."
No one looked happy about the plan, but the team dispersed to carry out the orders given.
"Are you sure you can do this?" Harkness asked the younger man beside him, his concern obvious. "If you open up that wound, things could go wrong really fast."
"I have to at least try," the Archivist breathed, briefly meeting the former Time Agent's questioning gaze. "I'll be as careful as I can, and hope I'm not simply recovering a corpse."
"I'm not used to just being moral support," Jack complained half-jokingly.
"I'll let you kiss everything better later," Ianto offered, heading for the office. "I need to grab a shirt and some un-bloodied trousers. I'll bring you a button-up and help you into it, won't be a minute."
The Captain watched him go, unaccustomed fear coiling in his guts. He had a pretty fair idea of what the young Welshman intended to do, and knew it could go catastrophically wrong if he overestimated his strength with the damage he'd already taken. But Ianto was right about their lack of options. All he could do was go with his partner and be there to applaud his success... or offer comfort in the face of failure.
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AN: Yeah… there's another down-side to Ianto's immortality. He heals at a slower rate now that the Scieron have removed their "shellshock" buffering and are no longer physically present or watching from the ether (fast, but not near instantaneous like before, more like how Jack heals when he doesn't die), and most medications no longer work on him. Our stubborn Welshman is determined to just keep doing the job though.
Next up - Will it be a rescue mission… or a horror show of epic proportions?
Thank you to those reading the story. And thank you to those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed. NM
