galadriel1010 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
galadriel1010) wrote2010-12-25 07:52 pm
galadriel1010) wrote2010-12-25 07:52 pm
Entry tags:
Family Illness
Title: Family Illness
Characters: Jack/Ianto, Mirabelle, Andrew, Rhainnnon on the phone
Genre: Family, h/c illness
Rating: G
Era: Post Schmoop 'verse CoE
Series: Schmoop 'verse
Summary: Jack is always the one who gets to play nursemaid. Today is no different
Contains: Poorly children and a poorly tad. Schmoop_bingo prompt: Shared illness
Dedication: For everyone. Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Beta:
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
A sneeze rang out from the living room, which seemed to set off a chorus of them. A tiny 'ow' followed them when they'd finished, and then Ianto's deep voice, rough and sore, murmured a soft reassurance of some sort. Jack sighed and checked in the cupboard for boxes and packets of tissues and realised that he'd need to go and buy more soon, or ask someone to get them for him. He stirred honey into the third mug of hot lemon juice and settled it carefully into the middle of the tray next to the other two, then tucked a handful of packets of tissues onto one side and a fresh box of soothers onto the other and carried it through into the living room.
Ianto was in the middle of the sofa with Belle tucked under his arm on one side and Andrew on the other side and the duvet tugged up to his chest so that it covered the kids' shoulders. The TV was playing quietly, but none of them had been paying any attention to it for some time, and the two small faces that turned to look up at Jack were pictures of misery. “Got your drinks,” he told them softly. “And more tissues, you've gone through a whole rainforest there!”
They smiled up at him weakly and Ianto helped to get them sitting up so that they could take their drinks in shaking hands. He was still looking better than them, face paler but eyes brighter and not as swollen, and he wrapped his hands tightly around the mug that Jack passed him. “Thank you,” he croaked out.
Jack bent down and kissed his cheek, brushing his lips against heated skin softly. “I've put some chicken soup on to heat up as well. You need to eat something.” He reached out, relying on the parental sixth sense, and caught Belle's drink before it spilled into her lap. “Careful, pet. Don't want to scold you, do we?”
She shook her head and loosened her grip on her drink even more so that he had to take it off her completely, then lifted her arms and opened her eyes, wide and sad. “Hug, Daddy?”
He set the mug down carefully and lifted her up out of the impromptu bed, tucking her against his side and kissing the top of her head when she buried her face against his shoulder. “Oh baby. Are you not feeling any better?”
“No,” she mewled, gripping tight to his T shirt. “Want to go to bed.”
Jack and Ianto exchanged worried looks – Belle never went to bed willingly, not even when she was ill – and he cuddled her tighter. “You have to eat something first, then we'll put you to bed, is that okay?”
“Okay,” she muttered. “With a story?”
“Of course. Just go back to your tad for a minute whilst I get you some food, baby.” He prised her off his T shirt and tucked her back into Ianto's arms, then straightened up. “What about you, Andrew? Do you want to stay up?”
He shook his head and swallowed the mouthful of lemon and honey, grimacing when it hurt to swallow. “Bed sounds good.”
“Okay.” Jack stopped in front of him to brush his hair back and kiss his forehead, worried by how much he was burning up, then headed back to the kitchen. “I'll be back in a minute.”
He brought one bowl of soup and three spoons through, and between them they got a few mouthfuls of chicken soup into their protesting children. Before very long, Jack had a pile of miserable Harkness-Joneses on his hands, curled up in his and Ianto's bed and looking thoroughly sorry for themselves. Jack tucked the duvet in properly and smiled down at them reassuringly. “Lucky things, getting me to wait on you hand and foot.”
Ianto snorted laughter and followed it up with a cough. “Just get on with the story, Jack.”
“Okay then,” he smiled and squeezed Ianto's hand, easy to reach on tp of the duvet on Andrew's shoulder. “Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there were three wise kings, and they were sent on a quest. This is their story.”
An hour later he crept downstairs to answer the phone. “Hey Rhiannon.”
“Evening, Jack. How are the patients?”
He sighed and leaned against the wall. “Ill. I swear, they're being home schooled next year. I'm really bored of them bringing things home and not sharing it with me.”
Characters: Jack/Ianto, Mirabelle, Andrew, Rhainnnon on the phone
Genre: Family, h/c illness
Rating: G
Era: Post Schmoop 'verse CoE
Series: Schmoop 'verse
Summary: Jack is always the one who gets to play nursemaid. Today is no different
Contains: Poorly children and a poorly tad. Schmoop_bingo prompt: Shared illness
Dedication: For everyone. Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Beta:
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
A sneeze rang out from the living room, which seemed to set off a chorus of them. A tiny 'ow' followed them when they'd finished, and then Ianto's deep voice, rough and sore, murmured a soft reassurance of some sort. Jack sighed and checked in the cupboard for boxes and packets of tissues and realised that he'd need to go and buy more soon, or ask someone to get them for him. He stirred honey into the third mug of hot lemon juice and settled it carefully into the middle of the tray next to the other two, then tucked a handful of packets of tissues onto one side and a fresh box of soothers onto the other and carried it through into the living room.
Ianto was in the middle of the sofa with Belle tucked under his arm on one side and Andrew on the other side and the duvet tugged up to his chest so that it covered the kids' shoulders. The TV was playing quietly, but none of them had been paying any attention to it for some time, and the two small faces that turned to look up at Jack were pictures of misery. “Got your drinks,” he told them softly. “And more tissues, you've gone through a whole rainforest there!”
They smiled up at him weakly and Ianto helped to get them sitting up so that they could take their drinks in shaking hands. He was still looking better than them, face paler but eyes brighter and not as swollen, and he wrapped his hands tightly around the mug that Jack passed him. “Thank you,” he croaked out.
Jack bent down and kissed his cheek, brushing his lips against heated skin softly. “I've put some chicken soup on to heat up as well. You need to eat something.” He reached out, relying on the parental sixth sense, and caught Belle's drink before it spilled into her lap. “Careful, pet. Don't want to scold you, do we?”
She shook her head and loosened her grip on her drink even more so that he had to take it off her completely, then lifted her arms and opened her eyes, wide and sad. “Hug, Daddy?”
He set the mug down carefully and lifted her up out of the impromptu bed, tucking her against his side and kissing the top of her head when she buried her face against his shoulder. “Oh baby. Are you not feeling any better?”
“No,” she mewled, gripping tight to his T shirt. “Want to go to bed.”
Jack and Ianto exchanged worried looks – Belle never went to bed willingly, not even when she was ill – and he cuddled her tighter. “You have to eat something first, then we'll put you to bed, is that okay?”
“Okay,” she muttered. “With a story?”
“Of course. Just go back to your tad for a minute whilst I get you some food, baby.” He prised her off his T shirt and tucked her back into Ianto's arms, then straightened up. “What about you, Andrew? Do you want to stay up?”
He shook his head and swallowed the mouthful of lemon and honey, grimacing when it hurt to swallow. “Bed sounds good.”
“Okay.” Jack stopped in front of him to brush his hair back and kiss his forehead, worried by how much he was burning up, then headed back to the kitchen. “I'll be back in a minute.”
He brought one bowl of soup and three spoons through, and between them they got a few mouthfuls of chicken soup into their protesting children. Before very long, Jack had a pile of miserable Harkness-Joneses on his hands, curled up in his and Ianto's bed and looking thoroughly sorry for themselves. Jack tucked the duvet in properly and smiled down at them reassuringly. “Lucky things, getting me to wait on you hand and foot.”
Ianto snorted laughter and followed it up with a cough. “Just get on with the story, Jack.”
“Okay then,” he smiled and squeezed Ianto's hand, easy to reach on tp of the duvet on Andrew's shoulder. “Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there were three wise kings, and they were sent on a quest. This is their story.”
An hour later he crept downstairs to answer the phone. “Hey Rhiannon.”
“Evening, Jack. How are the patients?”
He sighed and leaned against the wall. “Ill. I swear, they're being home schooled next year. I'm really bored of them bringing things home and not sharing it with me.”