Title: Sniffles
By: lower-case-me
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Warning: AU
Summary: Jack returns after the finale, minus his immortality, and finds nanotech-free 21st Century medicine inadequate to his needs. Pure crack!fic, nothing more.

***

'I'm going to die' Jack said, matter of factly. He sniffed and groaned.
'Harkness, it's a common cold. You're not going to die.' From the top of the ladder- a safe distance- Owen rolled his eyes.
'It's influenza. It's serious. People die of influenza.'
'You've really never had a cold before, have you?'

Jack burrowed deeper under his blanket and muttered something mostly inaudible about backwards, uncivilised corners of the galaxy where they didn't even have proper medicine and wanting his immortality back.

'Oi. Harkness. I've got something that'll help' Owen added, in a more sympathetic voice. Jack stuck his head out, only to be met by a camera flash.
'Son of a- That's not helping, Owen' Jack growled.
'It'll help me if I'm ever in trouble with the law. D'you have any idea what Detective Swanson would give for that photo? With the crusty red nose and the sticky-up hair? Pure gold...'

The sound of Owen's laughter faded with his footsteps. Jack was left alone in his bed, with his crusty red nose and sticky-up hair. He groaned again and lay back down. He would kill Owen. Just, not right now. Maybe tomorrow, when he felt more like his normal self. When he felt better.

He heard feet on the ladder again. If Owen wanted a close-up, he was going to get his hand bitten off, and breathed on for good measure.
'Fuck off. Leave me alone. To die. Alone and unloved' Jack said, from under the blanket. At least he could swear now. It wasn't much of a consolation.
'Sir?' Not Owen then, thankfully. The cavalry had arrived. Jack surfaced again, convinced Ianto would know how to cure him.
'Oh Ianto. I'm dying.'
'You're not dying, Captain. You're a strong, healthy man, and you're not going to die of a cold.'
'No matter how much I want to?'
'No matter how much you want to' Ianto agreed firmly. 'Now sit up and have some lunch. You'll feel better in no time.'
'Really? How long?'
'Four to eight days, usually.'
'Four to... Oh my God. I want to die. Kill me. Kill me please.'

Ianto raised a disapproving eyebrow and set the tray down on Jack's lap, where it was eyed suspiciously. There was a big bowl of noodles and a fork. Jack poked the one with the other.
'Isn't there supposed to be... chicken soup or something?'
'Spicy food will help clear your sinuses, Sir.'
'It can't be spicy. If it was spicy I'd be able to smell it.'
'Not in your... present condition. It's unlikely you'll be able to taste much either, I'm afraid.'

There was another long, pain-filled moan.
'But I like tasting things.'
'Eat up, Sir, and I'll just pop along to Boots' and get you some throat lollies' Ianto said, in his explaining-complicated-things-to-idiots-and-Owen voice.
'Don't go, I'm...' Miserable, Jack thought. Lonely. Depressed. Sick. 'Bored.'
'I'll set up a laptop and a nice DVD for you to watch when I get back.'

Ianto patted his knee and left. Jack couldn't help calling after him.
'This is all your fault, anyway!'
'It's hardly my fault if you went out without your coat while I was at the Post Office, Captain' Ianto said from the top of the ladder.

Half an hour later, Jack was running out of tissues. In a minute, he was going to have to start re-using the giant pyramid of dirty ones on the floor. And, the amazing thing was, his nose was still blocked and gunky. How much snot could the human body produce? It was incredible. Awful. Some other long words he couldn't think of right now, because he didn't feel well. Sleep would be ideal, but every time he rolled over one side of his nose would block up or start oozing and he'd need another tissue. It was... nasty. That was the right word for it.

To make matters worse, he'd looked in the mirror when he'd gotten up to go to the toilet. And he wasn't even sexy. Jack had almost cried, which would only have added red runny eyes to his red, peeling nose, dry lips, and pasty skin. No wonder Ianto hadn't stayed with him. He couldn't pull looking like this, not is his life depended on it. All the sniffing wouldn't help, and the fact he had to breathe through his mouth wasn't exactly attractive either.

But Ianto came back. Lovely, beautiful, faithful Ianto. A walking saint with one plastic bag from Boots the Chemists and another from Sainsbury's. With a gentle wry smile and decongestant nasal spray. Throat sweets and cold and flu tablets and lemonade and more tissues and strawberries and those little oranges, whatever they were called. Satsumas.

'You are my hero.'
The smile turned sad for an instant, before Ianto turned away to set up the laptop as promised.
'What's that? A robot movie?'
'Mystery Science Theatre. It'll make you feel better.'

He'd considered getting the The Meaning of Life, but Monty Python was hit and miss with Americans. Even if Jack wasn't really American, he might not like it. The next option had been Red Dwarf, particularly the Ace Rimmer episodes, but Ianto decided not to run the risk of Kryten jokes.

Sighing, he swept the mountain of used tissues into an empty shopping bag and put the wastepaper bin beside the bed. Meaningfully.

Ten minutes later, when he was busy at his workstation, Ianto got an IM. He was trying to use the peace and quiet to update the inventory files.

Jack: My nose honks every time I laugh.

Ianto: I suggest you use the nasal spray, sir.

Ten minutes later, Ianto got an IM.

Jack: Do you think Tosh could make me a robot out of a gum ball machine?

Ianto: I don't know Sir. Perhaps you should ask her.

Ten minutes later, Ianto got an IM.

Jack: Ianto, where's Tosh?

Ianto: She's gone to the pub, Captain, with Owen and Gwen. They didn't want to catch your cold.

Ten minutes later, Ianto got an IM.

Jack: Ianto, what's the purple one called?

Ianto: Gypsy, Sir.

Ten minutes later, Ianto got an IM.

Jack: My nose hurts. Do we have any softer tissues?

Ianto: Those ones are as soft as tissues get. I left some aloe vera cream beside your water bottle.

Ten minutes later, Ianto got an IM.

Jack: I'm hungry. Can I have my dinner soon?

Ianto: I'll heat up some soup for you and bring it down.

Getting up, Ianto sneezed, and swore. He put Jack's chicken soup in the microwave and blew his nose on an immaculate white handkerchief. His bluetooth headset beeped, and Jack sniffed in his ear.

'Can I have some more cough lozenges, too?'
'I gave you two packets of 24, Sir.'
'The cherry ones are yucky, and the lemon ones are all gone' Jack muttered, piteously.
'You're supposed to suck them, Captain, not eat them wholesale.'
'That's the punchline from a joke I know' said Jack, sounding more cheerful.
'I'm not at all surprised. Is there anything else you want while I'm out, then?'
'No. Wait. Another movie like this one. And more lemonade and some coffee and maybe some icecream. And an extra blanket, I'm cold. And some icecubes for when I feel hot.'

Ianto gritted his teeth.

'Unless you're busy' Jack added, sniffing again for effect.
'Not at all Sir. Shall I bring down your soup first?'
'No, no, I don't feel like soup any more.'

Ianto allowed his forehead to fall forward and smack into the cupboard door. His finger stabbed the 'cancel' button on the microwave with more force than strictly necessary.

The next time he climbed down the ladder, it was with difficulty, burdened as he was with two blankets, hot water bottle, a damp towel in a bowl of iced water, a plastic bag full of food, cough sweets (lemon only) and DVDs, a thermos of coffee and a bowl of icecream. His hair was wet from the freezing Cardiff rain.

Jack took the icecream as if he was being given something deeply sacred, with his best sad puppy eyes. He ate slowly and lovingly while Ianto tucked the hot water bottle under the covers by his feet and arranged the new blankets.
'There.'

'Ianto.'
'Captain?'
'I'm all achey.' Ianto suppressed the desire to say No, you're all whiney. And a right royal pain in the arse. Instead, he sighed.
'Where does it hurt?' he said, resigned.
'Everywhere.'

Ianto resisted the urge to kill him. It was probably justifiable homicide, and he had asked for it earlier, after all. Instead, he peeled the blankets back off Jack's feet and sat down beside them. Obligingly, Jack wriggled down the bed and settled his feet in Ianto's lap. Glancing up, Ianto detected more than a trace of smugness on Jack's face as he took one and started to rub.

'You deserve a raise' Jack muttered.
'I deserve a bloody canonisation, Captain.'
'That too. Aren't you afraid you catch my 'flu?'
'You don't have the 'flu, Sir. What you have is called 'the sniffles'.'

The resulting pout made up for a lot. Ianto suppressed a smile as he massaged the sole of Jack's foot with his thumbs.

'And in response to your question, Captain, I'm already getting sick, so it's a little late to be worried about that.'
'You're sick?'
'I have a sore throat and my nose is starting to run. You sound surprised.'
'But... You knew you could catch it.'
'Yes Sir. I knew I could catch it' Ianto said, a touch sharply. He was starting to feel tired and tetchy. A bath would be nice, and failing that, a warm bed. Somewhere a long way from a computer or a phone or anything else that could be used to contact him.
'Mmm, in that case...'

Jack lunged with speed a man as sick as he claimed to be shouldn't have, and grabbed Ianto round the waist.
'Captain!'
'Harassment, I know' Jack said, undoing Ianto's jacket and slipping it off his shoulders. 'It's for your own good.'
'I can't possibly imagine how you can justify that statement' Ianto said, flustered.

He found himself underneath a nearly-naked Jack harkness, who seemed to have more arms than a human should have, in too many places.
'The only thing in the world-' Jack paused, levering Ianto's shoes away with his toes '-that could make this bearable, is company.' Somehow, he managed to slide Ianto's shirt off, despite protests. 'Mmmm' Jack purred, snuggling against Ianto's chest.

Suddenly shirtless, Ianto sighed and gave up. To be honest, the heat of Jack's skin did feel good against his chest. He allowed himself to be dragged under the blankets, thinking of a woodcut illustration in one of Torchwood's old books, of a tentacled sea monster pulling a ship below the waves, except that the sea monster looked considerably angrier and less pleased with itself. But Jack's bed was pleasantly warm and surprisingly comfortable, and he was tired.
'Hmmm. I must be sick' Jack said, nuzzling behind Ianto's ear. 'I shouldn't have pounced on you like that.'

Before Ianto could agree that yes, polite people didn't seize their colleagues and drag them into bed uninvited, Jack bit his earlobe gently and continued. 'I should have let you finish rubbing my feet, THEN pounced on you.'

***