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Entry tags:
Deprivation
Fandom: Torchwood (shock horror!)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 497
Summary: In the wake of Exit Wounds, Jack reckons he's got more important things to do than sleep...
Prompt: For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writerinadrawer Challenge 2.07 - Wasted
Deprivation
“– and I am out of there,” Jack said loudly, waving one expressive hand and not even noticing when Ianto casually plucked his whisky glass right out from his fingers. “I mean, I was setting records. And these guys are firing ropes at my feet and there’s fences in the way, but I’m hurdling everything they can throw at me, and there is no way they’re gonna catch up, no chance.”
Ianto nodded patiently, and watched as Jack went to take a drink and found his hand empty. He blinked at his fingers, derailed from his story, and paused for a moment.
“And,” he said, and paused again. “And. What was I saying?”
“You were explaining how sleep deprivation doesn’t dull your reactions,” Ianto sighed, and Jack gave him a blank look. Then he nodded, and dragged himself up from his chair, turning to his drinks cabinet to fetch a new glass.
“I think that warrants a drink.”
Ianto quietly took the bottle off the desk and put it on the floor, putting the glass beside it and settling back down on Jack’s desk before he managed to turn and flop back into his chair again.
Jack stared at the empty spot where the bottle had been, then reached out to pat the space vaguely, muttering, “Did I move that?”
“I think you’ve had enough for now,” Ianto said softly, wondering how Jack was going to make it down the ladder without breaking his neck, but Jack gave him a flickering, weak smile and shook his head.
“I haven’t finished my story,” he said, and struggled up to get a fresh bottle. “Where was I?”
“Running,” Ianto told him, and watched Jack try to pour a new glass, the neck of the bottle rattling madly against the rim.
“No way they could catch me,” Jack muttered, eyes wide and staring fixedly at the liquid pouring out, as if by sheer willpower he could stop it from spilling onto the desk. “They had teams waiting up ahead to cut me off. I was… too fast. Saw them coming. Hadn’t slept for a week and I could still outthink them. They… There was…”
He righted the bottle suddenly and slammed it onto the desk, then knocked back his drink and said hoarsely, “I got clean away. You think I can’t handle this?”
“You need to sleep,” Ianto said softly. “I promise, nothing will happen to me or Gwen if you do.”
Jack tried to put his glass down on the desk but only managed to hit the edge, and it toppled onto the carpet with a dull thud. He stood up, leaning on the desk with one hand, and grabbed at Ianto’s jacket, saying flatly, “I am not risking you.”
“If you don’t sleep,” Ianto started, but Jack’s hand slipped and he hit the floor before Ianto could catch him.
Ianto crouched beside him and rolled him over gently. He was out cold.
“Well,” he sighed. “It’s a start.”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 497
Summary: In the wake of Exit Wounds, Jack reckons he's got more important things to do than sleep...
Prompt: For the
writerinadrawer Challenge 2.07 - WastedDeprivation
“– and I am out of there,” Jack said loudly, waving one expressive hand and not even noticing when Ianto casually plucked his whisky glass right out from his fingers. “I mean, I was setting records. And these guys are firing ropes at my feet and there’s fences in the way, but I’m hurdling everything they can throw at me, and there is no way they’re gonna catch up, no chance.”
Ianto nodded patiently, and watched as Jack went to take a drink and found his hand empty. He blinked at his fingers, derailed from his story, and paused for a moment.
“And,” he said, and paused again. “And. What was I saying?”
“You were explaining how sleep deprivation doesn’t dull your reactions,” Ianto sighed, and Jack gave him a blank look. Then he nodded, and dragged himself up from his chair, turning to his drinks cabinet to fetch a new glass.
“I think that warrants a drink.”
Ianto quietly took the bottle off the desk and put it on the floor, putting the glass beside it and settling back down on Jack’s desk before he managed to turn and flop back into his chair again.
Jack stared at the empty spot where the bottle had been, then reached out to pat the space vaguely, muttering, “Did I move that?”
“I think you’ve had enough for now,” Ianto said softly, wondering how Jack was going to make it down the ladder without breaking his neck, but Jack gave him a flickering, weak smile and shook his head.
“I haven’t finished my story,” he said, and struggled up to get a fresh bottle. “Where was I?”
“Running,” Ianto told him, and watched Jack try to pour a new glass, the neck of the bottle rattling madly against the rim.
“No way they could catch me,” Jack muttered, eyes wide and staring fixedly at the liquid pouring out, as if by sheer willpower he could stop it from spilling onto the desk. “They had teams waiting up ahead to cut me off. I was… too fast. Saw them coming. Hadn’t slept for a week and I could still outthink them. They… There was…”
He righted the bottle suddenly and slammed it onto the desk, then knocked back his drink and said hoarsely, “I got clean away. You think I can’t handle this?”
“You need to sleep,” Ianto said softly. “I promise, nothing will happen to me or Gwen if you do.”
Jack tried to put his glass down on the desk but only managed to hit the edge, and it toppled onto the carpet with a dull thud. He stood up, leaning on the desk with one hand, and grabbed at Ianto’s jacket, saying flatly, “I am not risking you.”
“If you don’t sleep,” Ianto started, but Jack’s hand slipped and he hit the floor before Ianto could catch him.
Ianto crouched beside him and rolled him over gently. He was out cold.
“Well,” he sighed. “It’s a start.”