Jack’s immortality had certainly come in useful since his return from travelling with the Doctor. He’d been far more willing to lay his life on the line for the others, which had helped no end, but had led to him being shot, stabbed, blown up (in various senses of the phrase) and generally killed more than a dozen times in the month since he’d come back.
The only real trouble with the situation, as far as Owen was concerned, was the blood. Take now, for instance. They’d been trying to sneak up on a sleeping Cathragene (much like a porcupine, but bigger, nastier, and capable of shooting metre-long darts at predators – or unfortunate bypassers) which had made its nest in one of the boats right outside the Tourist Information entrance. Gwen, however, had sneezed on the approach, and it had woken up and fired a dozen darts at the nearest attacker – Tosh.
Naturally, Jack had dived in front of her, just in the nick of time.
This meant that while the others were chasing after their fleeing Cathragene, Owen (as doctor) was left to pull all of the darts out of Jack so that he could come back to life without instantly dying again.
And God, what a mess it was making. The darts were barbed, as it turned out, so every pull was ripping Jack even further to shreds (his shirt and t-shirt were beyond repair by now, though the darts had missed his coat, so he’d be happy enough), and the Cathragene’s aim was far too good. Two darts in Jack’s heart, one skewering his throat, another in his eye and seven more stuck in the rest of his body, and Owen was getting covered in his blood trying to remove them. His hands kept slipping, and it was even beginning to make him feel queasy.
Jack gasped and flailed back to life before he’d got them all out, croaking, “Ow?” in clear confusion.
“Oh, shut up,” Owen muttered, pausing to try and wipe his hands clean on Jack’s coat (which was soaked in blood anyway, and so was little help). “You’ve got a Cathragene dart stuck in your throat, alright? Hold still while I get it out.”
Jack made an unpleasantly bubbly choking sound, focusing on the dart in his neck, and raised his eyebrows.
Rolling his eyes, Owen yanked it out, and watched Jack die again as blood spurted from the wound. He pulled the final dart from Jack’s leg, and stood up, trying to wipe his face clean of Jack’s blood on his shoulder, and not being particularly successful.
“Why can’t you ever be strangled?” he asked Jack, kicking him a bit. “You always have to make a mess, and it’s usually me who gets covered in your innards in the process.”
He paused for a moment, taking in the gore on the planks and the wall, then grinned to himself, raising his hand to his earpiece.
“Ianto, soon as you’re done with the porcupine, get back here. Got some cleanup for you to do.”
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Date: 2007-06-25 07:16 pm (UTC)Cathragene Cleanup
Jack’s immortality had certainly come in useful since his return from travelling with the Doctor. He’d been far more willing to lay his life on the line for the others, which had helped no end, but had led to him being shot, stabbed, blown up (in various senses of the phrase) and generally killed more than a dozen times in the month since he’d come back.
The only real trouble with the situation, as far as Owen was concerned, was the blood. Take now, for instance. They’d been trying to sneak up on a sleeping Cathragene (much like a porcupine, but bigger, nastier, and capable of shooting metre-long darts at predators – or unfortunate bypassers) which had made its nest in one of the boats right outside the Tourist Information entrance. Gwen, however, had sneezed on the approach, and it had woken up and fired a dozen darts at the nearest attacker – Tosh.
Naturally, Jack had dived in front of her, just in the nick of time.
This meant that while the others were chasing after their fleeing Cathragene, Owen (as doctor) was left to pull all of the darts out of Jack so that he could come back to life without instantly dying again.
And God, what a mess it was making. The darts were barbed, as it turned out, so every pull was ripping Jack even further to shreds (his shirt and t-shirt were beyond repair by now, though the darts had missed his coat, so he’d be happy enough), and the Cathragene’s aim was far too good. Two darts in Jack’s heart, one skewering his throat, another in his eye and seven more stuck in the rest of his body, and Owen was getting covered in his blood trying to remove them. His hands kept slipping, and it was even beginning to make him feel queasy.
Jack gasped and flailed back to life before he’d got them all out, croaking, “Ow?” in clear confusion.
“Oh, shut up,” Owen muttered, pausing to try and wipe his hands clean on Jack’s coat (which was soaked in blood anyway, and so was little help). “You’ve got a Cathragene dart stuck in your throat, alright? Hold still while I get it out.”
Jack made an unpleasantly bubbly choking sound, focusing on the dart in his neck, and raised his eyebrows.
Rolling his eyes, Owen yanked it out, and watched Jack die again as blood spurted from the wound. He pulled the final dart from Jack’s leg, and stood up, trying to wipe his face clean of Jack’s blood on his shoulder, and not being particularly successful.
“Why can’t you ever be strangled?” he asked Jack, kicking him a bit. “You always have to make a mess, and it’s usually me who gets covered in your innards in the process.”
He paused for a moment, taking in the gore on the planks and the wall, then grinned to himself, raising his hand to his earpiece.
“Ianto, soon as you’re done with the porcupine, get back here. Got some cleanup for you to do.”