Author: Milady Dragon
Pairing(s): JackHarkness/Ianto Jones; Jack Harkness/John Hart (Past); Toshiko Sato/Kathy Swanson (Mentioned)
Warnings: Language, Violence, Temporary Character Death (Jack, of course), some Torture.
Spoilers: Both series up to S2, E13, "Fragments" and "Exit Wounds", and the audio play, "Lost Souls".
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, I would have treated it better.
Author's Note: This is the Dragon-Verse version of "Fragments"/"Exit Wounds". I've gone with one story to cover the two episodes, since a lot of "Fragments" was flashback, and I do plan on writing those into longer stories at some point so I don't see the need to add them here.
A/N2: Anything medical in this chapter came from Google or TV, because I'm not a doctor.
Summary: John Hart is back, and with him is Jack's long-lost brother, Gray. But not all is what it seems...and Jack has to deal with consequences of actions that happened so long ago...and far into the future.
14 March 2009
The Torchwood Hub, Cardiff
Owen decided he’d never question Rhys’ driving skills…ever again. The man was the most careful maniac he’d ever had the displeasure of being in the same vehicle with…and he’d ridden with Jack Harkness for years now.
Even as he was cussing for that time Rhys almost hit a little old lady by taking a sidewalk in order to avoid a traffic tangle Owen had to be grateful for the “take no prisoners” attitude his fellow team member was taking in getting them to the Hub. He was clutching the dashboard in sheer terror as the medic was mentally cataloguing everything he’d need to save Patrick’s life.
He wasn’t even going to accept that the weapon-happy bastard was going to die. Not on his watch.
He’d really hated leaving the hospital, but he was only one man. The doctors and nurses had things in hand as well as could be expected with the bloody power out, and had had enough training in dealing with this sort of circumstance that hopefully they’d be able to handle it.
But he wasn’t about to leave Deborah alone with a bleeding Delaware. Dragon Boy had made certain everyone on the team had basic first aid, but that kid didn’t know the first thing about taking out a bullet. He had to hope she’d keep her head…but then, she’d been through shit people just wouldn’t understand, and she’d coped.
He’d considered telling her to go and get the kit from the autopsy bay, but Owen didn’t know how much blood Patrick was losing, and he didn’t want to risk her taking any pressure off that wound. She was bound to be exhausted by the time they arrived, plus there was no telling just what Hart had done to her. He hoped she wasn’t hurt and hiding it, because if she was they were gonna have words.
Deborah did keep him updated as much as she could, and from her description Owen guessed that the bullet had gone high and into the shoulder, possibly shattering either the clavicle or penetrating deep enough to at least take a chip out of the scapula. If Patrick didn’t die from blood loss, he was gonna have a lot of physical therapy to do in order to get range of motion back. He didn’t envy whatever therapist Ianto arranged having to deal with him. From experience Patrick was a crap patient.
Owen knew that worrying about Delaware and Deborah was hiding the very real fear of what Hart was doing to Jack. The bastard knew that Jack was immortal, and crazy enough to do something with that knowledge, as it were. If he was really that upset with Jack, Hart was capable of anything. What made it worse – and he knew everyone else was thinking it too – was that Rift signal from the castle. Hart had to have taken Jack somewhere, and they had no fucking idea how to go about getting him back.
Not that that would necessarily stop Ianto, of course. Nothing got between a dragon and his mate.
The area around the Plass was dark from the loss of power when Rhys pulled up and parked illegally in front of the Millennium Centre. Any other time Owen knew he would go round to the carpark, but the coppers would have their hands too full with all the other shit going on to take time out to ticket them for it. Owen was out of the vehicle almost before it had come to a stop, pounding down the Plass with Rhys on his heels, making for the shortest way down into the Hub: the invisible lift.
The lift rumbled into life as soon as they were both on the slab and Rhys had used the keyfob he carried with him to activate the mechanism. Owen’s stomach did the swoop it usually did when he rode on the lift, but he ignored it as they descended into the Hub.
As they passed the pteranodon’s nest there was a screech that echoed throughout the large space, as Myfanwy voiced her displeasure. Owen could see the bars of the gate that kept her inside; her long beak was sticking out through the gate, her darks eyes watching as they passed. She clacked her beak at them, and while Owen really didn’t care for the thing one bit he couldn’t blame her for not liking being locked up like that.
The medic caught sight of his two teammates. Patrick was on the floor by Toshiko’s station, not moving, while Deborah leaned over him, straddling Patrick’s waist, using both hands to press her jacket against his chest. Even from above Owen could see the strain in her face, far too pale in the light of the Hub, a bruise stark against her forehead.
Yep, he was definitely gonna have words with her.
Owen practically leaped off the slab as soon as it was safe to do so, heels slamming against the concrete that made up the Hub’s floor as he ran toward the two, Rhys’ own footsteps sounding just behind him. Owen was down on his knees beside them, his fingers checking the pulse in Patrick’s neck.
It was there, but it was thready and weak.
He let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. “Let’s get him up and into medical,” he ordered. “Rhys, give me a hand with him; Deborah, try to keep the pressure on as we move him.”
The girl carefully clambered off Patrick, trying to keep the jacket in place against the chest wound even though her arms were visibly shaking. As soon as she was clear, Rhys grabbed Patrick’s feet and Owen under his shoulders, lifting the American and carrying him down into the autopsy bay.
Owen was glad that Dragon Boy was anal enough to keep at him about leaving things off the examining table as they rested their burden onto it. He reached up and turned on the large lamp that overhung the table, giving himself plenty of light, relieved that the Hub had its own generator because there wasn’t anything more fun that operating in the dark, then he put on a pair of gloves and rested his hands over Deborah’s. “You can let go now, sweetheart,” he instructed her softly.
Her small, bloody, hands pulled away, and Deborah let out a small sob as she stepped back. “I did the best I could,” she whispered.
“You did just fine,” Owen assured her. “Rhys, pull that cart over here, wouldja?” He used one hand to wave toward the table of instruments that was just behind him.
The one squeaky wheel of the cart made a godawful racket as the Welshman did as he was told.
“Deborah, I need you to get into the fridge in the back and bring me three bags of Patrick’s blood,” Owen went on as he slowly pulled the jacket away to reveal his friend’s chest. “Also, grab one of Jack’s as well.” Harkness was a universal donor, what with his 51st century genetics and, even though his immortality didn’t have anything to do with his blood, there was some sort of advanced healing factor in it that might help in this circumstance. “It’s all marked, so don’t worry about getting the wrong stuff.”
“Alright,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady now. Owen was proud of her for getting herself back under control.
“Rhys, help me get his jacket off.” Together the two men lifted Patrick up, which brought out an unconscious moan from the American, and they eased off the blood-stained leather jacket. Owen checked for an exit wound; there was none, which had him cursing. An exit wound would have made things a lot easier; now he was going to have to perform surgery to get to the bullet.
The shirt underneath was red and wet, and it sucked slightly as Owen pulled it away from Patrick’s skin. He’d guessed right; the bullet wound was high in the chest. Patrick was just damned lucky it hadn’t punctured his lung.
Deborah was back with the blood, and Owen directed her to bring him the Bekaran scanner as he put Rhys to work as his assistant, asking for scissors so he could cut away the ruined shirt. Blood was seeping steadily from the wound, which was actually a good sign; the projectile hadn’t hit an artery or else Patrick would have been dead already.
“We need to get that blood hung,” he muttered, probing the wound with practiced fingers.
“I can get it set up,” Rhys answered, “but you’ll have to do the actual IV.”
“Get yourself a pair of gloves and get to it then.”
Deborah handed over the scanner, and Owen passed her some bandages and instructed her to keep applying pressure. Even though Patrick wasn’t bleeding heavily at the moment, he didn’t need to be losing any more.
Everything didn’t look all that bad really. The bullet had managed to completely miss the lung and the subclavian vein, but had shattered a rib and was wedged up against the clavicle, taking a chunk out of it as well. There were bone chips all over the place, and Owen knew he’d have to get those out as he was going in for the bullet. Anything else in either direction and things would have been a hell of a lot worse. He’d still have to be careful about those bone chips shifting, because one of them could do a shitload of damage if they moved too much.
Patrick should have been in a hospital. The only problem with that was that John bloody Hart had knocked out the power. Owen would have to do the surgery here if he had any hope of not causing any more damage than what was already there.
“Alright you two,” he said, looking away from his patient for the few moments it took to meet their eyes, “I’m gonna need to do the surgery here, and you’re both gonna help me. Find some scrubs and get gloved up.”
Both of them moved without any sort of talkback, for which Owen was grateful. He’d have his hands full without having either of them fight them on it.
“You’d better pull through, you bastard,” he snarled softly, taking the packed bandage away from the wound once more in order to squirt saline around the hole to clean away the blood there, “cause there’s no way I’m explaining this to your fucking scary family…”