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silver_sunTitle: Things Lost and Found Along The Way (8/10)
Rating: pg13
Characters/Pairings: Jack. AU Ianto, Owen and Tosh. Owen/Tosh, eventual Jack/Ianto.
Word Count: This part 3k (25k of 30k posted)
Contains: Serious illness of an alien variety.
Summary: Travelling back to Earth with Ianto, Owen and Toshiko on board the freighter Ariadne, Jack has growing concerns that the glove he'd used to bring them into this universe has somehow affected him. He's still trying to deal with these worries on his own when they receive a distress call from another ship. A call which is about to change everything.
A/N: This is a sequel to The Spaces in Between. This is a sequel to 'The Spaces in Between.' which was a CoE sort of fix it. Any similarity to Miracle Day with regards to what is going on with Jack is totally accidental as this aspect of the fic had already been decided on last year. Updated weekly on Friday.
This part beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mcparrot
Starts here.
Part eight:
“Kovarlian powder rot,” Owen announces, sounding pleased with himself as he walks into Jack's room.
“Never catch on,” Jack says weakly, not bothering to try to sit up. “Hello is so much better.”
“At least you've not lost your sense of humour. I meant what the flowers had, and presumably what killed the drug growers on the Meridian Star.”
“And what's killing me,” Jack adds, the amusement gone from his voice.
“Yeah,” Owen says glumly. “Any way, I've found out how they get rid of it, on plants that is. They spray the crop with a diluted chlorine solution, leave it for a few hours and the stuff starts to shrivel up. I couldn't find anything on how to treat people, well not ones with lungs any way. Apparently Kovarlians don't have any.”
“The only way I can come up with is for you to breathe it in, only...well it's chlorine gas we're talking about, it's not something you want to screw about with.” Angry, frustrated and tired, Owen sits down. “I get the amount wrong and I'll kill you just as sure as that bastard fungus is.”
“Kill or cure.” Jack picks up the oxygen mask and puts it back on, needing to relieve the breathlessness that now accompanies any attempt at talking. “It’s still better odds than doing nothing.”
“I know.” Owen rubs a hand across his eyes looking exhausted. “It doesn't mean I have to like it though.”
Jack suspects that he has probably worked through the night to get his diagnosis and possible treatment. It wouldn't surprise him if Tosh and Ianto had done the same.
They work well together as a team, and Jack knows that the years that they’ve spent at Torchwood on their world will stand them in good stead once they get to Earth. Fitting in with Gwen and Andy will be harder. Perhaps not so much for Andy, as he never really knew Owen and Tosh and had only met Ianto on a few occasions, but for Gwen, he suspects, it will be as tough as it is for himself.
“Got gassed with the stuff once” Jack says, quietly when Owen hasn’t said anything else for a couple of minutes. “Ypres 1915.” Trench warfare had been brutal, the silent, ever present threat of gas terrifying.
“I really didn’t want to know that,” Owen says looking and sounding uncomfortable. “It won’t be as concentrated as that. Eight hundred parts per million is the fifty percent lethal dose for animals, I'm going to be using about forty part per million.” Owen looks levelly at him. “I'm not going to lie to you though, it's going to be bloody unpleasant, and it's not risk free. But I'll have oxygen on hand the second you stop breathing it in, and I'll up the dose of antibiotics for a few days, make sure you don't get any secondary infections.”
“How soon can you start?”
“You don’t want to know more about it?”
“I trust you.” Jack gives him a grim smile. “The longer you wait, less chance I've got, especially if my immortality is wearing off rather than slowly coming back”
“Alright, I can get it set up and ready to go in an hour or so.” Owen stands up. “I can hold off a bit if you want, so you can talk to Gwen. Just in case any thing happens, I mean.”
Jack shakes his head. He knows what Owen means; does he want a chance to make his goodbyes now in case it all goes wrong? He can't bring himself to do it though. He can’t chance her having to live with this as her last memory of him - hollow eyed, skin almost grey with exhaustion as he gasps into the oxygen mask to get enough air to talk.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head again. “Could you get me some paper and a pen?” He knows he could just make a voice recording or type it out, but somehow there's an intimacy in sending a hand written letter that the others just don't have.
Owen looks thoughtful for a moment, then says, “Ianto will have some proper writing paper. I’ll get him to bring you some.”
* * *
Ianto arrives only a few minutes after Owen has left.
“Owen said you needed these.” Ianto hands him a pad of writing paper and a pen. “I thought you might want some envelopes too, so I've left a few in the back of the pad.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“I try,” Ianto says with a small smile.
Although propped up a bit to make breathing easier, Jack knows it’s still not enough to be able to write with any degree of ease. Placing his hands flat on the bed he tries to push himself up. It doesn’t work and he falls back. “I don’t suppose you could give me a hand?”
“Of course.” Putting an arm around Jack, Ianto helps him lean forward. Then, after moving the pillows behind him so they’ll support him in a more upright position, helps Jack lean back.
“You’re good at that,” Jack says, missing the comforting presence of Ianto’s arm around him.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
The sorrow in Ianto’s eyes is unmistakable and Jack asks, “Jack?”
“No.” Ianto looks away. “It was my Mam, she was ill for a long time. Me and Tad did what we could.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” Ianto says sadly. “Now isn’t really the time to talk about it any way.”
“I know,” Jack says, wondering if there will ever be any more time to talk about anything after Owen goes ahead with the treatment.
Handing Jack a tray so he can rest the paper on it while he writes, Ianto says, “Do you want to be alone for a while?”
Jack nods. These are going to be amongst the hardest letters he's ever had to write, and trying to keep his composure because Ianto is in the room will only make it harder.
Ianto puts his hand on Jack's shoulder, a gesture of support. “I'll come back later, when Owen is ready.”
Once Ianto is gone Jack starts to write.
Gwen,
If you're reading this then I'm dead, actually properly dead. A bit melodramatic I know, but you know me, I've never been accused of subtlety.
I'm sorry though. I don't know what else I can say.
I thought I'd always be here, that nothing could ever change that.
Please don't blame Owen, Ianto or Toshiko for any of this, they have tried their best to save me, they truly have. They're going to need you, I know it's going to be hard, believe me I know.
So don't let it drift Gwen Cooper, you keep loving and fighting the way you always have.
I couldn't leave Torchwood in better hands than yours.
Jack.
Folding the paper, Jack slips it into an envelope, tears in his eyes. The writing isn't as neat as he'd like, the combination of illness, exhaustion and his own emotional state making his hands shaky.
Clenching his hands into fists, Jack wills the trembling to stop. It’s not completely successful, but after a few minutes he feels able to continue writing.
Martha,
There's no easy way to say this, I'm dying. Dead actually, as I wouldn't have anybody give you this letter otherwise.
You were there when the Doctor told me I’d be here forever. I guess he got it wrong.
If you ever see him again let him know. He should know.
He's going to have to keep a closer eye on Earth again, as I'm not there to pick up the slack. My team will carry on doing the best it can, but they are only human.
I don't think I ever told you how much you making sure I wasn't left behind on the Valiant meant to me. It did, it meant more than I can ever put into words.
I'm sorry I'm not going to be there for you, I know I said if you ever needed help I'd come.
Hope things are going well with Tom, and that you're keeping the brass at UNIT in line.
You were amazing Martha Jones, don't you ever forget that.
Jack.
(PS you're a great kisser too.)
There are so many people to whom he feels he owes a letter, but there's no time to write to them all. There's one last letter though that he knows that he should at least try to write, one person he owes more than any other.
Dear Alice.
I know you don't want to hear from me, and I know what I did was unforgivable, but I thought you should know, I'm dying. By the time you get this letter I'll be gone.
This isn’t an attempt to gain your sympathy or pity, I know I don't deserve it.
I just want you to know that if I had been able to swap places with him, if I could have died in his place that day, I would have.
Jack looks at the half finished letter, the tears that have been in his eyes throughout writing Gwen and Martha's letters now falling. It seems so inadequate, a barely disguised attempt at trying to clear his own conscience. Angry at himself, Jack crumples it into a ball and throws it at the wall with as much force as he can muster.
There's nothing that he can say to her, nothing that he can do to ever make things better.
Hunching forwards, he covers his face with his hands, or as much of it as the oxygen mask will allow, and weeps.
The tears are only just starting to subside when Ianto comes back. He walks quickly across the room and sits down on the edge of the bed next to Jack.
“It's going to be alright,” Ianto says, putting an arm around Jack. “I can tell Owen you need a bit longer.”
“No.” Jack shakes his head, feeling unbearably weary. “I want it to be over,”
Ianto tenses. His voice rough as he says, “Don't talk like that. Owen knows what he's doing. You'll be alright.”
“I didn't mean it like that,” Jack says, although if he's honest he's not sure what he meant. “Just impatient, you know me.”
“I'm beginning to.” Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Ianto hands it to Jack. “Are you finished with the letters?”
Jack nods as he wipes his eyes. “I hope nobody ever has to read them.”
“So do I,” Ianto says, picking up the two finished letters.
Then, after putting the letters away safely in a drawer, Ianto goes to get Owen.
* * *
It doesn't take long for Ianto to arrive back with Owen and Tosh.
Jack looks apprehensively at the two gas cylinders that they have brought with them. “How much are you planning on giving me?”
“Only the little one is the chlorine mix,” Owen says, lifting the larger of the two cylinders off the anti-grav trolley. “This one's oxygen.”
Jack taps his mask. “Already got some.”
“That's only the forty percent mix they already had in the spacesuit air tanks. This one's a custom job, got Kelda to help me boost it up to eighty five percent. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the best I put together from what’s on board.” He checks the pressure gauge on it. “I'm going to give you ten minutes of this before I do anything else.”
“Why?”
“I want your blood oxygen level up before I give you the chlorine, it'll help a bit with some of the oxygen deprivation that you're going to feel.”
Taking Jack's old mask off, Owen puts the new one in place. “Now I want you to breathe as normally as you can. If it starts to make you feel dizzy or weird let me know.”
Jack nods, trying to relax.
Lying in bed there is nothing to do apart from watch as Owen, Tosh and Ianto make sure everything is set up correctly.
Staying mostly in the background, Ianto is quiet and tense. It’s something that Jack has come to recognise as meaning he’s having a hard time dealing with what is going on but doesn’t want anybody to know it. Jack considers asking him to leave while Owen and Tosh do what needs to be done. He doesn’t though, knowing that Ianto would never agree to it, and arguing about it isn’t going to help any of them.
He worries about Owen and Tosh as well, but knows that they need to be here for this to stand a chance of working, and even if they didn’t, he’s sure that any request for them to go would be met with the same refusal.
Part way through the ten minutes, Tosh clips a small monitoring device around his wrist.
Jack gives her a questioning look.
“It's to measure your pulse,” Tosh explains. She presses a button on it, and a small, flashing light appears on it. On the trolley another small device begins to flash with the same rhythmic pulse.
As Tosh moves away to check that the device on the trolley is reading correctly, Owen takes her place.
“Better get this done now,” he says, opening a foil packet containing a sterile wipe. Taking the wipe out, he cleans the back of Jack's hand.
Moving the mask aside so he can talk, Jack starts to ask, “What are-”
“Don't take it off yet,” Owen says irritably as he interrupts him. Leaning over he puts the mask back into place. “I'm putting a cannula in, it'll make things a bit simpler later on.”
Jack flinches as Owen inserts it into a vein in the back of his hand.
Owen snorts, and starts to secure the cannula in place. “It wasn't that bad, and you'll be glad I'm not rooting round for a vein later.”
Once the ten minutes are up, Owen asks, “How are you feeling?”
Like something large, heavy and very annoyed has trampled all over me and then sat down on my chest for a rest, Jack thinks would be the best description. The increased oxygen has helped a little though, and he says, “Ready for anything.”
“In that case I ‘spose we’d better get started,” Owen says, double checking the pressure and connections on the chlorine canister.
“You'll need to breathe the first breath of it in as quickly and as deeply as you can. You might get a second one in before you start coughing, if you do try to make it deep as well.”
“Then what?” Jack asks, knowing that once they start he won’t be in a position to ask anything.
“Depending on how much you've managed to take in I'll either take the mask off and put you straight onto the oxygen, or I'll keep the chlorine on for another few seconds just to make sure you've got a big enough dose.”
“Better get it right then,” Jack says, not wanting to have to breathe it in for a second longer than absolutely necessary.
“You ready then?”
“Yeah.” It's a lie, and Jack suspects that they all know it. There's no way anybody could ever be truly ready for this.
Behind Owen, Ianto watches with a worried frown on his face, and Tosh waits ready to start monitoring his pulse rate and the amount of gas still in the canisters.
Owen removes the oxygen mask. “Okay, I want you to breathe out as much as you can, you'll take more in this way.”
Jack can feel his heart rate start to speed up, nerves getting the better of him. The pain in his lungs starts to increase again as he breathes out, but he keeps going until he's trembling with the effort.
“Here we go then,” Owen says, putting the chlorine mask in place. He takes hold of Jack's hand. “On three take a deep breath. One, two, three.”
For a moment Jack isn't sure he's going to be able to, the fear of what is about to happen overriding everything else, then the need to breathe kicks in, his empty lungs demanding air, and he inhales as deeply as he can.
The pain is immediate, the heavy acrid gas, bitter on his tongue, as it floods like hot smoke into nose, throat and lungs. His eyes are watering, and he wants to be sick, as the terrible memories of watching the men in his unit die, eyes staring and their lips turning blue as they slowly suffocated lying in the cold Belgium mud many years ago, play out in his head.
“Keep going.” Owen gives his hand an encouraging squeeze. “That's it, just a bit more.”
“Can't,” Jack croaks, his hand reaching up to claw weakly as the mask. “Hurts.”
“I know it does, but you've got to keep going,” Owen says urgently. “Now come on.”
Crying, coughing, his throat feeling raw, Jack shudders through each ragged, excruciating breath, unsure of how he's going to force himself to take another.
Around him, Jack is dimly aware the haze of pain that Owen has started talking to Tosh, and then to Ianto.
A moment later Owen removes the mask. It does nothing to relieve the effects of chlorine, the feeling of burning in Jack’s lungs getting worse as he drags in a wheezing breath between coughs.
Another mask is pushed other his face, and Jack looks wild eyed at Owen, silent plea not to make him breathe any more of the gas.
Pushing aside Jack's uncoordinated attempts to remove the mask, Owen says, “It's oxygen, don't try and fight it.”
It takes a few minutes, but slowly the overwhelming feeling of suffocation recedes just enough that the pain now takes precedence. The coughing gradually worsens too, each cough ending in a pained sob for breath.
Letting go of Jack's hand, Owen moves over to the trolley. Picking up a bottle and a syringe, Owen quickly and carefully draws up a dose.
“This'll help,” Owen says, injecting it through the cannula.
The mix of painkiller and mild sedative start to work quickly, and Jack can feel the pain recede back to merely unpleasant levels, the feeling of dizziness and being disconnected from everything around him increasing.
“I'd put you under if I could, let you sleep right though it,” Owen says, sorrow in his eyes that he can't do more for Jack. “But you're going to be coughing a hell of a lot to get the crud out of your lungs, and if you're out of it there’s a good chance you'd choke.”
He takes hold of Jack's hand again. “If you really can't take it, I'll do it, and we’ll just have to play it by ear. But if you can you just hang in there, okay?”
Talking isn't an option, not yet, and Jack weakly squeezes Owen hand, knowing there is nothing any of them can do now other than wait.
Rating: pg13
Characters/Pairings: Jack. AU Ianto, Owen and Tosh. Owen/Tosh, eventual Jack/Ianto.
Word Count: This part 3k (25k of 30k posted)
Contains: Serious illness of an alien variety.
Summary: Travelling back to Earth with Ianto, Owen and Toshiko on board the freighter Ariadne, Jack has growing concerns that the glove he'd used to bring them into this universe has somehow affected him. He's still trying to deal with these worries on his own when they receive a distress call from another ship. A call which is about to change everything.
A/N: This is a sequel to The Spaces in Between. This is a sequel to 'The Spaces in Between.' which was a CoE sort of fix it. Any similarity to Miracle Day with regards to what is going on with Jack is totally accidental as this aspect of the fic had already been decided on last year. Updated weekly on Friday.
This part beta'd by
mcparrotStarts here.
Part eight:
“Kovarlian powder rot,” Owen announces, sounding pleased with himself as he walks into Jack's room.
“Never catch on,” Jack says weakly, not bothering to try to sit up. “Hello is so much better.”
“At least you've not lost your sense of humour. I meant what the flowers had, and presumably what killed the drug growers on the Meridian Star.”
“And what's killing me,” Jack adds, the amusement gone from his voice.
“Yeah,” Owen says glumly. “Any way, I've found out how they get rid of it, on plants that is. They spray the crop with a diluted chlorine solution, leave it for a few hours and the stuff starts to shrivel up. I couldn't find anything on how to treat people, well not ones with lungs any way. Apparently Kovarlians don't have any.”
“The only way I can come up with is for you to breathe it in, only...well it's chlorine gas we're talking about, it's not something you want to screw about with.” Angry, frustrated and tired, Owen sits down. “I get the amount wrong and I'll kill you just as sure as that bastard fungus is.”
“Kill or cure.” Jack picks up the oxygen mask and puts it back on, needing to relieve the breathlessness that now accompanies any attempt at talking. “It’s still better odds than doing nothing.”
“I know.” Owen rubs a hand across his eyes looking exhausted. “It doesn't mean I have to like it though.”
Jack suspects that he has probably worked through the night to get his diagnosis and possible treatment. It wouldn't surprise him if Tosh and Ianto had done the same.
They work well together as a team, and Jack knows that the years that they’ve spent at Torchwood on their world will stand them in good stead once they get to Earth. Fitting in with Gwen and Andy will be harder. Perhaps not so much for Andy, as he never really knew Owen and Tosh and had only met Ianto on a few occasions, but for Gwen, he suspects, it will be as tough as it is for himself.
“Got gassed with the stuff once” Jack says, quietly when Owen hasn’t said anything else for a couple of minutes. “Ypres 1915.” Trench warfare had been brutal, the silent, ever present threat of gas terrifying.
“I really didn’t want to know that,” Owen says looking and sounding uncomfortable. “It won’t be as concentrated as that. Eight hundred parts per million is the fifty percent lethal dose for animals, I'm going to be using about forty part per million.” Owen looks levelly at him. “I'm not going to lie to you though, it's going to be bloody unpleasant, and it's not risk free. But I'll have oxygen on hand the second you stop breathing it in, and I'll up the dose of antibiotics for a few days, make sure you don't get any secondary infections.”
“How soon can you start?”
“You don’t want to know more about it?”
“I trust you.” Jack gives him a grim smile. “The longer you wait, less chance I've got, especially if my immortality is wearing off rather than slowly coming back”
“Alright, I can get it set up and ready to go in an hour or so.” Owen stands up. “I can hold off a bit if you want, so you can talk to Gwen. Just in case any thing happens, I mean.”
Jack shakes his head. He knows what Owen means; does he want a chance to make his goodbyes now in case it all goes wrong? He can't bring himself to do it though. He can’t chance her having to live with this as her last memory of him - hollow eyed, skin almost grey with exhaustion as he gasps into the oxygen mask to get enough air to talk.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head again. “Could you get me some paper and a pen?” He knows he could just make a voice recording or type it out, but somehow there's an intimacy in sending a hand written letter that the others just don't have.
Owen looks thoughtful for a moment, then says, “Ianto will have some proper writing paper. I’ll get him to bring you some.”
* * *
Ianto arrives only a few minutes after Owen has left.
“Owen said you needed these.” Ianto hands him a pad of writing paper and a pen. “I thought you might want some envelopes too, so I've left a few in the back of the pad.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“I try,” Ianto says with a small smile.
Although propped up a bit to make breathing easier, Jack knows it’s still not enough to be able to write with any degree of ease. Placing his hands flat on the bed he tries to push himself up. It doesn’t work and he falls back. “I don’t suppose you could give me a hand?”
“Of course.” Putting an arm around Jack, Ianto helps him lean forward. Then, after moving the pillows behind him so they’ll support him in a more upright position, helps Jack lean back.
“You’re good at that,” Jack says, missing the comforting presence of Ianto’s arm around him.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
The sorrow in Ianto’s eyes is unmistakable and Jack asks, “Jack?”
“No.” Ianto looks away. “It was my Mam, she was ill for a long time. Me and Tad did what we could.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” Ianto says sadly. “Now isn’t really the time to talk about it any way.”
“I know,” Jack says, wondering if there will ever be any more time to talk about anything after Owen goes ahead with the treatment.
Handing Jack a tray so he can rest the paper on it while he writes, Ianto says, “Do you want to be alone for a while?”
Jack nods. These are going to be amongst the hardest letters he's ever had to write, and trying to keep his composure because Ianto is in the room will only make it harder.
Ianto puts his hand on Jack's shoulder, a gesture of support. “I'll come back later, when Owen is ready.”
Once Ianto is gone Jack starts to write.
Gwen,
If you're reading this then I'm dead, actually properly dead. A bit melodramatic I know, but you know me, I've never been accused of subtlety.
I'm sorry though. I don't know what else I can say.
I thought I'd always be here, that nothing could ever change that.
Please don't blame Owen, Ianto or Toshiko for any of this, they have tried their best to save me, they truly have. They're going to need you, I know it's going to be hard, believe me I know.
So don't let it drift Gwen Cooper, you keep loving and fighting the way you always have.
I couldn't leave Torchwood in better hands than yours.
Jack.
Folding the paper, Jack slips it into an envelope, tears in his eyes. The writing isn't as neat as he'd like, the combination of illness, exhaustion and his own emotional state making his hands shaky.
Clenching his hands into fists, Jack wills the trembling to stop. It’s not completely successful, but after a few minutes he feels able to continue writing.
Martha,
There's no easy way to say this, I'm dying. Dead actually, as I wouldn't have anybody give you this letter otherwise.
You were there when the Doctor told me I’d be here forever. I guess he got it wrong.
If you ever see him again let him know. He should know.
He's going to have to keep a closer eye on Earth again, as I'm not there to pick up the slack. My team will carry on doing the best it can, but they are only human.
I don't think I ever told you how much you making sure I wasn't left behind on the Valiant meant to me. It did, it meant more than I can ever put into words.
I'm sorry I'm not going to be there for you, I know I said if you ever needed help I'd come.
Hope things are going well with Tom, and that you're keeping the brass at UNIT in line.
You were amazing Martha Jones, don't you ever forget that.
Jack.
(PS you're a great kisser too.)
There are so many people to whom he feels he owes a letter, but there's no time to write to them all. There's one last letter though that he knows that he should at least try to write, one person he owes more than any other.
Dear Alice.
I know you don't want to hear from me, and I know what I did was unforgivable, but I thought you should know, I'm dying. By the time you get this letter I'll be gone.
This isn’t an attempt to gain your sympathy or pity, I know I don't deserve it.
I just want you to know that if I had been able to swap places with him, if I could have died in his place that day, I would have.
Jack looks at the half finished letter, the tears that have been in his eyes throughout writing Gwen and Martha's letters now falling. It seems so inadequate, a barely disguised attempt at trying to clear his own conscience. Angry at himself, Jack crumples it into a ball and throws it at the wall with as much force as he can muster.
There's nothing that he can say to her, nothing that he can do to ever make things better.
Hunching forwards, he covers his face with his hands, or as much of it as the oxygen mask will allow, and weeps.
The tears are only just starting to subside when Ianto comes back. He walks quickly across the room and sits down on the edge of the bed next to Jack.
“It's going to be alright,” Ianto says, putting an arm around Jack. “I can tell Owen you need a bit longer.”
“No.” Jack shakes his head, feeling unbearably weary. “I want it to be over,”
Ianto tenses. His voice rough as he says, “Don't talk like that. Owen knows what he's doing. You'll be alright.”
“I didn't mean it like that,” Jack says, although if he's honest he's not sure what he meant. “Just impatient, you know me.”
“I'm beginning to.” Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Ianto hands it to Jack. “Are you finished with the letters?”
Jack nods as he wipes his eyes. “I hope nobody ever has to read them.”
“So do I,” Ianto says, picking up the two finished letters.
Then, after putting the letters away safely in a drawer, Ianto goes to get Owen.
* * *
It doesn't take long for Ianto to arrive back with Owen and Tosh.
Jack looks apprehensively at the two gas cylinders that they have brought with them. “How much are you planning on giving me?”
“Only the little one is the chlorine mix,” Owen says, lifting the larger of the two cylinders off the anti-grav trolley. “This one's oxygen.”
Jack taps his mask. “Already got some.”
“That's only the forty percent mix they already had in the spacesuit air tanks. This one's a custom job, got Kelda to help me boost it up to eighty five percent. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the best I put together from what’s on board.” He checks the pressure gauge on it. “I'm going to give you ten minutes of this before I do anything else.”
“Why?”
“I want your blood oxygen level up before I give you the chlorine, it'll help a bit with some of the oxygen deprivation that you're going to feel.”
Taking Jack's old mask off, Owen puts the new one in place. “Now I want you to breathe as normally as you can. If it starts to make you feel dizzy or weird let me know.”
Jack nods, trying to relax.
Lying in bed there is nothing to do apart from watch as Owen, Tosh and Ianto make sure everything is set up correctly.
Staying mostly in the background, Ianto is quiet and tense. It’s something that Jack has come to recognise as meaning he’s having a hard time dealing with what is going on but doesn’t want anybody to know it. Jack considers asking him to leave while Owen and Tosh do what needs to be done. He doesn’t though, knowing that Ianto would never agree to it, and arguing about it isn’t going to help any of them.
He worries about Owen and Tosh as well, but knows that they need to be here for this to stand a chance of working, and even if they didn’t, he’s sure that any request for them to go would be met with the same refusal.
Part way through the ten minutes, Tosh clips a small monitoring device around his wrist.
Jack gives her a questioning look.
“It's to measure your pulse,” Tosh explains. She presses a button on it, and a small, flashing light appears on it. On the trolley another small device begins to flash with the same rhythmic pulse.
As Tosh moves away to check that the device on the trolley is reading correctly, Owen takes her place.
“Better get this done now,” he says, opening a foil packet containing a sterile wipe. Taking the wipe out, he cleans the back of Jack's hand.
Moving the mask aside so he can talk, Jack starts to ask, “What are-”
“Don't take it off yet,” Owen says irritably as he interrupts him. Leaning over he puts the mask back into place. “I'm putting a cannula in, it'll make things a bit simpler later on.”
Jack flinches as Owen inserts it into a vein in the back of his hand.
Owen snorts, and starts to secure the cannula in place. “It wasn't that bad, and you'll be glad I'm not rooting round for a vein later.”
Once the ten minutes are up, Owen asks, “How are you feeling?”
Like something large, heavy and very annoyed has trampled all over me and then sat down on my chest for a rest, Jack thinks would be the best description. The increased oxygen has helped a little though, and he says, “Ready for anything.”
“In that case I ‘spose we’d better get started,” Owen says, double checking the pressure and connections on the chlorine canister.
“You'll need to breathe the first breath of it in as quickly and as deeply as you can. You might get a second one in before you start coughing, if you do try to make it deep as well.”
“Then what?” Jack asks, knowing that once they start he won’t be in a position to ask anything.
“Depending on how much you've managed to take in I'll either take the mask off and put you straight onto the oxygen, or I'll keep the chlorine on for another few seconds just to make sure you've got a big enough dose.”
“Better get it right then,” Jack says, not wanting to have to breathe it in for a second longer than absolutely necessary.
“You ready then?”
“Yeah.” It's a lie, and Jack suspects that they all know it. There's no way anybody could ever be truly ready for this.
Behind Owen, Ianto watches with a worried frown on his face, and Tosh waits ready to start monitoring his pulse rate and the amount of gas still in the canisters.
Owen removes the oxygen mask. “Okay, I want you to breathe out as much as you can, you'll take more in this way.”
Jack can feel his heart rate start to speed up, nerves getting the better of him. The pain in his lungs starts to increase again as he breathes out, but he keeps going until he's trembling with the effort.
“Here we go then,” Owen says, putting the chlorine mask in place. He takes hold of Jack's hand. “On three take a deep breath. One, two, three.”
For a moment Jack isn't sure he's going to be able to, the fear of what is about to happen overriding everything else, then the need to breathe kicks in, his empty lungs demanding air, and he inhales as deeply as he can.
The pain is immediate, the heavy acrid gas, bitter on his tongue, as it floods like hot smoke into nose, throat and lungs. His eyes are watering, and he wants to be sick, as the terrible memories of watching the men in his unit die, eyes staring and their lips turning blue as they slowly suffocated lying in the cold Belgium mud many years ago, play out in his head.
“Keep going.” Owen gives his hand an encouraging squeeze. “That's it, just a bit more.”
“Can't,” Jack croaks, his hand reaching up to claw weakly as the mask. “Hurts.”
“I know it does, but you've got to keep going,” Owen says urgently. “Now come on.”
Crying, coughing, his throat feeling raw, Jack shudders through each ragged, excruciating breath, unsure of how he's going to force himself to take another.
Around him, Jack is dimly aware the haze of pain that Owen has started talking to Tosh, and then to Ianto.
A moment later Owen removes the mask. It does nothing to relieve the effects of chlorine, the feeling of burning in Jack’s lungs getting worse as he drags in a wheezing breath between coughs.
Another mask is pushed other his face, and Jack looks wild eyed at Owen, silent plea not to make him breathe any more of the gas.
Pushing aside Jack's uncoordinated attempts to remove the mask, Owen says, “It's oxygen, don't try and fight it.”
It takes a few minutes, but slowly the overwhelming feeling of suffocation recedes just enough that the pain now takes precedence. The coughing gradually worsens too, each cough ending in a pained sob for breath.
Letting go of Jack's hand, Owen moves over to the trolley. Picking up a bottle and a syringe, Owen quickly and carefully draws up a dose.
“This'll help,” Owen says, injecting it through the cannula.
The mix of painkiller and mild sedative start to work quickly, and Jack can feel the pain recede back to merely unpleasant levels, the feeling of dizziness and being disconnected from everything around him increasing.
“I'd put you under if I could, let you sleep right though it,” Owen says, sorrow in his eyes that he can't do more for Jack. “But you're going to be coughing a hell of a lot to get the crud out of your lungs, and if you're out of it there’s a good chance you'd choke.”
He takes hold of Jack's hand again. “If you really can't take it, I'll do it, and we’ll just have to play it by ear. But if you can you just hang in there, okay?”
Talking isn't an option, not yet, and Jack weakly squeezes Owen hand, knowing there is nothing any of them can do now other than wait.
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-05 10:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-05 12:19 pm (UTC)Can't wait for the next part.
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Date: 2011-08-05 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-05 11:17 pm (UTC)