Characters: Owen, Ianto.
Written For: Challenge 642: Oxygen at tw100.
Summary: After a mishap, Ianto finds himself under Owen’s care.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
“Don’t look so worried,” Owen snapped, his bedside manner at its usual level of non-existent caring and sympathy. “The oxygen mask’s just a precaution to ensure all the gas is neutralised and flushed from your body. The dose you got must have been minimal, otherwise you’d be dead already, your lungs destroyed.”
“That’s comforting to know,” Ianto griped, voice muffled by the mask that covered his mouth and nose.
“I don’t get paid the big money to be comforting and hold your hand; my job’s to save lives, and I’m good at it.” Owen glared in Ianto’s direction as if daring his colleague to disagree.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
“So quit your complaining. How’re you feeling? Any trouble breathing, dizziness, nausea, pain?”
“I’m a little lightheaded, that’s all.”
“You’re breathing almost pure oxygen, a little lightheaded isn’t a problem.” Owen checked Ianto’s oxygen saturation levels. “Better not have anyone strike a match around you for the rest of the day; you might explode. This would be a bad time to take up smoking.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to steer clear of open flames.”
“Told you you’d be fine.”