Title: Trampled
Fandom: Torchwood
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Owen.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 893
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Poor Ianto is suffering from another uniquely Torchwood injury.
Content Notes: None needed.
Written For: Challenge 361: Foot.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.



“If anyone’s expecting us to foot the bill for this, they can think again,” Ianto snarled. “This was NOT our fault!”

“I agree.” Jack tried to calm his irate boyfriend.

“We did NOT invite that hulking brute into the council offices, we have zero control over where the Rift decides to dump things!”

“I know, and I’ve told the mayor that, on multiple occasions.”

“If you’ve told him, why does he insist on laying the blame at our door every single time something like this happens?” Ianto turned his head so fast he almost headbutted Jack on the nose. Jack jerked back just in time, nearly throwing them both off balance in the process.

“Because Torchwood is a secret organisation. Every time I explain it to him, you tell me I have to Retcon him.”

“Oh. Right.” Ianto took another hobbling step forwards, making for the sofa beneath the Torchwood sign, with Jack steadying him.

“Almost there,” Jack assured him. “You’ll be sitting down before you know it.” He sensibly refrained from mentioning they’d both be sitting down by now if Ianto had just allowed himself to be carried. “Then Owen can take a look at your foot.”

“I’m not sure I want to take my shoe off,” Ianto admitted. “I’m worried my toes might come off with it.”

“I don’t think that’s very likely.” Jack did his best to sound reassuring but wasn’t particularly successful.

“How would you know? Have you even had a woolly mammoth step on your toes?”

“Well, no… But it was only a little one! Barely even cow-sized, and I’ve been trampled on by a few cows in my time.”

“Cows have much smaller feet than woolly mammoths, in case you didn’t notice. My toes could be squashed flat! I might never walk normally again!”

“It won’t come to that, I promise, even if I have to ask the Doctor to take you to the future for treatment when he gets back from giving our visitor a ride home. Here we go.” Jack lowered Ianto carefully onto the sofa’s lumpy cushions and helped him lift his damaged foot onto the coffee table.

“Feet don’t belong on tables,” Ianto protested. It’s unhygienic! “We eat off that!”

“I’ll thoroughly disinfect it for you later, if you insist, but Owen’s going to need your foot where he can get at it.”

Ianto huffed. “Well alright.”

“What kept you?” Owen came stomping up from the medical bay, carrying the Bekaran scanner and a few other bits and pieces of medical equipment.

“I can’t walk very fast with crushed toes; sorry if you find that inconvenient!” Ianto glared balefully at the medic.

Owen shrugged, turning to Jack. “You should’ve just slung him over your shoulder. Would’ve been quicker.”

“I was going to, but Ianto threatened dire consequences if I tried, and I didn’t want to be served cheap instant decaf for the next month.”

“I’m perfectly willing to serve it to you though, Owen,” Ianto added pointedly

Owen ignored the threat. “Right, let’s take a look at your foot.” Wielding a formidable looking laser scalpel, he leaned forward, and Ianto tried to pull his injured foot back.

“It’s not that bad, you don’t need to amputate!”

“It’s to cut your shoe off, not your foot, moron.”

If anything, that made Ianto even more irate. “What? Do you have any idea how much these shoes cost?”

“They’re already ruined.” Jack tried to placate his lover. “The leather’s split.”

Ianto had been avoiding looking at his trampled foot, not wanting to see any evidence of serious damage, but now he leaned forward to peer at it.

“Oh.” On the plus side, there was no sign of blood seeping out of the mangled shoe, so maybe that meant his toes were still attached.

Using the short laser blade, Owen deftly removed the sole of the shoe, then sliced the upper away piece by piece. Ianto slumped back against the cushions and covered his eyes with one forearm, not wanting to watch the wanton destruction of Italian leather.

Snipping Ianto’s sock away with a pair of scissors, Owen unveiled the damage. There was some swelling, three of Ianto’s toenails were already turning black, and there were traces of blood where one had been partially torn from the nail bed, but all five toes were there. Setting the scissors aside, he picked up the scanner and ran it over the foot.

“Try wiggling your toes.”

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Ianto did as he was told, and his toes twitched feebly.

“They moved!” Sitting beside his lover, Jack squeezed Ianto’s hand.

“Looks like you’ll live.” Owen’s bedside manner was as bad as ever. “Probably lose a few toenails, but nothing’s broken. Ice your foot, take painkillers, and I’ll dig out a pair of crutches. You should try to avoid puttin’ weight on that foot for a few days, just until the swelling goes down.”

Lowering his arm, Ianto leaned forward again, cautiously inspecting the damage and counting his toes. The foot looked sore and puffy, bruises blossoming across the top, but it was in one piece.

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“I’m sure Woolly didn’t mean to tread on your foot. She was just scared.” Jack defended the displaced creature.

Ianto sighed; such was life with Torchwood. “I suppose I’m lucky I didn’t get impaled on a tusk.”


The End