Bothered
Title: Bothered
Topic: Torchwood
Characters: One sided Owen/Jack, mentions rest of the team.
Rating: PG-13 because it's Owen.
Words: 736
Summary: And he held on, crying in relief and in pain and in loss. Because Jack could never be his.
Genre: angst
Author's Note: I wrote this for gailee122 who asked for a Owen who was jealous of Ianto because he was with Jack, and it turned into a onesided Owen/Jack never-could-have-been-love short story. Enjoy. ^_^
Every day. Every damn day he had to deal with it. He had to watch the not-so-subtle interactions between Jack and Ianto - they thought they were so sly when they “accidentally” brushed up against each other, or how Ianto purposefully handed Jack his coffee in such a way that the Captain had no choice but to touch Ianto’s hand in order to take it. They thought no one noticed the little glances they sent in the conference room, or the silent “Be careful” that Ianto’s eyes bored into Jack’s head before he gallivanted off to save the Earth again. They thought no one would care if they disappeared in the middle of the day for a while, only for them to come up from the archives at seemingly random intervals apart from each other. They thought it wouldn’t bother anyone that they were fucking - not personally, anyway.
But Owen was bothered.
At first he told himself that it was just because it was annoying and distracting to have to deal with the happiness that radiated off of Ianto at any given moment, or the obvious post-coital bliss that they tried desperately to hide (Jack was better at it, but Owen could still tell.) Yes, annoying was the right word. Annoyed at the fact that they were indirectly rubbing it in everyone’s face what they were doing. Annoyed that he couldn’t go into the hothouse anymore without shivering because of that story that Gwen had told him. Annoyed that the tea boy was better shagged than he was.
Then he and Gwen started this thing that they never gave a proper name to, because neither of them were strong enough to. It was then that he thought he was jealous of Jack. Jealous that the American could walk into a room and every single fucking person in the room - male, female, not sure - would turn their head and stare and immediately start fantasizing about how amazing it would be to shag the man, or even just snog him. Something. He was jealous that he would have to work a woman all night to get her to let him buy her a drink, but Jack just introduced himself, and suddenly he had his choice of the night. And he thought it was funny, how he was shagging the only woman in the world that Jack wouldn’t. He saw it as his own personal victory over the irresistible Captain. Owen would have a notch on his bedpost that Jack wouldn’t - and he was unsettlingly happy about that.
But it was when Jack’s body was lying on that slab down in the morgue, with Gwen watching over him as a silent angel, and with Ianto down in the archives, crying when he thought no one was watching, was when Owen realized the truth.
He loved Jack.
He cried, when the man was dead. He cried at his apartment, which he hadn’t called home since he bought it. He went on binges, slept with hookers and whores because he didn’t have the energy to actually get a woman. And then when he went to the hub in the morning, he acted like there was nothing wrong. He had to be strong - someone had to be in charge, and certainly not Gwen or Ianto. Certainly not poor little Tosh. So it had to be him.
And then Jack was standing there, in front of them - breathing, living. He was pale and looked like he had seen better days, but he was there, alive. He watched as Tosh was given a large hug, and Ianto a full on snog and Owen was unable to keep the jealousy out of his heart, the anger from boiling at the Welshman. It just wasn’t fair.
Then the Captain’s eye alighted on him, in a silent “ok” for him to hug him. And Owen lost it. He walked right into Jack’s arms and started to sob, holding on to the man for dear life. His eyes unable to stop pouring as his mind mentally captured each and every moment, knowing that he would never get another chance again, knowing that he would never get this close again. And he held on, crying in relief and in pain and in loss. Because Jack could never be his.
Topic: Torchwood
Characters: One sided Owen/Jack, mentions rest of the team.
Rating: PG-13 because it's Owen.
Words: 736
Summary: And he held on, crying in relief and in pain and in loss. Because Jack could never be his.
Genre: angst
Author's Note: I wrote this for gailee122 who asked for a Owen who was jealous of Ianto because he was with Jack, and it turned into a onesided Owen/Jack never-could-have-been-love short story. Enjoy. ^_^
Every day. Every damn day he had to deal with it. He had to watch the not-so-subtle interactions between Jack and Ianto - they thought they were so sly when they “accidentally” brushed up against each other, or how Ianto purposefully handed Jack his coffee in such a way that the Captain had no choice but to touch Ianto’s hand in order to take it. They thought no one noticed the little glances they sent in the conference room, or the silent “Be careful” that Ianto’s eyes bored into Jack’s head before he gallivanted off to save the Earth again. They thought no one would care if they disappeared in the middle of the day for a while, only for them to come up from the archives at seemingly random intervals apart from each other. They thought it wouldn’t bother anyone that they were fucking - not personally, anyway.
But Owen was bothered.
At first he told himself that it was just because it was annoying and distracting to have to deal with the happiness that radiated off of Ianto at any given moment, or the obvious post-coital bliss that they tried desperately to hide (Jack was better at it, but Owen could still tell.) Yes, annoying was the right word. Annoyed at the fact that they were indirectly rubbing it in everyone’s face what they were doing. Annoyed that he couldn’t go into the hothouse anymore without shivering because of that story that Gwen had told him. Annoyed that the tea boy was better shagged than he was.
Then he and Gwen started this thing that they never gave a proper name to, because neither of them were strong enough to. It was then that he thought he was jealous of Jack. Jealous that the American could walk into a room and every single fucking person in the room - male, female, not sure - would turn their head and stare and immediately start fantasizing about how amazing it would be to shag the man, or even just snog him. Something. He was jealous that he would have to work a woman all night to get her to let him buy her a drink, but Jack just introduced himself, and suddenly he had his choice of the night. And he thought it was funny, how he was shagging the only woman in the world that Jack wouldn’t. He saw it as his own personal victory over the irresistible Captain. Owen would have a notch on his bedpost that Jack wouldn’t - and he was unsettlingly happy about that.
But it was when Jack’s body was lying on that slab down in the morgue, with Gwen watching over him as a silent angel, and with Ianto down in the archives, crying when he thought no one was watching, was when Owen realized the truth.
He loved Jack.
He cried, when the man was dead. He cried at his apartment, which he hadn’t called home since he bought it. He went on binges, slept with hookers and whores because he didn’t have the energy to actually get a woman. And then when he went to the hub in the morning, he acted like there was nothing wrong. He had to be strong - someone had to be in charge, and certainly not Gwen or Ianto. Certainly not poor little Tosh. So it had to be him.
And then Jack was standing there, in front of them - breathing, living. He was pale and looked like he had seen better days, but he was there, alive. He watched as Tosh was given a large hug, and Ianto a full on snog and Owen was unable to keep the jealousy out of his heart, the anger from boiling at the Welshman. It just wasn’t fair.
Then the Captain’s eye alighted on him, in a silent “ok” for him to hug him. And Owen lost it. He walked right into Jack’s arms and started to sob, holding on to the man for dear life. His eyes unable to stop pouring as his mind mentally captured each and every moment, knowing that he would never get another chance again, knowing that he would never get this close again. And he held on, crying in relief and in pain and in loss. Because Jack could never be his.