Owen's Complications
Fandom: Torchwood (surprised?)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1533
Summary: Owen only pretends to be that shallow, really...
Prompt: 034. Not Enough.
A/N: So, I say to shadowbyrd, "I just don't get Jack/Gwen. Pretty much anything else, I can understand and try to write." She says, "I don't see Jack/Owen, myself." And thus an accidental challenge is born. (In other words, this fic comes with a gleeful dedication to shadowbyrd, with thanks for prompt, encouragement, and beta.)
Owen's Complications
Jack knows (almost) very well what Owen’s doing. Since Suzie effectively broke off their arrangement (though it was more of a drift away, a loss of interest, than a real break up. She’s pouring herself into her work more than ever, though, and it’s nice to have her enthusiasm spurring them all into concentrating on their own projects a little more) he’s been with a different girl every night. Sometimes, watching him in the morning, Jack’s pretty sure he hasn’t just been with the girls, either.
Still, it’s Owen’s choice, and as long as he keeps coming to work and doing his job properly, Jack figures it’s not really anything to concern him.
Just goes to show Jack doesn’t always know best.
~*~
Suzie’s his wake up call. All of a sudden, he’s got her example on one side, and Gwen urging him to remember his humanity on the other. He finds out that both Owen and Tosh have been sneaking alien tech out of the Hub (he’s relieved that Ianto, at least, hasn’t been keeping secrets from him) and has to start wondering if he could have prevented any of this if he’d been paying a bit more attention to his team. He resolves to do better in future, in a vaguely hopeful sort of way, with no real determination.
~*~
But Owen, deprived so abruptly of one of the two ways he’s been coping with everything (the other being alcohol, it seems) struggles to deal with the guilt he’s picked up over Suzie’s death. He tries not to feel anything, Jack knows that, but it still hurts. And he ends up taking it out on Gwen because she’s the easy target, the new girl, ignorant of the way Torchwood works and so very open to mockery.
Jack just lets them get on with the squabbling to start with, but after Gwen’s royally screwed up - and then managed to fix it, eventually - he’d prefer it if they settled down and Owen didn’t single her out. But since Owen’s not getting any these days, it would appear that the second of his two ways of coping has turned into something else: making other people’s lives miserable. And that’s going to come back and bite him later, if he’s not careful. Plus, it’s making him hell to work with, and Jack really can’t be bothered to pick up the pieces if he drives anyone to the point of actually shooting him.
So he steps in to deal with it once he’s sent everyone else home in the wake of the whole Carys incident.
“You should’ve known better than to go down there alone,” he says idly, to start things off on the right topic - things Owen should know better than to do. Owen, being a good boy and filing his reports on the alien gas so Ianto won’t nag him all day tomorrow, snorts, but says nothing in return.
“How come,” Jack asks, unable to resist, but doing his best to sound curious rather than amused, “she had to strip you naked if all she wanted was your swipecard? Where do you keep it?”
“Shut up, Harkness,” Owen snaps.
“You made quite a few mistakes on this one,” Jack muses, and Owen spins round to point a finger at him, growling, “I also happened to catch the girl when your precious newbie let her get past her. All I get is ‘Don’t take alien tech out of the base’ and when she does the same, she saves the day. You forgotten that it was her fault the thing was on the loose in the first place?”
Jack smiles a little, asking, “Bitter, Owen? What are you worried about? There must be a reason you’ve decided to bait her every chance you get.”
“Are you warning me off?” Owen asks, disbelievingly, and gets to his feet, glaring at Jack and saying, “What the hell are you playing at? You think I’m going to snatch her away before you’ve had your chance with her?”
Jack laughs a little, and tells him, “She’s learned all about the dangers of pheromones, Owen. How are you going to convince her you’re even worth looking at twice?”
If looks could kill, Jack reflects, he’d be very glad he’s immortal right now. Owen steps forward, all compressed fury as he moves into Jack’s personal space, fists bunched and on the verge of taking a swing, but Jack, arms folded, watching him calmly, keeps talking.
“That was one of your worse mistakes,” he says. “Why did you think that drugging strangers into screwing you was going to help?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Owen snaps.
“Then what was it?” Jack asks quietly, head tilted a little to one side, still watching Owen speculatively.
That throws him, just a touch. Owen doesn’t like feeling like he’s in the wrong, and he has the sense to pause for a moment before trying to justify his actions.
“They wanted it,” he says, but Jack shakes his head, and Owen glares again, then says, “It’s just the same as getting them drunk, except it’s quicker. Don’t tell me you’ve never done that.”
Jack sighs, which seems to surprise Owen, and tells him, “I kinda hoped you’d come up with a better excuse than that. So, tell me, Owen, has your one-man campaign to get the whole of Cardiff laid done you any good? Do you feel any better because of it?”
“Like you even care,” Owen snaps, and turns away, suddenly uncomfortable so close to Jack. He goes back to his computer desk, but Jack says softly, “What makes you think I don’t care?” and he stops. For a moment there’s silence, and then he turns back round and skewers Jack with a single glance.
“You didn’t care about Suzie,” he says, voice hoarse. “You stood there and let her die. You and Gwen both.”
Jack holds his gaze, and says, “You know we did everything we could. Suzie killed herself, and we couldn’t stop her. If you’d been there, you wouldn’t have been able to stop her either. It’s not your fault.”
Owen’s defences snap back up, and he sneers, “Oh please. I’m not guilt-tripping over her. Grow up.”
Jack just raises his eyebrows and waits a few beats, until the sneer fades and Owen looks away abruptly. Then Jack moves forward, reaching out to put a hand on Owen’s shoulder, and telling him, “You have to let go of her.” Before Owen can say it, he smiles slightly, adding, “I know, it sounds corny. But it’s true. She’s dead. It’s over.”
“It was over long before she died,” Owen sighs, making no move to shrug his hand off. He looks at Jack again, and says, “I can’t forget her.”
“Don’t,” Jack tells him. “Just move on.”
He didn’t mean it as an invitation, but Owen reaches out suddenly, grabs fistfuls of his shirt, and yanks him into a (desperate) kiss. Jack, though rather startled, finds he doesn’t really mind.
~*~
Owen stretches lazily and tucks his hands behind his head, while Jack wonders if he’s got his normal façade back up yet.
Then Owen says idly, “Always knew you were gay,” and Jack smiles (that would be back to normal, then) before rolling over and propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at Owen and fingers brushing the soft skin at his waist as he says, teasingly, “Me? I’m just flexible. Apparently, so are you.”
“Tosser,” Owen says, pulling up one leg to shove Jack over with his foot.
Jack laughs and rolls all the way out of bed, taking a moment to stretch before he starts pulling on his t-shirt and trousers, telling Owen, “I’m gonna go check on the Hub. Make sure the others closed everything down when they left,” even though they both know that Hell will freeze over before Ianto forgets to turn the lights off on his way out.
Before Jack reaches the ladder, Owen asks him nonchalantly, “How many of us have you shagged, then?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack shoots back, turning to watch him with raised eyebrows and folded arms.
“By my count,” Owen tells him smugly, “I’m winning.”
Jack can’t help wondering when this became a competition (and regrets that Owen feels he has to make it so in order to justify his actions to himself) but he shakes his head and grins anyway, and says, “Ah, but when did you start counting?”
“Twat,” Owen tells him, marginally too lazy to throw a pillow at him, and Jack laughs and climbs the ladder.
He wanders the Hub aimlessly for a while, thinking of nothing in particular, but giving Owen plenty of time to get dressed and sneak out, pretend this never happened and get himself home with no regrets either side, no expectations, no strings attached. He wonders vaguely what Owen thinks of the whole thing, then puts that aside (over and done with, move on as expected) and spends the next twenty minutes trying to remember the words to a song he knew once, since he’s had the tune stuck in his head for a week.
By the time he gets back, Owen’s asleep.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1533
Summary: Owen only pretends to be that shallow, really...
Prompt: 034. Not Enough.
A/N: So, I say to shadowbyrd, "I just don't get Jack/Gwen. Pretty much anything else, I can understand and try to write." She says, "I don't see Jack/Owen, myself." And thus an accidental challenge is born. (In other words, this fic comes with a gleeful dedication to shadowbyrd, with thanks for prompt, encouragement, and beta.)
Owen's Complications
Jack knows (almost) very well what Owen’s doing. Since Suzie effectively broke off their arrangement (though it was more of a drift away, a loss of interest, than a real break up. She’s pouring herself into her work more than ever, though, and it’s nice to have her enthusiasm spurring them all into concentrating on their own projects a little more) he’s been with a different girl every night. Sometimes, watching him in the morning, Jack’s pretty sure he hasn’t just been with the girls, either.
Still, it’s Owen’s choice, and as long as he keeps coming to work and doing his job properly, Jack figures it’s not really anything to concern him.
Just goes to show Jack doesn’t always know best.
~*~
Suzie’s his wake up call. All of a sudden, he’s got her example on one side, and Gwen urging him to remember his humanity on the other. He finds out that both Owen and Tosh have been sneaking alien tech out of the Hub (he’s relieved that Ianto, at least, hasn’t been keeping secrets from him) and has to start wondering if he could have prevented any of this if he’d been paying a bit more attention to his team. He resolves to do better in future, in a vaguely hopeful sort of way, with no real determination.
~*~
But Owen, deprived so abruptly of one of the two ways he’s been coping with everything (the other being alcohol, it seems) struggles to deal with the guilt he’s picked up over Suzie’s death. He tries not to feel anything, Jack knows that, but it still hurts. And he ends up taking it out on Gwen because she’s the easy target, the new girl, ignorant of the way Torchwood works and so very open to mockery.
Jack just lets them get on with the squabbling to start with, but after Gwen’s royally screwed up - and then managed to fix it, eventually - he’d prefer it if they settled down and Owen didn’t single her out. But since Owen’s not getting any these days, it would appear that the second of his two ways of coping has turned into something else: making other people’s lives miserable. And that’s going to come back and bite him later, if he’s not careful. Plus, it’s making him hell to work with, and Jack really can’t be bothered to pick up the pieces if he drives anyone to the point of actually shooting him.
So he steps in to deal with it once he’s sent everyone else home in the wake of the whole Carys incident.
“You should’ve known better than to go down there alone,” he says idly, to start things off on the right topic - things Owen should know better than to do. Owen, being a good boy and filing his reports on the alien gas so Ianto won’t nag him all day tomorrow, snorts, but says nothing in return.
“How come,” Jack asks, unable to resist, but doing his best to sound curious rather than amused, “she had to strip you naked if all she wanted was your swipecard? Where do you keep it?”
“Shut up, Harkness,” Owen snaps.
“You made quite a few mistakes on this one,” Jack muses, and Owen spins round to point a finger at him, growling, “I also happened to catch the girl when your precious newbie let her get past her. All I get is ‘Don’t take alien tech out of the base’ and when she does the same, she saves the day. You forgotten that it was her fault the thing was on the loose in the first place?”
Jack smiles a little, asking, “Bitter, Owen? What are you worried about? There must be a reason you’ve decided to bait her every chance you get.”
“Are you warning me off?” Owen asks, disbelievingly, and gets to his feet, glaring at Jack and saying, “What the hell are you playing at? You think I’m going to snatch her away before you’ve had your chance with her?”
Jack laughs a little, and tells him, “She’s learned all about the dangers of pheromones, Owen. How are you going to convince her you’re even worth looking at twice?”
If looks could kill, Jack reflects, he’d be very glad he’s immortal right now. Owen steps forward, all compressed fury as he moves into Jack’s personal space, fists bunched and on the verge of taking a swing, but Jack, arms folded, watching him calmly, keeps talking.
“That was one of your worse mistakes,” he says. “Why did you think that drugging strangers into screwing you was going to help?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Owen snaps.
“Then what was it?” Jack asks quietly, head tilted a little to one side, still watching Owen speculatively.
That throws him, just a touch. Owen doesn’t like feeling like he’s in the wrong, and he has the sense to pause for a moment before trying to justify his actions.
“They wanted it,” he says, but Jack shakes his head, and Owen glares again, then says, “It’s just the same as getting them drunk, except it’s quicker. Don’t tell me you’ve never done that.”
Jack sighs, which seems to surprise Owen, and tells him, “I kinda hoped you’d come up with a better excuse than that. So, tell me, Owen, has your one-man campaign to get the whole of Cardiff laid done you any good? Do you feel any better because of it?”
“Like you even care,” Owen snaps, and turns away, suddenly uncomfortable so close to Jack. He goes back to his computer desk, but Jack says softly, “What makes you think I don’t care?” and he stops. For a moment there’s silence, and then he turns back round and skewers Jack with a single glance.
“You didn’t care about Suzie,” he says, voice hoarse. “You stood there and let her die. You and Gwen both.”
Jack holds his gaze, and says, “You know we did everything we could. Suzie killed herself, and we couldn’t stop her. If you’d been there, you wouldn’t have been able to stop her either. It’s not your fault.”
Owen’s defences snap back up, and he sneers, “Oh please. I’m not guilt-tripping over her. Grow up.”
Jack just raises his eyebrows and waits a few beats, until the sneer fades and Owen looks away abruptly. Then Jack moves forward, reaching out to put a hand on Owen’s shoulder, and telling him, “You have to let go of her.” Before Owen can say it, he smiles slightly, adding, “I know, it sounds corny. But it’s true. She’s dead. It’s over.”
“It was over long before she died,” Owen sighs, making no move to shrug his hand off. He looks at Jack again, and says, “I can’t forget her.”
“Don’t,” Jack tells him. “Just move on.”
He didn’t mean it as an invitation, but Owen reaches out suddenly, grabs fistfuls of his shirt, and yanks him into a (desperate) kiss. Jack, though rather startled, finds he doesn’t really mind.
~*~
Owen stretches lazily and tucks his hands behind his head, while Jack wonders if he’s got his normal façade back up yet.
Then Owen says idly, “Always knew you were gay,” and Jack smiles (that would be back to normal, then) before rolling over and propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at Owen and fingers brushing the soft skin at his waist as he says, teasingly, “Me? I’m just flexible. Apparently, so are you.”
“Tosser,” Owen says, pulling up one leg to shove Jack over with his foot.
Jack laughs and rolls all the way out of bed, taking a moment to stretch before he starts pulling on his t-shirt and trousers, telling Owen, “I’m gonna go check on the Hub. Make sure the others closed everything down when they left,” even though they both know that Hell will freeze over before Ianto forgets to turn the lights off on his way out.
Before Jack reaches the ladder, Owen asks him nonchalantly, “How many of us have you shagged, then?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack shoots back, turning to watch him with raised eyebrows and folded arms.
“By my count,” Owen tells him smugly, “I’m winning.”
Jack can’t help wondering when this became a competition (and regrets that Owen feels he has to make it so in order to justify his actions to himself) but he shakes his head and grins anyway, and says, “Ah, but when did you start counting?”
“Twat,” Owen tells him, marginally too lazy to throw a pillow at him, and Jack laughs and climbs the ladder.
He wanders the Hub aimlessly for a while, thinking of nothing in particular, but giving Owen plenty of time to get dressed and sneak out, pretend this never happened and get himself home with no regrets either side, no expectations, no strings attached. He wonders vaguely what Owen thinks of the whole thing, then puts that aside (over and done with, move on as expected) and spends the next twenty minutes trying to remember the words to a song he knew once, since he’s had the tune stuck in his head for a week.
By the time he gets back, Owen’s asleep.