Torchwood fic- ep 3 drabble
Well, here it is, my first Torchwood fic. Love to know what you all think!
Title: Lingering Ghosts
Author: silver_x_cross
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Rating: Mild R- mentions of slash and rape
Spoilers: Episode 3- Ghost Machine
Word Count: 2039
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, or it’s characters, only this plot bunny that appeared in my head after watching Episode 3
With one thing and another Jack had all but forgotten about Owen. Ed Morgan’s death, Bernie Harris fleeing the scene, explaining to the police. Gwen had insisted that they not try their usual trick of hiding the body, then getting Ianto to save their hides. Again. There was no alien technology involved, she argued, no reason why the truth about his death should be hidden. She had looked so pitiful, her grey eyes wide and her bottom lip quivering. It had taken Jack and Tosh two hours to convince her not to try to take responsibility for the death. It was not murder, they had reasoned, it was just an accident. Owen had been silent since he had failed to revive the rapist, his face carefully blank, dark eyes locked on Ed Morgan’s pale face. Gwen’s crying had been so distracting, Jack forgot about Owen, until the police left, Tosh went home and Gwen went back into the arms of her boyfriend. It was only then that Jack looked around and realised that Owen had skulked off into the night. Jack supposed that he could justify just going back to the Hub, waiting until tomorrow to take Owen to one side to make sure he was ok. But Suzie’s face swam before his eyes, her expression desperate and slightly deranged, the way he would always remember it before she had blown it off with her gun. Should he have realised what had been happening to his second in command? Paid more attention to the humans surrounding him, rather than being focused on the struggle that would soon be upon them. Would the same desperation fall onto Owen and Tosh? Onto Gwen?
By the time he reached the fifth bar he was about ready to give up. It was perfectly possible that Owen was fine, tucked up in bed, possibly with a woman. Or a man, Owen had never seemed too fussed. Jack grinned slightly at the thought. Owen was certainly a guy after his own heart in that regard. Pushing the light glass door open, he scanned the dimly lit room. He missed Owen on his first scan, sitting at the bar, his shoulders were hunched over so much it was impossible to see his face. It was only his trademark leather jacket that made Jack pause, wandering slowly over for a closer look. Owen’s face was still blank, which gave Jack cause for concern in itself. His dark eyes were unreadable as they stared into the Jack Daniels in his glass. Jack eased himself onto the stool next to his friend and, gesturing for the bar maid to bring him the same drink, he waited for Owen to acknowledge his presence. There were several minutes of silence, in which Jack drained his first drink and ordered his second. The noise of the bar had quietened to a low hum as the majority of Cardiff called it a night.
“What do you want Jack?” Owen didn’t look at him, focused instead on the row of spirit bottles lining the back of the bar. Jack choose to follow his lead, watching the lights reflecting off the amber liquid.
“I was worried about you.”
A snort of disbelief.
“I was.” Jack was not sure where the need to make Owen believe him came from. Suzie’s face floated through his mind again before he pushed it back.
“Well Jack,” Owen’s voice was slightly slurred, indicating just how many drinks he had already had. “I am fine. I am more than fine; I am top of the world. So why don’t you just go, find Gwen, Ianto, or whoever it is warms your bed these days.”
“I am not sleeping with Gwen.”
“You’re not denying Ianto then.”
“I’m not sleeping with Ianto either.”
“But you want to.”
“I didn’t say that.” Jack frowned; he could feel the beginnings of a headache. He was as good as immortal, so why was he still getting headaches?
“So you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t say that either.” Jack smirked; humour had never failed him in the past, no reason why it should fail him now.
But then Owen looked up, and the guards that had kept his face so scarily blank earlier had dropped and Jack felt himself drowning in the mixed emotions. And then he remembered. He remembered what Owen had seen, what he’d felt. He tore his eyes away, no longer able to meet the piercing gaze. Glancing around for something, anything else to focus on he caught the expression on the bar maid’s face. Boredom, mixed with frustration. It was only then Jack realised that the background hum had faded slowly to silence and that he and Owen were the only ones left in the bar. Jack felt a sudden panic flare in his gut. Owen was clearly in no state to be on his own, but the idea of being alone with him, of letting him get close was more terrifying than an army of daleks. And he was a pretty good authority on that particular feeling.
Almost unwillingly, he looked back over at his.. Employee? Friend? Owen was focused again on his drink, swirling the last dregs around his glass. So, Jack didn’t want to loose anyone else the way he’d lost Suzie, but was he prepared to risk getting emotionally involved, try to become part of a group of friends? So far he had managed to keep a degree of separation from these people he worked with day in, day out. Stayed friendly, without getting too emotionally close. With a bitter smile he remembered Rose’s wide smile and the manic grin of a certain kind of Doctor. Rose Tyler. Listed as one of the casualties of Canary Wharf. Along with the bleach blonde, perma-tanned Jackie. And whatever did happen to…Ricky? Micky? Which one had been the joke, and which one had been real name? Jack could not even remember.
“Come on.” Jack pulled Owen off the stool before tossing some bank notes onto the bar. “I’ll walk you home, you’re too drunk to get there safely.”
Wrong thing to say. Owen’s face creased in anger as he shoved Jack back, his spine connecting with the doorframe.
“Screw you, Jack.”
Ignoring the pain flaring in his back and the anger flaring in his mind, Jack followed Owen into the drizzly night.
“Owen.”
“What?”
Owen didn’t stop, but he slowed down, his angry strides shortening, forcing Jack to jog to catch up.
“Why are you here Jack?”
“I told you.”
“To make sure I’m ok. Yeah, you told me.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“Did you ever make sure Suzie was ok?”
Jack felt like he had just been punched. His shock must have been clear on his face because Owen suddenly turned, striding instead to his pale boss.
“Did you ever talk to her, ask her how her life was going, ask her how stressful work was for her, fuck it, did you ever ask her when she was last on a date? Since when did you care about us? It’s always The Mission with you Jack. Well, what is this fucking mission anyway? What is so fucking important? What’s the big secret Jack?”
“You think I don’t care about you?”
Jack’s question, softly spoken, made Owen stop in the middle of his tirade. He turned and, silently, began wandering in the direction of his flat, hands rammed into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched up against the rain. Taking the silence as an invitation, or at the very least, not a rejection, Jack followed him. They walked in silence the entire trip, Jack following Owen up the stairs, Owen not reacting when Jack followed him through his front door. Jack paused in the doorway, not shutting the door yet.
“I do care you know.”
“I know.”
There it was, the invitation and Jack’s deciding moment. Stay or go. For a moment he remembered the pain of seeing the Tardis leave without him and the desire to simply say good night and run was overwhelming. But Captain Jack Harkness had never been called a coward. Recently at least. So he swallowed his apprehension and took the extra step into the flat, closing the door behind him. Owen had already wandered towards the kitchenette, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if his boss stayed or left. He reached into a cupboard, bringing out a half empty bottle of JD. Taking a long swig, Owen grimaced as the harsh alcohol hit his throat. Jack looked around the fairly empty living space, noting the single armchair, surrounded by files and sheets of paper, strewn over the floor.
“You redecorating?”
“Nope.” Owen was mumbling. Jack turned around to see Owen lighting a cigarette.
“You smoke?”
Owen rolled his eyes. “No Jack, I just light up for the hell of it.”
“Sorry. I’ve just never seen you smoke, that’s all.”
“You want one?”
Jack just shook his head. He knelt on the floor, picking up the nearest piece of paper. A picture of Lizzy Lewis. She had been pretty, with an open, honest face and trusting eyes. Dead now, long dead, and Owen had felt every bit of her terror. Jack looked up, meeting Owen’s eyes as he took another swig of alcohol. His hands were trembling slightly, the ash from his cigarette falling onto his carpet.
“I can see her you know.”
Jack was silent, not pushing, waiting for Owen to continue.
“I can see her, and him. I can hear his voice calling after her as she tries to run. I was… She was so terrified. She told her mum she’d be home by nine.”
Owen paused, taking a long drag from the cigarette. Jack seemed transfixed by the glowing embers flaring in the dark room, the only other light coming from the hallway.
“She was so scared as he gripped her hair, pulled her head back and held a knife to her throat. And every time I close my eyes, all I can see is him, leering over her. Her mum never knew, never found out who killed her little girl.”
Tears were welling up in Owen’s eyes, but he made no move to wipe them away. Instead he took another drag on the cigarette, chasing it down with another drink. His gaze never left Jack’s.
“He raped her. By the end, she knew she was never going to leave that canal.”
“And you felt everything she felt.” Jack’s voice was hoarse as he rose from where he had been crouched on the floor. He took a step towards Owen, bringing himself close enough to smell the intoxicating scent of leather and bourbon. Owen reached backwards, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray on the counter.
“You felt how scared she was, and how desperate.” Jack smirked, but there was no humour in it. “You felt what it was like to be raped.”
Owen laughed mirthlessly. “Hardly. Where are the bruises, or the stab wounds? Or any injuries?”
“That was the murder. Rape isn’t about violence, or even sex. It’s about power and it’s about control, and you felt what it was like to loose those, to have them taken by someone else.”
Owen’s tears were falling freely now, his whole body trembling slightly. Jack took another step towards him, until they were standing close enough to feel each other’s breath. He was still careful enough to leave Owen enough room to leave if he wanted, if he felt Jack was too close. But Owen did not move, he simply raised his head faintly to meet the taller man’s eyes.
Jack kissed him gently, unsure what Owen’s reaction would be. His reaction was to kiss Jack back, fiercely and frantically, one hand snaking around his back, the other gripping Jack’s head, pulling him closer.
While Owen slept Jack watched. He knew that in the morning there could well be regrets, on Owen’s part at least. He was not sure himself what to make of this development. The only thing he was sure of was that he would follow Owen’s lead, regardless of what he himself might want. Until then he would wait and watch and guard against any nightmares.
Title: Lingering Ghosts
Author: silver_x_cross
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Rating: Mild R- mentions of slash and rape
Spoilers: Episode 3- Ghost Machine
Word Count: 2039
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, or it’s characters, only this plot bunny that appeared in my head after watching Episode 3
With one thing and another Jack had all but forgotten about Owen. Ed Morgan’s death, Bernie Harris fleeing the scene, explaining to the police. Gwen had insisted that they not try their usual trick of hiding the body, then getting Ianto to save their hides. Again. There was no alien technology involved, she argued, no reason why the truth about his death should be hidden. She had looked so pitiful, her grey eyes wide and her bottom lip quivering. It had taken Jack and Tosh two hours to convince her not to try to take responsibility for the death. It was not murder, they had reasoned, it was just an accident. Owen had been silent since he had failed to revive the rapist, his face carefully blank, dark eyes locked on Ed Morgan’s pale face. Gwen’s crying had been so distracting, Jack forgot about Owen, until the police left, Tosh went home and Gwen went back into the arms of her boyfriend. It was only then that Jack looked around and realised that Owen had skulked off into the night. Jack supposed that he could justify just going back to the Hub, waiting until tomorrow to take Owen to one side to make sure he was ok. But Suzie’s face swam before his eyes, her expression desperate and slightly deranged, the way he would always remember it before she had blown it off with her gun. Should he have realised what had been happening to his second in command? Paid more attention to the humans surrounding him, rather than being focused on the struggle that would soon be upon them. Would the same desperation fall onto Owen and Tosh? Onto Gwen?
By the time he reached the fifth bar he was about ready to give up. It was perfectly possible that Owen was fine, tucked up in bed, possibly with a woman. Or a man, Owen had never seemed too fussed. Jack grinned slightly at the thought. Owen was certainly a guy after his own heart in that regard. Pushing the light glass door open, he scanned the dimly lit room. He missed Owen on his first scan, sitting at the bar, his shoulders were hunched over so much it was impossible to see his face. It was only his trademark leather jacket that made Jack pause, wandering slowly over for a closer look. Owen’s face was still blank, which gave Jack cause for concern in itself. His dark eyes were unreadable as they stared into the Jack Daniels in his glass. Jack eased himself onto the stool next to his friend and, gesturing for the bar maid to bring him the same drink, he waited for Owen to acknowledge his presence. There were several minutes of silence, in which Jack drained his first drink and ordered his second. The noise of the bar had quietened to a low hum as the majority of Cardiff called it a night.
“What do you want Jack?” Owen didn’t look at him, focused instead on the row of spirit bottles lining the back of the bar. Jack choose to follow his lead, watching the lights reflecting off the amber liquid.
“I was worried about you.”
A snort of disbelief.
“I was.” Jack was not sure where the need to make Owen believe him came from. Suzie’s face floated through his mind again before he pushed it back.
“Well Jack,” Owen’s voice was slightly slurred, indicating just how many drinks he had already had. “I am fine. I am more than fine; I am top of the world. So why don’t you just go, find Gwen, Ianto, or whoever it is warms your bed these days.”
“I am not sleeping with Gwen.”
“You’re not denying Ianto then.”
“I’m not sleeping with Ianto either.”
“But you want to.”
“I didn’t say that.” Jack frowned; he could feel the beginnings of a headache. He was as good as immortal, so why was he still getting headaches?
“So you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t say that either.” Jack smirked; humour had never failed him in the past, no reason why it should fail him now.
But then Owen looked up, and the guards that had kept his face so scarily blank earlier had dropped and Jack felt himself drowning in the mixed emotions. And then he remembered. He remembered what Owen had seen, what he’d felt. He tore his eyes away, no longer able to meet the piercing gaze. Glancing around for something, anything else to focus on he caught the expression on the bar maid’s face. Boredom, mixed with frustration. It was only then Jack realised that the background hum had faded slowly to silence and that he and Owen were the only ones left in the bar. Jack felt a sudden panic flare in his gut. Owen was clearly in no state to be on his own, but the idea of being alone with him, of letting him get close was more terrifying than an army of daleks. And he was a pretty good authority on that particular feeling.
Almost unwillingly, he looked back over at his.. Employee? Friend? Owen was focused again on his drink, swirling the last dregs around his glass. So, Jack didn’t want to loose anyone else the way he’d lost Suzie, but was he prepared to risk getting emotionally involved, try to become part of a group of friends? So far he had managed to keep a degree of separation from these people he worked with day in, day out. Stayed friendly, without getting too emotionally close. With a bitter smile he remembered Rose’s wide smile and the manic grin of a certain kind of Doctor. Rose Tyler. Listed as one of the casualties of Canary Wharf. Along with the bleach blonde, perma-tanned Jackie. And whatever did happen to…Ricky? Micky? Which one had been the joke, and which one had been real name? Jack could not even remember.
“Come on.” Jack pulled Owen off the stool before tossing some bank notes onto the bar. “I’ll walk you home, you’re too drunk to get there safely.”
Wrong thing to say. Owen’s face creased in anger as he shoved Jack back, his spine connecting with the doorframe.
“Screw you, Jack.”
Ignoring the pain flaring in his back and the anger flaring in his mind, Jack followed Owen into the drizzly night.
“Owen.”
“What?”
Owen didn’t stop, but he slowed down, his angry strides shortening, forcing Jack to jog to catch up.
“Why are you here Jack?”
“I told you.”
“To make sure I’m ok. Yeah, you told me.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“Did you ever make sure Suzie was ok?”
Jack felt like he had just been punched. His shock must have been clear on his face because Owen suddenly turned, striding instead to his pale boss.
“Did you ever talk to her, ask her how her life was going, ask her how stressful work was for her, fuck it, did you ever ask her when she was last on a date? Since when did you care about us? It’s always The Mission with you Jack. Well, what is this fucking mission anyway? What is so fucking important? What’s the big secret Jack?”
“You think I don’t care about you?”
Jack’s question, softly spoken, made Owen stop in the middle of his tirade. He turned and, silently, began wandering in the direction of his flat, hands rammed into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched up against the rain. Taking the silence as an invitation, or at the very least, not a rejection, Jack followed him. They walked in silence the entire trip, Jack following Owen up the stairs, Owen not reacting when Jack followed him through his front door. Jack paused in the doorway, not shutting the door yet.
“I do care you know.”
“I know.”
There it was, the invitation and Jack’s deciding moment. Stay or go. For a moment he remembered the pain of seeing the Tardis leave without him and the desire to simply say good night and run was overwhelming. But Captain Jack Harkness had never been called a coward. Recently at least. So he swallowed his apprehension and took the extra step into the flat, closing the door behind him. Owen had already wandered towards the kitchenette, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if his boss stayed or left. He reached into a cupboard, bringing out a half empty bottle of JD. Taking a long swig, Owen grimaced as the harsh alcohol hit his throat. Jack looked around the fairly empty living space, noting the single armchair, surrounded by files and sheets of paper, strewn over the floor.
“You redecorating?”
“Nope.” Owen was mumbling. Jack turned around to see Owen lighting a cigarette.
“You smoke?”
Owen rolled his eyes. “No Jack, I just light up for the hell of it.”
“Sorry. I’ve just never seen you smoke, that’s all.”
“You want one?”
Jack just shook his head. He knelt on the floor, picking up the nearest piece of paper. A picture of Lizzy Lewis. She had been pretty, with an open, honest face and trusting eyes. Dead now, long dead, and Owen had felt every bit of her terror. Jack looked up, meeting Owen’s eyes as he took another swig of alcohol. His hands were trembling slightly, the ash from his cigarette falling onto his carpet.
“I can see her you know.”
Jack was silent, not pushing, waiting for Owen to continue.
“I can see her, and him. I can hear his voice calling after her as she tries to run. I was… She was so terrified. She told her mum she’d be home by nine.”
Owen paused, taking a long drag from the cigarette. Jack seemed transfixed by the glowing embers flaring in the dark room, the only other light coming from the hallway.
“She was so scared as he gripped her hair, pulled her head back and held a knife to her throat. And every time I close my eyes, all I can see is him, leering over her. Her mum never knew, never found out who killed her little girl.”
Tears were welling up in Owen’s eyes, but he made no move to wipe them away. Instead he took another drag on the cigarette, chasing it down with another drink. His gaze never left Jack’s.
“He raped her. By the end, she knew she was never going to leave that canal.”
“And you felt everything she felt.” Jack’s voice was hoarse as he rose from where he had been crouched on the floor. He took a step towards Owen, bringing himself close enough to smell the intoxicating scent of leather and bourbon. Owen reached backwards, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray on the counter.
“You felt how scared she was, and how desperate.” Jack smirked, but there was no humour in it. “You felt what it was like to be raped.”
Owen laughed mirthlessly. “Hardly. Where are the bruises, or the stab wounds? Or any injuries?”
“That was the murder. Rape isn’t about violence, or even sex. It’s about power and it’s about control, and you felt what it was like to loose those, to have them taken by someone else.”
Owen’s tears were falling freely now, his whole body trembling slightly. Jack took another step towards him, until they were standing close enough to feel each other’s breath. He was still careful enough to leave Owen enough room to leave if he wanted, if he felt Jack was too close. But Owen did not move, he simply raised his head faintly to meet the taller man’s eyes.
Jack kissed him gently, unsure what Owen’s reaction would be. His reaction was to kiss Jack back, fiercely and frantically, one hand snaking around his back, the other gripping Jack’s head, pulling him closer.
While Owen slept Jack watched. He knew that in the morning there could well be regrets, on Owen’s part at least. He was not sure himself what to make of this development. The only thing he was sure of was that he would follow Owen’s lead, regardless of what he himself might want. Until then he would wait and watch and guard against any nightmares.