Unwelcome Ghosts
Dec. 4th, 2006 10:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_x_crossTitle: Unwelcome Ghosts
Author: silver_x_cross
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Series: The Ghosts Series. Sequel to Lingering Ghosts
(Found at my LJ- http://silver-x-cross.livejournal.com/1693.html#cutid1 )
Rating: mild R for lanuage
Spoilers: Episode 4 (CyberWoman) and Episode 5 (Small Worlds)
Word Count: 2076
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, or it’s characters. Lingering Ghosts was supposed to be a one shot, but this sequel kept on bugging me, and begging to be written!
Dedicated to everyone who read and reviewed Lingering Ghosts. Every comment made me go all giddy and joyful!!
Also dedicated to my boyfriend- he mocks me writing, he mocks Torchwood, but freakily he’s turned out to be my muse- go figure!
Owen wasn’t exactly sure when he had started smoking in earnest again. He had smoked constantly through out his teens and early twenties, given up for a while, but now was smoking his way through twenty a day. He was a doctor, he knew he shouldn’t smoke. Hell, people who had never spent even a day at medical school knew you shouldn’t smoke. But there was something about lighting a cigarette and taking that first long drag, feeling the smoke filling your lungs before finally exhaling. Nothing else came close. Apart from sex obviously, and there was no way he was letting his mind go down that route right now. He ran his fingers lightly over the new, unopened packet of Marlboros. Proper ones, not lights. His last packet, honestly, this time. Tearing open the foil, he breathed in the smell of unlit fags. No smell quite like it. He lit the first one and breathed deeply and let his mind wander. He should really go looking for Jack as he had reassured Gwen that he would. Not that Gwen knew anything about what had happened between them a few weeks before, when Jack had come looking for him as he tried to drink the nightmares away. Owen’s hand shook slightly as unwanted images of what the night had led to crept into his mind. He had been free of nightmares that night, not because of the drink of course. But in the morning he woke alone, with only his clothes strewn over the floor and no sign of Jack or the frenzied sex that had occurred. If he had been only a little more drunk he would have thought he’d dreamt it.
Later that day at work they ignored each other. Or at least they tried to, Owen kept stealing glances at Jack at odd moments, and he could swear blind he felt Jack’s gaze on him several times. But every time he turned round, Jack was concentrating on the latest alien doodad. And so, Owen kept his mouth shut, no point in embarrassing himself after all. And that night the nightmares left him shaken and breathless.
That night had been the first of many, always nightmares, he’d even woken screaming once. Not that all the nightmares were about the rapist Ed Morgan. Oh no, thanks to Ianto he had returning nightmares about that damned Conversion Unit. He didn’t work in London for long, but it had been long enough. Life was a strange see-saw he mused. Born in London, uni and med school in Cardiff. Returning to London he had fallen, almost accidentally, into a job at Torchwood One in Canary Wharf. Owen closed his eyes as he remembered the battle, seeing friends and colleagues being led away, one by one. To be “upgraded”. Well, he liked his human weaknesses just the way they were, thank you very much. He was only slightly ashamed to admit that he’d hidden. He was more ashamed at how little he was ashamed. Maybe he should see a shrink about that.
Owen sympathised with Ianto, really, he did. Ianto had loved Lisa, Owen had cared for his friends, he had seen the guys he had gone drinking with, laughed with, that cute girl from research he’d been trying to get into bed, he had seen them go in and seen the cold robots coming out. He had seen them and known there was no way he would ever get his friends back.
So he had run away, back to Cardiff, to work in the A&E and forget he had ever heard of damned Torchwood. It had worked too, until the suave, charismatic Captain Jack Harkness had come by recruiting. Owen had tried to say no, but the bastard had come by on a typical Friday night and Owen would be damned if he was going to clean up any more fucking vomit.
The cigarette was almost burnt out, that last drag almost taunting. Smoke another, find Jack, or go home? Going home would probably be a really bad option, the lonely flat where only nightmares waited. Smoking another fag would also be a bad idea; this was going to be his last packet, and therefore he wanted to spread them out, not smoke them all at once. That left finding Jack, as he had promised Gwen. Gwen. Damned little Welsh girl. She was still furious with Jack for letting that freaky kid go off with the fairies. Literally. She was still far too emotional for this job, caring too much about every potential victim. Maybe it was working as a doctor, maybe it was because he was more of a bastard, but Owen just could not bring himself to care about the freaky child who had caused the death of her stepfather, not when the fate of the entire fucking world hung in the balance. Gwen seriously needed to get her priorities sorted. He still did not know what had possessed him to kiss her. Anger at Jack? Although why he would be angry with Jack, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he wanted a relationship with him or anything. And it was not jealousy that had flared up in his gut when he had gone through the security footage of the Lisa incident and seen what looked suspiciously like Jack kissing Ianto. Okay, he could have been resuscitating him, but it did not look like resuscitation the way he had been taught.
Whatever his reason for kissing her, it had not been one of his smarter plans. She now seemed to think that she had him wrapped around her little finger, as illustrated by their earlier conversation.
“Go after Jack will you.”
“Why?”
She had given him an exasperated look. “Because someone needs to talk to him.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
Gwen dropped her gaze, suddenly finding her feet extremely interesting. “I need to go home, sort out the mess there.”
“And tidy up,” Owen had leered, wincing as she hit his shoulder, and not in a friendly way. “You’re still mad at him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Never is, anyway, why can’t Tosh go?”
“Look, I asked you to do it, so just go will you”
Owen smirked at the memory of how infuriated he had made her. Thinking she had a special connection with the mighty Captain. He had only been on the other side of the hedge; he had heard everything after they discovered Estelle’s body. He didn’t know how Jack had been around in the 1940s, and frankly, he didn’t really care. With Torchwood it was often better not to ask anyway. What was not his idea of a good time was going to comfort his, whatever the hell Jack was, about the death of his ex.
By the time he had searched through most of Jack’s usual haunts Owen was about ready to give up. He had looked in every bar the group visited, wandered around the streets Jack was known to skulk around, hell he had even swallowed his fear of heights to check out the rooftops Jack often frequented. Finally, as he was about to head home and embrace the nightmares, when he turned into a vaguely familiar road. Vaguely familiar because he had only been there once. That once was the time he had found the bar as far from the Hub as he could be bothered to walk, free from being bothered from any of the others, or at least that was what he had planned. Jack had had other ideas. On the off chance, Owen pushed the light glass doors open and wandered into the dimly lit bar. There he was, sitting in the same stool that he had last time, hunched over a drink that Owen was willing to bet anything would turn out to be Jack Daniels. Unconsciously mimicking Jack’s actions of a few weeks ago, Owen slid onto the stool next to him and ordered his own JD, neat.
“What do you want Owen?” Jack’s voice was harsh as he stared moodily into his drink.
“I was worried.”
Jack let out a strangled laugh. “Déjà vu.”
“Something like that. Actually Gwen sent me. She’s worried, but still too mad at you to say so.”
“She thinks I did the wrong thing.”
It was a statement rather than a question, but Owen decided to answer it anyway.
“Yep. She’s sentimental like that. Or mental, one or the other.”
“Do you think I did the wrong thing?”
“Does it matter to you what I think?”
A frown. “Of course it does.”
Owen drained his glass and gestured for another. “You did the right thing. One bloody kid aint worth the world.”
Jack finally looked at him in the eyes and Owen could see the doubt swirling in the hazel depths. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Thank you.” The statement was completely genuine, lacking any of Jack’s usual biting wit.
Owen picked up his second drink, watching the amber liquid reflecting the lights as he swirled it around his glass. There were a million questions in his head that he was just dying to ask the broken man next to him. Questions about his past, Estelle, about them. Was there even a ‘them’ to ask about, he wondered. Would he even have the guts to ask? He knocked back the shot before slamming the glass back on the bar top. Reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed some cash, dropping it next to the glass. He slid off the stool, grabbing Jack’s coat with one hand as he did.
“Come on, let’s get you back to…. Where the hell do you live anyway?”
“I stay at the Hub.”
“Seriously? You need to get yourself a life mate.” The Hub, that would work fine. Ianto was gone for the night, place was deserted. If he was going to give into temptation and ask any of those all-important questions, he was damned if he was going to do it in public.
The walk back was done in silence. A girl would have been able to figure out if it was a friendly silence or an awkward silence, but Owen was just plain lost. His head was swimming with everything he wanted to know, going through every question and mentally filing under ask now, ask later and never in the world have the guts to ask. Before he managed to complete the list however, they were back at the Hub, letting themselves in through the secret buzzer thing. Jack didn’t seem surprised that Owen was following him. Owen was surprised when, as soon as they entered the main part of the Hub, Jack pinned him up against the wall, his mouth fused to Owen’s. All rational thought fled his mind as he moaned into the kiss, his tongue battling for dominance with Jack’s. Eventually though, just as Jack’s hand was wandering to Owen’s jeans, rational thought returned and Owen pushed his way free. Jack looked heartbreakingly confused and for a moment Owen was painfully tempted to return to the bone-crushing embrace. But then he remembered exactly how he had felt waking up to an empty flat and his resolve strengthened.
“Why did you leave Jack?”
Jack stumbled back slightly, the confused look melting into one of weary acceptance. “I didn’t think you’d want me to stay.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to stay?”
“Come on, Owen, it’s not like morning after conversations are the easiest. Figured I’d give you some time to think and let you come talk to me when you felt ready. Which apparently took weeks.”
“You thought you’d give me some time? Shit Jack, you’ve completely ignored me since we…” Owen’s voice trailed off, not exactly sure how to finish the sentence.
“Since we fucked?”
“Yeah. Since we fucked.”
“It wasn’t ignoring, it was giving you some space.”
“I didn’t need space, I needed you!” Owen yelled. Christ, he hadn’t just admitted that, had he? Jack’s face paled and he seemed lost for words. He shrugged gamely and gestured to what passed for his bedroom, his meaning perfectly clear. Owen found himself shaking his head.
“I don’t think so. I’ve done many things in my time, but being the rebound shag for a recently deceased girlfriend is not one I’m prepared to add.”
With that he turned and left the Hub, ignoring the calls from Jack. He headed home and had nightmares about fairies.
Author: silver_x_cross
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Series: The Ghosts Series. Sequel to Lingering Ghosts
(Found at my LJ- http://silver-x-cross.livejournal.com/1693.html#cutid1 )
Rating: mild R for lanuage
Spoilers: Episode 4 (CyberWoman) and Episode 5 (Small Worlds)
Word Count: 2076
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, or it’s characters. Lingering Ghosts was supposed to be a one shot, but this sequel kept on bugging me, and begging to be written!
Dedicated to everyone who read and reviewed Lingering Ghosts. Every comment made me go all giddy and joyful!!
Also dedicated to my boyfriend- he mocks me writing, he mocks Torchwood, but freakily he’s turned out to be my muse- go figure!
Owen wasn’t exactly sure when he had started smoking in earnest again. He had smoked constantly through out his teens and early twenties, given up for a while, but now was smoking his way through twenty a day. He was a doctor, he knew he shouldn’t smoke. Hell, people who had never spent even a day at medical school knew you shouldn’t smoke. But there was something about lighting a cigarette and taking that first long drag, feeling the smoke filling your lungs before finally exhaling. Nothing else came close. Apart from sex obviously, and there was no way he was letting his mind go down that route right now. He ran his fingers lightly over the new, unopened packet of Marlboros. Proper ones, not lights. His last packet, honestly, this time. Tearing open the foil, he breathed in the smell of unlit fags. No smell quite like it. He lit the first one and breathed deeply and let his mind wander. He should really go looking for Jack as he had reassured Gwen that he would. Not that Gwen knew anything about what had happened between them a few weeks before, when Jack had come looking for him as he tried to drink the nightmares away. Owen’s hand shook slightly as unwanted images of what the night had led to crept into his mind. He had been free of nightmares that night, not because of the drink of course. But in the morning he woke alone, with only his clothes strewn over the floor and no sign of Jack or the frenzied sex that had occurred. If he had been only a little more drunk he would have thought he’d dreamt it.
Later that day at work they ignored each other. Or at least they tried to, Owen kept stealing glances at Jack at odd moments, and he could swear blind he felt Jack’s gaze on him several times. But every time he turned round, Jack was concentrating on the latest alien doodad. And so, Owen kept his mouth shut, no point in embarrassing himself after all. And that night the nightmares left him shaken and breathless.
That night had been the first of many, always nightmares, he’d even woken screaming once. Not that all the nightmares were about the rapist Ed Morgan. Oh no, thanks to Ianto he had returning nightmares about that damned Conversion Unit. He didn’t work in London for long, but it had been long enough. Life was a strange see-saw he mused. Born in London, uni and med school in Cardiff. Returning to London he had fallen, almost accidentally, into a job at Torchwood One in Canary Wharf. Owen closed his eyes as he remembered the battle, seeing friends and colleagues being led away, one by one. To be “upgraded”. Well, he liked his human weaknesses just the way they were, thank you very much. He was only slightly ashamed to admit that he’d hidden. He was more ashamed at how little he was ashamed. Maybe he should see a shrink about that.
Owen sympathised with Ianto, really, he did. Ianto had loved Lisa, Owen had cared for his friends, he had seen the guys he had gone drinking with, laughed with, that cute girl from research he’d been trying to get into bed, he had seen them go in and seen the cold robots coming out. He had seen them and known there was no way he would ever get his friends back.
So he had run away, back to Cardiff, to work in the A&E and forget he had ever heard of damned Torchwood. It had worked too, until the suave, charismatic Captain Jack Harkness had come by recruiting. Owen had tried to say no, but the bastard had come by on a typical Friday night and Owen would be damned if he was going to clean up any more fucking vomit.
The cigarette was almost burnt out, that last drag almost taunting. Smoke another, find Jack, or go home? Going home would probably be a really bad option, the lonely flat where only nightmares waited. Smoking another fag would also be a bad idea; this was going to be his last packet, and therefore he wanted to spread them out, not smoke them all at once. That left finding Jack, as he had promised Gwen. Gwen. Damned little Welsh girl. She was still furious with Jack for letting that freaky kid go off with the fairies. Literally. She was still far too emotional for this job, caring too much about every potential victim. Maybe it was working as a doctor, maybe it was because he was more of a bastard, but Owen just could not bring himself to care about the freaky child who had caused the death of her stepfather, not when the fate of the entire fucking world hung in the balance. Gwen seriously needed to get her priorities sorted. He still did not know what had possessed him to kiss her. Anger at Jack? Although why he would be angry with Jack, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he wanted a relationship with him or anything. And it was not jealousy that had flared up in his gut when he had gone through the security footage of the Lisa incident and seen what looked suspiciously like Jack kissing Ianto. Okay, he could have been resuscitating him, but it did not look like resuscitation the way he had been taught.
Whatever his reason for kissing her, it had not been one of his smarter plans. She now seemed to think that she had him wrapped around her little finger, as illustrated by their earlier conversation.
“Go after Jack will you.”
“Why?”
She had given him an exasperated look. “Because someone needs to talk to him.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
Gwen dropped her gaze, suddenly finding her feet extremely interesting. “I need to go home, sort out the mess there.”
“And tidy up,” Owen had leered, wincing as she hit his shoulder, and not in a friendly way. “You’re still mad at him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Never is, anyway, why can’t Tosh go?”
“Look, I asked you to do it, so just go will you”
Owen smirked at the memory of how infuriated he had made her. Thinking she had a special connection with the mighty Captain. He had only been on the other side of the hedge; he had heard everything after they discovered Estelle’s body. He didn’t know how Jack had been around in the 1940s, and frankly, he didn’t really care. With Torchwood it was often better not to ask anyway. What was not his idea of a good time was going to comfort his, whatever the hell Jack was, about the death of his ex.
By the time he had searched through most of Jack’s usual haunts Owen was about ready to give up. He had looked in every bar the group visited, wandered around the streets Jack was known to skulk around, hell he had even swallowed his fear of heights to check out the rooftops Jack often frequented. Finally, as he was about to head home and embrace the nightmares, when he turned into a vaguely familiar road. Vaguely familiar because he had only been there once. That once was the time he had found the bar as far from the Hub as he could be bothered to walk, free from being bothered from any of the others, or at least that was what he had planned. Jack had had other ideas. On the off chance, Owen pushed the light glass doors open and wandered into the dimly lit bar. There he was, sitting in the same stool that he had last time, hunched over a drink that Owen was willing to bet anything would turn out to be Jack Daniels. Unconsciously mimicking Jack’s actions of a few weeks ago, Owen slid onto the stool next to him and ordered his own JD, neat.
“What do you want Owen?” Jack’s voice was harsh as he stared moodily into his drink.
“I was worried.”
Jack let out a strangled laugh. “Déjà vu.”
“Something like that. Actually Gwen sent me. She’s worried, but still too mad at you to say so.”
“She thinks I did the wrong thing.”
It was a statement rather than a question, but Owen decided to answer it anyway.
“Yep. She’s sentimental like that. Or mental, one or the other.”
“Do you think I did the wrong thing?”
“Does it matter to you what I think?”
A frown. “Of course it does.”
Owen drained his glass and gestured for another. “You did the right thing. One bloody kid aint worth the world.”
Jack finally looked at him in the eyes and Owen could see the doubt swirling in the hazel depths. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Thank you.” The statement was completely genuine, lacking any of Jack’s usual biting wit.
Owen picked up his second drink, watching the amber liquid reflecting the lights as he swirled it around his glass. There were a million questions in his head that he was just dying to ask the broken man next to him. Questions about his past, Estelle, about them. Was there even a ‘them’ to ask about, he wondered. Would he even have the guts to ask? He knocked back the shot before slamming the glass back on the bar top. Reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed some cash, dropping it next to the glass. He slid off the stool, grabbing Jack’s coat with one hand as he did.
“Come on, let’s get you back to…. Where the hell do you live anyway?”
“I stay at the Hub.”
“Seriously? You need to get yourself a life mate.” The Hub, that would work fine. Ianto was gone for the night, place was deserted. If he was going to give into temptation and ask any of those all-important questions, he was damned if he was going to do it in public.
The walk back was done in silence. A girl would have been able to figure out if it was a friendly silence or an awkward silence, but Owen was just plain lost. His head was swimming with everything he wanted to know, going through every question and mentally filing under ask now, ask later and never in the world have the guts to ask. Before he managed to complete the list however, they were back at the Hub, letting themselves in through the secret buzzer thing. Jack didn’t seem surprised that Owen was following him. Owen was surprised when, as soon as they entered the main part of the Hub, Jack pinned him up against the wall, his mouth fused to Owen’s. All rational thought fled his mind as he moaned into the kiss, his tongue battling for dominance with Jack’s. Eventually though, just as Jack’s hand was wandering to Owen’s jeans, rational thought returned and Owen pushed his way free. Jack looked heartbreakingly confused and for a moment Owen was painfully tempted to return to the bone-crushing embrace. But then he remembered exactly how he had felt waking up to an empty flat and his resolve strengthened.
“Why did you leave Jack?”
Jack stumbled back slightly, the confused look melting into one of weary acceptance. “I didn’t think you’d want me to stay.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to stay?”
“Come on, Owen, it’s not like morning after conversations are the easiest. Figured I’d give you some time to think and let you come talk to me when you felt ready. Which apparently took weeks.”
“You thought you’d give me some time? Shit Jack, you’ve completely ignored me since we…” Owen’s voice trailed off, not exactly sure how to finish the sentence.
“Since we fucked?”
“Yeah. Since we fucked.”
“It wasn’t ignoring, it was giving you some space.”
“I didn’t need space, I needed you!” Owen yelled. Christ, he hadn’t just admitted that, had he? Jack’s face paled and he seemed lost for words. He shrugged gamely and gestured to what passed for his bedroom, his meaning perfectly clear. Owen found himself shaking his head.
“I don’t think so. I’ve done many things in my time, but being the rebound shag for a recently deceased girlfriend is not one I’m prepared to add.”
With that he turned and left the Hub, ignoring the calls from Jack. He headed home and had nightmares about fairies.
