be_a_rebel

It starts, ironically enough, on the day after Owen comes back to work. He moves stiffly, is back to snapping at all and sundry (being a bitch, your sister would say) and generally being Owen Harper. MBBS.

You’re making coffee for Jack when he starts goading you and that’s all right, that’s fine, you’ve lost everything so he can’t hurt you, no one can, bullets remember, blood on steel and dead pizza girl, all cut up like a pepperoni slice.

You’re very morbid sometimes.

You ignore him, like always, water rolls of a duck and what does that mean anyway, never got that.

He says something about Lisa and you stiffen because that’s low even for him. And he is truly the lowest of the low.

You pick up Jack’s beautiful, beautiful coffee and pour it on his shoulder.

And smile.

For once he’s speechless.

                                                 *               *               *

After that he starts watching you (or did he do so before then? You never get to find out).

So maybe that’s when you start noticing.

Not affectionate, not interested, not curious. Kind of the way one looks out of the window when parents are being embarrassing or Jack’s doing something he shouldn’t be doing. Something he shouldn’t be able to do.

That’s how he looks at you. Like you’re the distraction.

Later you realize Diane was the main attraction.

He kisses you one night, drunk, loud and you don’t fight it because if you don’t he’ll let go. And he does.

Of course he does. Owen’s all about the chase.

He pushes you away and you stumble, instruments crashing to the floor and he glares at you and for the first time in your time in Torchwood Three you feel sorry for the man. If he is one anymore. If any of them are.

Jack comes down after he leaves, quiet, and lifts an eyebrow at the mess and (probably) at your off kilter shirt and bruised mouth.

                                          *                     *                      *

The time after that you and Tosh have sex.

Amusingly enough, (or disgustingly, if one thinks of Jack and all the things he’s done it with) it all begins with a puppy.

Sweet, kind hearted Tosh picking up a little thing on the street with a blue collar.

You’d think they’d all have learnt by now that strays are a bad idea.

Unfortunately Tosh hasn’t learnt from Mary (is that a good thing or a bad thing? Probably good. You like Tosh. You hope she gets out of here someday. And not with Owen) and she takes the puppy home.

That’s how you get caught in it. You drive her home one day when her wrist is broken and her eyes are glazed over and she calls you Owen twice and Jack thrice. You figure it’s a good thing she didn’t call you Mary. Owen calls you a woman often enough.

It (she calls it George, endearingly enough) comes running to the door and you scoop it up (who wouldn’t, you say defensively later when Jack is amused and Owen is quietly furious. That’s a rarity in itself.) and scratch its head.

The next thing you know your lips are on her stomach, soft and small and her tiny, skilled fingers are twisting in your hair and you lick her, coffee-bitter and she sobs almost and you recollect that she last did this with Mary.

You can’t really deny that the thought turns you on.

You don’t fuck her, you don’t last long enough, fingers tightening around yourself as you bite her thigh, gently, because it’s Tosh, you do remember that even as everything under your skin is screaming for release. An end. A final conclusion.

Later you’re both thankful that the puppy prefers the sofa. You cling to opposite walls and stagger out, shutting your eyes as it yaps from the corner and making a run for it when it starts to get up.

                                           *                      *                  *

Jack thinks it’s the funniest thing ever. Of course. Gwen is fairly amused as well, you can tell, although she is being more sympathetic to Tosh and you’re glad for that because you feel a bit like an utter shit at the moment.

In the afternoon you hear Jack mutter in Tosh’s general direction, a ‘he’s good isn’t he’ and Tosh blushes a deep rooted pink and Jack’s grin grows in size, something you thought was impossible. You resist the urge to stab savagely at the doughnuts.

You never really liked them. A little too sweet.

You realize Owen is staring at you and you swallow because how great are you for team dynamics? You’ve had Jack on his knees, gone on your knees for Tosh, had Owen take your mouth against the autopsy table.

Gwen’s the only one left.

That’s a rather terrible thought.

Jack walks past you and squeezes your shoulder, still laughing. You remain impassive.

                                               *                        *                        *

Three months pass after the Time of the Sex Fleas as you call it in your head and Tosh has finally stopped flushing every time you come near her and started to converse in a normal voice with you again.

She still isn’t comfortable having you drive her home though. You know this has less to do with trust (you have her codes, voluntarily) and more to do with discomfort. Tosh doesn’t really know how to act around someone she’s slept with.

Sometimes you think you should write her a handbook.

Owen’s still watching though.

After you put a bullet in him you think it’ll stop. Nothing like cold steel tearing through flesh to bring a man to his senses in regards to unnecessary lust.

It stopped you and Jack.

Owen however appears to be built of sterner stuff. Or his cock is really dominating his mind (he has one, no matter how much he gets on your nerves.) You seriously consider putting in an order for a Welshman for him and contemplate the specifics.

Nice suit. Tall. Dark hair. Must smell like coffee. Must be good at looking stoic. Must not strangle, however strong the urge becomes.

You’re pretty sure it’ll set him straight. The Jack in your head snickers at the thought.

Sometimes you’re pretty sure you need to get out of Torchwood. All those cleaning supplies are starting to mess with your brain.

Jack wanders in, flirts, nothing more, and you wonder if that look he used to have in his eyes is really gone or if you could get it back if you went to him, knelt between his legs and explained that it wasn’t all for Lisa, it was for him too, that it was for you.

You consider it, like all the other times. And like all the other times you do nothing.

                                        *                      *                      *

The second time Owen kisses you Jack’s gone and you can’t tell him anyway.

When he touches your side, fingers oddly, inescapably gentle through stiff cotton you think maybe you don’t care.