Owen Harper was sick.
He retched violently into the trash bin in his autopsy bay once, and then again. After throwing up a third time, he finally removed his head from the receptacle and sat down on the cool concrete floor. He felt tired suddenly, and a bit shaky.
"Fuck, what is wrong with me?" he wondered. He buried his face in his hands. Owen was glad that Jack was tucked up in his office and that the rest of the team had gone home. That was good, because the last thing he needed was to embarrass himself in front of everyone.
This bout of vomiting had come on suddenly and unexpectedly. It had been a normal enough day – well, about as normal a day as a Torchwood operative could have. That morning he'd sedated Janet for some tests (he was developing a new, improved weevil spray); sat in on a staff meeting where he and the team discussed three new pieces of alien technology found in Cardiff bay; and finished typing up some autopsy notes. This week he'd been dissecting an alien corpse found in the woods thirty miles north of the city. Yep, a pretty average week. Maybe it was just something he ate. Pizza, coffee, and beer wasn't the healthiest diet, and although he was a doctor, Owen didn't do much to take care of himself. "Damn Jubilee's," hissed Owen as he grabbed his coat. He felt like shit, and he was going home to sleep. Screw his work; he'd finish it later. Right now all he could think about was lying down and getting some rest.
The next morning he overslept, but felt basically okay. On the way to work, he suddenly realized that he was very hungry. He stopped at a bakery to get a pastry or something. He couldn't decide between a croissant and a muffin and a bagel, so he got all three, and then picked up a dozen doughnuts too. He'd already eaten three by the time he'd paid and walked out the door.
At the hub, he went straight to his desk and pulled up the work he should have finished yesterday, absentmindedly eating all the time. After a while Tosh came by, eyeing the bakery box. "Owen, did you bring breakfast for all of us?" she asked sweetly. She opened the box to find it empty. "Oh," she said. "Nevermind. I should have known."
"Sorry… what?" said Owen. He looked at the box. "Bloody hell, I've eaten them all!"
Gwen walked by, laughing. "Oh, those things are addicting! Rhys can pack away ten at a time."
"I like the raspberry ones," said Tosh.
"I like those long pastries," said Jack. "You know, the ones with the cream inside …"
"Oh, shut up, Jack, you're disgusting!" said Owen. He felt a little silly for having eaten twelve donuts. What on Earth had possessed to eat so much? And at some point he'd also packed away the bagel, muffin, and croissant. This was not normal for him.
Soon Ianto came by with a cup of coffee. "After all that sugar, I thought you might be thirsty," he said.
Owen took one whiff of the fragrant coffee and last night's nausea came sweeping back. "Oh, get it away!" he moaned. But it was too late. Owen barely had time to grab the trash can before the doughnuts made a second appearance. Ianto jumped back to avoid getting specks of vomit on his carefully pressed suit. Jack came rushing over at the commotion.
"Jesus, Owen, what's wrong?"
"I don't know Jack, I think I've got the flu or something! I was sick yesterday, too."
"Hey, listen – why don't you just go home and get some sleep. Besides, we don't want you spreading your germs around."
"Yeah, okay," Owen acquiesced, grabbing his coat and bag to go home. When he finally arrived home after what seemed like an endless lunchtime rush hour commute, he drank a glass of water and fell into bed, fully clothed. He was so tired, so exhausted. This had to be the flu. He felt warm, and he couldn't stop shaking. "I'll be okay," he thought, "I just need some sleep."
And so Owen slept. He slept all day and into the evening. He woke up once to stagger into the kitchen to drink an entire half gallon of milk straight from the jug, and then he went back to sleep. He slept all night and into the morning. When he finally woke up, he'd overslept again. It was half past ten, and his cell phone was ringing.
When Owen stood up, he immediately knew that something was not right. He felt weird … different … off balance, somehow. On his way to the bathroom he caught a glance of himself in the mirror and froze. He stared at himself for several moments in disbelief. "Nooo," he moaned. "Holy shit, what is happening to me?"
His stomach was enormous – it was large and rounded as if he were several months pregnant. And when Owen touched his distended belly and felt something kick his hand, he realized in horror that he was.