This is an idea that's been tooling about in my head ever since I finished the second season of Torchwood. It felt to me like the producers rushed through it, because they didn't wish to continue paying everyone's salaries. I don't know what the ratings were over in England, but they were fabulous here. So off we go, with my dreams of Burn Gorman traipsing about. Have fun! - M.
Owen looked at the note on his desk and shook his head. "Fine Jack, whatever. This is bollocks, it is." He crumpled the small piece of paper and tossed it in the bin. Maybe Cap'n Jack knew something they didn't. Shrugging, for once he followed the feeling in his gut that made him do what he was told.
An hour later he was knocked flat on his back, victim of a gunshot wound to the chest. Owen fought to catch his breath, struggling to pull air into his lungs as he felt a huge weight pressing on his chest.
"What's this?" He vaguely heard the voice of Dr. Martha Jones over him. She was attempting to administer CPR, which was the weight he felt bearing down on him repeatedly. "Oi, would you get off?" he demanded. Owen slowly sat up and pulled up his blue t-shirt to reveal the darkness underneath. He flinched as Gwen popped him on the shoulder.
"A right fright you gave us, Owen. What the bloody hell did you do THAT for?" she nearly yelled. He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. Owen was unaware that Jack stood nearby, watching the faces of everyone gathered. He looked over his shoulder a moment at the now dead shooter, then focused his gaze on Owen, his eyes narrowing. He noted the redness on the front of Owen's shirt, then the torn packet of ketchup in the other man's front pocket.
"Why did you wear a vest, Owen?" Jack asked quietly. Owen turned to face him fully as Martha helped him to his feet. "What do you mean, 'why'? I did it because you told me to...that's why."
"No. I didn't," Jack returned, his voice a bit quieter than before. Everyone noticed it then. A slight chill passed over Owen's shoulders and he shook it off. Remembering the crumpled note sitting at the bottom of his waste bin, Owen protested. "Yes, you did!"
"No, I didn't," his commanding officer repeated. This time it came out slow and drawn out as Jack thought to himself.
"Yes, you did, Jack. I got the note on my desk. You told me to put on the Kevlar, and I figured you must know what you're talking about, so I did." Slowly it dawned on Owen that the tiny bit of paper had not only saved his life, but apparently he was the only one who had gotten one. He looked around him. Gwen's eyes were wide, but he noted that she'd not worn a vest. Then Tosh, who had begun to slowly inch back from Owen, as had Martha. Owen felt fear creep up on him as he looked back at Harkness.
"I should be dead," he said.