Hey, sorry about the long delay: exams and revision getting the better of me. Anyway, here be more fan fiction…and as you can tell after torchwood finale, this is my interpretation of what if it had been how I imagined it, i.e. lots of Ianto and John. Happy Face :)

p.s. promise more of Jack next update.

p.p.s reviews are adored :)

Disclaimer: Nope, kein, nicht, nein! Torchwood ist nicht mein… Little rhyme for y'all! Basically anything written I don't own, characters, situations, SUVs etc. Sad face…:(

Birthday Suprise: Part 4

A look of utter confusion covered John's face. His victim didn't recoil, didn't flinch; didn't even weep. Staring down at his chest and then back up to the man stood before him, Owen simply sighed. No fear was evident on his face, shock at best, maybe even disappointment. After a brief pause, John fired three more bullets, more out of desperation and intrigue than anything else. Yet Owen still did not die.

"Great…That's gonna leave a mark tomorrow," Owen remarked, heading to the bathroom to retrieve a first aid kit.
"Can't die too?" muttered John, slinking to the kitchen to get a snack. Or drink, whichever was closer. On opening the cupboards and finding nothing, he raided the fridge and larder to no avail.
"No," replied Owen, who sat calmly down on his sofa, opening the kit. "Already dead."
"What did you die of, starvation?" John joked, turning back to face the dead man. Now it was his turn to look shocked. He marvelled at Owen's chest: a hole in the middle and four newly gaping holes, courtesy of him. He noticed for the first time that not only was it unnaturally pale, but it did not move inward or outward. As if no more sweet, human breath inhabited him…

"Isn't that necrophilia?" Owen mused, attracting John's attention away from his chest. He started to work on the new wounds, tidying them up best as possible. It was times like this he wished someone was with him, to take care of him, to fix him. Jack, Gwen, Tosh; even bloody Ianto would be fine. But they all seemed to have forgotten him; presumed he was okay: being dead and all. But he wasn't. And he hated (or as close to hate for a man who could not feel) them for not understanding. "Look mate, seeing as I am already dead, you can die and you're the one with the gun, I guess that leaves us at some sort of new, demented Mexican stand off."

"New? You wish! You obviously don't know your Haemovore history very well…" scoffed John, who plonked himself down on a seat. "So, what's your deal? What are you, some kind of…zombie who feeds off human brains and drinks their blood and…"
Finishing off his tending to his injuries, Owen looked John dead (N.B. sorry bad pun) in the eye and interrupted him mid flow.

"Laugh it up, go on. How does it feel: laughing?" asked Owen. "I've forgotten. Love, hate, compassion: I don't feel them. The only thing I do feel… is envy. I envy you; all of you. I'm not "living". I'm just stuck: imperfect forever. You're not trapped like me. You can drink, eat, shag, enjoy life. Well all of that's gone for me." Owen said, now shouting out of frustration.

After a short time, John grinned annoyingly at him.
"See, now I prefer my version. At least it would explain why you don't have any food or booze here." John mocked, observing the anger growing on the dead man's face. But then a thought came to him. A dead man could come in handy with his plans, not only for the little team, but the world (or at least Cardiff). "What so you're dead, and your friends don't try to help, in any way? Run you down? Shoot you?"
"My only "friends" are Weevils." He gazed at John's expression, deciding clarity would help. "I'm kinda king of the Weevils, they bow down to me, obey me. You do remember them, don't you?"
It was at that moment that John understood the endless possibilities of power he had in his hands.
"What if I would be your friend?" John smiled, stroking the other man's leg.
"Okay, that's definitely necrophilia!" Owen withdrew, regarding the Captain with a quizzical look.
"No, eww, don't worry there's someone else I have my eye on…But no, what if I helped you: fixed you. If I could turn you mortal, would you help me?"
"I'd do anything," gasped Owen. The thought of being normal, of shagging gave him new hope.
"Hold up, dead dude: don't go promising things you cant fulfil." He walked towards Owen, pulling something out of his coat. "I could ask you to kill, but I want to have that pleasure today, so I'll just ask you to do some simple tasks. Stalking, beating and capturing is all in your vocabulary I presume?" he asked, handing a spare wrist strap to Owen, setting some co-ordinates. "This will be very simple. Simply follow the signal, capture the simpleton and simply throw them in a cell in the Hub. Simple enough, eh?"

Owen raised an eyebrow at the name of the target. John noticed the hesitation.
"I do hope you're fine with the target?" John pushed the door open.
"Oh, I'm more than fine…I was looking to vent some frustration anyway." Owen smiled menacingly.
"Don't mark them too much…I want a turn." John teased.
"Oh you can take my car, I don't mind walking, target's near anyway…" Owen said adjusting the strap and chucking the keys at John, taking in the puzzled expression of his face.
Owen just smiled and replied:
"Dead men don't drive cars."

Ianto and Gwen stood at the entrance to her home, guns in hand and game face on. Gwen had ordered Rhys to go to the pub, an order which he was far too keen to follow, leaving swiftly and so allowing Gwen and Ianto to discuss what had happened and to collect the many guns hidden in the apartment. One place in particular surprised Ianto.
"You keep one in the broom cupboard?!" he exclaimed.
"Oh don't worry," Gwen joked. "Everything behind this door is foreign to him, be it alien technology or the broom."
The two came to a halt at Gwen's car. Gwen beckoned Ianto to get in but he remained outside it.
"What are you waiting for, we've phoned Tosh and told her we're coming to get her. So get it!" Gwen called.
"No, someone's got to warn Owen, he'll probably be at the Hub now…" Ianto guessed, his worried gaze meeting with Gwen's between the storm that flared between them.
"We can't split up, it's suicide. You're coming with me…" Gwen started.

"No!" Ianto shouted. "Owen may be dead, but he's not invincible. He cant heal. Imagine what kind of twisted kick John could get from that. Let's think logically. You go get Tosh and call me with her mobile when you're done. I can check whether or not someone's in the Hub using the heat sensor in the computer in the Tourist Office. Give me your mobile, and if someone is there I'll call you and leave. If not, I'll go get weapons, call you and then we can go find Owen."
"I'm not gonna change your mind, am I?" Gwen sighed, looking at the tea boy, standing there, soaked to the skin, with more respect and admiration now, at his control of the situation. If John had done those thing to her this morning…well she'd be less composed than Ianto appeared to be.
"No," smiled Ianto, moving round the car to close Gwen's door. He watched as Gwen drove off into the distance, then turned, running back to where he had run from previously, rain beating down against him with every stride he took.

Ianto arrived and checked the computer in the tourist room, all the while keeping a trained eye on the door to the Hub. He hugged the gun in one hand, more for comfort than anything. Scanning the Hub, no heat sensors detected anybody present. He breathed a sigh of relief, heading down. He still held his gun steady as he stalked down the stairs.
On entering the Hub, he immediately headed to Jack's office, in the vain hope that by some miracle he may be back or have left some clue to his disappearance. He tore down a badly scribbled note from a wall and half laughed, half feared its contents.

He span around, uncomfortable with his current surroundings. He sensed shadows dancing about, but ignored it, insisting it was just his imagination. He decided to go down to where he felt safer, felt better. The coffee machine. There was still a pool of coffee from the morning. Ianto made himself busy, starting to mop it up, when a reflection that wasn't him appeared in the murky mirror. Drawing his gun he spun.

"Owen you scared me…"
The dead man stalked towards the tea boy, a smile that Ianto couldn't quite place plastered across his face. Owen walked across the puddle and pinned Ianto to the wall with one hand, catching the gun with the other. Ianto let out a surprised sound, much to Owen's delight.
"Good…you should be."

Tosh lay there, cradling her head in hands, facing the wall, lying on the left hand side of the double bed. Alone. As always. She never understood what had made her buy the double. Maybe it was an urge. Maybe it was the judgemental sales assistant. Or maybe it was the hope that Owen may one day have shared it with her.

Getting up rather gingerly, she practically fell into the bathroom. Hangovers and Tosh did not go well together. She couldn't have drunk that much. Though on second thoughts, she pondered, with Jack, anything is possible. She splashed some cold water on her face and looked at her watch. Quarter to nine. She was late. But then again, Gwen had been on numerous occasions, and Jack couldn't scold her for being late once out of however many number of years she'd been with Torchwood. She could get dressed, go to work, but then she'd have to put up with another day of living a lie. She still looked at Owen in the same loving way, no matter how many times she told herself otherwise. And yet, even though he was dead, the way he looked at her was no different. A look of nothing. No emotion, no love, nothing.
She returned to her bed, rubbing her eyes, and slumped down on it, ready for the sweet embrace of sleep. A few moments later, she was fully awake, eyes wide open, at the cold kiss of metal on her neck.
"Toshiko Sato…" an American voice murmured, followed by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot…