Owen was sitting on the toilet, his hands covered in green slime and his mouth hanging open in horror. He was trying to think of what to do next. Here, he was, heavily pregnant in the bathroom at work, and he'd apparently just grown a makeshift vadge. If that wasn't enough, his water had just broken, which could only mean one thing.
The "baby" was on its way.
Owen cleaned himself up and walked stiffly back out into the Hub. His face was white and his skin felt cold and sweaty.
"Hey!" said Jack. "What are you doing up? I thought I told you to sit down."
"Jack," Owen whimpered. "My water just broke. I think I'm going into labor."
"Your water?" Jack repeated.
"I've got a box. It's just grown in, between my balls and bum. I noticed that I felt itchy, and when I went to the bathroom, this liquid started rushing out of it."
"Okay. Are you having any labor pains or contractions yet?"
"No, not yet. But I think I'd better sit d– Agghhh!" Owen suddenly cried out and grabbed his lower back, wincing. "Shit! I spoke too soon." He hissed in pain and went over to the sofa, where he gingerly sat down.
Ianto, Tosh, and Gwen rushed over. "What's the matter? He's not going to actually have the baby, is he?" asked Gwen.
"Not on the freshly-vacuumed sofa, he isn't!" declared Ianto, who rushed off to find a piece of plastic sheeting to put down beneath Owen.
"Jack, when is that surgeon from UNIT getting here?" Owen moaned. He screamed as another contraction racked his body.
"Owen, I think it might be a little too late for a surgical removal," Jack observed grimly. He started helping Owen remove his pants.
"Whhaaaat! You mean I'm going to squeeze this out between my legs? Are you daft? I'm not built for that! My pelvis will snap in two! Oh, God, I can't do this! I can't have a baby." He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely.
"We'll think of something. Lie down on your back, Owen," instructed Jack gently. His mobile rang and he answered – it was the UNIT surgeon. "Good! Come right down," Jack said into the phone. "Well have to improvise. His body's gone into labor." A sudden scream from Owen confirmed this as Jack closed the phone.
"Oh, I feel like I'm gonna puke," moaned Owen. "And my back! It's breaking! Oh God, I can't take any more of this."
"Hang on, Owen. It's going to be okay," said Tosh, laying a hand on his heaving shoulder.
"Shut up!" hissed Owen, tears streaming down his cheeks. "It's NOT going to be okay! It's never okay! Baby notwithstanding. I can't ever catch a break, and I feel like I'm going to die. Suzie was right … Torchwood gets all the shit, all the alien shit, and I get all the human shit. That's all my life is, is shit." The tears were now freely flowing.
Tosh had gone very white. She looked she was about to start crying too.
"Oh, Owen," said Gwen. "I'm sorry."
"No! You shut up! You don't get to say anything!" He moaned again and arched his back. The last person Owen wanted sympathy from was Gwen. Sure, she was a hot piece of ass, and she'd been good for a few fucks, but they both knew that she didn't really care about him, not properly.
Tosh put pillows beneath his neck and the small of his back. She cradled Owen's sweaty head in her hand and gave him a cool drink of water.
Meanwhile, the UNIT surgeon had arrived. "Boy, are we glad to see you, Dr. Schertt," said Jack, pumping his hand. "Captain Jack Harkness. Thanks for coming by on such short notice. We have a bit of an emergency, as you can see."
Rhett Schertt was a generic looking, nondescript brown-haired man in his early thirties. He wore a white lab coat over his UNIT uniform and was carrying a black doctor's bag, filled with all sorts of unsavory sharp instruments.
"I'd say," replied Dr. Schertt, as he quickly washed his hands at the nearby sink. He gently spread Owen's quivering knees. "I've removed several parasitic growths before, but this one takes the cake. Looks like it's doing a pretty good job removing itself, actually. It's unusual for a parasite to birth this way – usually they just tear their way out."
"It IS tearing its way out!" cried Owen.
"Well, yes, there's going to be some tearing, but I think you'll be okay," replied the surgeon. "The organism has prepared your body for delivery. That's much more considerate than your average chest-burster." He administered a shot of very strong painkillers to Owen's rear. "Deep breaths, try to relax."
Owen sank back onto the couch, panting like a dog in heat. The plastic-coated sofa was now slippery with blood and bits of mucous. "Oh, that's … better," he moaned. He took another drink of water from the Styrofoam cup Tosh held.
The labor proceeded quickly. Soon, Owen was dilated enough to push, and after a short period of heaving, grunting, and loud moaning, the baby popped out in a rush of blood-tinged green fluid.
It was small, about the size of a very young housecat, and it was tightly bundled in a slimy gray-green membrane. For a few moments, it didn't move, and the onlookers all wondered if it was stillborn. But then it quivered violently, and a sharp claw broke and slit the surface.
Torchwood watched in horror, curiosity, and disgust as the alien baby emerged from its membrane.
