John Mayer: Bigger Than My Body


Chapter Eight

Owen sat on his sofa, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. It was the fourth time since he'd gotten home from the pub that he refilled the glass. The bottle clinked against its side as he watched the smoky liquid tickle down. Replacing the bottle on the table he sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The smell of the whiskey comforted him, and the warm glow it induced helped even more. He was drunk, he knew that, and maybe he shouldn't have gotten so worked up, but how else was he supposed to have reacted to Jack.

The doctor looked down at his right hand, shifting the glass into his left and flexing his sore knuckles. He watched as his fingers moved and pain rippled towards his wrist. He knew he hadn't done any lasting damage; it was just bruising from the hard connection with Jack's jaw bone. Owen didn't mind the pain; pain reminded him he was alive. It intensified his reactions, it governed his decisions, it made his mind sharp and responsive. "Pity it doesn't do the same for Jack" he thought, still consumed with misery over what the captain had revealed.

Owen still felt rage bubbling in his stomach. A mixture of hurt, anger and alcohol that had detonated in Jack's face through his fist. The over-riding feeling was the sense of being disappointed. Jack Harkness wasn't the man he thought he was. Jack Harkness was strong, a leader, he was powerful and in control. The Jack Harkness that sat across from him in the pub was weak, he'd let fear and pain get the better of him. Who could look up to a man like that?


Gwen slowly put the key in the door and walked inside her flat. Feeling deflated and confused she closed the door as gently as possible, looking over her shoulder at the empty living room wondering if Rhys was home from his night out with the boys. She dropped her bag and walked across to the bedroom, peeping round the door. Sure enough Rhys was soundly asleep and snoring. The duvet has half thrown off the bed and he was still dressed. A drunken passing-out. Gwen smiled sadly to herself and closed the door. Walking to the kitchen she ran her hands through her hair and sighed loudly. She still couldn't take in what Jack had said. The night had been going so well, and then it took the ugliest turn, ending in a fight, accusations flying as well as fists.

She poured herself a glass of water and pulled out a stool, sitting at the breakfast bar in near darkness, staring out of the window at the city spread out beneath her. She got it, in part – she understood the eyes of a man at the end of his tether. She had been a good copper, and part of that was compassion and understanding. She did understand, she was upset, but she did get it. What hurt her was the fact that Jack hadn't confided in her earlier, she could have helped him through, she could have tried to make things better and prevented things getting so out of control.

She gulped the cold water, enjoying the coldness of it, holding the glass against her cheek to cool herself down. Tears started to form in her eyes and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold them back, nor did she want to.


Tosh was in bed, a cup of coffee in her hands. She felt terrible, her hangover had already started to kick in and she felt sick to her stomach. "Poor Ianto" she thought to herself. She had sat and quietly watched events unfold in the pub around her. Feeling quite drunk she'd been unable to really take part in the conversation, the fight, she'd just watched everyone's faces. Firstly Jack's, the sorrow and pain evident for everyone to see. She also saw Ianto's fear and worry, the young man aging in front of her as Jack told them what he had planned. She noticed Ianto fidgeting, unable to keep himself still – as if something was going to burst out of him at any moment. Gwen's face was just open-mouthed shock; she reached over to take Jack's hand, the ever-caring former cop wanting to make everything ok. Owen just got angrier and angrier as he listened. Words became heated and before she knew what had happened they'd been asked to leave the pub – everyone's eyes upon them, listening and watching their every move.

The rest was pretty much a blur for her, she sipped her coffee and tried to go through what had been said, Jack was going to leave them – that was all that stuck in her mind. That and the pain in Ianto's eyes.


As he gently pressed his sore lip with the ice he winced, looking at his face in the bathroom mirror. He realised he looked terrible, pale with dark circles forming. He moved the ice away and checked his lip, it wasn't too bad he thought, the bruising should go down in a day or so. "Trust Owen to start throwing punches" he thought to himself, staring at his reflection trying to look behind his own eyes.

Maybe he had messed up; maybe this wasn't the right decision. He started to doubt his resolve, but he knew it was just the guilt talking. Sighing, he turned away from the mirror and turned off the light, walking quietly down the hall way to the bedroom. Ianto lay asleep on the bed, and Jack couldn't bear to wake him. He closed the door and wandered to the living room, settling himself on the sofa. The darkness seemed to overwhelm his senses as he closed his eyes, his skin felt alive and his hearing picked up every small creak as the night-time house spoke to him. Slowly he fell asleep, and the ice pack fell to the floor, forming a puddle as he slept.


AN: Thanks for reading, please review if you can.