3. White Wine
Tosh had rarely seen Owen so rattled. Yes, he'd been upset about various cases over the years—losing people, losing aliens—and there had been several times when he'd been pissed off at the end of the day, either at Jack or the dumb government bureaucrats who made their job ten times harder. This time, however, he seemed confused. Angry, yes, but angry over something that had happened decades ago and baffled by his strong response to it.
Which was probably the only reason why he was sitting with her at a small pub near the Quay. She was even more surprised when he accepted the glass of wine she set down before him. Though she knew perfectly well he preferred a good beer, she wasn't sure what to get at the bar, not with ten draughts on tap and another dozen bottles to choose from. As she'd insisted that he sit down while she got them both something to calm their nerves, she was inordinately pleased when he didn't scoff at the stemmed glass she brought him instead of a pint.
"I could have killed him, Tosh," Owen said, shaking his head as he sipped at the house white. It wasn't particularly good—Tosh preferred a more balanced Pinot Grigio to the slightly mineral tang of whatever blend the pub poured—but Owen didn't seem to mind as he twirled the glass between his fingers.
"I don't believe that," she said, and he grunted.
"Then you don't really know me."
"I know you were influenced by the transducer," she said, leaning forward but refraining from touching his hand in support. "I know you were upset by what you saw, and rightfully so. You wanted justice for what he did to that woman, that's perfectly understandable. But you're not a vigilante, Owen. You don't take lives without reason."
"Oh, he had a reason," Owen replied bitterly.
"Maybe," said Tosh. She glanced down at her drink, took a sip, and continued. "But maybe he paid for it with the life he lived, rather than the way he died. He had a hard, broken, miserable life."
"Just rewards and all that?" asked Owen. He finished his drink and stood. "Maybe. At least he got what he deserved in the end, even if it was a stupid accident." He motioned to her glass. "Want another?"
Tosh shook her head. "Not yet, no. Thank you."
"I'm going to grab a pint. Or several," said Owen. He stalked off toward the bar, shoulders still hunched. Tosh sighed and hoped she could somehow ease his pain, but doubted anything could do that right now, even several pints of his favorite IPA.
She also hoped she had enough money to send him home in a cab. And that they could all move on the next day, yet again.
Author's Note:
I can't wait 'till the next one. :)