8. Water

Owen stumbled into the Hub, swearing under his breath as he tripped and almost fell on the stairs. He contemplated collapsing on the sofa, but he was there for a reason, and he was determined to see it through.

When he remembered what the hell he was doing there.

Throwing himself down on the sofa after all, he let his arm fall across his eyes as he muttered under his breath. Damn Suzie Costello for dying again. Because naturally he'd gone out to get drunk and laid, but only one of those had actually happened, and now he was back at work trying to remember why he was back at work.

A sound from Jack's office made him turn his head, though he didn't bother opening his eyes. Of course Jack was still here. Maybe he was drinking too. Ianto'd told him that Jack had got completely pissed in his office the first time Suzie had died. Owen snorted to himself; only in Torchwood could a coworker die more than once and require a second drunken mourning period.

The sound of a throat being cleared forced him to open his eyes. Jack stood there, though he looked sober. He also looked…well, thoroughly shagged. Trousers loose around his hips without braces or belt, an untucked undershirt obviously pulled over his head too quickly leaving his hair a rumpled mess. Oh, and the rather obvious love bite just to the right of his Adam's apple. Christ, Owen had interrupted Jack on the pull. But he wouldn't have brought a civilian back to the Hub even if he was upset over Suzie's death, so apparently Jack had got lucky and was done for the night, unlike Owen who had stumbled back to work without getting shagged, all for some reason he couldn't even remember.

"Whatcha doing back, Owen?" Jack asked, hands tucked into his pockets. Owen groaned as he sat up. He motioned a limp hand at his boss.

"I'm not quite sure," he said, "but I was definitely not expecting anyone else to be here. Looking like that." He waved his hands about some more. Jack grinned.

"Like what, exactly?"

"You pulled tonight," Owen said, standing and pointing a finger. "Didn't you?"

Jack's eyes flashed before he offered a very forced shrug. "Might have done, yeah. You?"

"No, I think that's why I came back." Jack raised an eyebrow and grinned again. Owen made a retching noise. "God, not like that. I was working on this cute blonde, when all of a sudden it hit me: Suzie is dead. One of my coworkers died, came back to life, and died again." He laughed bitterly. "I think I came back to do her autopsy just to make sure. How fucked up is that?"

Jack's face softened in that way he had of expressing pity for the mere underlings beneath him. Owen knew perfectly well Jack was different, but didn't the man feel things like the rest of them? Was he bothered at all by shooting Suzie over and over or had he mourned her enough the first time? Was it easy for him to go out and get laid and forget about it?

"It's not you," Jack said quietly, his voice laced with pain and putting Owen's thoughts to rest. Yes, Jack felt it, he mourned. "It's the job. Go home, take time to mourn her…again…and come in when you're ready. She doesn't need an autopsy."

"Death by Torchwood?" asked Owen, and Jack nodded sadly.

"Death by Torchwood," he echoed. They stood quietly before Owen shook off the moment.

"Right. I'm going home and coming in when I'm ready, just like you said." He turned to leave, but Jack stopped him and tossed over a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the kitchenette.

"Drink that and call a cab," he said, turning away. Owen stood and watched as Jack grabbed two more bottles of water and some leftovers from the fridge before heading back toward his office.

"So how'd you score?" Owen called. Jack turned and smirked.

"Tall, dark, and handsome with a nice pert ass…" He trailed off, apparently remembering it fondly. Owen rolled his eyes.

"Playing for the other team tonight, then?" he asked. It was no surprise, though none of them knew for sure which side Jack preferred. Jack wagged his eyebrows.

"And it was a great game," he said. "Good night, Owen. Drink that water."

Owen snorted and left the Hub. Popping open the water in the lift, he contemplated returning to the pub and finding that blonde again. If Jack could get laid, so could he. Except deep down he didn't want to lose himself with some nameless shag. Obviously a drunken autopsy was not a good idea, so perhaps he'd go home, crack open a bottle of whisky and lose himself that way.