Funeral Rites

Hey, I'm not too sure on this one, I've found it the hardest to write out of all of them, hence, it's a little shorter than usual, but I'll try to get the word count up for next week!

Thanks for all your lovely reviews, they keep me going!

This week's instalment if from Jack's point of view, on death and Owen (surprise surprise). I know I probably should of done Ianto, but I'm waiting for a really good episode where I can write a great Jack/Ianto piece from Ianto's point and view, and maybe Jack's if I indulge the fan girl inside me!

Happy reading!

I do not own Doctor Who, Torchwood etc. If I did, it would probably be the Jack and Ianto show so just as well!

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'I'm still a doctor'

That's what Owen had said to him.

'We owe them, you and me'

He'd said that too and for the first time in his life, Jack had suspected that Owen might have fully realised how it felt to feel responsible. To feel and know you where responsible for those deaths that where Torchwood's fault.

It wasn't the first time Torchwood could be blamed for playing some part, if not the leading role, in the deaths of innocents, even if it had never been intentional. But Owen had never seemed to quite register this before today. Before that had happened. Jack supposed that somewhere in his subconscious, Owen had felt some guilt, but never had there been a full realisation. Never a confession. Never this.

Jack never showed it, but he himself felt the guilt, perhaps the most in the team, perhaps even more than Gwen. Maybe it was because he had an eternity to kill for and yet another eternity to kill himself with the guilt. The guilt that if he let it, would gnaw right through his stomach, threatening to drive him to the brink of insanity.

Needless to say, Jack had become exceedingly good at blocking out the guilt. He had to be. Only sometimes, sometimes when he'd lie awake at night, the nights when he was alone in the quite Hub, with the silence only broken by a dripping coffee machine, a swooping bird, only then would he let his defences down. And the overwhelming sensation that had the power to complete over take his mind and soul, which in a way, was strangely welcome.

But this time it was different. Jack started blankly at the document on the desk in front of him. He'd been staring at the same piece of paper for the last hour but the pen that had now rolled slightly to the left of his right hand had made no effort to move. It was his fault Twelve people had died.

But Jack knew he'd do it all over again. And again. And again.

And maybe that was selfish. Twelve people's lives couldn't be worth bringing back one dead colleague, who despite all of this was still technically dead.

Maybe that made him a bad person. No, bad wasn't the right word. Immoral more like. Amoral maybe. Bur no, amoral would imply there was no guilt attached to the death of the twelve innocent bystanders who never had and never would hear of Torchwood. And although, yes Jack did feel responsible for the death of those twelve in the hospital, he'd have felt even worst if he didn't do everything in his power to bring back Owen.

It was possible, Jack reasoned to himself, it was possible that he'd never have been able to live with himself again.

But was it worth it? Where twelve people's lives worth one broken Owen. Because at the end of the day, that was what he was. Only in some strange way, death had changed Owen for the better. It had made him more human, more feeling, more alive. He had been more alive when looking death square in the face than he'd ever been before, in Jack's eyes.

In death, he was more alive than Jack himself.

Because Owen could look death in the face and still be shit scared. Scared that he could die any minute, sacred that this time he would really be gone. For good.

Maybe that was being alive. Appreciating the small things and knowing every minute could be your last.

Something Jack could never regain.

Hope that was ok!

Love you all

Jyra

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