Spoiler alert: Combat
Beta-ed: TattoedLibrarian
Owen didn't comply. He was bad at complying. He went out and pissed himself. He didn't even remember if he'd scored something or not, but he got a bad feeling that he just sat there all night staring at his glass, not thinking and not feeling. He was such a mess, why would she stay, why did he ask her to stay, it wasn't like he would change, would he? He was too far gone, there was no turning back, anger and bitterness became too familiar, too comfortable. He could bare the world from that distance; he wasn't in danger of becoming too cozy. But she broke that barrier and where did that leave him; drunk in a bar without a desire to even feel out some fresh or less than fresh skin.
A chance to be someone else came as a relief but that bloody smug man drove him to the edge. Was he like that, cold and distant? He sure didn't like it when he pounded that tied up Weevil. But he could understand Mark, although Mark was much further gone than he was. At least that's what he was hoping for.
The fighting arena was too much for him. That tortured Weevil and useless man that thought this was a way to prove something. He was furious. He'd hunted down so many Weevils, fought them, got bruised and scared, but he'd never put them through something such as this. He understood their nature far too well to be so cruel. When that smug, cowardly Mark pulled a gun on him he calmed down, completely. He knew he and Mark weren't the same. That Mark guy was just a thug, he did talk big but he was just a small, young, bored man with a small imagination. He would show him what fearlessness meant.
He walked toward that gun not only because he knew Mark wouldn't shoot, he wouldn't because he didn't want to lose the comfort of his life, but because he really didn't fear death. He hadn't dreaded it for a long time. To have such fear you had to have something to live for. Owen wasn't that rich, Diane was just a small beacon in the dark, a lighter that made him believe that there was something out there for him, but naturally it dimmed very fast. Mark put down his gun and Owen smiled in his face and went down to the cage.
He wasn't interested in Mark's babbling. He was over that and knew he spoke only words, how could he even start to understand what Owen knew about life and space. Owen stood in the middle of the cage and felt serenity fall over him. He knew what to do and he was determined to show that group of thugs what control was, and how shallow their efforts were. He breathed calmly and controlled the confused and bewildered Weevil with his eyes and his posture.
Then all hell broke loose and Jack bloody Harkness strode in to save the day. How typical of him. Owen lost his composure, the Weevil was crazed by the shot and attacked; he launched himself at Owen's throat. He screamed from the pain, but also from the anger and frustration. He wanted to kick every one of them. That was his moment of resolution, his life or death, his deliberation, and they took it like they took everything else.
When Jack showed up in a hospital Owen couldn't even look at him. Jack Harkness who knew it all; knew who should live and who should die. What made him so special? Owen knew his job; he was fucking brilliant at it. He studied Weevils and their patterns of thought and behavior. Jack should have more faith in him, but that was just not what the big Captain does.
When he got back to work he went down to the vaults and faced the Weevils. When he was alone he composed his posture and showed the Weevils who was in charge and whom they should be afraid of. They cowered in the corner all flustered and small. There was no one to see that but Owen smiled satisfied.