Title: A Lonely Night Out
Rating: PG-13/R
Pairings: Jack/Gwen, Owen/Gwen and implied Jack/Owen
Spoilers: Set sometime after 'Countrycide' so spoilers up to there
Summary: Gwen and Owen are dancing and Jack has some lovely depressing thoughts. You'll be wanting to give Jack a huggle…hopefully. Jack's P.O.V.
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood. Bet you didn't see that one coming.
A/N: Hasn't been beta'd so all mistakes (and there will be) are mine. First posted 23 November 2006. Comments are welcome.

He watches them.

Watches as their bodies move together closer and closer with the upbeat music, how they catch each others gaze amidst the chaos and how the man throws her that sickening smile and places his hands all over her and he knows…

They're fucking each other.

He knows the signs too well; years and years of fooling around and falling in love and all the weird and wonderful things in between. He knows. It amazes him sometimes how humans and aliens are so similar. Humans spend their entire time thinking that aliens are little green creatures from Mars with little red noses and speaking in some sort of noise that sounds like a vacuum cleaner, believing that their little ape race are superior of everything else that lives in the universe; that they are special in some way. How wrong they are. Nearly every race in the galaxy has one thing in common – sex. The most primal instinct of any species is to fuck each others brains out and humans are no different, even if they sometimes pretend to be.

He watches from the sidelines of the nightclub as the man pulls her closer and whispers something in her ear. He watches that beautiful smile spread over her face and for a moment he believes that maybe them being together isn't so bad. But then, he sees something else which the man doesn't see - guilt.

He sighs and takes another sip from his drink as the couple adapt to the new song blasting out the speakers and he watches in a daze as they move to the beat. He wonders if the man pushes the fact that she has a boyfriend to the back of his mind, or whether he is just blissfully ignorant. For a moment, he feels a little pity for her boyfriend, before reminding himself that if he had any say in the matter, he'd be where the man is now – dancing with her.

He's not good enough for her…

He immediately gives himself a mental slap for thinking that. He has no right to say that. The man dancing with her is a good man…saved his life on a number of times, he's funny, caring on occasion, not bad looking either…he doesn't blame her for wanting to fuck him. He must admit he'd thought about it on occasion too, a casual screw before saving the world or having his way with him shortly after they first met. But that would be it. He's not one for relationships and until this moment he thought the man wasn't either.

A moment passes where the ghosts of his past float to the surface, reminding him of what it's like to fall in love, only to loose it all. He goes back to staring at his drink, so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even notice the man and woman leave the dance floor. But when he looks back up – they're gone.

He selfishly hopes that they've gone back to work, or just gone to grab another drink…but he knows that's not true. They're off fucking again and he knows it.

The feeling of jealous and pain settle in his stomach once more as a single tear traces its way down his face before it's hastily removed with the back of his hand.

He forgot how much it hurt to be in love.