'Dead Man Walking' didn't happen and Owen died in 'Reset'. That's about all you need to know :) Oh, and the Chelsea/Cardiff bit is about the FA Cup (Football). Becs xx
Number 206. Also known as the final resting place of Dr. Owen Harper. The stone door had no plaque for remembrance, nothing to note that Owen lay in there, just the number 206.
It was tucked away in the corner of the make-shift crematorium, last door on the second row. Jack had spent every night since his passing staring at that door, trying to find the right way to apologise. To make right with himself. Nothing had happened so far.
He waited in his office for the cog door to close behind Ianto - always the first to arrive and the last to leave - and just sat against the wall, continuously tracing the numbers with his eyes. His watch would beep in the morning, giving him enough time to wash and look respectable before the team arrived for yet another day.
It shouldn't have happened. Why did he hesitate? Jack should have just killedCopley when he first drew the gun. Maybe just shot him in the shoulder, disabling him, giving them enough time to get the gun away, arrest him. No, he hesitated. Tried to negotiate. Watched as Owen stepped in front of Martha and took the bullet to his heart. The life draining from his eyes, the air from his lungs.
It shouldn't have happened.
Jack slammed his fist into the wall again, burying his head in his knees and tucking them closer. The anger he felt was unbearable, it squeezed at his heart, took the breathe from within him. It shouldn't have happened. He should have stopped it.
He hadn't heard the footsteps, his self-berating too loud. He felt her hand on his arm as Gwen sat down next to him on the cold tiled floor. She could feel Jack's eyes boring into her, but she didn't look. "Hey Owen," she said. "Chelsea lost and Cardiff are in the final. You owe me a tenner."
She smirked slightly, and Jack scoffed with a nearly-there smile. He let his legs extend, his fingers entwining on his lap. "What are you doing here?"
"Forgot my phone. As usual," she spoke softly. She didn't know why she whispered in there, like she might wake some of the residents if she spoke too loud. "You?"
Jack sighed deeply, leaning his head back on the wall. "Repenting. As usual."
"You couldn't have done anything," she told him, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear so to see him properly.
"Don't, Gwen." He refused to believe anything.
"You couldn't have done anything and you know it. Owen was a stubborn bugger, always was. He would have jumped in front of a bus if it meant looking good in front of a beautiful girl."
"I should have done something."
"We could have all done something. We could have locked him away with Janet for the day, made sure he didn't leave the hub and so didn't get shot." She turned to face him, crossing her legs beneath her. "We could have been a minute quicker getting out of that building. We could have ignored that whole rift episode and sat in your office drinking margaritas and doing the conga. It doesn't matter. It happened."
"I should have stopped it."
"Stop it. Stop doing this. What would Owen say if he could see you now?"
Jack thought about it, a slow lop-sided smile forming on his lips. "To 'suck it up, you big pussy'?"
Gwen smirked, "Exactly. He would have probably not spoken to you for a month if you'd have stepped in. He had just saved Martha's life, and he was playing the big macho man, so naturally he probably thought he was in for some nookie. If you'd have saved him, he would have gone in a big strop and moped for days on end." She laid a hand on his arm, mischievousness dancing in her eyes. "You did us all a favour, Jack."
A smile flitted across his handsome features, remembering the countless times Owen had sulked about the hub like a child, practically stamping his feet, but using language beyond his attitude. He turned solemn again. "What, by getting him killed?"
"I can't die, Gwen. I can't fucking die, but everyone else in this bastard world can. I could have saved him. I should have saved him. I shouldn't have let it get that far, I should have stepped in front of him, ego be damned and taken that have been so taken off guard by my resurrection that you guys could have had him and Owen would still be alive. He would still be fucking here, Gwen!" He slammed his fist against the wall again, scrunching up his face as pain racked through him. He had broken his hand. Gwen grabbed hold of it, carefully touching the quickly bruising area. "I'm fine. I can heal, remember?"
"Oh, for fucks sake, Jack! Yes you can heal, you're fucking Jesus incarnate!" She dropped his fist unceremoniously. "We all loved, Owen. We all miss him. We all think we could have done something to stop him, but it's over. We can't go back and change it, we just have to go to tomorrow. We can't do that without you, Jack, and you can't do it without us." Her face was flushed, her green eyes sparking with intensity.
"So…" she began with a smirk, "Suck it up-"
"Don't say it-"
"-You big pussy."
His face contorted, she'd said it. "A woman should never say that word."
"What, 'pussy'? Should never say 'pussy'?" She flashed a toothy grin.
"Stop it," he smirked.
He looked at her, as if saying 'you don't want me to do that'.
She grinned wider, before standing up with a sympathetic smile. "Come on, you need a drink."
Jack took her hand, easing himself up from the floor and forcing his muscles to work. "I do need a drink."
Gwen linked his arm as they took one last look to 206. He took a deep breath, a final goodbye. She stroked at his arm and led him out of the hub.