Owen's Little Helper

By EmyPink

Written for the Torchwood Australia Weekly Writing Challenge #1

Disclaimer: Torchwood is not mine; I just play with the characters

Rating: T

Parings: Slight, slight Janto

Genre: Humour, Gen, Fluff

Warnings: None

Summary: Jack needs someone to go undercover.

A/N Written in under an hour and unbetaed.

"There's no way you can make me do that," said Owen, glaring at Jack and looking put out. He was standing in the middle of his autopsy bay, scalpel in hand.

Jack gave him the puppy dog eyes. "Oh, c'mon, Owen," he grinned charmingly at Owen from the spiral staircase.

"No!" Owen exclaimed, brandishing the scalpel dangerously and ignoring Jack's look. He continued glaring at Jack. "Ask Gwen. This seems like something she'd be interested in."

"Gwen's busy with Rhys," Jack explained, taking a tentative step towards the autopsy bay.

Owen harrumphed, and shook his head. "No!" he said for the fifth time.

"Please?" Jack pouted.

"Ask Ianto."



"Also busy."

"Do it yourself, then," Owen snapped, turning back to the alien on his table. He sliced the alien with dangerous strength, making Jack wince.

"I can't," Jack replied, drifting down the stairs with his coat billowing.

"Why not," Owen argued, without looking up. "I am sure Teaboy would be thoroughly pleased."

Jack grinned. "Me in a . . ." He mined the costume with his hands and feigned a look of horror. He shook his head. "No, I just can't." Owen looked at him for an explanation.

Jack sighed. "Let's just say it involved a couple of helpers and the big man himself." Jack grinned at the memory.

Owen turned and shook his head in disgust. "Only you," he muttered. "Only you." He paused. "And the answer is still no."

"I could order you," Jack countered, switching to his "boss" voice.

"I'd like to see you try," Owen retorted. "And can't you see I'm busy." He used the scalpel to gesture to the oddly shaped alien before him.

"The Raticah is not exactly going anywhere," Jack noted and then added, slightly pleadingly, "It'll only take a couple of hours. Three, tops."

Owen shook his head, defiant. He turned back to his alien guest.

"I'll give you a bonus."


"I'll give you a day off."


"Three days."

"No freaking way."

"Owen . . ."

"Jack . . ."

"Ianto's right, you really are a prat," Jack muttered, exasperated and threw his hands up in defeat.

"Yep, deal with it," Owen huffed.

Jack changed his tactic. "What about the little children, Owen. Don't you think they deserve . . ."

Owen spun around and glared at Jack. "Don't guilt trip me, Harkness," he said angrily.

Jack took a step back. "Not my intention," he started, somewhat warily.

"Then don't even finish that sentence," Owen snapped. He spun angrily back to his autopsy.

Jack tried again. This time, he laid down the underlying facts. "Owen," he started authoritatively, "if we do not contain the situation, it will lead to disaster."

"Disaster," Owen snorted, disbelieving. "I fail to see how – that – could lead to disaster."

"But it can," Jack said quietly. "I've seen it before." He looked sad. "We are the only ones that can do something. UNIT's too self-absorbed with some crisis in Leeds to be of any use."

Owen sighed and put down his scalpel. "Are you sure the others are busy?"

"Yep. Gwen's dealing with the Man Flu. I need Toshiko here to monitor energy outputs, and Ianto's working on those requests for UNIT . . . we will be in serious strife if we don't deliver by tomorrow," Jack explained, and then grinned, using a cheesy western accent, "So it's just you and me, cowboy."

"Don't," Owen muttered and rubbed his forehead. "Fine," he finally said. "I'll do it. But I want a bonus and a day off."

"Deal," Jack said quickly, grinning charmingly. "It's a deal."


"Out you come, Owen," Jack called in a singsong voice. Gathered around him were Ianto, Tosh and Gwen.

"You are so dead, Harkness," Owen growled, stepping forward.

Gwen snorted and covered her mouth. Tosh started giggling, and Ianto managed to keep an impassive face, but the corners of his mouth were upturned.

"I think you look very dashing, Owen," Jack flirted with the largest grin possible.

"I. Am. An. Elf," Owen spat, looking at the green costume in disgust. "A green elf with pointy ears and shiny shoes!" There was a touch of hysteria in his voice.

"But a very, very cute elf," Jack noted cheekily.

"I think it is an improvement," Ianto added, with a straight face.

"You are so dead," Owen growled again. He shook his head and muttered, "The things I do for this infernal organisation."

"I think you look, erm, nice," Tosh managed to say through her giggles. "Very . . . elf-y."

Owen glowered at her, which caused Gwen to erupt into hiccupping giggles.

"Be glad I am not allowed to carry a gun, Cooper," he hissed. "And I thought you were with Rhys."

"I was . . . I am," she replied. "But when Tosh called . . ." She trailed off as Tosh shook her head frantically. "I thought you may need some help," she finished lamely as Owen stared fiercely at her.

Jack clapped his hands. "Right, kids, let's get this show on the road," he said loudly. "Tosh, monitor the energy levels. Ianto, finish those requests from UNIT. Gwen, go home to Rhys."

Gwen looked as though she was about to protest, but Jack shook his head.

"We'll be okay," he said gently. "Rhys needs you to play nursemaid," he grinned cheekily.

Gwen punched him on the arm as she collected her coat and exited the Hub. "Take a photo for me," she called over her shoulder, giggling.

"Go to hell, Cooper," Owen called back, causing Tosh to start laughing again.

"And you can join her," he glowered, but was unable to looking menacing in the Santa's little helper costume.

"Okay, Owen with me. Tosh, Ianto, get to it!" Jack ordered, swishing his greatcoat as he swaggered to the cog door.

Owen shot one last glare at Tosh and Ianto as they scurried off to their respective tasks.

"You owe me, Harkness," Owen muttered darkly, trailing after Jack.

"I am sure there are many ways I can make it up to you," Jack said suggestively, making Owen shudder.

"I'll leave that to Teaboy, thank you very much," he huffed as the cog door rolled back.

Jack shrugged. "Your loss." He grinned. "So . . . Twinkle," he said, reading the nametag on Owen's costume, "you ready to save the world?"

"You are so dead, Harkness."