Fic: Rest In Peace
Jan. 15th, 2026 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
badly_knittedTitle: Rest In Peace
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Owen.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1116
Spoilers: Fragments, Exit Wounds.
Summary: Trapped in Turnmill nuclear power station, Owen faces the end of his unlife and realises he’s okay with it.
Written For:
raisedbymoogles’ prompt ‘any, any, diving in, I'm reaching for the core of a nuclear reactor / I wanna melt away all these useless memories and finally rest in peace tonight’, at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
threesentenceficathon.Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Owen had never been a hero, had never wanted to be. Most of the time he hadn’t been sure what he DID want. Back when Katie was alive, he’d known what he wanted then: to marry his beautiful fiancée, get a good position in a hospital, make a good living, maybe buy a house, and have a couple of kids… But that had all gone out the window when he’d lost the vibrant, beautiful woman he’d loved so much, and since then he’d mostly felt like he was just marking time, living day to day, going to work, doing his job, because what else was there to do?
Torchwood had given him a better standard of living than the NHS ever could have, and he’d been doing something worthwhile, but a lot of the time his heart hadn’t been in it, because what was the point without Katie to share everything with? He’d done what was expected of him and filled in the rest of the time with booze and women, but it had been a shallow existence, and he’d known it. He just hadn’t had the inclination to try harder, to be a better, nicer, more sociable person. Well, he had briefly, with Diane, but she’d flown away and left him, and he’d gone back to his old ways.
Now, here at Turnmill, on the worst day of his post-death existence, even while he was angry, scared, and screaming at that unfairness of it all, part of Owen felt nothing but relief. He’d tried so hard to adjust to being a walking, talking, unliving dead man, a literal zombie without the traditional taste for brains, or flesh, or actually anything at all, but he hadn’t done a good job of it.
Who could blame him? He’d been a man who’d enjoyed to the full all the ordinary, everyday pleasures of life, like eating, drinking, shagging, sleeping, even breathing, feeling the warmth of the sun, the sharp chill of a brisk wind, the wetness of rain… And then he’d died and Jack bloody Harkness, unwilling or unable to leave well enough alone, had dragged him back from the emptiness of death to a fate worse than. He couldn’t eat, drink, sleep, or fuck, didn’t need to breathe, his heart didn’t beat, and he couldn’t feel a damn thing, couldn’t even tell when he damaged his body, a body that no longer healed. It had been the cruellest joke fate could have played on him, and there’d been nothing he could do about it.
So no, he hadn’t been happy, and his attempts to adjust to his new condition had been half-hearted at best. His half-life had been a kind of slow torture, with no obvious way out, because how could you kill someone who was already dead? He shouldn’t have taken his anger out on Tosh, that hadn’t been fair, and he felt, in so much as he could feel at all, a little guilty over that. If anyone deserved his anger, it was Harkness, so determined to keep him alive, no matter what, that he hadn’t considered the possible consequences. Stupid git.
He knew the real reason Jack had done it, knew it had nothing to do with the access codes to the alien morgue. It was guilt over letting Copley get the upper hand, because he should have checked the man for weapons, and he hadn’t. That, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing one of his team. Ever since Jack had come back from his jaunt with the Doctor, he’d been weirdly overprotective of them, more than he he’d ever been before. Maybe Ianto knew why, but Owen hadn’t cared enough to ask, and Ianto probably wouldn’t have told him anyway. Not that it mattered now.
Because the living dead man was trapped inside a nuclear reactor, and yes, although he hadn’t set out to be, he’d been the big damn hero, saved the city and all that. Him and Tosh together had averted a nuclear meltdown, and that was supposed to be it; job done, now get the hell out of Dodge. But something had gone wrong, Tosh had said something about a power surge triggering an emergency lockdown, and his stupid, nerveless dead body hadn’t reacted fast enough. Before he could get to it, the door had shut and sealed… And that was when he’d started to panic, shouting, raging, demanding that Tosh DO something, even though deep down he knew it was too late for that. Too late for anything, except maybe to apologise for upsetting Tosh, and say his goodbyes.
She’d done her best, gone above and beyond really, and if he’d reacted the second she’d warned him, maybe he would’ve made it out before the door closed, but… Maybe somewhere at the back of his mind, he hadn’t wanted to. Maybe, without even knowing he was doing it, he’d already decided he was done.
He was so fucking tired. Not physically, he could run all day long and not even get winded, the whole not needing to breathe thing, but mentally, emotionally. He just felt used up and wrung out, because the future stretching out in front of him was nothing but a bleak and empty landscape of existing rather than living. An endless round of watching his body break bit by bit with no possibility of healing, and how long could he really have lasted in a body where cell renewal didn’t happen? How long would it have been before he simply crumbled to dust?
Maybe this was better. At the very least, it should be quicker. Any minute now, the irradiated coolant he’d diverted following Tosh’s instructions would start to flow into the control room he was trapped in. It couldn’t hurt him the way it would a living human; there’d be no radiation sickness, and he wouldn’t feel any pain, but his body, this useless container for his soul, spirit, whatever, would decompose. Probably wouldn’t take all that long, and then… Then it would all be over, he’d melt away to nothing, and finally, after so long with no sleep, maybe he’d finally get to rest. He’d earned it, hadn’t he?
Owen closed his eyes, imagining his body dissolving, his brain, his memories, good and bad, everything that made him who he was, back when he was alive… He wouldn’t have to think anymore, wouldn’t have to remember all the things he could no longer do, wouldn’t have any regrets left, he’d simply be… gone, nothing left of him at all, finally at peace. It sounded pretty good.
Smiling, he sat down on the floor, leaned against the wall, and waited for the end.
The End
Torchwood had given him a better standard of living than the NHS ever could have, and he’d been doing something worthwhile, but a lot of the time his heart hadn’t been in it, because what was the point without Katie to share everything with? He’d done what was expected of him and filled in the rest of the time with booze and women, but it had been a shallow existence, and he’d known it. He just hadn’t had the inclination to try harder, to be a better, nicer, more sociable person. Well, he had briefly, with Diane, but she’d flown away and left him, and he’d gone back to his old ways.
Now, here at Turnmill, on the worst day of his post-death existence, even while he was angry, scared, and screaming at that unfairness of it all, part of Owen felt nothing but relief. He’d tried so hard to adjust to being a walking, talking, unliving dead man, a literal zombie without the traditional taste for brains, or flesh, or actually anything at all, but he hadn’t done a good job of it.
Who could blame him? He’d been a man who’d enjoyed to the full all the ordinary, everyday pleasures of life, like eating, drinking, shagging, sleeping, even breathing, feeling the warmth of the sun, the sharp chill of a brisk wind, the wetness of rain… And then he’d died and Jack bloody Harkness, unwilling or unable to leave well enough alone, had dragged him back from the emptiness of death to a fate worse than. He couldn’t eat, drink, sleep, or fuck, didn’t need to breathe, his heart didn’t beat, and he couldn’t feel a damn thing, couldn’t even tell when he damaged his body, a body that no longer healed. It had been the cruellest joke fate could have played on him, and there’d been nothing he could do about it.
So no, he hadn’t been happy, and his attempts to adjust to his new condition had been half-hearted at best. His half-life had been a kind of slow torture, with no obvious way out, because how could you kill someone who was already dead? He shouldn’t have taken his anger out on Tosh, that hadn’t been fair, and he felt, in so much as he could feel at all, a little guilty over that. If anyone deserved his anger, it was Harkness, so determined to keep him alive, no matter what, that he hadn’t considered the possible consequences. Stupid git.
He knew the real reason Jack had done it, knew it had nothing to do with the access codes to the alien morgue. It was guilt over letting Copley get the upper hand, because he should have checked the man for weapons, and he hadn’t. That, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing one of his team. Ever since Jack had come back from his jaunt with the Doctor, he’d been weirdly overprotective of them, more than he he’d ever been before. Maybe Ianto knew why, but Owen hadn’t cared enough to ask, and Ianto probably wouldn’t have told him anyway. Not that it mattered now.
Because the living dead man was trapped inside a nuclear reactor, and yes, although he hadn’t set out to be, he’d been the big damn hero, saved the city and all that. Him and Tosh together had averted a nuclear meltdown, and that was supposed to be it; job done, now get the hell out of Dodge. But something had gone wrong, Tosh had said something about a power surge triggering an emergency lockdown, and his stupid, nerveless dead body hadn’t reacted fast enough. Before he could get to it, the door had shut and sealed… And that was when he’d started to panic, shouting, raging, demanding that Tosh DO something, even though deep down he knew it was too late for that. Too late for anything, except maybe to apologise for upsetting Tosh, and say his goodbyes.
She’d done her best, gone above and beyond really, and if he’d reacted the second she’d warned him, maybe he would’ve made it out before the door closed, but… Maybe somewhere at the back of his mind, he hadn’t wanted to. Maybe, without even knowing he was doing it, he’d already decided he was done.
He was so fucking tired. Not physically, he could run all day long and not even get winded, the whole not needing to breathe thing, but mentally, emotionally. He just felt used up and wrung out, because the future stretching out in front of him was nothing but a bleak and empty landscape of existing rather than living. An endless round of watching his body break bit by bit with no possibility of healing, and how long could he really have lasted in a body where cell renewal didn’t happen? How long would it have been before he simply crumbled to dust?
Maybe this was better. At the very least, it should be quicker. Any minute now, the irradiated coolant he’d diverted following Tosh’s instructions would start to flow into the control room he was trapped in. It couldn’t hurt him the way it would a living human; there’d be no radiation sickness, and he wouldn’t feel any pain, but his body, this useless container for his soul, spirit, whatever, would decompose. Probably wouldn’t take all that long, and then… Then it would all be over, he’d melt away to nothing, and finally, after so long with no sleep, maybe he’d finally get to rest. He’d earned it, hadn’t he?
Owen closed his eyes, imagining his body dissolving, his brain, his memories, good and bad, everything that made him who he was, back when he was alive… He wouldn’t have to think anymore, wouldn’t have to remember all the things he could no longer do, wouldn’t have any regrets left, he’d simply be… gone, nothing left of him at all, finally at peace. It sounded pretty good.
Smiling, he sat down on the floor, leaned against the wall, and waited for the end.
The End
(no subject)
Date: 2026-01-15 11:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2026-01-16 12:08 am (UTC)Thank you!