Title: Straight into the Water
By: carrymary
Pairings: gen
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Inspired by a beautiful Dutch song, Kronenburg Park, about a man whose life is full of pain and discontent while no one sees it, not even his wife. The singer just tells him: Get out of that world!
Summary: Owen is trying to get used to living whilst being dead, but it's a lot harder than he imagined. Angsty fic.

***

He buried his face in his hands. Not that he felt it, of course. Actually, instead of his hands, he might have buried his face in sandpaper. Or he could have just jammed it onto a brick wall for that matter.

His body could not sense any pressure anymore. As it couldn't sense so many other things anymore.

He was dead. Owen Harper was a dead man. And yet, he was alive as ever.

Sure, he'd rather been properly alive. The kind of alive that includes breathing, feeling hungry, getting tired, feeling adrenaline rushing through your body whenever you pick up a gun. That kind of alive.

Unfortunately for Owen, his kind of alive was the one that excludes all of that. The only thing his body could do was move. Sure, he could still think, he could still do his job as a doctor. And for some reason, he could still feel emotions. But that was about it.

There was nothing else.

And the nothingness was getting onto him. It was, frankly, scaring the hell out of him. What if he would live until eternity, he often wondered. Or rather: be semi-dead until eternity. Because, in the end, that was exactly what it was. He would spend the rest of his time on Earth in a phase between life and death. A phase that shouldn't be real. That couldn't be real.

And yet, it was.

If, at this very moment, he'd still be alive, Owen knew, he'd be covered in sweat, breathing heavily. But now he was just desperately afraid. Just the thought of never dying properly was enough to drive him mad. And there was no way for him to show it. Sure, he could still scream and shout and make a fuss at work. But they couldn't understand. He could only express himself in words, and gestures. But that look in his eyes, that little thing that makes us so human... no. That, too, was gone. And therefore, no one would ever understand what he was trying to express.

He wasn't even human anymore. Or was he? He didn't know. He didn't have the faintest idea.

Jack had tried to talk to him. Try to take his fears away. After all, Jack was bound to live until the end of days as well. And truth be told, Jack was the expert at dying. But he was also a professional at coming back to life. And he was bloody brilliant at living as well. Owen would never have that luck, though Jack saw it as a curse. 'Be careful what you wish for,' he'd told him more than once the past few weeks. But Owen didn't care. Because it was him, and not the fearless Captain Jack Harkness, who spent his days in living hell.

Toshiko had tried to talk to him. And she did do a great job, the best she could, even though she didn't help him. He was quite grateful for her attempt all the same. She still saw him as a normal man, which in some ways was fine, but in other ways, it made him feel even worse. But she was there for him, and at the moment, that was enough for him.

Gwen just felt uncomfortable around him, for which he couldn't blame her. He didn't feel that comfortable around himself nowadays, so why would Gwen?

Martha had tried to keep some distance as well, and had approached him as a doctor should do. But sometimes, she was just a good friend, and she knew exactly when. Owen had to admit he rather admired her for that skill.

And then, there was Ianto. If Owen would have been alive, Ianto would have offered him some coffee, get a bit of chitchat going on, take in all the insults Owen would throw at him and let him rage. Yes, he'd let him rage until all his anger, all his frustrations were gone. Now Owen was dead, Ianto didn't offer him coffee. But he would still give Owen the opportunity to do all those other things. And sometimes, that bloody tea-boy even offer him a shoulder to cry on, even though he couldn't cry. He'd never say it, but Ianto was probably one of the reasons Owen was still more or less sane. Ianto didn't talk, or cheer him up. Ianto only listened. And that was all Owen needed.

But tonight, he was alone. Hanging on the couch, watching telly. Bored to hell, and his mind spinning at ninety miles an hour. Toshiko was meeting up some friends from university. Martha was back at UNIT. Gwen was to the cinema with Rhys. Jack and Ianto were... His shook his head. He did not want to picture that. He knew if he'd go to the Hub now, Ianto would just be his normal, professional self. But Jack would be there, and he wasn't in the mood for a motivating, patronising talk tonight. He sighed, and got up.

He walked outside, his pace increasing with every step he took. Within seconds, he was running. He was running like hell itself was coming for him. At an inhuman speed, he ran to Mermaid Quay. He knew Jack would have an eye on the CCTV but he couldn't care less. He just ran, and ran. And ran straight into the water.

He couldn't drown, he couldn't suffocate, he couldn't die. He was just there, floating in the water. He didn't even have to hold his breath. He was just there, in a place he didn't belong. Just as he was living in a life he didn't belong. Only suffering. Never dying.

When he swam to the surface, he knew Jack would be there. He knew he'd get shouted at, getting that same old 'Owen, this has to stop' again, just as he'd heard for weeks now. Owen would give him an angry look, and lead the way to the Hub.

He crawled onto Roald Dahl Plass, opening his mouth to breath. When he remembered he didn't need air, he cursed out loud, banged his fist on the stone ground. But he didn't feel a thing. He was still empty.

As he got up, Owen saw the predicted shape of a man in front of him. But it wasn't Jack.

It was Ianto. And he didn't look upset, or disappointed, or angry even. No. There was a small smile around his lips, as if to say: 'It's okay, Owen. You're going to be just fine.' He held out a towel for him. Owen slowly walked up to him, and accepted the towel. He whispered a nearly inaudible thank you, and Ianto replied with a short nod. "Come on," he said, putting a hand on Owen's shoulder. Together, they walked to the Tourist Information kiosk, into the Hub. And Owen raged. He yelled, he screamed, and would he be mortal, he'd have gotten an awfully painful throat, he'd have cried his eyes out. And in the end, his head was on Ianto's shoulder, and Ianto's arms were around him. He couldn't feel it, and still, it felt good.

He was a dead man living a dead live. But, cliché as it might be, death was not the end. Not for Owen Harper.

***