Characters: Owen, Tosh.
Written For: Challenge 618: Fragile at tw100.
Summary: Owen is hung over. Again.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Owen stumbled into the Hub at quarter past ten in the morning, feeling a bit fragile. He’d overdone the drinking again the previous night and woken up this morning in a strange bed with a woman who looked a lot older and less attractive than he remembered her being when he’d picked her up in the pub. Not that he had anything against older women; years of experience often made them more adventurous, but… he used to have standards. Thankfully she was still asleep, snoring, and he was able to slip out of bed, quickly pull his clothes on, and leave without waking her.
What was he doing with his life? A few years ago he’d been living with a woman he’d adored, and planning their wedding. Now, every night was the same: getting plastered, hooking up with a random woman, waking up varying degrees of hung over. It wasn’t as much fun as it used to be.
Slumping at his workstation, pillowing his aching head on his arms, Owen waited for Ianto to magically appear with coffee.
“Rough night?” Tosh asked sympathetically.
“The night was fine, the morning… not so much.” He had to stop doing this to himself.