nothing_rhymes_with_ianto | Speculations on A "Normal" Life

Owen doesn't understand Facebook. To him, it's pointless. A little introspection from Owen about the outside world.

Owen didn't understand Facebook.

Gwen had one, and he'd glanced at it over her shoulder before. Once, she'd gotten up to do something and he'd scrolled down her homepage and profile, then snorted in disgust and gone back to his work.

He just didn't understand why other people would care about every second of their so-called-friends' days. Especially in Torchwood. It's not like Torchwood members could make happy little posts every morning. "Caught another Weevil last night! Unfortunately, it had already mauled three people to death before we caught it." Yeah, right.

Owen scoffed again, just thinking about it. He remembered Gwen's first day here, when she'd asked everyone if they had partners. Later that week, she'd asked him if he'd ever had anyone. He'd brushed her off with a snarky comment and gone back to his autopsy, his mind filled with images of Katie, beautiful Katie.

He wondered if he'd have a Facebook if she'd lived, if he'd be living in a nice house with a kid and a dog. If he'd be in London or Wales or somewhere else. If he'd have stayed at the hospital. There were so many what-ifs.

He shook his head again. It was stupid to think of the past, even if half the time he couldn't get his head out of it. Faceboook was stupid. He didn't have friends outside of work, really. He didn't have time. Why would he want to look at what other people were doing when he already
had plenty of things to do, like dissecting alien corpses, setting Ianto's broken wrist, playing dumb video games, or avoiding the pile of paperwork Ianto placed on his desk each week?\

Sometimes, though, Owen would catch himself glancing at Gwen over his shoulder as she sat on the computer, browsing Facebook, and he would wonder what it could have been like, what it might be like to live a normal life.

Then Jack would come bursting out of his office as the Rift alert went off, or Tosh would come stumbling in with a gash across her shoulder, and all thoughts of what-if's and maybe's and how come's flew out of his mind as he focused on the task at hand: taking care of Torchwood.