Disoriented Cosmos {A Torchwood Story} [COMPLETED]

24. No, It's Definitely Something

I wave to Amber from the window of Owen's car and she waves back from the front steps of her block of flats wearing a brave smile.
I can't help but feel she left our apartment to go back to her old house too early, but I guess four months is enough. I still don't like that she lives in Grangetown, one of the roughest places to live in the Cardiff county, but she has even less money than she did when her husband wasn't in prison, and she keeps declining money off of me.

Four months of her sleeping in the one bed in the house and Owen and I sleeping budged up together on the sofa every night - I discovered during that time that he wears retainers every night (well, every night that he remembers, meaning I've usually had to remind him), which makes me laugh as I imagine a teenage Owen Harper with braces grumbling that he can't chew gum because it gets stuck between the metal.

Owen starts the car and I sit down properly in the passenger seat. I don't attempt any small talk; my mind is fixed on my best friend we left back there alone and broke in Grangetown. Fucking Grangetown. Is there no wonder I'm worried for her?
There's silence for about five minutes of the car journey, the only sound being the predictable hum of the engine. I can hear Owen sigh softly - well, grumble - and I can sense his coiled energy. He's worried about her too.

Eventually, he opens his mouth. "You've done really well looking after her these past four months - she needed someone to take care of her, and you rose to the occasion."
"So did you," I counter quietly, my mind still on her. "You were like the father figure me and her never had."
He chuckles slightly, his warm gravelly tone endearing me to him.
"The father figure I never had, either - guess we've all got daddy issues."
I look at him driving, staring at the road. He never told me he had father issues.
I probe delicately. "So, was your dad never there, or was he...?"

"He wasn't abusive, if that's what you're trying to tiptoe around. No, he was... emotionally absent. He was just... there, but not there, if that makes sense? Yeah, he, uh," he keeps going as I listen silently, "he went to work early, he did his job, he came home, he had the biggest dinner, he watched TV with my mum, and that's about it."
He takes a glance at me, his expression looking carefully placed. I feel like he's had to explain this a lot.
"What about your mum? Was she there for you?" I ask even more delicately, because if there's one thing I've learned from being forced to listen to men's stories my whole recollected life, it's that one's mother is a very important subject.

He blinks at the road like he's bracing himself.
"I don't wanna talk about my mother, if that's all right Evelina."
I nod quickly. "Of course - that's okay, Owen."
"Good," he says equally as fast, and we spend another few minutes in silence.

I don't know what to tell him. I wish I remembered my own parents so I could help him with his.
After careful thinking, I return to the original subject. "Well, at least you were a better parent to Amber than any of us had."

I don't think I've ever seen it before, but now I can say this: I have made Owen Harper smile.

~∆~

When we're back in our apartment we take the original roles from four months ago, him sleeping in my bed and me sleeping on the sofa, but when I settle down amongst the sofa cushions swaddled in multiple blankets to ward off the tough Welsh weather, I feel like something is wrong. Something is missing.
I rub my legs together like a cricket, figuring it's just the overbearing cold, but even when I'm toasty as toast I still feel a little empty. Like I'm supposed to be tangled up with someone on this sofa.

And then I realise - I've been sleeping next to Owen for so long, it's now become weird that he's not doing that anymore. That concept of loss is so odd to me: physical contact when it's not sexual? Sure, I probably had it in that part of my life before the drugring that I can't remember, but I can't remember it - all I've ever had and all I've ever remembered is my nights in the drugring where I was terrified that people would touch me in any way. But, oddly, I want Owen to touch me - in the most innocent way, of course; I couldn't bear anything else. But I strangely miss his arms wrapped around me, his breath soft in my ear. I miss being physically close to him.

After a while of trying to figure out how to get to sleep comfortably, I give up and creep into my room. Owen, it seems, is also having trouble getting to sleep, because he asks what I'm doing sneaking into the room at 2am when Jack asked us to be in the office at seven.

"It's my own room, Owen, I have a right to go into it," I retort, then backpedal because he hasn't actually been as rude as he used to be in the past few months, so add in a quieter voice, "I can't really sleep."

"Mm... me neither," he murmurs, and after a few moments of deliberation flings the duvet back so I can get under it next to him.
I slide myself into the bed and snuggle against him. He pulls the duvet back over us and instantly I'm more comfortable, sleepier, and more at ease. Even when he delicately lies his arm on my waist I don't flinch and, instead, find it warm and familiar and inviting.

Hmmm. This must be what it's like to not have emotional trauma.

Feels funny.

~∆~

At the weekend, after everything's back to normal, there's a knock on the door. I put down my papers and open it up, to find Suzie on the other side.
She gives me a look that resembles someone who's just swallowed a tequila shot, and asks impatiently, "Is Owen here?" Bewildered, I say, "Yeah, why? Is there something that needs to be done in the autopsy room?"

"Ah, Suzie, yeah," I hear behind me, and I turn to see Owen in nothing but a pair of good jeans.

I've seen enough of those looks in my time. There's nothing going on at the Hub.

"Owen, can I talk to you for a minute please? Suzie, please make yourself at home," I manage to say in the nicest way possible, and then drag Owen by his ear to the bathroom where she can't hear us.
He exclaims angrily the whole way, and when I close the bathroom door he shouts out, "What the fuck did you do that for?!"

"What the fuck did I just do? What the fuck are you about to do, Owen?!" I gesture equally angrily at the door. "Screwing strangers is one thing, but screwing our own coworkers?! That's despicable! You need help, Owen, not dick or pussy!"

He growls out, "Look, Evelina, just piss off about this! I'm going through some stuff! It's not up to you to judge me!"
"No, but it's my job as your roommate and friend to make you realise that this is not a healthy way to heal! For God's sakes, she works with us! Do you realise how much this will change our workplace?!"

I smack my forehead, angry at myself for still not getting through to him, and Owen grumbles and pushes past me to go to Suzie and get a shirt from the washing pile. He takes Suzie's arm firmly, yells to me, "We're leaving, happy?! Don't wait up!" and when I hear the slam of the front door I storm into the main room and throw a fit almost as impressive as his.

For fuck's sake, why does he never think anything through?!
When will he learn?!
Why the fuck do I still find him attractive when he's angry?!

Gah, just make it all stop!