7

Hi! I'm new. Watching Torchwood on BBC. I am probably screwing up a bunch of the language as I have never been to Great Britain. Still, I love the show. And I have a little thing for Owen. Let me know if you enjoy.

Sheila

Chapter 1

His weapon felt slippery in his grasp. His breath came in short bursts as if it had taken him five miles of hard running to get to this room when, in reality, he'd come down nothing more than a flight of stairs. His arms were so tight from pointing his weapon that he could feel the tension shooting all the way up the back of his neck.

She smiled at him, much like she did most nights at the pub when he asked for a pint. He'd always flirted with her. She was a barmaid. It was expected, and he was Owen Harper. Pushing women to the edge was what he did.

She was a pretty woman, a bottle blonde with a waist that would one day melt into her hips. She didn't seem to be terribly nervous about the gun he was pointing at her. "Oi, Owen, relax, Luv."

Owen's eyes flicked to her left, noting the woman slumped unconscious against the wall. Her thick black hair had fallen across her face, but he could see that her chest was gently rising and falling. He couldn't afford any more attention on her. She was breathing. It was the best he could hope for.

"Owen! It's okay. You can put the gun down."

Owen jerked his head back to the barmaid. "Can't do that, Shirl."

"You're asking yourself who the host is, aren't you, Luv?"

Owen's eyes darted from Shirley to Gwen's prone form. He'd always done the best he could to treat Gwen like any other women he'd ever had, but she'd touched in a place too deep. He thought Diane could break her hold on him, but Gwen with her big green eyes and generous mouth had gotten buried too far inside him.

"Is she the host or am I?"

Owen struggled to slow his breathing. The alien was a parasite that needed a human host in order to survive. Tosh had been tracking it for the last couple of weeks. The parasite would invade a human body and take over. The needs of the parasite would overwhelm its host; a human host never lasted more than 2-3 days. The parasite was always looking for another body. It'd had already gone through 4 hosts. Jack made it clear that the only way to stop the parasite was to kill its host before it could find another. The trouble was that the parasite needed only to be in brief physical contact with another human to take over.

Perspiration ran down his face, and he had to squint to keep it out of his eyes. The cool of the barmaid suggested that she still carried the parasite. She was showing none of the anxiety he would expect from a woman facing a gun. Yet Jack told him that the effects could linger in any host body who survived the encounter.

Shirley bent down and patted Gwen's arm. "You don't know how hard I hit her, Luv. Do you really want to stand there all day pointing that at me when she might need some real attention? We both know you're not going to do anything with it."

"Don't touch her!"

She leaned over Gwen and blew on her hair. "Should we wake her?"

Owen's arms started to shake. "You move away from her or I put a bullet in you. Now!"

Shirley turned and smiled at Owen. "You can't win at this." Then she sank her teeth into Gwen's arm. Owen pumped an entire clip into the small woman, her body jerking with each bullet. Then she slumped over Gwen.

He gasped and dropped the gun to the floor. Instinct took over, and he rushed over, pulling the barmaid off Gwen. Shirley was sticky with blood, and he searched her for a pulse. The damage he'd done to her was enough to tell him he didn't need to search long. He pulled her blouse apart, and started chest compressions. Then his eyes landed on her neck, and he saw the hole where her carotid should've been. He sat back on his heels and squeezed his eyes shut. There were a finite number of horrible moments in this life he could survive, and he'd already experienced too many of them.

A groan rose from behind him, and he turned to find Gwen stirring. Bloody all the way to his elbows, he gingerly turned her head toward him. "You're going to be alright, Cooper. You hear me?"

She blinked her eyes open.

"It's over, Cooper. Just relax." He pushed her hair out of her face.

"Shirley?"

Owen looked past her. "Had to put her down."

She winced. "Damn!"

Owen studied her face intently.

"Owen?"

He reached over and held her face in his red stained hands. "I know you're in there."

Gwen frowned.

"You can't stay in there. I won't let you."

"Owen Buddy, did you hit your head?"

He stared into her eyes. "She won't cooperate with you."

Gwen started to smile. "She doesn't need to."

"I have to kill you."

"Do you think you can?"

Owen closed his eyes and sat back. He couldn't kill her. She was everything he couldn't have. She was the dream. Killing himself would be easier to contemplate. She crawled over to him. "You can't do it, Owen."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and rolled over on top of her, pinning her to the ground. "I told you that you couldn't have her, and I meant it."

………………………………………………………….

Jack stood at the doorway for a moment to take it all in. Shirley, barmaid from the local pub, was laid out spread eagle, soaked in blood. Gwen huddled in one corner, her head between her knees. In the far end of the room in the shadows Owen sat against the wall, eyes closed. Questions were beginning to crowd his head, but he burst forward with his familiar swagger. "So you had a party and didn't think to invite your old captain, huh?"

Gwen looked up. "It's all a bit foggy, Jack."

"Owen!"

"I killed the bar wench, Jack, in case you didn't notice." Owen opened his eyes but didn't move.

Gwen lifted her arm and groaned. "What the hell?!"

Owen looked at Jack. "Shirley bit Gwen before I could put her down."

Gwen pulled her sleeve up, and Jack knelt beside her. Her upper arm was purple and swollen. Jack looked over his shoulder. "Get over here, Owen!"

Owen pulled himself up. "What do you want from me? It's a bite. Probably infected. She'll need a shot, but she'll live."

Jack took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. "Is it in you?"

She blinked her confusion.

Owen winced when he saw purple swollen mark on her arm. "I took her out the minute she sunk her teeth in, Jack. Parasite probably didn't have time to transfer."

"You should have killed her the minute you knew she carried the parasite."

Owen shook his head. "Always easy for you blokes, telling me what I should have done. Gwen wouldn't have done it or Tosh. Doubt you would have either, but old Owen barely has a conscience on his best day. It's expected that I'd just go ahead and kill some girl who never done anything to me other than draw me a pint."

Jack glared at him. "The parasite will suck a life until it finds another and then another and then another. Four dead in two weeks. How many more days did you think Shirley had with that thing inside of her sucking out her life force?"

Owen was a smaller man than Jack but smaller in the way that a badger is smaller than a raccoon. When he walked up to Jack's face, it was anybody's guess who'd be left standing. Jutting out his chin, he hissed. "We should've had a plan, Jack. Shooting people is not a plan."

Jack closed his eyes and stepped back. "I know. We need a plan."

Owen looked down at Gwen who was trying to pull herself upright. He reached over and grabbed her good arm, pulling her up. "Have Tosh check her out, Jack. She's gonna' test clean for the parasite."

He turned and started for the stairs. Jack called after him. "Where are you going?"

"I just killed a girl. Give me a few minutes."

"We're going to need you back within the hour."

Owen turned and narrowed his eyes. "Why do you need me? If she tests positive, just shoot her."

He disappeared up the stairs.

………………………………………………………….

Owen stayed in the shadows against the wall. It was a cold, wet night, and his fingers had grown stiff with cold. Occasionally, someone would exit the pub, weaving their way down the street in search of their vehicle. The last one slipped on the wet cobblestones and landed on his ass, sending out a string of expletives. It brought Owen the only smile he was likely to find for some time.

It wasn't until 2 a.m. that the mark finally left the pub. Owen played a small light on the photo, comparing it to the tall, heavy man plodding down the street. Owen waited until he passed. Then he followed. Owen went over his sheet as he followed. The man was Frank Randall, 43 years old. Two rape convictions, 7 years behind bars, 2 years since he was paroled. A girl was found raped and murdered a mile from his home six weeks ago. It had his signature except for the murder. It was a sign he was growing. Dead girls can't testify. The forensics on the girl was inconclusive and there'd been no witnesses. Cops couldn't turn him; seven years incarcerated as a rapist left Randall nothing but an open shell. There was nothing left in him to intimidate. Randall was going to walk away from this one; probably the next one too. It would be the fourth, maybe the fifth one before cops would have a task force that could watch his every move. That's when they'd get him. That's how it worked. Cops knew it, Randall knew it, and Owen knew it.

Owen was almost sorry the man was too drunk to hunt. Catching him on the prowl would've been perfect. It would justify everything Owen had to do. On the 3rd block, Randall broke out in song. Owen groaned as the man lurched from lamppost to lamppost, warbling old war ditties off key. Randall's boot caught in a cobblestone and he tumbled onto the ground. Groaning loudly, he laid spread eagle on the street.

It was perfect. Owen had him right where he needed him. Slowly, he walked up to him. All he had to do was make contact, and then kill him. Then he could go home, and sleep the deep sleep of a man who knew that everything was as it should be. Cops would be hard pressed to pound the pavement over a righteous killing like this one.

"Ah, Owen, if it were this easy, I would hardly have stayed alive this long." Owen shook his head sharply. "Relax Boy, you can't escape me, and I'm not leaving, not yet anyway. Besides Owen, I like you. You've so much energy, so much lifeforce. There's no way I would trade you for that."

Owen leaned against the building, wincing as he struggled for focus. "It's okay, Owen. This isn't a death sentence especially for those blokes I take a shine to. We'll work together, you and I. It'll be easier on you, and then when it's time, we'll decide on a new host together. We'll do it before it's too late for you. You'll have a bit of a headache for a day or two, and then be as right as rain again."

Owen burst out of the shadows, a switchblade open in his shaky hands. Randall was in the process of pulling himself upright when he spied Owen. Randall backed up into a lamppost, and started yelling. Owen struggled to compose himself, but the presence in him was too strong. His shaky hand dropped the blade as Randall pushed himself off the post and stumbled down the street away from him.

"That's right, Owen. Let him go. He's not worth our time. Let's head back. Stop for a drink. I think we both could bloody well use one after the events of today. Then we'll go back to your place and let you get some very much needed rest. How about it, Owen?"

…………………………………………………….

TBC