Complications

Owen glanced at his projector clock as the time flashed red on the ceiling, red as blood, he thought grimly, still unable to take his mind of the events of the day. Blood…. red… those bodies… those butchers… he shuddered and turned on his side, trying to clear his mind and get some much-needed sleep.

It was quarter to twelve; he'd been lying awake and restless for the past hour, exhausted by the day's twisted events, but unable to find peace. He'd been dropped off at his flat at nine (roughly), he couldn't really remember. He was still in shock as he stumbled to the shower, trying to wash away the dirt, the horror and the blood. Gwen's blood, he thought grimly, and unable to stop them, his mind was once again flooded with flashbacks – Gwen being shot… screams… blood… her fingers in his hair…

He sighed, it was no good; getting up from his rumpled sheets he padded into the open-plan living room and poured himself a whiskey. Owen sank back into his leather armchair; soothed by the familiar clink of ice in the glass, molten amber swirling in the crystal-cut glass. He was comforted – here was something he knew, the companionable warmth as it slid down his throat, the fuzzy haze it brought, the pain blunted. He knew he could rely on it.

Tap-tap

He was startled as someone knocked gently at his door. Who on earth could this be at – he glanced at another clock – midnight?

"Who is it?" He put his ear to the door, shaking slightly – though he put that down to a mixture of shock and alcohol.

"Owen," he immediately recognised those soft Welsh vowels, "It's me – it's Gwen. Can you… let me in? I'm freezin' out here"

He smiled despite himself, and slid the bolts back, opening the door. Pulling her inside quickly, he hastily locked the door again – still on edge from the days horrors, he could do without intruders. Then he turned to look at her –

And gasped - she was a mess; her hair wild and blown-about; cheeks and eyes red from the cold and raw from the tears that streaked her face; a bloody bandage sticking out from under her shirt. No wonder she was bloody cold, he thought, noting that she only had on her jeans and shirt, green jacket tied round her waist – the same clothes she'd been wearing that day.

"Gwen," he whispered, "what's wrong?"

She just stared at him, still sobbing - those dark eyes wide and staring at him.

He knew, of course he knew, it had been a rhetorical question. There was no room for sarky comments, no time to berate her for not looking after that wound, he knew what she needed. He padded over to where she stood and hugged her close to him, arms holding her tight and securely. Then she broke down completely, sobbing as though her heart would break, face pressed into the comforting warmth of his neck. She shook so violently that he had to hold her up, she had no control as her knees turned to jelly and she could no longer stand. It all suddenly seemed to much, and Gwen fainted, becoming a lifeless body in his arms.

"Gwen!" he was suddenly scared, but it only took a few moments for the rational medic side of him to kick in. Right, he thought, she's exhausted; wounded, half-frozen and I'll bet she hasn't eaten since that burger at lunch. What she needs is a cleaning up, a new dressing and clothes, and some food. Gathering her up into his arms, he shuffled across his bedroom and laid her gently on his bed. Never mind about mucking up my clean sheets newbie, he thought wryly, as he ran a hot bath in the en-suite. This done, he hunted down a fresh, albeit manly pin-striped, pair of pyjamas, his medi-kit, and a couple of energy bars he found kicking around in the kitchen.

Quickly but gently he undressed her, taking on a doctors attitude, and trying not to get too distracted by the wonders he saw before him. He winced as he peeled the dirty bandage off – that was one hell of a wound – you've got a nice scar in the making there Cooper, he noted frowning. Carrying her to the half-full bath, he slid her broken body into the clear water and using a sponge, sluiced and cleaned her skin of dirt and blood. Having done this, he dried her gently but thoroughly with a soft towel, and dressed her in his stripy PJ's. Next he slipped his head-torch on and, pushing her shirt up a little, examined her wound. Cleaning it with anaesthetic, he bound it up with a fresh dressing and arranged her clothes back in place.

Lying on the bed next to her, he waited for her to wake, content to just have her near him, knowing she was safe. He wondered at these feelings – the kiss in the body-drawer; those smouldering glances in the woods earlier; her hand gripping his neck as he examined her wound. Shaking himself, and still not knowing what it meant, he turned over to look at her.

And got the shock of his life to find her staring back at him.

"Gwen!" he started "You're awake – how're ya feelin'?"

She rolled her eyes at him, "Bit of a daft question Harper"

He smiled sadly – of course it was – he could have kicked himself for being so insensitive.

She looked suddenly confused, "Owen…"

"What?"

"Why am I wearing you're pyjamas? And how did I get so clean – has someone changed my bandage?"

"Ah… I can explain..."

She narrowed her eyes, "Go on"

He gulped, suddenly aware of how it might look, "Well, ya see…"

"I'm waiting Owen."

His flippant self suddenly kicked in out of habit, "Well, you came over, took advantage of me, we shagged something rotten and –"

He never finished his babbling lie. She was on him in a second, forgetting the pain in her side she launched herself at him, rolling them off the bed and pinning him to the floor. Panting hard, she glared at him, the situation somewhat reminiscent of their confrontation in the woods.

"Owen" she muttered through clenched teeth, "I'm only going to ask you once. Now tell me, what happened – why am I here?"

Too scared and tired to fight back, he gave up the pretence and came out with it, "Alright woman, I may have told you a few untruths a moment ago. You came over, looked bloody awful, and you collapsed in me arms. I cleaned you up and put a new dressin' on that wound of yours. Ok?"

Mollified, Gwen calmed down immediately "Just so long as you're telling the truth Owen – no funny business. I was just exhausted – needed…." She trailed off.

Owen was suddenly intrigued, "What did ya need?"

She stared down at him, dark eyes boring into his crystal-blue ones, realising the position she was in. She tried to push herself up, but her side suddenly shot with pain, and she gasped, falling back onto him.

"Gwen! You ok?" He was suddenly concerned again, yet couldn't help notice their closeness and the way her body was pressed against his.

She too noticed this, and her breathing sped up considerably, her pulse racing. No, she thought, this is wrong, this is Owen. But then another, bigger part of her mind said something else entirely. She wanted him, she needed him, he understood what they'd been through, and he could comfort her. Maybe this was what she needed – a distraction, a wind-down. Here was the opportunity, right in front of her. If only she had the courage to do this – could she really, knowingly, betray Rhys? What sort of after-effects would something this big have?

Owen had been thinking along similar lines, and decided a decision should be made. So without warning, he reached up, and pressed her head down to his, capturing her lips with a possessive kiss.