A/N: An old-school Torchwood fic, series 1 spoilers. I don't know if anyone even reads Gwen/Owen fics anymore, but I still write them so here goes nothing. Read, review and enjoy.

He'd known, from the moment she'd walked in with her hands full of pizza, that she was interesting. She had that look in her eye; half trepidation, half excitement, coupled with a face of beauty and an accent that made her somehow innocent. He knew he was staring, but he didn't stop; he physically couldn't stop himself from taking her in. He felt he was fully justified of course, this was his territory, his workplace and she was merely a visitor. Owen figured he may as well have his fun with her until Jack shovelled her off on her way and it was back to work, for everyone.

-

There's a part of him that wants her to remember, just so he can see her face one more time. It's become a struggle now, to fully picture her face; it keeps blending into other people who Owen can identify, and the more time goes on, the more he forgets her. The temptation is all there of course, the CCTV from that day but with that comes questions from Jack, questions he really can't quite answer. So he resorts to closing his eyes and remembering her voice instead, replaying the words she spoke over and over until they're ingrained to his memory, never to be forgotten.

-

He sits her down on his table and arches an eyebrow as she elicits a quirky sound; it turns out the metal's cold underneath her and sends a shiver up her spine. Taking note, his rubs his hand till they warm a little, then places one on the side of her face, shining his light into her eyes with his other.

"You're fine," Owen informs her, packing away his tools with a large amount of noise, "It's shock mainly."

Gwen didn't reply but merely nodded. Watching someone commit suicide after killing their supposed boss is not something she felt she'd ever get used to.

"What was she like? Suzie?" Gwen felt she should ask; it was polite, first and foremost, but it was more than that. Gwen needed to hear someone speak - anyone speak - because otherwise, the gun shot just kept replaying and replaying and relaying in her head, over and over and over.

"She was.." Owen falters. It shouldn't be hard to describe one his work colleagues, one of his very few work colleagues, but something seems to stop him. "Lonely, I guess. Kept herself to herself. Nice enough girl, though."

His words were fragmented and somehow broken, just like Gwen was now. Her face, younger than it had been in years, is lost amongst the cold, aloof features of Owen, Jack and Tosh. They're immune to it, she supposes but not her; she's got a heart and although it's taken a hit, it's still beating nonetheless. Unable to believe she's going to last long in this job, she sighs heavily and watches as Owen leaves her to it. Trying to grasp a comprehension of the world, Gwen at last admits defeat and goes home to normality. It may be fused with mediocrity, but she's just grateful Rhys doesn't own a gun. She's happy enough knowing he never will.

Drifting in a deep, tortured sleep, Gwen knows there's no going back now; everything's changed, whether she likes it or not.