Title: Tears of the Weevil

Summary: Everyone has their burdens.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Don't own Torchwood, the characters or anything related to the show.

"Owen's psych test was fine." Lacey perched on the edge of Jack's desk, her arms folded and a deep frown on her young features. At only twenty four she looked like she was already in her thirties. Torchwood had that effect on people. Her blonde hair was pulled back haphazardly, her eyes which had once been a bright cobalt blue were dull and framed with dark circles. She barely smiled any more.

"Gwen died less than three months before we sent him back in the past. He spent six months suppressing his humanity and watching over a friend who he knows is already dead in his time, that alone would mess with anyone's mind." Jack objected.

Lacey shrugged, strands of hair falling in to her eyes. "He's good at hiding his feelings Jack...not with coping with them. Keep an eye on him." Sliding off his desk she noticed what he was holding in his hands. A framed photograph from a year earlier, when both Ianto and Gwen were alive and Toshiko was still sane. Lacey had been with them since just after the outbreak. She'd got to know them all and loved and respected each of them for being strong enough to deal with what they had all been through. Especially Owen.

"Like I looked after Ianto? Or Gwen? Tosh?" Jack asked bitterly, his finger tracing over the image remorsefully. Lacey's tired eyes darkened.

"We both know that Tosh was my fault. You remind me of that everyday Jack." She stormed off, leaving the brooding Captain on his own. They all carried their burdens. Tosh was Lacey's and Ianto was his. And Owen, he had more than his fair share of burdens. One of them being Gwen Cooper.

He'd refused to tell her any more about her future. Jack had made it quite clear that the

less non-essential stuff she knew the better. He didn't want time to be altered any more than it needed to be. Eventually she'd given up asking, a yawn stifling her objections. After grabbing a few blankets from the linen cupboard he'd made up the sofa for himself and insisted that Gwen take his bed.

"I couldn't. You need it more than me-"
"Gwen. I've been in a bloody cell for the best part of six months. Trust me, the sofa is like a five star hotel compared to it." Smiling she finally relented. She surprised him by kissing his cheek before heading to his bedroom. It had been instinct. Whenever she'd been in Owen's flat she'd been there to talk or to have sex. Usually both. It was hard to remember that it wasn't 2007. They weren't carrying on some secret affair behind Rhys' back. She wasn't even alive.

Rhys. She hadn't even thought of him. What had happened between the two of them? Did he know she'd died? Or, like Suzie's family, had she simply 'disappeared'? She needed to know but no one was telling her anything. She had to find out for herself. Yawning again she decided she could leave it till morning. Her immediate concern was to find something to sleep in. She only had the clothes she was wearing.

Spotting an extra wardrobe in the corner of Owen's room she decided to find something of his to wear to bed. Maybe he still had that purple T-shirt she loved sleeping in so much? Pulling the doors open she gasped. The second wardrobe was full of women's clothes. Not just any clothes though. Her clothes. Her favourite jacket, her raggedy jeans she refused to throw out, her favourite pair of converse. They were accompanied by newer clothes. All her size and taste. She opened one of the drawers attached to the wardrobe an found it full of pyjamas. Pulling out the first pair she quickly redressed and stormed out to find Owen already lying on the couch, the TV on low.

"Why the hell are all of my clothes here!" His gaze travelled away from the television to the woman standing before him.

"Jack put them there before I left for when you got here. He took them out of the storage locker." Owen answered simply. Gwen flushed. She hadn't thought that Jack had put them there for her. Then again what had she thought? Owen had stolen her clothes? Or she lived with him? In hindsight both options were ridiculous. She was about to apologise when she noticed Owen staring at her. His eyes were darting around, trying to take all of her form in at once. She smiled. Nothing much had changed. Had she kept up an affair with Owen until her death?

"Were we still-"

"Go to sleep Gwen." He snapped, his eyes darkening and returning to whatever show he was watching. Owen Harper was already a pretty messed up individual, he didn't need to add lusting after a dead woman on to his long list of problems. Gwen returned to the bedroom, slipping under the covers she waited for sleep to over come her. Her tired body and overworked mind complied and she was soon in a deep sleep.

She woke a few hours later to the sound of a low pitched whining. Creeping out of bed she made her way to the living room. She found Owen standing by the glass wall, staring out over the city with tear filled eyes. His mouth was open and the strange, melancholic whining seemed to be coming from him. It was a sad yet beautiful sound as if the pain of his soul had been set to music. She watched silently for a few more minutes before returning to the bedroom. She didn't try to comfort him. It wasn't the Owen she knew out there weeping. It was a darker, broken man who was now a stranger. She knew little of the years that had passed, but she did know one thing for sure; he wasn't her Owen.