- - - - -
II. Interior Decorating
- - - - -

Mid-November, 2007

Three months.

Three months, four days, and two cups of coffee.

That's how long Gwen and Owen's attempt at "domestic", planned or improvised, lasted. The architect of its demise was, of all things, a kitchen floor. Gwen was leaning toward hardwood, Tosh was arguing in favour of tile, and Owen was hiding in autopsy counting his scalpels and cursing Jack and Ianto for their periodic encouragement of the debate.

Theoretically, it was all well and good that the management of his building was refinishing the flats before selling them as condos. It had seemed like a great idea, even, up until Gwen had started dragging Tosh out to lunch with a purse full of things that looked suspiciously like carpet and paint samples. The lunches had been followed by whispering and giggling, and there was a brief but memorable chat in which Owen had explained his perspective on the whole ordeal. Gwen wanted to decorate, she could decorate; when they moved, he'd help with the manual labour. After all, they were only moving two floors.

Then, a week before they were due to sign the papers on the mortgage, Gwen came swanning into autopsy talking about hardwood flooring and did he want blue or green paint, and he just lost it.

"I. Don't. Care."

Gwen took a step back, cheerful smile slipping from her features abruptly. "There's no need to be cross, I just thought since we have to submit the final selections when we sign the papers, you might like to look it over."

"And I told you, I don't bloody care. You're not colour blind, and neither is Tosh. But you know, maybe this whole thing isn't such a good idea."

"What do you mean? I thought we agreed it made more sense to buy-in rather than finding a new flat."

"Did we? Funny, because I don't remember the specifics of that conversation. I remember you bringing it up, and then I remember rather a lot of fucking. No actual discussion. But then that's how it works with us, innit? If it works, and I'm not so sure that it actually does."

"Owen, you don't mean that."

"Do you know? I really think I do. God, Gwen, what the Hell are we playing at? A piece of paper and a ring doesn't make a relationship. It was a mistake to even try this; I don't do relationships."

"It wasn't supposed to be a relationship, Owen. Just sex, remember? That's all it was the first time. And the second time. And the third time. It was just supposed to be better than a one night stand." He could feel her anger gnawing away at the inside of his skull, but couldn't bring himself to care aside from the fact that it fucking hurt.

"Yeah, well with a one night stand? At least no strings attached really means no strings. Not picking out fucking curtains."

"Maybe we should call it all off. Is that it? Just another casualty of Torchwood?"

"Torchwood caused this one, love." He bit off the endearment, savouring the spike it caused in the monster currently trying to claw its way out of his frontal lobe. "It only got this far on booze and wishful thinking."

The sound of a throat clearing brought their attention to Jack, leaning against the doorway. "Is there a problem, children?"

Owen glanced back at Gwen, shaking his head in disgust at the idea that they actually could have made something work. "No. Nothing at all." Owen shouldered past Jack, shrugging off the hand Jack placed on his chest. "Leave it, Harkness. Why don't you go shag the tea boy or something."

"Owen!"

"Jack, leave it." She crossed the autopsy bay and paused by Jack's side, voice gone quiet and empty. "Owen's right, it was nothing."

Jack opened his mouth to argue, but something in her eyes stopped him. "If you say so. Just came down to let you folks know it was quitting time."

She attempted a smile, but it was a ghost of its normal self. "Thanks, Jack." Without another word, she proceeded up the stairs, leaving Jack staring after her contemplatively.

--...--...--

Gwen stopped by the Hub's car park just long enough to empty out most of the contents of her purse and to grab a jacket with a hood in case it started pissing down like it was currently threatening to. That done, she locked her car and took off on foot for the nearest pub. She needed something, anything, to dull the pain from the fight.

She stopped in at one Torchwood often frequented, but left after a pint. She didn't want to run into anyone she knew, anyone who might ask questions. She'd been an idiot to think Owen might be willing to make things work, to not have realized that she'd wanted a relationship even when she thought she didn't. She wandered on foot for a while before finding somewhere she didn't recognize that looked appropriately dark and anonymous. She claimed a stool at the far end of the bar, and started drinking with a purpose.

Owen, meanwhile, headed in the opposite direction. After a few detours, he ended up at one of his old haunts, from the days before Torchwood when all he'd had to worry about was getting through his next shift at the hospital. The bar was much as he remembered it, the patrons university folk out to get the most entertainment for their limited funds. After some jockeying, he got a seat at the bar, and told the bartender to keep the whiskey coming.

Gwen was finishing her third Hi-Fi when someone slid into the seat next to her and set another in front of her.

"So, is this a private pity party, or can anyone join?"

She giggled, setting her empty glass on the counter as she turned to get a better look at him. "If I say private, what'll you do?"

He grinned winningly. "Buy you another drink?"

She looked him over again, the headache from earlier finally having subsided enough that she could ignore it. The bloke was rather fit, and as she toyed with her new drink an idea came to her. She didn't need Owen, she could do just as well with someone else. She took a long sip of her drink before setting it back on the bar resolutely. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"Forward. I like that in a woman." His gaze blatantly slid over her curves, and she let him stare. This might be exactly what she needed. As he finished his perusal, he gave her a good-natured leer. "As it happens, I live just up the block. Name's Steve, by the way."

"Gwen. And that sounds perfect." She hopped off her stool, wobbling for a moment before he placed a steadying arm around her waist. She ignored the slight feeling of wrong that came with the contact, telling herself that once they got down to business it would go away.

Owen was on his fourth whiskey, the world nicely beginning to blur at the edges, when one of the giggling coeds whom he'd been eyeing sauntered his direction, all low-cut blouse and too-tight jeans.

"Hey, stranger."

"Hey yourself." Owen raised an eyebrow as she eased onto the stool next to him. "Buy you a drink?"

The next time the bartender stopped over, Owen added a Fuzzy Navel to his own whiskey refill, ignoring the fact that he was going to have one Hell of a hangover in the morning. For right now, Gwen's anger had faded into the background, and the only pounding in his head came from the dance floor.

When his new friend, he was pretty sure she'd said her name was Cyndi, cocked her head toward the back door of the pub, he followed all too willingly.

As the door closed behind her, Gwen let Steve press her up against the wall. For a moment, she was confused, because he was shorter than Owen, but she shook off the comparison and concentrated on his tongue as it made its way down the side of her neck. She shifted and ground against his erection, smirking at the gasp it caused. He pulled away just long enough to remove her blouse, tossing it away as he continued kissing his way down her body.

Owen groaned as Cyndi palmed his cock through his jeans, letting his head fall back against the alley wall as she undid his belt and dropped to her knees.

After Gwen's bra came off, she started feeling dizzy. It wasn't the dizziness that came from getting pissed, this was something else, like the time she'd gotten an inner-ear infection. She closed her eyes, trying to suppress the sensation, pushing Steve away because his kisses were making things worse instead of grounding her.

The moment Cyndi's mouth touched his skin, it was like a cold shower, complete with involuntary muscle spasms. He flinched away, eyes flying open at the disorienting sensation. Through the alcohol fogging his brain, there was an overriding sense of wrongness building. He closed his eyes again, and banged his head back against the stones in frustration. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"You all right?"

Gwen waved off Steve's concern. "Fine. Just give me a tic. Had a bit too much to drink, that's all."

"If you're sure." He reached out a hand to steady her as she stepped away from the wall, and the sensation made her stomach heave. She had barely enough time to turn away from him before she brought up the remnants of her last two drinks, as well as something that might have started life as her lunch. When her stomach was well and truly convinced there was nothing left to expel, she slumped back against the wall with a quiet moan.

Owen's fists clenched as a phantom wave of nausea swept over him. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

--...--...--

The problem with winter in Wales is that it's dark all the time.

When the sun's not down, it's raining, and when it's not raining, it's threatening to rain.

All that Gwen remembered of her trip home after the disaster in Steve's lounge was the rain. It was falling steadily when she staggered out of his flat and onto the street looking for a cab. It grew more insistent during the ride back to her building, a soothing sound which eased the turmoil within her mind. By the time she sorted out the right key for the outer door she was dripping wet, the cold finally penetrating the fog around her thoughts. It took six tries before she could make her key work on the door to the flat, and the moment the door closed behind her she was shedding clothes, trying desperately to get away from the cold and the smell of sickness which still lingered within them.

Gwen didn't bother with the lights, concentrating on making it to the bed as exhaustion finally set in with a vengeance. The nice, warm bed. Warm, soft, clean bed. She'd deal with everything in the morning. Whatever everything was. Now that she was snuggled under the comforter, familiar smells and sensations easing the knot in her stomach, it didn't seem like anything could possibly be wrong. Something was missing, but she couldn't figure out what it was, and if she couldn't remember what it was, it couldn't be very important, could it?

Somewhere in the time after Gwen fell into restless dreams, the cold returned. She didn't wake, but began to shiver as she slept, curling tighter and tighter beneath the blankets.

--...--...--

When Owen staggered into the flat, pissed out of his mind and aware only of the fact that he desperately needed to find the strangely elusive washroom, he too was shivering. After taking care of his immediate concern, he had just enough presence of mind to think that walking three kilometres home through the rain might not have been the wisest course of action before managing to get his clothing off and falling into unconsciousness before his head hit the pillow.

--...--...--

Owen woke to a pounding headache and an unholy beeping sound. It took a long moment to place the sound as a mobile, and it wasn't until the warmth sprawled across his chest muttered a curse and shifted that he realized that it was a body. A familiar one, at that. He kept his eyes closed as the revelation settled, unwelcome and with all kinds of associations that he just didn't want to deal with. He contemplated trying to make sense of her conversation with whomever it was, but dismissed the idea as more effort than it was worth. Doubly so with the current throbbing in his head. When he felt Gwen roll away and leave the bed, he dared to hope that he'd actually managed a reprieve.

The gel-pak that landed on his chest shattered that illusion rather succinctly, and he shot upright without a conscious choice, eyes snapping open. "What the fuck??"

Gwen was standing at the foot of the bed wrapped in a towel and looking entirely unsympathetic. "I don't care how many gits you decided to start a tiff with last night, Owen. If I have to go in, you can damn well get your arse out of bed as well."

Owen grumbled and picked up the gel-pak, slumping back against the pillows as he held it to the throbbing which had localized itself around his left cheek and eye. It had been a long time since he'd gotten so pissed he didn't remember a fight, but the last thing he could remember before getting home was Cyndi, eyes narrowed and anger clear as she'd accused him of being gay.

He waited until he heard the shower before forcing himself out of bed, wincing as other bruises made themselves known. Now that his brain was functioning as well as could be expected without caffeine, he could make out Gwen's anxiety, separate and distinct from his own. It brought back the phantom nausea, something he'd managed to suppress the night before, and the medical part of his mind refused to leave it alone.

Owen opened the door to the washroom cautiously, spacial perception still suffering the after-effects of a night on the lash. "Gwen?"

"What?"

He opened the medicine cabinet, randomly grabbing bottles until he found the one he wanted. "What happened last night?"

"Nothing."

He opened the bottle, shaking three tablets into his hand before closing it again. "Gwen, don't lie to me. I may not like you very much, but I deserve better than that." He tossed back the pills, trying not to wince as the movement pulled at the swollen skin of his cheek.

"Do you? What were you doing last night?"

He sighed, leaning against the counter and adjusting the gel-pak to a more comfortable position. "Getting pissed. Trying to get you out of my bloody mind."

The sounds of washing stopped, and the static pounding of hot water was all the louder for its blandness. "Did it work?"

"Course not. That's why you got so pissed you gave yourself alcohol poisoning, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Last night. You were bringin' up breakfast, lunch, and tea. Don't bother to deny it, I got the second-hand version."

She muttered something, but he couldn't make it out over the sounds of the shower. "What?"

He could here her moving about, and a moment later the water turned off. "I said, I wasn't pissed."

"Then what?"

"It's stupid." The door to the shower opened, and she reached out, grabbing her towel. "And it's not your concern any more, now is it? I'll be out as soon as I can find a new flat." She emerged from behind the door, securing her towel. "Should have been out a long time ago."

He avoided her eyes, studying the edge of the mirror as he effectively blocked her way from the room. "Maybe not."

"Owen..."

"Look, I really, really hate to say this. But I think we're stuck with each other."

"Owen, this is no time for having a laugh. Or a serious conversation. You still smell like whiskey, and my head wants to explode. We can do this tomorrow. Or next week. The signing's off, everything else can wait."

"No, it can't. You're not hearing me, P. C. Cooper. We're stuck with each other. I went out last night to get you out of my system. You know what I got? A slap in the face. Judging by those lovely bite marks, you did the same. Only you got off worse than I did. So you want to walk, you go ahead and walk. But personally, I'd like to still be having sex this time next year, and because of some fucking piece of alien technology, it's going to have to be with you."

He didn't wait for a response, turning and storming out of the washroom. He'd already passed his quota of embarrassment for the day, and he hadn't even gotten to work yet. There was just something about hangovers which made him too honest for his own good. Especially around Gwen. He could shower at the Hub, after he'd climbed through whatever sewer Jack had managed to scrounge up as punishment for getting into a blow-out with Gwen in the Hub.

Gwen said nothing when she emerged from the washroom, and the silence remained unbroken until the doors of the lift slid open to show the building's lobby. Gwen stepped out and paused, turning back and causing him to pause as well.

"I'll tell Jack we need the afternoon on Friday."

"Friday? Oh, right. The, um, paperwork."

"You have a better idea?"

Owen sighed, and stepped around her. "No. No I don't. But I'm bloody well going to ring Harkness' neck just the same. General principles and all."

Gwen shot him a wry grin and fell into step beside him as they headed toward the SUV which had just pulled up in front of the building.

"Get in line."

Finis