A/N : here's the next chapter!! Thanks to those who reviewed! More reviews are always welcomed! Enjoy!
That was when the phone rang. Owen jumped a little; the flat had been so quiet, and the unnatural electronic ringing was harsh in his ears. Even so, Owen crossed the room and grabbed the phone, wondering who would call him at – he glanced at the clock and swore – three o clock. He pressed the answer button, and cautiously held the phone to his ear, half expecting to hear Jack roaring down the line and asking for backup for something or other.
"Jack if that's you then -" He began hotly, only to be interrupted.
"Owen it's me." It was Gwen. She sounded tired and small and tearful.
"Oh. Right. Uh, Gwen – I dunno if you noticed babe, but it's three in the morning."
"Don't get sarcastic with me, Owen Harper." Gwen said, but without the usual vehemence. Owen heard a sob.
"Ah, Gwen babe, I'm sorry." He didn't get a reply, only a few more badly-stifled sobs and a sniff. "Gwen? Gwen what's up?"
Gwen continued to cry, but Owen managed to make out a few sentences.
"- a f-fight…w-walked out b-but n-now I….and I-I… C-can you…Can you c-come a-and get me O-Owen? Pl-please?..."
Owen heard the desperation in her voice, and snapped into action, speaking calmly and purposely. He knew how upset Gwen must be to ask him for help like this.
"Where are you?" He asked her gently.
"S-somewhere in C-Cathays…I'm b-by a charity shop…" She didn't seem able to give a better answer than that. Owen wondered how on earth Gwen had come to be there – it was miles from where she lived. He knew that area though, and was pretty sure of where he'd find her.
"Ok, Gwen," He told her. "Stay there, don't move. I'm coming to get you, alright? Hold on."
Gwen didn't say anything else distinguishable as she had dissolved into fresh sobs, so Owen put the phone down.
Pausing only to drag his fingers through his short hair in a stress-expressing manner, Owen headed for the bedroom. Yesterday's clothes still lay in a heap near the foot of the bed, so he gathered them up and began dragging the pair of jeans over his boxers. He pulled on the t-shirt, stuffed his bare feet into a pair of trainers, grabbed his keys and mobile from the bedside table, and left the room.
He seized a jacket from the hook, then left the flat, slamming the door behind him. Once in his car and on the road, Owen took the shortest routes he could, foot ground against the accelerator, speeding through traffic lights, the dark roads empty at this god-forsaken hour.
Owen slowed down once he reached Cathays, driving at normal speed and scanning the streets for Gwen, for fear she'd moved since they'd spoken. He needn't have worried; she was exactly where he'd thought she'd be, huddled on the pavement with her back against the window of the George Thomas Hospice Care charity shop.
Owen stopped the car, and jumped out, striding towards Gwen. She looked up as she heard the footsteps approaching. From what Owen could see, she was a mess. Her dark hair hung across her tearstained face, sweeping into her eyes. She didn't bother to brush it out of the way. She was wearing only a pair of jeans and a thin t-shirt, and was visibly shivering in the cold night air. She was barefoot.
Owen stood in front of her and held out his hands, which she took. He pulled her to her feet and she staggered against him, stumbling sideways. Owen put his hands on her waist and caught her, steadying her. When he was sure she wasn't going to fall over, he lifted a hand to her face and pushed her hair out of the way.
There were wet black tracks running down her cheeks where her makeup had run, and her eyes were puffy and red from crying. Her teeth chattered.
Without hesitation, Owen ripped off his jacket and put it around Gwen's shoulders, rubbing her arms to warm her up.
"Thanks." She mumbled, and Owen half-smiled. He put his arm around her, and guided her back to the car, doing her seatbelt for her and closing the door.
He crossed to the other side of the car and got in. Gwen said nothing, and Owen didn't push her to speak as they drove through the Cardiff streets towards the bay.
When they had reached Owen's building, and he had parked the car and wordlessly helped Gwen out, he put his arm around her again and guided her inside.
They didn't speak on the way up to the top floor, but Owen's arm remained tight and secure around Gwen's shoulders, half holding her up.
He had to let go of her once they reached the flat, to open the door, but he took her arm gently and helped her through the door before closing it and turning to face her.
"Owen I -" She began, but he shook his head and shushed her. He'd seen her feet. They were bleeding. Without a word he swiftly scooped her up as the doctor inside him sprang to life, and he carried her across the room and placed her gently on the sofa. He left her for a minute or two, and hurried to the bathroom. Once there, he set a bath running, and collected the first aid kit before returning to her.
He looked carefully at every little cut on her feet, but none of them were serious enough to even need a plaster.
"You're lucky," He told her. "Not a single shard of glass in any of them." She half smiled and rested her head back on a cushion as he gently cleaned them with an antiseptic wipe.
He took her hand, and helped her to her feet, and led her through to the bathroom, where the bath was almost ready.
Gwen looked at him questioningly, but was too tired and too defeated to even ask him what he was doing as he tested the water, nodded to himself, and turned off the taps. She just stood there, swaying slightly with fatigue, and watched him.
He turned to her, and found her watching him. He ran a hand down her cheek briefly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, before taking hold of her t-shirt at the bottom, and peeling it delicately over her head. She didn't protest. She simply closed her eyes, raised her arms, and let him continue.
He found the button of her jeans, and popped it open expertly, undoing the zip carefully, and slowly easing the waistband down low enough for him to lift her legs out. He circled her, undid the clasp of her bra, and slid off her arms, and gently removed her knickers.
All of this he did whilst barely touching her. His fingertips didn't linger, and were apologetically pulled back when they brushed across her bare skin. He was, in that moment, the ever-professional doctor. And when she stood naked in the middle of the room, he simply took her hand and helped her step into the bath.