Owen POV:

Alex had stopped shaking as badly, her fever having receded somewhat. Over the past twenty-four hours, it seemed that the worst of the withdrawal had almost run its course. After Owen had gotten into the bed with her, she had no further nightmares. He was glad for that. Watching the tortured look on her face and not being able to wake her from whatever nightmare afflicted her, had made him feel helpless. She had been comatose since, except about four hours ago she had grown restless. She started moving around to get more comfortable.

Owen remained still, letting her do as she pleased so he wouldn't wake her. She ended up lying sideways against his chest, her face pressed against his neck. Her right leg thrown over his left. Her small hands found there way under his t-shirt seeking his warmth; one at the neck line, the other under the hem, so that it was pinned between his lower back and the pillow. He could feel her breath caressing his skin along his jaw line. Not sure what to do with his own hands, he ended up placing one around her waist and the other on her thigh.

Owen sighed. He really shouldn't be in this situation.

He could have very easily handed Alex over to Nikita and been done with it. But, some long dormant instinct had kicked in and he found himself cradling Alex's body to his. He carried her down to one of the rooms he was currently using as his base in the recruitment housing level. He'd been lucky that it was night and that everyone was either asleep or out of the building, but still he had narrowly avoided being caught twice, before he'd finally gotten them to the deserted side of Division. He had placed her on his bed, glad he hadn't bothered making it this morning and immediately took care of her wound. It wasn't as bad as he originally thought, but it would need a few paper stitches and a bandage.

Owen was glad he specifically picked this level as it afforded him a certain level of privacy, at least as much as one can get in Division. Besides nobody wanted to be anywhere near the ex-Cleaner. As a result he made sure to stay away from the others unless absolutely necessary. Not that he really needed to avoid them, considering the wide berth they gave him whenever he walked into a room. That, and the fear in there eyes whenever they looked at him, were enough for him to induce his own isolation. He couldn't blame them for being afraid that he might snap and kill them. The Cleaners were considered the bogie men of Division. A symbol used to frighten people into behaving or else, he would come and kill them.

Except Owen wasn't a symbol.

Shaking his head to clear it of those bitter thoughts, because there was no point in dwelling on things he couldn't change, he found himself leaning his cheek against Alex's forehead. She looked so small and fragile in his arms, that it was hard for him to understand why they had all missed the signs. There was huge dark circles under eyes and she had lost some weight even since he'd gotten here and that was worrying.

Then again, when Alex was awake, she exuded this kind of fierceness that made her appear tougher then she was. Owen knew he'd felt it when she questioned him about the mole. Everything about her, down to what she wore was meant to make people think she was made of steel. That nothing could hurt her. Most people bought it, but only because they didn't know the real Alex. Owen had a feeling that even she didn't know who the real Alex was. Not that he knew the real Alex either, but he understood external appearances being nothing like the internal, especially now that he no longer knew who he was or where he fit in.

Like right now, Owen had no idea what he was doing or why.

Nikita had told him enough about Alex's past that he knew she'd been through hell and back. If anyone understand how hell changed a person it was Owen, because he'd been through his own version of it. Then she had walked into the interrogation room and over the last few weeks she managed to get under his skin. Maybe it had something to do with her fascination with the butterfly tattoo on his chest? Or, he begrudgingly admitted, his fascination with the one at the top of her spine?

Or maybe it was simply because what she was going through, was similar to what he went through when he came off the Regimen.

When Owen was on the Regiment, he was stronger, faster, he didn't need to sleep, he was just better. Then he had found out about the side effects. Giving it up had been one of the hardest things he had ever done, because he had slowly become less. It took every once of his willpower and, if he were being honest, it helped that he couldn't get his hands on any more of the drug, to give it up. Weakness, was not something Owen wanted associated with him, but without the Regiment, that is exactly what happened to him. His remembered feeling as weak as water and it had taken a long time to retrain his body, to get used to not having all the benefits of the drug. He had gone through withdrawal alone; he didn't want that for Alex.

Denoxing the way Alex was, was extremely tough. Usually the way to go about it was to gradually reduce the dose, before putting them on a lesser form of the original drug and then gradually, weaning them off that as well. She seemed determined to go cold turkey, having not even once, begging him for something to take the pain away. He was impressed by Alex's resolve.

Now Owen just needed to figure out how he was going to get Alex back to her apartment. Sooner or later someone was going to figure out that she was missing. If he got her home now, she could tell everyone that she was suffering from a bad case of the flu and that she would be out of commission for a while. He would need some help, though and he had just the guy in mind.

While Owen was plotting there escape, unbeknown to himself, he had began stroking Alex's back. It wasn't until she let out a small sigh that he became aware of what exactly he was doing. He didn't know what had possessed him to get into the bed with her in the first place. She had looked so young and vulnerable, he had wanted to do something to help. The whole situation was obviously messing with his head, but Owen wanted to help her.

He had chosen to protect her.