I'm not quite sure what I've created, but this is a one-shot that didn't really have any point at all and I just went with it. Hope you enjoy! I just wanted some Owen Harper!

I sadly do not own him or Torchwood.

It's a small crime, and I got no excuse. And is that alright? Yeah. - Damien Rice, 9 Crimes.

A secretary – perhaps a waitress. No, if she was as waitress she'd be working now and her hair wouldn't have been so pristine. Early twenties; she'd want to work every hour she could, and even if she had come back from a late shift, it would have taken her too long to look so good after having slaved over a cramped fryer. Yes, secretary. She could have reapplied her makeup all morning with the little compact under her desk, making sure she always looked her best for the boss she wanted to fuck. Or the married man that wanted to bend her over his desk and wrote her pay slip.

She was looking to get drunk – that was her fourth shot of vodka in the last hour. Classy, refined, but with something she wanted to forget. A woman on a mission.

Owen Harper liked a woman that new what she wanted. Of course, it could be fun when they were a little tipsy, a little sad, a lot attractive. It was faster then, and the meaningless shag would quickly commence in the cubicles, the alley, in a darkened corner if the room was full enough and he was drunk enough.

Blonde, a little taller than average, quirky and yet beautiful. Hair pulled back from her face, it rolled down her bare back in elegant curls. A white, floral bodycon dress hugged her figure tightly, letting him get a good view of her curves and pert little ass. No wedding ring, no jewelry at all. Nude heels that accentuated the tan she'd earned from somewhere – a nice little holiday the boss had given her for all her hard work after hours?

Yes, Owen Harper had her figured, and would wait a few minutes and then head over.

He could scrape his chair, attract her attention or accidently brush against her as he went to the bar for a fresh drink. Although then he'd looked like the rest of the sleazes that wobbled towards her and let their meaty fists slip over her backside as though it were a hand rest.

But Owen Harper had charm – if you called being a self-destructive, womanizing nihilist charming.

Once upon a time, everything had been about preserving life, helping those that didn't even deserve it. Then Katie had been brutally taken from him, and although Jack Harkness had eased him into the world of alien technology and non-existent afterlife, it had turned Owen bitter and sadistic. Still charming, in a fucked-up way, but also sad and angry and volatile.

A man sat opposite the blonde at the bar then. Much older than her, fifteen-twenty years. A little overweight, tried to work out perhaps once a week, hair slicked across his skull, eyes almost watering with the delight of having a beautiful woman beside him. A faint ring could easily be seen around his wedding finger where the band had been removed, the area a little red from compulsive removal, when he hid it away as he stepped into each lonely bar.

Owen saw the mans hand slip to the blondes backside, but he hesitated, reached over her and grabbed an olive from the little tray in front.

If a mature woman advanced on a boy, you'd call her a cougar. Accept it as what it was. But if a man, aged badly, obviously trying to escape the mess that was married life tried to get a younger woman to converse with them – then what? A panther? Desperate? The way the world viewed men and woman made Owen laugh. People could be so cruel, so judging, so uncaring and unsuspecting.

Sipping his drink, he resigned to the fact the woman at the bar with the nice arse would be leaving soon after the balding man had breathed down her neck long enough.

Another scan across the room to try and find someone more suiting, more free.

'Sorry I took so long.'

The voice startled him and Owen looked up, momentarily confused.

Sensible shoes and a black pair of trousers hung off somewhat slender legs, a white blouse tucked in, buttoned up perfectly, neatly. A watch on her left wrist, manicured nails a little chipped where time to fit in another appointment at the salon had been missed once again. Shoulder length hair, straightened and curved into a bob around a slender neck. Toshiko Sato stared at Owen with a small smile before taking her seat next to him. Her seat, her bag, her half-empty glass of orange juice.

It was her birthday.

How had he forgotten?

Back at the Hub, Jack had announced they could both go home early and have a lie-in the next morning. But Captain Jack Harkness put the 'lie' into lie-in and both knew better than to not set their alarm, and to stay out late. Owen had heard from Gwen that it was Toskio's birthday – more had it whispered in his ear, almost as a threat that if he didn't take Tosh out for her birthday then Gwen would castrate him herself. A drink was a drink, and maybe a few would loosen her up.

That had been an hour ago and still it was like weaning a kitten from its mother, as Toshiko firmly stated she wanted nothing alcoholic because she was a light-weight. She had laughed then, small lines forming at the corners of her mouth, a momentary glint in her eyes before she returned back the mousy, intelligent woman they knew her to be. Air suddenly brushed Owen's cheek, and looking up he saw the swish of hips pass him as the blonde woman he'd been watching earlier passed to leave. Watching her for a little longer than he should have, he turned back towards Tosh only to have her staring at the table firmly.

'Something wrong –?'

A business card had been placed on his desk and flipping it over he felt a sick feeling rise in his stomach, fighting satisfaction and excitement that a woman's phone number normally sent down to his groin. Slipping it into his pocket, Owen coughed and tried to meet Toshiko's gaze but she was forcing a smile and looking away resolutely.

'You don't have to stay.' She murmured quietly, and hearing the sadness and anger in her voice almost broke Owen's heart.

Paper being shredded made her lift her head and she looked at a pile of torn card in the middle of their table. Owen was standing now, taking her glass and his and moving to stand in front of her.

'We're gonna celebrate whether you like it or not, Tosh.' He declared, moving off before she had a chance to argue.

And although he didn't see it, Owen knew she was smiling at his back.