Author's Note: I still don't own Torchwood.

xxxx

After Diane got her pilot's license, they got a place together. By spring, Diane was dusting crops for the Welch farmers. Owen got a job at a hospital in housekeeping. Some of the staff gossiped about Owen being a neurotic that doesn't like being touched. He only had to yell, "Don't touch me," on two separate occasions since word got around quickly, leaving him free to made the beds and clean the rooms without anyone learning he was room temperature. People also laughed that he must also have a phobia about eating in public because no one ever saw him eat.

Since Owen was invited to the Martha's wedding, Owen decided to paint his face to look natural and went back to using male mannerisms. Bad idea. People looked at him all day unable to place him. Around one o'clock, Owen had to retcon someone he had worked with before Katie died.

Diane asked when he got through the door. "Why are you home early?"

"I had to retcon a doctor. He recognized me and wouldn't take 'I have never seen you before' as an answer. It escalated to him touching me and realising I don't breathe or have a pulse. He'll wake up thinking he had one too many martinis for lunch. I'll have to return to being Miss Owen Harper for the rest of my unnatural existence or work somewhere they never heard of Dr. Owen Harper."

"Work somewhere else," said Diane.

"I like working in a hospital. Medicine is all I know."

"You're changing linens and mopping floors."

"I'm room temperature that means I can't touch patients, which rules out most areas of patient care. Not to mention, I have only one functioning hand."

"You did alien autopsies for Torchwood," said Diane. "The corpses won't mind that you're cool to the touch."

"One functioning hand," Owen repeated. "I would have continued working at the Flat Holm facility if it wasn't for the fucking boat ride. I've had a hard day and really don't want to talk about it."

Diane walked into the kitchen. "I'm going to make some dinner."

Owen started playing a video game. He was still fighting imaginary aliens when she sat down with her food to watch him. "One of the good things about being dead is I don't have to stop playing to eat, drink or sleep," he commented.

"Must you always be painted," asked Diane. "I miss the touch of your skin against mine."

"Most accidents happen in home," explained Owen. "As much as I would love to wrap myself in packing peanuts that isn't practical. My plastic covering is an important line of defence because, if my skin rips or flakes off for any reason, I won't grow more skin, exposing the bones and muscles underneath. Every time you bruise, the tissue under your skin breaks. Think about each bruise you get in a normal week. My accident with the scalpel shows my skin is just as delicate as yours. I lost most of the function in one hand due to my own stupidity. I need to protect the rest of my body the best I can."

"I want to touch you, not plastic."

"Love, I need to redo my make-up after the disaster that was today. If you're careful not to scratch me, it will be alright this once."

"I don't want you getting scratches you can't heal," said Diane. "I just want to feel skin-on-skin. That must sound terrible."

"I like holding you, too."

Diane watched him shoot the monsters on the screen. "You're stronger than I. I reentered the rift because I needed to wait 3 weeks for flight lessons. 3 weeks, which is nothing. I couldn't hose and scrub airplanes while watching other people fly, knowing I would never fly, again."

"It must sound crazy, but I like hearing the doctors and nurses talk. I know I'm just a fly on the wall to them, but being there is better than watching any medical drama on the telly." Owen changed the subject to the video game. "This boss needs killing and I used up all my lives."

xxxx

Quietly entering the bathroom, Diane watched Owen put on his face, using those natural skin tone pigments. A fresh-faced young woman was smiling at her in the mirror. Diane, usually, limited her make-up to red lipstick unless it was a special occasion. She would never paint her face like Owen did, but it was amazing to watch. Owen was a bisexual young man, who was very happy in his masculinity. Back in 1953, Diane didn't know people could be bi, straight, gay or even asexual. Sexuality always had all those flavours, but even straight sex wasn't talked about.

"You see Lizzie in the mirror." Diane didn't expect an answer. He couldn't talk or nod until he was finished. "I don't mean to upset you, but it couldn't hurt to see a therapist that treats rape victims."

Owen put down his applicator. "I would have to retcon my therapist. Suzie did that. Bad idea all around. It's been over two years I manage."

"You should do more that manage," said Diane.

"I need to spray my face," said Owen. "Due to the toxic fumes, you have to leave."

With his face fully made-up, but not wearing a wig or falsies, Owen returned to the sofa and put an arm around Diane. "We can talk now."

Diane leaned against him. "It's amazing you can use all that make-up and look like you're wearing only lipstick and eyeshadow."

"Barbara said the secret of good make-up is to look like you're not wearing any make-up at all. Barbara goes for the natural look unless the family requests differently."

"I shouldn't have mentioned Lizzie," said Diane.

"A day doesn't go by that I don't see her pink coat and the ribbon in her hair. Sometimes, I think about calling on Ed Morgan. I must have called him Mr. Morgan a hundred times. It's wrong to take sadistic pleasure out of hurting someone, but he hurt Lizzie and I wanted him to feel a little bit how she felt."

Diane put a hand on his knee. "You're a good man. You risked your life to stop a power plant from melting down, although you knew next to nothing about nuclear energy. Each day you clean up faeces and vomit with a smile on your face. You even helped out Torchwood when they needed someone to get past heat sensors, and I know how much you adore Jack."

"You should date more," said Owen.

"How do you find men in the 21th century?"

"Pubs haven't changed," said Owen. "You know about condoms and safe sex. The girl can't expect the man to be prepared. Gwen, you and Tosh I met through work. Then there is the Internet. I can help you navigate the websites."

"Bringing condoms for a night on the town seems so forward," said Diane.

"This isn't the 1950's."

"Groan," said Diane. A 1950's girl was using Internet chat speak when not on the Internet. Diane didn't know if she should be ashamed or thrilled.

"Let's look at those websites." Owen used the remote to bring up wifi on the telly. "You can talk to people all over the world or limit your selections to people locally. You can write in your profile that you are a feminist that expects chivalry."

"So says a man wearing lipstick and eyeshadow to bed."

"I don't go to bed." Owen googled a popular dating site. "I play video games or go on the Internet and talk to people across the Pond. The party is only getting started over there when it's 3 o'clock Greenwich time."

"You're macho Owen over the Internet." Diane smiled. "That's your secret."

"I'm not limited by my body in cyberspace," explained Owen. "I can shag with as many sexy women as I want. However, some of those sexy women might be men roleplaying, but that is OK because I'm roleplaying, too."

"I could never roleplay," said Diane. "It's too surreal."

"You're living with a walking dead man," said Owen. "Your life is surreal."

"Then I have enough surrealism in my life and don't need to seek it out." Diane watched Owen's fingers on the keyboard as he navigated the Internet. His good hand more than made up for the lose of mobility of his weaker hand. "Let's locate a real man I can meet at a nearby coffee shop for a safe lunch. We can leave the women pretending to be men and the bots pretending to be people for another day."

"Another day," said Owen. "I only retconned one person."

"You'll manage with the dignity you're know for."

Owen laughed. "You have mistaken me for someone else. The King of the Weevils has no dignity."

Diane placed an arm around Owen. "You shouldn't laugh at your own jokes. You can meet me for lunch tomorrow since I don't need to be at the airport until 2:45."

xxxx

Author's Note: The kiddies start saying "We are coming" next chapter. BTW, I knew someone with a phobia about eating around other people.