Cathryn (formerly catslash) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remindmeofthe) wrote2008-08-10 12:35 am
remindmeofthe) wrote2008-08-10 12:35 am
Entry tags:
"Lucky Streak," R, Owen, Martha, Jack
TITLE: "Lucky Streak"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catslash)
SUMMARY: Owen finds himself in the middle of something a little outside his usual frame of reference. AU starting shortly after "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang" and continuing through "Dead Man Walking."
RATING: R for violence.
WORD COUNT: Approximately 5200.
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Owen, Martha, Jack, Michael. Owen/Michael, a touch of Jack/Ianto, and a vague bit of Owen/Martha.
WARNING: Character death. Also, slash.
SPOILERS: From 2x01 through 2x07.
NOTES THE FIRST: Thanks toamericanleaguer for the beta, and to gileonnen and apiphile for other helpful input. Oh yeah, and huge thanks to nightanddaze, who inspired the idea and threatened to cry cheerleaded hard when the fic stalled and I started to lose hope of ever finishing it. This never, ever would have been written without her.
NOTES THE SECOND: This fic is sort of experimental. Very spoilery notes about what the experiment was can be found at the end.
DISCLAIMER: Torchwood was created by Russell T Davies and belongs to the BBC. I make neither claim nor money.
It's really just a one-night stand. About a week after Jack comes home, when Owen can walk without feeling like the gunshot wound is going to tear itself open, he goes to a bar looking for a pull. He ends up with this gorgeous bloke that most of the women and a few of the men are eyeing. The dirty looks he gets would have been the highlight of the whole night, except for the fact that Michael is as good in bed as someone with a full-lipped mouth like his ought to be. The sex is great, the perfect way to decompress after the week of turmoil while they've tried to adjust to Jack's return, and Owen sleeps more deeply afterward than he's done in months.
So, yeah, one for the books, maybe, but just the one night. He's surprised as hell to feel a touch on his arm two nights later and turn to find Michael there, smiling self-consciously and asking to buy him a drink.
"I'm not a stalker, I swear, and if you tell me to fuck off I will and you'll never see me again, but I had fun the other night and it seemed like you did too, so I thought maybe . . ."
And Owen did, so he says, "You going to pipe down and buy me that drink sometime tonight, or what?"
They end up back at Owen's again, this time mostly talking until Owen has to force himself to get a few hours' sleep before he has to go to work. Michael makes no move to leave and it doesn't occur to Owen to suggest it.
Michael starts coming around most nights after that, till Owen even finds himself using the special ops story for the first time; the last person who was around long enough to bother with it was Diane and - well, he didn't have to. Michael swallows it easily, joking about having connections to get rid of parking tickets in the event he ever gets a car. Owen snorts at that, but lets it pass. In spite of the bad jokes, though, Michael gets it - never asks questions, never seems to mind that the required secrecy effectively locks him out of ninety percent of Owen's waking life.
And it's so good to have the company. He hadn't known how stressed he was until he had an outlet, someone to let him relax. He certainly hadn't known how much it had affected his personality until one night a few weeks in, when Ianto remarks off-handedly,
"You haven't had a go at me all day. Are you feeling all right?"
"Had a good night," Owen says, throwing in a lewd wink just to make Ianto wince in distaste.
Ianto obliges. "Please, don't elaborate." He pauses for a few seconds, then adds, "You've had quite a few good nights lately, then, haven't you?"
Owen hesitates. "Hit a lucky streak, I guess."
Ianto raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment further. Owen finishes his work silently and goes home.
He thinks long and hard as he drives. About Katie. About how long it really hasn't been since Diane. About Michael's things all over the place in his flat, an extra toothbrush in the bathroom and a change or two of clothes in the closet and a cache of those weird little aniseed sweets he likes in the kitchen. Owen even gave him a spare key the other day. What was he thinking? A regular shag's one thing, but this is - it's too much, is what it is. It's dangerous. He doesn't have time for this.
Michael will have to understand. If he doesn't, then sod him. Best to get that sorted now before it really becomes a problem.
Michael is there when Owen gets home, which is good, no time to start overthinking things. He gets up to greet Owen with a kiss, but Owen puts a hand on his chest to stop him.
"Michael -"
Michael looks at him and gives a soft sigh. Owen can smell aniseed strong on his breath. The sweet clacks faintly against his teeth as he speaks, voice quiet and a little tired.
"That's a very serious look you've got there, Owen. Can't I at least get a kiss first?"
He knows exactly what's coming, it's written clear all over his face, so Owen nods and kisses him. He means it to be light and soft, but Michael's arms slide around him and somehow the kiss deepens and Owen can't break it until he has to in order to breathe.
"God, it's like kissing a bag of liquorice all-sorts," he says with a laugh. "What would you do if I told you it was me or the sweets?"
Michael grins. "Switch to gum. So what was it you wanted to talk about?"
Owen reaches up and traces the side of Michael's face with his fingertips. "I don't remember," he murmurs distractedly, looking into Michael's eyes.
"Can't have been that important, then," Michael says, and kisses him again.
**********
Owen decides not to tell anyone at Torchwood about Michael right away. He just doesn't want to deal with it. He doesn't want to hear Jack's comments about how he should meet Michael and determine for himself that he's good enough for Owen, with a salacious smirk on his face the whole time just in case Owen doesn't pick up on his incredible subtlety. He doesn't want Gwen to start in about double dates with her and Rhys or a Torchwood couples club or something else stunningly inappropriate, considering that it hasn't been even close to a year since he and Gwen were fucking behind Rhys's back. And he definitely doesn't want to watch Tosh's face fall in the seconds before she rallies and tries to congratulate him warmly and wish them both happiness.
He doesn't really care what Ianto would do, he decides, except that Ianto would probably tell Jack and that would still lead to comments and smirking. It'll all come out eventually. There are no secrets in Torchwood, not really. But it's only been a few weeks and that's not long enough to be sure, even if it does feel like a rock solid certainty sometimes. Experiencing an excess of sentiment when he wakes in the morning and finds his lover watching him with a small smile doesn't mean anything except that Owen is particularly vulnerable to that sort of thing when he's half-asleep. He's not putting himself through the Torchwood relationship gauntlet until he's damn sure he's in one.
**********
It's been a little over a month - all right, a month and three days - when Owen comes home to an empty flat, something that's become increasingly unusual as of late. He worries some, but not much, not until the door opens at one in the morning and Michael stumbles in. His shirt is wet with blood and he's clutching a makeshift bandage to his shoulder.
Owen is at his side immediately. "Michael, Jesus, what happened?" He hurries Michael to the bathroom and gets out the extensively stocked first aid kit he keeps there.
"I, I got mugged." He hisses sharply through his teeth as Owen carefully peels away the bandage. The wound isn't bleeding anymore, so he starts cleaning it up. Once it's clean enough for him to get a good look at it, he frowns.
"The hell you got mugged," he says, looking up. "This is a bite wound. Michael, what happened?" Normally he'd be asking if Michael happens to have been immunized against rabies recently, but the patterns of the bite are all too familiar. He's about to have any number of problems on his hands, but rabies won't be one of them.
"I -" Michael stops, looks at him in an agony of indecision. Owen concentrates on dressing the wound, trying not to bark with impatience. Finally, Michael says, "You wouldn't believe me, Owen, and I don't want to lie to you. Please just leave it. It will be fine, I promise."
Owen knows the answer for sure then. "You'd be surprised what I'll believe, Michael. Tell me."
Michael looks at him hard, searchingly, trying to make a decision. Owen's mouth tightens. "There isn't time for this, Michael, so let me just guess: blue jumpsuit, face like a Halloween fright mask. Not human. Right? Good. Where was it? Did it get away?"
Michael looks at him in shock, but recovers and says, "Outside of town, I dunno. It was almost an hour ago, Owen, it could be anywhere by now."
"Shit." Done with the dressing, Owen hurries out to the kitchen and scoops his mobile off the counter. He hasn't got much to go on and the trail is probably long since cold, but he still has to ring Jack. Exactly what Michael knows and whether he'll have to be Retconned can be sorted out after.
He tells Jack that his source is a drunk kid who was lucky he managed to find his way back into Cardiff at all, and yes, that is the best he can do, and no, he can't come hunting because the kid is probably too drunk to remember anything tomorrow, but it would be best to get him cleaned up and bin the blood-soaked shirt just in case. Jack suggests that he find out how someone so intoxicated managed to get away from a weevil at all while he's at it, but doesn't push. Owen doubts he believes it, but letting it drop is good enough for now. Owen will work out a way to make it more plausible later.
He ends the call and turns to find Michael in the doorway, watching him.
"This explains a few things," Michael says mildly, and smiles. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me I could get paid for this?"
Owen blinks. "You what?"
Michael gestures toward the living room. "Let's talk."
They sit on the couch, Michael resting the hand of his good arm on Owen's shoulder, and they talk. It turns out that Michael lost some family at Canary Wharf, and he refused to accept the cover story that was offered. "It's amazing what you can find if you dig," he says, fiddling with a sweet wrapper. "A lot of the strangest things seemed to happen in Cardiff, so I came here. I do what I can. You know, for people. I like to think it helps." He touches Owen's cheek, then kisses him. The last sliver of the sweet slips into Owen's mouth. "But there, that's enough about me," Michael murmurs. "What's your story?"
Owen takes a deep breath. He should be tense, he knows, but he feels calm and relaxed. Like this is all okay. He puts his hand over Michael's, interlocking their fingers, and he tells Michael about Torchwood. There will be no need for Retcon. Michael is part of it now. Owen tells him everything, and finds relief in the telling.
**********
(A few days after that, Michael watches without comment as Owen ignores his contacts in favor of unearthing an old pair of glasses that hasn't seen the light of day since they were purchased.
All Owen can think about is Tosh. Michael confuses him, seeming like a good dream he can only half-remember. Michael is furious about this until Owen promises nervously to ask Adam. Adam will know what's going on.
Michael's expression slowly clears. He looks like he understands something Owen doesn't. "I see," he says. "Of course he will." He gets up and goes to the apartment door, then pauses there and turns. "Don't ask Adam. Don't mention me to him. I don't fancy him turning up on my doorstep. If you lot don't have this sorted in a couple days, I'll do it myself." Then he leaves.
Owen goes in to work, more confused than ever, but a friendly squeeze from Adam clears away the confusion along with every memory of Michael.
Two days later, Owen rings Michael and does his best to explain that he's lost the last two days, and if anything strange happened, he's under strict instructions not to know about it, and he hopes like hell he didn't do anything stupid. Michael laughs and assures him that the past two days have been perfectly normal, for them at least.)
**********
When Martha Jones comes to Torchwood, gorgeous and smart and confident in the medical bay, Owen can't resist having a flirt. It's like some kind of Pavlovian response he has to women who find satisfaction in knowing that they are good. Especially women who look like Martha.
She shoots him down kindly enough, the friendliness in her voice softening but not dulling the slight edge of warning as she says, "I don't know as my boyfriend would care for this conversation, Doctor Harper."
Owen pauses. His feelings on telling any of Torchwood about Michael haven't changed. It hasn't become a good idea yet. But - Martha Jones isn't Torchwood, and she is smart enough to see why Owen wants it kept quiet from them, and he's so tired of keeping the best thing in his life a secret.
So he looks down to organize some paperwork and says lightly,
"I don't think mine would either, now you mention it. He wouldn't mind if you called me Owen, though." He can't keep a ridiculous smile off his face as he speaks. Martha laughs, a surprised and pleased sound.
"Well, then, Owen, I won't tell him about it." Owen laughs too, looking up. She's smiling at him, open and relaxed now, and even with Michael on his mind, he has to shake the urge to flirt some more.
"None of the others know," he says instead. "It hasn't been long enough for - all this." he gestures vaguely around them. Martha nods.
"Plus you don't want Jack trying to take him out for a test drive to check he's worth your time. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." Her smile widens ohgodshe'sgorgeous and she gives him a little nudge. "But in exchange, you're going to have to tell me all about him."
To his mild surprise, and not without a measure of relief, Owen does. He tells her about meeting Michael, about how they just sort of clicked and couldn't seem to keep away from each other. He tells her, after a brief internal debate, about the weevil bite. He even tells her about Michael's aniseed sweets. Martha is looking at him thoughtfully when he finishes.
"Sounds like he's really something," she comments. Owen is wryly amused by her guarded tone.
"Yeah, too good to be true," he says. "I know. But I took a bit of hair from his brush and brought it in to test. He's human."
Martha raises an eyebrow. "How thorough."
"Yeah, well. Wouldn't have been the first time it turned out one of us was dating a homicidal alien. Having a love life gets complicated round here."
Martha blinks, but before she can ask, Jack comes in wanting to know how two of his favorite doctors are getting on and the subject is dropped.
**********
Owen knows what's going to happen even as he speaks to Copley in the calmest tones he can muster. Copley's not trembling, or snivelling, or doing any of those things that would indicate the final bluff of a desperate man. He is going to use the gun in in his hand.
But if Owen has his way, he won't use it on Martha.
". . . we're both rational men, scientists. I know you don't want to -" Owen catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and then several things happen in rapid succession; when he tries to remember it all later, he won't be sure what happened when.
The gun goes off.
He sees movement at the edge of his vision.
He hits the ground, hard, in agony. He can't move.
He thinks for a few wild seconds he's been shot, but then his vision clears and his mind starts tying things together. He can't move because Jack is on top of him, and he hurts because the force of Jack's weight bearing him down to the ground knocked the wind out of him. He clutches at Jack's shoulder and gasps for breath; he feels wetness on his fingers and realizes it was Jack that got shot. Oh, sure, he thinks disjointedly, You'll wake up and be fine, and I'll be bruises all over for a month.
He hears yelling and another gunshot. He cranes his neck to peer past Jack as best he can and sees Ianto, gun extended, advancing on Copley's still form. Well, isn't that just the height of fucking romantic.
Jack shudders and gasps, his eyes flying open. He blinks a few times, then focuses on Owen and grins. "Hi."
"D'you mind," Owen says, "I can't breathe."
Jack gets up and holds out a hand to help Owen to his feet. "You all right?"
"Yeah," Owen says, grabbing Jack's hand and hauling himself up. "That was a bit close for comfort, wasn't it?"
**********
Owen is still tense when he gets home, unable to sit and relax. He wanders the living room as he recounts the evening's events to Michael, not pacing exactly but not quite managing to stay in one place either. Michael stands as well, arms folded, frowning slightly as he listens.
"And even killing Jack wasn't enough for the bastard," Owen says. "Ianto had to shoot him just to stop him going after Martha again."
"But - he's okay?" Michael asks.
"Yeah. Like I said. Immortal. He dies, but it doesn't - take. He always comes back."
"Good," Michael says, then grins. "He saved your life. I should give him a present."
"Just don't ask him what he wants. The answer will be unprintable once he's gotten a look at you."
Michael laughs, then sobers up. "Come here," he says, winding his arms around Owen. "You've had a hell of a shock."
Owen leans in gratefully and kisses him. They sink down onto the couch, Michael straddling him.
"God, Michael," he sighs as Michael helps him out of his shirt. Owen is so fucking glad Michael's here, taking his mind off things that shouldn't even bother him anymore, not after all the time he's been with Torchwood. Owen pulls him closer, trying to forget that all the alien experience in the universe can't erase the sickening feeling of being on the wrong end of a gun.
Michael smiles and kisses his forehead, then his temple.
"That's not my name."
Owen thinks he's misheard. "What?"
He feels Michael's hand slide behind him, back behind the fat couch cushion. He only has time to tense up in confusion before there's a flash of metal and pain tears through Owen's chest, so intense it makes the pain of before seem incidental.
Michael leans down and kisses him. Owen reaches up weakly to press his hand over the pain and finds that Michael's hand is already there, wrapped around the handle of a knife.
The last thing Owen hears is Michael whispering against his lips, "My name is Gray."
part two
AUTHOR: Cathryn (
catslash)SUMMARY: Owen finds himself in the middle of something a little outside his usual frame of reference. AU starting shortly after "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang" and continuing through "Dead Man Walking."
RATING: R for violence.
WORD COUNT: Approximately 5200.
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Owen, Martha, Jack, Michael. Owen/Michael, a touch of Jack/Ianto, and a vague bit of Owen/Martha.
WARNING: Character death. Also, slash.
SPOILERS: From 2x01 through 2x07.
NOTES THE FIRST: Thanks to
americanleaguer for the beta, and to gileonnen and apiphile for other helpful input. Oh yeah, and huge thanks to nightanddaze, who inspired the idea and NOTES THE SECOND: This fic is sort of experimental. Very spoilery notes about what the experiment was can be found at the end.
DISCLAIMER: Torchwood was created by Russell T Davies and belongs to the BBC. I make neither claim nor money.
It's really just a one-night stand. About a week after Jack comes home, when Owen can walk without feeling like the gunshot wound is going to tear itself open, he goes to a bar looking for a pull. He ends up with this gorgeous bloke that most of the women and a few of the men are eyeing. The dirty looks he gets would have been the highlight of the whole night, except for the fact that Michael is as good in bed as someone with a full-lipped mouth like his ought to be. The sex is great, the perfect way to decompress after the week of turmoil while they've tried to adjust to Jack's return, and Owen sleeps more deeply afterward than he's done in months.
So, yeah, one for the books, maybe, but just the one night. He's surprised as hell to feel a touch on his arm two nights later and turn to find Michael there, smiling self-consciously and asking to buy him a drink.
"I'm not a stalker, I swear, and if you tell me to fuck off I will and you'll never see me again, but I had fun the other night and it seemed like you did too, so I thought maybe . . ."
And Owen did, so he says, "You going to pipe down and buy me that drink sometime tonight, or what?"
They end up back at Owen's again, this time mostly talking until Owen has to force himself to get a few hours' sleep before he has to go to work. Michael makes no move to leave and it doesn't occur to Owen to suggest it.
Michael starts coming around most nights after that, till Owen even finds himself using the special ops story for the first time; the last person who was around long enough to bother with it was Diane and - well, he didn't have to. Michael swallows it easily, joking about having connections to get rid of parking tickets in the event he ever gets a car. Owen snorts at that, but lets it pass. In spite of the bad jokes, though, Michael gets it - never asks questions, never seems to mind that the required secrecy effectively locks him out of ninety percent of Owen's waking life.
And it's so good to have the company. He hadn't known how stressed he was until he had an outlet, someone to let him relax. He certainly hadn't known how much it had affected his personality until one night a few weeks in, when Ianto remarks off-handedly,
"You haven't had a go at me all day. Are you feeling all right?"
"Had a good night," Owen says, throwing in a lewd wink just to make Ianto wince in distaste.
Ianto obliges. "Please, don't elaborate." He pauses for a few seconds, then adds, "You've had quite a few good nights lately, then, haven't you?"
Owen hesitates. "Hit a lucky streak, I guess."
Ianto raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment further. Owen finishes his work silently and goes home.
He thinks long and hard as he drives. About Katie. About how long it really hasn't been since Diane. About Michael's things all over the place in his flat, an extra toothbrush in the bathroom and a change or two of clothes in the closet and a cache of those weird little aniseed sweets he likes in the kitchen. Owen even gave him a spare key the other day. What was he thinking? A regular shag's one thing, but this is - it's too much, is what it is. It's dangerous. He doesn't have time for this.
Michael will have to understand. If he doesn't, then sod him. Best to get that sorted now before it really becomes a problem.
Michael is there when Owen gets home, which is good, no time to start overthinking things. He gets up to greet Owen with a kiss, but Owen puts a hand on his chest to stop him.
"Michael -"
Michael looks at him and gives a soft sigh. Owen can smell aniseed strong on his breath. The sweet clacks faintly against his teeth as he speaks, voice quiet and a little tired.
"That's a very serious look you've got there, Owen. Can't I at least get a kiss first?"
He knows exactly what's coming, it's written clear all over his face, so Owen nods and kisses him. He means it to be light and soft, but Michael's arms slide around him and somehow the kiss deepens and Owen can't break it until he has to in order to breathe.
"God, it's like kissing a bag of liquorice all-sorts," he says with a laugh. "What would you do if I told you it was me or the sweets?"
Michael grins. "Switch to gum. So what was it you wanted to talk about?"
Owen reaches up and traces the side of Michael's face with his fingertips. "I don't remember," he murmurs distractedly, looking into Michael's eyes.
"Can't have been that important, then," Michael says, and kisses him again.
**********
Owen decides not to tell anyone at Torchwood about Michael right away. He just doesn't want to deal with it. He doesn't want to hear Jack's comments about how he should meet Michael and determine for himself that he's good enough for Owen, with a salacious smirk on his face the whole time just in case Owen doesn't pick up on his incredible subtlety. He doesn't want Gwen to start in about double dates with her and Rhys or a Torchwood couples club or something else stunningly inappropriate, considering that it hasn't been even close to a year since he and Gwen were fucking behind Rhys's back. And he definitely doesn't want to watch Tosh's face fall in the seconds before she rallies and tries to congratulate him warmly and wish them both happiness.
He doesn't really care what Ianto would do, he decides, except that Ianto would probably tell Jack and that would still lead to comments and smirking. It'll all come out eventually. There are no secrets in Torchwood, not really. But it's only been a few weeks and that's not long enough to be sure, even if it does feel like a rock solid certainty sometimes. Experiencing an excess of sentiment when he wakes in the morning and finds his lover watching him with a small smile doesn't mean anything except that Owen is particularly vulnerable to that sort of thing when he's half-asleep. He's not putting himself through the Torchwood relationship gauntlet until he's damn sure he's in one.
**********
It's been a little over a month - all right, a month and three days - when Owen comes home to an empty flat, something that's become increasingly unusual as of late. He worries some, but not much, not until the door opens at one in the morning and Michael stumbles in. His shirt is wet with blood and he's clutching a makeshift bandage to his shoulder.
Owen is at his side immediately. "Michael, Jesus, what happened?" He hurries Michael to the bathroom and gets out the extensively stocked first aid kit he keeps there.
"I, I got mugged." He hisses sharply through his teeth as Owen carefully peels away the bandage. The wound isn't bleeding anymore, so he starts cleaning it up. Once it's clean enough for him to get a good look at it, he frowns.
"The hell you got mugged," he says, looking up. "This is a bite wound. Michael, what happened?" Normally he'd be asking if Michael happens to have been immunized against rabies recently, but the patterns of the bite are all too familiar. He's about to have any number of problems on his hands, but rabies won't be one of them.
"I -" Michael stops, looks at him in an agony of indecision. Owen concentrates on dressing the wound, trying not to bark with impatience. Finally, Michael says, "You wouldn't believe me, Owen, and I don't want to lie to you. Please just leave it. It will be fine, I promise."
Owen knows the answer for sure then. "You'd be surprised what I'll believe, Michael. Tell me."
Michael looks at him hard, searchingly, trying to make a decision. Owen's mouth tightens. "There isn't time for this, Michael, so let me just guess: blue jumpsuit, face like a Halloween fright mask. Not human. Right? Good. Where was it? Did it get away?"
Michael looks at him in shock, but recovers and says, "Outside of town, I dunno. It was almost an hour ago, Owen, it could be anywhere by now."
"Shit." Done with the dressing, Owen hurries out to the kitchen and scoops his mobile off the counter. He hasn't got much to go on and the trail is probably long since cold, but he still has to ring Jack. Exactly what Michael knows and whether he'll have to be Retconned can be sorted out after.
He tells Jack that his source is a drunk kid who was lucky he managed to find his way back into Cardiff at all, and yes, that is the best he can do, and no, he can't come hunting because the kid is probably too drunk to remember anything tomorrow, but it would be best to get him cleaned up and bin the blood-soaked shirt just in case. Jack suggests that he find out how someone so intoxicated managed to get away from a weevil at all while he's at it, but doesn't push. Owen doubts he believes it, but letting it drop is good enough for now. Owen will work out a way to make it more plausible later.
He ends the call and turns to find Michael in the doorway, watching him.
"This explains a few things," Michael says mildly, and smiles. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me I could get paid for this?"
Owen blinks. "You what?"
Michael gestures toward the living room. "Let's talk."
They sit on the couch, Michael resting the hand of his good arm on Owen's shoulder, and they talk. It turns out that Michael lost some family at Canary Wharf, and he refused to accept the cover story that was offered. "It's amazing what you can find if you dig," he says, fiddling with a sweet wrapper. "A lot of the strangest things seemed to happen in Cardiff, so I came here. I do what I can. You know, for people. I like to think it helps." He touches Owen's cheek, then kisses him. The last sliver of the sweet slips into Owen's mouth. "But there, that's enough about me," Michael murmurs. "What's your story?"
Owen takes a deep breath. He should be tense, he knows, but he feels calm and relaxed. Like this is all okay. He puts his hand over Michael's, interlocking their fingers, and he tells Michael about Torchwood. There will be no need for Retcon. Michael is part of it now. Owen tells him everything, and finds relief in the telling.
**********
(A few days after that, Michael watches without comment as Owen ignores his contacts in favor of unearthing an old pair of glasses that hasn't seen the light of day since they were purchased.
All Owen can think about is Tosh. Michael confuses him, seeming like a good dream he can only half-remember. Michael is furious about this until Owen promises nervously to ask Adam. Adam will know what's going on.
Michael's expression slowly clears. He looks like he understands something Owen doesn't. "I see," he says. "Of course he will." He gets up and goes to the apartment door, then pauses there and turns. "Don't ask Adam. Don't mention me to him. I don't fancy him turning up on my doorstep. If you lot don't have this sorted in a couple days, I'll do it myself." Then he leaves.
Owen goes in to work, more confused than ever, but a friendly squeeze from Adam clears away the confusion along with every memory of Michael.
Two days later, Owen rings Michael and does his best to explain that he's lost the last two days, and if anything strange happened, he's under strict instructions not to know about it, and he hopes like hell he didn't do anything stupid. Michael laughs and assures him that the past two days have been perfectly normal, for them at least.)
**********
When Martha Jones comes to Torchwood, gorgeous and smart and confident in the medical bay, Owen can't resist having a flirt. It's like some kind of Pavlovian response he has to women who find satisfaction in knowing that they are good. Especially women who look like Martha.
She shoots him down kindly enough, the friendliness in her voice softening but not dulling the slight edge of warning as she says, "I don't know as my boyfriend would care for this conversation, Doctor Harper."
Owen pauses. His feelings on telling any of Torchwood about Michael haven't changed. It hasn't become a good idea yet. But - Martha Jones isn't Torchwood, and she is smart enough to see why Owen wants it kept quiet from them, and he's so tired of keeping the best thing in his life a secret.
So he looks down to organize some paperwork and says lightly,
"I don't think mine would either, now you mention it. He wouldn't mind if you called me Owen, though." He can't keep a ridiculous smile off his face as he speaks. Martha laughs, a surprised and pleased sound.
"Well, then, Owen, I won't tell him about it." Owen laughs too, looking up. She's smiling at him, open and relaxed now, and even with Michael on his mind, he has to shake the urge to flirt some more.
"None of the others know," he says instead. "It hasn't been long enough for - all this." he gestures vaguely around them. Martha nods.
"Plus you don't want Jack trying to take him out for a test drive to check he's worth your time. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." Her smile widens ohgodshe'sgorgeous and she gives him a little nudge. "But in exchange, you're going to have to tell me all about him."
To his mild surprise, and not without a measure of relief, Owen does. He tells her about meeting Michael, about how they just sort of clicked and couldn't seem to keep away from each other. He tells her, after a brief internal debate, about the weevil bite. He even tells her about Michael's aniseed sweets. Martha is looking at him thoughtfully when he finishes.
"Sounds like he's really something," she comments. Owen is wryly amused by her guarded tone.
"Yeah, too good to be true," he says. "I know. But I took a bit of hair from his brush and brought it in to test. He's human."
Martha raises an eyebrow. "How thorough."
"Yeah, well. Wouldn't have been the first time it turned out one of us was dating a homicidal alien. Having a love life gets complicated round here."
Martha blinks, but before she can ask, Jack comes in wanting to know how two of his favorite doctors are getting on and the subject is dropped.
**********
Owen knows what's going to happen even as he speaks to Copley in the calmest tones he can muster. Copley's not trembling, or snivelling, or doing any of those things that would indicate the final bluff of a desperate man. He is going to use the gun in in his hand.
But if Owen has his way, he won't use it on Martha.
". . . we're both rational men, scientists. I know you don't want to -" Owen catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and then several things happen in rapid succession; when he tries to remember it all later, he won't be sure what happened when.
The gun goes off.
He sees movement at the edge of his vision.
He hits the ground, hard, in agony. He can't move.
He thinks for a few wild seconds he's been shot, but then his vision clears and his mind starts tying things together. He can't move because Jack is on top of him, and he hurts because the force of Jack's weight bearing him down to the ground knocked the wind out of him. He clutches at Jack's shoulder and gasps for breath; he feels wetness on his fingers and realizes it was Jack that got shot. Oh, sure, he thinks disjointedly, You'll wake up and be fine, and I'll be bruises all over for a month.
He hears yelling and another gunshot. He cranes his neck to peer past Jack as best he can and sees Ianto, gun extended, advancing on Copley's still form. Well, isn't that just the height of fucking romantic.
Jack shudders and gasps, his eyes flying open. He blinks a few times, then focuses on Owen and grins. "Hi."
"D'you mind," Owen says, "I can't breathe."
Jack gets up and holds out a hand to help Owen to his feet. "You all right?"
"Yeah," Owen says, grabbing Jack's hand and hauling himself up. "That was a bit close for comfort, wasn't it?"
**********
Owen is still tense when he gets home, unable to sit and relax. He wanders the living room as he recounts the evening's events to Michael, not pacing exactly but not quite managing to stay in one place either. Michael stands as well, arms folded, frowning slightly as he listens.
"And even killing Jack wasn't enough for the bastard," Owen says. "Ianto had to shoot him just to stop him going after Martha again."
"But - he's okay?" Michael asks.
"Yeah. Like I said. Immortal. He dies, but it doesn't - take. He always comes back."
"Good," Michael says, then grins. "He saved your life. I should give him a present."
"Just don't ask him what he wants. The answer will be unprintable once he's gotten a look at you."
Michael laughs, then sobers up. "Come here," he says, winding his arms around Owen. "You've had a hell of a shock."
Owen leans in gratefully and kisses him. They sink down onto the couch, Michael straddling him.
"God, Michael," he sighs as Michael helps him out of his shirt. Owen is so fucking glad Michael's here, taking his mind off things that shouldn't even bother him anymore, not after all the time he's been with Torchwood. Owen pulls him closer, trying to forget that all the alien experience in the universe can't erase the sickening feeling of being on the wrong end of a gun.
Michael smiles and kisses his forehead, then his temple.
"That's not my name."
Owen thinks he's misheard. "What?"
He feels Michael's hand slide behind him, back behind the fat couch cushion. He only has time to tense up in confusion before there's a flash of metal and pain tears through Owen's chest, so intense it makes the pain of before seem incidental.
Michael leans down and kisses him. Owen reaches up weakly to press his hand over the pain and finds that Michael's hand is already there, wrapped around the handle of a knife.
The last thing Owen hears is Michael whispering against his lips, "My name is Gray."
part two