I'm woken up in the middle of the night by my phone blaring tinnily, and as I check the caller ID I roll to my side with a groan and answer the call. "Amber, what did he do? I'm not falling for the bullshit, just tell me what he did and I'll help."
"I swear it wasn't his fault," the woman on the other end insists in an almost indistinguishable wailing tone, "I kept moaning on and on about the dishes, the damn dishes - it's so stupid, so trivial. I deserved it. I'm just calling so you wouldn't report him because it's my fault; it always is, because I antagonize him-"
In a flash I've gotten up from the sofa and started to pull on my Doc Martens and long coat, all the while talking to poor Amber: "Don't blame yourself for his abuse; that's what he wants you to think so he doesn't have to face the responsibility of his decisions. I'm coming round."
"No, Lin, please don't," she attempts to bargain, using the nickname she gave me when we went to the bird park and the linnets flocked around me, but I don't heed her pleas because Owen opens the door to my old bedroom, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and wearing only his boxers. Hmm, wasn't expecting to see that so early in our roommate bonding days.
"Who's that?" my coworker asks, sounding like a grumpy child, and I cover the phone with my hand as I pick up my keys and whisper to him, "My friend Amber is living with her abusive husband Adam and I need to go to her. Can you call the police and come with me? I need to keep her on the line so she thinks I'm not calling them."
At the mention of abuse Owen blinks out of his sleepiness and hurries to get his phone from our room, and I open the door and put my ear back to the phone. Amber is still crying: "-it's just... I don't want to cause any trouble, otherwise he's gonna come back for me, and he's gonna do something else-"
"Amber, please don't think that way," I say, watching Owen snatch the first aid kit he keeps on the coffee table and go out ahead of me to the car in just his jacket and pants, not bothering about actual layers, me following and whispering Amber's address to him in quick breaths. "There is no reason for anyone to treat anybody like he treats you, I swear."
"Then why does he do it?" she sobs on the other side, and right before we get into the car I pause and think of all the scumbag aliens I've seen in the past few months.
"...because some people love the power."
Owen pulls me roughly into the passenger seat and starts up the car, talking quietly but rushed into his own phone. On mine I keep talking to Amber, reassuring her by telling her about trivial things such as the coffee I had today and how my boss (whom she still doesn't know is the boss of an alien organisation and whatnot) still can't work the coffee machine, and how much he wants an employee who can finally make a decent cup of jo.
Cowering in what I can only assume is the corner of her wardrobe, I hear my only friend outside of Torchwood pray hopelessly, and hope that tonight is finally the night I can put her husband behind any kind of bars, so she can be free.
For the next fifteen minutes Owen drives after putting the phone down as soon as the cops knew where Amber lives, and I grip his hand without thinking as I try to talk into the phone with a steady and calming voice. He doesn't seem to notice or mind, just keeps driving as fast as the speed limit lets him. I have to admit, despite being a mysterious unwavering wall of personality, Owen Harper does not mess around when it comes to people's safety and wellbeing. I don't question it the whole drive, instead letting him revel in the passionate anger coming off him in waves.
When we finally do get to Amber's house, the first thing we have to do is fight through the cops to demand I see my best friend. She's crying in the arms of an officer as another two try to restrain Adam, the angry man cursing out his wife for being a traitor and undeserving of love.
I call out, "Amber!" and she looks to us, bursts into fresh tears, and runs into my arms. Owen stands by my side as I hug her tightly, and he starts to open his med kit and examine her as best he can. Amber glances his way and sniffs hard before asking tearfully, "Is this the emotionless roommate?"
Owen and I exchange looks, his accusing and mine full of discomfort, and I nod. Amber's comment seems to touch him somehow, though, because he begins to ask in a gentle patient voice, "Do you have any cuts or breaks, Amber?"
My friend shakes her head but nevertheless she shivers in my arms - more so when Adam breaks the window of the police car and jumps out to start running toward us.
"Firestone! I should've known you were behind this, you fucking bitch!"
"She's not a bitch, you're the bastard who's been destroying the soul of someone you love!" I hear next to me before I even get the chance to take Amber aside so I can kick the shit out of her husband, and the next thing I know Owen and Adam are scrapping and yelling in front of everyone. And Owen is still just in his jacket and boxers.
Amber gasps in my arms and exclaims, "Oh my God! Did you know he could do that?"
"...No," is the answer. And I have to say, it's kind of a turn-on to see him emote after so long, plus beating the hell out of someone who fully deserves it. In underwear.
The police officers break them up, and I widen my eyes to see Adam with a swollen eye and slightly bent nose. I figure that he must've striked a blow to my flatmate's privates, however, due to how Owen hobbles back to us slowly and a bit hunched over, a thunderous look on his face. He continues to examine Amber with as much dignity as is possible when you get hit in the nuts, and the three of us watch silently as Adam eventually gets thrown back into the car and driven away to the station. I'm pretty sure we all breathe a sigh of relief at the same time.
I offer Amber the bed in our apartment for as long as she wants until she feels comfortable alone, and she agrees with a stutter, and on the ride home we sort out where Owen and I will sleep. Due to the slim-even-for-me sofa, and the fact I'm sure Amber wants to be alone right now, it looks like one of us is sleeping on the floor.
In the backseat with an arm round my friend, I look to Owen driving and how his naked back is peeking out from under his jacket. He might be okay with sleeping on the sofa, whilst I'm on the floor.
We get into the apartment and Amber goes off to the bathroom with a change of my PJs and a flannel to wash her tearstained face, and the two of us stare at each other and the sofa in turn.
He's the first to say it: "I don't think we can both fit on it."
"I know," I reply mundanely, fatigued from the ordeal, "and that's why I'm sleeping on the floor." Owen snaps his head to me, wearing an incredulous face; I shrug and add, "I'm used to it."
"Can I ask," he says, still looking at me with his eyebrows resembling fishhooks, "what actually happened to you in that drugring to make you so comfortable with discomfort?"
I purse my lips. If he's not planning to take up the discussion of his life with me, I'm not about to extend the olive branch in his direction either.
"Maybe, if you're a good little boy, Santa will bring you the answers to my horrible backstory. Now, you're still in your boxers, so just take off your jacket and hop onto the sofa and I'll make up some blankets on the floor over there."
About twenty minutes later, when Amber is fresh-faced and warmly clothed and gone to bed, I'm half-asleep on the floor in the corner next to the sofa when I hear a gravelly sleepy voice ask, "Do you just wanna sleep on the sofa with me? That must hurt your back, sleeping on the floor all the time."
I consider whispering back a no thanks, but to be honest I'm not entirely content with sleeping on the floor and bringing back memories, so without any words I creep over to the sofa and slink under the duvet I usually use for my makeshift bed.
Like clockwork Owen's arm snakes out to curl round my waist to make sure I don't fall off the sofa, and because I didn't expect it to happen I involuntarily jerk out of his grasp and end up falling onto the floor anyway. Owen makes a faint oh noise and peeps his head over the sofa, and I realise how silly I just was and chuckle to myself - of course Owen isn't going to hurt me; he may be a stone wall, but his entire job is to make sure people are okay.
Content with this diagnosis, I slowly slide back into the sofa and secure his arm round my waist, struggling a little with myself, and he murmurs into my ear through my strands of hair, "So I'm guessing you don't like being touched then? Looks like I'm out of a possible job."
"Watch it," I murmur back equally as jokingly, "I've just started to like you; don't make me go back to square one."
He rumbles a low chuckle into my ear in a delightful tone, and we fall asleep on the sofa together.
Me. And Owen Harper. Voluntarily being nice to each other. Hmmm. Maybe it's sheerly the power of bonding over a person in need.