Just Imagine...

Never Just Saying It

Sam was standing in the garden, surrounded by exotic plants, staring at the sea before her with the wind in her growing hair. She took a deep breath. It was good to be home again after so long. The Torchwood team was still living at her house, looking for places of their own. It had been nice so far. Peaceful.
"Sam?"
Sam turned to see Owen on the path behind her, slowly walking around a hedge.
"Hi Owen!" She exclaimed, smiling, "what's up?"
"Nothing," Owen muttered, looking a bit sheepish, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry I haven't moved out yet."
"None of you have moved out yet," Sam laughed, "you don't have to apologize. I love having you here, cuz I love all of you!"
"Sam... do you just... say that?"
"Say what?"
"That you love us. Do you just say it?"
"Whaddya mean? I don't get it."
"Sam, c'mon, I know you hate me."
"I never hated you! Owen, I love you!"
"And that's the third time you've said it in a minute."
"What, you think I'm lying?"
"To be honest? Yes. I do. You just say it, but you don't mean it."
"Of course I mean it! I wouldn't lie about that, Owen, I'm not that cruel! Listen, I know you think you're unlovable but you are lovable! And you deserve to be loved as much as I love you, and as much as the rest of us love you!"
"Oh, shut up. You're being mushy."
"And you aren't listening to me!"
Sam was holding her hand out to Owen now, as if she could somehow project her adoration for him into his body through the simple gesture.
"You've said it yourself, Sam," Owen muttered, "I'm an asshole. I'm a bastard. I'm not worth any scrap of love you have for me, if you really do."
"Do you really think that?" Sam asked softly, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"Yes." Owen said firmly. He was scowling, but Sam could see his lower lip trembling.
"No," Sam begged, "please don't think that, Owen! I wouldn't've said those things if I had known they'd hurt you! I had no idea you were so-"
"Don't say 'sensitive', Sam, don't you dare! I am not bloody sensitive!"
"Then what are you?"
They stared at each other for a second.
"I'm a mess." Owen whimpered, turning his head away and watching a pair of yellow butterflies flitting past the dragon sculptures in the fountain.
"Owen," Sam murmured, taking a step closer to him and laying a hand on his shoulder, "you're not a mess. You're complicated, you're unique, and that's why... I love you. Like a brother. And I'll always feel that way. No matter how much you hate yourself, I'll always love you ten times more."
"Shut up!" Owen exclaimed, throwing himself into her arms as he said it. He buried his face in her shirt and started to cry silently. Sam wrapped her arms around him a little tighter. She didn't say anything more. She didn't have to. She knew that Owen was saying he loved her too.