Keep Dreaming

Down Under - Erin's POV

Of course Owen came into work very obviously hungover the next morning. He was slumped over at his desk, periodically lifting his head a few inches to sip on (an almost-definitely-cold-by-now) cup of coffee beside him, groaning very theatrically. The whole thing was an ordeal, a performance - a show. A show he was putting on for me.

I'd seen clients do things like this before: it was self-sabotage in its rawest form. I ignored it, because I figured he probably wanted a rise out of me. I didn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it; I was in a particularly good mood and wasn't going to let anything get me down. Why  would I? It was one of my first days working in Torchwood - a place that monitored alien activity - and not many people could say that.

"Hiya, Owen."
He glowered at me and grunted in response, obviously not in the mood for my enthusiasm.
"Y'know what day it is?"
He lifted his head ever so slightly to peer up at me with squinted eyes.
"Uh. Friday?"
"Yeah. Friday."
I smiled at him with anticipation, hoping he'd catch my drift - and after a brief period of contemplation, he did. And when he did, he groaned and plonked his head right back on the desk - not exactly the response I had been hoping for. I heard a muffled mutter of:
"Bloody... fucking hell."
I'd imagine this actually was a fairly standard reaction to remembering a previously-forgotten session.
I say "I'd imagine" because most of my previous clients would've kept it to themselves. But each to their own.

"Look, you've still got..."
I checked the small, digitised watch on my wrist. 08:24.
"... just under 9 hours until the session."
A meek but distinctly sarcastic "hooray." came from the man. I gave him a small smile.
"Y'know what you can do in the meantime?"
"If you say anything but 'sleep' I'll kill myself."
My face dropped momentarily.
"Oh."
I paused for a second before continuing.
"Uh. Well, I was going to say that Jack told me he wanted you to teach me the ropes."
Owen made a show of sitting up excruciatingly slowly, rubbing his temples, forehead and eyes, groaning loudly as he did so.
"Great. Can't imagine a better start to my morning, actually."
"Really?"
I asked skeptically. He gave me a withering look.
"What do you think?"
I blinked. He then seemed to decide he was no longer in the mood for arguing.
"So, what did Jack want me to show you?"
"Eh, I think he just wanted you to show me around a bit? Oh, and he said something about Weevils."
At this, Owen's eyes lit up and I got a sneaking suspicion he was up to something. I mean, he evidently didn't enjoy this, so why was he smiling all of a sudden?
"Ahh. Have you heard of a Weevil before?"
I furrowed my brow.
"They're little Australian bugs, aren't they?"
"What? No... are they?!.. Bollocks, that makes them sound way less cool."
I stared at him, more confused now than I had previously been.
"No. Well, not these ones - I'll show you."
He stood up with a renewed lease of life and I followed in his wake. He walked down the corridors with a spring in his step, with me following gingerly. We walked wordlessly down to a sealed vault. The heavy, cog-shaped door looked like something out of a sci-fi movie - then again, so did most of this building.
Before keying in the code, Owen turned to me and smiled menacingly.
"Now, no need to be scared, right?"
I hesitated momentarily.
"I mean... I wasn't. Until you said that."
As he turned around, I swear I heard him mutter "good" under his breath. I gritted my teeth and begrudgingly ignored the remark.
Owen punched in the code as I waited in anticipation for the fortified door to slide away and reveal their prisoner.
Or prisoners?
I realised, as the heavy door rolled to one side, that I had no clue what was waiting here.
Once the door was no longer in our way, I could see a grimy, dimly lit room. It was overwhelmingly brown. I wondered if they perhaps tried to bore their prisoners to death as a punishment.
Owen strode ahead and impatiently, silently, signalled for me to follow. I tentatively stepped inside and tiptoed after him. I wasn't sure why we were being so quiet, but now didn't seem the right time to question or challenge it.
Now inside, I saw the few holding cells in clearer view. The first couple I walked by were unoccupied. They were small enough, with polycarbonate-glass doors, a cement block to sit on, and a little skylight, allowing in some beams of light.
As I came up to the third cell, I almost jumped out of my skin when - what I initially thought to be some form of gorilla - threw itself against the fortified door. Owen smiled.
"That -"
He patted the door.
"- is a Weevil. Not your little Australian bug."
"Yeah, I can see that now."
I muttered as I observed the creature. Up close, it wasn't anything close to a gorilla. It had hooded eyes, making it look angry - and a human-esque mouth, but filled with massive fangs. Its eyes were tiny and beady. It wore a boiler suit, which I thought odd. I turned to Owen.
"Are they... can they communicate?"
"Everything communicates in some form."
"Stop being philosophical. You know what I mean. Can we communicate with it- him? Them?"
I paused to gather my thoughts before speaking again, trying to rephrase the question in a simpler manner.
"Do they speak?"
"No, but I think they might have some very basic form of telepathic communication with their colony."
"With their... what."
"Oh-ho-ho."
He smiled and rubbed his hands together, as though he just realised he hadn't even got to the best part yet.
"There are hundreds of these under Cardiff."
"No there aren't."
"Yes there are."
My eyes narrowed suspiciously, convinced he was pulling my leg.
"Why haven't I seen one then?"
He shrugged.
"Maybe you have and you've just been Retconned."
"And I've been.. what?"
He pulled that shit-eating grin that he did far too often for my liking - he narrowed his eyes, scrunched his nose, and pressed his lips tightly together to form a wide grin.
Well, shit.