Three TW Comment FICs
From the "request stuff MEME" thingy of last week, here are the first half of things requested. The ones for alba17, choccy_grl and nanfreak should be following this week! Each of these are small enough to fit in a comment box (485 - 690 words) and I would rate them all as PG. Titles are taken from song titles by Jars of Clay, everyone on the planet, and Mary Chapin Carpenter.
Okay, neifile7 requested Gwen/Tosh, and I wrote a little interlude set between series one and two.
Tea and Sympathy
Tosh got in at 06:00, and she was already the third one there, though there was no sign of Ianto up in the main part of the Hub. A large mug of tea on the corner of her desk, still hot, stood as proof of his attendance.
A series of muffled curses drew her eyes to Jack's office. Gwen didn't spend much time in there, none of them did while anyone else was around, but Tosh supposed Gwen hadn't heard her come in. She debated just letting it slide, but then she heard the muffled whump of flesh striking a solid object and automatically took a step in its direction. She brought her tea with her. If there was going to be a heart-to-heart, she needed fortification.
Gwen was on her arse in the middle of Jack's floor, rubbing her head and gazing at a bin lying on its side next to her. "You did that on purpose," she muttered, jutting her chin at the offending trash receptacle. Tosh leaned against the door jamb and took a sip of her tea. Mmmm, honey.
"Did it attack you?" she asked. Gwen twisted her neck and looked up at her, chagrin stamped clearly across her features. "Because I could run it through the Xylin scanner."
The Xylin scanner was amazing; she'd scanned a simple biro the other day and received enough information on it to fill a small book - history, functionality, manufacture, everything.
"No, it's - it's fine, Tosh," Gwen said, sighing, and nudged the bin with her foot. "I just tripped, is all."
Tosh took another sip of her tea, then laid the mug down square in the middle of Jack's desk. "Up," she said, holding her hand out for Gwen to grasp. She did, after a moment, and Tosh hauled her to her feet.
"Now sit," she instructed, steering Gwen over to Jack's chair and gently pushing her down. Gwen sat with a soft "Oh!" and looked back up to Tosh.
"Well?" Tosh asked. She was bollocks at motivational speeches, but Someone had once told her that sometimes people just needed to talk, more than they needed to hear. Gwen took a deep breath.
"It's spinning out of control, Tosh," she started, and Tosh moved to stand behind her, raising her hands and starting a scalp massage. "Oh!" she said again. "Oh, that feels good." Tosh rubbed at her scalp, pulling her fingers through thick, silky hair. She gave a surreptitious sniff. Gwen's shampoo smelled surprisingly fruity. "It's just - I don't belong here. I shouldn't be in charge!"
Tosh held her tongue instead of reminding Gwen that it had been Gwen's own idea to be the (temporary) leader of Torchwood. She moved her hands down Gwen's neck.
"I'm doing a lousy job," Gwen murmured, her body swaying in time with the ministrations of Tosh's hands.
Tosh sighed. Obviously Someone didn't know everything.
"You listen to me, Gwen Cooper," she said, and cringed. She sounded like her PE instructor from twenty years ago. Gwen's eyebrows were raised practically to her hairline. "I mean," Tosh started again, and began to massage Gwen's shoulders, "you have every right to be here. And maybe you should adjust your expectations." She ground the palm of her hand into the middle of Gwen's back. "This is Torchwood! The planet's still here, yes?" She didn't wait for Gwen's nod. "Then you're doing a good job!" Her fingers curled around Gwen's shoulders and stilled.
"Thank you, Tosh," Gwen said softly. Tosh took a step back as Gwen stood up and turned to face her. It was cramped behind Jack's desk, and Tosh could smell the other woman: that fruity shampoo, plus sweat from the day before, coffee and an enticing light perfume, closer to vanilla than flowers. Gwen stepped even closer to wrap her into a hug.
Tosh stiffened for just a moment, then brought her hands around to awkwardly pat the other woman's back. Gwen pulled away and pressed her lips to Tosh's forehead.
"Let's get back to work," Gwen said, and Tosh nodded, her forehead tingling with a pleasant buzz.
Right. Back to work.
golden_d requested Gwen, Ianto, rugby, falafel. She got crack instead.
Dream a Little Dream of Me
Rhys blamed the falafel. He should have known; Banana Boat bought it from a stall on the Quay, and Ifan's Thumb's Up Falafel was not the type of name to inspire confidence in fine Middle Eastern cooking. Rhys moaned and curled in on himself in the center of the bed, giving it a definite thumb's down.
"Gwennnnnnn!" he groaned. "Mercy! Mercy!"
Unfortunately, Gwen was saving the world from an army of aliens who looked like muffins with eyes and -- oh, damn, he wished he hadn't thought of a food product.
He struggled out of bed and down the hall to the kitchen, where he chugged three glasses of water and swallowed two of Gwen's FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY stomach acid pills from work. He didn't even have time to think that, hey, maybe he should've read the directions on the bottle, before he took one step back towards the bedroom and collapsed on the kitchen floor. He was asleep before he kissed the linoleum.
The rugby pitch stretched as far as the eye could see. Which wasn't very far, as he was in his own idea of Fiji, and in Fiji According to Rhys Williams, the land curved, like little globby bits of green perched on a cartoon blue globe, and one good spin would send the land mass sliding right off the sphere.
"Representing the Imperial forces of Darth Vader," a bull horn sounded beside him, and Rhys started, just then registering the presence of the little alien next to him, "live from Cardiff by the Bay, the Indomitable Gwen Cooper!"
The crowd, also newly arrived, went wild, cheering and whistling and stamping their feet. Rhys swelled with pride as Gwen ran out onto the field. As 18 cartoon Gwens ran out onto the field. She was drawn anime-style and her eyes took up three-quarters of her face.
"And representing the Loch Ness Monster," the alien yelled next, "please welcome King Ianto of Jack Hall!"
The Ianto team was animation as drawn by Picasso. Rhys could feel his stomach start to surge again as 18 Iantos stumbled and flopped two-dimensionally out onto the pitch. A random Gwen punched a Ianto in the stomach area and he folded in on himself, exposing tan canvas for his back. A different Ianto chased a small Gwen round the field, taunts falling from lips located in his forehead.
Rhys turned to the alien. "They're usually so very well-behaved," he said and clucked his tongue. The clucking sounded funny, so he did it a few more times. The alien turned its back on him and raised its bull horn yet again.
"Please put your hands together and wave your flippers in the air for Rhys Williams, Esquire, Head Referee for this field only!"
Rhys beamed. A rugby ref, him? It was a dream come true. In fact, if they were selling ice cream and crisps sandwiches in the stands, then he'd have to hazard a guess that this actually WAS a dream. He craned his neck to check, but the match started then, and he got a bit distracted.
All Gwens and Iantos decided they should play at the same time, and six of them wanted to be Hookers. Two Picasso Iantos even wore hotpants. No one wanted to be a Lock, and the moment the Gwens scored a successful try, three Iantos produced extra balls and bombarded the Gwen goal posts. Pandemonium erupted. As did yodeling.
Rhys stood, slack-jawed, in the midst of it, until his referee's whistle burned a hole in his pocket. He held it to his lips and an ear-splitting shriek rent the air of the stadium. The anime Gwens froze, eyes wide, and the Picasso Iantos plastered themselves to flat surfaces. The crowd stilled.
And then a giant ball of falafel walked into the stadium.
Rhys woke with a start, his face slipping in a pile of his own drool. His stomach felt surprisingly calm, though his heart was pounding. He glanced wildly around the kitchen, eyes lighting on Gwen and Ianto crouched just a few paces away, heads together over the bottle of pills. Ianto rocked back a bit on his heels, amusement tempering the slight relief on his face, but Gwen - oh, shit.
"Before you say anything, love," Rhys mumbled, "it really was an emergency."
And amand_r requested Ianto kid!fic. She got my first ever attempt at second-person.
My Heaven
You'd think it'd be a sad sort of place, but it isn't, not really. That's thanks to the Bloke in charge, an Adult, tall and dressed all posh in a waistcoat and tie. Sometimes he changes clothes to play rugby with you kids, but sometimes he does that in his posh clothes, too. It doesn't really matter what you wear, here.
The food's good, too, all your favorites: fish 'n chips like you used to get at Daffyd's, ice creams in every flavor imaginable and some you'd swear you hadn't, oodles of crisps, and candies that look like they sprung straight out of Honeyduke's. They probably had.
There are lots of other kids to play with, but you don't see anyone you know, though that's actually a good thing. You cross your fingers every day that you won't meet a familiar face while playing in the Woods or running along the Beach or swinging hand-to-hand along the monkey bars in the Park. Thus far, the time-honored tradition of the crossed fingers has worked.
It also works to get Her to come. She's lovely, that one, all dark skin and hair and eyes, and this laugh she has! The Bloke dances Her around the Garden, and bows over Her hand, and then tells Her jokes that are actually quite raunchy. He winks at you, like you're in on the joke, and your chest puffs a bit. Yeah, the Bloke thinks you're cool. She ruffles your hair when you cheekily ask for the next dance, but She gives it, and kisses your cheek when the music stops.
Sometimes you go for walks with the Bloke, just the two of you. Those times are the best. He's kind of familiar, from Before, but you don't really remember. It's okay, though, because you don't remember a whole lot. There's Mum, of course, and video games and school. Sometimes you talk about those things. And sometimes you make Things.
There's a spot, the Imagination Spot, and you and the Bloke lie on your backs and make Things out of the clouds. You can make anything; it's very cool. Pirate ships and sea turtles and Robin Hood and racing cars and dinosaurs. One time you both made a long, swishy coat, and stopped, staring at it for a moment. You had it then, why the Bloke is familiar. He smells like your family.
The sun shines every day here, even on the days the rain comes pouring down. Then all of you kids go running out of the House and play in the puddles, jumping and splashing and shrieking with laughter. Rainbows catch in your hair and dance among your fingers. The Bloke gets a running start and then slides on his arse across half the Garden. You tackle him, breathless with laughter, and he laughs with you, his chest rumbling beneath your small hand.
It's not a sad place at all.
Okay, neifile7 requested Gwen/Tosh, and I wrote a little interlude set between series one and two.
Tea and Sympathy
Tosh got in at 06:00, and she was already the third one there, though there was no sign of Ianto up in the main part of the Hub. A large mug of tea on the corner of her desk, still hot, stood as proof of his attendance.
A series of muffled curses drew her eyes to Jack's office. Gwen didn't spend much time in there, none of them did while anyone else was around, but Tosh supposed Gwen hadn't heard her come in. She debated just letting it slide, but then she heard the muffled whump of flesh striking a solid object and automatically took a step in its direction. She brought her tea with her. If there was going to be a heart-to-heart, she needed fortification.
Gwen was on her arse in the middle of Jack's floor, rubbing her head and gazing at a bin lying on its side next to her. "You did that on purpose," she muttered, jutting her chin at the offending trash receptacle. Tosh leaned against the door jamb and took a sip of her tea. Mmmm, honey.
"Did it attack you?" she asked. Gwen twisted her neck and looked up at her, chagrin stamped clearly across her features. "Because I could run it through the Xylin scanner."
The Xylin scanner was amazing; she'd scanned a simple biro the other day and received enough information on it to fill a small book - history, functionality, manufacture, everything.
"No, it's - it's fine, Tosh," Gwen said, sighing, and nudged the bin with her foot. "I just tripped, is all."
Tosh took another sip of her tea, then laid the mug down square in the middle of Jack's desk. "Up," she said, holding her hand out for Gwen to grasp. She did, after a moment, and Tosh hauled her to her feet.
"Now sit," she instructed, steering Gwen over to Jack's chair and gently pushing her down. Gwen sat with a soft "Oh!" and looked back up to Tosh.
"Well?" Tosh asked. She was bollocks at motivational speeches, but Someone had once told her that sometimes people just needed to talk, more than they needed to hear. Gwen took a deep breath.
"It's spinning out of control, Tosh," she started, and Tosh moved to stand behind her, raising her hands and starting a scalp massage. "Oh!" she said again. "Oh, that feels good." Tosh rubbed at her scalp, pulling her fingers through thick, silky hair. She gave a surreptitious sniff. Gwen's shampoo smelled surprisingly fruity. "It's just - I don't belong here. I shouldn't be in charge!"
Tosh held her tongue instead of reminding Gwen that it had been Gwen's own idea to be the (temporary) leader of Torchwood. She moved her hands down Gwen's neck.
"I'm doing a lousy job," Gwen murmured, her body swaying in time with the ministrations of Tosh's hands.
Tosh sighed. Obviously Someone didn't know everything.
"You listen to me, Gwen Cooper," she said, and cringed. She sounded like her PE instructor from twenty years ago. Gwen's eyebrows were raised practically to her hairline. "I mean," Tosh started again, and began to massage Gwen's shoulders, "you have every right to be here. And maybe you should adjust your expectations." She ground the palm of her hand into the middle of Gwen's back. "This is Torchwood! The planet's still here, yes?" She didn't wait for Gwen's nod. "Then you're doing a good job!" Her fingers curled around Gwen's shoulders and stilled.
"Thank you, Tosh," Gwen said softly. Tosh took a step back as Gwen stood up and turned to face her. It was cramped behind Jack's desk, and Tosh could smell the other woman: that fruity shampoo, plus sweat from the day before, coffee and an enticing light perfume, closer to vanilla than flowers. Gwen stepped even closer to wrap her into a hug.
Tosh stiffened for just a moment, then brought her hands around to awkwardly pat the other woman's back. Gwen pulled away and pressed her lips to Tosh's forehead.
"Let's get back to work," Gwen said, and Tosh nodded, her forehead tingling with a pleasant buzz.
Right. Back to work.
golden_d requested Gwen, Ianto, rugby, falafel. She got crack instead.
Dream a Little Dream of Me
Rhys blamed the falafel. He should have known; Banana Boat bought it from a stall on the Quay, and Ifan's Thumb's Up Falafel was not the type of name to inspire confidence in fine Middle Eastern cooking. Rhys moaned and curled in on himself in the center of the bed, giving it a definite thumb's down.
"Gwennnnnnn!" he groaned. "Mercy! Mercy!"
Unfortunately, Gwen was saving the world from an army of aliens who looked like muffins with eyes and -- oh, damn, he wished he hadn't thought of a food product.
He struggled out of bed and down the hall to the kitchen, where he chugged three glasses of water and swallowed two of Gwen's FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY stomach acid pills from work. He didn't even have time to think that, hey, maybe he should've read the directions on the bottle, before he took one step back towards the bedroom and collapsed on the kitchen floor. He was asleep before he kissed the linoleum.
The rugby pitch stretched as far as the eye could see. Which wasn't very far, as he was in his own idea of Fiji, and in Fiji According to Rhys Williams, the land curved, like little globby bits of green perched on a cartoon blue globe, and one good spin would send the land mass sliding right off the sphere.
"Representing the Imperial forces of Darth Vader," a bull horn sounded beside him, and Rhys started, just then registering the presence of the little alien next to him, "live from Cardiff by the Bay, the Indomitable Gwen Cooper!"
The crowd, also newly arrived, went wild, cheering and whistling and stamping their feet. Rhys swelled with pride as Gwen ran out onto the field. As 18 cartoon Gwens ran out onto the field. She was drawn anime-style and her eyes took up three-quarters of her face.
"And representing the Loch Ness Monster," the alien yelled next, "please welcome King Ianto of Jack Hall!"
The Ianto team was animation as drawn by Picasso. Rhys could feel his stomach start to surge again as 18 Iantos stumbled and flopped two-dimensionally out onto the pitch. A random Gwen punched a Ianto in the stomach area and he folded in on himself, exposing tan canvas for his back. A different Ianto chased a small Gwen round the field, taunts falling from lips located in his forehead.
Rhys turned to the alien. "They're usually so very well-behaved," he said and clucked his tongue. The clucking sounded funny, so he did it a few more times. The alien turned its back on him and raised its bull horn yet again.
"Please put your hands together and wave your flippers in the air for Rhys Williams, Esquire, Head Referee for this field only!"
Rhys beamed. A rugby ref, him? It was a dream come true. In fact, if they were selling ice cream and crisps sandwiches in the stands, then he'd have to hazard a guess that this actually WAS a dream. He craned his neck to check, but the match started then, and he got a bit distracted.
All Gwens and Iantos decided they should play at the same time, and six of them wanted to be Hookers. Two Picasso Iantos even wore hotpants. No one wanted to be a Lock, and the moment the Gwens scored a successful try, three Iantos produced extra balls and bombarded the Gwen goal posts. Pandemonium erupted. As did yodeling.
Rhys stood, slack-jawed, in the midst of it, until his referee's whistle burned a hole in his pocket. He held it to his lips and an ear-splitting shriek rent the air of the stadium. The anime Gwens froze, eyes wide, and the Picasso Iantos plastered themselves to flat surfaces. The crowd stilled.
And then a giant ball of falafel walked into the stadium.
Rhys woke with a start, his face slipping in a pile of his own drool. His stomach felt surprisingly calm, though his heart was pounding. He glanced wildly around the kitchen, eyes lighting on Gwen and Ianto crouched just a few paces away, heads together over the bottle of pills. Ianto rocked back a bit on his heels, amusement tempering the slight relief on his face, but Gwen - oh, shit.
"Before you say anything, love," Rhys mumbled, "it really was an emergency."
And amand_r requested Ianto kid!fic. She got my first ever attempt at second-person.
My Heaven
You'd think it'd be a sad sort of place, but it isn't, not really. That's thanks to the Bloke in charge, an Adult, tall and dressed all posh in a waistcoat and tie. Sometimes he changes clothes to play rugby with you kids, but sometimes he does that in his posh clothes, too. It doesn't really matter what you wear, here.
The food's good, too, all your favorites: fish 'n chips like you used to get at Daffyd's, ice creams in every flavor imaginable and some you'd swear you hadn't, oodles of crisps, and candies that look like they sprung straight out of Honeyduke's. They probably had.
There are lots of other kids to play with, but you don't see anyone you know, though that's actually a good thing. You cross your fingers every day that you won't meet a familiar face while playing in the Woods or running along the Beach or swinging hand-to-hand along the monkey bars in the Park. Thus far, the time-honored tradition of the crossed fingers has worked.
It also works to get Her to come. She's lovely, that one, all dark skin and hair and eyes, and this laugh she has! The Bloke dances Her around the Garden, and bows over Her hand, and then tells Her jokes that are actually quite raunchy. He winks at you, like you're in on the joke, and your chest puffs a bit. Yeah, the Bloke thinks you're cool. She ruffles your hair when you cheekily ask for the next dance, but She gives it, and kisses your cheek when the music stops.
Sometimes you go for walks with the Bloke, just the two of you. Those times are the best. He's kind of familiar, from Before, but you don't really remember. It's okay, though, because you don't remember a whole lot. There's Mum, of course, and video games and school. Sometimes you talk about those things. And sometimes you make Things.
There's a spot, the Imagination Spot, and you and the Bloke lie on your backs and make Things out of the clouds. You can make anything; it's very cool. Pirate ships and sea turtles and Robin Hood and racing cars and dinosaurs. One time you both made a long, swishy coat, and stopped, staring at it for a moment. You had it then, why the Bloke is familiar. He smells like your family.
The sun shines every day here, even on the days the rain comes pouring down. Then all of you kids go running out of the House and play in the puddles, jumping and splashing and shrieking with laughter. Rainbows catch in your hair and dance among your fingers. The Bloke gets a running start and then slides on his arse across half the Garden. You tackle him, breathless with laughter, and he laughs with you, his chest rumbling beneath your small hand.
It's not a sad place at all.