two Torchwood ficlets. Tosh and Ianto, angst
disclaimer: not mine
spoilers for Greeks Bearing Gifts
character/pairing: Tosh, Tosh/Mary
genre: angst
rating: pg13
length: 200 words
In her dreams, Tosh remembers Mary. Colored by what ended it (knife at her throat, digging in; terror chilling her veins), she still can't help the memories. What it was like to anticipate Mary in bed, her thoughts getting ahead of her mouth and hands. Words clear in her mind until the pleasure bit too deep--then it was merely feelings, emotions.
The smell of cigarettes haunts her, pulling her from her thoughts at the oddest times. Sometimes, she digs in the back of the cupboard, unearthing the egg cup she's never thrown out.
Sometimes, she goes back to the pub, drinks a JD and Coke in her honor, admires the other patrons with half an eye.
There's no point in picking any of them up, though one or two try, and her temper gets frayed by the same man that gave Mary her excuse, once upon a time. It feels good to break his nose (calculated applied angles and thrust), and she laughs when they bar her.
She should stop. She should get rid of it just as she smashed the pendant--
Mary showed her something about herself, and as much as it hurts, she refuses to lose it.
spoilers through about mid-series two
character, pairings: Ianto, Ianto/Jack, Ianto/Lisa
genre: angst
rating: pg
length: 200 words
The stench of blood doesn't go away. Torchwood inures him to it until it smells routine. Until Lisa. Then it's under his nails, under his skin and he can't scrub enough to get rid of it.
Ianto wakes from nightmares, his pulse too-fast and his breath catching. He chokes it down, moving carefully until he's out from under the sheet, leaving Jack dead to the world, head in his pillow. Waking alone was worse--those first few months after Lisa... He'd wake and sit on the floor, wrapped in a blanket until it was late enough that he'd merely be early in.
The weird thing was that Jack snuck in when he wasn't looking--like the blood that was still caked under his nails two days after Lisa. It was light and it was easy, even with that strange edge where they both knew it couldn't go anywhere.
It made it easier to leave Jack for the cold of his couch. Lisa would have laughed at him, if she were there, teased him for being maudlin until they were both laughing.
He doesn't laugh now. Not while he can still taste the blood at the back of his throat.
spoilers for Greeks Bearing Gifts
character/pairing: Tosh, Tosh/Mary
genre: angst
rating: pg13
length: 200 words
In her dreams, Tosh remembers Mary. Colored by what ended it (knife at her throat, digging in; terror chilling her veins), she still can't help the memories. What it was like to anticipate Mary in bed, her thoughts getting ahead of her mouth and hands. Words clear in her mind until the pleasure bit too deep--then it was merely feelings, emotions.
The smell of cigarettes haunts her, pulling her from her thoughts at the oddest times. Sometimes, she digs in the back of the cupboard, unearthing the egg cup she's never thrown out.
Sometimes, she goes back to the pub, drinks a JD and Coke in her honor, admires the other patrons with half an eye.
There's no point in picking any of them up, though one or two try, and her temper gets frayed by the same man that gave Mary her excuse, once upon a time. It feels good to break his nose (calculated applied angles and thrust), and she laughs when they bar her.
She should stop. She should get rid of it just as she smashed the pendant--
Mary showed her something about herself, and as much as it hurts, she refuses to lose it.
spoilers through about mid-series two
character, pairings: Ianto, Ianto/Jack, Ianto/Lisa
genre: angst
rating: pg
length: 200 words
The stench of blood doesn't go away. Torchwood inures him to it until it smells routine. Until Lisa. Then it's under his nails, under his skin and he can't scrub enough to get rid of it.
Ianto wakes from nightmares, his pulse too-fast and his breath catching. He chokes it down, moving carefully until he's out from under the sheet, leaving Jack dead to the world, head in his pillow. Waking alone was worse--those first few months after Lisa... He'd wake and sit on the floor, wrapped in a blanket until it was late enough that he'd merely be early in.
The weird thing was that Jack snuck in when he wasn't looking--like the blood that was still caked under his nails two days after Lisa. It was light and it was easy, even with that strange edge where they both knew it couldn't go anywhere.
It made it easier to leave Jack for the cold of his couch. Lisa would have laughed at him, if she were there, teased him for being maudlin until they were both laughing.
He doesn't laugh now. Not while he can still taste the blood at the back of his throat.