Torchwood genfic: Wounds Old and New

[melinafandom]

Title: Wounds Old and New
Characters: Jack, Gwen
Rating/Warning: PG-13; post-Countrycide and general series spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine, BBC's, etc.
Word Count: ~6200
Summary: It should have been a simple search and recovery mission.
Author's Notes: I'm not completely sure where this came from. I wanted to write a story where Jack revealed something about his past, and trying to justify that took more than I'd thought.

As always, thanks to elynross for the beta.



Setting down a stack of paperwork, Gwen sat back in her chair and stretched. She'd spent a quiet morning reviewing police incident reports, checking for anything of interest to Torchwood. Nothing even came close, and the reports were dull enough to numb the brain.

Restless, she wandered over to Tosh's station, where the others had gathered. Tosh had been tracking an alien signal headed toward the forest north of Port Talbot, and a little while ago, the signal had terminated rather abruptly. Jack and Tosh were going over the telemetry, which revealed it was a small, unmanned probe of undetermined origin.

"Won't do to have the locals find it." Jack considered. "Maybe it's carrying some new toys. Let's go, Gwen."

Ten minutes later the two of them were in the SUV, headed out of the city. Gwen wasn't sure why Jack had brought her instead of Tosh, who was really more suited for this sort of thing, but truth be told, she was perfectly happy to be away from the hub -- and Owen -- for a few hours. His body was recovering from the Weevil cage, but he was still moody and generally unpleasant, especially towards her, so it was good to be out.

As they drove, Gwen listened to Jack's typically farfetched and outrageous stories and laughed in all the right spots. He quieted after a while, humming along with the radio instead. Perhaps he sensed that her mind wasn't completely there, or maybe he just needed to concentrate; the weather was cold, usual for early January, but it was also uncharacteristically foggy.

She let her mind drift as she looked out the window. It was amazing how quickly things could turn. What had been an almost all-consuming need to be in Owen's bed at every chance had changed utterly, and at the moment she could only just tolerate being around him. She'd been so desperate to connect with someone who understood her life that she'd not only risked everything she had with Rhys, but she'd chosen an intolerable, sarcastic git to do it with, too.

Poor Rhys -- he deserved better. Her life had changed while his stayed the same, and it was harder and harder to be the good girlfriend, the one who listened to him prattle on about transport routes and office drama when she'd spent her day doing things she could never, ever share. It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't escape the thought that Rhys's world was just...mundane compared to the world in which she existed at Torchwood.

She glanced over at Jack, who was still humming -- in a somewhat endearing, out of tune sort of way -- with the radio. She smiled, and he glanced over at her, grinning himself. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." Someday, if this job didn't drive her mad first, she might begin to understand Jack. He was unlike any man she'd ever met, and not just in the obvious "I can't die" sort of way. It had taken her months for her jaw to stop dropping at his frank, ever-present sexuality, and she wasn't sure she'd ever be really used to it.

She still couldn't think back to that first shooting lesson without blushing, but she knew now that he hadn't had any real designs on her. All the little touches, the total disregard for personal space, which from anyone else might have been intolerable -- they were just part of him. Jack, more than anyone, wanted her to keep her home life afloat. She felt a vague sense of disappointment from him since he'd realized what was going on between her and Owen, but he hadn't said anything about it.

She looked down at the map, and her watch. They'd been driving for almost three hours, far longer than it should have taken, but it wasn't surprising, given the weather. "It should only be a few miles to the turnoff, then Tosh says we should park and follow the GPS."

Jack nodded, and they drove on, almost missing the turnoff in the fog. He found a place on the side of the road and parked the SUV, and Gwen picked up the GPS. It was good to stretch her legs, but it was quite cold, and Gwen was glad she was wearing both a warm jumper and a winter jacket.

Jack consulted the GPS, then pointed toward the tree line. "GPS says it's a bit over a mile, that way." They sorted the portable gear into their knapsacks; Gwen took the x-ray case while Jack grabbed the carrier with the antigrav unit they planned to use to move the probe back to the SUV.

Jack took the lead with the GPS as they moved through the trees. To Gwen's relief, the exercise quickly helped to warm her. Fortunately, they found the probe easily -- there was no mistaking it for anything else. It was about three meters long and half that high, silver grey in color. Gwen thought it resembled two miniature pyramids lying on their sides, joined at the base, not the first shape that came to mind when you thought of a flying saucer.

"Well, look at you," Jack said, kneeling next to the probe. He activated his wrist computer and took a few quick scans. "It's inactive; not transmitting or receiving, no propulsion or EM activity. No contact until we get more readings, though."

Gwen nodded. She had no particular desire to touch the thing, anyway. As Jack took more detailed readings, Gwen knelt and opened the bag with the portable x-ray machine. They'd decided to shoot the x-rays in the field, in case moving the probe disturbed anything inside. Later, they'd compare them with ones taken back at the hub.

Tosh had given her detailed instructions about using the device, which was built with alien tech. The basic principle was the same as a human x-ray, but the alien tech made it smaller. It was about the size of an older video camera, but instead of holding the narrower side toward the target, it was the machine's longer side that held the lens. She set it down in front of one end of the probe, about a half-meter away. She would need to get about a half-dozen shots to cover the entire probe.

As she worked, she listened to Jack muttering to himself. "Hrm... interesting. Wonder if it transmitted in the ultraharmonic range..."

She finished setting up the device, and moved just behind it and off to the side. The modified x-ray beams were "narrowly directional," Tosh had said, so as long as neither of them were in front of the camera, they wouldn't be exposed to the low-dose radiation. She called out, "Jack, I'm ready to shoot."

He looked up, a distracted expression on his face, then nodded, moving behind her. "Shooting," she said, and activated the remote. The indicator turned red, and after a few seconds, green. "Complete," she said, and Jack resumed his scans. She approached the probe to move the x-ray machine, and she heard a low drone.

Jack had moved away to retrieve something from his knapsack, and she turned toward him. "Jack, do you hear-- Oww, what the hell?" She looked down to see a long silver prong protruding from her right leg, just above her knee. She slid onto her bum, slightly stunned.

"Gwen!" Jack was at her side in a moment. "What happened?" he asked, kneeling beside her.

"That thing -- I think it shot me!" They both looked over at the probe, which now had a small open port in its side. Gwen could have sworn nothing had been there a moment ago.

Jack quickly lifted her in his arms and moved about ten meters from the probe before gently setting her down on the ground. "Don't move," he said. "I don't know what that is, if it was just a projectile, or -- something else."

Gwen could feel a sensation of heat around the puncture wound, slowly spreading. "I think it might be something more," she said, fear beginning to coil itself around her insides. "Get it out, Jack, please!" The tip of the projectile was digging into her thigh, and it hurt like a son of a bitch. She could feel her vision narrowing as shock started to set in.

Jack hesitated for a moment -- Gwen knew he was worried that he might do more damage, but the pain was almost blinding. "Jack, do it!"

With a worried glance, Jack put one hand on her thigh, firmly holding it in place. With the other, he grasped the probe and swiftly yanked it straight out.

"Fuck!" she yelled as he extracted the thing, pain lancing through her entire body.

Jack straddled her hips, grasping her arms, trying to keep her still against the overwhelming pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's out now," he said, "just breathe. Nice and slow."

After a minute or so, the sharpest of the pain subsided, and her muscles began to relax. He moved to the ground beside her. "Sorry," he repeated, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

He picked up the projectile and ran the bioscanner over it, then over her leg. His eyes met hers. "I think it was poisoned, Gwen, but we can treat this, okay? It's important that you stay calm. An increased heart rate and an overload of adrenaline might make the poison spread faster."

She looked back at the probe. "It was inactive when you scanned. So what activated it?"

Jack shook his head. "No idea. I don't know. It could have been the radiation from the x-ray, or something else." He clicked his earpiece.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to do as Jack said. The pain had eased somewhat. She opened her eyes and saw that Jack had moved a few meters away, back toward the probe. He was talking quietly on his commset while he punched buttons on the bioscanner. She reached up and clicked her own headset, listening.

She heard Owen's voice. "...analysis says it's a slow-onset neurotoxin, Jack. Chemically, it's not that different from some homegrown varieties, and we have an antidote that should work." She could hear him moving as he spoke. "We'll leave within the next five minutes, but we'll be cutting it close on the time."

Gwen sucked in a breath. Slow-onset neurotoxin, what did that mean, exactly?

"Call UNIT," Jack was saying. "Tell them we need a chopper, have them meet--"

Ianto interrupted him. "The fog's been moving in all day, Jack, I don't think a helicopter can operate."

Jack swore softly. "Get moving, then. Call DI Swanson once you're on the road, tell her you need a police escort. She'll help. It should cut down the time."

"Will do."

"Owen," Jack continued, glancing back at her. "What should I do for her?"

"Clean and stitch the wound, keep her warm and hydrated, check vitals every twenty minutes. She needs to keep as still as possible to slow the spread of the toxin, so don't move her back to the SUV."

"What about something to slow down her metabolism?"

There was a long pause over the comm. "Under the circumstances," Owen said, "I'd rather not risk it. Just keep her still."

"I'll check back with you."

Jack clicked off and crouched beside her on the ground, his eyes flickering up toward her own earpiece. "Heard all that, did you?" he asked mildly.

"Yeah," she said. "What, exactly, is a slow-onset neurotoxin?"

"It's a poison that works on the nervous system." Jack frowned, then met her gaze steadily. "I'm not going to lie to you. This poison is life-threatening if we don't administer an antidote. But Owen and Ianto are already on their way, and they'll be here in a couple of hours. It's plenty of time. It'll be okay." He gave her one of his blinding smiles, and Gwen couldn't help but believe him, even as her better judgment wondered if she really should.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"It's -- not too bad, really," she said. "It doesn't seem to be bleeding much." There was only a bit of blood on her jeans around the wound, so at least it hadn't hit an artery or anything.

"I don't have our emergency kit here," he said, his voice apologetic. "I need to leave you for a few minutes to go to the SUV, but when I get back we'll get this cleaned up, okay?"

She nodded. The thought of being left alone was vaguely terrifying, far more than it should have been, but there was nothing for it.

Jack unbuttoned his holster and handed her his old revolver. She hadn't checked out a weapon; there hadn't seemed to be any reason to on a simple search and retrieval operation for an inanimate object. He handed it to her. "I don't think there's anything in these woods more predatory than a rabbit," he said, "but just in case."

She nodded, but he seemed reluctant to go. "I'll be all right, Jack. Please, go."

He tried to smile, but it didn't quite take. "If you need me, call. I'll be back as fast as I can."

"I know."

He turned and left, moving at a speed that was just short of running. Gwen sucked in a deep breath, forcing herself to stillness, trying not to worry, trying not to think about her leg, which felt like it was growing warmer by the second. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about what might happen, what could happen. She had faith in Jack and her colleagues, and knew that they'd do everything possible to help her. Even bloody Owen, for all his many faults, would do everything he could. He might be a prat, but he was a good doctor, too.

She kept her eyes closed, trying to rest and keep calm. The time passed more quickly than she'd expected -- or Jack had set a new record for the two plus miles round-trip, because when she opened them again, it was to the sound of his return.

"Hey, there," he said, dropping the medkit and a second satchel to the ground beside her. "How are you doing?" He was still moving around, gathering up some twigs and deadfall, from what Gwen could see.

"Okay," she said. "That was fast... What are you doing?"

"Just getting some wood," he called back. "I think we're going to want a fire."

When he had a small armful, he returned to her side, somewhat breathless and a bit flushed. After setting down what he'd gathered, he considered a moment, then started pulling things out of the second bag, retrieving what looked like an old army blanket roll. He unrolled it, leaving it folded in half, then spread it out down next to her. "Let's move you onto that, get you off the cold ground," he said. "Nice and easy, put your arms around my neck."

She complied, and without jostling her around too much, they moved her on top of the folded blanket. It was much more pleasant than the ground. "Thanks," she said, and he nodded as he moved about, using one of the branches to clear a small area. Jack knelt, reaching for matches and striking one to light the bit of brush he was using for tinder.

"Not rubbing two sticks together?" she asked.

He grinned. "I could if I had to, you know!"

She chuckled, watching as he got a small fire going. He pulled a small pot and grate from the bag, pouring water from a bottle into the pot before setting it on the fire.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"Tea," he said. "I want to get something warm into you. We have teabags in the ration kits. Anyway, Ianto's not here to make coffee, so it'll have to do." She smiled at the image of Ianto walking through the forest in his suit with a coffee tray.

Leaving the water to heat, Jack reached for the medkit, moving swiftly and calmly, very sure of himself as he shook off his coat and cleaned his hands with antiseptic. He picked up a pair of surgical scissors and examined the area around the hole in her jeans. "I'm just going to cut around this, I think."

Gwen nodded, glad she didn't have to take off her jeans in bloody freezing January out in the middle of nowhere -- in front of Jack! Absurdly, she wondered what knickers she'd put on that morning and whether they were starting to fray around the edges.

Jack, though, was all business as he quickly cut a hole in her jeans around the wound. As he carefully pulled back the fabric, he blanched before he could hide it, and Gwen's heart leapt. "What?" she asked, leaning forward to look, and she gasped at the sight of it. The wound looked far worse than it felt, with bright red lines fanning out under the skin. The puncture itself was larger than she'd thought, too.

"Oh, Christ," she muttered.

Jack recovered his composure and eased her back down onto the blanket. "It looks worse than it is," he said, his voice firm as he looked into her eyes. "It's going to be all right."

She nodded, and he donned a pair of latex gloves as he turned back to his task. He gently dabbed around the wound with an antiseptic pad -- fuck, that burned -- before picking up a preloaded syringe. "Local anesthetic," he said. "Just a tiny pinch. Okay?"

She reached for him, holding his arm as she nodded. It was far worse than a tiny pinch; it burned like white-hot fire, but she managed to stay still and only whimper for a moment. "Okay," he said, grasping her hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "We'll give that a minute to work. You hanging in there?"

She nodded, and he leaned over to give her a kiss on the forehead. The smile the sweet gesture provoked disappeared when it occurred to her that he was trying to determine, without letting her know, whether she was feverish.

"Fever?" she asked drily.

He had the good grace to look somewhat abashed, at least. "Just a bit, I think, but I'll check with the scanner later," he said. "Can't put anything past you, can I?"

"Jack, I'll cope with this much better if I don't feel you're holding back the truth from me," she said.

"Fair enough." He nodded toward her leg. "I think that's had time to work."

Her eyes widened a bit, but she said, "Okay, then."

He unwrapped another antiseptic packet, touching the pad gently to the wound. She could barely feel it. "Okay?" he asked, and she nodded. He cleaned it thoroughly, with none of the tentativeness one might expect of someone who didn't do this sort of thing all that often. He set the cloth aside and tore open a suture kit, threading the needle with practiced hands.

"You know your way around a medkit," she ventured.

"I was a medic, once," he replied without pausing, but his tone did not invite further inquiry. The needle ready, he glanced up at her. "Easy, now. Try to stay still."

She didn't need to see this, and closed her eyes as she lay back. She felt the pressure of the needle against her skin, but not much pain. It wasn't long before she heard Jack's voice. "Gwen? All done."

She opened her eyes as he was applying a light dressing, and he smiled. "It's not going to win me any seamstress awards, but it shouldn't scar," he said. "Still okay?" he asked, stripping off the gloves.

"Just a bit lightheaded, maybe," she said. He nodded, picking up the scanner.

"Low-grade fever, blood pressure's a trifle low," he said, frowning. He checked her pulse with his fingers against her wrist, his touch warm and sure. "Heartbeat's strong," he said with a smile, doing his best to reassure her. He took his discarded coat and shook it off, then covered her with it like a blanket. It was heavier than she'd expected, and comforting.

She returned his smile, though it didn't feel very convincing. "Aren't you cold?" she asked. "It's freezing out here."

Jack shook his head. "Still warm from the run, and the fire's warm."

Gwen was about to say he should keep his coat anyway, but she was grateful for it. She was cold, and lethargy was creeping over her; it wasn't disabling, but it made her feel weak and shaky, like she had the flu.

Jack tossed a few small branches onto the fire, then reached for the satchel, pulling out a tin cup and an emergency ration kit. Ripping open the ration kit, he tossed aside the protein bar and pulled out a teabag.

His expression was shadowed, and she could sense it was more than concern for her. "This isn't your fault, you know," she said. "You couldn't have known."

"My command," he answered, not meeting her eyes. "My people. My responsibility."

She frowned at his tone, but could think of nothing else to say. No wonder he forgave them so readily for their mistakes -- he seemed to take them upon himself. She watched him tip some of the hot water into the tin cup, dipping the teabag. He set it down before standing and tapping on his commset.

She half-listened as he gave Owen a brief update on her condition. "What's your ETA?" Jack asked.

"We're probably still an hour or so out, due to the weather," Owen said. "We've got the police escort, though. Swanson was happy to do it, says she hopes Gwen's okay."

"Right. Call me when you get close." Clicking off, he turned back to her and reached for the tea.

"Hmm," she said, curious, but trying to lighten his mood. "Detective Swanson was happy to help, was she?"

He grinned. "She a good person."

"I'll bet." She watched as he stirred the tea a bit. "You're not going to tell me anything else, are you?"

Unrepentant, Jack was still grinning. "Nope."

"Hrmph."

Jack chuckled as he moved behind her, sitting at the edge of the blanket. "We're going to sit you up just a bit," he said, easing her up to lean against his leg. Her hands were shaky, so he helped guide the cup to her lips.

The tea was wretched, but it was hot, and that was good. She drank a bit more and tried not to cough, but she started feeling dizzy. Surprisingly, despite the hot tea, she suddenly felt very cold. She told Jack, and he eased her head back down to the blanket.

"Try to stay calm," he said, checking her vital signs once more. "Focus on your breathing...nice and slow."

She tried, but she was growing colder by the second, even with the wool coat tucked around her. She suppressed a shiver. "Cold..."

"I know, I'm sorry--" Jack looked at her a moment, then lifted the coat. He lay down beside her, covering them both with the coat before turning on his side. Gently, Jack pressed against her body, sharing his warmth. It began to help almost immediately.

"Better?" He propped his head on his arm, looking down at her. She nodded. "Just hang in there. I wish I could do more."

"You've done everything you could," she said. Hoping to distract them both, she added, "Tell -- tell me a story."

"That's easy, I have lots of stories," he said, grinning. "There was this one time on an Arcturian space station--"

The words slipped out before she could think about them too much. "Tell me a story about -- you, Jack. Not -- not escapades. You." His grin faded. "Pl -- please." Her voice sounded mushy, and she felt as if her brain was not quite connecting with her mouth.

His mouth narrowed, and he looked away before answering. When he spoke, his voice was tight. "What do you want to know?"

Gwen sucked in a breath -- oh, God, she really must be dying. She swallowed her fear as best she could, but in for a penny... "Where are you from? Where did you grow up?"

He lifted a lock of hair from her eyes, smoothing it away before settling his arm around her. He took a breath before speaking, his voice softening once again. "I was born on a moon in a solar system about sixty light years from here." He looked up, pointing toward the southern sky before settling his arm around her again. "It's that way."

"What was it called?"

"You'd have a hard time pronouncing it, and there's not really an adequate English translation."

She thought about that for a moment, but said nothing, waiting to see what he would say next.

"My ancestors were terraformers. Do you know what that is?"

Gwen pushed aside the thought of whether she believed any of this, whether it was even possible. "Sort of? Like, turning a rock in space into someplace people can live?"

He nodded. "That's the basic idea. Though it has to be somewhat larger than a rock, and it has to have some sort of atmosphere. A group of terraformers came to the moon about ninety years before I was born. They wanted to use the science and technology their society had developed to create a place where they could live a simpler life. Ironic, isn't it?"

She nodded, encouraging him to go on. "Anyway. They were wildly successful, and by the time my mother's generation was growing up, they'd achieved their goal. They had a beautiful, prosperous agricultural settlement that could more than sustain itself. It exported most of what it grew, because produce grown in the outdoors, in open fields and air, was very popular, and also very rare."

"Is that--" she swallowed, her mouth dry. "Is that where you were born?"

He reached for the tea. "Here-" He lifted her head just slightly. "Drink. Slowly." It was a little cooler, and still tasted wretched. "Yeah, that's where I was born. But it wasn't like being from a family farm in England or Wales."

He eased her back down, settling against her once more. "We didn't live as separate families. Our whole settlement was a big family, and the other settlements nearby were a giant extended family."

She thought, trying to conceptualize. "Like... Like the hippies in America in the '60s?"

He chuckled. "Sort of. My people had pretty much the same attitude when it came to love and sex, but it was more like an Israeli kibbutz, really, when it came to work ethic. We took it very seriously; it was our legacy."

She tried to picture Jack as a child, working on a farm. "I can't quite picture you... weeding, or harvesting, or whatever it is they do on a farm."

He grinned. "It's not what you think. The terraformers believed in a life closer to nature, away from the cities with their steel and concrete and artificial air, but they didn't shun technology -- far from it. Most of the heavy farm work was done by 'bots and machinery." His eyes took on a distant look. "Though my mother... She had a small garden behind our house that she took care of herself, and she wouldn't let a 'bot anywhere near it. I remember helping her weed and plant practically before I could walk. She grew herbs, too, and the smells were just amazing."

"What was she like?" Gwen asked softly.

"Beautiful," Jack smiled down at her, his face more open than she could ever remember. The haunted expression in his eyes receded, and he looked much younger. "Generous, compassionate, kind. Everyone loved her. She was clever, too -- she loved books, and she could learn a new language at the drop of a hat."

"And your father?" she prompted gently.

"A good man. He loved the land. My parents didn't marry -- most people didn't. He didn't live with us, but he was part of my life. My mother's family lived together, so my aunts and some of my uncles were there, and so were my grandparents and great-grandparents on her side."

"Great-grandparents? When you were very young?"

He smiled down at her, his expression sweet and nostalgic. He shook his head. "All of my great-grandparents were alive. The average lifespan was a hundred and twenty or so."

She closed her eyes, trying to take it all in. "A hundred twenty? Were they very frail?"

Shaking his head, he said, "Not at all. A person wasn't considered old until well after their hundredth birthday. Being seventy there was like being forty here." He grinned at her reaction. "Anyway, lots of the family lived together, and sometimes my mother's lovers would live with us for awhile, for a few months or a few years. The same for my aunts and uncles."

"You knew your mother's lovers?"

He grinned. "Of course -- men and women. The men were my brothers and sisters' fathers, after all. Nobody ever really left your life there."

She frowned, wondering how it all could possibly work. "Didn't anyone ever get angry, or jealous?"

Jack laughed. "Well, sure. But it's amazing how people conduct themselves differently when they know they're still going to have to live with everyone involved."

That actually made perfect sense. "It sounds like a lovely place to grow up."

"It was," he said, a bit of longing in his voice. "Beautiful land. Family and friends and school and play. Lots of love, lots to learn. Planting season, harvest time. Festivals. Learning about girls and boys." His smile faded. "But it didn't last."

"What happened?"

"Our system was invaded, and just like that, we were at war."

"Who--"

His voice became icy cold. "You don't want to know. Trust me."

She was taken aback by the steel in his voice. "Was your moon invaded?" she asked tentatively.

He shook his head. "Not then. But I was seventeen and patriotic, and ready for adventure. I decided to join the military, and talked my best friend into going with me. Everyone tried to talk us out of it, but we were determined." He took a deep breath. "He died. And the war went very badly for a long time."

She felt a chill creep down her spine, but didn't think it had anything to do with the poison. Jack's eyes were dark, shadowed, and she started to regret leading him down this path. "Jack..."

"Our moon was eventually invaded. By the time I came home, the settlements were gone. All of them. Nothing was left." His voice was calm, emotionless.

"And the people?"

"We couldn't tell. The settlements had been razed until they were dust -- nothing was left, but it was impossible to know whether the people had been taken first. Our enemy had captured civilians before, taken them as slaves, but we didn't know, and never found out."

She could think of nothing to say. After a long moment, he continued, "Eventually, allies joined the war on our side and we drove out the invasion, but there was never a truce, never a peace. It took seven years, and more than a billion people died or disappeared."

"God, Jack, I am so sorry." The idea of never finding out what had happened to your loved ones -- it was worse than knowing they were all dead. The thought that they might be out there, somewhere... It must eat away at his heart. A tear slipped down her face. "Jack, I shouldn't have..."

He smiled down at her again. "It's okay, Gwen." He smoothed the tear from her cheek, his voice soft. "It was a very long time ago."

He wrapped himself around her again, sharing his warmth. She wanted to speak, but her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and she felt the edges of her vision starting to narrow. "Jack! Jaaaack--" she grated out, trying to keep panic out of her voice.

He was bent over her in an instant. "Gwen! Gwen, stay with me..."

She tried to focus on his face, his voice, to take slow breaths, but nothing helped. "Jack-- I can't--"

She tried to hang on, but Gwen felt herself begin to drift away. Just before the darkness took her, she felt Jack's lips...

~~~~~

"Gwen?" she heard a voice say. It was distant, as if she were hearing it through a long, echoing tunnel. "Gwen? Can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes, then closed them at once against the bright light. "Here-- Wait--" she heard someone say. Muttered words, clicks. "Try again, Gwen. Open your eyes." She blinked. The room was dimmer this time, and as her vision came into focus, she saw Owen hovering above her. Jack was sitting on the other side of the bed, holding her hand.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her dry throat objected so strenuously that she abandoned the effort. "Here." Jack held a cup and guided a straw to her lips.

"Slowly," Owen said.

She drank a bit, water that felt cool and smooth in her mouth, and her head started to clear. From the mix of Victorian decor and modern equipment, she could tell they were in the Torchwood medical bay.

She was dressed in a hospital gown, and an IV was flowing into the back of her hand. She looked at Owen.

"It's just fluids," he said. "It'll help flush the poison."

She nodded slowly. "What -- what happened?" She tried to remember. "I fainted..."

"Owen and Ianto arrived not long after you passed out," Jack said. "Owen gave you the antidote, but he couldn't bring you around. That was about--" he glanced at the clock, "--fourteen hours ago. You gave us quite a scare."

"Sorry," she said reflexively. Dear God, fourteen hours? "Rhys--"

"Tosh rang him," Owen said. "Told him you were working undercover for the next day or so, and you'd call when you could."

Gwen nodded, relieved, as Owen worked his way around the bed, poking and prodding at her. "Blood pressure normal, heart beat regular and strong, fever's down, lungs are clear, pupils reactive." He told her to wiggle her fingers and toes, and to her great relief, she could. Owen looked at Jack. "I'll want to watch her for the next twenty-four hours or so, but I think she'll be fine."

"Why don't you get a nap," Jack said to Owen. "I'll stay and watch, wake you if anything happens."

Owen raised his eyebrows, then nodded, taking Jack aside for a word. Gwen thought Owen looked exhausted -- he must have been up all night looking after her.

Jack pulled up his chair again as Owen left the room. "I'm glad you're gonna be okay." He looked weary himself.

"Me, too," she said. "Thanks for looking after me."

He smiled. "All in a day's work. Though hopefully not every day," he added wryly.

"I remember... just as I was falling unconscious, I remember--"

"Wasn't taking advantage, I swear. Just trying to give you enough of a boost to hang in there a bit longer."

"How does that work?" she asked tentatively. She'd heard CPR called the kiss of life, but that really wasn't quite the same thing, was it?

He leaned toward her ear, as if to confide a secret. "I have absolutely no idea. I'm just glad it worked."

She smiled, and would have laughed if she'd had the energy. It had worked, and that was what mattered.

Jack chuckled and leaned over to brush the hair away from her eyes. She remembered him doing that in the woods, when she was cold and scared, and then the memory of what he'd told her came rushing back. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Jack, sad for him, for what he'd lost, and that he seemed unable to grieve himself.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," she said, trying to shake off the sadness. "I remember what you told me. About your home."

"Thought you might," he said, taking a clean handkerchief from his pocket, brushing away her tears. "It's okay, Gwen. Like I said, it was a long time ago."

She had so many other questions running through her mind -- what had happened to him afterward, how long ago was it, and how had he ended up here? She forced them away. Jack had given her this, this bit of himself, and she knew that was harder for him than anything else she might have asked of him. He had trusted her, and it was enough.

In the end, she said nothing, nodding at him as their eyes met.

"Get some rest." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. "I'll be here until Owen gets back."

He would, she knew. She lay back and closed her eyes, her hand still clasped firmly in Jack's as she drifted to sleep.

~ end ~