Prologue...?
I am having the worst trouble submitting this.
This was written in a fit of "I can't finish any of my fanfics arrrrrgh", which for some reason had the logical conclusion of "I should start a new one!" ..."At three in the morning!" So have an angsty Torchwood AU that might lead to a much longer fanfic someday (which will not be as angsty).
Title: Choices (Prologue?)
Characters: Gwen, Owen, Suzie, others.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Depressing AU, three-person relationship, references and cameos from Doctor Who (particularly series 5 finale).
Summary: A long time ago, they made their choices, and the world changed. Now they'll do anything to change it back.
"Come take a break, Gwen."
Gwen didn't look up from her work. She recognized the soft footfalls of her companion, complimented by the soft tink tink tink of metal fingers. She just tightened her own grip on her wrench and kept building.
"Gwen," she said again, "You're running yourself ragged. It's time travel. We can take as long as we need, and we'll still end up at the same point in the past."
"If we aren't all killed before then," Gwen said. She paused to wipe her forehead on her sleeve, but went right back to her adjustments. "We don't have any time to waste."
They both glanced up at the sky out of habit, but they were calm and quiet for once.
"Do I have to get Owen over here to be a doctor and make you stop before you collapse?"
Gwen scowled. "He has more important things to worry about."
"More important than his patient?"
"I'm not his patient."
"Yeah you are."
"I'm fine."
"He's keeping you alive."
"I'm keeping him alive."
Gwen yelped as she felt herself pulled up by the elbow. "Let go of me!"
"Come on Gwen, let's go get some sleep. It'll be dark soon, we can't risk keeping any light on."
Gwen snarled and knocked away the offending arms, a clang! echoing through the area at the impact, but she stopped as the warm metal hand settled on her forehead. Cool, soothing energy flowed into her, easing her aches, expanding her lungs, giving her life. She closed her eyes and sighed as the life force flowed back into her. She felt almost human again.
"All right," she said, reluctantly pushing aside the gauntlet with her own arm, causing a softer clang to ring out as they collided. "Fine. Let's go to bed."
They found Owen in the makeshift infirmary, as usual, tirelessly seeing to the constant flow of injured and sick. The small number of other doctors scurried around nearby, along with the nurses and volunteers, tending as best they could to the neverending line of sick and wounded.
"I'll be with you in a bit," he said distractedly. He didn't sleep, of course, but he still came to bed with them more often than not. Even the unliving (they'd long since dismissed the word 'undead') grew tired, mentally and emotionally, and all they really had left was each other. "Gotta see to a few more patients first."
"And don't forget to eat!" he called out after them. Gwen waved over her shoulder without looking back, and he frowned at the blood slowly soaking through her shirt, staining the shoulder and back. He'd have to look at that later, but she could handle it. Unlike the rest of the camp, it wasn't as if she was in danger of dying.
He sighed out of habit, though not much air traveled through his useless lungs these days. He wandered through the ward, barely glancing at the patients but keeping an eye out for any major changes or emergencies on his way out. He paused to nod at Martha, who was kneeling by the bed of a preteen girl as she changed the bandages on her chest and arm.
Owen slipped out the back and into the small private tent.
"Any change?" he whispered.
The tent's inhabitants glanced up at him but briefly; the nurse went right back to pressing ice chips between the patient's lips, the girls just looked away.
"Not much," Donna whispered back, not making eye contact. "Hasn't really woken up today. Just murmured. Nothing coherent."
"Has he recognized you at all?"
"Not today," the other woman murmured, pulling her plaid shirt closer around her. Owen wordlessly handed her a blanket, which she accepted without protest, for once.
"Keep warm tonight," he said, and walked over to the bed.
"Doctor?" he asked quietly, and put on hand on the man's arm.
The Doctor's eyes flickered open, unfocused. He glanced from one side to the other, confused.
"Rory?" he croaked.
The nurse immediately dropped to one knee to look the Doctor in the eye.
"Doctor?" Rory said.
"Rory," the Doctor said again, more firmly. "You have… you have to get me out of the Pandorica."
"You're not in - " Rory started to say, but stopped himself. "No, Doctor, that never happened, remember? You stopped it."
"Stopped it," he muttered, oblivious to Owen pulling open his shirt and listening to his hearts, even though the stethoscope, not warmed by any body heat, was like ice. "Right, stopped it. Old new blue. Borrowed."
"That's right, Doctor," Amy whispered, leaning forwards and grabbing his hand. His glazed eyes met hers briefly.
"Do you know where you are?" Rory asked.
The Doctor frowned. "Banished," he slurred, "Trickster world. Everything's all wrong."
Amy bent over, pressing her head to the Doctor's hand, linked with hers. "That's right," she said again. "It's all wrong. We have to fix it, right? Just like last time."
The Doctor's attention wandered, and he stared up at the ceiling of the tent. "Have to make a choice," he said, "Can't make the wrong choice."
"Too late for that," Owen muttered, and Donna glanced over at him in agreement.
"Never too late," said the Doctor, angrily. He sat up, much to their surprise, and glared at Donna. "Never too late. Can't stop trying. Or running. At least run."
"How can we fix it, then?" Owen asked. "Go back in time to change our minds? Should we have someone else choose? Who?"
"Jack," said the Doctor, and Owen cut himself short in surprise. "Even hello is inappropriate. I'm sure he'd like to dance, Rose, but who with?"
He laughed, and Owen was sure he would have shivered if he still had the nerves working to. The Doctor had never mentioned Jack before, though he had talked about and to dozens of other long-gone companions. But you could never tell if it actually meant something, or if it was just more rambling.
The Doctor lay back down, turning away from Amy and Rory and Donna, staring limply up at Owen. He grinned crookedly.
"Hullo, Harry," he said, "Still trying to be a doctor? Would you care for a Jelly Baby?"
Owen left. He walked past the medical tent, down into the little cavern they'd dug out in the remains of an outlet mall. He found the girls already in their dusty, broken, but enormous bed, down to their underwear and curled together under the duvet.
"He mentioned Jack today," he said, slipping awkwardly in beside them. They made room, helping him slip off his labcoat and shirt around his mangled hand.
"What did he say?" asked Gwen, looking alert and worried. "Anything about how?"
"Nah, just more gibberish, mostly. Thought he was talking to Rose. But he only said it when I asked him who needed to make a choice, how we could fix it."
Gwen frowned, but Owen tugged the Knife out of the back of his trousers, and the two of them pulled her back down into bed.
"What choice?" she murmured to herself. "When does an immortal die?"
Owen just slipped a hand up her back, running cold fingers down the seam of her skin. "You're bleeding again."
"She's working too hard."
"We're all working too hard," Gwen said. "It's just not adapting like it used to. Better this than be all cyber, though."
Owen ran his hands over her, one on her shoulder blade, the other lifting the mechanical arm to test its joints. Everything still worked, to be sure, but the joints were creaking, and all the little mechanics that bound the cyberarm to her shoulder were just visible below the skin, shifting and moving around and causing blood to seep from the seam.
"Ianto would know how to fix this," he muttered sadly.
"Or Tosh," Gwen said.
"Or Tosh," Owen agreed, and could almost imagine the lump in his throat he would have once felt at her name.
The three of them sat in silence. The room darkened even further as the sun sank below the horizon, shrouding them in grey.
"How can we ask him to choose?" Gwen said. "How can I ask any of you to choose?"
"I already chose," Owen said immediately.
"This is no way to live," he said, tucking the Knife into the cast around his hand so just the hilt remained, resting on his forearm. "We've only got two hands between us, and barely one life."
He pulled her down then, dropping her mechanical arm in favor of the one bearing the Mitten. It tink'd quietly to itself, and she welcomed the feeling of his cold kiss on her chest, just because it was feeling something besides metal.
A metal hand reached up and threaded through her hair, and a much warmer body pressed up against her, pulling both of them into an embrace.
"I've made up my mind as well," she said, pausing to kiss Gwen and pull the duvet up over their heads. "I'm willing to die again, if it's for you."
"Don't," Gwen said.
"I am though. Even if it means giving all this up. I'll change my choice, and I'll try and kill you, steal your life, die for you." She shivered, even curled up against one warm body and one slowly-becoming-lukewarm one.
"I don't want to become her again," Suzie said, "But I'll do it if it means it will stop all of this."
Gwen rolled to her side, her face in Owen's shattered chest. Suzie slung her arm her, their Gauntlet-bearing hands meeting in the middle. She was laying on top of Owen's broken hand, and the hilt of the Knife pressed slightly into her side, but he curled up too, his other arm around Gwen's waist and pretended to sleep as both girls fell into slumber.
~~
I came up with this idea a pretty long time ago, but reading someone else's gauntlet-centered fanfic reminded me of it, and I got inspired. I do have a whole story planned for this, along with background for the AU guys, but it will probably be a long time before I get to it. First I want to finish at least one of the other two I'm working on! Because I'm paranoid and don't submit unfinished things because I'm afraid I'll drop it and people will get mad at me for not updating.
I also am debating whether or not to participate in the Torchwood Big Bang thing. The author sign-ups were extended until Monday, so I can think about it some more. I need to determine if I have any ideas that are both long enough for the word minimum and short enough to finish within the deadline. But even if I don't get to writing, I will probably do beta-reading and/or illustrating. ...even though I have yet to draw a Torchwood picture I'm satisfied with... Oh well, all the more reason to practice.
The main reason I want to do Big Bang writing though is that I would get a beta-reader. I want a beta-reader so badly.
AND NOW maybe LJ will actually let me put up this post. Please?
This was written in a fit of "I can't finish any of my fanfics arrrrrgh", which for some reason had the logical conclusion of "I should start a new one!" ..."At three in the morning!" So have an angsty Torchwood AU that might lead to a much longer fanfic someday (which will not be as angsty).
Title: Choices (Prologue?)
Characters: Gwen, Owen, Suzie, others.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Depressing AU, three-person relationship, references and cameos from Doctor Who (particularly series 5 finale).
Summary: A long time ago, they made their choices, and the world changed. Now they'll do anything to change it back.
"Come take a break, Gwen."
Gwen didn't look up from her work. She recognized the soft footfalls of her companion, complimented by the soft tink tink tink of metal fingers. She just tightened her own grip on her wrench and kept building.
"Gwen," she said again, "You're running yourself ragged. It's time travel. We can take as long as we need, and we'll still end up at the same point in the past."
"If we aren't all killed before then," Gwen said. She paused to wipe her forehead on her sleeve, but went right back to her adjustments. "We don't have any time to waste."
They both glanced up at the sky out of habit, but they were calm and quiet for once.
"Do I have to get Owen over here to be a doctor and make you stop before you collapse?"
Gwen scowled. "He has more important things to worry about."
"More important than his patient?"
"I'm not his patient."
"Yeah you are."
"I'm fine."
"He's keeping you alive."
"I'm keeping him alive."
Gwen yelped as she felt herself pulled up by the elbow. "Let go of me!"
"Come on Gwen, let's go get some sleep. It'll be dark soon, we can't risk keeping any light on."
Gwen snarled and knocked away the offending arms, a clang! echoing through the area at the impact, but she stopped as the warm metal hand settled on her forehead. Cool, soothing energy flowed into her, easing her aches, expanding her lungs, giving her life. She closed her eyes and sighed as the life force flowed back into her. She felt almost human again.
"All right," she said, reluctantly pushing aside the gauntlet with her own arm, causing a softer clang to ring out as they collided. "Fine. Let's go to bed."
They found Owen in the makeshift infirmary, as usual, tirelessly seeing to the constant flow of injured and sick. The small number of other doctors scurried around nearby, along with the nurses and volunteers, tending as best they could to the neverending line of sick and wounded.
"I'll be with you in a bit," he said distractedly. He didn't sleep, of course, but he still came to bed with them more often than not. Even the unliving (they'd long since dismissed the word 'undead') grew tired, mentally and emotionally, and all they really had left was each other. "Gotta see to a few more patients first."
"And don't forget to eat!" he called out after them. Gwen waved over her shoulder without looking back, and he frowned at the blood slowly soaking through her shirt, staining the shoulder and back. He'd have to look at that later, but she could handle it. Unlike the rest of the camp, it wasn't as if she was in danger of dying.
He sighed out of habit, though not much air traveled through his useless lungs these days. He wandered through the ward, barely glancing at the patients but keeping an eye out for any major changes or emergencies on his way out. He paused to nod at Martha, who was kneeling by the bed of a preteen girl as she changed the bandages on her chest and arm.
Owen slipped out the back and into the small private tent.
"Any change?" he whispered.
The tent's inhabitants glanced up at him but briefly; the nurse went right back to pressing ice chips between the patient's lips, the girls just looked away.
"Not much," Donna whispered back, not making eye contact. "Hasn't really woken up today. Just murmured. Nothing coherent."
"Has he recognized you at all?"
"Not today," the other woman murmured, pulling her plaid shirt closer around her. Owen wordlessly handed her a blanket, which she accepted without protest, for once.
"Keep warm tonight," he said, and walked over to the bed.
"Doctor?" he asked quietly, and put on hand on the man's arm.
The Doctor's eyes flickered open, unfocused. He glanced from one side to the other, confused.
"Rory?" he croaked.
The nurse immediately dropped to one knee to look the Doctor in the eye.
"Doctor?" Rory said.
"Rory," the Doctor said again, more firmly. "You have… you have to get me out of the Pandorica."
"You're not in - " Rory started to say, but stopped himself. "No, Doctor, that never happened, remember? You stopped it."
"Stopped it," he muttered, oblivious to Owen pulling open his shirt and listening to his hearts, even though the stethoscope, not warmed by any body heat, was like ice. "Right, stopped it. Old new blue. Borrowed."
"That's right, Doctor," Amy whispered, leaning forwards and grabbing his hand. His glazed eyes met hers briefly.
"Do you know where you are?" Rory asked.
The Doctor frowned. "Banished," he slurred, "Trickster world. Everything's all wrong."
Amy bent over, pressing her head to the Doctor's hand, linked with hers. "That's right," she said again. "It's all wrong. We have to fix it, right? Just like last time."
The Doctor's attention wandered, and he stared up at the ceiling of the tent. "Have to make a choice," he said, "Can't make the wrong choice."
"Too late for that," Owen muttered, and Donna glanced over at him in agreement.
"Never too late," said the Doctor, angrily. He sat up, much to their surprise, and glared at Donna. "Never too late. Can't stop trying. Or running. At least run."
"How can we fix it, then?" Owen asked. "Go back in time to change our minds? Should we have someone else choose? Who?"
"Jack," said the Doctor, and Owen cut himself short in surprise. "Even hello is inappropriate. I'm sure he'd like to dance, Rose, but who with?"
He laughed, and Owen was sure he would have shivered if he still had the nerves working to. The Doctor had never mentioned Jack before, though he had talked about and to dozens of other long-gone companions. But you could never tell if it actually meant something, or if it was just more rambling.
The Doctor lay back down, turning away from Amy and Rory and Donna, staring limply up at Owen. He grinned crookedly.
"Hullo, Harry," he said, "Still trying to be a doctor? Would you care for a Jelly Baby?"
Owen left. He walked past the medical tent, down into the little cavern they'd dug out in the remains of an outlet mall. He found the girls already in their dusty, broken, but enormous bed, down to their underwear and curled together under the duvet.
"He mentioned Jack today," he said, slipping awkwardly in beside them. They made room, helping him slip off his labcoat and shirt around his mangled hand.
"What did he say?" asked Gwen, looking alert and worried. "Anything about how?"
"Nah, just more gibberish, mostly. Thought he was talking to Rose. But he only said it when I asked him who needed to make a choice, how we could fix it."
Gwen frowned, but Owen tugged the Knife out of the back of his trousers, and the two of them pulled her back down into bed.
"What choice?" she murmured to herself. "When does an immortal die?"
Owen just slipped a hand up her back, running cold fingers down the seam of her skin. "You're bleeding again."
"She's working too hard."
"We're all working too hard," Gwen said. "It's just not adapting like it used to. Better this than be all cyber, though."
Owen ran his hands over her, one on her shoulder blade, the other lifting the mechanical arm to test its joints. Everything still worked, to be sure, but the joints were creaking, and all the little mechanics that bound the cyberarm to her shoulder were just visible below the skin, shifting and moving around and causing blood to seep from the seam.
"Ianto would know how to fix this," he muttered sadly.
"Or Tosh," Gwen said.
"Or Tosh," Owen agreed, and could almost imagine the lump in his throat he would have once felt at her name.
The three of them sat in silence. The room darkened even further as the sun sank below the horizon, shrouding them in grey.
"How can we ask him to choose?" Gwen said. "How can I ask any of you to choose?"
"I already chose," Owen said immediately.
"This is no way to live," he said, tucking the Knife into the cast around his hand so just the hilt remained, resting on his forearm. "We've only got two hands between us, and barely one life."
He pulled her down then, dropping her mechanical arm in favor of the one bearing the Mitten. It tink'd quietly to itself, and she welcomed the feeling of his cold kiss on her chest, just because it was feeling something besides metal.
A metal hand reached up and threaded through her hair, and a much warmer body pressed up against her, pulling both of them into an embrace.
"I've made up my mind as well," she said, pausing to kiss Gwen and pull the duvet up over their heads. "I'm willing to die again, if it's for you."
"Don't," Gwen said.
"I am though. Even if it means giving all this up. I'll change my choice, and I'll try and kill you, steal your life, die for you." She shivered, even curled up against one warm body and one slowly-becoming-lukewarm one.
"I don't want to become her again," Suzie said, "But I'll do it if it means it will stop all of this."
Gwen rolled to her side, her face in Owen's shattered chest. Suzie slung her arm her, their Gauntlet-bearing hands meeting in the middle. She was laying on top of Owen's broken hand, and the hilt of the Knife pressed slightly into her side, but he curled up too, his other arm around Gwen's waist and pretended to sleep as both girls fell into slumber.
~~
I came up with this idea a pretty long time ago, but reading someone else's gauntlet-centered fanfic reminded me of it, and I got inspired. I do have a whole story planned for this, along with background for the AU guys, but it will probably be a long time before I get to it. First I want to finish at least one of the other two I'm working on! Because I'm paranoid and don't submit unfinished things because I'm afraid I'll drop it and people will get mad at me for not updating.
I also am debating whether or not to participate in the Torchwood Big Bang thing. The author sign-ups were extended until Monday, so I can think about it some more. I need to determine if I have any ideas that are both long enough for the word minimum and short enough to finish within the deadline. But even if I don't get to writing, I will probably do beta-reading and/or illustrating. ...even though I have yet to draw a Torchwood picture I'm satisfied with... Oh well, all the more reason to practice.
The main reason I want to do Big Bang writing though is that I would get a beta-reader. I want a beta-reader so badly.
AND NOW maybe LJ will actually let me put up this post. Please?