[Fic] it's on and on (Torchwood)
Title: it's on and on
Author: oregonblondie
Fandom: Torchwood
Character/Pairing: Well, I wrote it in my head as Gwen/Jack, but it could be taken as Gwen/Owen, I suppose.
Summary: mostly it's just that the emerald isle can't do anything right most of the time, not even the postcard christmas with twinkling icicles and drifts to get your car stuck in. Inspired by "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" by Sixpence None The Richer.
Spoilers: None that I can think of, but to be safe, we'll say up to and including 1x08.
it's christmas and not the bitter cold you'd expect, but instead a sad sort of in-between. halfway to the chill of heaven and half to the furnace of hell (you might say if you were really smashed and feeling particularly philosophical) but mostly it's just that the emerald isle can't do anything right most of the time, not even the postcard christmas with twinkling icicles and drifts to get your car stuck in.
it's a torchwood text on your mobile but you show up to an empty batcave (because you fancied batman for a month when you were young and it makes you giggle to think of you as part of this grand superteam and not just that you managed to get involved with this group of possibly mentals who look for ET and his mates) except for him, sitting in the dark of a cluttered office, empty eyes and empty bottles and it any person's guess what he's trying to drown out tonight.
it's an old, scratched record, the kind that bruises your ears and makes you want to lie on the floor with your limbs stretched as far as they'll go, like you're still at university and all you had to worry about was the next party and barely passing your courses and the name of the guy you (used to be?) living with.
it's the one song that echoes on and on and your face is impossibly wet with crying and as he kisses you (soft and hard and so perfect and screaming in your head) all you can see behind your eyes is watery figures in black and a pair of pine boxes and you do everything you can to push it out of your mind but the song keeps playing and you're still kissing the boy (because he really is just a boy just like you're just a girl, just the same girl who saw him in the rain one night) and you know you shouldn't be but you're so haunted that you don't think you could ever give it up.
it's on and on and never wanting it to end and knowing that this is both the beginning and the end of something important.
it's not thank you and it's not innocent like it used to be. it's dependent and pitiful and wholly something (something unnamable something unspeakable) and it's all wrong and just a little bit right. it's so many boys and girls before them and already a part of them and maybe they are just not star-crossed enough for this to make a good love story (and besides, it would be too classified to be published anyways) and maybe after everything, that's the saddest part of all.
~~~
Comments are love, y'all.
Author: oregonblondie
Fandom: Torchwood
Character/Pairing: Well, I wrote it in my head as Gwen/Jack, but it could be taken as Gwen/Owen, I suppose.
Summary: mostly it's just that the emerald isle can't do anything right most of the time, not even the postcard christmas with twinkling icicles and drifts to get your car stuck in. Inspired by "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" by Sixpence None The Richer.
Spoilers: None that I can think of, but to be safe, we'll say up to and including 1x08.
it's christmas and not the bitter cold you'd expect, but instead a sad sort of in-between. halfway to the chill of heaven and half to the furnace of hell (you might say if you were really smashed and feeling particularly philosophical) but mostly it's just that the emerald isle can't do anything right most of the time, not even the postcard christmas with twinkling icicles and drifts to get your car stuck in.
it's a torchwood text on your mobile but you show up to an empty batcave (because you fancied batman for a month when you were young and it makes you giggle to think of you as part of this grand superteam and not just that you managed to get involved with this group of possibly mentals who look for ET and his mates) except for him, sitting in the dark of a cluttered office, empty eyes and empty bottles and it any person's guess what he's trying to drown out tonight.
it's an old, scratched record, the kind that bruises your ears and makes you want to lie on the floor with your limbs stretched as far as they'll go, like you're still at university and all you had to worry about was the next party and barely passing your courses and the name of the guy you (used to be?) living with.
it's the one song that echoes on and on and your face is impossibly wet with crying and as he kisses you (soft and hard and so perfect and screaming in your head) all you can see behind your eyes is watery figures in black and a pair of pine boxes and you do everything you can to push it out of your mind but the song keeps playing and you're still kissing the boy (because he really is just a boy just like you're just a girl, just the same girl who saw him in the rain one night) and you know you shouldn't be but you're so haunted that you don't think you could ever give it up.
it's on and on and never wanting it to end and knowing that this is both the beginning and the end of something important.
it's not thank you and it's not innocent like it used to be. it's dependent and pitiful and wholly something (something unnamable something unspeakable) and it's all wrong and just a little bit right. it's so many boys and girls before them and already a part of them and maybe they are just not star-crossed enough for this to make a good love story (and besides, it would be too classified to be published anyways) and maybe after everything, that's the saddest part of all.
~~~
Comments are love, y'all.