FIC: I Loved a Woman with a Heart of Amber
Title: I Loved a Woman with a Heart of Amber
Author: blue_fjords
Word Length: ~5,600
Rating: PG
Characters: Gwen, Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Rhys, Megan and Trina (bridesmaids from “Something Borrowed”)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Gwen during Ianto’s four-week suspension post-Cyberwoman.
A/N: Gargantuan thanks to my beta, verasteine, for really digging into it. Everyone writes a post-Cyberwoman fic, apparently. Here's mine. Gwen POV.
5:00 AM
The morning after she first deliberately fired on another human being with the intent to kill, and her eyes are wide open. She never knew Lisa Hallett. She still doesn't have a grasp of Ianto, and she's seen him every day for the past month; drank his coffee, ate his take-out, laughed at the (few) quips he's made. Still, her stomach is roiling and she's thrown up three times since she made it home last night, late again and with nothing but silence to offer Rhys. Rhys is flat on his back next to her, sprawled out and snoring with his foot dangling over the side of the bed.
Gwen looks back at the ceiling and sighs. It's no use; she's awake. She spends an hour in the shower and skips on breakfast. The streets are nearly empty on her way into the Hub, everyone waking up and moving on with their lives, oblivious to the events of the prior night.
There’s a light from the conference room, and she’s unsurprised to find Jack there, awake and busy, head bent over the table in an air of grim concentration.
“Jack.”
He doesn’t look up right away, not until she’s said his name twice more. When he does, she forgets what she was going to say. His lip is still split from Ianto’s punch, but his clothes are clean, hair perfectly coiffed, eyes carefully hooded. The white-knuckled grip he has on his biro leads her to hesitate.
“What can I do?” she asks finally.
“You can drive Ianto home,” he answers.
Her eyes widen. “He’s still here?”
Jack crosses to the viewing window and Gwen joins him. Ianto is down below them, picking up trash. He’s clean, too, Gwen notes absently as he raises his face to them and nods. Jack nods back, and the gesture reassures her enough that she is able to say a few of the things that are on her mind. Just a few, though. It’s too early in the morning for everything.
***
Ianto is completely silent on the drive to his flat. Jack has given her the address, and a few directions. It’s not an area of Cardiff she goes to now, plus it wasn’t on her beat before, and she’s a little flustered by taking a wrong turn. She feels she should know the area better and is tempted to ask Ianto about this or that landmark, but one glance at him and she swallows her tongue until they’re stopped at his building. He’s already out the door before she opens her mouth.
“Ianto, wait!”
He stops, every muscle taut across his shoulders.
“I - I mean, I’m -” She can’t get the words out, and he finally looks at her.
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” he says softly, and gently closes the door before disappearing into his building.
She sighs and massages her forehead. Dammit, that’s what she had wanted to say.
Tosh and Owen are both at the Hub when she makes it back, Tosh with a tray of carry-out coffees. Jack gestures them all into the conference room.
“This is how it is: Ianto is suspended for four weeks. After that, he will either choose to come back here or opt for Retcon. If any of you have any compunctions about working with him again, address them to me in private. Clean-up,” he continues in the same clipped tone, “will be doled out as follows: Tosh, back story for Tanizaki; Owen, arrange for Annie’s body to be found later today; Gwen, monitor the situation with the Cardiff police force. She’s cleaned up, and the CCTV has been doctored. She can’t be traced back to here.”
The other two nod and stand to leave, still too drained to do anything except accept, but Gwen stays sitting, rooted to her chair.
“What about Lisa?”
Tosh’s eyes widen and Owen shakes his head at her, exasperation showing through his exhaustion.
“The cyberwoman has been taken care of,” Jack answers evenly.
“But what happens to her body? Does she have family? Will Ianto -”
“Gwen. Lisa Hallett died months ago. All cyber components have now been destroyed. Leave it be.”
She wants to, she knows she should, and Jack is clearly at the end of his rope, but she can’t let it go.
“We killed the woman Ianto loved. Aren’t we going to talk about that?”
It comes out harsher than she had intended, the image of Ianto walking alone, head bowed, into his crummy flat still sharp in her mind. Sharper still is the image of Lisa and Annie, both covered in blood, slumped on the floor.
Jack takes a sip of his coffee before answering. He looks her in the eye, and Gwen is temporarily silenced by the ghosts in his eyes that he lets her see. “No. We’re not going to talk about that.”
They each go to their tasks, and the Hub is fairly quiet until noon rolls around. Myfanwy divebombs over her head, still trailing splotches of Lisa, and she just snaps. She storms off to vent her frustrations at Jack, saying things that are both true and untrue; “I became a murderer last night” and “I don’t know if he can forgive us” and “I don’t know if we should forgive him.” Jack lets her rail against him, unusually silent, and she wonders if he got his yelling out the night before. She bites back before voicing the one she doesn’t want him to know (“I don’t know if I’m capable of that kind of love.”), and downshifts by asking him how he knows so much about the cybermen, instead. He tells her that he has fought them before. There’s a hitch in his voice, and he takes a moment to even out his breathing. She hadn’t realized that Jack Harkness did sad and she’s a little out of her league. He smiles bitterly and tells her again that Lisa was not human.
“Believe I’m a monster, believe I fucked up. But whatever you do, don’t believe that you killed another human being. Don’t let that weigh on you.”
He pins her with his eyes and she slowly nods. She’ll try.
3:00 PM
Two days since she got blood on her hands, and Gwen closes the file with an irritated sigh. She’s not sure what she was expecting. Insight, she supposes. Instead, Lisa Hallett’s file is disappointingly thin. There are three performance reviews; one good and two exceptional. There’s a copy of a report that Gwen can make neither heads nor tails of, astrophysics not being her area of expertise. Lisa’s personal contact information lists a mother and a brother. Her last two addresses correspond with Ianto’s London addresses in his own thin file. The date of death recorded on the inner flap is the Battle of Canary Wharf. Aside from one clearance pass photo, that’s the entirety of Lisa Hallett’s life at Torchwood One. Gwen pulls out Ianto’s file to contemplate it once more. She was a little proud of being able to find these all on her own, but her pride is quickly fading at the lack of answers. No wonder she could find them; Ianto must have cleared them of anything incriminating.
Ianto stares up at her from his staff clearance photo. The Ianto of almost two years ago looks younger, although still guarded. She has so many questions she would like to ask him, but for once in her life, Gwen Cooper thinks she’s found someone who will give no further answers. In her mind’s eye, she can see Ianto’s tear-streaked face. He’s done with his answering.
She frowns down at him, and fishes a Gaviscon out of her desk drawer. Jack gave her a stack of files to read that morning, trying to get her up to speed on “friendly” alien encounters. It’s an appallingly small stack. She should really be focusing on those instead of Ianto. She barely spares them a glance, though, as she replays in her mind each of the brief conversations she ever had with Ianto. All she manages to do is add a headache to her heartburn.
10:50 AM
Four days after the attack, and she and Tosh are in somber black and headed to a funeral. Gwen has always had a difficult time making friends with another woman; there are always so many ways to say the wrong thing. Tosh hadn't looked offended when she'd suggested the funeral, though, only nodded thoughtfully and agreed to drive. Gwen spots the shadow on the roof across from the church while Tosh parks the car, and now here they are, hovering uncertainly on the edges of the sanctuary. Gwen would like to take her arm, to give support and receive some herself, but Tosh doesn't seem the type. They pick seats in the back and Gwen scans the crowd. It is a habit that was drilled into her during her police training: know your surroundings, and that includes the people, Cooper! At first, Gwen’s eyes pass right over the tall figure three rows up in a pitch-black suit, but her eyes snap back as Ianto adjusts his tie.
The service starts, and it’s wretchedly sad. Annie was saving up for uni, Annie wanted to see the world, Annie volunteered at an animal shelter, Annie liked Smarties and American cop shows and playing games of tag with her younger siblings. Gwen starts to cry. Tosh wordlessly pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to her.
Gwen twists the handkerchief as the service goes on. The casket is ponderously large at the front of the church, and she keeps seeing her guilt rising up in Annie’s Frankenstein-like body to bust out of it and knock her down. She tries to catch Tosh’s eye, but Tosh has also spotted Ianto now and her eyes are boring into the back of his skull. Ianto’s hands are gripped together in his lap as he stares at the casket.
The priest’s voice cuts into her thoughts, decrying “senseless violence,” and Ianto flinches before focusing back on the casket. Gwen realizes suddenly who was responsible for prepping Annie’s body. She doesn’t know if she hates Jack then for the cruelty of it, or loves him for giving Ianto the opportunity for closure like that. It’s all mixed up, as so many of her thoughts about Jack are. Tosh shifts slightly next to her, eyes darting around, but none of the other mourners pay them any mind.
The final hymn is sung, and the crowd begins to disperse soon after.
Gwen turns to Tosh. “Well,” she says, dabbing at her eyes, the handkerchief blackening with eyeliner. “Shall we, I don’t know, pay our respects?”
“Ummm…” Tosh glances across the pews to Annie’s family. “I was thinking . . . maybe Ianto, instead?”
Gwen chews her lip, but nods, and they move to follow him. The owner of Jubilee Pizza spots them and cuts them off. He wrings their hands and thanks them for coming. Tosh looks profoundly uncomfortable at the way the man is crying, but Gwen lets him pull her into a hug, at ease in the presence of a virtual stranger.
“I want to thank you all for what you’ve done,” he manages to choke out, Gwen stiffening suddenly in his embrace and Tosh’s eyes going blank. Gwen can just make Ianto slipping out the back of the church, and she yearns for her own escape. “When Dr. Harper had all these flowers delivered this morning - oh, the look on Annie’s mum’s face! You’ll tell him, won’t you? How appreciative we all are?”
Gwen assures him and grants him a quavery smile. She collects one more hug before he leaves them. She and Tosh exchange equally gutted looks. She doesn’t even hesitate to link arms as they follow Ianto outside.
The street, and the roof, are both empty.
1:00 PM
A week after it happened, and she and Owen have pulled lunch duty. Owen grumbles that he’s not a servant, but not loudly enough that Jack can hear. Owen offers her a mock salute as they leave the Hub and head out to a sandwich shop on a side street off the Plass. At first, Gwen had been amazed by the vast assortment of take-out menus Ianto had neatly filed in the Tourist Information Centre, but they’ve certainly come in handy now that no one wants to order Jubilee Pizza. Or anything else that would require the slightest clean-up effort.
Owen’s talking nonstop on her left and her mind is miles away when a little girl starts crying farther down the street. Owen rolls his eyes and tugs on her arm to get her to enter the shop, but Gwen stops and gives her best “friendly neighborhood copper” smile to the little girl, asking her for her name and what’s wrong.
“Katie,” the child sniffles, rubbing her nose, “and my kitty’s hurt!”
She points to a pile of mangled fur, and Gwen winces. The cat is clearly dead.
Owen hunkers down next to the little girl and says, “I’m a doctor, Katie. Let me look at kitty.”
Gwen tries not to stare. Owen Harper, Veterinarian to Sad Little Girls? Something doesn’t compute, but she doesn’t have time to analyze as Owen turns to her and says, “I want roast beef, extra mustard. Tosh will want something with fish.”
Gwen stiffens at the note of dismissal in his voice, but really, what could she do for a dead cat? She orders three roast beef sandwiches (one with extra mustard) and chooses a smoked salmon for Tosh, plus a few bags of crisps.
When she goes back out to the street, Owen is kneeling beside the dead cat, wrapping it in an old baby blanket with K-A-T-I-E spelled out in purple stars. Katie has been joined by her mother, and they are both crying silently. Owen settles back on his heels and looks at them with a compassionate expression that is remarkably similar to one that Gwen has seen on countless doctors in A&E. It’s an uncomfortable fit, and Gwen aches a little for him.
“Katie, ma’am, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says quietly.
Katie’s mother takes the wrapped cat from him. “Thank you,” she whispers. Katie doesn’t look at him, but turns and runs back into her house.
Owen grimaces at her retreating back, her mother shrugs helplessly back at him, and Gwen finds herself hurrying after Owen as he takes off with a purposeful march back towards the Hub. Gwen glances over her shoulder once. The woman is still standing there with the dead cat in her arms, crying. She debates about turning back, but a neighbor steps out of the shadows and takes the situation in hand.
Owen doesn’t want her attention for once. He’s walking ahead and doesn’t slow his steps for her. They’re almost back to the Hub before she can catch up, and Gwen has to bite her tongue to stop from saying something nasty.
“It was nice of you to look over that cat,” she says instead.
“Wouldn’t have had to if you’d just minded your own business,” he replies.
Gwen gapes at him. She’s still not used to his defensive maneuvers. She’s not sure if she ever will be. “Well, on behalf of all the Katies of the world, thanks for sucking it up and being a gentleman.”
He gives her a hooded look, but holds the door for her (damn straight he should, these are not small sandwiches) and follows her into the Tourist Information Centre.
Owen mumbles something about an autopsy and takes his mustard-drenched sandwich and a bag of crisps off to the med bay. Gwen eats in the conference room with Tosh and Jack. Tosh’s eyes light up when she sees her smoked salmon. Jack asks her a question about something technical that flies right over Gwen’s head, and Tosh basks in his attention. Tosh is beautiful like this, bright and sparkling and intelligent without the layer of condescension. Jack knows just what to say to draw her out of her shell. They work well together, the problem soon sorted, and Tosh beams across the table to share in the accomplishment. She licks the salt from the crisps off her fingers, just like a little kid, and Gwen smiles back. Owen stomps up the stairs to join them as they are finishing up, and he’s calmed considerably since the street. He’s quiet, his abrasive edges temporarily smoothed down, and Gwen realizes that she’s happy with them. It’s not just the guns and aliens; she likes her team. For the first time in a week, she feels optimistic about Torchwood.
She makes a mental note to buy Tosh more smoked salmon.
5:05 PM
Ten days since she heard of Lisa Hallett and Gwen is down in the basement, pacing the edges of the room, running her finger along the wall. It’s such a small area for so much pain and fear. There are almost no traces of blood stains on the concrete floor, and likewise for the scorch marks along the walls. She tries to imagine Ianto in here with nothing but his love for support, nursing Lisa through . . . what, she doesn’t know. She’s sectioned off her own memories of being strapped into the conversion unit. It’s no place she wants to go again, not that she could tell Rhys about it anyway. Sorry if I’ve been a little skittish, love, but I keep remembering how I almost lost my brain. Go on, make the obligatory joke about the Scarecrow, but it was seriously fucked up. And then the aliens almost took over the planet, but don’t worry - I’m one of the crack team assembled to save everyone. Have you seen my keys lying around anywhere? No, Gwen won’t be saying anything to Rhys. One of them should be able to look up at the stars and see stars. She sips at her take-out coffee and makes a face. Pumpkin spice does not belong in coffee.
She returns to her desk and opens up Lisa’s file again, but of course there is nothing new there. The Rift alarm sounds then, and Owen swears from the med bay. Every single one of his scalpels has spontaneously caught fire. Jack sprints past her with the fire extinguisher, Tosh fast on his heels with her PDA. Gwen stumbles after them, still just a little slow in adapting to the ebb and flow of the Rift. Tosh is already running a scan; it was just a harmless Rift fluke. The blobby scalpels remind Gwen of a line in Lisa’s file, from one of her exceptional reviews: Dr. Hallett is an outstanding team player, quick to lend a helping hand when the engines melt! She had thought it was just an expression.
Ianto has no such glowing remarks, his best one being: Mr. Jones is the first one into the office each morning.
11:34 PM
Two weeks in, and she and Rhys are in the middle of another fantastic row.
“I said I was sorry, Rhys! It’s not like I planned for it to go so late.”
Rhys is pacing the kitchen, gesturing with the pot of bouillabaisse. “Couldn’t you have at least called? The sauce has bloody well turned to sludge!”
“I dropped the phone in the Bay.” The excuse sounds lame, even to her ears, although it is true.
Rhys snorts loudly. “What about borrowing a phone? No, that’s not even the point,” he continues, holding up his other hand as Gwen opens her mouth to angrily retort, “it’s that you don’t think, Gwen!”
“I don’t think? Oh, that’s rich, coming from the bloke who gets surprised at the end of James Bond films!” She throws her hands up in the air and stalks over to the front cupboard. She hasn’t even hung her coat up yet.
Rhys follows her out, still gripping the pot. “Hey, sometimes they toss in a red herring, you know. You just don’t admit it since you’re all ‘Official Secrets’ now.”
“Rhys, if I could tell you everything about what I do, I would. But this is for your own good, don’t you see?” she implores him, demonstrating much more patience than she feels, and turns her back to head back into the kitchen, rooting in the fridge for a beer.
“Even when you were doing traffic, you wouldn’t tell me anything.” He’s right behind her.
“Well, how could I ever get a word in edgewise, with Rhys the Rant nipping at my heels?” She regrets it almost immediately, and turns back into the living room so she can avoid the hurt on his face.
“Fine. Fine. You want some space, Gwen? I’m going to the pub.” She can hear him slam the pot of partially solid sauce back down on the stove. “And I’m going to talk everyone’s ears off.” He’s in the front hall now, wrestling his coat out of the cupboard. “And then you lot can organize a search for all the missing ears.” He’s fumbling for his keys now. “And you can fucking not tell me about it tomorrow!” The door slams behind him.
Gwen stands for a moment in the living room, trying to sip at her beer, but her hand is shaking. She can see into the kitchen, all of the fresh seafood he had prepared for this fancy French bouillabaisse that she was supposed to eat hours ago. It’s starting to stink.
She has to drag herself into the kitchen to shove it into the fridge. Her beer tastes salty, and she realizes that she’s been crying silently, plus she now smells of fish (and sweat and alien pus from earlier). The shower is hot and cleansing, Rhys’s shampoo and soap reminding her of what she already knows; that he’ll be back. Sure enough, his key turns in the lock two hours later and he enters the flat with the careful steps of the drunk. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he brushes his teeth, shucks his clothes and climbs into bed with her. The only hesitation is in his eyes, but when he holds open his arms, she turns off the reading light and snuggles close.
2:15 PM
It’s day sixteen of sub-par coffee and lost files when Jack appears at her workstation grinning like Father Christmas.
“Gwen Cooper! Are you prepared to be shocked and amazed?”
Gwen minimizes the Marks & Spencer’s website and nods.
Jack drags her down to the firing range. “We’re going to need a little room to spread out. Here, wear these,” he says, placing some awkward-looking goggles into her hands, “and I will wear these!”
He pulls on a pair of gloves. They’re bright florescent orange, but other than that, they look perfectly normal.
“So, what’s supposed to happen?” Gwen asks, fiddling with the knobs on her goggles. Jack’s head grows larger, then shrinks to walnut-sized. She giggles. Now there are streamers or something coming out from him. Multi-colored streamers, with little pom-poms attached.
Jack grins at her. “I’m going to show you a whole new world.”
“Is it Agrabah?”
“No. Set your right side to the fourth setting on that knob, and hold down the button on the left side until it clicks.”
“Right.” Gwen fumbles with the goggles and gives Jack a thumb’s up. He looks . . . glowy.
“Here we go,” he mutters, clapping his gloved hands together. A cloud of golden dust rises up from them, and they both sneeze.
“Uh-oh.”
“What-oh?”
“There shouldn’t have been any more dust.”
Gwen sneezes again. “Is that going to change anything?”
“Perhaps. Well, here goes again.” Jack pulls his hands apart slowly and Gwen gasps.
There really is a whole new world in between his hands. It grows outward, filling the space between them, and Gwen steps around it to stand next to Jack. Galaxies swirl and stars shoot out across the firing range. It’s absolutely beautiful. And Gwen cannot stop laughing. Jack’s shoulders shake with his own laughter.
“It’s the damn dust! This was supposed to be a very solemn discovery, missy!”
Gwen’s laughing so hard she’s crying. Planets dance between Jack’s fingers, light spreading out to paint the range in shades of azure and incandescent yellow. Gwen clutches at her stomach and sinks to the floor, Jack following. Their laughter echoes strangely in the enclosed room and only adds to the alien feel of the whole experience. Gwen struggles into the enclosure of Jack’s arms and now the worlds are all around her, spinning and reflecting light, and she can feel Jack laughing against her back, and it’s amazing. She laughs in pure joy. It’s amazing.
10:08 AM
Three weeks post-implosion and Gwen just makes the boat. Don’t let it drift, Jack keeps saying, and she’s trying not to. Megan is dating a bloke with a sailboat, and Gwen and Trina are joining them for a quick jaunt out to one of the small islands in Cardiff Bay for a picnic. Gwen hasn’t seen Megan or Trina since starting at Torchwood and she’s looking forward to an afternoon of gossip and beer.
Gwen settles back on the padded bench in the rear of the boat, while Megan’s boyfriend does nautical things. Megan and Trina are chatting around her, about shoes (Gwen’s are cute), the boyfriend (excels at oral sex but needs constant supervision on touching), and the time the three of them went to a Robbie Williams concert (doesn’t that seem ages ago).
Gwen’s eyes begin to wander. There’s a speedboat off to their right, and Trina follows her line of sight.
“Look, Gwen! We should invite that bloke to join us. He’s cute, yeah?”
Megan shades her eyes. “You can’t even see him.”
Trina tuts. “These eyes can always spot a cute man. He’s tall, dark and handsome. Perfect for me.” She flips her fake blonde ponytail over her shoulder and grins at Gwen. “You can keep Rhys; I’ll take that one.”
Gwen finally gets a good look at him and gasps. “Oh my God!”
“What? What is it?” They are all three leaning over the side of the boat now, and Megan’s boyfriend yells at them to move back. They ignore him.
“I think that’s my boss,” Gwen whispers to the other two, “except -” She frowns. She doesn’t see Jack’s greatcoat. There are two more figures in the boat, huddled down against the wind, and all she can tell is that they are too big to be Owen and Tosh. It must not be Jack; what would he be doing on a boat in the middle of the bay without the rest of them?
“So is that the new boss, or can I fantasize about all the nasty things I want to do to him?” Trina asks.
Gwen stares for a moment more. The sun comes out from behind a cloud and temporarily blinds her.
“Be my guest,” she answers. “Although if that was my boss, he’d still want you to fantasize about him.”
Trina laughs delightedly.
It’s nice to reconnect with Megan and Trina. Her life has gone in a different direction from theirs, but they have been her closest friends since primary school. She laughs at their off-color jokes and tries to drag up something she saw on the cover of The Sun so she can participate in the conversation. She has a hard time following the thread; when Megan mentions a naughty new sex shop, Gwen can’t help but recall Carys, and when Trina goes on about her suspicions that her neighbor is a serial killer in disguise, Gwen has to suppress a shudder, Ed Morgan’s cold eyes still fresh in her mind.
When they pull back up to the dock hours later, Trina suggests getting together for bowling in a couple of weeks. Gwen nods enthusiastically, relieved that they will still be there. She hasn’t lost them yet. She won’t lose them.
2:36 AM
Day twenty-four and Gwen blinks rapidly. They are in day two of the most boring stakeout of all time. She glances down at the file in her lap again. It’s a lot of detail-work and she has to keep reminding herself of what they are looking for. She feels she should be better at this; after all, she has the training. It’s just that before, Andy would pay attention to the details and she would get people to talk. It worked out well that way. She’s still unsure what exactly Jack expects of her. At least he’s forgiven her mistakes thus far.
She yawns widely, and Jack laughs at her.
“I’m beginning to doubt my ability to hold your interest!” he says, a twinkle in his eyes despite the late hour.
“Sorry,” she manages to stifle the next yawn, “but what are we going to do with the Thy-rox-ak-otle,” she has to sound it out slowly to avoid tripping over her tongue, “when we find . . . it?”
“Her.”
Gwen frowns. “How do you know?” She glances back down at the file again. Dammit, did she miss something?
“Oh, it’s not in there,” Jack waves a hand towards the folder. “You see those daffodils under the window?” Gwen peers across the street. “A male Thyroxakotle would have attracted pink tea roses.”
Gwen can’t help the hint of annoyance that creeps into her voice. “Why isn’t that recorded in the stakeout log? Or in the file itself; this is a helpful clue!”
Jack shrugs. “I didn’t have time for it.”
“Well, you should make time. Or we should get you an assistant or something -”
“I have an assistant,” Jack cuts her off abruptly.
Gwen winces. “What makes you so sure he will come back, Jack?” she asks softly.
Jack doesn’t answer. Finally he opens his mouth, “The Thyroxakotle is a social creature, did you know that?”
Gwen nods, impatient.
“They travel in packs. Always. The fact that this one is alone . . . either everyone else died or she was banished. Most likely the former, since banishment is basically a death sentence. I don’t think she would have lasted this long.” Jack clears his throat. “Either way, she’s not going to get a happy ending.”
He falls silent, and Gwen gives him ten seconds, “Ianto, on the other hand . . .”
Jack shrugs, trying to act casual. “We’re his pack, and we’re still alive.”
There’s a flaw in that logic, and Gwen is none too subtle in pointing it out. “There’s Retcon. He could get himself a new pack; leave us behind. He’s not that tied to us.”
Jack flinches, just slightly, and Gwen’s heart aches for him, but she’s a dog with a bone. “We killed his girlfriend. Twice over. He may not be able to get the image out of his head.”
“He’s had almost four weeks for that.” Jack’s voice is cold, his eyes on the house across the street.
Gwen tries one more time. “I know you are fond of Ianto, but, I mean, wouldn’t Retcon be kinder? Ianto seems so, I don’t know, normal. Maybe he could have a normal life -”
Jack mutters, “Normal?” under his breath, and then, “Look Gwen, Ianto’s not going to opt for the Retcon. Come on, Torchwood is . . . well. You wouldn’t give it up, would you?”
Gwen has to concede the point, and she smiles, just a little, remembering the afternoon in the firing range.
“Besides,” Jack continues, “he’s very useful to Torchwood. Everyone wants to be needed.”
Gwen opens her mouth again, but there’s movement at the house across the street, and now Jack is the Captain and Gwen is the Field Agent.
There’s fire and smoke, blood and smashed glass and the overwhelming rage and grief of the abandoned alien, but Gwen remembers what she needs to do and none of the neighbors wind up in body bags. The clean-up effort drags into mid-morning, from paperwork to drycleaning to Retcon, and Gwen prays that being of use will be enough for Ianto to come back.
Jack’s right; there is no happy ending for the Thyroxakotle, the last of her pack.
4:17 AM
The twenty-ninth day and Gwen’s wide awake again, fists under her chin and eyes on the ceiling. There were weevils in Splott yesterday, and on the way back, Jack had informed his exhausted team that Ianto would be returning to Torchwood the next morning. Tosh had cheered, and promptly looked embarrassed; Owen had mumbled something about Ianto doing the paperwork on this case, then; and she herself had said that they should not pester him with questions. Which caused everyone to stare at her.
Rhys is snoring next to her on their bed, his arm outstretched towards her. She unclenches her fist, and places her hand in his open palm. She moves over him, trying to wake him up with a gentle kiss, but that doesn’t work, so she bites his nose and laughs when he splutters awake. She straddles his hips and Rhys gazes up at her, flushed face filled with love. He starts to ask a question, but she silences him with her free hand. If she starts talking now she won’t stop. Better, all around, if he just hunkers down, stashed safely in her heart with all the others she’s coming to love. Her fingers tighten in his hand, grasping and clutching.
Gwen has never been good at letting go.
Author: blue_fjords
Word Length: ~5,600
Rating: PG
Characters: Gwen, Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Rhys, Megan and Trina (bridesmaids from “Something Borrowed”)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Gwen during Ianto’s four-week suspension post-Cyberwoman.
A/N: Gargantuan thanks to my beta, verasteine, for really digging into it. Everyone writes a post-Cyberwoman fic, apparently. Here's mine. Gwen POV.
5:00 AM
The morning after she first deliberately fired on another human being with the intent to kill, and her eyes are wide open. She never knew Lisa Hallett. She still doesn't have a grasp of Ianto, and she's seen him every day for the past month; drank his coffee, ate his take-out, laughed at the (few) quips he's made. Still, her stomach is roiling and she's thrown up three times since she made it home last night, late again and with nothing but silence to offer Rhys. Rhys is flat on his back next to her, sprawled out and snoring with his foot dangling over the side of the bed.
Gwen looks back at the ceiling and sighs. It's no use; she's awake. She spends an hour in the shower and skips on breakfast. The streets are nearly empty on her way into the Hub, everyone waking up and moving on with their lives, oblivious to the events of the prior night.
There’s a light from the conference room, and she’s unsurprised to find Jack there, awake and busy, head bent over the table in an air of grim concentration.
“Jack.”
He doesn’t look up right away, not until she’s said his name twice more. When he does, she forgets what she was going to say. His lip is still split from Ianto’s punch, but his clothes are clean, hair perfectly coiffed, eyes carefully hooded. The white-knuckled grip he has on his biro leads her to hesitate.
“What can I do?” she asks finally.
“You can drive Ianto home,” he answers.
Her eyes widen. “He’s still here?”
Jack crosses to the viewing window and Gwen joins him. Ianto is down below them, picking up trash. He’s clean, too, Gwen notes absently as he raises his face to them and nods. Jack nods back, and the gesture reassures her enough that she is able to say a few of the things that are on her mind. Just a few, though. It’s too early in the morning for everything.
***
Ianto is completely silent on the drive to his flat. Jack has given her the address, and a few directions. It’s not an area of Cardiff she goes to now, plus it wasn’t on her beat before, and she’s a little flustered by taking a wrong turn. She feels she should know the area better and is tempted to ask Ianto about this or that landmark, but one glance at him and she swallows her tongue until they’re stopped at his building. He’s already out the door before she opens her mouth.
“Ianto, wait!”
He stops, every muscle taut across his shoulders.
“I - I mean, I’m -” She can’t get the words out, and he finally looks at her.
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” he says softly, and gently closes the door before disappearing into his building.
She sighs and massages her forehead. Dammit, that’s what she had wanted to say.
Tosh and Owen are both at the Hub when she makes it back, Tosh with a tray of carry-out coffees. Jack gestures them all into the conference room.
“This is how it is: Ianto is suspended for four weeks. After that, he will either choose to come back here or opt for Retcon. If any of you have any compunctions about working with him again, address them to me in private. Clean-up,” he continues in the same clipped tone, “will be doled out as follows: Tosh, back story for Tanizaki; Owen, arrange for Annie’s body to be found later today; Gwen, monitor the situation with the Cardiff police force. She’s cleaned up, and the CCTV has been doctored. She can’t be traced back to here.”
The other two nod and stand to leave, still too drained to do anything except accept, but Gwen stays sitting, rooted to her chair.
“What about Lisa?”
Tosh’s eyes widen and Owen shakes his head at her, exasperation showing through his exhaustion.
“The cyberwoman has been taken care of,” Jack answers evenly.
“But what happens to her body? Does she have family? Will Ianto -”
“Gwen. Lisa Hallett died months ago. All cyber components have now been destroyed. Leave it be.”
She wants to, she knows she should, and Jack is clearly at the end of his rope, but she can’t let it go.
“We killed the woman Ianto loved. Aren’t we going to talk about that?”
It comes out harsher than she had intended, the image of Ianto walking alone, head bowed, into his crummy flat still sharp in her mind. Sharper still is the image of Lisa and Annie, both covered in blood, slumped on the floor.
Jack takes a sip of his coffee before answering. He looks her in the eye, and Gwen is temporarily silenced by the ghosts in his eyes that he lets her see. “No. We’re not going to talk about that.”
They each go to their tasks, and the Hub is fairly quiet until noon rolls around. Myfanwy divebombs over her head, still trailing splotches of Lisa, and she just snaps. She storms off to vent her frustrations at Jack, saying things that are both true and untrue; “I became a murderer last night” and “I don’t know if he can forgive us” and “I don’t know if we should forgive him.” Jack lets her rail against him, unusually silent, and she wonders if he got his yelling out the night before. She bites back before voicing the one she doesn’t want him to know (“I don’t know if I’m capable of that kind of love.”), and downshifts by asking him how he knows so much about the cybermen, instead. He tells her that he has fought them before. There’s a hitch in his voice, and he takes a moment to even out his breathing. She hadn’t realized that Jack Harkness did sad and she’s a little out of her league. He smiles bitterly and tells her again that Lisa was not human.
“Believe I’m a monster, believe I fucked up. But whatever you do, don’t believe that you killed another human being. Don’t let that weigh on you.”
He pins her with his eyes and she slowly nods. She’ll try.
3:00 PM
Two days since she got blood on her hands, and Gwen closes the file with an irritated sigh. She’s not sure what she was expecting. Insight, she supposes. Instead, Lisa Hallett’s file is disappointingly thin. There are three performance reviews; one good and two exceptional. There’s a copy of a report that Gwen can make neither heads nor tails of, astrophysics not being her area of expertise. Lisa’s personal contact information lists a mother and a brother. Her last two addresses correspond with Ianto’s London addresses in his own thin file. The date of death recorded on the inner flap is the Battle of Canary Wharf. Aside from one clearance pass photo, that’s the entirety of Lisa Hallett’s life at Torchwood One. Gwen pulls out Ianto’s file to contemplate it once more. She was a little proud of being able to find these all on her own, but her pride is quickly fading at the lack of answers. No wonder she could find them; Ianto must have cleared them of anything incriminating.
Ianto stares up at her from his staff clearance photo. The Ianto of almost two years ago looks younger, although still guarded. She has so many questions she would like to ask him, but for once in her life, Gwen Cooper thinks she’s found someone who will give no further answers. In her mind’s eye, she can see Ianto’s tear-streaked face. He’s done with his answering.
She frowns down at him, and fishes a Gaviscon out of her desk drawer. Jack gave her a stack of files to read that morning, trying to get her up to speed on “friendly” alien encounters. It’s an appallingly small stack. She should really be focusing on those instead of Ianto. She barely spares them a glance, though, as she replays in her mind each of the brief conversations she ever had with Ianto. All she manages to do is add a headache to her heartburn.
10:50 AM
Four days after the attack, and she and Tosh are in somber black and headed to a funeral. Gwen has always had a difficult time making friends with another woman; there are always so many ways to say the wrong thing. Tosh hadn't looked offended when she'd suggested the funeral, though, only nodded thoughtfully and agreed to drive. Gwen spots the shadow on the roof across from the church while Tosh parks the car, and now here they are, hovering uncertainly on the edges of the sanctuary. Gwen would like to take her arm, to give support and receive some herself, but Tosh doesn't seem the type. They pick seats in the back and Gwen scans the crowd. It is a habit that was drilled into her during her police training: know your surroundings, and that includes the people, Cooper! At first, Gwen’s eyes pass right over the tall figure three rows up in a pitch-black suit, but her eyes snap back as Ianto adjusts his tie.
The service starts, and it’s wretchedly sad. Annie was saving up for uni, Annie wanted to see the world, Annie volunteered at an animal shelter, Annie liked Smarties and American cop shows and playing games of tag with her younger siblings. Gwen starts to cry. Tosh wordlessly pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to her.
Gwen twists the handkerchief as the service goes on. The casket is ponderously large at the front of the church, and she keeps seeing her guilt rising up in Annie’s Frankenstein-like body to bust out of it and knock her down. She tries to catch Tosh’s eye, but Tosh has also spotted Ianto now and her eyes are boring into the back of his skull. Ianto’s hands are gripped together in his lap as he stares at the casket.
The priest’s voice cuts into her thoughts, decrying “senseless violence,” and Ianto flinches before focusing back on the casket. Gwen realizes suddenly who was responsible for prepping Annie’s body. She doesn’t know if she hates Jack then for the cruelty of it, or loves him for giving Ianto the opportunity for closure like that. It’s all mixed up, as so many of her thoughts about Jack are. Tosh shifts slightly next to her, eyes darting around, but none of the other mourners pay them any mind.
The final hymn is sung, and the crowd begins to disperse soon after.
Gwen turns to Tosh. “Well,” she says, dabbing at her eyes, the handkerchief blackening with eyeliner. “Shall we, I don’t know, pay our respects?”
“Ummm…” Tosh glances across the pews to Annie’s family. “I was thinking . . . maybe Ianto, instead?”
Gwen chews her lip, but nods, and they move to follow him. The owner of Jubilee Pizza spots them and cuts them off. He wrings their hands and thanks them for coming. Tosh looks profoundly uncomfortable at the way the man is crying, but Gwen lets him pull her into a hug, at ease in the presence of a virtual stranger.
“I want to thank you all for what you’ve done,” he manages to choke out, Gwen stiffening suddenly in his embrace and Tosh’s eyes going blank. Gwen can just make Ianto slipping out the back of the church, and she yearns for her own escape. “When Dr. Harper had all these flowers delivered this morning - oh, the look on Annie’s mum’s face! You’ll tell him, won’t you? How appreciative we all are?”
Gwen assures him and grants him a quavery smile. She collects one more hug before he leaves them. She and Tosh exchange equally gutted looks. She doesn’t even hesitate to link arms as they follow Ianto outside.
The street, and the roof, are both empty.
1:00 PM
A week after it happened, and she and Owen have pulled lunch duty. Owen grumbles that he’s not a servant, but not loudly enough that Jack can hear. Owen offers her a mock salute as they leave the Hub and head out to a sandwich shop on a side street off the Plass. At first, Gwen had been amazed by the vast assortment of take-out menus Ianto had neatly filed in the Tourist Information Centre, but they’ve certainly come in handy now that no one wants to order Jubilee Pizza. Or anything else that would require the slightest clean-up effort.
Owen’s talking nonstop on her left and her mind is miles away when a little girl starts crying farther down the street. Owen rolls his eyes and tugs on her arm to get her to enter the shop, but Gwen stops and gives her best “friendly neighborhood copper” smile to the little girl, asking her for her name and what’s wrong.
“Katie,” the child sniffles, rubbing her nose, “and my kitty’s hurt!”
She points to a pile of mangled fur, and Gwen winces. The cat is clearly dead.
Owen hunkers down next to the little girl and says, “I’m a doctor, Katie. Let me look at kitty.”
Gwen tries not to stare. Owen Harper, Veterinarian to Sad Little Girls? Something doesn’t compute, but she doesn’t have time to analyze as Owen turns to her and says, “I want roast beef, extra mustard. Tosh will want something with fish.”
Gwen stiffens at the note of dismissal in his voice, but really, what could she do for a dead cat? She orders three roast beef sandwiches (one with extra mustard) and chooses a smoked salmon for Tosh, plus a few bags of crisps.
When she goes back out to the street, Owen is kneeling beside the dead cat, wrapping it in an old baby blanket with K-A-T-I-E spelled out in purple stars. Katie has been joined by her mother, and they are both crying silently. Owen settles back on his heels and looks at them with a compassionate expression that is remarkably similar to one that Gwen has seen on countless doctors in A&E. It’s an uncomfortable fit, and Gwen aches a little for him.
“Katie, ma’am, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says quietly.
Katie’s mother takes the wrapped cat from him. “Thank you,” she whispers. Katie doesn’t look at him, but turns and runs back into her house.
Owen grimaces at her retreating back, her mother shrugs helplessly back at him, and Gwen finds herself hurrying after Owen as he takes off with a purposeful march back towards the Hub. Gwen glances over her shoulder once. The woman is still standing there with the dead cat in her arms, crying. She debates about turning back, but a neighbor steps out of the shadows and takes the situation in hand.
Owen doesn’t want her attention for once. He’s walking ahead and doesn’t slow his steps for her. They’re almost back to the Hub before she can catch up, and Gwen has to bite her tongue to stop from saying something nasty.
“It was nice of you to look over that cat,” she says instead.
“Wouldn’t have had to if you’d just minded your own business,” he replies.
Gwen gapes at him. She’s still not used to his defensive maneuvers. She’s not sure if she ever will be. “Well, on behalf of all the Katies of the world, thanks for sucking it up and being a gentleman.”
He gives her a hooded look, but holds the door for her (damn straight he should, these are not small sandwiches) and follows her into the Tourist Information Centre.
Owen mumbles something about an autopsy and takes his mustard-drenched sandwich and a bag of crisps off to the med bay. Gwen eats in the conference room with Tosh and Jack. Tosh’s eyes light up when she sees her smoked salmon. Jack asks her a question about something technical that flies right over Gwen’s head, and Tosh basks in his attention. Tosh is beautiful like this, bright and sparkling and intelligent without the layer of condescension. Jack knows just what to say to draw her out of her shell. They work well together, the problem soon sorted, and Tosh beams across the table to share in the accomplishment. She licks the salt from the crisps off her fingers, just like a little kid, and Gwen smiles back. Owen stomps up the stairs to join them as they are finishing up, and he’s calmed considerably since the street. He’s quiet, his abrasive edges temporarily smoothed down, and Gwen realizes that she’s happy with them. It’s not just the guns and aliens; she likes her team. For the first time in a week, she feels optimistic about Torchwood.
She makes a mental note to buy Tosh more smoked salmon.
5:05 PM
Ten days since she heard of Lisa Hallett and Gwen is down in the basement, pacing the edges of the room, running her finger along the wall. It’s such a small area for so much pain and fear. There are almost no traces of blood stains on the concrete floor, and likewise for the scorch marks along the walls. She tries to imagine Ianto in here with nothing but his love for support, nursing Lisa through . . . what, she doesn’t know. She’s sectioned off her own memories of being strapped into the conversion unit. It’s no place she wants to go again, not that she could tell Rhys about it anyway. Sorry if I’ve been a little skittish, love, but I keep remembering how I almost lost my brain. Go on, make the obligatory joke about the Scarecrow, but it was seriously fucked up. And then the aliens almost took over the planet, but don’t worry - I’m one of the crack team assembled to save everyone. Have you seen my keys lying around anywhere? No, Gwen won’t be saying anything to Rhys. One of them should be able to look up at the stars and see stars. She sips at her take-out coffee and makes a face. Pumpkin spice does not belong in coffee.
She returns to her desk and opens up Lisa’s file again, but of course there is nothing new there. The Rift alarm sounds then, and Owen swears from the med bay. Every single one of his scalpels has spontaneously caught fire. Jack sprints past her with the fire extinguisher, Tosh fast on his heels with her PDA. Gwen stumbles after them, still just a little slow in adapting to the ebb and flow of the Rift. Tosh is already running a scan; it was just a harmless Rift fluke. The blobby scalpels remind Gwen of a line in Lisa’s file, from one of her exceptional reviews: Dr. Hallett is an outstanding team player, quick to lend a helping hand when the engines melt! She had thought it was just an expression.
Ianto has no such glowing remarks, his best one being: Mr. Jones is the first one into the office each morning.
11:34 PM
Two weeks in, and she and Rhys are in the middle of another fantastic row.
“I said I was sorry, Rhys! It’s not like I planned for it to go so late.”
Rhys is pacing the kitchen, gesturing with the pot of bouillabaisse. “Couldn’t you have at least called? The sauce has bloody well turned to sludge!”
“I dropped the phone in the Bay.” The excuse sounds lame, even to her ears, although it is true.
Rhys snorts loudly. “What about borrowing a phone? No, that’s not even the point,” he continues, holding up his other hand as Gwen opens her mouth to angrily retort, “it’s that you don’t think, Gwen!”
“I don’t think? Oh, that’s rich, coming from the bloke who gets surprised at the end of James Bond films!” She throws her hands up in the air and stalks over to the front cupboard. She hasn’t even hung her coat up yet.
Rhys follows her out, still gripping the pot. “Hey, sometimes they toss in a red herring, you know. You just don’t admit it since you’re all ‘Official Secrets’ now.”
“Rhys, if I could tell you everything about what I do, I would. But this is for your own good, don’t you see?” she implores him, demonstrating much more patience than she feels, and turns her back to head back into the kitchen, rooting in the fridge for a beer.
“Even when you were doing traffic, you wouldn’t tell me anything.” He’s right behind her.
“Well, how could I ever get a word in edgewise, with Rhys the Rant nipping at my heels?” She regrets it almost immediately, and turns back into the living room so she can avoid the hurt on his face.
“Fine. Fine. You want some space, Gwen? I’m going to the pub.” She can hear him slam the pot of partially solid sauce back down on the stove. “And I’m going to talk everyone’s ears off.” He’s in the front hall now, wrestling his coat out of the cupboard. “And then you lot can organize a search for all the missing ears.” He’s fumbling for his keys now. “And you can fucking not tell me about it tomorrow!” The door slams behind him.
Gwen stands for a moment in the living room, trying to sip at her beer, but her hand is shaking. She can see into the kitchen, all of the fresh seafood he had prepared for this fancy French bouillabaisse that she was supposed to eat hours ago. It’s starting to stink.
She has to drag herself into the kitchen to shove it into the fridge. Her beer tastes salty, and she realizes that she’s been crying silently, plus she now smells of fish (and sweat and alien pus from earlier). The shower is hot and cleansing, Rhys’s shampoo and soap reminding her of what she already knows; that he’ll be back. Sure enough, his key turns in the lock two hours later and he enters the flat with the careful steps of the drunk. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he brushes his teeth, shucks his clothes and climbs into bed with her. The only hesitation is in his eyes, but when he holds open his arms, she turns off the reading light and snuggles close.
2:15 PM
It’s day sixteen of sub-par coffee and lost files when Jack appears at her workstation grinning like Father Christmas.
“Gwen Cooper! Are you prepared to be shocked and amazed?”
Gwen minimizes the Marks & Spencer’s website and nods.
Jack drags her down to the firing range. “We’re going to need a little room to spread out. Here, wear these,” he says, placing some awkward-looking goggles into her hands, “and I will wear these!”
He pulls on a pair of gloves. They’re bright florescent orange, but other than that, they look perfectly normal.
“So, what’s supposed to happen?” Gwen asks, fiddling with the knobs on her goggles. Jack’s head grows larger, then shrinks to walnut-sized. She giggles. Now there are streamers or something coming out from him. Multi-colored streamers, with little pom-poms attached.
Jack grins at her. “I’m going to show you a whole new world.”
“Is it Agrabah?”
“No. Set your right side to the fourth setting on that knob, and hold down the button on the left side until it clicks.”
“Right.” Gwen fumbles with the goggles and gives Jack a thumb’s up. He looks . . . glowy.
“Here we go,” he mutters, clapping his gloved hands together. A cloud of golden dust rises up from them, and they both sneeze.
“Uh-oh.”
“What-oh?”
“There shouldn’t have been any more dust.”
Gwen sneezes again. “Is that going to change anything?”
“Perhaps. Well, here goes again.” Jack pulls his hands apart slowly and Gwen gasps.
There really is a whole new world in between his hands. It grows outward, filling the space between them, and Gwen steps around it to stand next to Jack. Galaxies swirl and stars shoot out across the firing range. It’s absolutely beautiful. And Gwen cannot stop laughing. Jack’s shoulders shake with his own laughter.
“It’s the damn dust! This was supposed to be a very solemn discovery, missy!”
Gwen’s laughing so hard she’s crying. Planets dance between Jack’s fingers, light spreading out to paint the range in shades of azure and incandescent yellow. Gwen clutches at her stomach and sinks to the floor, Jack following. Their laughter echoes strangely in the enclosed room and only adds to the alien feel of the whole experience. Gwen struggles into the enclosure of Jack’s arms and now the worlds are all around her, spinning and reflecting light, and she can feel Jack laughing against her back, and it’s amazing. She laughs in pure joy. It’s amazing.
10:08 AM
Three weeks post-implosion and Gwen just makes the boat. Don’t let it drift, Jack keeps saying, and she’s trying not to. Megan is dating a bloke with a sailboat, and Gwen and Trina are joining them for a quick jaunt out to one of the small islands in Cardiff Bay for a picnic. Gwen hasn’t seen Megan or Trina since starting at Torchwood and she’s looking forward to an afternoon of gossip and beer.
Gwen settles back on the padded bench in the rear of the boat, while Megan’s boyfriend does nautical things. Megan and Trina are chatting around her, about shoes (Gwen’s are cute), the boyfriend (excels at oral sex but needs constant supervision on touching), and the time the three of them went to a Robbie Williams concert (doesn’t that seem ages ago).
Gwen’s eyes begin to wander. There’s a speedboat off to their right, and Trina follows her line of sight.
“Look, Gwen! We should invite that bloke to join us. He’s cute, yeah?”
Megan shades her eyes. “You can’t even see him.”
Trina tuts. “These eyes can always spot a cute man. He’s tall, dark and handsome. Perfect for me.” She flips her fake blonde ponytail over her shoulder and grins at Gwen. “You can keep Rhys; I’ll take that one.”
Gwen finally gets a good look at him and gasps. “Oh my God!”
“What? What is it?” They are all three leaning over the side of the boat now, and Megan’s boyfriend yells at them to move back. They ignore him.
“I think that’s my boss,” Gwen whispers to the other two, “except -” She frowns. She doesn’t see Jack’s greatcoat. There are two more figures in the boat, huddled down against the wind, and all she can tell is that they are too big to be Owen and Tosh. It must not be Jack; what would he be doing on a boat in the middle of the bay without the rest of them?
“So is that the new boss, or can I fantasize about all the nasty things I want to do to him?” Trina asks.
Gwen stares for a moment more. The sun comes out from behind a cloud and temporarily blinds her.
“Be my guest,” she answers. “Although if that was my boss, he’d still want you to fantasize about him.”
Trina laughs delightedly.
It’s nice to reconnect with Megan and Trina. Her life has gone in a different direction from theirs, but they have been her closest friends since primary school. She laughs at their off-color jokes and tries to drag up something she saw on the cover of The Sun so she can participate in the conversation. She has a hard time following the thread; when Megan mentions a naughty new sex shop, Gwen can’t help but recall Carys, and when Trina goes on about her suspicions that her neighbor is a serial killer in disguise, Gwen has to suppress a shudder, Ed Morgan’s cold eyes still fresh in her mind.
When they pull back up to the dock hours later, Trina suggests getting together for bowling in a couple of weeks. Gwen nods enthusiastically, relieved that they will still be there. She hasn’t lost them yet. She won’t lose them.
2:36 AM
Day twenty-four and Gwen blinks rapidly. They are in day two of the most boring stakeout of all time. She glances down at the file in her lap again. It’s a lot of detail-work and she has to keep reminding herself of what they are looking for. She feels she should be better at this; after all, she has the training. It’s just that before, Andy would pay attention to the details and she would get people to talk. It worked out well that way. She’s still unsure what exactly Jack expects of her. At least he’s forgiven her mistakes thus far.
She yawns widely, and Jack laughs at her.
“I’m beginning to doubt my ability to hold your interest!” he says, a twinkle in his eyes despite the late hour.
“Sorry,” she manages to stifle the next yawn, “but what are we going to do with the Thy-rox-ak-otle,” she has to sound it out slowly to avoid tripping over her tongue, “when we find . . . it?”
“Her.”
Gwen frowns. “How do you know?” She glances back down at the file again. Dammit, did she miss something?
“Oh, it’s not in there,” Jack waves a hand towards the folder. “You see those daffodils under the window?” Gwen peers across the street. “A male Thyroxakotle would have attracted pink tea roses.”
Gwen can’t help the hint of annoyance that creeps into her voice. “Why isn’t that recorded in the stakeout log? Or in the file itself; this is a helpful clue!”
Jack shrugs. “I didn’t have time for it.”
“Well, you should make time. Or we should get you an assistant or something -”
“I have an assistant,” Jack cuts her off abruptly.
Gwen winces. “What makes you so sure he will come back, Jack?” she asks softly.
Jack doesn’t answer. Finally he opens his mouth, “The Thyroxakotle is a social creature, did you know that?”
Gwen nods, impatient.
“They travel in packs. Always. The fact that this one is alone . . . either everyone else died or she was banished. Most likely the former, since banishment is basically a death sentence. I don’t think she would have lasted this long.” Jack clears his throat. “Either way, she’s not going to get a happy ending.”
He falls silent, and Gwen gives him ten seconds, “Ianto, on the other hand . . .”
Jack shrugs, trying to act casual. “We’re his pack, and we’re still alive.”
There’s a flaw in that logic, and Gwen is none too subtle in pointing it out. “There’s Retcon. He could get himself a new pack; leave us behind. He’s not that tied to us.”
Jack flinches, just slightly, and Gwen’s heart aches for him, but she’s a dog with a bone. “We killed his girlfriend. Twice over. He may not be able to get the image out of his head.”
“He’s had almost four weeks for that.” Jack’s voice is cold, his eyes on the house across the street.
Gwen tries one more time. “I know you are fond of Ianto, but, I mean, wouldn’t Retcon be kinder? Ianto seems so, I don’t know, normal. Maybe he could have a normal life -”
Jack mutters, “Normal?” under his breath, and then, “Look Gwen, Ianto’s not going to opt for the Retcon. Come on, Torchwood is . . . well. You wouldn’t give it up, would you?”
Gwen has to concede the point, and she smiles, just a little, remembering the afternoon in the firing range.
“Besides,” Jack continues, “he’s very useful to Torchwood. Everyone wants to be needed.”
Gwen opens her mouth again, but there’s movement at the house across the street, and now Jack is the Captain and Gwen is the Field Agent.
There’s fire and smoke, blood and smashed glass and the overwhelming rage and grief of the abandoned alien, but Gwen remembers what she needs to do and none of the neighbors wind up in body bags. The clean-up effort drags into mid-morning, from paperwork to drycleaning to Retcon, and Gwen prays that being of use will be enough for Ianto to come back.
Jack’s right; there is no happy ending for the Thyroxakotle, the last of her pack.
4:17 AM
The twenty-ninth day and Gwen’s wide awake again, fists under her chin and eyes on the ceiling. There were weevils in Splott yesterday, and on the way back, Jack had informed his exhausted team that Ianto would be returning to Torchwood the next morning. Tosh had cheered, and promptly looked embarrassed; Owen had mumbled something about Ianto doing the paperwork on this case, then; and she herself had said that they should not pester him with questions. Which caused everyone to stare at her.
Rhys is snoring next to her on their bed, his arm outstretched towards her. She unclenches her fist, and places her hand in his open palm. She moves over him, trying to wake him up with a gentle kiss, but that doesn’t work, so she bites his nose and laughs when he splutters awake. She straddles his hips and Rhys gazes up at her, flushed face filled with love. He starts to ask a question, but she silences him with her free hand. If she starts talking now she won’t stop. Better, all around, if he just hunkers down, stashed safely in her heart with all the others she’s coming to love. Her fingers tighten in his hand, grasping and clutching.
Gwen has never been good at letting go.