Fic - Love and War - 9/?
Title: Love and War
Rating: K+
Pairing: JackGwen
Summary: Whilst Gwen is in an emotional crisis, war threatens both Torchwood and the world, and Gwen must put her feelings aside as she and Jack travel to Paris for a world conference. Why are the weevils so restless? What's the Louvre got to do with the rift? And who the hell is Jack Harkness really?
Author's Notes: Please R & R
9/?
Here's the part where the fluff stops as I attempt to be serious and get the plot in. Yeah right. Fluff and plot below galore!! :D
xx
Gwen woke with a start the next morning. Her head hurt as she tried to remember last night. Oh yes, that was it - Jack had taken her to that lovely boat where they had had dinner. They had walked back to the hotel and then….. She gasped. She remembered the kiss and that was all. What had happened? Had anything else gone on? She thrashed around in the puffy white duvet, trying to find they way out. As she tumbled out of the bed, she looked around.
The side of the bed she hadn’t slept in looked undisturbed. She stopped panicking then, but then she thought; was that good or bad? Good that the whole working relationship they had was still intact, or bad that he obviously found her not attractive enough to tempt him for more? She was prevented from further thought when a voice came out of the kitchen.
“Sit down, before you fall down, I know what it feels like. I’ll be in in a mo.”
She sat down with a thump on the sofa, looking about her as she blinked in the light. Blankets were piled on the arm of the sofa. So he obviously slept here then, she thought, with just an ounce of contempt.
Jack came into the room, his hair ruffled from sleep, carrying a glass full of a dark brown gloopy liquid. “Here you go,” he murmured, handing her the glass. “Made it myself from my own special recipe. Guaranteed to get rid of any hangover, however big or small.” He stood away from her watching in interest, his hands deep in his trouser pockets.
“And when did you come up with this miraculous recipe?” She asked him, taking a sip and spluttering at the taste.
He checked his watch. “Two minutes ago.”
She coughed and he grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s not poisonous. I think…..”
She gave him a distrusting look as she downed the rest of the drink, setting the glass back onto the table. Surprisingly, already the fog in her head seemed to clear and the little man with the pickaxe who had taken up residence in her head packed his bags. But no memories came flooding back. She looked up at him. “Jack, what happen-”
He cut her off. “Nothing, Gwen. Just a kiss.”
“Oh.” She looked down, feeling embarrassed.
“But don’t think that it wasn’t good. It was, well, one hell of a kiss.” He laughed and she smiled. “When we finished,” he continued, “you sort of collapsed on my shoulder and for a few moments I felt very smug that I’d had such an effect on you. But then I realized that it probably had more to do with the busy day and alcohol you’d had.”
She smiled again, blushing a little.
“Still,” he said smiling, “I kissed Gwen Cooper.”
“Oh shut up”, she muttered, getting to her feet and going to the bathroom, smiling.
He grinned at her as she closed the door on him. Reflecting on how well the holiday was going, he went off to make some toast, when he saw his coat laid out on a dining chair. Remembering Gwen wishing at the bridge last night, he looked in the pocket to see what she was clutching so tightly. He pulled his hand out, clenched around the contents, producing a boiled sweet, a battery for his watch and….. the handkerchief he’d leant her in the taxi. His handkerchief. His brow furrowed. Had she wished something about him?
xx
The walk to the Louvre that day was hurried, as the sky looked as if it was about to split asunder and let the heavens open on the world below. Jack looked up, worried, for a moment at the sky, then put his worries aside as he took Gwen’s hand and led her off. However, you could not miss the tension in the air that day. It was as if someone had caught one end of the atmosphere of the Earth, and was pulling it tight, stretching the air and sky. They arrived at the Louvre some time later and it wasn’t long before they were sat in the conference room, in their old row, next to Robert. He too had noticed a change in the world, and from the discontented murmurs running around the room, it seemed it was not just him.
Jack looked around with a worried face. “Something’s coming.” He muttered.
The tall man stood up and was just making his welcome speech and introducing what they would be discussing that day, when suddenly there was a cracking sound, and a crashing sound coming from far away, at the other end of the museum. Everyone froze and looked up warily, to see a huge crack in the centre of the glass dome above. You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Some people at the back of the room edged towards the door, terrified of what would happen when the dome inevitably fell in. But what had caused the dome to crack? And what was the huge crash? Jack and Robert were looking around urgently, looking for any signs of what had happened.
Suddenly, they heard rushed footsteps and a little man appeared at the door, breathing heavily and pointing along the corridor. “The pyramide inversée!” He cried, in a thick French accent, when he could talk. “It has shattered!”
Barely a moment passed before the inevitable happened, and with a crash the glass dome shattered too, and shards of glass fell down onto the crowd below. Some were hit by the sharp pieces, and fell to the floor crying in pain, whilst the room turned from a crowd of intelligent, well brought up people into a raging mob; people were crying out and running to and fro, everyone clambering towards the door. Jack took Gwen’s hand and pulled her towards the door, holding his coat over their heads to protect them from falling glass. Robert was in hot pursuit, his jacket held over his head.
Gwen caught sight of Marie’s head from across the crowd and she called out to her. Seeing her, Marie fought her way over and Gwen came to meet her, running out of the shelter of Jack’s coat. Marie was holding an elderly gentleman by the hand, who Gwen recognized as Marie’s father.
“We need to get out.” She insisted, taking Marie’s other hand and pulling both her and her father towards Jack and Robert. Her father looked shocked, his pale face drawn and contorted by fear, his eyes bulging out of his head.
“Come on.” Jack said, trampling over the glass that covered the floor, and raising the coat over their heads once again as he fought a way through for them. “Something’s happened.”
xx
You may have thought we’d forgotten the rest of the team back in Cardiff. However, here is a brief account of their time, whilst Jack and Gwen were “living it up” in Paris. They had done exactly as Jack had instructed them - Tosh and Ianto had been busy constructing a weevil database whilst Owen had been spending his time watching their own resident weevil, recently named Alice, after Dawn French’s friend in “The Vicar of Dibley”. The expressionless looks both Alice’s gave had inspired the name, and for many hours Owen would sit there, watching the weevil and hoping for some sign of interaction, but to be disappointed with yet another hour spent gazing at an expressionless creature, who was giving him no clue as to its feelings and thoughts. It was only every now and then, when whilst talking (or even thinking) about Jack and Gwen in Paris and their return, that Alice the weevil would give a smug smile and looked around contentedly.
The database was coming along splendidly. All the various bits of information Torchwood had on weevils was scattered all over the place, and it was picked up and filed away neatly. Sightings from the 19th and 20th centuries contained the odd newspaper cutting about a mysterious murder, whilst sightings from the 21st century was a folder full of photos, accounts and reports by Torchwood themselves. Still, it was no good knowing all about the history of weevils, but nothing about their present intentions. However, funnily enough, they did have a feeling that they were not necessarily good.
Owen was spending yet another wasted morning sitting with the weevil, a chipped mug of strong coffee steaming on the floor by one of the legs of his chair. As on the opposite side of the English Channel, the pyramide inversée mysteriously shattered and chaos ensued, the weevil looked up at Owen, its ugly mouth bared in a horrifying grin, its fangs protruding.
It had begun.
xx
Ooh! Reviews please :D
Rating: K+
Pairing: JackGwen
Summary: Whilst Gwen is in an emotional crisis, war threatens both Torchwood and the world, and Gwen must put her feelings aside as she and Jack travel to Paris for a world conference. Why are the weevils so restless? What's the Louvre got to do with the rift? And who the hell is Jack Harkness really?
Author's Notes: Please R & R
9/?
Here's the part where the fluff stops as I attempt to be serious and get the plot in. Yeah right. Fluff and plot below galore!! :D
xx
Gwen woke with a start the next morning. Her head hurt as she tried to remember last night. Oh yes, that was it - Jack had taken her to that lovely boat where they had had dinner. They had walked back to the hotel and then….. She gasped. She remembered the kiss and that was all. What had happened? Had anything else gone on? She thrashed around in the puffy white duvet, trying to find they way out. As she tumbled out of the bed, she looked around.
The side of the bed she hadn’t slept in looked undisturbed. She stopped panicking then, but then she thought; was that good or bad? Good that the whole working relationship they had was still intact, or bad that he obviously found her not attractive enough to tempt him for more? She was prevented from further thought when a voice came out of the kitchen.
“Sit down, before you fall down, I know what it feels like. I’ll be in in a mo.”
She sat down with a thump on the sofa, looking about her as she blinked in the light. Blankets were piled on the arm of the sofa. So he obviously slept here then, she thought, with just an ounce of contempt.
Jack came into the room, his hair ruffled from sleep, carrying a glass full of a dark brown gloopy liquid. “Here you go,” he murmured, handing her the glass. “Made it myself from my own special recipe. Guaranteed to get rid of any hangover, however big or small.” He stood away from her watching in interest, his hands deep in his trouser pockets.
“And when did you come up with this miraculous recipe?” She asked him, taking a sip and spluttering at the taste.
He checked his watch. “Two minutes ago.”
She coughed and he grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s not poisonous. I think…..”
She gave him a distrusting look as she downed the rest of the drink, setting the glass back onto the table. Surprisingly, already the fog in her head seemed to clear and the little man with the pickaxe who had taken up residence in her head packed his bags. But no memories came flooding back. She looked up at him. “Jack, what happen-”
He cut her off. “Nothing, Gwen. Just a kiss.”
“Oh.” She looked down, feeling embarrassed.
“But don’t think that it wasn’t good. It was, well, one hell of a kiss.” He laughed and she smiled. “When we finished,” he continued, “you sort of collapsed on my shoulder and for a few moments I felt very smug that I’d had such an effect on you. But then I realized that it probably had more to do with the busy day and alcohol you’d had.”
She smiled again, blushing a little.
“Still,” he said smiling, “I kissed Gwen Cooper.”
“Oh shut up”, she muttered, getting to her feet and going to the bathroom, smiling.
He grinned at her as she closed the door on him. Reflecting on how well the holiday was going, he went off to make some toast, when he saw his coat laid out on a dining chair. Remembering Gwen wishing at the bridge last night, he looked in the pocket to see what she was clutching so tightly. He pulled his hand out, clenched around the contents, producing a boiled sweet, a battery for his watch and….. the handkerchief he’d leant her in the taxi. His handkerchief. His brow furrowed. Had she wished something about him?
xx
The walk to the Louvre that day was hurried, as the sky looked as if it was about to split asunder and let the heavens open on the world below. Jack looked up, worried, for a moment at the sky, then put his worries aside as he took Gwen’s hand and led her off. However, you could not miss the tension in the air that day. It was as if someone had caught one end of the atmosphere of the Earth, and was pulling it tight, stretching the air and sky. They arrived at the Louvre some time later and it wasn’t long before they were sat in the conference room, in their old row, next to Robert. He too had noticed a change in the world, and from the discontented murmurs running around the room, it seemed it was not just him.
Jack looked around with a worried face. “Something’s coming.” He muttered.
The tall man stood up and was just making his welcome speech and introducing what they would be discussing that day, when suddenly there was a cracking sound, and a crashing sound coming from far away, at the other end of the museum. Everyone froze and looked up warily, to see a huge crack in the centre of the glass dome above. You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Some people at the back of the room edged towards the door, terrified of what would happen when the dome inevitably fell in. But what had caused the dome to crack? And what was the huge crash? Jack and Robert were looking around urgently, looking for any signs of what had happened.
Suddenly, they heard rushed footsteps and a little man appeared at the door, breathing heavily and pointing along the corridor. “The pyramide inversée!” He cried, in a thick French accent, when he could talk. “It has shattered!”
Barely a moment passed before the inevitable happened, and with a crash the glass dome shattered too, and shards of glass fell down onto the crowd below. Some were hit by the sharp pieces, and fell to the floor crying in pain, whilst the room turned from a crowd of intelligent, well brought up people into a raging mob; people were crying out and running to and fro, everyone clambering towards the door. Jack took Gwen’s hand and pulled her towards the door, holding his coat over their heads to protect them from falling glass. Robert was in hot pursuit, his jacket held over his head.
Gwen caught sight of Marie’s head from across the crowd and she called out to her. Seeing her, Marie fought her way over and Gwen came to meet her, running out of the shelter of Jack’s coat. Marie was holding an elderly gentleman by the hand, who Gwen recognized as Marie’s father.
“We need to get out.” She insisted, taking Marie’s other hand and pulling both her and her father towards Jack and Robert. Her father looked shocked, his pale face drawn and contorted by fear, his eyes bulging out of his head.
“Come on.” Jack said, trampling over the glass that covered the floor, and raising the coat over their heads once again as he fought a way through for them. “Something’s happened.”
xx
You may have thought we’d forgotten the rest of the team back in Cardiff. However, here is a brief account of their time, whilst Jack and Gwen were “living it up” in Paris. They had done exactly as Jack had instructed them - Tosh and Ianto had been busy constructing a weevil database whilst Owen had been spending his time watching their own resident weevil, recently named Alice, after Dawn French’s friend in “The Vicar of Dibley”. The expressionless looks both Alice’s gave had inspired the name, and for many hours Owen would sit there, watching the weevil and hoping for some sign of interaction, but to be disappointed with yet another hour spent gazing at an expressionless creature, who was giving him no clue as to its feelings and thoughts. It was only every now and then, when whilst talking (or even thinking) about Jack and Gwen in Paris and their return, that Alice the weevil would give a smug smile and looked around contentedly.
The database was coming along splendidly. All the various bits of information Torchwood had on weevils was scattered all over the place, and it was picked up and filed away neatly. Sightings from the 19th and 20th centuries contained the odd newspaper cutting about a mysterious murder, whilst sightings from the 21st century was a folder full of photos, accounts and reports by Torchwood themselves. Still, it was no good knowing all about the history of weevils, but nothing about their present intentions. However, funnily enough, they did have a feeling that they were not necessarily good.
Owen was spending yet another wasted morning sitting with the weevil, a chipped mug of strong coffee steaming on the floor by one of the legs of his chair. As on the opposite side of the English Channel, the pyramide inversée mysteriously shattered and chaos ensued, the weevil looked up at Owen, its ugly mouth bared in a horrifying grin, its fangs protruding.
It had begun.
xx
Ooh! Reviews please :D