Wishverse 1.03 - (one-shot)
Aug. 7th, 2009 10:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wiseheartTitle: The Many Departures of Gwen Cooper
Author: Soledad
Fandom: Torchwood
Category: Heavy-duty Gwen bashing.
Rating: 14+, just to be on the safe side.
Genre: Angst/Romance, for this part. Plus some dark humour.
Series: Wishverse.
Warning: repeated character death(s) in each chapter.
Timeframe: "Ghost Machine". Major spoilers. This is an AU, though.
Summary: Many different ways to get rid of Gwen Cooper, while keeping the episodes as canonical as possible.
Disclaimer: the usual: don’t own, don’t sue! Everything belongs to RTD and BBC. I used a great deal of rewritten original dialogue, though.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
EPISODE 03 – GHOSTS OF A LOST LOVE
Author’s notes:
Well, this one turned out very differently from my original intention, but I’m quite pleased with it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Rhys Williams loved Gwen Cooper. He loved her with all his heart, despite Gwen’s tendency to take him for granted. Despite her repeated efforts to destroy the bond between them through selfishness, irresponsible actions or sheer stupidity.
They had been together since high school, and none of Rhys’ friends or their respective significant others could understand it. He’d have liked to know what Gwen’s friends thought about their relationship, but the sad truth was that Gwen didn’t have any friends; and she didn’t really get along with Rhys’ mates, either. No-one was willing to put up with her – except Rhys himself, of course.
No-one really understood why he would put up with her, either. Why he accepted her transparent lies (she really was a terrible liar), her tendency to make doe-eyes – although Banana Boat tended to call them cow eyes – at every new man coming her way. Why he took over ninety-five per cent of all domestic duties without complaint, although he’d worked longer hours than Gwen while she’d still been with the police. Why he would let her boss him around, berate him just about everything, while making a more than embarrassing public display of her fondness for him – or her ownership over him – which didn’t hinder her in making aforementioned doe eyes at everything wearing trousers.
Rhys knew she cheated on him from time to time. He’d made it a policy to befriend her colleagues, and with Andy, he’d really stumbled over gold. The frustration that working with Gwen would have caused every sane man to climb the walls on a daily basis had made Andy more talkative than he probably had intended. So they’d become casual friends, and on one day Andy had finally confessed his one-time shag with Gwen in the broom closet.
Rhys took it in a stride, with a shrug. That was how things were with Gwen. She needed a great deal of reassurance. She was his ugly duckling, without the faintest chance to turn into a beautiful swan one day. And Rhys had made it to his responsibility to protect her.
Because boy, did she need protection – from her own self, above all things! She was such a clumsy, tactless girl; had been in high school already, it had gotten her into deep shit all the time. It was still a mystery for him how she’d managed to get through police training. Perhaps she’d done the doe-eyes routine on her superiors again and again. That usually worked.
“Best behaviour, my arse!” he muttered fondly, walking into the kitchen to fill the washing machine.
That reminded him of something, and he called Gwen. She sounded a little breathless when she picked up his call – what the hell were they doing again? Hadn’t she told him that her super secret work consisted mostly of filing? Well, that was definitely traffic noise in the background.
“Gwen, uh, I'm just putting a wash on,” he told her. “You got any whites need doing?” he kicked the stack of laundry on the floor.
It was obvious that Gwen was only listening to him with half an ear. “I don't know,” she replied absent-mindedly. “Just leave it, I'll sort it out.”
It was her standard reply to everything. The catch was, though, that she never really sorted out anything, and in the end, Rhys had to do most of the housework anyway. So it was really easier to do things right away – it saved him a lot of time.
“No, no, no it's no trouble,” he assured her, reaching for his sizeable amount of patience. “Just remind me, which drawer do the tablets go in?”
But Gwen wasn’t listening to him anymore. “Ah, just leave it,” she replied absent-mindedly, which meant that he’d have to figure out things on his own again.
“Okay, so, are you in or out tonight?” he asked resignedly, guessing the answer, which promptly came and was as expected.
“I don't know.”
He rolled his eyes, although the effect was lost on her, of course – to think about it, the effect would have been lost on her even if she were sitting opposite him. “Again?!“
“Sorry?” She wasn’t listening to him.
“All I'm asking is you in or out tonight?” he explained with forced patience.
“I don't know,” she replied, her mind clearly elsewhere. This was getting really bothersome.
“Well, I can live with all the Secret Squirrel stuff,” he said, trying very hard not to snap at her, “but if you can't even tell me if you're coming home!”
“Well, nagging isn't helping,” she returned snidely.
He grew cold in the inside. “Right. Well, that's me told.”
She must have realized that something wasn’t all right because her voice softened just a little. “Aw, Rhys...”
But Rhys’d had enough for one day. “I'm not staying in on the off chance,” he interrupted her. “Daf's having mates round. I'll stay there. Do what you want.”
He hung up, but he could hear someone beeping the car horn near her. Some field work then – and not alone. It didn’t matter. He was completely fed up with the whole thing. Besides, there was still the washing machine needed to be started. He took the tablet, trying to figure out which compartment would go in.
It took him a while to get it right – for some reason he kept forgetting this particular detail between two turns – but in the end, he managed without her help, thank you very much. After a moment of hesitation, he put on Gwen’s whites, too. Yes, she’d been bloody grumpy earlier, but again, work always had that effect on her… and besides, it was beneath him to execute such lowly revenge.
He drew the line by taking them out of the machine, though. At the very least she could hang them up herself.
Machine programmed and started, he got out the bins and contemplated doing the washing up, but finally decided against it. There wasn’t too much of that anyway; not to mention that Gwen hadn’t done it – or any of her shares of the housework – for weeks. Enough was enough. Being helpful and supportive was one thing; being a house slave a completely different one.
He left the dirty dishes in the sink and exited the flat, heading for Daf’s. Poker night lay ahead, and he intended to have fun, with or without Gwen. He’d been a Special Ops widow for long enough.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gwen, for her part, was having too much fun to worry about Rhys. She was learning how to use a weapon. From Jack. With full body contact, at that!
She enjoyed the feel of his warm, strong body plastered against her back very much, not realising that its only purpose was to brace her against doing any jerky movements, which could have been dangerous. And Jack smelled nicely. Very nicely. And he was touching her everywhere, rather suggestively if she might say so herself. Perhaps a little encouraging wriggle would be all right?
She faced the target, grabbed the gun with both hands, took a stance, and wriggled against Jack a little. That threw her aim off-kilter, of course, pointing the gun up to the ceiling. Jack grabbed her arms from behind and brought them down.
“Let's leave the roof in one piece, shall we?” He removed her left hand from the gun. “One hand, not two”. He turned her shoulders so she was facing the side, and she leaned against him, just a little. He didn’t seem to realize the encouragement. “Turn sideways to the target.”
He stood behind her and brushed the hair away from her neck, which made her shiver with anticipation. He started with her shoulder and guided his hand down her arm towards the gun. She leaned against him a little more, but again, he showed no reaction. Was the man made of wood or what?
“Looking along your shoulder, down your arm, a straight line to the sights,” he explained. He simulated holding a gun and raised his hand slowly towards the target. “Bring up the gun.”
Getting annoyed with all the distractions, Gwen brought the gun up too quickly. Jack stopped her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”
He put her gun arm back down and grabbed her shoulders towards him. “Too fast.”
He put his hand over hers and brought up the gun towards the target. “It's all in the breathing. Hold it firmly, don't grip it.”
He reached over and cocked the weapon, then he took up his position behind Gwen again. He held her hips firmly against his, and she couldn’t resist wriggling against him, a little more vigorously than before. Frustratingly enough, he still didn’t show any reaction. And this man was supposed to shag anything on two legs?
“Breathe in.” He took a breath with her, the warm air tickling her ear, and she was getting all hot from his closeness. “Focus!” it was said with a half-scowl, and she really, really tried to do so, but it wasn’t easy, with him practically lying on her and all.
He held her hand steady at the target in those big, warm hands of his. “Breathe out,” he ordered. Gwen breathed out and again, felt the warm gush of his breath on her neck. She nearly lost it on the spot. “Squeeze gently.”
She fired, barely looking where she was aiming, just eager to get over with this and to the good parts. The bullet hit the bull’s-eye on the right shoulder of the picture of the attacking Weevil.
“Wow!” she said in surprise, giddy with want. He hugged her to him, and she was sure they’d go somewhere else now and do something more pleasant. Unfortunately, Jack seemed to have other ideas.
“That was a joint effort,” he declared. “Try it again. On your own, and remember, breathe in.”
Gwen scowled and grabbed the weapon again, seriously tempted to put a bullet through his head. But she knew the effect wouldn’t last, so she sighed and continued the practice. This whole thing was getting arduous.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The poker game at Daf’s didn’t last as long as expected. Daf and Karen got into a barney; it escalated quickly, and in the end, she threw him out of the shared bedroom and made him sleep in the spare room – the one in which Rhys was supposed to stay for the night. Daf had offered him the sofa in the living room, but Rhys didn’t feel like crash there. His own domestic crisis was more than enough for him; he didn’t want to witness Daf’s crisis, too. So he pocketed his winnings and went home.
The flat was dark and empty when he got in, the washing machine and the dirty dishes still untouched. Gwen apparently hadn’t been at home yet. Figured. It had been like this since she’d been promoted to Special Ops, or whatever else that bizarrely-named organization she worked now for might be.
“Pity me,” he muttered, “I really am a Torchwood widow.”
It wasn’t that he minded her working all the hours, really. Well, he did, but he understood the necessity; and besides, the new paycheck was impressive. It was just so that he missed her… and then there was the nagging fear that she might not want to come home to him at the end of it one day.
He shook his head in defeat and began to hang up the washing. She’d be very late tonight – again – there was no need letting the wet fabric gather mould.
When he finished with the clothes, Gwen was still nowhere, so he continued with the washing up. It would be her turn, sure, but she’d be beat when she finally got home. Besides, it gave him something to do to pass the time. When that, too, was done, he fetched a beer from the fridge and collapsed on the sofa in front of the telly, not even fully realizing what was on.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was almost midnight when the doorbell rang. He started awake, spilling his beer all over the carpet – he must have fallen asleep somewhen during that silly quiz game. But why was Gwen ringing the bell anyway? Has she lost her keys again? Or forgot them at her workplace? It wouldn’t be the first time…
Rhys shook his head, smiled tolerantly and went to answer the door. When he saw the person standing on their doorstep, cold fear began to spread in his gut. It wasn’t Gwen. It was Andy, still in uniform, accompanied by a cute Japanese girl in civilian garb.
God, what happened?
“Mr. Williams?” the woman asked. Rhys nodded mutely, and she extended her hand to him. “My name is Toshiko Sato. I work… worked with Gwen for Torchwood.”
Worked? Oh God!
“I asked Constable Davidson to come with me, as she knows… knew you both,” she continued. “I’m afraid I’ve got tragic news… but it would be perhaps better if we didn’t discuss it publicly. May we come in?”
Rhys waved them into the living room. A strange numbness descended all over him. He listened to the girl – to Toshiko, he remembered now Gwen speaking about her – as if through thick fog. How they had stumbled over an old murder case. How the murderer, now a broken old man, had tried to kill a young bloke who’d figured out his guilt after all those decades. How Gwen interfered, saving the boy’s life at the price of her own. How the others arrived too late to stop the tragedy from happening.
It was in that moment when he began to shake. He didn’t cry, not yet – the tears would come later, he knew they would, but right now, the shock was too deep. Andy sat down on the sofa with him, enveloping him in a comforting hug, dear, supportive friend that he was. The cute girl brought him a glass of water but he couldn’t drink it; his hands were shaking too much.
And still the tears would not come.
Andy and the girl stayed with him all night. In the morning, a friendly young bloke clad in a spotless dark suit arrived and took over for them. He made coffee – the best coffee Rhys had ever tasted – made the necessary calls. To Rhys’ workplace. To Gwen’s parents. To the funeral service. To order Italian takeout. Like a mother hen and a competent secretary rolled in one. Calm. Quiet. Efficient.
In the afternoon, when he’d finally found his voice again, Rhys asked him why he was doing this. The young man looked at him with compassionate eyes.
“I know what it’s like to lose someone you’ve loved more than life itself,” he replied simply.
And he held Rhys when the tears finally came.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” newly-hired Torchwood member Andy Davidson said. He and Toshiko were having breakfast in a small bakery near the Plass. “You told Rhys that Gwen died saving that young bloke’s life, what was his name again?”
“Bernie Harris,” Toshiko supplied.
Andy nodded. “Yeah, right, that one. But it wasn’t like that at all, was it?”
“Does it matter?” Toshiko asked. “What good would it have done if I told Rhys the truth? That Gwen died because she didn’t have the mother wit to hold a knife safely, so that she wouldn’t fall right into it when Ed Morgan pushed her? This way at least he can have a proud memory… not much to live for, but that would make Gwen’s death a little less meaningless, at least for Rhys.”
“He loved her more than anything,” Andy said thoughtfully. “I never understood why,”
“Does it really need to have a reason?” Toshiko asked. “Love falls where love falls… do we have to understand why, in order to accept it?”
“No,” Andy replied slowly. “We don’t need to understand at all.”
And, leaning over the coffee table, he kissed her.
~The End – for now~
Author: Soledad
Fandom: Torchwood
Category: Heavy-duty Gwen bashing.
Rating: 14+, just to be on the safe side.
Genre: Angst/Romance, for this part. Plus some dark humour.
Series: Wishverse.
Warning: repeated character death(s) in each chapter.
Timeframe: "Ghost Machine". Major spoilers. This is an AU, though.
Summary: Many different ways to get rid of Gwen Cooper, while keeping the episodes as canonical as possible.
Disclaimer: the usual: don’t own, don’t sue! Everything belongs to RTD and BBC. I used a great deal of rewritten original dialogue, though.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
EPISODE 03 – GHOSTS OF A LOST LOVE
Author’s notes:
Well, this one turned out very differently from my original intention, but I’m quite pleased with it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Rhys Williams loved Gwen Cooper. He loved her with all his heart, despite Gwen’s tendency to take him for granted. Despite her repeated efforts to destroy the bond between them through selfishness, irresponsible actions or sheer stupidity.
They had been together since high school, and none of Rhys’ friends or their respective significant others could understand it. He’d have liked to know what Gwen’s friends thought about their relationship, but the sad truth was that Gwen didn’t have any friends; and she didn’t really get along with Rhys’ mates, either. No-one was willing to put up with her – except Rhys himself, of course.
No-one really understood why he would put up with her, either. Why he accepted her transparent lies (she really was a terrible liar), her tendency to make doe-eyes – although Banana Boat tended to call them cow eyes – at every new man coming her way. Why he took over ninety-five per cent of all domestic duties without complaint, although he’d worked longer hours than Gwen while she’d still been with the police. Why he would let her boss him around, berate him just about everything, while making a more than embarrassing public display of her fondness for him – or her ownership over him – which didn’t hinder her in making aforementioned doe eyes at everything wearing trousers.
Rhys knew she cheated on him from time to time. He’d made it a policy to befriend her colleagues, and with Andy, he’d really stumbled over gold. The frustration that working with Gwen would have caused every sane man to climb the walls on a daily basis had made Andy more talkative than he probably had intended. So they’d become casual friends, and on one day Andy had finally confessed his one-time shag with Gwen in the broom closet.
Rhys took it in a stride, with a shrug. That was how things were with Gwen. She needed a great deal of reassurance. She was his ugly duckling, without the faintest chance to turn into a beautiful swan one day. And Rhys had made it to his responsibility to protect her.
Because boy, did she need protection – from her own self, above all things! She was such a clumsy, tactless girl; had been in high school already, it had gotten her into deep shit all the time. It was still a mystery for him how she’d managed to get through police training. Perhaps she’d done the doe-eyes routine on her superiors again and again. That usually worked.
“Best behaviour, my arse!” he muttered fondly, walking into the kitchen to fill the washing machine.
That reminded him of something, and he called Gwen. She sounded a little breathless when she picked up his call – what the hell were they doing again? Hadn’t she told him that her super secret work consisted mostly of filing? Well, that was definitely traffic noise in the background.
“Gwen, uh, I'm just putting a wash on,” he told her. “You got any whites need doing?” he kicked the stack of laundry on the floor.
It was obvious that Gwen was only listening to him with half an ear. “I don't know,” she replied absent-mindedly. “Just leave it, I'll sort it out.”
It was her standard reply to everything. The catch was, though, that she never really sorted out anything, and in the end, Rhys had to do most of the housework anyway. So it was really easier to do things right away – it saved him a lot of time.
“No, no, no it's no trouble,” he assured her, reaching for his sizeable amount of patience. “Just remind me, which drawer do the tablets go in?”
But Gwen wasn’t listening to him anymore. “Ah, just leave it,” she replied absent-mindedly, which meant that he’d have to figure out things on his own again.
“Okay, so, are you in or out tonight?” he asked resignedly, guessing the answer, which promptly came and was as expected.
“I don't know.”
He rolled his eyes, although the effect was lost on her, of course – to think about it, the effect would have been lost on her even if she were sitting opposite him. “Again?!“
“Sorry?” She wasn’t listening to him.
“All I'm asking is you in or out tonight?” he explained with forced patience.
“I don't know,” she replied, her mind clearly elsewhere. This was getting really bothersome.
“Well, I can live with all the Secret Squirrel stuff,” he said, trying very hard not to snap at her, “but if you can't even tell me if you're coming home!”
“Well, nagging isn't helping,” she returned snidely.
He grew cold in the inside. “Right. Well, that's me told.”
She must have realized that something wasn’t all right because her voice softened just a little. “Aw, Rhys...”
But Rhys’d had enough for one day. “I'm not staying in on the off chance,” he interrupted her. “Daf's having mates round. I'll stay there. Do what you want.”
He hung up, but he could hear someone beeping the car horn near her. Some field work then – and not alone. It didn’t matter. He was completely fed up with the whole thing. Besides, there was still the washing machine needed to be started. He took the tablet, trying to figure out which compartment would go in.
It took him a while to get it right – for some reason he kept forgetting this particular detail between two turns – but in the end, he managed without her help, thank you very much. After a moment of hesitation, he put on Gwen’s whites, too. Yes, she’d been bloody grumpy earlier, but again, work always had that effect on her… and besides, it was beneath him to execute such lowly revenge.
He drew the line by taking them out of the machine, though. At the very least she could hang them up herself.
Machine programmed and started, he got out the bins and contemplated doing the washing up, but finally decided against it. There wasn’t too much of that anyway; not to mention that Gwen hadn’t done it – or any of her shares of the housework – for weeks. Enough was enough. Being helpful and supportive was one thing; being a house slave a completely different one.
He left the dirty dishes in the sink and exited the flat, heading for Daf’s. Poker night lay ahead, and he intended to have fun, with or without Gwen. He’d been a Special Ops widow for long enough.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gwen, for her part, was having too much fun to worry about Rhys. She was learning how to use a weapon. From Jack. With full body contact, at that!
She enjoyed the feel of his warm, strong body plastered against her back very much, not realising that its only purpose was to brace her against doing any jerky movements, which could have been dangerous. And Jack smelled nicely. Very nicely. And he was touching her everywhere, rather suggestively if she might say so herself. Perhaps a little encouraging wriggle would be all right?
She faced the target, grabbed the gun with both hands, took a stance, and wriggled against Jack a little. That threw her aim off-kilter, of course, pointing the gun up to the ceiling. Jack grabbed her arms from behind and brought them down.
“Let's leave the roof in one piece, shall we?” He removed her left hand from the gun. “One hand, not two”. He turned her shoulders so she was facing the side, and she leaned against him, just a little. He didn’t seem to realize the encouragement. “Turn sideways to the target.”
He stood behind her and brushed the hair away from her neck, which made her shiver with anticipation. He started with her shoulder and guided his hand down her arm towards the gun. She leaned against him a little more, but again, he showed no reaction. Was the man made of wood or what?
“Looking along your shoulder, down your arm, a straight line to the sights,” he explained. He simulated holding a gun and raised his hand slowly towards the target. “Bring up the gun.”
Getting annoyed with all the distractions, Gwen brought the gun up too quickly. Jack stopped her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”
He put her gun arm back down and grabbed her shoulders towards him. “Too fast.”
He put his hand over hers and brought up the gun towards the target. “It's all in the breathing. Hold it firmly, don't grip it.”
He reached over and cocked the weapon, then he took up his position behind Gwen again. He held her hips firmly against his, and she couldn’t resist wriggling against him, a little more vigorously than before. Frustratingly enough, he still didn’t show any reaction. And this man was supposed to shag anything on two legs?
“Breathe in.” He took a breath with her, the warm air tickling her ear, and she was getting all hot from his closeness. “Focus!” it was said with a half-scowl, and she really, really tried to do so, but it wasn’t easy, with him practically lying on her and all.
He held her hand steady at the target in those big, warm hands of his. “Breathe out,” he ordered. Gwen breathed out and again, felt the warm gush of his breath on her neck. She nearly lost it on the spot. “Squeeze gently.”
She fired, barely looking where she was aiming, just eager to get over with this and to the good parts. The bullet hit the bull’s-eye on the right shoulder of the picture of the attacking Weevil.
“Wow!” she said in surprise, giddy with want. He hugged her to him, and she was sure they’d go somewhere else now and do something more pleasant. Unfortunately, Jack seemed to have other ideas.
“That was a joint effort,” he declared. “Try it again. On your own, and remember, breathe in.”
Gwen scowled and grabbed the weapon again, seriously tempted to put a bullet through his head. But she knew the effect wouldn’t last, so she sighed and continued the practice. This whole thing was getting arduous.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The poker game at Daf’s didn’t last as long as expected. Daf and Karen got into a barney; it escalated quickly, and in the end, she threw him out of the shared bedroom and made him sleep in the spare room – the one in which Rhys was supposed to stay for the night. Daf had offered him the sofa in the living room, but Rhys didn’t feel like crash there. His own domestic crisis was more than enough for him; he didn’t want to witness Daf’s crisis, too. So he pocketed his winnings and went home.
The flat was dark and empty when he got in, the washing machine and the dirty dishes still untouched. Gwen apparently hadn’t been at home yet. Figured. It had been like this since she’d been promoted to Special Ops, or whatever else that bizarrely-named organization she worked now for might be.
“Pity me,” he muttered, “I really am a Torchwood widow.”
It wasn’t that he minded her working all the hours, really. Well, he did, but he understood the necessity; and besides, the new paycheck was impressive. It was just so that he missed her… and then there was the nagging fear that she might not want to come home to him at the end of it one day.
He shook his head in defeat and began to hang up the washing. She’d be very late tonight – again – there was no need letting the wet fabric gather mould.
When he finished with the clothes, Gwen was still nowhere, so he continued with the washing up. It would be her turn, sure, but she’d be beat when she finally got home. Besides, it gave him something to do to pass the time. When that, too, was done, he fetched a beer from the fridge and collapsed on the sofa in front of the telly, not even fully realizing what was on.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was almost midnight when the doorbell rang. He started awake, spilling his beer all over the carpet – he must have fallen asleep somewhen during that silly quiz game. But why was Gwen ringing the bell anyway? Has she lost her keys again? Or forgot them at her workplace? It wouldn’t be the first time…
Rhys shook his head, smiled tolerantly and went to answer the door. When he saw the person standing on their doorstep, cold fear began to spread in his gut. It wasn’t Gwen. It was Andy, still in uniform, accompanied by a cute Japanese girl in civilian garb.
God, what happened?
“Mr. Williams?” the woman asked. Rhys nodded mutely, and she extended her hand to him. “My name is Toshiko Sato. I work… worked with Gwen for Torchwood.”
Worked? Oh God!
“I asked Constable Davidson to come with me, as she knows… knew you both,” she continued. “I’m afraid I’ve got tragic news… but it would be perhaps better if we didn’t discuss it publicly. May we come in?”
Rhys waved them into the living room. A strange numbness descended all over him. He listened to the girl – to Toshiko, he remembered now Gwen speaking about her – as if through thick fog. How they had stumbled over an old murder case. How the murderer, now a broken old man, had tried to kill a young bloke who’d figured out his guilt after all those decades. How Gwen interfered, saving the boy’s life at the price of her own. How the others arrived too late to stop the tragedy from happening.
It was in that moment when he began to shake. He didn’t cry, not yet – the tears would come later, he knew they would, but right now, the shock was too deep. Andy sat down on the sofa with him, enveloping him in a comforting hug, dear, supportive friend that he was. The cute girl brought him a glass of water but he couldn’t drink it; his hands were shaking too much.
And still the tears would not come.
Andy and the girl stayed with him all night. In the morning, a friendly young bloke clad in a spotless dark suit arrived and took over for them. He made coffee – the best coffee Rhys had ever tasted – made the necessary calls. To Rhys’ workplace. To Gwen’s parents. To the funeral service. To order Italian takeout. Like a mother hen and a competent secretary rolled in one. Calm. Quiet. Efficient.
In the afternoon, when he’d finally found his voice again, Rhys asked him why he was doing this. The young man looked at him with compassionate eyes.
“I know what it’s like to lose someone you’ve loved more than life itself,” he replied simply.
And he held Rhys when the tears finally came.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” newly-hired Torchwood member Andy Davidson said. He and Toshiko were having breakfast in a small bakery near the Plass. “You told Rhys that Gwen died saving that young bloke’s life, what was his name again?”
“Bernie Harris,” Toshiko supplied.
Andy nodded. “Yeah, right, that one. But it wasn’t like that at all, was it?”
“Does it matter?” Toshiko asked. “What good would it have done if I told Rhys the truth? That Gwen died because she didn’t have the mother wit to hold a knife safely, so that she wouldn’t fall right into it when Ed Morgan pushed her? This way at least he can have a proud memory… not much to live for, but that would make Gwen’s death a little less meaningless, at least for Rhys.”
“He loved her more than anything,” Andy said thoughtfully. “I never understood why,”
“Does it really need to have a reason?” Toshiko asked. “Love falls where love falls… do we have to understand why, in order to accept it?”
“No,” Andy replied slowly. “We don’t need to understand at all.”
And, leaning over the coffee table, he kissed her.
~The End – for now~
