for theatrical_muse... Thank you

[thecopper]

There's a tattered, leather bound book that sits on her nightstand. No one opens it but her, and even she rarely writes in it. Usually she doesn't think about it, but every now and again, an overwhelming need overcomes her to write down the things she can no longer say. The secrets she no longer has anyone to tell.

Dear Jack,

She presses the pen to her lips and casts a glance to the form beneath the duvet next to her. Her husband grumbles and shifts in his sleep, and an affectionate smile crosses her face.

I never said thank you. I don't know why I didn't, when I had the chance, all those years ago. How was saying goodbye so much easier then? Maybe I hoped if I never said 'thank you' it would mean things weren't really finished. I still owe you something, and I hoped one day you would come back for it.

But you're never coming back, are you, Jack?

A door opens and her pen stills over the paper. She hears the footsteps down the hall towards the kitchen. It's just Siana, up for a glass of water or a midnight snack. She's eight years old and her life is already flashing before Gwen's eyes. Gwen can't even remembered when her daughter became old enough to get a cup out of the cabinet on her own.

So here it is. Thank you. Not for the shit that was our job, or the things we went through, or the people we lost. But for thank you for saving me and Rhys. For doing what you did to help us. And for leaving, so we had a chance to live our lives together.

Slippered feet pad down the hall again, and the door closes. Gwen looks at the clock; it's almost 11pm, and she has to be up to see Siana off to school in the morning. Rhys has to go to work. Washing up needs done, meals need made, clothes need washed. Normal things. Boring things.

Wonderful things.

Thank you, Jack, for leaving. For reminding me of what's important. I hope wherever you and are, and whatever you're doing, you've been reminded of that too.

The book is closed and on her bedside again, her cathartic moment drifting from her mind as slumber claims her. She knows he'll never read the letters she's penned to him over the years; even if she sees him again, she knows she doesn't write in the book for him anymore. She writes it in it for herself, to remind her of the things they fought for, the things they died for, the things they killed for.

She writes in the book so that she can remember, one day, to thank him.


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Cut for length and spoilers for Children of Earth.
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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: #311 - Thank somebody for something.
Verse: Open Verse
Word Count: 461