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theatrical_muse... If you could see yourself now...
Mar. 6th, 2010 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecopper“What did you two do today?”
Gwen sat on the edge of the bed, running a brush through her hair as she watched Rhys wrench at the tie around his neck. The muted light of the bedside lamp spilled over the sheets, lulling the room into a sleepy darkness.
“We went out. Ended up having lunch on Mermaid Quay; the weather's been improvin' a bit, hasn't it?”
“You should have seen my backlog today,” Rhys replied, as if she had asked. “Bloody mess, all of it. Did you have a good time?”
“Nothing crawled out from the sewers and the bay didn't fall into the sea, so it could have been worse.”
“I'll take that as a yes.” He managed to successfully wrangle his tie, moving onto pulling off his boots. He finally had to sit down, yanking at them with laboured huffs, as Gwen inspected the split end of a strand of her hair. She had found three grey hairs that morning – it was hardly a comforting thought.
“Yes, we had a good time,” she conceded, smiling at him as she pulled her legs up onto the bed. “Oh, and this afternoon, she wrote a letter to her future self. It's sealed and in the attic, not to be opened for ten years.”
Rhys scoffed and shook his head. “Ten years? Hell of a long time for a seven year old.”
“Bloody long time for a thirty-seven year old, if you ask me,” she laughed.
Having managed his shoes, Rhys had moved onto his shirt and trousers. Gwen flopped back on the bed, staring up a ceiling as he fished out a pair of pajamas, and she turned her head to watch him.
“Did you read it?” he asked.
Gwen laughed, shaking her head. “No. Didn't seem right. But she did ask me how to spell 'astronaut,' so I think I got the idea.”
“Taking after her mum then, isn't she?”
Another scoff. “Hardly.”
Once his pajamas were successfully donned, Rhys and Gwen scrambled under the sheets, laying on their pillows to look at each other in the soft light. It had become something of a nighttime tradition, these talks; talks which generally carried the weight of nothing and everything. They were a part of the day Gwen looked forward to more than anything else.
“What do you think you would have written?”
“To my future self as a seven year old?”
“Yeah,” Gwen replied. “Or just yourself as a child to yourself now. Do you think you'd be happy with all of this?”
“Bloody happy, I'm sure. Beautiful wife, lovely daughter. Maybe not the backlog of paperwork but I'll take what I can get.”
She made a small humming noise, somewhere between mocking and complete understanding. Rhys brushed a lock of dark hair from her face. “Why? You don't think you would?”
“No, nothin' like that,” Gwen said. She frowned, trying to imagine herself a child again. Sometimes she saw that lost bit of herself in her daughter; but most of the time, Siana was all Rhys. It seemed fair, though; with all they had been through, Gwen felt like she had at least owed that to him. That tiny glimmer of immortality she saw in his eyes when he looked at them. Gwen was happy to have been able to give him that kind of gift.
“I'd be happy, I'm sure,” she finally said, slowly. “I think I'd be surprised, too. Knowin' everything I had been through to get here. Everything we all have been through, really. Everything we lost to get here.”
She sighed, her eyes averted from Rhys gaze, and he grunted. “Gwen, if this is about Jack...”
“I know, you don't want to bloody hear it -”
His hand snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to him as his lips brushed softly against her forehead. “Gwen, shut up,” he said, his voice gentle, but stern. “That's not what I meant. I know how close you were to Jack and, you know, the ruddy bastard wasn't half bad. And I know you aren't going to forget all that happened, but you know, he wouldn't want you to spend forever hating yourself for it.”
“I don't hate myself -”
“Gwen, shut up.”
Gwen snapped her mouth shut again, her lips curving into a smile.
“I think if childhood you were to look at yourself now, you'd say, 'That was a right go, Gwen. You got to be a copper, you got to be a mum, and you even got to save the planet a few times. Not to mention, that bloke you're shagging, how'd you end up so bloody lucky?'”
She giggled and shook her head into the pillow, before looking back up at him. “It hasn't been a bad life, has it?”
“No,” Rhys said. “And thanks to Jack, and Ianto, and the whole damn lot of you, it's still gonna keep being a not bad life. As a matter of fact, I think it's turning out to be a pretty good one.”
“Yeah,” Gwen whispered. “It is.”
Rhys switched off the light and Gwen snuggled herself into his arm, soothed by the lullaby of his breath. Maybe her younger self would have been horrified at the prospect of all she would lose, one day, but that didn't mean it had to sour all she had gained.
Maybe the hardest part of growing up was realizing pain was as much a part of a life as pleasure.
She had almost faded to sleep with the rumble of Rhys' voice roused her.
“By the way, Gwen, you're thirty-eight.”
She smirked. “Rhys, shut up.”
His laugh echoed gently in the night.
------------
Cut for length and slight spoilers for Children of Earth
------------
Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: #324 - If you, as a child, could see yourself now, what do you think you would say?
Verse: Open Future Verse
Word Count: 983
Gwen sat on the edge of the bed, running a brush through her hair as she watched Rhys wrench at the tie around his neck. The muted light of the bedside lamp spilled over the sheets, lulling the room into a sleepy darkness.
“We went out. Ended up having lunch on Mermaid Quay; the weather's been improvin' a bit, hasn't it?”
“You should have seen my backlog today,” Rhys replied, as if she had asked. “Bloody mess, all of it. Did you have a good time?”
“Nothing crawled out from the sewers and the bay didn't fall into the sea, so it could have been worse.”
“I'll take that as a yes.” He managed to successfully wrangle his tie, moving onto pulling off his boots. He finally had to sit down, yanking at them with laboured huffs, as Gwen inspected the split end of a strand of her hair. She had found three grey hairs that morning – it was hardly a comforting thought.
“Yes, we had a good time,” she conceded, smiling at him as she pulled her legs up onto the bed. “Oh, and this afternoon, she wrote a letter to her future self. It's sealed and in the attic, not to be opened for ten years.”
Rhys scoffed and shook his head. “Ten years? Hell of a long time for a seven year old.”
“Bloody long time for a thirty-seven year old, if you ask me,” she laughed.
Having managed his shoes, Rhys had moved onto his shirt and trousers. Gwen flopped back on the bed, staring up a ceiling as he fished out a pair of pajamas, and she turned her head to watch him.
“Did you read it?” he asked.
Gwen laughed, shaking her head. “No. Didn't seem right. But she did ask me how to spell 'astronaut,' so I think I got the idea.”
“Taking after her mum then, isn't she?”
Another scoff. “Hardly.”
Once his pajamas were successfully donned, Rhys and Gwen scrambled under the sheets, laying on their pillows to look at each other in the soft light. It had become something of a nighttime tradition, these talks; talks which generally carried the weight of nothing and everything. They were a part of the day Gwen looked forward to more than anything else.
“What do you think you would have written?”
“To my future self as a seven year old?”
“Yeah,” Gwen replied. “Or just yourself as a child to yourself now. Do you think you'd be happy with all of this?”
“Bloody happy, I'm sure. Beautiful wife, lovely daughter. Maybe not the backlog of paperwork but I'll take what I can get.”
She made a small humming noise, somewhere between mocking and complete understanding. Rhys brushed a lock of dark hair from her face. “Why? You don't think you would?”
“No, nothin' like that,” Gwen said. She frowned, trying to imagine herself a child again. Sometimes she saw that lost bit of herself in her daughter; but most of the time, Siana was all Rhys. It seemed fair, though; with all they had been through, Gwen felt like she had at least owed that to him. That tiny glimmer of immortality she saw in his eyes when he looked at them. Gwen was happy to have been able to give him that kind of gift.
“I'd be happy, I'm sure,” she finally said, slowly. “I think I'd be surprised, too. Knowin' everything I had been through to get here. Everything we all have been through, really. Everything we lost to get here.”
She sighed, her eyes averted from Rhys gaze, and he grunted. “Gwen, if this is about Jack...”
“I know, you don't want to bloody hear it -”
His hand snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to him as his lips brushed softly against her forehead. “Gwen, shut up,” he said, his voice gentle, but stern. “That's not what I meant. I know how close you were to Jack and, you know, the ruddy bastard wasn't half bad. And I know you aren't going to forget all that happened, but you know, he wouldn't want you to spend forever hating yourself for it.”
“I don't hate myself -”
“Gwen, shut up.”
Gwen snapped her mouth shut again, her lips curving into a smile.
“I think if childhood you were to look at yourself now, you'd say, 'That was a right go, Gwen. You got to be a copper, you got to be a mum, and you even got to save the planet a few times. Not to mention, that bloke you're shagging, how'd you end up so bloody lucky?'”
She giggled and shook her head into the pillow, before looking back up at him. “It hasn't been a bad life, has it?”
“No,” Rhys said. “And thanks to Jack, and Ianto, and the whole damn lot of you, it's still gonna keep being a not bad life. As a matter of fact, I think it's turning out to be a pretty good one.”
“Yeah,” Gwen whispered. “It is.”
Rhys switched off the light and Gwen snuggled herself into his arm, soothed by the lullaby of his breath. Maybe her younger self would have been horrified at the prospect of all she would lose, one day, but that didn't mean it had to sour all she had gained.
Maybe the hardest part of growing up was realizing pain was as much a part of a life as pleasure.
She had almost faded to sleep with the rumble of Rhys' voice roused her.
“By the way, Gwen, you're thirty-eight.”
She smirked. “Rhys, shut up.”
His laugh echoed gently in the night.
------------
Cut for length and slight spoilers for Children of Earth
------------
Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: #324 - If you, as a child, could see yourself now, what do you think you would say?
Verse: Open Future Verse
Word Count: 983
