for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
justprompts... Five Times You Ran and One Time You Didn't
Sep. 26th, 2008 12:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecopperShe remembered being that cold and scared once. She had been sixteen, and her schoolmates talked her into jumping into the bay the day they graduated. Through her uniform the cold of the water seeped as if into her bones and her body seared with an aching fire and no matter how hard she laboured she was certain she would never breathe again.
Gwen felt that way now, over ten years later, shivering against the blow of the wind, the echo of pelting rain against the brim of her hat, her uniform soaked through. And when he looked up, his bright eyes cutting through the fog and the rain, her body seared again with that strange and frigid pain, and she couldn’t breath.
She had heard them talking, the strange group beneath her. Seen what they had done; watched them raise the bleeding, stone cold dead man back to life. And when the man in the coat looked up at her, standing next to the now dead-again man, he caught his gaze with her own and shouted, through the rain.
“What do you think?”
And she couldn’t. Couldn’t think through the fog in her mind, couldn’t breath through the air that hovered frozen around her mouth.
So she did the only thing she could do.
She ran.
***
Rhys’ voice pounded against her ears.
“And what do you expect me to do, Gwen, just quit?”
She glared at him, curled up on the couch. She hadn’t even had time to take off her shoes when she got home before the onslaught started. They had lived together only a week, and already they fought every day. The tiny flat they so proudly signed the year lease for seemed to shrink in even more around her, and a year seemed a long, long time.
He was unhappy. With his job, or with her. She wasn’t sure, but between her police training and his job jumping, money was tight and patience was thin. She was never entirely sure what they were fighting about anymore. Last night, she thought it had been a fight about wine, but she wasn’t sure if it started or ended that way.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she replied, growled really, and pulled herself off the couch.
“Where you going, then?”
“Out.”
“Out? What kind of answer is that? You can’t just say out!”
“I can say whatever I bloody well please!” she shouted back, and pulled open the door, slamming it soundly on whatever he said next.
The pavement of the sidewalk slapped against the bottom of her thin-soled shoes, a painful, rhythmic stinging, and she ran long enough for her to forget why she had been so angry.
***
It was an adrenaline rush, being shot at, and the gun rested heavy and cold in the palm of her curled hand. She wanted to fire back, but she couldn’t see where the attack came from, and she heard the shouts of her team around her.
Owen swore, and Jack yelled something she couldn’t entirely understand. She had a feeling it was something along the line of “fall back,” but she couldn’t justify turning her back on such a terrifying situation with no regard to how it had started.
A hostile alien was one thing. A hostile alien shooting at them was another thing completely.
She started when a hand came down on her own, and she spun around from her crouched position. Jack’s grip held her steady.
“Gwen, I said fall back!”
“No way,” she hissed. “People are dying, Jack!”
“And all of us getting killed isn’t going to help anyone! Move! Now!”
Gwen planted her feet into the ground and Jack pulled her, but she held steadfast to her stance. “I said no!”
“Damn it, Gwen! We’re out-gunned here!”
“So we’re just going to run away?”
He held her firmly, and she knew the battle was lost. But she still needed a reason, and he must have read that through the fire in her eyes.
“We’ll get him, Gwen. But we can only stop him if we live long enough. And I am not losing you to this!”
She glanced back at the reign of bullets. Everyone else had gone, but the alien was still hidden, screaming, firing away at shattered boxes filled with bullet holes that littered the warehouse. She allowed herself that glance before she surrendered to Jack’s tugging, and, her hand gripped in his, they ran.
***
It wasn’t anyone’s fault, her mother explained to her gently as her father drove to the veterinary surgery. Daisy was old, and tired. And sometimes, when something got old and tired, and sick, it meant they had to be put to sleep. Even if it was something you loved.
When Gwen asked why, then, no one had ever tried to put Nan to sleep, her mother’s face grew red and her father explained, not as gently, that it wasn’t the same with people.
But why that was, Gwen didn’t understand. Daisy was curled in her lap, and Gwen ran her fingers through the cat’s fur, examining her small, pale hands against the mottled grey patches of fur that spotted Daisy’s white coat. She thought she remembered when Daisy had soft fur, fur that was now thick and coarse and made her fingers feel dusty. She had seen the photographs of herself, when she was small enough, trying to ride on Daisy’s back like a tiny pony. No matter how many times she had tugged on her pointed, grey ears, Daisy would just look at her with a look of mild irritation and tolerance. There were times, when Gwen was sad and didn’t know why, that she could bury her face into Daisy’s back and feel her heart beating against her cheek and Daisy always smelt like a summer day.
There was no reason Daisy wasn’t the same as people, she thought to herself, standing next to her mum and dad as the doctor put a strange liquid into a large needle.
Daisy was more than some people, she thought further, as she watched Daisy’s eyes close and her breathing slow.
“Daisy was my friend,” Gwen whispered when they arrived home.
“Oh, Gwen, honey, we can get you another cat if you want,” her father said, placing his arm on her shoulder.
She pulled her arm away and headed for the street, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she ran.
***
Her favourite thing about police training was the running.
The cool spring wind against her cheeks, the way her boots against pavement echoed around her, the way her lungs grasped for air and the way her cheeks felt warm and pink at the end of it all.
She never felt quite as alive as she did when she ran.
***
She stopped.
Frozen in place, she couldn’t think, couldn’t feel past the pain, could barely feel the warmth of Jack’s arm wrapped around her, soft but tight against her shoulder.
She thought the Hub smelled like death and tears, like blood and rust, and her lungs burned to breathe fresh air again.
“Now we carry on,” Jack’s voice broke the silence that Tosh’s recorded voice had left behind.
“I don't think I can, not after this,” she choked, fearful of the defeat in her voice.
“You can,” Jack said. She felt her muscles coil, and she wanted to spring, to escape, but the weight of his arm around her was enough to stop her. “We all can. The end is where we start from.”
Gwen matched her breathing to Jack and Ianto, and it calmed her as her muscles relaxed. The urge to run remained, but instead she stood, her legs aching, her feet still against the Hub’s solid floor, the weight of everything she had left pressed against her, the two precious lives that remained in her grieving world.
The only souls she knew who could bring her back from the brink of this overwhelming darkness, and they stood, steadfast, beside her.
So she did the only thing she could do.
She stayed.
------------
Cut for Length
------------
Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Five Times You Ran and One Time You Didn’t
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 1350
Gwen felt that way now, over ten years later, shivering against the blow of the wind, the echo of pelting rain against the brim of her hat, her uniform soaked through. And when he looked up, his bright eyes cutting through the fog and the rain, her body seared again with that strange and frigid pain, and she couldn’t breath.
She had heard them talking, the strange group beneath her. Seen what they had done; watched them raise the bleeding, stone cold dead man back to life. And when the man in the coat looked up at her, standing next to the now dead-again man, he caught his gaze with her own and shouted, through the rain.
“What do you think?”
And she couldn’t. Couldn’t think through the fog in her mind, couldn’t breath through the air that hovered frozen around her mouth.
So she did the only thing she could do.
She ran.
***
Rhys’ voice pounded against her ears.
“And what do you expect me to do, Gwen, just quit?”
She glared at him, curled up on the couch. She hadn’t even had time to take off her shoes when she got home before the onslaught started. They had lived together only a week, and already they fought every day. The tiny flat they so proudly signed the year lease for seemed to shrink in even more around her, and a year seemed a long, long time.
He was unhappy. With his job, or with her. She wasn’t sure, but between her police training and his job jumping, money was tight and patience was thin. She was never entirely sure what they were fighting about anymore. Last night, she thought it had been a fight about wine, but she wasn’t sure if it started or ended that way.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she replied, growled really, and pulled herself off the couch.
“Where you going, then?”
“Out.”
“Out? What kind of answer is that? You can’t just say out!”
“I can say whatever I bloody well please!” she shouted back, and pulled open the door, slamming it soundly on whatever he said next.
The pavement of the sidewalk slapped against the bottom of her thin-soled shoes, a painful, rhythmic stinging, and she ran long enough for her to forget why she had been so angry.
***
It was an adrenaline rush, being shot at, and the gun rested heavy and cold in the palm of her curled hand. She wanted to fire back, but she couldn’t see where the attack came from, and she heard the shouts of her team around her.
Owen swore, and Jack yelled something she couldn’t entirely understand. She had a feeling it was something along the line of “fall back,” but she couldn’t justify turning her back on such a terrifying situation with no regard to how it had started.
A hostile alien was one thing. A hostile alien shooting at them was another thing completely.
She started when a hand came down on her own, and she spun around from her crouched position. Jack’s grip held her steady.
“Gwen, I said fall back!”
“No way,” she hissed. “People are dying, Jack!”
“And all of us getting killed isn’t going to help anyone! Move! Now!”
Gwen planted her feet into the ground and Jack pulled her, but she held steadfast to her stance. “I said no!”
“Damn it, Gwen! We’re out-gunned here!”
“So we’re just going to run away?”
He held her firmly, and she knew the battle was lost. But she still needed a reason, and he must have read that through the fire in her eyes.
“We’ll get him, Gwen. But we can only stop him if we live long enough. And I am not losing you to this!”
She glanced back at the reign of bullets. Everyone else had gone, but the alien was still hidden, screaming, firing away at shattered boxes filled with bullet holes that littered the warehouse. She allowed herself that glance before she surrendered to Jack’s tugging, and, her hand gripped in his, they ran.
***
It wasn’t anyone’s fault, her mother explained to her gently as her father drove to the veterinary surgery. Daisy was old, and tired. And sometimes, when something got old and tired, and sick, it meant they had to be put to sleep. Even if it was something you loved.
When Gwen asked why, then, no one had ever tried to put Nan to sleep, her mother’s face grew red and her father explained, not as gently, that it wasn’t the same with people.
But why that was, Gwen didn’t understand. Daisy was curled in her lap, and Gwen ran her fingers through the cat’s fur, examining her small, pale hands against the mottled grey patches of fur that spotted Daisy’s white coat. She thought she remembered when Daisy had soft fur, fur that was now thick and coarse and made her fingers feel dusty. She had seen the photographs of herself, when she was small enough, trying to ride on Daisy’s back like a tiny pony. No matter how many times she had tugged on her pointed, grey ears, Daisy would just look at her with a look of mild irritation and tolerance. There were times, when Gwen was sad and didn’t know why, that she could bury her face into Daisy’s back and feel her heart beating against her cheek and Daisy always smelt like a summer day.
There was no reason Daisy wasn’t the same as people, she thought to herself, standing next to her mum and dad as the doctor put a strange liquid into a large needle.
Daisy was more than some people, she thought further, as she watched Daisy’s eyes close and her breathing slow.
“Daisy was my friend,” Gwen whispered when they arrived home.
“Oh, Gwen, honey, we can get you another cat if you want,” her father said, placing his arm on her shoulder.
She pulled her arm away and headed for the street, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she ran.
***
Her favourite thing about police training was the running.
The cool spring wind against her cheeks, the way her boots against pavement echoed around her, the way her lungs grasped for air and the way her cheeks felt warm and pink at the end of it all.
She never felt quite as alive as she did when she ran.
***
She stopped.
Frozen in place, she couldn’t think, couldn’t feel past the pain, could barely feel the warmth of Jack’s arm wrapped around her, soft but tight against her shoulder.
She thought the Hub smelled like death and tears, like blood and rust, and her lungs burned to breathe fresh air again.
“Now we carry on,” Jack’s voice broke the silence that Tosh’s recorded voice had left behind.
“I don't think I can, not after this,” she choked, fearful of the defeat in her voice.
“You can,” Jack said. She felt her muscles coil, and she wanted to spring, to escape, but the weight of his arm around her was enough to stop her. “We all can. The end is where we start from.”
Gwen matched her breathing to Jack and Ianto, and it calmed her as her muscles relaxed. The urge to run remained, but instead she stood, her legs aching, her feet still against the Hub’s solid floor, the weight of everything she had left pressed against her, the two precious lives that remained in her grieving world.
The only souls she knew who could bring her back from the brink of this overwhelming darkness, and they stood, steadfast, beside her.
So she did the only thing she could do.
She stayed.
------------
Cut for Length
------------
Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Five Times You Ran and One Time You Didn’t
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 1350
