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. )


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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

Wake up.

There's something.

Just wake up.

She's not really asleep, not really quite unconscious or dead. She's aware of the fact that her legs are moving, even though she can't feel them. She feels her arm around Suzie, the sting of her shoulder as the weight of her body is near-dragged across the pier. She watches the splintered wood as her feet shuffle along, one foot in front of the other, Gwen. Keep moving, keep feeling.

( Wake up. )

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Cut for length
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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: #301: Wake Up
Verse: Open/Canon Verse
Word Count: 431

It never ceases to amaze her, really, how people so easily forget.

The time always comes, after every spectacular event, after every earth-shattering understanding of the greater universe, when Gwen picks up the paper and realises it’s been forgotten. It’s a never ending constant in her life, knowing that the spaceships hovering over London, the mass panic through the streets of Cardiff, the view of her city in flames and devastation, will soon fade into the background noise of petty politics and X-Factor scandals.

But they will never fade for her. The images that flash through her mind, the nightmares that still shake her awake in the dark. She knows it would be easy for her to forget too; to turn in her resignation, to take a single pill that would steal every painful memory and toss them into oblivion. To most, her nightmares are simply stories; black and white print against crinkled paper, accompanied with fuzzy photos impossible to verify. For Gwen, they are constant reminders of the continual danger that haunts her every step.

On the couch, her head tucked snugly against Rhys’ shoulder, her eyes skim the pages of the newspaper as she takes in the stories of the latest disgraced celebrity or politician. The newspaper is now her own escapism, because the world the journalists so freely write about is such a far cry from the world she sees everyday. And she can’t particularly blame them. After all, the world deals with its trauma in the best way it can; by moving on.

In those moments, Gwen knows the true weight of Torchwood. Even through the tears, the terror, and the nightmares, Torchwood continues to fight. And Gwen continues to remember, so the rest of the world can have the gentle luxury to forget.

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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: #293: Talk about a news item
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 495

{{ooc: I wracked my brain on this puppy trying to figure out how this could happen. So I apologise for the lack of conventional sex (Wow, I can't believe I just wrote that), but it definitely turned into something of its own!}}

“I’m bored. Entertain me.”

Boredom sits on Jack’s desk, legs swinging with almost childlike enthusiasm over the side. Boredom glints his eyes and smiles like a nightmare. Boredom has the face of a dead man.

Gwen sits across from Boredom, her arms grasped to the chair. Her fringe is hanging in her face; she was meant to have a trim, that morning actually, until the text that brought her in early to work arrived to her mobile.

Come quickly, or I may kill them. I’m bored.

He has no name, but she knows him. His face is that of a man thought dead, one that she had given little thought too. But she knew him, somehow, if not by his true name. She knew him from the dark look in Jack’s eyes as the man lead her up the stairs. She knew him as yet another secret Jack kept and now his team would pay for.

( She supposed to hate him. It seems right, from the look in Jack’s eyes. )

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Cut for Length
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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Sexual Relations Meme
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 1014

Trust is one of those words that people use, to often, to generally. Like love and loyalty and honesty. Used so often it loses meaning, after a while, because it just rests on your tongue like something you would say to anyone, any day, without thinking about what it really means, without understand the power you have behind being able to say it.

You can’t know what it’s like to trust until you have something to actually entrust with someone. I have a secret like that. One I can’t share with anybody, because it doesn’t matter anymore who I trust.

I trust Jack… with my life. With my heart. With a million other things he probably doesn’t deserve. I trust Ianto, with my well being, to keep me strong. I know I can trust Martha, to be here when Jack rings. He can trust her, so I can too.

I trust the Doctor. Or Sarah Jane Smith. But they aren’t my friends, rather just names I’ve read and faces I know will be there when they are called upon to fight beside us.

I can trust Rhys. Finally. He deserves every little bit I can give him, because he’s part of it now.

Then there is everyone else. Mum, dad, my friends. The girls I knew at college, girls I’ve known most of my life. Andy. Old lovers, new lovers, the lovers in between. I can’t say I trust them. Because if I did, I would tell them, without the threat of worry or retcon or what Jack will say. I have one secret. One pressing, dark, festering bloody secret I can’t tell a single one of them. Who I trust doesn’t matter anymore. It’s about who Torchwood trusts. And I am Torchwood, and Torchwood is me.

I still trust. And I still have friends. But they can’t always be one in same.

It has such power, a word like trust. A power that is no longer mine to control.

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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Do you trust your friends?
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 329

A while back I did a meme where people requested certain Gwens to write about. I haven't forgotten about them, I've just been taking my time writing them! So here are two I wrote a while back and simply forgot to post, and there should be more over time.

for itsthecoat, Playful!Gwen

2 a.m. was the best time for the game.

Overwhelmed with work and rigid on continual cups of coffee, Gwen wandered up behind Jack’s desk where he sat, deep in concentration over a stack of paperwork that couldn’t possibly be getting smaller.

She prepared her fingers, pointing them towards him and took a deep, prepared breath for what was to come. She pounced.

And somehow, he always knew. He spun around, before her fingers could reach their target, and he began to tickle her. She squealed and jumped away, speeding out of the office, listening to his footsteps following her. He would catch her – he always did. That was her favourite part of the game.

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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Drabble Meme
Verse: Open
Word Count: 116

for goodathart, Naked!Gwen

“What the bloody hell are you doing in here?”

Gwen leaped, naked, across the room and threw a towel over her body. The Torchwood bathroom was very cold, but an exhausted Gwen had no intention of going back to her flat covered in that day’s lot of alien goo, and put up with the cold for a quick wash. On the other hand, she wasn’t expecting to pop out and find a smirking Captain John Hart.

“Get out!”

John laughed, almost doubled over, and shook his head. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s not like I’m interested, just went through the wrong door.”

“Not on your life!” she shouted. She grabbed her shoe and launched it at his head, missing by about half a metre.

“Definitely not on my life!” He was near hysterics, and paused long enough to wink at her before her headed for the door. She picked up her other shoe and threw it with all her might, watching it bounce against the door soundly as it shut quickly behind him.

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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Drabble Meme
Verse: Open/Crack
Word Count: 172

Arrogance - The best leaders inspire by example. When that's not an option, brute intimidation works pretty well, too.". -Larry Kersten

“No, Rhys, no,” Gwen shook her head, swatting at him, but she couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, come on, Gwen, it’s bloody brilliant!” Rhys grinned so big Gwen was afraid his face would tear open. “You have to admit, it’s perfect for that Jack of yours.”

“He’s not my Jack,” Gwen muttered, but her smile didn’t falter. “And it’s not funny.”

“It’s hysterical.” He forced the picture into her hands. “Come on, you have to take it in with you. Go on, then!”

Gwen held the picture and gave it a sideways glance. It wasn’t particularly clever, not even overly funny, but she couldn’t help the small swell of satisfaction that Rhys had donated something to her plight. As cheeky as it was, it was a step in Rhys accepting her line of work, and every step brought them closer to understanding each other.

She slipped into the Hub and wandered past Jack and Ianto, hunched over one of the desks. They gave her both a sideways glance and a distracted greeting. She didn’t mind; Jack would figure it out soon enough when he wandered down into the vaults.

After she chose a place on the wall in front of a weevil cage, she hung the picture up and smiled smugly to herself. It seemed appropriate, for the company the photo would keep, and even more appropriate for the situation she found herself in every day. After all, the standard motivational poster one would find in any office didn’t have a place in the confines of Torchwood. They spent their days breaking the rules, and there was no presence to regulate how they did it. Except Jack. And as Rhys said, this was for him.

Gwen grinned to herself and bounced out of the vaults, not giving Janet a second glance. If nothing else, she thought pleasantly, at least Owen would have approved of the new addition hanging in the bowels of the Hub.

( To Jack, with love, Gwen )


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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Arrogance
Verse: Crack/Open
Word Count: 324

I'm at a complete loss.

Rhys and I are talking about getting a pet. We've talked about a dog, but seeing as the flat isn't exactly big and there is no way I am getting one of those small dogs that people dress up in ridiculous outfits and carry around in over sized handbags, we decided a different kind of pet would be better. However, Rhys is very allergic to cats, and I don't much care for them myself, so cats are out of the question.

So, I need an opinion from everyone I know. What kind of pet would be good for a newly married couple, who live in a small flat, have no children, and work a lot? Rhys tends to keep quite regular hours, but as many of your know, I don't. So we're looking for a pet that we can enjoy, but will also be low maintenance. We obviously don't know much about this, and would appreciate any ideas!

(And no, John, a baby does not count as a pet.)

TO: cooperg@south-wales.police.uk
FROM: davidsonandy@south-wales.police.uk
SUBJECT: Did you get the job?

Not that I’m being nosy… Ok, I’m being nosy. Did you get that job? They keep talking like you’re leaving. E-mail me back! You never answer you mobile and you know how Rhys is when I call the flat.

PC Andy Davidson

( TO: davidsonandy@south-wales.police.uk )

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Cut for Length
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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Did you get the job?
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 428

She 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. )

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Cut for Length
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Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: Five Times You Ran and One Time You Didn’t
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 1350