Strangely Attractive
by kijikun (LJ | e-mail | comment) and miriel (LJ | e-mail | comment)
Torchwood | NC-17 | John Hart/Gwen Cooper, Ianto Jones/Jack Harkness | 53,137 words"We're business partners, or were. That might not be a ring and a garter, but in my experience it lasts longer. Well, unless my business partner tries to kill me, but I never start it."
Beta: Hllangel
Art by Savi2070 (LJ | e-mail | comment) and Settiai (LJ | e-mail | comment)
There is cold metal against her back; it contrasts sharply with the heat of his body as he presses against her. He wants this as much as she does, that much is evident in the hard length she can feel through his trousers. That she wants this at all is a truth she admits only in the sanctuary of her mind, demonstrating her tacit approval by her lack of withdrawal. He knows her better than she knows herself, however, and she cannot suppress a moan as he rips off her blouse and his hands find her breasts. He is rough enough to be harsh, but still gentle enough to do no lasting damage as his nails and then his teeth scrape over sensitive skin.
She is naked now, but the night air is unseasonably warm. He kisses her, marks her, and she is appalled to find that she is near begging when he finally aligns his body with her own. He stops, then, quiet and insistent as he asks if she wants this. Part of her wants to scream "no!", that nothing good can come of this and that plenty of bad inevitably will. The greater part, the selfish part that tells Rhys she loves him because it's easier than letting him go, answers "yes."
He takes her acquiescence and runs with it, mouth fierce as he tastes her skin. Her breathless moan is cut short as he thrusts into her, and her world narrows further. He is ruthless, stronger than his slender frame suggests, and she loves it. She arches into him, wanting more, and he obliges. She rakes her nails down his back, marking him as his fingers mark her, bruises already forming in a messy semi-circle upon her hip. She is close, so close, and she curses him as he slows.
He smirks, voice whiskey rough as he rolls his hips once and stills them again. "Did you want something, luv?"
Frustrated, she reaches down to finish herself, but he catches her hand and pins it to the wall, shaking his head. "Now, now. That would be cheating."
She doesn't recognize her own voice as she asks, begs for completion. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of looking away, though, meeting his gaze in challenge even as her voice betrays her. He leans in, his kiss possessive and rough, only just this side of vicious. She would moan if she could find the breath, and she lets her eyes slip closed as she feels her climax building.
"Look at me." It is unmistakably an order, but one she has no intention of following.
She shakes her head, lost in the building sensation. He bites her neck, hard, and her eyes fly open in surprise. The last thing she sees as the endorphins flood her system is his smirk, hears his voice.
"Can't forget me, luv."
Gwen woke in a cold sweat, gasping for air and trying desperately not to wake Rhys. The dreams were getting more vivid, something she hadn't thought possible. She should tell Jack, but she knows she won't. The last thing the captain needs is to learn that she's been dreaming about that particular piece of rubbish from his past. The last thing she needs is to be dreaming about fucking him. She has a fiancé. She's even been trying to get home often enough to have something resembling a sex life again. There is no reason for Captain John Hart to be appearing in her dreams, but he is there just the same. More worrisome, he's gone from snogging her to fucking her senseless in less than two weeks.
Giving up on even the pretense of rest, she slid carefully out of bed, stilling her escape only a moment when Rhys muttered and shifted, waiting just long enough to ensure his return to deepest sleep.
The dreams continued, although they were sporadic and oddly temperamental. She never dreamed in the Hub, only at home, and while the theme was always sex with John Hart, the backdrop of the dreams began to change.
On an ordinary evening, two months after the dreams began, she stepped into the lift in her building, exhausted as she always was when shit hit the fan on a week night. As the door began to close, however, someone tagged the call button and stepped in beside her. It took a moment for her to realize that it was John Hart, corporeal and real. For a moment, she thought him a figment of her imagination, but after closing her eyes and counting to five he was still there. She resolved to ignore him, staring at the floor numbers as they slowly cycled, and hoping that he was just a result of one too many late nights in the Hub.
The illusion was shattered when he pressed her up against the wall and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Miss me, luv?" He kissed her cheek and walked out as the lift doors opened on his floor. She was so stunned by the action, she didn't even think to check what floor it was.
The next day, he caught her in the lift again. This time, he snogged her, and left her with a flat number and a time. In surprisingly few words, he'd made his offer clear. Have sex with him or he'd start causing problems for Jack.
Gwen rang the bell of what she assumed was John's flat. Whatever he wanted, she wasn't going to give into him, she told herself. Whatever game he was playing, she wanted no part of it.
For a long moment, she wondered if she had the right door, if Captain Hart would really be on the other side. She considered leaving, going back to Rhys who was sleeping soundly two floors above her, but she had no doubt that John would follow through on his threat. The last thing Jack needed was more reminders of his past showing up.
She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she missed the door opening. She blinked at the low chuckle that emanated from the man in the doorway, before scowling at his smug expression. "I'm here."
"So I've noticed, and that's a lovely look for you."
"Bastard," Gwen hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm here. Now what do you want?"
John smirked. "You say that as if it's a bad thing." He pushed off the doorway and stepped back into the flat. "Since you've been kind enough to stop by, I can't very well be inhospitable, now can I?"
"Look, you wanted me here, so, I am. Now tell me your terms, and leave the rest of the team alone."
He turned away, stepping over to a fully stocked bar. "No drink before business? I tend to like my business with my pleasure, but then you are a bit backward, aren't you?"
Gwen scoffed, still debating whether it was worth having it out in the hallway for all to see, or if she should chance entering the flat. She didn't want to give him any more of an advantage, but she also didn't want to make a scene.
He shook his head in mock pity and poured two tumblers of amber liquid. "Still, twenty-first century, what can I expect?"
Giving up what had been a futile battle from the beginning, Gwen stepped into the flat and pulled the door shut behind. After all, she was going to have to live in this building a lot longer than he was. "You probably drugged it."
He waved dismissively before offering her a tumbler. "Would I do that to you?"
She didn't take it. "Yes."
"Fair enough. Didn't this time, though. I prefer the right-minded willing." He didn't retract the hand with the glass.
She glared at the glass, making it the subject of her opinion on her current situation, but finally accepted it. "You seemed to prefer me paralyzed on the floor last time." She refused to think about the images 'right-minded willing' brought to mind, like the dreams of his body pressed against hers.
"Practicalities, luv. Bit of a time crunch, needed you out of the running while I took care of some business. Wasn't my first choice, trust me." He looked her over, leering at the cut of her tank top.
"I wouldn't trust you if my life depended on it, and I sure as hell wouldn't have shagged you," Gwen snorted. "What do you want, John?"
"Would have though that would be obvious, Gwen." When she failed to respond appropriately, he gestured pointedly with his glass. "You."
"Right, that's it." She set the glass down and turned to leave.
He chuckled darkly, a sound all the more chilling for its pleasantry. "I'm serious, luv. You. Willing."
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Are you crazy? You tried to kill me. Twice."
He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "Nothing personal, just a cost of doing business. If you'll note, I didn't actually kill you. So I think that buys me a bit of leeway. And let's face it. You're attractive, and you're practically begging for it."
Gwen whirled around and glared at him. "I wouldn't beg you if you were the last man on Earth," she snapped.
"Ah, sadly no. But I am the one with the best offer, and I can guarantee I'm better than that bloke you've got upstairs."
"You leave Rhys out of this!"
"Give me a reason."
Gwen crossed her arms over her chest again. "I sleep with you, and you'll leave Jack and the rest of the team alone?"
"They'll never even know I'm here." He smiled pleasantly, and raised his glass. "Do we have an agreement?"
Gwen raised her glass reluctantly, then lowered it to glare at him suspiciously. "How do I know you'll keep your end?"
"Ask Jack. I always keep my word on business deals. Trick is the fine print."
"I want a contract then. In writing." Gwen raised her chin, giving him her best 'I'm a copper and you're scum, shut it and show me your hands' look.
"Can be arranged. Digital, or paper?"
Gwen blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected him to give in that easily. "Paper."
He nodded, and crossed to retrieve a paper from the desk in the corner of the lounge. "Is this sufficient?"
The paper provided a list of people whom he would not contact or harm. It also specified her voluntary participation in an "arrangement for mutual gratification."
"You already had one drawn up?" Gwen looked up from the paper in curiosity. "Or do you do this a lot?"
He shrugged. "Let's just say that I like to plan for all contingencies."
"Okay, fine," Gwen finally said. It wasn't cheating, she told herself. It was business. She wasn't going to let him ruin Jack's life.
"Right, if that's settled, then how about we get onto better things, yeah? Because this might take a while. In fact, I hope it does." He ran his eyes along her form again, and she was torn between feeling flattered and disgusted. "And some of us have to be up in the morning."
Gwen picked up her abandoned glass and took a long swallow. She figured she was going to need it. Besides, being poisoned might be the most harmless way out of this, all things considered. "Places to go, people to con?" she asked, trying not to shiver under his gaze.
He crossed the space between them, taking her empty glass and setting it on the bar before sliding his hand around her neck and into her hair. "Something like that." He tugged sharply, pulling her flush against his body.
She could feel his arousal through his trousers and her body reacted without her approval. "You're a bastard," Gwen told him. She curled her fingers into her hands to keep from grabbing hold of him. This was like one of her dreams, except that it was actually happening.
He leaned down, words ghosting against the shell of her ear. "Sorry to disappoint, luv. My parents were married." With that, he captured her mouth, not bothering with pleasantries as he took control of the 'conversation.'
Gwen allowed the kiss, opening up under his assault. It was better than the dreams, better than anything she'd gotten from Rhys lately. A tremor ran down her spine and she curled her fingers tighter instinctively in response. He broke the kiss, shifting his attention and biting into the soft skin where her neck and shoulder met, and Gwen cried out, body pressing against him out of pure instinct. Her hand uncurled almost against her will and gripped at his shoulder, digging in.
He murmured a Nurian curse against the soft skin of her throat as she finally responded, soothing the bite mark with his tongue before returning his attention to her lips. This time, when he kissed her she kissed back intensely, hands slipping into his hair in as she fought for control. He was tempted to let her have it, to see where she would take this, but that was for another day. Instead, he backed her against a wall as he pulled her camisole off.
Gwen ran her hands down his back then over his stomach, her fingers curling around the bottom of his shirt before shoving it up. She tugged at the undershirt as well until she could scrap her nails against bare skin.
He ground against her with a groan, using the friction to offset what was fast becoming a need for something far better than foreplay. It had been too long since he'd had a good fuck, and his cock was all too aware of it.
He slipped a hand into her pants, and found that she was just as eager as he was. He palmed her, finding her wet and willing as she arched into the touch.
Gwen moaned wantonly as she pressed against his hand. "Fuck," she breathed against his skin as she abandoned the buttons of his shirt and simply ripped the material apart before shifting her attention to the shaft straining against the fabric of his trousers. She grazed him with her fingers, using her nails through the fabric before she reached the top of his zipper and began to slowly ease it down.
Somewhere in there, her legs had begun to tremble, and she found herself relying more and more on John - Captain Hart- to hold her up. Her thoughts kept wandering, though. She was trying to remember the last time she'd been this worked up, she had wanted it this badly, and at that moment she couldn't swear that she had. She gave a triumphant smirk as she managed to get his trousers open and her hand inside, followed by a breathless moan as he scraped a nail along her clit.
He pulled away, closing his eyes and visibly pulling himself together before speaking. "You want to play it like that, luv?" Before she could say anything he was pulling her down the hallway and into the bedroom.
"Impatient?" she teased, pulling away from him once they reached the bedroom. She ran her fingers down her own chest and over her flat stomach.
He stripped his shirts, or at least what remained of them, off, enjoying the moment of distance to take in the sight of her skin. She was scarred, but it did nothing to detract from her natural beauty. He caught her near the bed and pulled her close. It wasn't something he allowed himself to indulge in often. Too many liaisons were fast and wary out of necessity, never in one place too long, and never sure of the motives of his companions. Gwen had her motives, and he had no doubt that she hated him, but they were motives he could use. She was safe, at least in that regard. He tilted his head, kissing her deeply before beginning his journey down her body.
"I'm probably not the sort you're used to bedding," Gwen murmured. "Pretty girls and boys like Jack, I'd wager."
He paused just below her belly button and looked up at her. "Yes and no. I've had my share of pretty boys and girls, to be sure, but Jack's not everyone's idea of pretty. There's something to be said for free-form genetic expression." He held her gaze a moment longer, and she was surprised by the seriousness she found there. It vanished between one moment and the next, and she forgot all about it as he slid her trousers and knickers to the floor.
She bit her lip to keep from begging him to put his mouth where she wanted it. Instead, she used him as balance and stepped out of the last of her clothing. Shifting again, she could feel how slick she was. Her mind rebelliously brought up a flash from one of her dreams: Captain Hart on his knees much like he was now, his mouth buried between her legs. He smirked to himself as he felt her tremble, and grasped her hips to steady her. "Do you want this now, luv?"
Gwen exhaled shakily and wet her lips before speaking. "Does it matter?"
He pressed an open mouthed kiss to the skin just above her hip, working the skin until he heard her moan. "Do you want this now?" he asked again.
Why do you care, she wanted to ask. "Yes." Her voice and her limbs were equally shaky. "Yes, I do." Her heartbeat echoed loudly in the confines of her mind, and for a moment she was back in one of her dreams. But then he gave a rough push and she fell back against the bed; it was far more real than the dreams had ever been. His lips ghosted over the mark he'd left on their way to taste what he'd been craving ever since he'd started this endeavour. Not to drive her to completion, because he was just far enough gone to know he'd never last long enough to bring her off again, but just a taste. For this time.
There would be others. He was certain of that, now. Ever since she'd turned around, he'd known that she was his to play with as he chose. He'd found his leverage, and he'd make the most of it until the time came to finish this little project and be on his way.
Gwen's hips arched up off the bed towards his mouth and clever tongue. "John," she whimpered unthinkingly. She clutched at the sheets as she let her legs spread further for him. She hadn't expected it to be like her dreams, in any way, or for him to take the time to give her something out of it. At the blatant invitation, John lowered his head and tasted her, tracing the delicate folds of skin with his tongue, savouring every moan and whimper the exploration pulled from her. He felt her tense, and at the last minute changed his mind and did not withdraw. Instead, he continued his ministrations until she shuddered in that oh-so-familiar way.
As she grew limp, breathing in ragged pants, he allowed himself an honest smile. There was nothing more satisfying than the giving of pleasure, knowing that he was responsible for that level of abandon, even if she hadn't entered the arrangement without a bit of persuasion. Her fingers carded through his hair as she tried to pull herself back together. There was the urge to say something, to tell him how much she'd enjoyed his attentions, but she repressed it. She hadn't come like that since...well, it didn't matter since when. She didn't want him knowing that she couldn't remember the last time.
He shivered as his control slipped, and a wave of her ebbing euphoria swept over him. His eyes closed, enjoying the dissociated pleasure before his body reminded his sharply of its own needs. He caught her eye as he stood, and smirked at her appreciative glance. "See anything you like?"
"Maybe," Gwen allowed wetting her lips again. She pushed herself up to a half sitting position that allowed her to wrap her hand around his cock. She stroked him once. "The question is, do you know how to use it as well as you brag to?"
"Luv, I am better than I claim to be." He gasped as she slid her hand along his length again, the pressure constant but not nearly enough to finish him off. "Oh, that's nice." He thrust again, and reached blindly for one of the condoms he'd set out earlier on the bedside table. "But I know something better."
"Do you?" Gwen smirked, taking the condom from his fingers. Ripping open the foil packet, she removed the condom and slowly slid it on him.
As she finished, he grasped her shoulders and pressed her down against the bed. "Time to find out." He braced himself, and then he was buried in her heat in the space of a single thrust. He let his eyes slide closed for just a moment before he started to move again, movements deep and rough. He wasn't gentle, but then, she didn't want gentle. Neither of them did.
Gwen gasped at sensations each thrust pulled from her. Her nails scrapped down his back as she moved under him. "Harder," she mouthed into his skin, wrapping her legs around him.
He took her whisper as the final release; never could she say that she hadn't asked for this. Wanted this. Now, now he could do as he liked without fear of repercussion. He shifted with his next thrust, adjusting both his angle and his grip on her shoulders, and leaned down to catch a nipple between his teeth. He bit down hard enough to bruise, and was rewarded by a tightening of the hand she had threaded through his hair. So she liked pain, after all.
This time, when he felt her begin to tense, he took it as tacit permission to increase the strength of his thrusts even as he felt his control deteriorating. He was ready when she arched beneath him in the first throes of orgasm, nails raking down his back. With a final thrust, he allowed himself to follow her into the little death, pain accenting the pleasure beautifully.
John waited until her breathing evened out before speaking. "Any regrets?"
Gwen inhaled sharply, looking at the man beside her. She sat up and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.. "You have to ask?"
He shrugged, and pulled himself to a sitting position as well. "Know you liked it. That's different than regrets."
Gwen pressed her lips into a hard thin line. It would have been easier if she hadn't liked it, if she could have written it off as a one-way exchange. She stood, gathering her clothes and pulling them on as she found them. She frowned as she realized her camisole was missing. "I need to go. Rhys will wake up soon."
John glanced at the bedside clock and raised an eyebrow. "At 3:30?"
Gwen glared at him, not bothering to cover her bare chest. "He gets up early sometimes.
"Whatever you say." He smirked. "Lovely tits, by the way. Planning to give the neighbours a show?"
"Arsehole," Gwen spat, hands on her hips. "Where'd you throw my shirt, anyway?" She wanted to go back to her flat and shower.
He spread his hands innocently. "Haven't a clue, but if I had to guess..." He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed a tank top, tossing it at her. "Happy?"
She glared at him again, pulling on the tank top with a huff. "I'll be happy when you leave for good."
He shook his head in a mocking attempt at apologetic. "Sorry, luv. Could be a while before that happens."
Gwen found her shoes and jammed her feet into them without bothering to pop the backs into place. "Just keep your end of the deal," she told him, heading towards the door.
He didn't bother to get out of bed. "Oh, I will." He smirked, raising his voice to be sure that she heard him as she crossed the lounge. "The question is, will you?"
Her hands curled into fists, but she didn't turn to look at him. "You keep your end, and I'll keep mine." She yanked the door open with more force than was necessary.
"Call me!"
"Bite me!" She snapped before slamming the door. She stood there in the hallway, trembling in anger and trying to push everything into perspective. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. Something just this side of prostitution, but it would be worth it if he kept his end. After she had composed herself, she made her way up to her flat and her innocently sleeping fiancé. Instead of crawling into bed beside him, she turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it and cried herself out under the scalding spray.
Gwen limped out of the lift wishing Owen had given her stronger pain meds. He'd refused, when she'd pushed the issue, pointing out that she wasn't fit for more than going home to bed, and what he'd given her was sufficient for that. She grimaced, wishing that she'd been quick enough to come up with a believable lie - she hadn't exactly been able to tell him what her plans for the night included (whether she liked it or not). So she'd persevere. She'd fuck John, and then she'd go home. Maybe he'd settle for a blow job...Gwen winced as she made her way down the hall...Strike that, she didn't think kneeling was on the agenda after getting up close and personal with a Weevil.
Leaning against the wall, she rang the buzzer and waited.
John had almost given up on her when the buzzer rang. He tossed back his double vodka and left the glass on the bar as he stalked to the door and yanked it open. "You're late."
"So? I'm here, aren't I?" Gwen scowled at him, trying not to limp too much as she pushed past him.
He raised an eyebrow in annoyance. "Well, come on in. Make yourself at home, even."
She ignored him and made her way over to the bar and poured herself a drink. To hell with not mixing alcohol and pain killers, she was going to need this. "Telling me to leave?"
He closed the door and leaned against the wall in the entryway. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm sick of this game."
She took a hard swallow of whiskey. "You're sick of this game," she snorted under her breath. Gwen leaned against the wall behind her. She wished he would come closer, so that she could just get it over with.
He pushed off the wall, strolling toward her with studied casualness. "Maybe...it was fun while it lasted. Or, wait, I know - We can still be friends. Except, hold on, we never were friends. So I guess that's a wash, eh?"
Gwen finished her glass and sat it down. "Can we just get on with it?" she asked tiredly. She pushed herself off from the wall as he came closer.
"No, I don't think so. It's been, what, a month? It's been fun, but really...You don't want to be here, and I'm tired of playing the evil villain."
She nodded curtly, half wondering if anyone would notice if she went back to work and slept on the couch. With her luck, Jack would be around and he'd just shoo her back to her flat. "I'll just be going then," she told him, heading for the door, trying not to think about the fact that she would miss the sex, or that she was wincing with every step. How much of her thigh had that damn weevil taken out, anyway?
John frowned as her limp became apparent. "Hold up there, soldier."
"What now?" Gwen asked, looking back at him over her shoulder. She hated how weak her voice sounded, how much it betrayed.
He looked her over, gaze appraising in an entirely different manner, looking for weakness. He had the right to cause her pain, to mark her. And this time, he hadn't been the one to do so. His eyes settled on her right leg, narrowing in suspicion. "What happened?"
Gwen shook her head. "Nothing," she protested. He'd laugh at her if anything.
"Luv, if you're going to lie, at least try to be more convincing. You're the walking wounded. There's muscle damage and possibly connective tissue damage on your right leg. Couch. Now."
She scowled at him. "How about I go back to my flat instead."
"I must be losing my touch, did that sound like a request?"
Gwen hands curled into fists, but she made her way to the couch and gingerly sat down on it. She bit her bottom lip to keep from wincing. "It's nothing. Owen already treated it."
"Oh yes, and you expect me to believe that idiot knows what he's doing?" He waited until she was seated before walking into the kitchen and pulling a bag out of a low cabinet.
"He's a doctor. Last time I checked, you weren't," Gwen shot back. "And he might be a prat, but Owen's a good doctor."
"I'm supposed to believe that?" John scoffed, setting the bag on the island and opening it. "If he were any kind of a doctor, you wouldn't be limping like someone ripped your bloody kneecap off."
Gwen sighed. "A weevil took a swipe at me, got my thigh pretty good," she finally told him. She couldn't understand why he even cared that she was hurt.
"A 'Weevil'. How quaint." He found what he was looking for and turned to face her. "Trousers off."
She considered arguing with him but feared he might just cut the trousers off of her. Very gingerly she peeled them off, revealing the bandages on her upper right thigh, that were slightly pink. Gwen grimaced. Owen had said to call him if that happened, but she doubted John would let her now. "Maybe quaint to you."
John rolled his eyes. "Lovely. If you had stitches, you've now popped them. And if the way you were stomping around here is any indication, very intimidating, by the way, you're not on decent pain killers either." He knelt down next to her, examining the area surrounding the bandage.
Gwen opened her mouth to defend Owen, then closed it again. "I can change my bandage myself you know," she said softly. "I don't need your help."
"Gwen, even those of us from the 51st century can't apply a clinical dressing to the back of our own thigh. There's a reason Time Agents work in teams."
"I don't need your pity," she told him, watching him closely. He studied the bandage for a moment before pulling a small device out of his pocket and waving it over the dressing. It emitted a blue light, and when it shut off the bandage was gone. "Neat trick."
He smirked. "Comes in handy. Now, let's take a look, eh?"
It was a rather nasty wound and she was clearly lucky it hadn't taken more. Gwen had curled a hand into the material of the couch. "Why are you doing this? Do just like seeing me in pain?"
"Let's face it, luv. You're just not that high on my priority list." He rolled his eyes before standing again and returning to the kit on the island and swapping out the defabricator for a pressurized medical injector. "And I only like my pain in certain settings. This? Not my style."
She watched him chewing on her bottom lip. "Only like when you inflict it, huh?"
"Look, Gwen. It's one thing to fuck around with you to get at Jack. Bastard's got it coming, and if you put Jack above your fiancé, then you've got bigger problems than me. Even in the twenty-first century."
"Leave Rhys out of this," Gwen said tightly, teeth gritted against the pain.
"Roll over." John dropped back to his knees and peered at the injury again, continuing the conversation as he prodded at the inflamed skin surrounding the lacerations. "Why, because he's your convenient excuse? Sorry, luv. I don't believe in that brand of denial."
She did what he said, and winced at his prodding. "Not like anyone else will have me," she whispered into her folded arms.
"That's utter shite, and you know it." He glared at the cuts for a moment, before tapping a few buttons on the side of the injector and pressing it against the skin just beside the largest of the lacerations. She jumped at the cold sensation, but gave no other reaction to the drug, which he took to be a good sign.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Because you know my life inside and out."
He smirked at her. "No, I just know you inside and out." He stood, knees cracking as he did so, and moved to drop into the armchair to her left. "And I think you'll find I'm rather good at reading people. If you wanted, you could have Jack. You've had that doctor bloke at least once. Which means that your Rhys isn't all he's cracked up to be."
"Jack has Ianto, and Owen..." She scowled as she gingerly sat up, trying to peer back at her thigh. Why was she telling him this? "Rhys loves me."
"Really? Could've fooled me. You're down here what...two? Three times a week? How long since you've had sex with the lights on, or at all? Either he's bloody blind, or he just doesn't care anymore."
Gwen pressed her hands together playing with her engagement ring. She and Rhys hadn't had sex for almost two weeks, and she honestly hadn't missed it. She had to blink rapidly to clear her eyes. "He's all I have outside of Torchwood."
"No, he's not."
Gwen looked over at him. "And who would that be?"
He tossed the injector at the open bag on the island. "I think I'm insulted."
Gwen sighed and started to reach down for her trousers. "John, we fuck, that's all. You don't even...we don't..."she shook her head not sure what she was trying to say. Not sure why the distinction mattered.
"We're business partners, or were. That might not be a ring and a garter, but in my experience it lasts longer. Well, unless my business partner tries to kill me, but I never start it."
Gwen pushed herself up off the couch. "You don't even like me." She moved to face him, determined to retain at least some dignity.
"Never said I didn't like you. I'm just a pragmatist, and not exactly looking to set up house here." He watched as she wavered on her feet for a minute before stabilizing. "Oh, and I wouldn't go too far if I were you."
She had to catch herself on his shoulder to keep from losing her balance. "What was in that shot?"
"Nothing harmful, just something to help with the pain." As she opened her mouth to argue, he cut her off. "I don't know what Jack's told you, but I wouldn't dope you, not like this. It's non-addictive, and it'll be gone by morning."
"Oh," Gwen managed. "I guess I should say thank you." Impulsively she bent down and kissed him.
He caught her as she overbalanced, settling her onto his lap and shaking his head gently. "It's a start, yeah. Look, I'm not asking for a romance here. Quite frankly, I don't want one, and I've no idea how long I'm sticking around. But I wouldn't mind continuing our arrangement."
"Alright," Gwen agreed with more ease than she'd thought possible. She kissed him again, figuring she could blame on the drugs, the whiskey, anything.
He returned the kiss briefly, before shifting her weight so that he could stand with her in his arms and begin walking to the bedroom. "I believe in consent, Gwen. This time, you want it? You're in full willing, not just because of Rhys." He shushed her with a shake of his head. "Answer me in the morning."
Gwen nodded after a moment, enjoying the feel of his arms more than she should have. She didn't understand why her consent was so important to him, but it painted a different picture than Jack had presented when he'd introduced John. No longer quite aware of what she was doing, Gwen kissed just under John's ear, a spot that always had gotten to him before.
He froze, just on the threshold of the bedroom, taking a deep breath to calm himself before he continued in. "Nice try, but I was in love with Jack Harkness, so I've plenty of experience ignoring seduction. I'll give you credit for effort, though." He set her down on the bed, and turned to pull his shirt off in preparation for sleep. "You're feeling better now, but you don't get to do anything for eight hours. Then. Then we can negotiate."
"Everyone's in love with bloody Jack Harkness," Gwen complained, watching him from the bed.
"Don't worry. Some of us fall out of it again."
"How's that working for you?" she asked as he slid into bed next to her. It was strange, she was so used to Rhys being asleep when she climbed into bed that this felt...odd.
He rolled over, shifting so that he faced the door. "Ten years and some can do amazing things. So can breaking your heart a few times."
"I don't think he means to do it." She wasn't sure if she was defending Jack or offering John comfort.
He shrugged, confident in the knowledge that she wouldn't remember the conversation in the morning. Only one half of one percent did. "That's the kicker, innit? The first time, he didn't know what he was doing - all good intentions, duty and honour. This time 'round? Oh, he knew. Maybe not everything, but enough that I can't forgive him again. Gods, the Time Agency fucked us all over but good."
Gwen leaned forwards slightly across the bed and kissed him softly. "I'm sorry."
He laughed softly, and without humour. "Yeah, so am I." He settled an arm gently around her waist and relaxed in preparation for sleep. "So am I."
Gwen murmured sleepily, her eyes already drifting closed.
John woke with a start, a warm body beside him where one shouldn't be. He was up, pistol in hand before he realized that the body was not only asleep, but familiar. He took a deep breath, and then another, before easing the gun back down under his pillow.
Gwen stirred, making a noise of protest at his movements. She flung a arm over his waist, settling down contentedly against him. A few moments later, she blinked her eyes open sleepily. He could tell when it set in where she was, the look of contentment on her face replaced with wariness as she looked up at him. "Uhm, hi."
"Morning, luv." He shifted, settling back against the headboard. Might as well get the awkward discussion out of the way sooner rather than later. But first things first... "How do you feel?"
Gwen removed her hand from its resting place on his stomach, and put more space between them as she sat up. "Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest, grudgingly elaborating at his expectant hand gesture. "Better."
"Ah, good. Now, lie back down. And roll over."
Gwen frowned at him. "What?"
"You had some nasty cuts last night." He patted the mattress. "Down. On the bed, ass in the air. Let me look."
She looked at him suspiciously for a moment longer before she did lie back down and roll on to her stomach. "That had better not be a line," she muttered under her breath.
He chuckled darkly as he slid the sheet down, skimming his hand along her thigh as he did so. "Remember who you're talking to."
Gwen looked back over her shoulder at him and glared. "Not likely to forget."
"Oh, good." He brought his hand back up, and shifted to get a better look at her injury. "So, how much do you remember from last night?" He paused, poking at the edge of a newly healed scar.
"About what exactly?" Gwen hedged, mentally reviewing the night before. Things became fuzzy about the time he'd put her in bed.
Mild sedative-induced amnesia, duly noted. "About me fucking you through the mattress." He continued prodding at the newly healed skin.
Gwen snorted, then shivered again wishing he'd stop being so gentle. "As I remember it you said..." She pressed her lips together, remembering suddenly what he had said. That he wanted her full consent this time. Willingly.
"You didn't fuck me last night."
Satisfied that the skin had knit properly, he pulled the sheet back up and let his head fall back against the wall. "No. No, I didn't. I don't believe in forced sex, Gwen. Pushing the envelope, yes, but you've always been able to walk away. The pain-killer last night took that away from you, and I'm not that particular breed of bastard."
Gwen rested her chin on her folded arms as she watched him. "You really aren't, are you?" she mused softly. He really was only half the bastard Jack painted him as.
"Don't go getting all rosy on me." He turned away, pushing off the bed and staring restlessly into the closet. "I'm no saint, either, as you well know."
"Wasn't about to mistake you for that," Gwen laughed, then sobered. "Yes, by the way."
He stilled, hand resting on the closet door. "Yes?"
"About...continuing...this..." She waved her hands between them. "This...thing between us."
John turned, and smirked at her. "All right, then. New arrangement it is." He grabbed a shirt from the closet and pulled it on as he crossed the room. "Now that's settled, I could do with a cuppa."
Gwen shook her head in amazement - and not a little confusion - as he left the room without a backwards glance. She'd assumed he'd want to hit the sheets once the deal was struck, especially with it being four days since their last encounter. She didn't know what to make of it, didn't think she wanted to think too hard about the hows or the whys of what she was doing in John Hart's flat on a morning after that wasn't a morning after.
He'd known something was off when she'd arrived. Gwen was always anxious when she showed up at his door, but this was different. She'd accepted his offer of a drink, and downed two shots in quick succession.
He hadn't pressed, because he really didn't want to know - complications weren't his thing, especially when someone was a means to an end. The sex had been spectacular as usual, if he did say so himself, but the afterglow had him on edge. He'd made a quip about her hair, and she'd just nodded and continued tracing designs on his chest as she lay on top of him.
Gwen had her eyes closed, tracing the patterns blindly. "Least no one can question my abilities in this," she giggled half to herself, though she knew it wasn't very funny.
"I know I'm going to regret this, but anything you care to share, luv?"
Gwen sighed against his skin. "He acts like I wasn't the one holding the team together when he took off," she snorted. "Bloody hell wasn't Ianto's coffee doing it. He acts like I can't handle myself."
"Jack's being a prat, then? No surprise there."
Gwen opened her eyes and lifted her head to peer down at John. "He's undermining my authority with the rest of the team. How are they supposed to take any orders from me seriously if he comes along and tells them to do just the opposite?" She dropped her head back down.
John ran a hand down her back, considering his response. "Jack needs to be the centre of attention. He has ever since I've known him. You get used to the shadows. Doesn't mean anything about your abilities."
"I just want him to respect those abilities," Gwen said softly, not even sure why she was telling him this. But he listened and that helped. Even now that Rhys knew about Torchwood she couldn't talk to him like this. "And to listen to me and actually hear what I'm saying." She traced a long white scar the crossed his collar bone as she spoke.
John shrugged. "Jack listens, don't kid yourself. He wouldn't keep you on if you weren't earning your keep. He's pretty, but he made it into the Agency on his brain and not his back. If you want recognition, get another job. Jack gets it done, but he's shit when it comes to the rest."
She was quiet for a moment, still tracing the scar. "You know him pretty well," she observed.
John's hand stilled. "I did. Seven years, a long time ago. He...we fell out."
"I'm sorry." Maybe it was the alcohol still in her system, or maybe it was something else, but something in his voice made her heart ache. She dropped a kiss to his chest.
He turned his head away, focusing on the far wall. "Yeah, well. Time passes, one way or another. Ancient history. It's never his fault, but he always hurts those close to him."
Gwen nodded and closed her eyes again, letting the sound of his heart beat lull her. "He's good at that."
John resumed stroking her back, and shot a glance at the clock as he heard her breathing slow. "Aren't we all?"
Her only response was a soft sound of contentment as she slipped into sleep. He shifted to get more comfortable, and reached over to tap the kill switch on his wrist strap. She could afford a few hours of sleep before she had to run back to her own version of compulsory civil service
Gwen pressed the buzzer to John's flat, chewing on her bottom lip. She'd thought Rhys was starting to understand how important her job was, thought they were actually understanding each other. And now, he'd gotten mad that she'd come home early! She'd left him be, telling him she was going back to work since he obviously didn't want her around, but she didn't want to deal with Jack's constant pushing.
John frowned at the sound of the buzzer, cracking his back as he made his way to the door. "Hold your bleeding horses." He glanced out the peephole, and blinked in surprise before opening the door. "Gwen?"
"Haven't changed my name recently," she said rolling her eyes. "Can I come in?"
John ran a hand through his hair, and blinked again at the woman standing on his doorstep, taking in the trails of mascara on her cheeks. "Yeah, all right." He turned around and headed back toward his desk. "I've got to finish this portfolio, but you're welcome to the couch."
"Any beer in the fridge?" she asked, dropping her purse by the door as she entered and shut the door behind her. Then did a double take. "Portfolio? Are you telling actually have a job?" she teased, though she knew damn well he did. Just not what sort.
He nodded from his desk, and gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. "In the icebox, but don't touch the purple unless you want to lose a week." He paused, tapping a few keys as he chewed on his stylus. "What do you mean 'actually have a job'? Don't think the flat pays for itself, do you?"
Gwen pulled out a beer with a label she recognized and headed back into the lounge. "You mean you didn't get it on your charm and your back?" she smirked settling down on the couch.
"Now that's just cruel." He responded absently. "I have more self-respect than that." He paused, frowning at the screen. "And it's more work than it sounds, believe me."
Gwen took a long swig of beer and propped her feet up on the table. She didn't think John was the sort to care about something like that. "In that case, mind me asking what sort of work you're doing?"
He tapped a few more keys, and then initiated the system shutdown before turning to face her. "I consult." At her pointed 'and...?' gesture, he elaborated. "Banking security systems, to be more specific. I proof base code before it goes into general use."
Gwen blinked. "Not the sort of job I saw you in." She shook her head, but didn't bother to hide her smile. "Don't let me interrupt if you've got a lot to get done."
"That was the last of it." He pushed back from the desk, stopping at the bar to pour himself a glass of clear liquid. "Not flashy enough for you, luv?"
Gwen regarded him for a moment. "Flashy isn't everything. If you like it, who cares what I think." Her fingers traced the opening of her beer bottle.
He took a sip of his drink, watching her and wondering what she was doing there. She was obviously upset, the smudged make-up attested to that, but she wasn't due for another two days. However, if she didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to press. Booze was seriously underrated as a coping mechanism, he could attest to that. "You need another beer, Gwen?"
"Yeah, I think I do," Gwen sighed, half wondering what the hell she was doing there. She should go back upstairs and talk to Rhys but... "He got pissed I was home early. Can you believe that?" she snorted.
John frowned, and tossed back the last of his drink before wandering into the kitchen to grab another beer for her. "You two exclusive?"
Gwen turned a bit red. "Well," she paused for a moment. "Far as he knows we are. Not that this counts."
John rolled his eyes as he pulled a carton of leftover takeaway out of the fridge and put it in the microwave. "Course not. This is business. Completely different. Food?"
"What is it? I've had enough Indian for a week," Gwen said wrinkling her nose slightly.
"It's Chinese. You don't like it, the phone's on the table."
"Nah, its fine," Gwen told him, getting up and walking into the kitchen to ditch her empty beer bottle. She paused, leaning against the wall and watching him work as he pulled the ad hoc meal together. He seemed surprisingly at home in the kitchen. It wasn't what she'd have expected from a manipulative bastard like him. Although he wasn't what she expected from a manipulative bastard like him half the time. "Need any help?"
He glanced up, surprised to find her hovering on the threshold. "Almost done." He set two plates down on the island-slash-breakfast bar, along with a full beer. "Don't hover, you remind me of my old boss."
"I'm not hovering, I'm observing," Gwen laughed, ditching her empty bottle in the recycling bin. Sliding up beside him she surprised herself by kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Thanks." She didn't linger to see his reaction, moving over to examine the island and its accompanying stools.
He pondered her 'thanks', surprised and more than a little pleased by the comment. "Laws of hospitality, luv." It was the easiest way to brush it off, not think about why he'd allowed her in out of turn. To simply fall back on the laws of sanctuary from his childhood. "And that's what he said. But somehow, I always ended up with a write-up because he needed to look like he was cracking down on inefficiencies."
He considered the kiss as he moved dishes and cleared leftover rubbish. It was an anomaly, unexpected and unanticipated. It wasn't part of the arrangement, and while the arrangement had run on longer than expected, it had all gone according to plan. Thus far. The drawn out build-up would only make the end revelation that much sweeter, that much more painful for Jack when he realized what had happened. It was just like any other con, even if the payoff was more personally satisfying than normal.
John was good at cons, he understood them and he had just enough charm to pull them off. As long as he stuck to the plan, did his homework. He'd spent ten years pulling odd jobs, and he fancied himself quite the expert on the subject. Where you got into trouble was when you deviated from the plan. People like Jack could deviate and get by, but John had never had that kind of luck. The kiss had been light, almost innocent, with no discernable motive behind it. It was disconcerting, and he found himself studying her in turn as she hopped up onto one of the stools and began fiddling with the odds and ends he'd left on the unused end of the island. Either she was much better than he had given her credit for, or he'd deviated from the plan more seriously than he'd realized. Neither was an appealing prospect.
"I promise not to write you up for any inefficiencies, then," Gwen teased lightly, smiling at him over her shoulder.
"You'd have to figure out where to send the reprimand, first." He smirked, and pulled the carton out of the microwave. "I like to think I'm pretty damn efficient these days, anyway. I learn my lessons well, or so they told me."
"Hmm, who are they?" Gwen asked curiously, watching him.
"Where to start...The matrons, the academy instructors, and I seem to remember a rather frustrated prison guard at one point."
Gwen nodded, taking it all in and wondering absently if any of it was true. This was a distraction from Rhys, from all the things she should be wondering about with the man she was planning to marry. It might make her a bad person, but she'd rather have this distraction than any of those issues. She'd have to face them eventually, but they could wait. Rhys could wait.
John grinned, the closest thing she'd seen to an honest smile on his face. "They never could find a cell that'd hold me." The smile darkened, faded, and he looked away. "Never should have had to, either."
Gwen knew her pity was the last thing he wanted; she'd been in Torchwood too long to be ignorant of that particular tendency. Instead of offering it, she reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing gently in concession of the unfairness of the universe, even if she wasn't at all sure he hadn't deserved the sentence. "Maybe you could teach me a thing or two, someday. At least enough so I can figure out how Janet keeps getting out then," Gwen said lightly. She tugged on his hand, pulling him closer to the table and the waiting food. "Come on, let's eat."
He shivered, closing his eyes as he shed the melancholy with practiced ease. While he'd never ascribed to Jack's theory of repression, there was something to be said for an organized mind. "Right. Have at it, then. But if you're going to abuse my hospitality, the least you can do is show me a good time in exchange for your meal."
She took the offered out, and pretended to be appalled at the innuendo. "Why, Captain Hart, are you threatening my virtue?" She slid her hand up his arm, squeezing his bicep gently through his shirt before leaning in and dropping her voice to a whisper. "I think I can do better than just 'good'..."
"I'll believe that when I see it." He pulled out of her grip, catching her hand and placing a brief kiss on the palm before taking his own seat. "First, though, I'm going to eat. Because it's been a long day, and some of us actually have something resembling a schedule." With that, he turned his complete attention to the food, leaving Gwen to pick at her own plate and wonder what exactly had been said in the exchange, and if she understood the half of it.
It wasn't until hours later, as they lay on the couch in a sweaty mess, that she told him the rest of it. Rhys' accusations, the old and the new and the just plain stupid shit that shouldn't hurt but did. He'd said nothing, and she'd been grateful just to have somewhere to speak the words.
It was easy to lose track of time working for Torchwood. Gwen lost whole days, both literally and figuratively.
So she could be excused from realizing that she was late until two weeks had passed.
And she could also be excused from letting another two weeks go by before she realized that it wasn't just "stress" and the occasionally bizarre eating habits that came from working for Torchwood.
Which left her in a bit of a rough spot, however, when she needed to know if it was all in her head. She couldn't take a test at home, there was too much chance that Rhys would see it - either in the bathroom, or in the rubbish - and she knew there was no chance it was his. They'd had sex twice in the last month, and neither time had there been a concern over the condom. John... Well, that was another story.
She didn't fancy a public bathroom, either. Taking a test in a pub, or even at the mall, seemed not only juevenile, but given her luck she'd still run into someone she knew. And taking one at work was right out. Ianto would probably find something and tell Jack, and she didn't want Jack knowing anything about this. Especially if it turned out to be all in her head.
Which left her with one option. Owen.
He was a prat, but he did have professional ethics. They all had their secrets, and she was sure they could work out some kind of an arrangement. God, now she was even thinking like John.
She cornered Owen one day when no one else was about. "Got a minute?"
He didn't bother looking up from his game of Solitaire. "What's it to you?"
"I have a...favour to ask," Gwen sighed. "I'm probably being stupid, but I'd rather find out sooner rather than later."
He frowned at her for a moment, then stood abruptly. "Right, well if it's anything like the last time you asked me for a favour, I think you and I are going to take a constitutional. Fancy grabbing lunch out?"
Gwen nodded. "Yeah, all right," she told him. At least he hadn't started teasing her yet, but then for all he knew she needed an HIV test. "Indian?"
He pulled on his jacket and nodded. "Indian it is."
He said nothing else until they were a block and a half down the street, halfway to their "regular" Indian cafe. "So, what seems to be the problem? Because if you're asking me for a favour, then it's got to be good."
Gwen shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets and kept her eyes on the pavement. She wondered if by John's time women had easier ways of dealing with these sort of things. "I think I might be pregnant." She said bluntly.
Owen stumbled, taking several quick steps before righting himself. "It's not Rhys', I take it?"
She shook her head, wishing she felt more guilty about that. "You'd be taking it right."
He pursed his lips, and then let out an explosive breath. "Jesus, Gwen. Diggin' your own grave, you are. How certain are you? I can run the blood work, easy enough to bury and I can always do with a favour or two, but..."
Gwen bit her lip, carefully focusing on a lamp post down the street. "I'm four weeks late, and I know. It's....it's complicated Owen."
"Gwen, sweetheart, we're Torchwood. It's always complicated. Look, I figured you were seeing some bloke on the side, and I'm not judging. Fuck if I know why you're still hanging onto Rhys, but that's your business. But you can't ride the fence on this one, Gwen."
She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded. "I know, Owen," her voice was soft. "I just want to know for sure before I have to decide anything. Didn't exactly plan on this, you know?"
He sighed, and draped an arm across her shoulders. "I never thought you did, Gwen. I just want to make sure you understand my position. Once that test comes back, I'm giving you a week to make up your mind. It gets any longer, I'll tell Jack, because it'll affect your field status."
She let her head rest against his shoulder for a moment. "Thank you, Owen."
"You're going to have a rough enough time of it, don't need me making it any worse."
He turned, guiding her into the little cafe. "Lunch is on me, yeah? Unless nothing's staying down..."
Gwen laughed, happy for a reason to blink back the tears. "I can survive lunch," she assured him rolling her eyes.
"Ah, good. Because I'm in the mood for a good curry, and I'd hate to have to get take-away out of courtesy."
Gwen was pathetically grateful that Rhys was away on work that night so she didn't have to make up an excuse for getting home late. Her hands shook in her pockets as she made her way to the door of John's now-familiar flat. She pushed the buzzer and stood waiting. The seconds crawled by and she started wondering if he was even there. What if he--what if he was gone? What if he'd gotten tired of whatever game it was he was playing and had left?
She pulled in a shaky breath to calm herself. She was not going to start crying in the hallway. She was not going to be a typical 'girl' over this.
John made it to the door just as the buzzer sounded for the third time, trying to figure out who the hell it could be. It couldn't be Jack, because Jack wouldn't have bothered buzzing - he'd have kicked the door in. Which left delivery, unlikely, or Gwen. Damn, he'd been meaning to just give her a key. Every single time she showed up unexpectedly, he was always at the far end of the flat. Or worse. He glanced down and hitched his towel tighter. He didn't care if the hallway saw him naked, but Gwen got rather noisy when he answered sans covering.
He yanked the door open. "Yes, what?"
Gwen jumped slightly when he opened the door, half turned like she was about to leave. She looked incredibly young for a moment standing there, chewing on her bottom lip with an expression somewhere between uncertainty and determination. "This a bad time?" she asked.
He sighed, debating for a moment whether to just tell her off and deal with her tomorrow. He was exhausted, sore, and he hadn't finished his shower. He must be getting soft in his old age. "Come in, I'll be back in a mo." He turned, leaving her standing on the threshold as he retreated to his bathroom and clothing that wasn't likely to fall off.
Gwen shut the door behind her and made her way to the couch, leaving her coat on the rack. He was annoyed with her for showing up tonight, she could see it in his face and hear it in his voice. But at least he was still there, part of her brain pointed out in relief. Normally John in nothing but a towel would have made her likely to jump him and remove said towel...
As he pulled on a pair of track bottoms and a tank top, John tried to sort out what could have prompted the unexpected visit. Normally, she only showed up without warning if she'd had a row with her 'fiancé', or if she'd had a truly shit day at work. Rhys was out of town, John knew because he'd run into the man at the pub a few days ago. That left work, which meant Jack, which was just so much more than John wanted to deal with. He shrugged on a long sleeved shirt as he made his way back out to the lounge to enact damage control.
John really, really wanted to know when he'd ended up in a relationship. Because this was not in their arrangement, but he also couldn't bring himself to kick her out. Gwen was sitting on the edge of the couch her hands pressed between her knees. She looked up when he entered the room. "I'm sorry, I should have just called." Or just taken care of it without telling him, because she didn't owe him anything. Not really.
"I wouldn't know, seeing as I don't know what the problem is yet. But you're here now, so you can tell me in person. Beer?" He walked past her on his way to the kitchen to throw on the electric kettle, taking in her body language and growing more concerned as the details sank in.
She laughed, the sound unusually sharp and with just a hint of a quaver. "Going to have to pass on the beer," she told him. Then pressed a hand over her stomach, a perverse, realistic part of her mind wondering why it mattered. She wasn't going to keep it...she...Gwen suddenly realized that she really had no idea what she was planning to do about it. Which was probably why she was here.
He frowned, because Gwen never turned down a drink when she was upset. The kettle clicked off, and he put the tea on to steep. "Tea, then?"
Gwen nodded after a moment. "Yes, please."
"Right. Milk or sugar?"
"Both," Gwen said. She didn't want to tell him before he sat down, or at least until he was in the same room. As if having him right in front of her would make it easier.
He grabbed the mugs and joined her in the lounge. "Here you go." He paused, taking in her hunched appearance. "Take a hit today, luv?"
She curled her hands around the mug and took a sip. "No," she said softly and took another sip. "I'm pregnant, John."
He didn't drop the mug, but it was a close call. "Fine time for a laugh, Gwen." He frowned, relaxing his discipline just enough to assess her state of mind. "You're...serious."
She nodded, trying not to read too much into his reactions. "I wouldn't joke about something like this."
"No, no, I guess you wouldn't. You're not that kind of person, are you?" He shook his head, and took a sip of his tea before carefully setting it down. "Right, so, know what you're going to do about it?"
Gwen looked at him carefully. "What do you want to do about it?" she asked back.
He shrugged, and shifted to a more comfortable position before picking up his mug again, more relaxed now that he knew what was going on. "Kid's your purview."
Gwen wrinkled her brow. He had to have some opinion on the matter. She remembered in school when one of her mates had gotten pregnant. The bloke who had done the deed had made it very clear what he thought should happen. And she knew Rhys would have been telling her what they were going to do without wondering if she'd want the same thing. "But it's yours, too."
"Your bloodline, your purview. Decision falls to the one who carries." His expression implied that even the youngest of children knew that.
"That's how they do it in the 51st century then, do they?" And she kind of liked that she wouldn't get pressure either way from him.
"Something like that. My mum would've had my head if I didn't honour your wishes. At least I think she would've. Matron would've, certainly."
"Oh," Gwen said softly, filing that information away to look at more closely later. She set her mug down and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. Haven't a clue what I'm going to do, but I'm glad you won't fight me over whatever it is."
He took another sip from his mug, finishing the tea before setting down the empty. "So, anything else threatening the stability of the universe?"
She shook her head. "You know, guys from this century would be having a fit right now," she pointed out.
He smirked. "I hardly think that's a fair comparison, love."
"Prat." For once, the insult carried no bite.
"If nothing else, I'm rather sure I'm better in bed."
Gwen laughed, leaning against him slightly. "I refuse to comment."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, refusing to think about the ramifications of the action. "Article 3, luv. Always applicable." He settled an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his shoulder. "Look, I know it's out of the blue, and I know it's shit luck with working for Torchwood. Believe me, I understand the conflict. You will make whatever decision is right for you, and then you'll move on and make the next decision. That's all you can do."
Gwen slid her arm around his waist and settled against the solidness of his body. She didn't bring up the fact that if she kept it, it be a bloody mess with Jack and Rhys. He knew that just as well as she did, but he wasn't bringing it up either. He was just there. Warm and surprisingly solid, smelling of sinfully expensive body wash and a cologne she was rather certain wasn't available on Earth. For the moment, it was enough.
When the pain started, Gwen ignored it. She'd been having on-and-off PMS for weeks, and Owen had said it was normal enough. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs near Owen's lab, however, there was nothing normal about the way it had intensified, or the rising tide of panic that accompanied it as she realized what was happening.
John was just settling down with a book when someone knocked at the door, and he muttered under his breath as he stood back up and moved to answer. Gwen wasn't due over, and given that he hadn't been in the shower or working on code, it was unlikely that she was the one hanging on the buzzer. That left the blokes from the pub, and he could vaguely remember something about a game of football. "Oi, I'm coming."
But when he yanked the door open, it was Gwen standing there. She looked pale, and her eyes were red. "If you're not busy, could I come in?" She asked, voice shaky.
He blinked, concern replacing annoyance as he took in her appearance. "Course, luv. Are you all right?" He stepped back, guiding her in and closing the door behind her.
"I..." She started then broke off, biting her bottom lip. She'd worked so hard to block it all off, to pull herself together and now it was all falling apart. The dam she'd so carefully constructed while Owen had spoken quietly, soothing words that meant nothing and existed solely for the sake of composure, was straining under the pressure of the day. She sat down on the couch, but as soon as she settled she was back up, unable to sit still not only from the cramps, but for the fear of what would happen if she actually entered a state of rest. As long as she kept moving, she could stay clear of implication, and obligation, and more importantly, of the gnawing guilt that was just as potent as the sorrow.
John frowned at her restlessness, because even when he'd seen her visibly upset, she hadn't been physically out of control like this. After her third loop of the lounge, he grabbed her arm and tugged her off balance, catching her about the waist as she fell against him and ignoring the whimper she gave. He shifted his grip and held her still, because whatever it was, she wasn't going to avoid forever. "Ssh. Whatever it is, it's all right, luv. You're not doing yourself any good wearing a hole in the rug."
Gwen struggled against him for a moment, then stilled, her face pressed against his chest. A sob broke free, and she began to shake. Her hands curled into his shirt, and she held on with a desperation he'd never seen in her before. She took a shuddering breath, obviously trying to compose herself, and failed miserably as the words emerged in a hoarse whisper. "I lost the baby." She hiccuped miserably, and he could feel hot tears through his shirt as she spoke again, more clearly. "I lost our baby."
He stilled as the words sank in, her condition suddenly making sense. He eased his hold as she gave up her fight, and stroked her back slowly. He wasn't sure how he felt about the news, hadn't really assimilated the news of the pregnancy past a basic level, but it was quite clear how she did. The emotions brought up memories he'd spent years burying, and he took a shakey breath of his own.
She continued to cry, and he realized that she was still talking, muttering more to herself than to him as she wept. "I wanted the baby," she whispered. "...I should have it more careful...I should have..."
He shifted, grasping her shoulders and shaking gently to get her attention. "None of that." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and settled her back against his shoulder. "Sometimes, these things just happen. It's not anyone's fault."
"I'm sorry." The tears, which had been slowing, started up again. "So, so sorry."
John rocked her gently. "Nothing to be sorry for, luv. Nothing to be sorry for."
Gwen didn't say anything for a while, and he let her cry herself out into his shirt without further comment. When she finally lifted her head to look at him, her eyes were redder than before. "Are you angry?" she asked softly, knowing it was a stupid question before she'd even finishing saying it. It was such a stereotypical question to ask, too. If anything he was probably relieved.
He blinked at the seemingly random question. "Don't be daft." He frowned, pulling away so as to take another look at her, noting her unusually pale skin. "You all right? Aside from the obvious, course. That doctor bloke check you over?"
She nodded. "Owen checked me over, yes. Gave me some pills for the cramps," she told him, rubbing her arm over her eyes. "He said I'd be all right."
"Well, that's something, eh?"
Gwen nodded, resting her head back against his chest. She'd looped one arm around his waist. "Probably would have been rubbish as a mum, anyway."
He continued rubbing her back, relieved that her tears had finally ceased. "Don't knock it. Never know until you try it, and all that."
Gwen nodded, her expression distant. "Never know now, mmm?" The end of her response was lost to a yawn, and she sat up abruptly, raising a hand to her mouth in embarrassment as she tried to brush away the evidence of her tears at the same time. "God, I'm-" She yawned again. "I'm sorry, I should. I shouldn't-" She swallowed hard, and looked away. "I should go. I'm interrupting your evening, and as you've pointed out, it isn't your problem."
He shook his head. "You're not going anywhere but bed." He held up a hand when she started to protest. "I'll take care of it, yeah? Wasn't doing much with my evening, anyway, and I could do with the sleep. Just because it was your decision doesn't mean I don't care."
Gwen felt her eyes burn again, but nothing came of it, and she realized that she really and truly had cried herself out. "If you're sure..."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes." He prodded until she stood up. "Go on, change."
She nodded, and yawned again before heading towards the bedroom, wondering when exactly she'd started leaving clothes there.
John waited until she disappeared around the corner before pulling out his mobile and dialing her flat. "'Ello, is this Rhys?"
"Yeah, this is Rhys," Rhys answered. "Who's this?"
"I work with Gwen. There's been an... incident. I'm afraid she's going to be out of town until tomorrow."
"I know what Gwen does, you can just say "Aliens" you know." Rhys sighed. "This Owen?"
John blinked, Gwen had mentioned that Rhys had been in at Torchwood, but he hadn't realized that she'd bloody introduced him around. He thickened his accent, going for the London accent he remembered on the Torchwood physician. "Yeah, mate. Look, sorry about the fuss, but it's a bit of a work do, yeah?"
"Yeah, all right," Rhys sounded annoyed, but not overly concerned. "Ask her to call me when she gets around to coming home, hey?"
"Yeah, course." He clicked the mobile closed before the man could ask anything else, thankful that Rhys hadn't recognised his voice from their occasional meetings at the pub. That taken care of, he tugged his shirt off as he headed into the bedroom, where he found Gwen already curled up beneath the sheets in a foetal position. She was wearing one of his shirts and looked half asleep. Though she lifted her head slightly when he came in. He raised an eyebrow at her choice of nightgown. "Comfy?"
"It was on top in the drawer," she told him. "Didn't think you'd mind." She couldn't always read his expressions at the best of times and she certainly couldn't know. She also knew he'd been on the phone with Rhys but wasn't quite sure what he'd told her fiancé. Gwen felt a little stab of guilt, she was in another man's bed after losing another man's baby with her fiancé just a few floors above.
He shrugged easily. "Suit yourself. Now, budge up." He slid into bed behind her, resting a hand gently on her abdomen. "All right?"
She started to nod then bit her lip and shook her head. "Not really," she admitted softly, hating that her eyes were watery again at the sight of his hand on her abdomen. "Sore."
"Sorry." He pulled his hand away, resting it instead on her hip. "Do you know what the doc gave you?"
"Some pain killers. Owen probably said what, but I wasn't in the best frame of mind," Gwen told him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. She covered his hand with her own.
"Do you want me to get you something better?"
"Long as it isn't anything like Retcon," Gwen finally said.
John froze, fingers tightening unconsciously.
Gwen winced. "John?"
"Don't even joke about that. I would never, never do that. Do you hear me? Never." His voice was hoarse, the words painful but necessary. She had to understand, even if she couldn't understand.
Gwen shifted closer to him, awkwardly stroking the back of his hand. "I believe you," she assured him. "I believe you, John."
He shivered, and trapped her hand under his own where they lay on her hip. "Don't. Don't joke about that. Retcon, memories, I don't - I won't fuck around with that."
She nodded. "I believe you," she told him again, shaken by the vehemence in his voice. "What happened?" she asked, wanting to know something, anything, about the source of that pain.
He closed his eyes, cursing himself for opening up a can of worms that had been quite happily stewing away in a back cabinet. "Past history, luv. Long ago, and far away."
"Doesn't seem so to you," Gwen pointed out softly, resting her head back against his chest. "Did someone do that to you? Take your memories of something?" She didn't dare say of a child.
"What, me? No. I've still got everything where it counts."
She turned her hand where it was trapped under his and laced their fingers together. She wanted to push more, like she did when things came up with Jack, but she didn't. He would tell her if he wanted. If not, she'd take the reassurance that unlike Jack, John would never steal memories from someone without so much as batting an eyelash.
He sighed, closing his eyes as he prepared to break every rule he'd laid out for himself at the start of this 'project'. "It wasn't my memories they stole."
Gwen squeezed his fingers gently. "Whose then?" she prompted softly.
"You know him as Jack. I...knew him as someone else."
Gwen froze for a moment then peered up at his face in the dim light. "What did they take?" Remembering how Jack had Retconned her when they first meet; he couldn't know he was missing anything, not if he could take memories from others so easily.
He shook his head, releasing her hand and rolling onto his back, rubbing his hands over his face as he composed his thoughts. "Two years. Well, two years and a bit. And, well, everything that went with it."
Gwen manoeuvred herself onto her other side, ignoring the twinges of pain the movement sent through her body. She rested her hand over his chest, absently tracing the scars. "And you lost him."
His fist clenched without conscious thought, entire upper body tensing. "Don't you get it? I didn't just lose him. They took him away. Department policy, they said. Can't approve the transfer, they said. It was bullocks!"
Gwen frowned slightly, feeling like there was something she was missing. Knowing there was something she was missing. "I don't understand, John. They took Jack away?" she asked.
He scoffed, sitting up and scooting away to sit on the edge of the bed. "Jack was their fucking golden boy. They didn't have to take him, he fucking walked in with both eyes open."
Gwen's jaw quivered and she felt the ridiculous urge to burst into tears over how sharp he was being with her. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, gripping the front of her shirt to keep from reaching out to him. John shook his head, and let out a humourless laugh. "Both eyes open, just looking for all the wrong things. He never did get over being from a backwater planet, was always too naive for his own good and pretending not to be."
Gwen reached out letting her fingers skim down his back. "Why did they do it? They must have had some reason."
He shook his head, but didn't shrug her off. No point, he'd already passed the point of no return. "Oh, they had a reason. Desertion rates were too high. Needed us in the bloody field. Can't approve a permanent transfer for a member of the team with the best closure rate, now could they? Easier to just wipe out the whole problem at the source, right?"
Gwen scooted closer to him wincing as she did so, put the pain didn't stop her from resting against his back. Offering what little comfort she could. "What was the source?"
"Grey."
"Grey?" Gwen parroted, trying to remember where she'd heard the name before. "You mentioned him to Jack, before you 'left'..."
"Yeah. Yeah, I did. Thought he should know that I'd found him."
Gwen pressed her cheek against John's back. "Who is Grey?"
"My son."
Gwen inhaled sharply. "Your son?" she repeated. "Why did it matter if Jack forgot your son...."
"Fifty-first century, love. Three guesses who carried Grey."
"Jack," Gwen whispered softly. She hugged him from behind, quietly offering support. "I..." her loss seemed almost petty now, and she felt ashamed at making a big deal of a baby she'd never even gotten to hold.
He reached up, resting a hand over hers. "Was a long time ago, luv. Ten years, maybe more. You lose track when you're jumping about like I do." He shifted, stilling when he heard her muffled gasp. In all the confusion, he'd forgotten about the source of their discussion. Turning, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You should be lying down, luv."
"I'll live," she assured him trying to keep the roughness out of her voice. "Making a fuss over nothing, didn't even get far enough to hear her heart beat and you lost a son you actually got to hold..." she shook her head.
"Hey, none of that now. We're not going to play who's had the shittier luck. I'll just end up depressed, and you're in no shape for laughing." He pressed on her shoulder again, and this time she allowed him to guide her back to the pillow. "This whole mess was just as much my fault as it was yours; I should have been on suppressors, simple as that. So now you're going to lie down while I grab something for that pain, and then I'll answer what I can about Grey."
As he stood, walking into the washroom to peruse his medical cabinet, he berated himself for telling her too much, agreeing to tell her more. Nobody knew about Grey anymore. Nobody aside from Jack, who apparently didn't give a rat's ass. And here he was, telling her because he felt guilty. He didn't do guilty. You conned, you scored, and then you move on. He'd already been there too long, and now there was something very much like obligation colouring his thoughts. And then there was the child, or might have been. Spontaneous abortions weren't unusual, even in the fifty-first century, but he wished it had happened before she'd realized she was pregnant. Neither of them needed that kind of emotional baggage; he already had plenty, and she was too damn emotional for her own good.
Gwen was still awake when he returned to the bedroom, despite his hopes that she might have fallen asleep. She was curled on her side, staring at the wall and trying to figure out when this had all changed from an arrangement to protect Jack into something she wanted and needed. She tried not to think about the baby and all the things she'd never get to know about. It wouldn't do any good, and she knew John certainly didn't want to hear it. She wasn't even sure why he was sticking around, or being so...caring to her right now.
"I can go to Owen's if you want me to leave," she offered, even though she really didn't want to get up.
"Give me your arm." Without waiting, he grasped her left wrist and extended the arm, pressing a small cylinder against the inside of her elbow. There was a clicking sound, followed by a rush of cold that dissipated almost as soon as it manifested.
"What was that?"
"Pain killer, bit of a regenerative boost. Standard field kit provisions, really."
"I meant what I said, I can leave if you want me gone. I don't, I know this isn't in the contract."
"Fuck the contract, luv. I'm certainly not letting you drive after taking that stuff. Not sure you'll be able to make it to the loo in another five minutes, had to guess at the dosage."
"Oh," Gwen murmured. "Thank you. For all of this. You could have been an arsehole about it."
He shrugged, turning off the lights before getting back into bed beside her. "I'm only an arsehole when it suits me. You didn't need that tonight. You had a choice taken away from you, and I know exactly how that feels. Not going to make that worse by being a prat." He shifted around, getting comfortable again.
She leaned over and kissed him softly, then shifted against him and settling in with arm across his stomach and her head on his chest. "How old was he?" she asked, feeling more comfortable pressing for details under the cover of darkness.
"Just over eighteen months. Tiny thing, really. Too small to land in civil care."
Gwen stroked his chest, the pain in his voice and the love for his son almost palpable. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "But you found him again?"
"I know where, and when, he is. But it's... complicated. The Time Agency files agents who disappear in the line of duty as dead. If I show up, prove the genetic match and claim him, I have to disappear. The Agency, well, let's just say they don't like being reminded of their mistakes."
Gwen thought of Jack and his insistence to have John out of his life. "Is that why you came looking for Jack? So you could go get your son together?"
"Yes. No. Fuck if I know, at this point." He sighed. "After they took Grey, Jack and I fell out. Spectacularly so. They wanted a mind wipe, a complete memory alteration. Field Agents can't have children, not unless they get permanent reassignment. Jack wanted to negotiate, try to work out something in the middle ground. Me? I left the agency, and hit the ground running. It was bad, for a long time. Everything he told you about me is true. He left the agency eventually, but I don't know how long after or why. Ran into each other a few times, but he was different. Wanted nothing to do with me, aside from a quick fuck. By then, I was all too happy to oblige."
Gwen traced a scar across his stomach idly. "And Jack doesn't remember Grey because of the mind wipe," she mused softly amazed at how fucked up it all was. "You going to go back for him? Can't imagine foster care has gotten any better throughout the centuries."
"I don't know if he remembers or not. For all I know, he had a sudden attack of conscience that caused him to quit. He hasn't exactly been keen on the small talk the few times we've seen each other. Gets bloody furious if I even try to bring it up. And of course, I'm going back for 'im. Civil's better than nothing, but I don't want him conscripted. The diamond, it was supposed to be a big enough payoff to bow out of the game. Find somewhere safe, where he could be happy again. Civil means you don't go hungry, don't get cold, get enough education to be useful. Doesn't mean you're happy."
"Hated seeing kids being put into foster care when I was on the force." Gwen hugged John tightly, biting her tongue against the irrational desire to say bring him here and to ask if he'd been in civil growing up like his comments lead her to believe. "How old is he now? Or, when you know where he'll be."
"It's a good system, for what it is. Had to be, what with all the battleground orphans. The Empire was at war, always at war. Kids would go out to school in the morning, and when they came home there was no one there to take them in. Commerce worlds always got hit the worst." He stroked his fingers up and down her spine distractedly, staring up at the dark ceiling and seeing worlds from his memories. "That's the trick, luv. I can gauge it to a few months, but I have to be careful about crossing timelines. Can't pick him up until he's five, if I'm lucky."
Gwen shivered slightly at the world his words painted. "Better than him spending his whole childhood there," she murmured softly, her mind starting to drift. "Bet he's got your looks."
"Sadly, no. Takes after Jack's mum, of all things."
Gwen yawned. "Oh, hmm like to meet him," she told him sleepily, her eyes sliding closed.
"Maybe someday, luv." He smiled softly as the sedative in the injection finally kicked in.
She nodded, already half asleep listening to his heart beat. After a moment of contemplation, he closed his eyes as well, listening to the reassuring sound of her breath in the quiet room. He'd deal with the consequences of their discussion in the morning, whatever they were. For just one night, he relaxed and shared his burden.
It was an indicator of how distracted she was when Gwen didn't notice that Jack had his blinds closed until she poked her head in the door. "You wanted to see me, Jack?"
Jack looked up from some files on his desk and nodded. "Yes, I did. Come in and have a seat, Gwen," Jack told her, his voice was rather more gentle than she was used to hearing from him lately.
She entered cautiously, closing the door behind her. "Is everything all right, Jack?"
Jack got to his feet, watching her carefully. "I don't know, Gwen, is everything all right with you?"
"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
Jack rested a hand on her arm, his eyes kind. "Gwen, you don't have to lie to me. I know about the miscarriage."
She froze, and then jerked away and spun to face him. "What, exactly, do you think you know?"
"Something Owen said tipped me off," Jack told her. "I wish you had told me, I would have given you as much time off as you need. I know it's not an easy thing to go through."
"Oh, Owen told you, did he?" She turned away and stalked over to the bookshelves. "Don't believe everything that bastard tells you."
"He didn't tell me, Gwen. Just something he said," Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Gwen I know what you're going through."
"No, Jack, I think I can safely say that you have no idea what I'm going through."
"I know men in this century don't often wind up pregnant, but by my time it's a much more common occurance." Jack paused. "I lost a baby once, too." He caught her by the elbow.
She blinked, and allowed him to guide her around to face him. "You did?"
Jack nodded, his eyes sad. "I was...." he had to stop for a moment his voice constricting with emotion. "I was eight months in."
Gwen frowned, trying to reconcile that with what John had told her two days ago. "I-I'm sorry, Jack. It's just, it's been hard these last few days. Were, were you going to keep the baby?"
Jack pulled her into a warm hug. "Hey, I understand," he assured her, but he hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes, I was. Me and John...we were younger, naive I guess. Thought we'd have a chance at...." he stopped and shook his head.
"John...John Hart?" She felt bad, soaking in the compassion and sympathy Jack was radiating while also prodding for information, but at the same time, Jack had never been so open before.
Jack gave a shaky laugh. "He was different back then."
She nodded hesitantly, not raising her head from where it rested against his shoulder. "You thought you'd have a chance at a good life, right Jack?"
He stroked her back tenderly. "Yeah, we did. I'm sorry about your baby Gwen. You would have made a wonderful mother."
She shrugged, biting her lip and trying to hold the tears back. She thought she'd worked through this, put it behind her. It was over, done. If Jack had any idea of whose baby it had been, he'd be reading her the riot act. Jack gently stroked her hair. "It's all right to cry, Gwen. You might not have planned on a baby, but it's okay to grieve for it."
"I couldn't have kept it, Jack. But now, I don't have to make that decision...I don't get to be relieved about this, Jack. I don't. He would have wanted it." She pounded a fist against Jack's chest, tears flowing freely and breath hitching. She wasn't making sense, knew she wasn't making sense, but he was there, and unlike John, Jack had no investment in the issue. Even if John had said it was her choice.
"We could have made something work," Jack told her, which was easy to say now, when the point was moot. He continued to stroke her hair. "It's okay to have wanted it, no matter how hard or impossible things would have been. There's no shame in wanting your own child. And hey, who wouldn't want a child by you?"
"Never know now, yeah?" She took a deep breath, gathering her scattered wits. Feeling more composed, she pulled away, wiping half-heartedly at the tearstains she knew now painted her cheeks. "You'd have made a good father, Jack."
Jack managed a small smile for her. "Thank you. I would have tried." He placed a affectionate kiss to her forehead. "If you ever need to talk, Gwen, I'm here."
"Thanks, Jack." She nodded, and swiped again at her eyes. "I'll keep that in mind. I think it'll just take time, yeah?"
Jack nodded. "It will." He watched her walk away, and coughed as something else occured to him. "Oh, and Gwen? Don't be to hard on Owen. I don't think he's realized I know."
She paused in the doorway, and threw him a weak smile. "Don't worry, Jack. I know how much Ianto hates bloodstains."
"Well, that, and he's the only one that knows the autopsy room codes." Jack chuckled. "If you decide to kill him, make him write those down first, all right?"
Her smiled warmed, becoming more genuine in response to Jack's attempt at levity. "I'll make sure to remember that."
Ianto brought Jack a mug full of coffee, wondering how long he would spend holed up in his office before climbing down to his room and pretending to sleep. Everyone else had already left, but Ianto, as always, had lingered. "Brought you some coffee, sir."
Jack nodded absently, not bothering to raise his eyes from the file in front of him. "Thanks."
Ianto set it down on the desk and hesitated. "Is everything alright with Gwen?"
Jack took a sip of coffee, still not looking up. "She's doing as well as can be expected."
"As can be expected considering what, sir?" Ianto asked.
Jack set his coffee mug down, finally looking up. "Sorry, Ianto."
Ianto shrugged lightly, too used to the varying levels of classification to take it personally. Normally he rather enjoyed it when Jack used his full name, but not when it was to pacify him. "It's fine, sir. None of my business really, is it?"
Jack sighed, and reached out to pull him in for a brief kiss. "It's not my secret to share. It won't affect her performance, but that's all I can say."
"I was more concerned about how it affected you," Ianto murmured quietly.
Jack pulled away, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'll be fine, Ianto. Just been a long day."
Ianto brushed his fingers along the back of Jack's neck. "Are you sure?"
Jack leaned into the caress, savouring the contact for a moment before turning to place a kiss on the exposed skin of Ianto's wrist. "I'm sure."
"Are you trying to distract me?" Ianto asked, dipping his fingers under Jack's collar to stroke the top of his spine.
Jack let out a moan that bordered on pornographic. "Mmm. Is it working?"
"It might be," Ianto allowed. He kept his touch maddeningly light as he bent his head to kiss Jack. He stroked his tongue against Jack's, hoping that keeping his own mouth busy would distract him from all the questions Jack would never answer and all of his own doubts.
Jack broke the kiss, and pushed his chair back from the desk before standing. "Let's take this somewhere more comfortable, shall we?" He paused, cocking his head to the side with a leer. "Unless you're in the mood for something a bit more...avant-garde?"
Ianto flushed slightly. "Maybe we can try avant-garde another time."
As far as Owen could tell, aside from the memory loss Gwen was perfectly healthy. The tests were just a precaution, albeit a necessary one given their previous experiences. Of all things, it was when he asked Ianto to bring them some coffee that things got odd.
"Ianto, it's really not necessary."
"It's no trouble, and something hot will do you good."
As soon as he'd vanished up to the kitchenette, she rounded on Owen. "What are you doing? I know I haven't decided, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be irresponsible until I do!"
Owen raised his hands in a defensive pose and backed up a pace. "Whoa, whoa. What are you talking about sweetheart?"
"You know damn well what I'm talking about," she hissed. "You did the test yourself, or have you forgotten that, too?"
Owen's expression grew wary, and he took another step away. "Gwen, love, I think maybe this should wait until Jack gets back, yeah?"
Gwen shook her head, her hand going over her abdomen almost protectively. "Jack doesn't have anything to do with this. You said you'd give me time to decide, I know it's been longer than a week, but I just need a little more time!"
She turned and rushed up the stairs, nearly running down Ianto in her haste. Owen was left behind, things slowly coming together, pulled from strangely fuzzy memories. Ianto interrupted his musings by clearing his throat. "Anything I should know about?"
Owen looked down at the blood sample on his desk, which had come with him when Gwen had started protesting the coffee. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I, um, I need to run some tests. Give me an hour." Without waiting for a response, the doctor turned and vanished into the autopsy alcove. Ianto shrugged and picked up one of the mugs, taking a sip of coffee and pulling up the recent finance report he'd been working on earlier.
Gwen was trembling by the time she reached John's flat, hands shaking badly enough that it took two tries to hit the buzzer. When he didn't appear immediately, she hit it again and again, ignoring the fact that it was the middle of the day and she had no reason to expect that he'd be home.
John returned from a mid-afternoon run to find Gwen slumped against the door to his flat, eyes red, and immediately started cursing Jack Harkness for whatever had gone wrong this time. He reached out, and shook her gently. "Gwen?"
Gwen startled, and looked up with an expression somewhere between relief and apology. "I forgot you probably wouldn't be home during the middle of the day," she said, feeling pathetic and not caring who knew about it as she wiped a hand over her eyes.
He frowned at the obvious tearstains on her face, and slid a hand under her arm to guide her to her feet. "Let's get you inside, and then you can tell me what happened, yeah?"
"Do you think it's too early to blame hormones?" Gwen laughed weakly, leaning into John. "Just... everything's a mess, I guess. There's some bloke in my flat ---and Jack swears he's my fiancé -- and now Owen," she stopped and bit her bottom lip. "Owen's acting like the baby doesn't exist."
He eased her onto the couch, before sitting down next to her, becoming more concerned with every word. "Gwen, luv, what are you talking about?"
Gwen looked confused, wrinkling her forehead. "About our baby." She put a hand over her abdomen. "You know, the bundle of cells in there I haven't made a decision over yet. Owen was acting like I was out of my mind or something, tried to give me coffee and then tried to tell me to wait around for Jack."
John sighed, and gently clasped her hands in his own. "Gwen, luv, I'm not sure how to say this, but...You lost the baby. Near on three weeks ago, now."
"That's not funny, John," Gwen tried to pull away from him. "I've had a shit day, I'm really not up to you being an arsehole."
He caught her shoulder, and shook her firmly. "Gwen, look at me. No, look." He waited until she met his gaze. "I'm not joking. I wouldn't do that to you, and it wasn't exactly the best night of my life, yeah? Was nobody's fault, just happened."
Gwen looked stricken, eyes wide. "I'd remember that. I wouldn't just forget something like that," she protested, her voice breaking slightly. "You don't just forget things like that."
"I know, luv." He shifted to slouch further down on the couch, and guided her to lean against his chest. Under the pretext of brushing a piece of hair from her face, he trailed his fingers along her skin and relaxed his discipline a fraction. Not far enough to hurt, just far enough to skim her surface thoughts. His voice was rough when he spoke again. "No one forgets something like that without help."
Gwen pressed her face against his chest, hot tears spilling down over her eyelashes. "I really lost the baby?" she whispered brokenly.
He sighed, and rested his free hand against her back, stroking gently. "You did, luv." He pressed a kiss to her forehead before resting his cheek against her hair, expression growing hard. "What I want to know, is who took that memory away from you."
"Only Owen knew, and he wouldn't do that," Gwen told him. "I don't even think our Retcon works that selectively and....Jack wouldn't have. Ianto, Tosh, Adam, even if they'd known...why would they do that to me?"
John could feel something cold flickering to life deep in his mind as she completed the list of names; it was the side of himself which was better off buried while he was playing hard-to-find, the side the Agency had trained and honed and pushed to perform. "Who's Adam?"
Gwen raised her head slightly. "John, you remember Adam. He..." she frowned slightly trying to remember where Adam was when John first showed up. "He's worked at Torchwood for three years."
John shook his head. "No, he hasn't. Wasn't there when I popped in, and he wasn't in your files."
"I remember him, though..." Gwen said softly, eyes widening. "But I don't remember...oh god."
He smiled, but there was no humour in the expression. "Don't know for certain, but I'd wager someone's been taking a stroll through that pretty little head of yours."
"No one will believe me," Gwen told him, still in a state of shock. "I...why would he do this to me? What could he have gained from it?"
John resumed stroking her back, hoping to gain more information from her if she was a bit calmer. "Well, he's only been there a few days; you were fine on Saturday. What does he gain?" He shrugged. "Could be any number of things. Could be feeding on your emotions, your memories themselves. Could be accessing something in the Torchwood system that takes more than 24 hours. Someone's definitely been scavenging about, though, so I'm going to guess the former."
Gwen rested her head back against his chest. "Tosh thinks they're dating," she murmured. "And...I'm really engaged to that Rhys bloke then, aren't I?"
John bit back his immediate response, and instead made a non-committal noise. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I think you need to talk to Harkness about this."
"He'll think I'm crazy," Gwen told him.
"Not if you catch him alone, give him facts to check. He's disgustingly self-righteous, but he should be willing to give you five minutes to prove yourself." John reached down and grabbed the glass of whiskey he'd left on the coffee table, taking a long swallow before replacing it. "For tonight, don't worry about it. Relax, have a drink or two, and get some sleep. Here, if you need to, although I might charge for use of the bed." He leered at her good-naturedly, and was relieved when she smiled in return. "Tomorrow, we'll sit down and come up with ways for you to check out this "Adam", yeah?"
"Yeah." Gwen nodded in agreement and leaned up to kiss him. "Thank you," she told him softly. She would have somehow managed and figured thing out, she was sure of that, but having John's support made all the difference.
She never had the opportunity to act on the decision. At two o'clock that morning, Jack phoned, and ordered her into the Hub for an emergency meeting.
The next time she stopped by John's flat, he relaxed his discipline for just a moment, more than willing to face the inevitable headache in order to see that the blisteringly clear signs of tampering upon her mind had vanished as if they had never been.
"Something wrong?" Gwen asked him, sliding an arm about his waist.
He shook his head, and pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to her lips. "Nothing at all." He smirked, and looked her over as they stood in his front hallway. "Unless, of course, you count the fact that you are wearing entirely too many clothes."
Gwen grinned up at him, pushing her hips against his. "You plan to do something about that?"
He smiled, relieved beyond reason that whatever Jack had done had repaired the damage done by the 'visitor'. "I don't know, should I?"
"If you do, I might return the favour," she teased, unaware that those missing 48 hours were anything more than business as usual at Torchwood.
He pushed off the wall, and started down the hallway toward the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to look back the way he had come. "Well, are you coming?"
"Not yet, but I'm sure you'll do something about that," Gwen laughed, following him into the bedroom.
He smirked as she caught up to him. "Oh, good. You see, luv, I'm in the mood to give you a night you'll never forget."
The lift chimed with each floor and Gwen stared numbly at the numbers as she approached the main level of the building. They hadn't even noticed her. Rhys and that....Gwen closed her eyes, but it didn't stop the tears. Rhys hadn't even noticed her. She thought about the ring on her finger and the wedding dress in her closet. It wasn't...he'd asked her. And she'd been so sure he loved her, she'd even told John that he loved her. Guilt, anger twisted together in her stomach as the lift finally reached the ground floor. Blindly she moved through the doors just wanting to get as far away from their flat as possible.
John smirked when the lift opened to reveal Gwen, perhaps the day was looking up after all. He could use a bit of a distraction after spending the day in meetings with a client who didn't seem to understand the basic rules of data security. He reassessed when she brushed past without even looking at him. He opened his mouth to ask when, exactly, he'd gotten that forgettable, but then her bare arm connected with the back of his hand, and he knew. Sometimes, all of the contact he had with Gwen, and it's resultant weakening of his discipline in regards to her, was just an annoyance to be dealt with. Occasionally, however, it proved useful.
John let her go, a rush of anger blinding him to any thoughts of piecing her together. The bastard had asked for the commitment, not her. In the pub, John had heard Rhys mention finding a new girl, but he hadn't realized that meant fucking the new girl. John took a deep breath, and pressed the button for his own floor. One step at a time, that was what they'd always said in Rehab, and there was some truth in it. He'd put away his groceries, and then he'd pay a visit to Rhys.
Rhys was blissfully unaware that his fiancée had ever been there. In fact, his thoughts couldn't have been further away from Gwen, as all he could think of was Bridget. She was sweet and attentive, didn't go running off at all hours of the night. He tangled his fingers in her long red hair as they kissed on the couch.
John didn't bother waiting for the doors on the lift to open all the way before storming out. He also didn't bother knocking, and took the expedient route. He kicked in the door.
Bridget screamed and Rhys was on his feet as quickly as possible. He recognized John from downstairs, having had a drink with him on more than one occasion. "What the hell, mate! Is the building on fire?"
"You bastard."
"Me?" Rhys looked confused. "What'd I do to piss you off, John?"
Bridget peeked out from behind Rhys. "Rhys? You know him?"
John ignored Rhys for a moment, and glared at the woman still on the couch. "Sweetheart, get out. No yelling or screaming, just get out." He turned his attention back to Rhys. "As for you, let's start with the bird I just saw running out in tears, and go from there, shall we?"
Bridget grabbed her purse and coat and quickly fled.
Rhys grew pale. "Shit, Gwen saw us...." he frowned at John. "Wait why do you care? Didn't even think you knew what she looked like."
"Short, dark-haired, in tears, and wearing a ring? Hard to miss when she runs into you."
"It's none of your business what happens between me and my girl, John," Rhys snapped. "Certainly doesn't give you the right to kick down my door! I'm sorry she saw me with Bridget, but it's her fault I'm with her anyways."
John took a quick breath, reminding himself that Gwen didn't ask for this, and she certainly wouldn't be pleased if he broke a 4 month no-kill stretch with her soon-to-be-ex-fiancé. "Normally, you'd be right. But you put a ring on her finger, capped her off the market, that comes with drawbacks, yeah? A girl in tears just ain't worth the fuss, from where I'm standing." He gestured to his coat. "Salt does bad things to leather, yeah?"
"She's never home!" Rhys told John, still not quite putting things together. "Drop of the hat and she's running off to 'work'." He snorted. "She can lie to my face all she wants, but I know she's fucking someone. Probably that boss of hers. Not the first time she cheated either! I let her think I didn't remember the other bloke, but what does she think? I'm going to sit around at home waiting on her to make up her mind? I love her, I'll marry her, but if she wants to fuck around, then she can deal with me doing the same."
John rolled his eyes at the tirade. "Jack may be a bastard, but he's not that kind of bastard. He'd never fuck her and lie to your face about it." John cracked his neck, widening his stance in preparation for a fight. "If you've got problems with Gwen, you talk to her about them. You don't pick up some piece on the side, not after you've made an offer to her."
Rhys' eyes widened as it suddenly clicked. "You son of a bitch. You two-faced bastard. You're fucking her," Rhys hissed. "That selfish little fucking slut."
John cut him off with a punch, careful not to break anything. Yet. "Business partner, not a piece on the side." He took another swing, this one landing in Rhys' solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him. "Completely different things, mate. She works for Torchwood, what's your excuse?"
Rhys took a swing back at him. "Business partner? So she's a whore now, too? You pay her for it?"
John stepped back, avoiding the fist and jabbing an uppercut into Rhys' side with his left hand. "Whore is such a dirty word. But, yes, she got something out of it. I left you alone."
Rhys stumbled back, not the fighter that John was. He was holding on to the back of the couch trying to stay up right. "You're crazy."
John grinned, all teeth. "That's what they tell me. I prefer the term 'beyond rehabilitation'."
A look a terror crossed Rhys' face. "Please don't kill me."
John crossed the space between them, and knocked Rhys down to his knees. "You want me to leave you alone? Go away and never come back?"
"Yes!" Rhys whimpered.
"Leave her. Agencies like Torchwood don't make for relationships, or haven't you noticed?" John's gaze sharpened and his voice grew quiet. "In three days, you move out, and you don't come back. You leave her be, and you stop nosing around Torchwood."
"The flat is half mine..."Rhys protested.
"You lost that right when you brought the bird home, mate. I'm presenting you with an offer, here. I think you'd be wise to accept, if you catch my drift."
Rhys nodded dully, giving into the inevitable. "All right," he said. "Hope she fucks you over just like she did me."
"Wouldn't be the first." John shrugged, and stepped back, giving Rhys space to stand up. At the man's disgusted look, John couldn't resist smirking. "What, think I was born this way? Sorry. I'm a product of environment, not genetics. They have laws about that."
Rhys glared at him best he could, but the effect was diluted by the swollen eye and busted lip. He waited until John was near the door before he spoke again. "You do this to her when she pisses you off?"
John laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. "She knows what I'd do, if I ever got as pissed at her as I am with you. This? This is recreational. Remember, there are worse things than bruises, mate." He smirked and turned, whistling as he walked down the hallway. "And get the bloody door fixed."
Rhys watched John walk out of the flat, and hoped to hell Gwen knew what she'd gotten herself into. Because he was staying the fuck out of it.
Gwen hit the buzzer once, then banged her fist against the door for good measure. If nothing else, it made her feel better. Everything was a mess. Rhys had left her...okay, he'd been cheating on her and she'd been cheating on him but...she shook her head to keep herself from crying.
John pulled the door open fully expecting to find Jack on his doorstep after the stunt he'd pulled earlier, which had just been fucking stupid, especially when Rhys knew about Torchwood. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he found that it was just Gwen. "Good evening, luv. You look like you could use a drink."
"Rhys left me," spilled out of her mouth. It hadn't been what she'd planned to say. Because part of her was sure he already knew, was sure that he had something to do with it. But how would he have known?
That was...not quite what he'd expected. But he could certainly work with this. He slid an arm around her shoulders and guided her inside and kicking the door closed. "Then you definitely need a drink."
Gwen nodded, then reconsidered and shook her head. "No, I..." She swallowed hard, tempted to just lean into him and pretend that nothing had happened. A few hours of denial, some sleep, it would be safe. Except denial was what had gotten her into this mess. She shrugged off John's arm as she felt the tears well up again. Which brought her back to Rhys, which brought her back to the reason she'd been so mad. She stopped and turned to face him. "What did you do to him? Because Rhys loves that flat. Now suddenly he's up and leaving? How did you even know?"
John stopped at the bar and poured a large whiskey before turning back to face her. "Yes, I paid your former - and I do hope it's former, because otherwise I'm crediting you with far too much intelligence - fiancé a visit. We straightened up a few things, and he graciously decided to leave in apology for his actions. That's all." He offered her the glass. "Sit. Drink."
After a moment of staring at the glass, she took it and sat down heavily on the couch. "Your knuckles are bruised," she said softly. "And you still haven't said how you knew." Gwen took a long drink and wondered if the rift would behave long enough for her to spend a day curled up in bed sulking.
John poured himself a drink as well, and sat down in the chair next to the couch. He threw back half of it before speaking. "You know I was a Time Agent, yeah?"
Gwen curled her legs up on the couch. "Yeah," she agreed, too emotionally drained to be snarky at him. "What's that got to do with this?"
"Time agency recruits based on a number of aptitudes. One of them is psychic - communication or ability to manipulate physical objects." He tossed back the rest of his drink, and set the glass on the coffee table. "I had what they wanted, so I got in."
Gwen took a long swallow of whiskey, making a face as it burned its way down her throat. "You're trying to say --what? That you're psychic? That you read my mind?" she rolled her eyes, then looked back at him and saw just how tense he was. "You aren't joking, are you?" Her voice shook as she spoke and the shaking seemed to translate to her hand, and she set her glass down abruptly to conceal the fact.
"Nope. Well..." He shrugged, turning to face her more directly and perching his arm across the back of the chair. "Haven't actually read your mind."
"Then what?" She demanded, not even realizing that she was twisting the engagement ring she still wore.
"It's...complicated. There are codes. They drill us from the time the abilities manifest even in potentia - ethical guidelines. The actual ability is much more difficult to use than you might think. If I wanted to go into your mind, I would have to open myself to everything in the surrounding area. Every mind, every psychic influence. Let's just say I won't do it if I can avoid it."
Gwen was still playing with the ring unconsciously as she watched him. "Then..."she stopped and wet her lips. "If you didn't read my mind, what did you do."
"Today? An accident. You were emotional, and I wasn't expecting the contact."
"And I'm supposed to believe that," Gwen said softly, yanking the ring off. "Like I'm supposed to believe you beat up Rhys because he cheated on me? Why would you care?" She tossed the ring down on the table and stared at it. "I guess you were right about him not loving me, though." As she spoke, a light dusting of tears slipped through her lashes.
"You can believe it or not, I don't really care. It's true." John debated refilling his glass, but it wasn't like another few ounces was going to do any good. It took close to a litre before he actually experienced more than a mild buzz, especially with the light stuff. "If I was going to fuck around with your brain, Gwen, I wouldn't do it by finding out your boyfriend's cheating on you. I'm sorry, but you're just not worth the headache that comes with an open spectrum, even just for a few seconds."
"Why'd you attack him?" Gwen asked again, because she didn't understand it. John was the one that often pointed out that their arrangement was little more than a business deal. If he hadn't attacked Rhys she would have....she would have tried to pretend she hadn't seen it. She wouldn't have broken the engagement.
"I did it because he made an offer of commitment to you, and then he entered another romantic affiliation. Not a physical one, like our arrangement, a romantic one." He tapped a finger against his lips in thought. "It's the difference between a mistress and a concubine, and there's one hell of a moral and ethical weight that comes with it."
He knew she was avoiding the questions she had to have about the psychic aptitude, but he was just as happy to let the topic lie. It wasn't exactly a point of pride that he was so rusty that his control slipped periodically.
Gwen wondered what response she'd been hoping for, because that certainly wasn't it. She blinked back more tears. "Find it hard to believe, that you care about morals and ethics of anything," she said in a watery voice, getting to her feet. Any other time, she'd want to know why he so easily got a glimpse of her thoughts from just a touch. Any other time, she'd be able to put together all the threads she saw and see the bigger picture. But not right now. "You...you shouldn't have troubled yourself."
"By your standards, I guess I am an odd duck, but it's all relative, yeah? Everyone has rules they break and rules they canonize. Take mind-ethics. In the civvies, if you screen positive on a Psi assessment you get shunted into Mind-Ethics One. They don't teach, they indoctrinate. Do's and Don'ts get hardwired in before you hit ten, before you ever learn more than keeping people out. And some things, some things are sacred. Depends on the person, or the planet, but everyone's got lines they won't cross, yeah? Rhys, he crossed one of mine, and you got hurt. So yeah, I messed him up. I'm not sorry about it, either."
Gwen wiped a hand across her face, the urge to flee back to her own flat leaving her. "I really thought he loved me," she whispered, horrified that she was saying it out loud and that she was really crying now.
John stood, moving to sit on the couch next to her and pulling her to lean against his shoulder. "Never know, luv. Maybe he did, in the beginning. And maybe you did. Love doesn't always last, even when we want it to. Happens, and people walk away. Sometimes they try to kill each other, but I'm told that varies with the people. You made a romantic commitment, and you kept it. There was never any question that you were paired with Rhys. He made no such distinction with his new bird; she didn't know about you. That, and the fact that he did it where he knew you could find out, is what pissed me off."
"I wanted him to be what I wanted. He was safe...he treated me well." Gwen wrapped her arms around John, trying to halt her tears. "Thank you -- not for beating him up, but for --" she wasn't sure how she was going to end that, so she kissed him instead.
He kissed her back, knowing that this was something she'd have to work through herself, and also knowing that there would be a time he'd want to use this to keep her from pushing about his history with Jack. He pulled back after a moment, and caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Do you want to stay here until he's out?"
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. "I-- yes."
"Right, glad that's settled. You all right entertaining yourself while I take care of some things?"
"I think I can manage," she promised, taking another kiss mostly because she could and the physical contact was comforting.
"Good woman." He reached over and grabbed the television remote, pressing it into her hand as he eased her off his lap. "I'd ask if you wanted anything, but I'm just not that good of a host. You know how the kitchen works; help yourself." With that, he stood and headed for the computer in the corner. It was a few moments before Gwen said anything, and when she spoke he was surprised at her choice of topics.
"John?"
"Yes?"
"Don't ever do anything that bloody stupid again."
Gwen stretched, enjoying the feel of soft sheet and a warm body beside her and the knowledge that she didn't have to be anywhere. She probably should have been disturbed that she assumed it was John before her brain was even awake enough to remember the night before and Rhys leaving her. She inhaled sharply. Rhys had left her. Rhys had been cheating on her. Contented feeling gone, Gwen pushed herself up into a sitting position.
John blinked awake, but didn't bother to get up as he studied the woman next to him. "All right, luv?"
She rubbed her face and looked over at him. "Not sure."
He stretched, and laced his fingers together behind his head. "Anything I can help with?"
Gwen smiled slightly, if nothing else, John could provide a variety of distractions. She leaned across his chest and kissed him. "I'm sure you could think of a few things that would at least make me feel better."
He smirked, and made a show of looking her over. "That could be arranged. Anything in particular?"
"Mhmm, maybe I'll let you surprise me," she said, nipping at his jaw.
He chuckled, and buried a hand in her hair to pull her up for a kiss. "Surprise, eh? Nothing you've been dreaming about lately, maybe some kink you've been keeping in reserve?"
She was relaxing against him, her mouth curving up into a full smile, when something clicked in her head. Her eyes went wide, and she wrenched herself away from him. "You bastard."
He blinked, and frowned at her. "What?"
"You fucking telepathic son of a bitch!" Gwen hissed. "And I felt so guilty about having those dreams with Rhys right beside me in bed!" She shoved the covers back, and climbed from the bed.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, and crossed his arms over his chest. "So what if I did? It's distant past, Gwen, and you sure as hell weren't complaining at the time."
She stopped in the midst of picking up her shirt, staring at him wide eyed. "You're the one that's so big on 'consent', how the hell did I consent to be raped in my dreams for weeks on end?"
"Now wait just a minute, sweetheart. Yes, I poked my head in a few times, but we only ever fucked once, and I made damn sure you wanted it. Don't go blaming me for your over-active imagination, because I don't take kindly to slander."
Gwen pulled her shirt over her head. "It doesn't count as consent when the other person thinks it's a dream!" Gwen practically screamed at him. "And don't fucking lie to me. I never would have...you fucked me on Jack's desk in one of them. I would never have come up with that, never would have wanted that!" She was horrified to realize that she could feel tears burning behind her eyes, the urge to just give in and let the fall nearly overwhelming. She'd lost Rhys, and now to find out that any desire she had for John was manufactured?
John was on his feet at that, because he was many things, but he wasn't a rapist. "Stop right there, Little Girl. I've got enough people with altered memories in my past as it is, and I've put up with more than enough of it from you already. You want to hold me accountable, you do it for things I've done, not things you've imagined. Yes, that dream happened, but I sure as hell didn't instigate it. You did that all by your lonesome."
"I wouldn't even know how to, and you know it," Her hand flew out and connected with his face. Hard "And you've had enough of me? You've had enough of me? You've fucked up my life, you coerced me into having sex with you. I never would have gotten pregnant, let alone miscarried, and you made me fucking care about you ---"
He caught her hand after the slap landed, and shook her. Hard. "You listen to me, Gwen, and listen well. I have not, and would not, force your actions. That's a li