It was a quiet day at work. Boredom had plagued me the entire day, and I'm only too eager to get away from it all. But then I realise that Gwen and I aren't talking, or rather, I'm not talking to Gwen, and I dread the empty apartment. I'll watch some rubbish TV, scrounge up something to eat, and go to bed, alone. Gwen will turn up at some ridiculous hour after work and I'll have left out a pillow and a blanket again. Her voice echoes in my head 'It's a dead question!' Dreams of a happy family, children running around the house, dashed into pieces.
But as I walk in, I hear the sound of match striking and flame fluttering. She's standing there, lighting candles. The table's set for two, complete with wine and wine glasses. She turns when I approach, and I can see she's changed out of her work clothes, dressed up for the occasion.
I almost smile. "Apology, is it?"
The hurt and pain at her betrayal, those cruel words under the tree at our picnic, fade away quickly. The anger, too, dissipates. She's made a huge effort, and I can tell that it's sincere. I smell the scent of creamy mushroom from the kitchen. She's cooked my favourite soup.
She starts talking, and her eyes are dead-serious. We'll talk about whatever I want tonight, she says. Kids, the future, anything. My mind starts spinning, and the dreams that she destroyed are suddenly rejuvenated, as crisp and clear and beautiful as ever.
She's completely serious about it. She wants to make things right. There's no hint of laughter, no sarcasm, no wit. Her sincerity is as real as ever, and maybe deep down she does want a family and children and a house in the suburbs. More than anything, there's no doubt that she wants me, and she wants to make things right.
I forgive her instantly.
But her expression is so serious that it becomes disconcerting. There's none of her usual energy and passion. It's almost as though she's put up a wall and she's hiding behind it.
She wants what I want, so why wouldn't she talk to me these past weeks?
Her voice echoes again in my head 'It's just – this thing at work –'
I'd cut her off. I was too hurt, too angry to listen. And maybe, at the time, so was she.
"Are you all right?" I ask.
She nods, slowly, and now I know for sure that something is wrong. She's trying to hold it all together for me, to make a proper apology. She wants to earn my forgiveness, not knowing she already has it.
And then – the wall breaks.
I pull her close to me and run a hand up and down her back. She's shaking ever so slightly.
"Sorry," she chokes out.
We pull out of the hug and I ask if she wants to sit down. The tear tracks on her face are gleaming. Her eyes are brimming with guilt and pain and regret.
She lies against me and I urge her to talk to me. She needs me to listen and to understand. I do just that, because I love her and I know she loves me. We'll learn from this experience, and she'll share with me her life at Torchwood, and we'll talk about children and buying flats, and we'll live real life together.
Because there's nothing more important than that.