21st century guns. Crude compared the sonic weapons I trained with in the Time Agency, yet somehow more satisfying to use. Bullets might be clumsy but firing them at cardboard targets brings a certain relief of tension. I could certainly use the outlet today. Unfortunately this round in the shooting gallery belonged to Gwen, not me. I hear her behind me as I breakdown the weapon in my hand, and check to ensure the chamber's clear.
"Jack? Whoa." Gwen smiles that outrageously happy and innocent grin. It's a beautiful expression. Gwen looks at Torchwood with an almost giddy enthusiasm that I find both uplifting and a little disconcerting. It's not just that she's new. From the beginning Ianto never betrayed any strong emotions, apart from fanatical professionalism. After Torchwood 1 he'd seen it all before. Tosh and Owen were both too jaded by life to see anything with unabashed joy and awe. Tosh's time in solitary confinement exacted heavy dues and Owen still mourned his fiancée. Nothing has scarred Gwen yet. I should take a picture, preserve the moment. Life being what it was at Torchwood, who knew how long her smile would last.
"You need to know how to use these." Gwen expression sobers for a moment as she examines the guns. Can she feel the death these machines have dealt? They must seem so foreign to her. They're all too familiar to me. "But I hope you never have to." A vain hope. I can't even look at her as I say it. The small voice in the back of my mind that's recently become a little louder voices his objections yet again. "Let her go" he says, "She's not like the others. Toshiko, Owen, Ianto, they needed Torchwood, it saved them. Gwen is whole and healthy. She does not need saving. Torchwood will destroy her,". It's ironic that my conscious fights so hard to send away the very person that's helped revive it.
"So do I…I'm sorry it's just, I don't even kill spiders in the bath." She giggles. Screw conscience, I refuse to lose the opportunity to hear that sound as regularly as I can. Call me selfish if you want. I've been called far worse.
"Nor do I, not with a gun." There it is again. Hearing it dispels all my former irritation with my team's performance today and Owen's behavior in particular. Strange how something that small can make me feel that good. Truly, words I've never thought before.
It only took about a minute to get Gwen properly outfitted with her glasses and headphones. I choose a piece from the table and demonstrate how to load the magazine. Gwen looks slightly uncomfortable as I pass it over to her. In her awkwardness she unintentionally points the gun at me. I hastily direct the weapon in the proper direction.
"Target's that way." Just because I can survive being shoot in the head doesn't mean I enjoy the experience. Gwen's next attempt looks like something out of Charlie's Angels. If memory serves members of that particular organization ran around saving the world in tight-fitting outfits. Perhaps Torchwood could model its dress code after that program, if not its weapons technique.
"Let's leave the roof in one piece, shall we." I put my hands on Gwen's arms to lower them to the appropriate level, enjoying the sensation. I have always supported hands on instruction.
"One hand, not two." I didn't have to work hard to find excuses to keep touching her. This did not qualify as breaking the self-imposed ban I placed on Gwen. I was instructing her on the finer points of a necessary Torchwood skill, nothing more. That's what I told myself as I pulled Gwen's back right up against my chest. My, teaching was a gratifying experience.
"Turn sideways to the target." Gwen long dark was brushing against her neck. Really what was I supposed to do? I couldn't have it distracting her while she learns to shoot. I gently swept the strands back, incidentally feeling the softness and warmth of her skin. Her pulse rate was accelerating. Boyfriend or no Gwen Cooper was not immune to my personal charms. I told myself it made no difference in the long run, but still it made me smile.
"Looking along your shoulder, down your arm straight line to the sights. Bring up the gun." Gwen jerked the weapon with alarming speed. I felt a little smug my proximity was making her so jumpy.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Too fast." It occurred to me we could be having this same conversation in a completely different scenario. The same thought was probably going through Gwen's mind. I could make this easier for her, back away and let her concentrate without my 51st century pheromones clouding her focus. On the other hand, she did need to learn how to with distracting stimuli while discharging her fire arm.
"It's all in the breathing. Hold it firmly, don't grip it." She is not looking at the target anymore, she's looking at me. Maybe she's decided I'm the target. I realize this is what I've been working toward both subconsciously, and consciously since she arrived in the shooting range. Hell, I'd been working towards it since the day I met her. Bad Jack, very bad Jack.
In this moment, her moment of weakness, I could undermine every good intention I've ever had concerning Gwen Cooper. I could reach out and take, the way I would have all those years ago before I'd meet the Doctor. Except I'm not that man anymore. The cocking of the gun refocused Gwen on the task at hand.
"Breath in. Focus. Breath out squeeze gently." The pop of the gun released the sexual tension I allowed to build beyond a safe level. Gwen is elated by her success, and I, for the moment at least, am just proud of my student.
"That was a joint effort." I hug her from behind, but there is no agenda in it. I just want to share in the moment of triumph.
"Try it again this time, on your own, and remember, breath in."
The next few hours pass swiftly. Gwen is a quick student, eager to learn and easy to teach. It is refreshing to lose myself in her energy. I smile as she empties her last clip and poses with the guns above her head.
"Nice work. Like I said, I hope you never have to use them." The sentiment, hopeless as it is, bears repeating. If…When Gwen is forced to use her gun for real she will be nowhere near as elated as she is now.
"Oh God, look at the time." It must be late by now, and Gwen had someone who would be missing her. I can vaguely remember what that was like. "When do you get to go home? You seem to live here." Got it in one Gwen. She seems to the significance of my non-answer."You don't do you?" I can imagine how that sounds to someone like Gwen. Being without a home would seem awful to her. For me I'm used to it. Time agent, con man, Doctor's companion. A rootless existence is the path I've always chosen. Or the one that's chosen me. I'm fine with that. Mostly.
"Got to be ready. The Twenty-first century is where everything changes. And I hate the commute." Hopefully the levity will convince her not to pity me. If there was one thing I hated it was pity.
"Where do you sleep?" I barely even remember what sleeping is like. One more little side effect of my resurrection.
"I don't." Sometimes at night I lie awake with my eyes closed trying to recreate the sensation. At best I'm able to draw on memories that I thought I'd lost. I'd prefer it if most of those stayed buried.
"Doesn't it get lonely at night?" Once again Gwen is right on target. I can't even make a glib comeback like, "Why, do you want to keep me company?". The truth is, I do want her to keep me company. And I'm not even just talking about sex, though that would be nice. OK, way better than nice. The more important thing is that she makes me feel less of an outsider. She made me feel like someone who belonged. It's stupid for me to think I belonged with Gwen because no one could be more different from me than open, moral, compassionate and loving Gwen Cooper.
"I'd better get back. Rhys will be wondering where I am." Rhys, the boyfriend. The man lucky enough to have Gwen's love. Not me.
"Good night." She goes. I stay. As it should be. Or so I tell myself.