Disclaimer: If I owned Torchwood, then I wouldn't be here writing this. Unfortunately, I don't.
Author's Notes: After watching Exit Wounds (and crying), I just needed to write this. My first fic here, constructive criticism welcomed.
Gwen had been ordered home by Jack, eventually. He and Ianto had been busy tidying up Tosh and Owen's stuff, whilst she'd been walking around the Hub in a daze. 'Gwen, go home, please'. It sounded like a request, but she knew that Jack wouldn't have taken no for an answer.
So, she'd gone home. Sat at the kitchen table, staring into space, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Rhys had taken her into the lounge, they'd cuddled up on the sofa together, silently watching the TV.
The news had been on, though Rhys had turned it over when reports of the injured and dead made Gwen burst into tears again. Now they were watching some meaningless quiz show, trying to take their thoughts away from the events of earlier. It wasn't working.
Sirens were screeching outside, ambulances faithfully picking up the dead and wounded, fire engines putting out the fires that John had unwillingly started, police trying to calm the hysterical relatives of those who had died that day.
The noise of the TV was just an annoying buzz, not enough to distract her, nor stop her from dwelling on thoughts of the devastation that had occurred. Gwen knew her job was dangerous, Jack had once told her that no Torchwood agents lived past their mid-30s, well, none except Jack anyways. She'd known that they would have died eventually, everyone dies eventually. Except Jack. But, had she thought that it would be so soon? No. That was her honest answer. Like a fool, she'd believed that together they could defend the Earth forever, always saving it in the nick of time, escaping unscathed. Those had been her thoughts when she had first joined Torchwood. Those had been her thoughts up until now. And today, even after finding that Jack had disappeared and Weevils were loose all over Cardiff, she'd believed that they would all survive, that they could stop whoever had done this, and return to normal life. Well, as normal as life at Torchwood usually was, which wasn't really that normal if you thought about it.
Shows how much she knew.
What if she was next? Oh, when she had first joined Torchwood, she had known the risks, but had never really stopped to think about the consequences if she died. What would Rhys do? Her mum? Her dad? How would she die? What story would Jack invent for her? That she'd died in a car accident? A fire?
So many questions, so little answers. For every one that she tried to answer, another popped up, and then another, and another.
Owen. Even though he'd been a total and utter idiot - you couldn't say anything less - she'd still loved him, she loved all the team. They were like family to her. It felt like she had just lost a brother and a sister.
Tosh. She'd always been a good friend, they'd shared a couple of laughs, though she had always been just a little too quiet, too secluded. And then, in her last message, she'd finally admitted to Owen that she loved him - ironic that he had been already dead, and would never see that message.
Maybe Tosh had managed to talk to Owen before he died. Maybe they had told each other their feelings after all. They'd never gone on that date though. So many things that could have been, wiped out in a second. It just made Gwen feel that tiny bit happier for what she had, a husband who loved her.
Maybe she'd never have kids, the Torchwood life was too dangerous, but at least she had someone to care for, and who cared for her in return. Jack and Ianto had each other but Tosh and Owen had never dared to become anything more than friends. She supposed that was a life lesson - when you find something or someone, cling onto it or them and never let go, life was too short not to.
She sniffed quietly and looked up at the ceiling, the whirling thoughts dashing around her head drowning out the sounds of the TV and the sirens. Life was too short and was over in the blink of an eye. Death came too quickly, the darkness rushing to envelop you, to snuff out the flickering flame of life like blowing out a candle.
But they would carry on. Her, Ianto and Jack. They'd carry on nevertheless. Maybe they would slip back into a sort of routine, but it wouldn't be the same. Life carries on, but those you lose are never forgotten. Lost forever, but definitely not forgotten. The spark of life is much too precious to throw away and so you quietly carry on, slowly managing to wade past the grief, but never completely forgetting. You cry for the past, cry for those who are lost, and then you carry on. Because you have to.
After all, who else is going to save the world?