Author notes: Written for Fan-Flashworks Challenge 46 - Comfort
Gwen Cooper didn't want to be here. Then again, she didn't feel like going home either.
It was late and she should have been looking forward to walking out the door and into the arms of her loving husband. Yet for some reason the last thing she felt like was love and empathy.
And she couldn't go, not until she finished her report.
She sat back in her her with her arms folded just staring at the screen, lighting up her face in the otherwise growing darkness of the hub. The keyboard cursor blinked idly at the end of her half finished sentence, and as she continued to stare at it she began to feel it beating in her head, like and angry metronome pounding out waves of guilt.
In her head she knew the reasons why she couldn't finish the report. Normally, despite everything, she could put aside her personal feelings and stick to the facts, but the truth of her feelings remained on show in the way that she described the facts.
Tonight she felt nothing. It was as if her heart had been carved out and she had been left hollow.
The others had already written their reports and she was half tempted just to cut and paste the relevant parts just to be done with it.
The two men were still in the hub, somewhere doing something, and yet she felt herself here all alone. Wherever they were, it was likely to be a subdued affair.
None of them had actually spoken about it since it happened. It seemed enough to have been there at the time, that there was nothing to say that hadn't already been felt and experienced.
In amongst all the wonder and brilliance, a lot of awful things happened when you worked for Torchwood. But it was always a hundred times worse when it involved kids.
Eight tiny bodies had had to be loaded with care into the morgue. The cause of death was clear, but they still had to be cleared by Torchwood before they could be released to the funeral home and to their grieving parents. She felt sick just thinking about it.
In her minds eye she could still picture the poisonous burns on their arms and legs, still hear their screams of pain. It wasn't meant to happen like this. Their job was to protect people.
She didn't hear the gentle steps as they approached.
'You should go home.' The voice was deep and soft. It was altogether warming like a spoonful of honey in a cup of tea.
She turned and met it, noticing the understanding mirrored between their faces. She usually let Jack comfort her in times like these but Ianto's presence suddenly felt so right.
'Yeah,' she replied breathing out deeply and giving him the briefest of forced smiles. She bent down to pick up her satchel from under the desk.
'You want I should drive you home?' he asked, falling into an informal Welsh pattern of speech, which was so rare it took her by surprise. The carefully groomed outer shell stripped away.
Suddenly the grief that had been buried so deeply inside her burst forth. Suddenly she didn't want to be alone for a moment longer and lunged forward, hugging him desperately as tears spilled down her cheeks. He wrapped his arms tightly around her.
A year ago, he would have felt totally awkward in a moment like this. A year ago, Gwen would have turned to Jack for tea and sympathy. A year ago, he would have felt slightly jealous towards her for falling into Jack's arms.
But that was a year ago. They'd risked everything and lost so much along the way.
Jack had kept them going, but Jack was an immortal from the 51st century. He was like them in so many ways, but he saw things differently, as only someone who'd lived so long could. He didn't share their transient mortality. They'd grown up here, had families here, had lived normal boring lives in the only city they'd ever known before Torchwood had swept them up in its madness.
They both needed Jack, and they both loved Jack in different ways. But right now they just needed each other.