Feeling. (ch.4)
"Gwen?" I called into the rusty air of the newly constructed Torchwood lair, the smell of coffee in the air. Coldness clenched my heart as I remembered my dear Ianto, my butler, my coffee maker. I choke back sobs and tears and search for Gwen, as she calls from the kitchen.
"Gwen, you really should be home considering your condition!" I told her shortly in mock seriousness, indicating her swollen stomach.
"I'm fine!" she screeched, emerald eyes wide when frustration and importance.
I sigh, as I cannot fight her, and accept the coffee she all but shoves into my hand with a small, faint smile. I sip at my morning elixir and shut my eyes for a quick, tear-jerking moment—the coffee tasted just the same as when Ianto had made it.
When I open my eyes again, I see Gwen looking at me with sadness, remembrance, and a hint of admiration. "What's that look for?" I ask, and she directs her attention to her desk, ignoring me with a simple 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
I silently thank her, for I cannot bear to discuss my lover out loud, not just yet. She seems to know and understand this; she avoids the topics nearly daily now, working on finding help while I deal with the Torchwood business.
I check the database for changes in the Rift, and the results are clear—today is slow. Everyday has been that way since we came back. I wonder if the Void has given up on spitting things out, or if it is simply taking a nap.
"A list of previous one-way tickets purchased into Cardiff though the airport." Gwen says, downloading a list of files.
"Cross-reference where they'll be staying with Rift Activity areas. Then print out a list of the lucky few who might be getting any 'bumps in the night.'" I order, and she complies. We've been looking into possible victims lately, and we still keep coming up dry. I wonder if all the good Torchwood agents are extinct. We've already looked into all the 'good-morals' doctors at the nearest hospitals and clinics, and even the vets! None of them had what it takes to be on the front line. So we're looking into the police, and anyone new in town.
I sigh. Paperwork has never been my favorite. I look sadly at Gwen, who's been confined to paperwork for the past seven months. Over a half of a year of doing nothing but staring at a computer screen, I wonder why she hasn't screamed yet...
My stomach growls, and Gwen smiles looking up from her desk. "I'll have fish and chips, then." I smile and reply with a witty and sarcastic, 'Aye, aye. Captain!' she giggles and turns back to her screen.
Standing, I take the Invisible Lift, (an exact replica of the one before, only faster,) and walk into the center, picking the usual restaurant and ordering my food.
And as I ate, I had the oddest feeling, as if fate had its' fickle thumb pressed onto me...
