When Gwen finally climbed the stairs to her flat, she stared at the door for a few moments, wondering where she was. Eventually her mind caught up and she dug into her handbag for her keys. As she fumbled with the lock the door opened, Rhys stood just inside, waiting for her.
She stared at him a long moment before smiling tiredly. Brushing her lips against his, she paused on the threshold. Here was her anchor; her rock. Waiting as he always did. He said nothing but pulled back to let her enter. He was content to let her talk when she needed to. There were dark circles under her eyes, and he watched her move slowly through the short entryway into their living room. She dropped her bag on the coffee table in front of the sofa and bent over to unzip her boots. A sigh escaped her as she did so. She was a mess. Kicking off her boots, she steadfastly ignored the dark stains on her jeans. She couldn't think about what they were. If she did, she'd come apart. Strong hands pulled her leather jacket off her shoulders and she stood in the middle of the room, letting her husband help her undress.
"Let's get you a shower, yeah?" He suggested softly, afraid to break the silence. She nodded, not really thinking of anything. It was best not to think.
He clasped his large hand around her smaller one and pulled her towards the bedroom and the master bath. She padded along in stocking feet compliantly. It felt good to let go, to let someone else take charge for a change. She was so tired. Rhys' large fingers brushed against her cheek before lifting her hair out of the way. Lips caressed the back of her neck before he allowed his fingers to undo the clasp of her necklace. She stood, placid, letting him manipulate her as he undressed her.
Rhys was concerned, but tried not to let her see that he was worried. Something was very wrong, but he didn't want to ask what had happened. She would tell him when she felt able, and the look in her eyes begged him not to say anything. Lips compressed, he undid the button holding her jeans closed and pulled the zip down. Gently grasping the rough material, he slid it down, pulling her panties down her legs as well. His breath caught as he fought the stiffness of the material. The lower half of her jeans was stiff with dried blood. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it wasn't hers. There was a story to tell, but not yet.
He lifted first one leg, then the other, pulling her socks off along with the jeans. Unbuttoning her shirt, he pushed it off her shoulders, taking the straps of her bra along with the sleeves. He had to work to undo the hooks, but finally he was able to pull both off, leaving her naked in front of him. Bruises marked her flesh as he looked at her in silence. He moved to throw the clothes onto the floor outside the door, just wanting to get them away from her. To remove the reminder of whatever traumatic event she had witnessed. He knew it was just one of many over the past few days. Turning towards the bath, he started the water running before glancing back at her. It was obvious that she was unable to wash herself. He sighed softly, then pulled his rugby shirt off, followed by his trousers and y fronts. Kicking them past his wife and out the door, he pulled the shower liner back and moved her under the spray of the water. She barely reacted to the spray as it hit her face.
Growing more concerned, he stepping in behind her and pulled the curtain closed. She was standing directly under the faucet, the water streaming down her face. Grabbing the bottle of shampoo, he poured some into his hand before stroking it over her head. Her eyes were closed and she leaned back out of the spray, content to let him take care of her. Once he had lathered her hair, he grabbed the washcloth and added some shower gel. Delicately he cleaned her face, careful not to get any soap into her eyes where it could sting. It was like he was moving a mannequin around, and he felt a growing disquiet form in the pit of his stomach. But he still felt he couldn't break the silence. Humming softly, he washed her, letting his large hands caress her skin. She stood quietly, allowing him to remove the dirt, grime and caked blood from under her fingernails. Soon she was clean and he turned off the water and wrapped her in a large soft towel, enveloping her in its warmth. Her eyes were now open, but it was like she was looking beyond him to something he couldn't see. His only goal at this point was to get her to bed, and hopefully to sleep.
Once he had her dried off he bundled her in her favorite robe, tying the belt around her tiny waist. Grabbing his own robe, he tossed the wet towels onto the floor. He'd pick them up later, once she was asleep. She moved along willingly enough as he led the way to the bedroom and sat her on the bed. Taking up the brush, he knelt behind her and ran it through her hair. She sat quietly while he did so, her gazed wandering aimlessly about the room. Slowly she started to focus on where she was. It was when her eyes rested on the dresser and the vase filled with flowers that her world came crashing down. She gasped.
Rhys froze as he listened to her the shuddering breath. It was like something finally snapped inside and she started to breathe heavily, sobs wracking her body. Dropping the hairbrush, he wrapped his arms around her. Finally. She was reacting.
"Shhhhh," he whispered, lips brushing the top of her head as he held her. They rocked back and forth and she turned her face away from the vase on the dresser, unable to look at the reminder. While she sobbed, he glanced about the room, trying to figure out what had triggered her reaction. He looked over the photos she had taped to her mirror. Most were of the two of them, or friends she had known since she was young. His eyes scanned the dresser. The only thing that was new were the flowers which he had given to her earlier in the week. They were starting to wilt from neglect and were drooping over in the vase she had put them in. He tried to remember where the vase had come from, and vaguely remembered that it had been a wedding present. Perhaps that was what had got her crying. Wracking his thoughts together, he tried to remember who had given it to them. He was at a loss. He was completely rubbish about remembering those sorts of things.
"Hush, sweetheart, it's all right." He murmured. She shook her head.
"No, it's not," she croaked, her voice thick with pain. "It's not all right. It will never be right again."
His heart broke at her words. He felt she had shattered into a million pieces and that it was up to him to put her back together again. The only way he could was to find out what happened. Only then could she begin the healing process.
"What happened, love? Can you tell me?" He asked softly. Her great shuddering breaths had subsided after a while, but tears continued to flow down her cheeks.
"Hwy âr cywir," she whispered, reverting to the Welsh that she had grown up speaking before she had learned English. They're dead, he translated easily.
"Who?" He asked her, staying with English, trying to get her to focus. He raised her chin, silently urging her to look at him. Her eyes looked up to meet his, the pupils huge. Her lips trembled as she focused on him. "Who, cara?"
"T..T.. Tosh," she stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "Owen." Something caved within her, and she folded down into a fetal position, shuddering as huge sobs wracked her body. He lifted her into his lap, cuddling her close in an attempt to comfort the deep anguish he felt in her. No! He cried silently, seeing the lovely Japanese woman in his mind. He didn't know Gwen's co-workers that well, but had learned to like each of them over the last few weeks and months once he had worked with them. From the time he had assisted them in that awful warehouse, he had spent time with them, either trailing Gwen about in the hub, or after hours in the pub. He had played pool with Owen, Toshiko and Ianto, teaming up with Gwen for a few drinks and a game or two during those rare occasions when things were slow for the team. While he and Owen didn't exactly get along (there was something about the other man that made him want to draw the line where Gwen was concerned. He had had to hold himself back with an effort, not wanting to cause a disturbance in her working environment. It had been hard, but he had made the effort for her sake,) he had never wished that anything bad happen to the other man.
He had appreciated that Gwen had another woman to work with who could share her secrets with her. Women needed that, and he felt the loss of Toshiko more keenly than he did the thought of her losing Owen. His thoughts went back to their wedding, and he pictured the other woman at the reception. He then moved on to thoughts of two out of a small team of five dying at the same time. He knew that the work she did was dangerous, but had never really thought that they could die in the line of duty. While he had in theory recognized that possibility as part of her police work, this job with Torchwood was far more hazardous. His heart skipped a beat as he thought that this could happen to her someday and he held her close, willing the thought out of his mind.
"How?" He asked her. She shook her head, unable to answer him. He silently rocked her back and forth, giving her what comfort he could. Tucking her head under his chin, he crooned to her wordlessly, offering her the only thing he could – his love, his arms, and a place to shelter while she grieved for her lost friends.
~*~
Ianto didn't move. His head was resting against Jack's shoulder, and he could tell from the way he was breathing that Jack had fallen asleep. He was exhausted. They all were. But what Jack had gone through boggled the imagination. Thoughts swirled in his head like flashbulbs going off – giving him snapshots of images from the last twenty-four hours. It was the faces that got to him – Jack's face as he told him of his brother, John's as he explained the past to them. Gwen's – tears streaming down her face. Tosh. He opened his eyes in an attempt to will the thoughts away. The image of her lying in that pool of blood would be forever burned in his thoughts. It had taken him some time to pull her out of Jack's arms and to prepare her for her journey to the vaults. Once he had moved Jack and Gwen out of the room, he had taken his time, saying his private goodbyes to her. It was the only way he could work through the grief of losing her. Lovely Toshiko. So world weary, but at the same time so childlike. The two of them had shared a special bond – both sharing love of computer puzzles and intuitive thinking. One night when they had been out together commiserating, Ianto had called her his heart sister. And she had been that and so much more.
Owen. His thoughts turned to the man he had been at odds with when he first started. While intellectually he knew that Owen was gone, the lack of having a body to attend to made his loss feel a little unreal. He thought back to Owen's first death at the Pharm, and the grief they had all felt then. This second loss felt unreal. It felt as if he would walk through the door at any moment with a sarcastic comment as was his usual want.
Ianto sighed. He had a feeling that once things settled down that they were going to have to deal with what had happened today. His heart went out to Jack, who out of all of them had suffered the worst this day. In addition to losing Tosh and Owen, he had lost a brother. A brother who had caused all this damage, and who had deliberately set out to make Jack suffer for an event over which he had no control. He had succeeded. Jack would feel this pain and blame himself for everything that had happened. He tried to wrap his mind around what John had told him. It didn't make sense, this utter hatred that Grey had had. He mentally compared him to those poor victims at Flat Holm – people equally ripped from their everyday lives and who had been through some horrible and unimaginable experiences. He ached with the thought that Jack would carry these memories with him forever. He vowed to himself that he would help Jack forget, and to not blame himself for what happened.
Now if only he could get Jack to listen. He rubbed his cheek against Jack's shoulder, content to stay where he was and let Jack sleep….
