Voila =)
Please don't hurt me! I know that it's been a ridiculously long time! *runs and hides behind a big rock* At least let me know what you think before you hunt me down ... HINT HINT =D
And a massive thank you to all your story alerters and reviewers and people who have generally helped me get a move on! For you - enjoy!
Chapter Seven
22 Hours after Alex Left
Her head pounded from the lack of sleep she'd received. Her feet hurt from wandering around the Millennium Centre site for the past two hours. She was officially freaked out by the ominous message bestowed upon her by the mysterious Bilis Manger. All things considered, it had been a bad morning.
The yawning doors of the Central Cardiff Police Station were thrown wide open to combat the unseasonal sunshine and humid climate that had descended upon the bustling city, a freak circumstance that sent an unwelcome sense of foreboding to Gwen's already exhausted brain. She lethargically climbed the stairs that led to the door and stopped, quite suddenly, before walking onto the threshold.
Buffeted by memories, swaying as though caught in an unavoidable gust of wind, she gasped repeatedly.
Leaving her job, only not because she quit to leave the country. Because she had a better offer. And he was waiting in the car – a looming black SUV – out the front when she told them.
Andy calling desperately after her; he didn't want her to leave. As she walked out the doors, he'd whispered, almost broken-heartedly ...
"Gwen!"
She jerked her head upright, craning her neck to glimpse the person behind her before her breath was crushed from her body as Andy grabbed her for a hug.
"Gwen! Oh my god, Gwen!" He released her and she staggered away. He had the decency to look guilty for, oh, all of three seconds. "Sorry! I just ... it's been ... years! Come in, come on in. I'll show you to my office. Head of the station now Gwen! Me! Never good enough for Torchwood mind you but this is the real world, where it matters." His final three words were added with a bitter undertone.
They climbed the stairs in apprehensive silence; Gwen was practicing her training techniques on not showing your emotions whilst Andy was slightly fearful of what his former colleague had returned for. His crisp shirt ruffled against the door handle. The tension was tangible as he held open the door.
"Tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, wh ..."
"... white, three sugars. I don't forget Gwen." They offered each other a smile.
Settling into the nearest chair Gwen fished around for a painless, inconspicuous topic. "Any family then? Wife ... husband perhaps?"
"No," he replied shortly, "Boyfriend."
Gwen cocked her head curiously. "Really?"
"No! You fool, you haven't changed one bit, have you!" Then, they were both laughing, drinks forgotten on the desk, making – tentative at first – conservation about anything and everything under the sun. He forgot the murders that had been taking place in the alley by the old clock shop and she forgot the melodrama of the previous days. They were friends, quite impulsively, again.
But the inevitable couldn't be avoided forever and eventually the laughter faded, Andy's eyes narrowing to assume a concerned brotherly glare.
"Where did you go Gwen?" His voice softened and in contrast, his eyes hardened. "I was used to you ... leaving, quickly, not quietly, always out of the blue. I thought that it was something to do Torchwood. Alien in outer space or something and you'd all flown up there. Like you do, did. But no. Come Monday morning, there they were again, minus you, plus Rhys. Quick turnaround. I asked but nobody but the Japanese woman would mention your name. Eleven years and not one word. No email, no letter, just to say hi, hope you're okay." Gwen didn't break eye contact with Andy, neither one of them blinking. He sagged in his chair and the tension returned to the airy office.
"It wasn't my fault Andrew."
"Wasn't ... wasn't your," he fumbled for the words, apparently too incensed to speak. "Don't 'Andrew' me!"
"It wasn't my fault," she repeated quietly. "Just hear me out." He nodded curtly and sat straight, rigid in his unwavering posture. Her trained eye observed the grey staining his hair in places, the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and the way his left eyebrow twitched, as it always did when he was aggravated. "I was in a car accident, when I went to Moscow for a weekend break. I've always found Russia faintly intriguing. An unsolved enigma, I suppose, with its foreign letters and grand buildings. My mum went there when I was six. The pictures even then entranced me."
"Anyway, I had hired out a car. It was the Sunday and it was slightly icy. The petrol tanker that hit me skidded on a patch of black ice and two months later, I woke up from the coma with no memories of the last year of my life. I met a man who acted as my translator. He's a good friend and helped me make a new life for myself in Moscow. My injuries were lasting so it's only been in the last year that I've been fit to travel properly. And then Valera suggested that I come home again. So ... I'm here." She shrugged awkwardly, pleased with her story. The car crash wasn't a lie. Ruddy hell, it had been a Gwen sandwich in between two petrol tankers driven by two very angry double-agents!
Andy was staring at her. He opened and closed his mouth several times, then his eyes filled with persistent tears.
"I'm ... so sorry, Gwen. I didn't ... I didn't mean ..." His voice was choked but he, thankfully, kept the tears in check.
"I don't want sympathy, Andy," she murmured levelly. "I want help. I want my year back. I know that I worked for a Torchwood. Who are they? What do they do? And what about Rhys?" she added guilty.
It was his turn to tell the story now. For the next two hours, Andy filled Gwen in on what he knew, cajoled gently by her persistent questions. The sun sweltered but Gwen grew paler as she listened intently to his descriptions.
If Torchwood had caused the explosions, they were way out of their depths.
"What do you know about Russian politics Andy?"
He laughed. "Not much! I know about Putin and the Kremlin and Lenin but that's the extent of it all. There are the tsars, right? And the Russian Revolution and …"
"About six months ago, what seemed like half of Russia was shook by a series of explosions that killed thousands of people."
"I know about that too! It was all over the news …"
"In Moscow, I work for the government. The government tracked down the source of the explosions to here – to Torchwood. That was the deal Andy. I would get to visit Cardiff again if I checked out the background of them. And all I've found out is that aliens really do exist and that we are so out of our comfort zones here." He stopped his inane blabbering about his idea of 'Russian politics' and stared at her for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. "And stop staring at me like that!"
It wasn't strictly true. But Gwen was so used to telling lies that it flowed off her tongue as if it were. Right now she wished nothing more to be back in Moscow – at home.
"And the little old lady melted because they squished an orange in her face." Gwen stared at Andy.
"I beg your pardon!?"
"Err, nothing … old joke. Sorry." He seemed genuinely embarrassed.
The uncomfortable silence was broken by the telephone and his hand flew to it as the piercing rings cut through the air. "Hello?"
The one way conversation ended quickly and Andy stood up, Gwen following suit as he held out his hand awkwardly. She smiled; she shook it briefly before pulling him into a hug. "I never realised until today how much I've actually missed all my old friends."
"I'd love to talk more," he muttered into her ear, "but Captain Jack Harkness is meeting with me about a weevil attack last week." He felt Gwen stiffen instantly. She wrenched herself from him as if she'd been slapped.
"Goodbye Andy. We'll catch up again some time." She paused at the door, looking back at her former colleague. "Thank you."
And then she was gone. Her dark hair whipped the doorframe as she turned on her heel and walked away.
...
She hurried out of the building with her head down.
"Oh! Sorry!" Gwen looked up at the man that she'd bumped into and did a double take. She swayed precariously and his large hands darted instinctively to clutch her waist.
Guns, his hands, so close, playfulness turning into lust.
Her breathing quickened, her face flushing red.
"That's alright," his deep American voice rumbled. His eyes were wide.
Before he could open his mouth to say anything more, she pushed herself away.
"Bye."
And then she was gone.
So close =(
Reallyy don't ask about the "old woman melting" part - a mad boy is sat next to me in English and we have nothing better (than coursework =S) to do. *cough* .Archer *cough* AND I DON'T NAG!
R&R please.
