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Title: Living For Tomorrow
Pairing: Gwen/Rhys (mentioned), Jack/Ianto (mentioned)
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: R
Summary: Torchwood in the year that never was.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Torchwood. It's not my toy box. I'm merely playing.
A/N: Written for SailorSol for as part of the Purim gifts challenge.
Warning: Char Death (Gwen, Andy)
Living For Tomorrow:
Gwen’s last words echo in Tosh’s ears. She’d been right, they should’ve know it was a trap. Gwen had managed to save them, though Tosh couldn’t find much comfort in that fact. She was too busy keeping an eye out for more men wielding guns as she got Owen to realize that Gwen really was gone. Ianto helped, he even carried Gwen’s body out.
By the time the three of them made it back to Cardiff the world had ended.
They expected Rhys to be inconsolable, but he just wanted to know what he could do. He helped them locate an abandoned building where they could set up their base of operations without being detected. They couldn’t go back to the Hub, could risk the trap.
Ianto wanted to find Jack. Rhys wanted revenge. Owen wanted them to research the Toclafane, even if he was loud in his belief that it would do them no good. Tosh tried to keep them all from losing their heads.
Gwen’s friend Andy died trying to lead a rebellion.
It was best to stay out of sight.
They tried to find ways to hide people, keep them from getting killed. They learned to move bases often, to travel lightly. Ianto became more quiet, Owen more snarky, while Rhys tried to joke. Tosh learned when to push and when to cajole. She wasn’t sure how that meant she ended up leading, it just happened. They survived. They researched. They did their best to live in a world that was nothing more than a nightmare.
Then Martha Jones came, with her story, with the plan. She also knew where Jack was.
Ianto wanted a rescue. Owen felt it was a lost cause. Rhys wanted to go down fighting. Tosh reasoned, shot down plans and told them to make it better, more solid.
“We can’t try and make it to the Valiant if we’re only going to be captured and then used to torture Jack,” she pointed out.
“We’re dead anyway,” Owen growled at her, “The only solid plan is to tell…is to follow in Martha’s footsteps, tell a story and pray for a miracle. I’m not the praying type.”
Ianto huffed and sat back in his chair, then he spoke the first words either of them had heard in days, “Tosh is right, we need a plan.”
Owen glared.
“I’m going to be the odd guy out and go with Martha’s plan,” Rhys tried to defuse.
In the end they found a way to send Rhys to America, to try and spread the word there. They thought of other countries the rest of them could scatter to, but Owen was decidedly against that plan.
Tosh pushed them to keep moving. While they moved again and again they planned a strike, they spread the story Martha had said was the plan. Finally their strike was no longer a concept and was a plan.
Tosh wanted to believe it would work, that they had found a way to save the world.
“It’s not going to work,” Owen told her.
“Did you want to go over the plan again?” she asked.
Owen shook his head, “It’s a solid plan.”
“One you think will fail,” she pushed.
“We’ve thought of every angle,” he scowled, “and we have to act, the world’s falling apart and we’re barely existing.”
“We’re doing the best that we can,” Tosh pointed out, “With what we have.”
Owen scrubbed a hand down his dirty and worn face, “What we have is barely good enough.”
“Tomorrow,” Tosh promised, “Get some rest first.”
Owen shook his head, “You rest. You’re leading. I’ll keep watch.”
Tosh glanced back into the tent they’d set up, a necessity in the middle of the woods while they were between cities. She took in Ianto’s still form. She glanced back over at Owen, pulled him into a hug.
“We’ll get through this,” she tried.
“We always do.”
Tosh nodded, crawled into the tent and curled up. If they failed then they’d at least tried Martha’s plan, at least sent Rhys out with Martha’s plan. If they won then maybe they could begin to piece their world back together. They wouldn’t know until tomorrow.
Pairing: Gwen/Rhys (mentioned), Jack/Ianto (mentioned)
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: R
Summary: Torchwood in the year that never was.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Torchwood. It's not my toy box. I'm merely playing.
A/N: Written for SailorSol for as part of the Purim gifts challenge.
Warning: Char Death (Gwen, Andy)
Living For Tomorrow:
Gwen’s last words echo in Tosh’s ears. She’d been right, they should’ve know it was a trap. Gwen had managed to save them, though Tosh couldn’t find much comfort in that fact. She was too busy keeping an eye out for more men wielding guns as she got Owen to realize that Gwen really was gone. Ianto helped, he even carried Gwen’s body out.
By the time the three of them made it back to Cardiff the world had ended.
They expected Rhys to be inconsolable, but he just wanted to know what he could do. He helped them locate an abandoned building where they could set up their base of operations without being detected. They couldn’t go back to the Hub, could risk the trap.
Ianto wanted to find Jack. Rhys wanted revenge. Owen wanted them to research the Toclafane, even if he was loud in his belief that it would do them no good. Tosh tried to keep them all from losing their heads.
Gwen’s friend Andy died trying to lead a rebellion.
It was best to stay out of sight.
They tried to find ways to hide people, keep them from getting killed. They learned to move bases often, to travel lightly. Ianto became more quiet, Owen more snarky, while Rhys tried to joke. Tosh learned when to push and when to cajole. She wasn’t sure how that meant she ended up leading, it just happened. They survived. They researched. They did their best to live in a world that was nothing more than a nightmare.
Then Martha Jones came, with her story, with the plan. She also knew where Jack was.
Ianto wanted a rescue. Owen felt it was a lost cause. Rhys wanted to go down fighting. Tosh reasoned, shot down plans and told them to make it better, more solid.
“We can’t try and make it to the Valiant if we’re only going to be captured and then used to torture Jack,” she pointed out.
“We’re dead anyway,” Owen growled at her, “The only solid plan is to tell…is to follow in Martha’s footsteps, tell a story and pray for a miracle. I’m not the praying type.”
Ianto huffed and sat back in his chair, then he spoke the first words either of them had heard in days, “Tosh is right, we need a plan.”
Owen glared.
“I’m going to be the odd guy out and go with Martha’s plan,” Rhys tried to defuse.
In the end they found a way to send Rhys to America, to try and spread the word there. They thought of other countries the rest of them could scatter to, but Owen was decidedly against that plan.
Tosh pushed them to keep moving. While they moved again and again they planned a strike, they spread the story Martha had said was the plan. Finally their strike was no longer a concept and was a plan.
Tosh wanted to believe it would work, that they had found a way to save the world.
“It’s not going to work,” Owen told her.
“Did you want to go over the plan again?” she asked.
Owen shook his head, “It’s a solid plan.”
“One you think will fail,” she pushed.
“We’ve thought of every angle,” he scowled, “and we have to act, the world’s falling apart and we’re barely existing.”
“We’re doing the best that we can,” Tosh pointed out, “With what we have.”
Owen scrubbed a hand down his dirty and worn face, “What we have is barely good enough.”
“Tomorrow,” Tosh promised, “Get some rest first.”
Owen shook his head, “You rest. You’re leading. I’ll keep watch.”
Tosh glanced back into the tent they’d set up, a necessity in the middle of the woods while they were between cities. She took in Ianto’s still form. She glanced back over at Owen, pulled him into a hug.
“We’ll get through this,” she tried.
“We always do.”
Tosh nodded, crawled into the tent and curled up. If they failed then they’d at least tried Martha’s plan, at least sent Rhys out with Martha’s plan. If they won then maybe they could begin to piece their world back together. They wouldn’t know until tomorrow.