Title: Strangers
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Gwen/Tosh
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: I never thought I'd end up writing Gwen/Tosh, of all things. Yet, somehow, I did. There may even be more later!

I was working on a translation program when I heard footsteps and turned around to see the new girl – Gwen Cooper – standing before me. Her cheeks were flushed; her dark hair was disheveled. Her eyes were glimmering with a combination of excitement and relief. I understood how she felt. She felt that it was all too much to take in, too much to process. That’s why I do translation programs. That’s how I handle it. In due course, I wanted to tell her, you’ll find your own way to cope.

Instead, I continued typing away at the computer as if I didn’t notice how distressed she was. That’s how we do things here, after all. Everybody keeps a distance from each other; we all have too many troubles of our own to risk taking on anybody else’s. It’s an unwritten contract. We will each make it through on our own. We will not interfere, will not reach out, because that would only make it worse. Wouldn’t it?

Then she tapped me on the shoulder. Her touch was hesitant, timid; all the boldness and determination that had characterized her before had vanished. She was like a young bird perched on the edge of the nest, preparing for her first flight. I knew that feeling, too.

“Hello, Gwen,” I said, continuing my typing. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Thanks, but no. That is, not really. I was just…”And that’s when I knew – knew – that I had to speak, had to explain that I understood. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was too accustomed to keeping it all inside to even say, quite simply, I know. “I just wanted to say goodnight, I guess,” Gwen concluded. She followed that up with an unconvincing smile. Her lips were quivering. I’d never seen her look more frightened, more vulnerable. Nor had I ever seen her look quite so beautiful. I stifled the shiver that ran through me as I stared at her – at her sleek dark hair and deep dark eyes – and stood up straight. It wouldn’t do for her to see that I wanted her. That simply wasn’t professional.

Then – just as I’d been sure she was going to walk away – she pulled me in and kissed me. Her tongue reached inside my mouth. She placed her arms around me, pulled me in desperately. I didn’t dare do the same. I only hoped – hoped against hope – that she wouldn’t let go. That when she finally did separate herself from me she’d look me in the eye and offer me her hand. That we could walk out of the darkened hub together. Stride down the empty streets arm-and-arm. Lie beside each other in bed, nude beneath the blankets, and admit to each other, at last, that we were scared.

But she did let go. As suddenly as she’d embraced me, she jerked away and stumbled towards the door, leaving me standing there alone – shaking all over – in the middle of the room. I thought about what Gwen was probably feeling as she hurried home to her boyfriend. She probably felt embarrassed. Foolish. You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t feel foolish, I would have told her, had she stayed. It’s only natural. People want each other. They need each other. And they act on those desires. Sometimes stupidly, often recklessly. But there’s something to be said for trying, isn’t there? Better to try, regardless of the results, than to lock away that longing entirely. To pretend that it’s not there for so long that it almost ceases to exist.

If Gwen ever brought it up again, I promised myself, I wouldn’t miss my chance. I’d tell her that the last time I’d feel somebody’s warmth against by body was when she grabbed me, kissed me, clung to me for a few fleeting seconds…and then ran. I’d tell her that I hadn’t wanted her to let go. I’d tell her to keep on being bold, to keep on being foolish. I’d tell her everything. It would be wonderful. Would be wonderful, that is, if it ever happened. Only it wasn’t going to happen. Gwen’s not going to ask me about it again, I thought. Instead, for a few days, she won’t look at me. Then, somehow, we’ll come to the unspoken agreement that it’s to be forgotten. All will return to normal. She’ll never mention it again, I said to myself an hour later, as I unlocked the door to my apartment and stepped into my still, empty room. She’ll never mention it again, and neither will I.

I was right.