Title: Confidence, inc.
Author: theohsocurlyone
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Torchwood doesn't belong to me.
A/N: Written for round 5.05 of writerinadrawer; unexpected side-effects and advice from your mother, in 700 words. Spoilers for Children of Earth.
Summary: Between avoiding the curious drunk at the end of Queen Street, and peering frantically around the corner of the wall leading to the dark alley, Lois realises her mantras have gone to hell.

***

Between avoiding the curious drunk at the end of Queen Street, and peering frantically around the corner of the wall leading to the dark alley, Lois realises her mantras have gone to hell.

They're useless, anyway; repetitions in the mirror of you can do this had always been laughable in the face of malfunctioning office printers, let alone bloody aliens.

Nevertheless, they feverishly echo through her mind, as if by pure determination she could make this insanity easy.

You can do this. You can DO this.

"Gwen!" she squeaks, hearing the distant disturbance lumber its way closer.

"It's okay!" Gwen's voice sounds in her ear. "I'll guide you through, and Rhys is on his way."

"But I don't know what I'm doing!" she hisses.

"Lois, if I could be there, I would; but right now little Lord Fauntleroy is kicking me so hard in the stomach I can't even stand up. All that fear, just channel it, yeah?"

A hoarse, gurgling snarl sounds from half-way down the alley, and Lois whimpers, pathetically. This is madness. She's supposed to be surrounded by cluttered desks, ringing phones; not monsters, and fear.

"A few more seconds..." whispers Gwen.

Lois clenches the gun; lips moving in silent prayer.

Youcandothisyoucandothisyoucandothisyoucando...

"NOW!"

Lois zips around the corner, and with a scream she barely recognises as her own, darts forward, dodging the Weevil's gambolling attack and slamming the stun gun into its side. It's down, twitching, in an instant.

That's when it hits her, full-force, leaving her gasping; a rush of adrenaline filling up every cell until she feels like she could set one foot onto the street and fly. She laughs, a little hysterically. This is insane. This is...brilliant.

"Lois, can you hear me? There's another one further up the street. You'll have to..."

And she's off; energy coursing through her legs and powering her body down the road; every nerve tingling. This is confidence; mantras be damned. This is Torchwood's doing; this new-found belief fuelling her every move. She knew it was an exciting job, but she'd never expected this.

She spots the lolloping shape of the Weevil up the street and surges forward, but the man from earlier is there, edging closer and precariously from the other direction.

"MOVE!" she screams.

"Forget it, love!" he shouts, bearing forward. "I'm gonna help ya!"

He's there before she can reach them, drunkenly attempting to lure the Weevil closer, but it's got hold of him; its teeth are bared, biting, and oh God, impossibly dark blood is spewing from the man's neck, and his cries tear through Lois; the impact of his body hitting the road slamming into her and leaving her gasping, retching.

The Weevil snarls at her with blood-stained teeth, before galloping away.

By the time Rhys finds her, Lois' throat is raw from screaming.

******

Gwen is sympathetic, afterwards, but when Lois has seen a man mutilated, his life stowed away like a file, nothing is much of a comfort.

The Hub's too quiet for Lois to dispel the images that have somehow burned themselves onto her retinas; the fountain of blood, the man's fall. His face...

Gwen leans forward on the sofa, patting her hand. "There's nothing you could have done. Sometimes people can't be saved from themselves." She gives Lois' hand a squeeze. "You did your best."

Do your best. Another mantra that's never worked; passed down from her teachers, her mother; everyone who didn't understand that sometimes her best is never enough. Not for offices, for people, especially not for what she deals with now.

As Lois looks around their makeshift Hub; the scaffolding high above them, the emptiness of Gwen's eyes, she understands.

It's not confidence Torchwood hands you. It's endurance.

The Rift alarm blares, and Lois removes her hand from Gwen's and stands up.

"My turn again?" she asks, picking up the stun gun.

Gwen nods, and Lois spares her a final glance before zipping up her jacket and heading out into the night, to hunt.

***