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The crackfic is now over 16,000 words long and still progressing apace. WOT!
I am constantly racking my brains to think up a title for this beast. The document it's occuring is called "Lost.doc", to account for the desert island scenario, but it doesn't really stand up to a final draft.
The main area of the Hub is like a ghost town. Tumbleweeds of dental floss drift across the floor, and the remnants of Owen's outfit flutters where it's strewn across a long length of walkway railings like celebratory bunting. Tosh's footsteps echo through the empty space, accompaniment to the low, threatening hush of the water running down the tower. The rhythmic click... click... click is interrupted when her shoe slips briefly; she scowls and looks down, lifting her foot up from the dark red puddle pooling dramatically on the concrete, and shakes her foot in distaste. Bloody borscht.
"Alright then, Tosh?"
She whips around, managing to avoid stepping in the pool of defrosted soup again and thus managing the sudden movement with some dignity. Gwen's standing at the other end of the walk-way, looking not at all regretful, hungover, or even mildly adulterous. She looks quite collected, actually, standing there with her bare feet planted apart, hands in Ianto's trouser pockets and elbows akimbo, chin up as she watches Tosh.
Tosh finds herself mirroring the pose, hands planting on her hips instead due to the lack of pockets. "Gwen."
Gwen takes a measured step forward. "That my shirt you're wearing?" she asks in a tone of mild inquiry.
Tosh doesn't break eye contact to look down, instead matching Gwen's slow progress towards her. "I believe it is," she says.
Gwen's close enough that Tosh can see the reddish beet stains around the corners of her mouth, the faint streaks of sleep near her temple. The the arm holes of the waistcoat Gwen's wearing gape well below the tufts of dark hair in her underarms, displaying the tender skin of Gwen's sides. Gwen's breasts are slung out below the waistcoat's modest, masculine neckline, clearly braless as her nipples poke accusingly toward Tosh behind the sturdy pinstripe.
"Hope you didn't have to kill Ianto to get it," Gwen says, smiling a little as Tosh looks up into her face, scrutinising while keeping her own expression neutral. "I think that one's his favourite."
"Did you want it back, then?" Tosh asks, a little more viciousness in her tone than she'd expected, and her hands go to the hem of the shirt, begin to pull it upward.
Gwen's smile is mildly perplexed, and there's absolutely nothing else behind it. "Not at all," she says. "Of course you're welcome to... I only meant..."
"Keep going, then!"
Tosh's hands jerk away immediately and she and Gwen step abruptly apart in unintended synchronicity. Owen's head is sticking up the lower level of the autopsy bay, meerkat-like. His hair is ridiculous, and as Tosh watches, his mouth pulls into an over-stated moue of disappointment.
"I said don't stop," he says, eyeing Tosh's hands and the bottom hem of the tee-shirt significantly.
Tosh crosses her arms over her chest automatically and Owen sighs heavily, disappearing again as he descends the stairs. "You lot never let me have any fun."
I am constantly racking my brains to think up a title for this beast. The document it's occuring is called "Lost.doc", to account for the desert island scenario, but it doesn't really stand up to a final draft.
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"OMGPTERODACTYLWTFBBQ!"
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Even though I didn't even finish the first season of Lost. I can still appreciate a good desert island scenario.
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I just can't wait til it's finished!
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