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Entry tags:
fic: Torchwood, any other way, R
disclaimer: not mine
fandom: Torchwood
pairings: Suzie/Owen, Suzie/Tosh, ref: Lisa/Ianto, Ianto/Jack, Suzie/everyone (the file name of this fic is "suziedoesdallas" ftr)
set: pre-series, with spoilers for the first and eighth episodes.
rating: R, language, sex, violence, het, femslash, boyslash
length: 1500+
notes: I still don't know what I think about Suzie.
any other way
by ALC Punk!
Suzie has Owen in the boardroom. Pants around his ankles while she straddles him in one of the chairs they're all forced to sit in while Jack Harkness drones on about responsibility and alien technology and how they're just not meant to know some things. It's quick and messy, and Owen might think she's a little drunk.
They lost someone. A civilian, and Suzie held his hand as he died, head bowed and tears falling (sliding down her cheeks, but not turning her into a mess. She'd gotten good at that, over the years), and Owen had put his hand on her shoulder.
It'll be all right.
No it won't. Nothing will ever-- the sob that cut her off hadn't been hard and he'd volunteered to take her home, letting her lean on him.
Fatuous, horrible comments had made her laugh. Made her suggest (timidly, of course), that maybe they should have a drink to settle her nerves.
I've always wanted to fuck in the boardroom, she'd said, the blush on her cheeks harder to conjure (but the alcohol helped) than the innocent expression in her eyes. Like she'd made a dirty joke that shouldn't ever be mentioned again.
Owen had been easy. Men always were, his derisive grin tinged with something smug. She was a looker, after all, and she bloody well knew it.
She'd told him she wasn't drunk, that she'd forgotten her keys at the Hub. It was a better excuse than Ianto had given her for why he wouldn't sleep with her. No one was manning the door in the tourist shop and they were laughing, almost giggling with glee when they tumbled out of the elevator and into the space where they worked.
The smell of mildew was always present, tinged with concrete and tile, and something else. Something Suzie always figured was the Rift itself.
Owen comes faster than she'd expected, and she almost berates him. Cad. Maybe the girls he shags realize too late he's not worth it. Not that it matters, he's half-aware and apologizing, hands sliding under her shirt, then down. Fingers slip and slide, and she's a little surprised that he's actually good at this.
Maybe she'll revise her opinion of him.
-*-
Tosh is a little harder.
Tosh is laughter and chats and coffee. Late nights and early mornings spent in the Hub until she drags her home for dinner, laughing and blushing at the simple style of her flat.
A bottle of wine and more conversation, careful touches and then a kiss.
The kiss takes Tosh by enough surprise that Suzie is off-set a moment before pressing her advantage. Her fingers slide through Tosh's hair, smoothing out the few tangles she's gathered over the course of the day.
"I'm not usually--" Tosh breathes against her lips before stopping herself and leaning closer.
Tosh is easier (and harder, in some ways) than Owen, and Suzie tries to take her time. She doesn't want to hurt Tosh (out of all of them, Tosh is the most innocent, though she doubts Jack was ever in that category), but she knows what she needs from her.
Maybe she has something to prove, she thinks, fingers sliding up under Tosh's shirt.
"Are you--"
"I'm sure," Suzie silences her with a kiss, long and drugging, taking her time.
By the time Tosh remembers she had any objections, Suzie's hand is down her pants, fingers pressed against damp fabric, teasing and skillful.
-*-
She doesn't even try with Jack. Not yet, at least. She'll find something that will break him, but she's not sure what.
-*-
"I have a girlfriend," Ianto says, ducking away from her.
Looking at his back, at the nervous twitch in his hands, she wonders about that. It's easy to tap the CCTV, to leave a tag so she can download at her leisure and check over the footage.
Ianto's girlfriend isn't in the real world, of course. She should have guessed that.
Standing outside the door, listening to him talk softly to her, she tilts her head and wonders how she can use this to her advantage. Perhaps she can't, at the moment.
-*-
It's having something on them, knowing things they don't think she does that makes it easier. Later, she'll say it's the glove that does it. Like it suckered some innocent into madness. But it's not the glove. The glove is just another tool--like Max, who smiles when he pours her coffee and is still smiling when his eyes are glazed.
Torchwood, she'll murmur in his ear. Secrets follow, complex codes and ideas that he'll never remember.
-*-
There's an evil man in a hospital, and he just won't die. She wonders, every time she makes another hash mark on her memory, a checklist of People to Know, how long it will take before he will. She doesn't need him dead, but it would be nice. A comfort.
Something to laugh about over drinks with friends.
If she had friends instead of co-workers and sometime lovers.
-*-
As backup plans go, it's not shabby.
It's workable, even. If they ever discover her--sometimes, she thinks of making a mistake so they will. Just to show them up, prove they're not the geniuses they believe they are.
There's a worn book in her flat, she should replace it one of these days. But she never really has the time, or maybe she likes sliding her fingers across the cracks in the spine. Feeling the edges of the pages she's read over and over--there's a coffee stain near the middle. An accident when her phone went off too loud in the wee hours of the morning.
It was Captain Jack, of course.
It always had been.
-*-
She hadn't known what she was looking for until he walked up to her. She'd been finishing up work in a shop (she doesn't remember where anymore, some place with mechanical parts that moved and shifted under her fingers better than anyone had seen), hair tied back. It was a half hour break between this job and her next, working basic computer repair in an office park.
"I'm Captain Jack Harkness," he'd said, smiling genially, "Have you ever thought there might be more out there?"
She'd wondered if he was there about the thing that had destroyed the flat two doors down from hers the week before. It had been a thrill to realize that her careful poking hadn't been discovered. That he didn't know she knew-- "And what if I did?"
What if she did? What if she believed in alien life and technology, in laws of physics that bent and rules of time that ran counter to all common sense?
She hadn't said that, though. She'd said other things, stumbling, innocent things. And she'd almost lost her chance--but she had qualifications he'd needed, an all-round skill-set that would keep Torchwood running, what with their last jill of all trades lost to the rift and the tides.
"I can do this," she'd said, after seeing the place, after accepting the offer.
And she had. Second in command in four months and quietly worming her way deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the universe.
-*-
But what was it all for?
She's sure that Gwen would ask that. Gwen Cooper, who's compassionate and brave in a way that Suzie can never be. When the PC had spotted them, she'd realized here was her chance. If it happened, if they found out (and maybe she'd been a little more careless now). She'd researched, when she wasn't using the glove to perfect her technique.
If this all goes wrong, she thinks as she catches the report that Tosh had set out feelers for. A description of the weapon used by a killer...
Damn. She has been careless.
Standing on the tarmac, spilling her guts to Gwen and knowing knowing he's standing there, Suzie just hopes she's right about the other woman.
A bullet through the head still hurts as much as she thought it would.
-f-
fandom: Torchwood
pairings: Suzie/Owen, Suzie/Tosh, ref: Lisa/Ianto, Ianto/Jack, Suzie/everyone (the file name of this fic is "suziedoesdallas" ftr)
set: pre-series, with spoilers for the first and eighth episodes.
rating: R, language, sex, violence, het, femslash, boyslash
length: 1500+
notes: I still don't know what I think about Suzie.
any other way
by ALC Punk!
Suzie has Owen in the boardroom. Pants around his ankles while she straddles him in one of the chairs they're all forced to sit in while Jack Harkness drones on about responsibility and alien technology and how they're just not meant to know some things. It's quick and messy, and Owen might think she's a little drunk.
They lost someone. A civilian, and Suzie held his hand as he died, head bowed and tears falling (sliding down her cheeks, but not turning her into a mess. She'd gotten good at that, over the years), and Owen had put his hand on her shoulder.
It'll be all right.
No it won't. Nothing will ever-- the sob that cut her off hadn't been hard and he'd volunteered to take her home, letting her lean on him.
Fatuous, horrible comments had made her laugh. Made her suggest (timidly, of course), that maybe they should have a drink to settle her nerves.
I've always wanted to fuck in the boardroom, she'd said, the blush on her cheeks harder to conjure (but the alcohol helped) than the innocent expression in her eyes. Like she'd made a dirty joke that shouldn't ever be mentioned again.
Owen had been easy. Men always were, his derisive grin tinged with something smug. She was a looker, after all, and she bloody well knew it.
She'd told him she wasn't drunk, that she'd forgotten her keys at the Hub. It was a better excuse than Ianto had given her for why he wouldn't sleep with her. No one was manning the door in the tourist shop and they were laughing, almost giggling with glee when they tumbled out of the elevator and into the space where they worked.
The smell of mildew was always present, tinged with concrete and tile, and something else. Something Suzie always figured was the Rift itself.
Owen comes faster than she'd expected, and she almost berates him. Cad. Maybe the girls he shags realize too late he's not worth it. Not that it matters, he's half-aware and apologizing, hands sliding under her shirt, then down. Fingers slip and slide, and she's a little surprised that he's actually good at this.
Maybe she'll revise her opinion of him.
-*-
Tosh is a little harder.
Tosh is laughter and chats and coffee. Late nights and early mornings spent in the Hub until she drags her home for dinner, laughing and blushing at the simple style of her flat.
A bottle of wine and more conversation, careful touches and then a kiss.
The kiss takes Tosh by enough surprise that Suzie is off-set a moment before pressing her advantage. Her fingers slide through Tosh's hair, smoothing out the few tangles she's gathered over the course of the day.
"I'm not usually--" Tosh breathes against her lips before stopping herself and leaning closer.
Tosh is easier (and harder, in some ways) than Owen, and Suzie tries to take her time. She doesn't want to hurt Tosh (out of all of them, Tosh is the most innocent, though she doubts Jack was ever in that category), but she knows what she needs from her.
Maybe she has something to prove, she thinks, fingers sliding up under Tosh's shirt.
"Are you--"
"I'm sure," Suzie silences her with a kiss, long and drugging, taking her time.
By the time Tosh remembers she had any objections, Suzie's hand is down her pants, fingers pressed against damp fabric, teasing and skillful.
-*-
She doesn't even try with Jack. Not yet, at least. She'll find something that will break him, but she's not sure what.
-*-
"I have a girlfriend," Ianto says, ducking away from her.
Looking at his back, at the nervous twitch in his hands, she wonders about that. It's easy to tap the CCTV, to leave a tag so she can download at her leisure and check over the footage.
Ianto's girlfriend isn't in the real world, of course. She should have guessed that.
Standing outside the door, listening to him talk softly to her, she tilts her head and wonders how she can use this to her advantage. Perhaps she can't, at the moment.
-*-
It's having something on them, knowing things they don't think she does that makes it easier. Later, she'll say it's the glove that does it. Like it suckered some innocent into madness. But it's not the glove. The glove is just another tool--like Max, who smiles when he pours her coffee and is still smiling when his eyes are glazed.
Torchwood, she'll murmur in his ear. Secrets follow, complex codes and ideas that he'll never remember.
-*-
There's an evil man in a hospital, and he just won't die. She wonders, every time she makes another hash mark on her memory, a checklist of People to Know, how long it will take before he will. She doesn't need him dead, but it would be nice. A comfort.
Something to laugh about over drinks with friends.
If she had friends instead of co-workers and sometime lovers.
-*-
As backup plans go, it's not shabby.
It's workable, even. If they ever discover her--sometimes, she thinks of making a mistake so they will. Just to show them up, prove they're not the geniuses they believe they are.
There's a worn book in her flat, she should replace it one of these days. But she never really has the time, or maybe she likes sliding her fingers across the cracks in the spine. Feeling the edges of the pages she's read over and over--there's a coffee stain near the middle. An accident when her phone went off too loud in the wee hours of the morning.
It was Captain Jack, of course.
It always had been.
-*-
She hadn't known what she was looking for until he walked up to her. She'd been finishing up work in a shop (she doesn't remember where anymore, some place with mechanical parts that moved and shifted under her fingers better than anyone had seen), hair tied back. It was a half hour break between this job and her next, working basic computer repair in an office park.
"I'm Captain Jack Harkness," he'd said, smiling genially, "Have you ever thought there might be more out there?"
She'd wondered if he was there about the thing that had destroyed the flat two doors down from hers the week before. It had been a thrill to realize that her careful poking hadn't been discovered. That he didn't know she knew-- "And what if I did?"
What if she did? What if she believed in alien life and technology, in laws of physics that bent and rules of time that ran counter to all common sense?
She hadn't said that, though. She'd said other things, stumbling, innocent things. And she'd almost lost her chance--but she had qualifications he'd needed, an all-round skill-set that would keep Torchwood running, what with their last jill of all trades lost to the rift and the tides.
"I can do this," she'd said, after seeing the place, after accepting the offer.
And she had. Second in command in four months and quietly worming her way deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the universe.
-*-
But what was it all for?
She's sure that Gwen would ask that. Gwen Cooper, who's compassionate and brave in a way that Suzie can never be. When the PC had spotted them, she'd realized here was her chance. If it happened, if they found out (and maybe she'd been a little more careless now). She'd researched, when she wasn't using the glove to perfect her technique.
If this all goes wrong, she thinks as she catches the report that Tosh had set out feelers for. A description of the weapon used by a killer...
Damn. She has been careless.
Standing on the tarmac, spilling her guts to Gwen and knowing knowing he's standing there, Suzie just hopes she's right about the other woman.
A bullet through the head still hurts as much as she thought it would.
-f-