I'm torn about this season of Torchwood. There's so much here to like- and maybe that's the problem. There's too much being thrown at us. Layers and layers of story seemingly unrelated. Hopefully, the last two episodes pull it all together.
"Why did I start? I had my reasons. The number one reason, however, did not include anyone holding a gun to my head, putting a cigarette into my mouth, and forcing me to inhale while stubborn tears of rage coursed down my flushed cheeks as I vowed my sullen, heartbreaking revenge. Just as soon as I finished my smoke."
Both at roughly the same time. I liked them in a child-like way, which makes sense, considering I was child, but neither of them really drew me in or spoke to me.
Then I discovered Dr. Who, and there was no going back.