Reunited (1/15) - Torchwood
Title: Reunited (1/15)
Author: aibhinn
Pairings: Jack/Rose, Jack/Ten, Jack/Ten/Rose, Ten/Rose, mentions of (past) Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG this chapter
Spoilers: Doctor Who through "Doomsday", Torchwood through "End of Days".
Summary: The Rift is much more active than it was, and has been disgorging aliens and out-of-time people at an alarming rate… including one person Jack never expected to see again.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to Auntie Beeb. I'm stuck here on the far side of the wrong continent, playing in her sandbox.
Torchwood 1x13, End of Days) and fic below the cut.'>Author's notes: This idea occurred to me during the last few episodes of Torchwood, but was almost destroyed by the end of episode 1x13, "End of Days." Consequently, I've decided to ignore that ending completely; the TARDIS never showed up in the Hub. Everything else remains the same. Thanks to larielromeniel, rabid1st, sensiblecat, and joely_jo for betaing.
Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV
Gwen jumped, startled by the cup of coffee that had suddenly materialised in front of her. Ianto smiled a little apologetically. "Didn't mean to frighten you," he said.
She managed a smile in return. "No, it's all right." She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers. "What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight. Have you found anything?"
Gwen shook her head, reaching for the coffee. "Not a thing. There seems to be no pattern at all to the type of creatures coming through the Rift. It's completely random, so far as I can tell." She took a sip and closed her eyes in bliss. "Ooh, Ianto, I don't know how you do it, but you make the best bloody coffee in Wales."
He smiled serenely and took up the dirty cup and saucer from his earlier round. "You should go home soon," he said.
"So should you. And the others." She looked round the Hub. Jack sat at his desk, studying file after file. Tosh was running through hours of CCTV footage, and had been since that morning. Even Owen sat at his computer, sorting through his own set of data, looking for a pattern as well.
There had been precious little laughter or joking about lately, since Jack had destroyed Abaddon and closed the Rift. His prediction, that it would become more active than ever, had certainly come true, and the lot of them were rapidly being exhausted by the effort of putting out dozens of metaphorical (and sometimes literal) fires round the city. It wasn't just the Weevils any more, either; it was new species as well, some so strange they didn't seem to have anything at all in common with humans, some so similar to humankind that only the pattern of death or destruction following them gave Torchwood any clue that they weren't from this world.
Now they were trying to find ways to stop the aliens before they began to wreak havoc. To work out where they were going to come through, and be there to stop them. No luck so far, though. Gwen set her coffee cup down and raked her hands through her hair wearily.
"I suppose we'll all sleep when we can," Ianto observed tactfully. In that quiet, unobtrusive way he had, he walked back toward the kitchen with the dirty dishes. Sighing, Gwen turned her attention back to her work.
***
There's gotta be something, Jack thought as he paged through the file for the fourth time. There were four dozen files on his desk, and he'd been through all of them again and again, hoping something would pop out at him, something that he'd recognise or that would click together with other information to create at least some piece of the puzzle. But so far, there was nothing.
Frustrated, he tossed the folder onto the pile and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with the heels of his hands. "One of the definitions of madness is doing the same thing, over and over, and expecting a different result," he muttered crossly. Going through the same files wouldn't yield anything new. He had to figure out a different place to look.
"Talking to yourself isn't a good sign either, as a general rule."
His eyes snapped open and he looked up. Owen stood by his desk, smirking. "Got something?" Jack asked.
"Not sure," Owen said. "But it's strange, and it might just be the beginnings of a pattern. Not in what's coming through the Rift, but how." He laid out six pieces of paper on Jack's desk, each a profile of a human or an alien. "These have all come through, in this order, over the last two weeks. What do you notice?"
Jack sat forward, looking at them one at a time. Human, chimney sweep, originated circa 1855. Alien, humanoid and Altairan, originated circa 1997 Earth time. Alien, Devlovian warlord, originated circa 4589 Earth time. Human, German farmer, originated circa 1412. Alien, Praxisan, originated circa 2023 Earth time. Human, madman, originated circa 3270.
The connection hit him. "The order they're coming in," Jack said abruptly, feeling the first stirrings of hope in his chest. "Our past, roughly our present, and our future. In a cycle, over and over."
"Right," Owen said. He set another profile down. "Yesterday, Tosh and I found the body of a bloke who looked like he'd fallen out of a woodcut from Henry VIII's court. That means…"
"Our next visitor will be from roughly this time, but some other part of space," Jack finished, and smiled. "Brilliant! This is great, Owen."
"It still doesn't tell us when and where it'll come through," Owen warned.
"I know, but maybe that'll come to us. Just having an idea what to expect is something." Jack rose and clapped Owen on the shoulder. "Nice work."
"Jack!" Tosh called. Her voice held a note of excitement. "You'd better take a look at this."
All four of them scrambled toward her workstation. She pointed to one of her screens. "This is the program I've written to scan for geological tremors and other things that might indicate the Rift is opening, even briefly. There's been a tremor here, near the docks, in the warehouse district. Whatever it is, it's come through there."
"Can you track it on CCTV?" Jack demanded.
"Checking now." Her fingers danced competently over the keys, and another screen blipped on, showing a real-time feed of a grainy but reasonably clear picture of what seemed to be a deserted street between warehouses. "There we are."
They all leaned forward, searching the greenish image, until Ianto said sharply, "There!" He pointed at a corner, where the slightest bit of motion in the shadows betrayed a figure. "It's there."
Jack was already moving, grabbing his coat and the keys to the SUV. "Tosh, you keep tracking. Ianto, prepare a cell for our guest. Owen and Gwen, with me, and bring your sidearms."
The team slid into motion with the ease of long practise. There was a palpable air of relief: at last, the waiting was done. It was time to do something.
***
"Talk to me, Tosh." Jack's eyes scanned the area, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. No telling what might suddenly appear out of the darkness.
"Whatever it is, it's still moving," Tosh's voice said over Jack's earpiece, "but slowly. I think it's injured, Jack. Either that, or weakened."
"Not surprising, coming through the Rift like that," Owen said from the passenger seat. "Seems whatever it brings through the last few weeks has been pretty well beat up."
"You restock your medical bag?"
"Of course," Owen said sharply. "Soon's we got our last body off my table. What did you think?"
"Just checking," Jack said, holding up his hand. "We've been getting a lot of calls lately; just wanted to be sure you were ready."
"Yeah, well, I am," Owen snapped. "Can we get on with it please?"
"All right." Everyone was a little short-tempered, Jack reflected; nobody had had enough sleep. He just hoped they could hold it together long enough to keep the city from falling apart completely.
"The target's stopped," Tosh interrupted. "Two streets along and turn right; you'll see it. It's in a dead-end alley, down at the end. Might be hiding if there are bins or something down there."
"Got it," Jack answered, and swung the SUV into the alley, swerving sideways and parking so the vehicle blocked the opening almost completely. All three of them piled out of the car, weapons drawn. With gestures, Jack directed Owen to take the left flank, Gwen the right. He went up the middle. The alleyway seemed deserted; nothing but a pair of commercial wheelie bins at the far end. The street lamps cast an orange-yellow light over everything, creating sharp, deep shadows between and behind their bulks.
In those shadows, something moved.
All of them tensed, stopping about ten feet away, guns trained on the motion. "We're not here to hurt you," Jack called out. "We want to help you. Just come on out, slowly."
There was a muffled sob-a very human-sounding sob. The three of them looked at each other in surprise. "Are you hurt?" Gwen called. "We've got a doctor here-a healer."
Another sob, then a voice: definitely human, female, with a London accent. "Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please, please, if you're real, please help me."
Jack holstered his gun and ran for the bins, the other two covering his back. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the right-hand bin. He caught Owen’s eye; the medic nodded briefly. Together, they put their shoulder to the plastic bin and shoved it aside. It rolled a few feet, bathing the figure crouched behind it in orange street light.
She sat with her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs protectively, leaning against the wall. One filthy hand reached shakily up to brush equally-filthy blonde hair away from her face, and she looked up at them with eyes full of sheer terror. Her face was smudged, tear-streaked, and heartbreakingly familiar.
"Oh, God," Jack said, shocked to his core. It wasn't. It couldn't be. "Rose?"
"J-Jack?" Her gaze turned to him, and he could tell the moment she recognised him. The terror in her eyes subsided into a wary expression. "Are you my Jack? The Jack I knew?"
Gwen and Owen exchanged a look. He noticed, but ignored them. Back story could wait; looking after Rose was priority one right now. He pulled off his coat and knelt, wrapping it around her. "Yes," he whispered, "It's me. It's all right, Rose. It's going to be all right."
"You're not another hallucination, are you?" she asked, leaning away from him guardedly, though she clutched the wool coat closer to her.
"No," he reassured her, reaching to touch her face. She flinched. Heart almost breaking, he touched her hand instead. "No, it's really me, honey." But you were dead, he thought, mind racing. I saw the reports from the Battle of Canary Wharf. You were dead!
She closed her eyes, resting her head against the wall as though it was too heavy for her to hold up any longer. "I saw so much," she murmured, in a voice that sounded more like a lost small child than the vibrant young woman he remembered. “So many things, and I don't know what was real and what wasn't." Her eyes opened again, filled with tears. "We left you," she said. "We left you behind. I'm so sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry."
"Hey. Hey. It's all right, Rose. I'm here." This time she did let him touch her cheek, and he cupped it with one big hand, horrified at how thin she was. Glancing up at Owen, he said, "Do you think we should move her?"
Owen knelt beside him and a little behind, a tactful move that surprised Jack. It left a person she knew and trusted between herself and the stranger. "I'm Dr Owen Harper," he said. "Your name's Rose?"
"Rose Tyler," she affirmed quietly.
"We're going to take you back to where we work, Rose, and I'm going to examine you, to make sure you're all right. Jack can stay with you, if you want. But before we move you, I need to know if you've been hurt. Are you injured anywhere?"
She shook her head, pulling the coat tighter around herself. Jack couldn't tell if that was a defensive movement, or simply because she was cold. "No," she said. "I'm all right, but I don't think I can stand again. I tried to find my way out for so long." She looked at Jack. "Am I really back in the real world?" she asked plaintively.
"You really are. I promise. Cardiff. Doesn’t get more real than that." He caught the ghost of a fleeting smile deep in her eyes - did she remember? Travellers in time and space - the old high five? Seemed so very long ago.
Was she strong enough to be moved? He glanced at Owen, seeking confirmation. The medic nodded.
"Come on," Jack continued, "let's get you to the car." He handed Owen the car keys, and then slid an arm behind her back and another under her knees, lifting her easily. She was so frail, as though she'd been starved for weeks. The dark spots on her cheeks weren't just dirt; there were hollows there.
She leaned her head wearily against his shoulder as he started off for the SUV. "Oh, Jack," she sighed. "I didn't think I'd make it. I didn't think I could survive it. But I did. Oh, God, I did."
He kissed her forehead as Gwen ran ahead of him and opened the back door to the SUV for them. "Yes, you did," he murmured. "And you're here, and you're safe. You're going to be all right, Rose. I'll look after you." He set her inside, on the seat, and slid in beside her, pulling the door shut. Gwen had got into the front passenger seat, Owen into the driver's side. He thanked them silently; they knew he needed to be with Rose.
She sagged against him, head on his shoulder, as Owen put the SUV into gear and pulled back out into the street, heading for the Hub. "I can't die," she whispered brokenly. "I tried so hard, but I can't. I can't die." He felt warm wetness against his neck, and realised she was crying quietly. "Why can't I die, Jack?"
No, he thought, horrified. Not Rose, too. And yet, even as he recoiled from the thought, he felt a faint sense of relief. Whatever had happened to the two of them, they weren’t struggling with it on their own any more. Once she was strong again, they could start looking for answers to the questions that had haunted him for so long. Haunted her, too, it seemed. He could imagine her, trapped in a life that became a heavier burden with each passing year. Had she watched her family die? Friends? Where had she been since Canary Wharf? Why wasn't she with the Doctor any more?
His eyes filled with tears, and he kissed the top of her head, holding her close. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know. But we'll find out together."
Author: aibhinn
Pairings: Jack/Rose, Jack/Ten, Jack/Ten/Rose, Ten/Rose, mentions of (past) Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG this chapter
Spoilers: Doctor Who through "Doomsday", Torchwood through "End of Days".
Summary: The Rift is much more active than it was, and has been disgorging aliens and out-of-time people at an alarming rate… including one person Jack never expected to see again.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything belongs to Auntie Beeb. I'm stuck here on the far side of the wrong continent, playing in her sandbox.
Torchwood 1x13, End of Days) and fic below the cut.'>Author's notes: This idea occurred to me during the last few episodes of Torchwood, but was almost destroyed by the end of episode 1x13, "End of Days." Consequently, I've decided to ignore that ending completely; the TARDIS never showed up in the Hub. Everything else remains the same. Thanks to larielromeniel, rabid1st, sensiblecat, and joely_jo for betaing.
Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV
Gwen jumped, startled by the cup of coffee that had suddenly materialised in front of her. Ianto smiled a little apologetically. "Didn't mean to frighten you," he said.
She managed a smile in return. "No, it's all right." She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers. "What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight. Have you found anything?"
Gwen shook her head, reaching for the coffee. "Not a thing. There seems to be no pattern at all to the type of creatures coming through the Rift. It's completely random, so far as I can tell." She took a sip and closed her eyes in bliss. "Ooh, Ianto, I don't know how you do it, but you make the best bloody coffee in Wales."
He smiled serenely and took up the dirty cup and saucer from his earlier round. "You should go home soon," he said.
"So should you. And the others." She looked round the Hub. Jack sat at his desk, studying file after file. Tosh was running through hours of CCTV footage, and had been since that morning. Even Owen sat at his computer, sorting through his own set of data, looking for a pattern as well.
There had been precious little laughter or joking about lately, since Jack had destroyed Abaddon and closed the Rift. His prediction, that it would become more active than ever, had certainly come true, and the lot of them were rapidly being exhausted by the effort of putting out dozens of metaphorical (and sometimes literal) fires round the city. It wasn't just the Weevils any more, either; it was new species as well, some so strange they didn't seem to have anything at all in common with humans, some so similar to humankind that only the pattern of death or destruction following them gave Torchwood any clue that they weren't from this world.
Now they were trying to find ways to stop the aliens before they began to wreak havoc. To work out where they were going to come through, and be there to stop them. No luck so far, though. Gwen set her coffee cup down and raked her hands through her hair wearily.
"I suppose we'll all sleep when we can," Ianto observed tactfully. In that quiet, unobtrusive way he had, he walked back toward the kitchen with the dirty dishes. Sighing, Gwen turned her attention back to her work.
***
There's gotta be something, Jack thought as he paged through the file for the fourth time. There were four dozen files on his desk, and he'd been through all of them again and again, hoping something would pop out at him, something that he'd recognise or that would click together with other information to create at least some piece of the puzzle. But so far, there was nothing.
Frustrated, he tossed the folder onto the pile and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with the heels of his hands. "One of the definitions of madness is doing the same thing, over and over, and expecting a different result," he muttered crossly. Going through the same files wouldn't yield anything new. He had to figure out a different place to look.
"Talking to yourself isn't a good sign either, as a general rule."
His eyes snapped open and he looked up. Owen stood by his desk, smirking. "Got something?" Jack asked.
"Not sure," Owen said. "But it's strange, and it might just be the beginnings of a pattern. Not in what's coming through the Rift, but how." He laid out six pieces of paper on Jack's desk, each a profile of a human or an alien. "These have all come through, in this order, over the last two weeks. What do you notice?"
Jack sat forward, looking at them one at a time. Human, chimney sweep, originated circa 1855. Alien, humanoid and Altairan, originated circa 1997 Earth time. Alien, Devlovian warlord, originated circa 4589 Earth time. Human, German farmer, originated circa 1412. Alien, Praxisan, originated circa 2023 Earth time. Human, madman, originated circa 3270.
The connection hit him. "The order they're coming in," Jack said abruptly, feeling the first stirrings of hope in his chest. "Our past, roughly our present, and our future. In a cycle, over and over."
"Right," Owen said. He set another profile down. "Yesterday, Tosh and I found the body of a bloke who looked like he'd fallen out of a woodcut from Henry VIII's court. That means…"
"Our next visitor will be from roughly this time, but some other part of space," Jack finished, and smiled. "Brilliant! This is great, Owen."
"It still doesn't tell us when and where it'll come through," Owen warned.
"I know, but maybe that'll come to us. Just having an idea what to expect is something." Jack rose and clapped Owen on the shoulder. "Nice work."
"Jack!" Tosh called. Her voice held a note of excitement. "You'd better take a look at this."
All four of them scrambled toward her workstation. She pointed to one of her screens. "This is the program I've written to scan for geological tremors and other things that might indicate the Rift is opening, even briefly. There's been a tremor here, near the docks, in the warehouse district. Whatever it is, it's come through there."
"Can you track it on CCTV?" Jack demanded.
"Checking now." Her fingers danced competently over the keys, and another screen blipped on, showing a real-time feed of a grainy but reasonably clear picture of what seemed to be a deserted street between warehouses. "There we are."
They all leaned forward, searching the greenish image, until Ianto said sharply, "There!" He pointed at a corner, where the slightest bit of motion in the shadows betrayed a figure. "It's there."
Jack was already moving, grabbing his coat and the keys to the SUV. "Tosh, you keep tracking. Ianto, prepare a cell for our guest. Owen and Gwen, with me, and bring your sidearms."
The team slid into motion with the ease of long practise. There was a palpable air of relief: at last, the waiting was done. It was time to do something.
***
"Talk to me, Tosh." Jack's eyes scanned the area, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. No telling what might suddenly appear out of the darkness.
"Whatever it is, it's still moving," Tosh's voice said over Jack's earpiece, "but slowly. I think it's injured, Jack. Either that, or weakened."
"Not surprising, coming through the Rift like that," Owen said from the passenger seat. "Seems whatever it brings through the last few weeks has been pretty well beat up."
"You restock your medical bag?"
"Of course," Owen said sharply. "Soon's we got our last body off my table. What did you think?"
"Just checking," Jack said, holding up his hand. "We've been getting a lot of calls lately; just wanted to be sure you were ready."
"Yeah, well, I am," Owen snapped. "Can we get on with it please?"
"All right." Everyone was a little short-tempered, Jack reflected; nobody had had enough sleep. He just hoped they could hold it together long enough to keep the city from falling apart completely.
"The target's stopped," Tosh interrupted. "Two streets along and turn right; you'll see it. It's in a dead-end alley, down at the end. Might be hiding if there are bins or something down there."
"Got it," Jack answered, and swung the SUV into the alley, swerving sideways and parking so the vehicle blocked the opening almost completely. All three of them piled out of the car, weapons drawn. With gestures, Jack directed Owen to take the left flank, Gwen the right. He went up the middle. The alleyway seemed deserted; nothing but a pair of commercial wheelie bins at the far end. The street lamps cast an orange-yellow light over everything, creating sharp, deep shadows between and behind their bulks.
In those shadows, something moved.
All of them tensed, stopping about ten feet away, guns trained on the motion. "We're not here to hurt you," Jack called out. "We want to help you. Just come on out, slowly."
There was a muffled sob-a very human-sounding sob. The three of them looked at each other in surprise. "Are you hurt?" Gwen called. "We've got a doctor here-a healer."
Another sob, then a voice: definitely human, female, with a London accent. "Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please, please, if you're real, please help me."
Jack holstered his gun and ran for the bins, the other two covering his back. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the right-hand bin. He caught Owen’s eye; the medic nodded briefly. Together, they put their shoulder to the plastic bin and shoved it aside. It rolled a few feet, bathing the figure crouched behind it in orange street light.
She sat with her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs protectively, leaning against the wall. One filthy hand reached shakily up to brush equally-filthy blonde hair away from her face, and she looked up at them with eyes full of sheer terror. Her face was smudged, tear-streaked, and heartbreakingly familiar.
"Oh, God," Jack said, shocked to his core. It wasn't. It couldn't be. "Rose?"
"J-Jack?" Her gaze turned to him, and he could tell the moment she recognised him. The terror in her eyes subsided into a wary expression. "Are you my Jack? The Jack I knew?"
Gwen and Owen exchanged a look. He noticed, but ignored them. Back story could wait; looking after Rose was priority one right now. He pulled off his coat and knelt, wrapping it around her. "Yes," he whispered, "It's me. It's all right, Rose. It's going to be all right."
"You're not another hallucination, are you?" she asked, leaning away from him guardedly, though she clutched the wool coat closer to her.
"No," he reassured her, reaching to touch her face. She flinched. Heart almost breaking, he touched her hand instead. "No, it's really me, honey." But you were dead, he thought, mind racing. I saw the reports from the Battle of Canary Wharf. You were dead!
She closed her eyes, resting her head against the wall as though it was too heavy for her to hold up any longer. "I saw so much," she murmured, in a voice that sounded more like a lost small child than the vibrant young woman he remembered. “So many things, and I don't know what was real and what wasn't." Her eyes opened again, filled with tears. "We left you," she said. "We left you behind. I'm so sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry."
"Hey. Hey. It's all right, Rose. I'm here." This time she did let him touch her cheek, and he cupped it with one big hand, horrified at how thin she was. Glancing up at Owen, he said, "Do you think we should move her?"
Owen knelt beside him and a little behind, a tactful move that surprised Jack. It left a person she knew and trusted between herself and the stranger. "I'm Dr Owen Harper," he said. "Your name's Rose?"
"Rose Tyler," she affirmed quietly.
"We're going to take you back to where we work, Rose, and I'm going to examine you, to make sure you're all right. Jack can stay with you, if you want. But before we move you, I need to know if you've been hurt. Are you injured anywhere?"
She shook her head, pulling the coat tighter around herself. Jack couldn't tell if that was a defensive movement, or simply because she was cold. "No," she said. "I'm all right, but I don't think I can stand again. I tried to find my way out for so long." She looked at Jack. "Am I really back in the real world?" she asked plaintively.
"You really are. I promise. Cardiff. Doesn’t get more real than that." He caught the ghost of a fleeting smile deep in her eyes - did she remember? Travellers in time and space - the old high five? Seemed so very long ago.
Was she strong enough to be moved? He glanced at Owen, seeking confirmation. The medic nodded.
"Come on," Jack continued, "let's get you to the car." He handed Owen the car keys, and then slid an arm behind her back and another under her knees, lifting her easily. She was so frail, as though she'd been starved for weeks. The dark spots on her cheeks weren't just dirt; there were hollows there.
She leaned her head wearily against his shoulder as he started off for the SUV. "Oh, Jack," she sighed. "I didn't think I'd make it. I didn't think I could survive it. But I did. Oh, God, I did."
He kissed her forehead as Gwen ran ahead of him and opened the back door to the SUV for them. "Yes, you did," he murmured. "And you're here, and you're safe. You're going to be all right, Rose. I'll look after you." He set her inside, on the seat, and slid in beside her, pulling the door shut. Gwen had got into the front passenger seat, Owen into the driver's side. He thanked them silently; they knew he needed to be with Rose.
She sagged against him, head on his shoulder, as Owen put the SUV into gear and pulled back out into the street, heading for the Hub. "I can't die," she whispered brokenly. "I tried so hard, but I can't. I can't die." He felt warm wetness against his neck, and realised she was crying quietly. "Why can't I die, Jack?"
No, he thought, horrified. Not Rose, too. And yet, even as he recoiled from the thought, he felt a faint sense of relief. Whatever had happened to the two of them, they weren’t struggling with it on their own any more. Once she was strong again, they could start looking for answers to the questions that had haunted him for so long. Haunted her, too, it seemed. He could imagine her, trapped in a life that became a heavier burden with each passing year. Had she watched her family die? Friends? Where had she been since Canary Wharf? Why wasn't she with the Doctor any more?
His eyes filled with tears, and he kissed the top of her head, holding her close. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know. But we'll find out together."