Fic: Reunited (9/15)
Title: Reunited (9/15)
Author: aibhinn
Pairings: Jack/Rose, Jack/Ten, Jack/Ten/Rose, Ten/Rose, mentions of (past) Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13.
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.
Author's note: As always, this chapter owes most of what it is now to the awesomeness of my betas. All of you rock my socks. Seriously. *bows at your feet*
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV
The 'bogeyman,' as Owen had taken to calling it, was in the freezer and the scene had been cleared. The medieval French boy Gwen had been sent after had been bathed and fed, and was now drowsing in a cell with the help of a little white pill from Owen's store. With the pterodactyl watching from its perch, the Torchwood team and Rose gathered in the conference room with Chinese take-away, ready to hear Rose talk about her experience with the Beast.
She told the story without fanfare, in a calm, steady voice. She told about landing on a distant base on a planet that shouldn't exist; of the Ood, the strange creatures who seemed perfectly content to be servants; of the language no one, not even the TARDIS, could translate; of the crew who had braved so much. She talked about Scooti and Ida, about Danny and Zach and Mr Jefferson, and especially about Toby, mission archaeologist. When she described the lettering on his skin, they winced; when she spoke of Scooti's death, they were sober; when she told them about the Doctor (whom she called only 'my partner') and Ida going down to the planet, and of the mysterious voice over the comm, they leant forward eagerly.
"So it talked to you?" Tosh asked, eyes wide. "In English?"
"Everyone understood it. It called me 'the valiant child who will die in battle so very soon.'" She swallowed, and Jack impulsively put a hand over hers in comfort. Gwen's eyebrow flickered ever so slightly at the gesture; Jack didn't let go. "And it was right," Rose went on, turning her hand over to squeeze Jack's fingers. "I did."
The team glanced at each other, clearly confused, and she smiled. "Officially, at least," she clarified. "I was at Canary Wharf, but I wasn't killed, and I wasn't cyberised. I got pulled into a parallel universe just before the breach closed, and that's where I was until I came through the Rift. But that's not the point," she added as Owen opened his mouth, presumably to question her. "The point is, how did the Beast end up in Cardiff a few months ago, when it went down the black hole along with the planet?"
"Bilis Manger managed to get us to open the Rift to let it out," Jack said, as much to make sure the focus stayed on the Beast and off Rose, as to answer the question. He really didn't want the Doctor to come up in conversation just yet. "Is it possible it might have somehow slipped into the Rift as it was falling towards the black hole, and been stuck there until he let it out?"
"Yeah, it's possible," Rose said, frowning in consideration. "Anything's possible." Owen snorted disbelievingly, but she ignored him.
"Or it could be a second monster," Gwen suggested. "If the one you saw before really was killed in the black hole, perhaps ours was another one altogether."
"Because it's so likely there are two of those in the universe." Owen rolled his eyes.
Now Rose turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows. "How likely is it that a big, green slime monster will terrorise the industrial estates of Cardiff?" she asked, with a gaze made of steel. "Or that a boy from fifteenth-century France will suddenly find himself in 2007? Anyone who's worked for Torchwood for more than about five minutes knows better than to rely on what's likely."
Owen bristled. "Look here, sweetheart," he began heatedly. "I don't know who you think you are, but I've got a damn sight more experience than you."
"Owen-" Jack began.
"No, Jack. I'm not going to sit here and be lectured by a teenager who probably hasn't even managed to clear away all her spots yet." He pointed at Rose. "You were bloody useful today, I'll grant you that, but don't think you can lecture me on working for Torchwood. I was working here before you took your GCSEs." He tapped the table. "I know your dossier. I looked you up. Rose Marion Tyler, born 1987. Mother: Jackie Tyler. Disappeared in 2005, reappeared a year later with no explanation other than that you were 'travelling'. Missing, presumed dead after the Battle of Canary Wharf." He sneered. "I don't care how much backpacking you did round Europe, sweetheart, it's not the same as having been right here, dealing with aliens every bloody day. Or even working in the A&E and dealing with the shit human beings do to each other and to themselves. Don't presume to tell me what I should and shouldn't be thinking or feeling about working for Torchwood, just because you're fucking the boss."
"Owen!" Jack snapped. "That's enough."
"Yeah, you would take her side, wouldn't you, nice bit of totty like that," Owen snapped right back. "Little young for you, maybe, but nice if you can get it. Even if she is a bit skinny for my tastes."
Fury scorched through Jack and he surged to his feet, kicking his chair out of the way to stand, fists clenched, looming over the smaller man. Owen rose as well, sneering.
The rest of the Torchwood team were on their feet, trying to calm the two men down and get them seated. Gwen had Jack by the arm, murmuring to him, "Sit down, Jack. Just sit down. Don't let him wind you up." Tosh and Ianto each had one of Owen's arms, and Jack presumed they were saying something similar to him. His vision was slowly clearing, and finally, he allowed Gwen to get him seated. Owen too was sitting back down, though the fire in his eyes hadn't abated in the least.
Rose was still sitting in precisely the same position she'd been in: nearly-empty box of Singapore chow mein in front of her, fork in hand, forearms resting on the table. She raised an eyebrow. "Has the testosterone faded a bit in here?" she asked dryly, looking from one to the other. Owen glared; Jack rubbed his face, trying to shove his anger aside. He should know better than to let Owen get to him.
"All right, then," Rose said, shifted the box of Chinese food out of the way, and moved her left hand forward so it was centred in front of her. "Let's talk about my qualifications, shall we?"
And she slammed her fork into the back of her hand, burying the tines in her flesh.
Again the room erupted into motion and sound, this time filled with shock. "Oh, my God, Rose!" Gwen said, over Owen's "I told you she was a psycho!" Ianto leapt to his feet and grabbed the emergency first-aid kit that was on the wall while Tosh bent forward, tentatively examining the damage Rose had done to her hand. Even Jack had jolted out of his seat, although he knew what she was doing: going for the shock effect before showing them how she'd heal, just as she'd done with him the day before in this very room. Even so, the sight of the fork protruding from Rose's hand made him ill. To other people, people who hadn’t been changed the way they had been, it might look as if it didn’t hurt. But he knew better.
Rose waved away Tosh and Gwen, who had both come over to help her, and met Owen's gaze solidly. "Watch," she said, and with gritted teeth, yanked the fork out.
Everyone winced, including Jack. Wordlessly, she held up her hand so that they could see it clearly, and four jaws dropped open as the wounds stopped bleeding and closed up of their own accord, leaving nothing behind to show she'd ever injured herself.
Rose looked at each of them, meeting every pair of wide, startled eyes, Owen's last of all. "I'm eighty-six years old," she said into a silence so profound the ticking of Jack's watch could be heard clearly. "I worked at Torchwood for more than sixty years, in every capacity except director-and that was only because I wouldn't take the job. I have seen more than any three of you put together, except maybe Jack. I know what I'm talking about, and I know what I'm doing, and I maintain what I said." She looked straight at Owen. "Ignoring a possibility because it isn't 'likely' is stupid. More than that, it's got a good chance of getting you or someone else killed. There are more things out there than we will ever see, and some of them are so far beyond what humans can imagine that no description could ever do them justice." Her face grew hard. "But know this. Remember the Sycorax? The spaceship hitting Big Ben? The Daleks and the Cybermen? Earth's not some little backwater planet nobody's ever heard of any more. We're known. They're starting to find us. And if this century goes anything like the way the 21st century went on the other Earth, we'd better be ready for them, because we are the only protection the Earth has got."
Jack glanced at the others. Tosh, Gwen, and Ianto looked sober, clearly considering what Rose had said. Owen, on the other hand, had on his best 'yeah, whatever' expression. "Okay," Owen said. "So you heal fast. Maybe you can even come back from the dead, like Jack. And maybe you're telling the truth about having worked for Torchwood in the parallel universe for a lifetime. But that still doesn't give you the right to lecture us like a bunch of newbies who don't know which end of the gun to hold." He stood, pushing his chair out of his way with more force than was strictly necessary. "When you've finished your lessons for today, let me know," he said to the room at large. "I've had all the schooling I need, thanks."
He stalked out, shoving the doors to the conference room open with both hands, and went down the stairs and out of sight. Rose sighed and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her right hand. "Can't make him listen," she said.
"Oh, he listened," Ianto said unexpectedly. "But he can't ever let you see you've shaken him. He'll be back with some logical reason why he buys your story, once he's worked one out."
Jack chuckled despite himself. Trust Ianto to summarise Owen's personality so pithily.
"Just so long as he comes round eventually." Rose put her hands flat on the table and stood. "We need everyone we've got to-" she began, then suddenly closed her eyes and grabbed the edge of the table, swaying a bit on her feet.
Jack leapt to his feet and just managed to catch her when her knees buckled. "Whoa!" he said, lowering her back to her chair carefully and then sitting back down beside her. "You okay?"
Rose blushed. "Yeah," she said. "Just got really dizzy for a second." Her expression was wry. "I think I might've overdone it today."
"You think?" he asked, with a teasing note to his voice, and was pleased when she hit him weakly with the back of her hand. "You've barely recovered, and I shoved you out into the field," he said more seriously. "I should've known better."
"You think you could've left me behind?" Rose retorted.
Ruefully, Jack laughed. "You're right. There's no way." He looked over at Gwen, Ianto, and Tosh, who were watching them both, their expressions worried. "Why don't you three go on," he said. "We'll let Rose recover a bit, then I'll take her back to the hostel so she can get some rest."
None of them looked thrilled with the suggestion, but they all did as he asked, going out through the glass doors and back down to the main floor of the Hub. He watched them go, then turned his attention back to Rose. "Soon as you're ready, we'll go. You need to get some sleep."
"My lack of sleep is all your fault, you know."
"Yeah, well, I won't be keeping you up tonight, don't worry."
She grinned at him. "We'll see how long you keep that resolution, Captain Harkness. You'll find I can be pretty persuasive."
He laughed. "You're incorrigible."
"Yep," she agreed, grinning. "And you're invited to incorrige me all you want."
He groaned at the pun, and she laughed again.
***
As it turned out, Rose was just as persuasive as she'd said, and it had been some time before she'd fallen asleep. He'd drifted off for a short while as well, spooned up behind her, but now, as darkness began to fall outside, he was awake and beginning to think seriously about the situation they were in.
Weighing heaviest on his mind was Rose herself. Not that he regretted having her here-no way was he ever going to regret Rose. But in retrospect, perhaps having jumped into a sexual relationship with her so quickly hadn't been the best idea. There was no doubt in his mind that they needed her at Torchwood; she had knowledge and experience nobody else did, and she'd already proven herself invaluable. But how would she feel about a romantic relationship with him if they were working together?
Not that he had a problem with it; he'd had relationships with co-workers, bosses, and subordinates in his time, and as long as everyone was willing to keep it professional when it needed to be, everything was fine. Then again, he was from a time when sex didn't have the emotional baggage that it did in the 21st century. There was nothing wrong, or even unusual, about having what Owen called 'fuck buddy' relationships, and nobody thought twice about it.
However, what he wanted with Rose was most emphatically not a 'fuck buddy' relationship. He wanted much, much more than that with her, and he was all but certain that she wanted the same with him. But if they were in a serious relationship, would she still be willing to work for Torchwood as his subordinate?
And that was the rub, he realised. It wasn't that he was afraid Rose would decide not to work for Torchwood; it was because he was afraid she'd choose the job over him. The thought caused a sharp, painful tightening in his chest. He might only have had her back for two days, but already he couldn't imagine his life without her in it.
But if she could bring her expertise to Torchwood and end up saving more lives in the process… it would be worth it. Wouldn't it?
Rose sighed and stretched like a cat, humming contentedly. He smiled-he couldn't help it-and dropped a kiss on her shoulder. "Feeling better?"
She purred happily, and he chuckled. "Loads," she murmured, turning over and cuddling into him. He wrapped his arms round her. "Feel a bit lazy, though," she added, resting her head on his shoulder. "I mean, look at me. Sleep, that's all I do."
"I can find something else to do if that's what you'd prefer," he said, waggling his eyebrows and leaning down to kiss her throat.
She laughed indulgently as he nuzzled her neck, but gently pushed him away. "You've had something on your mind since we got up this morning," she said. "I can tell. What is it?"
He made a soft 'hm' sound in the back of his throat. She'd always been able to see right through the Doctor; now it seemed she could see right through him as well. He shifted back a little so he could look at her properly. "How are you feeling about joining the Torchwood team?" he asked.
"You mean, after Owen's little temper tantrum?" She chuckled, shaking her head. "It would take more than his mouth to keep me away, if for no other reason than you letting me back in the field! I've been stuck at a desk too long. Besides, I dealt with a lot of arseholes in the other Torchwood as well. He's not the first."
"Not just him. I want you to think seriously about it," he insisted, looking into her eyes. "Because, you know, if you join…you'll be working for me." She frowned, and he clarified, "Not just with me. For me."
Comprehension dawned in her eyes. "You're thinking about the potential problems of an employee/boss relationship, aren't you," she said. It wasn't a question. He nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and she said, "How do you feel about it?"
"I've done it before," he said, pulling his pillow up to lean his shoulder against as he faced her. "And it's never been a problem. But I've almost always been the employee, not the employer."
"Except for you and Ianto?"
He gaped at her, startled by her perception, and she gave a slightly embarrassed half-smile. "I heard you when I was showering earlier. The walls aren't particularly thick in here."
"Ahh." That made him wonder what else she'd overheard-did she know that the others, not just Owen, weren't sure they could trust her? "Yes, Ianto and me. Though it wasn't a … romantic relationship, as such."
"Friends with benefits?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He shook his head. How to describe his relationship with Ianto? "No, no, not that. More like…" He looked at the ceiling, searching for the words. "Like we were desperately trying to find ways to fill the missing pieces of our lives. And it worked, sort of. When we had sex, I could forget for a while, and I think he could too. But the rest of the time, the emptiness was still there, and it slowly started to dawn on us that there really wasn't anything between us but a lot of trust and a lot of friendship." He looked back over at her. "I do care for him," he said. "I care for all of them. But it's not like what I feel for you."
She nodded slowly. "So what you want to know is, can I still take orders while we're sleeping with each other?"
"This relationship is much more than us sleeping together, Rose." He paused, and added, "Isn't it?"
Rose was silent for a moment, teeth worrying at her lower lip. "I worked for each of my husbands at Torchwood," she said at last. "And yeah, there were times when our private life could have interfered with work, but we never let it. I can't imagine you would, either." She smiled. "I want to give it a go. The relationship and the job."
A momentary stab of jealousy at the word husbands gave Jack a fleeting image of dragging Rose to the nearest Registry Office. What the hell had made him think that? Shoving the thought quickly away, he hugged her tightly. "I needed to hear that."
She pulled back enough to kiss him, still smiling. "Won't cause problems with the rest of the team, will it?" she asked.
"Nah," Jack said. "Not after your performance today. Besides, if you can handle Owen, you can handle anyone."
"Good." Unexpectedly, she pushed away from him again, flinging the bedclothes back and climbing out of bed. He watched, disappointed, as she slid her knickers on and picked up her bra. "Because we missed something today in all the chaos," she said as she fastened it and picked up her shirt.
His brow furrowed. "What?"
She drew her shirt over her head and shook her hair free, reaching for her trousers. "That boy-the one Gwen fetched from the castle. We just got him cleaned up and put somewhere safe. Nobody's questioned him, have they?"
"Probably not," he agreed, and climbed out of bed himself. "Do you think it's that important?" He pulled on his trousers and fastened them, reaching for his shirt.
She sat back down on the bed, socks in hand, and gave him a look. "Do you actually know why the Rift is more active than before, and bringing through bigger creatures?"
"No. But that little peasant boy's not going to have the answers, is he?" He tucked in his now-fastened shirt and pulled his braces up.
She rolled her eyes, tugging a sock on. "Jack, you didn't get this far without knowing that every piece of evidence is potentially important. Maybe he knows nothing. Maybe he stumbled into the Rift on his way back from the blacksmith's shop in 1427 or something and is simply terrified and wanting to go home. But maybe he knows more than we think. We won't know until we ask." The other sock was on now, and she reached for her trainers.
"True," Jack admitted, pulling on his own socks and boots. "We'd have to find someone who speaks medieval French, though. What I wouldn't give for the TARDIS' translation circuits."
"Dunno if it's from his period or his region," Rose said casually, "but I speak a few words. Enough to get a description of how he got here, I would say."
He stopped dead, staring at her. "You speak medieval French?"
"Only a few words," she repeated. He didn't respond, and she glanced up at him, apparently only just realising the depth of his shock. "Sorry," she said, grimacing. "I didn't think to tell you. My team got called out on a lot of the weirder human come-throughs, and we each learned a few words of some of the more common languages. For some reason, we got a lot of medieval French and medieval Danish people through, and the languages seemed to come fairly easily to me, maybe because I spent so long in the TARDIS. But the point is that I can probably get the boy's name, and where and when he's from. With luck, he'll be able to tell us how he got into the Rift."
Jack slid his shoulder holster on, checked to be sure his pistol was loaded, and pulled on his great coat. "Let's get going, then-now you've got me curious!"
***
The holding cells were nearly all full now. Jack held the door open for Rose, then followed a step behind her. She walked slowly down the hallway past five Weevils in their individual cells, each cowering against the far wall, toward the cell where the boy was being housed.
He lay huddled on the bunk at the back of the cell, eyes wide and frightened. Clearly, Owen's pill had worn off. Rose made straight for the cell and knelt down on the outside of the Plexiglass, getting down to the child's level. She said something that had the inflection of a greeting.
The child blinked in surprise, and responded in kind. He sat up slowly, as though unsure whether to trust her but willing to risk just this much. His brow was furrowed and he said something else-a question, perhaps.
Rose answered in a gentle tone, and he froze, with the expression of someone who's just received news they expected but had hoped not to hear. She's just told him we can't send him home, Jack thought. His heart went out to the boy. He knew what it was to be stranded in a time and place not his own. Bad enough when you'd chosen it, as Jack had, and when you knew it was a possibility; for this boy, time travel wasn't even in the realm of fantasy. He must be utterly bewildered, lost, and alone.
The conversation was continuing. It certainly sounded like Rose knew a lot more than 'a few words' of medieval French. Jack listened and watched as Rose spoke to him, making notes as he responded. He never relaxed, sitting as far from Rose as he could and making the sign of the cross repeatedly. Finally he shook his head and shrugged. Apparently he couldn't add any more.
Rose said a few more things in that same soothing voice, and smiled at him. He nodded soberly and lay back down, drawing the blankets over him. A muttering reached Jack's ears, words he actually could recognise: "Ave Maria, gratia plena…" Jack's heart broke just a little bit more, and he made a mental note to have Ianto find a rosary or a crucifix for him. Maybe it would help.
She rose to her feet, a bit stiffly, and turned to Jack, handing him the sheet of notes. "His name is André. He said he was on his way to Mass when he lost his balance and slipped sideways, as though he'd turned his foot. But when he'd gathered himself back up, he was by the side of the road here in Cardiff. He thought he'd died and gone to hell at first. In fact, I think he might still believe that." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Poor kid."
"I suppose a twenty-first century city would seem that way to a fifteenth-century boy." Jack glanced over the sheet. "Where's he from?"
"Some small town in eastern France. The view of the bay terrified him; he's never seen so much water in his life. He's not sure of the year he's from, but I asked him a few things, and it looks like Gwen was right about him being from the fifteenth century. Probably the first half, though I can't say for sure."
Jack chuckled and let his hand drop to his side, shaking his head. "You're absolutely amazing, you know that?"
Rose shrugged, but looked pleased. "Sixty years in Torchwood ought to have taught me something," she said. "Pity we couldn't get any other pertinent information from him, but-"
"It is coming."
The gravelly voice echoed off the rock, and both of them swivelled sharply to find its source. The boy André was standing right at the Plexiglass, hands splayed against it, staring at Rose with an expression as of a predator sighting its prey.
And he had spoken in English.
"Who's coming?" Jack demanded, sidling past Rose to stand in front of André. "And when?"
André ignored him; all his attention was on Rose. "Time searches for you," he said in that same gravelly voice. "It knows your scent. It knows your taste. It comes, and when it does, you shall know no more."
Jack shifted, moving to stand between the boy and Rose. "Time?" he repeated. "What do you mean, time? How can time search? And why would it be searching for Rose?"
"Jack," Rose said in a voice that trembled slightly. "Look at his eyes."
Jack looked, and recoiled slightly. The boy's eyes had gone from a light blue to a deep, blood red. They glowed in the dim light of the cells. All at once, the Weevils howled, in perfect tune with each other, so that the note seemed to penetrate Jack's body, shivering down his spine and reverberating in his skull.
"It is coming," André said again.
And then he collapsed in a heap, and the Weevils fell silent.
Jack had the door open in a second and was kneeling beside him, feeling for a pulse. Nothing, not even the faintest flicker of a heartbeat. Growling, he rolled the boy onto his back and tilted his head, breathing swiftly twice into his mouth before lacing his fingers together and beginning CPR. Thirty compressions, breathe, breathe, check the pulse-nothing. Thirty compressions, breathe, breathe, check the pulse-nothing. "Come on," he snarled, starting compressions again. "Don't you go all horror-monster on me and die now. Come back, damn you. Come back!"
"Jack," Rose said, shaking his shoulder roughly, and he realised she'd said his name twice already. He looked up at her. "He's gone, Jack," she said quietly. "And look at his skin."
Jack looked. His skin was pasty white, as though no blood had flowed through it in some time. He took the boy's hand. Stone-cold. Realisation hit him. "He's been dead," he said, shocked. "He's been dead for some time."
Rose nodded. "Something was keeping him alive," she said. "Probably just so it could warn me. But who? Or what? And why?"
Author: aibhinn
Pairings: Jack/Rose, Jack/Ten, Jack/Ten/Rose, Ten/Rose, mentions of (past) Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13.
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.
Author's note: As always, this chapter owes most of what it is now to the awesomeness of my betas. All of you rock my socks. Seriously. *bows at your feet*
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV
The 'bogeyman,' as Owen had taken to calling it, was in the freezer and the scene had been cleared. The medieval French boy Gwen had been sent after had been bathed and fed, and was now drowsing in a cell with the help of a little white pill from Owen's store. With the pterodactyl watching from its perch, the Torchwood team and Rose gathered in the conference room with Chinese take-away, ready to hear Rose talk about her experience with the Beast.
She told the story without fanfare, in a calm, steady voice. She told about landing on a distant base on a planet that shouldn't exist; of the Ood, the strange creatures who seemed perfectly content to be servants; of the language no one, not even the TARDIS, could translate; of the crew who had braved so much. She talked about Scooti and Ida, about Danny and Zach and Mr Jefferson, and especially about Toby, mission archaeologist. When she described the lettering on his skin, they winced; when she spoke of Scooti's death, they were sober; when she told them about the Doctor (whom she called only 'my partner') and Ida going down to the planet, and of the mysterious voice over the comm, they leant forward eagerly.
"So it talked to you?" Tosh asked, eyes wide. "In English?"
"Everyone understood it. It called me 'the valiant child who will die in battle so very soon.'" She swallowed, and Jack impulsively put a hand over hers in comfort. Gwen's eyebrow flickered ever so slightly at the gesture; Jack didn't let go. "And it was right," Rose went on, turning her hand over to squeeze Jack's fingers. "I did."
The team glanced at each other, clearly confused, and she smiled. "Officially, at least," she clarified. "I was at Canary Wharf, but I wasn't killed, and I wasn't cyberised. I got pulled into a parallel universe just before the breach closed, and that's where I was until I came through the Rift. But that's not the point," she added as Owen opened his mouth, presumably to question her. "The point is, how did the Beast end up in Cardiff a few months ago, when it went down the black hole along with the planet?"
"Bilis Manger managed to get us to open the Rift to let it out," Jack said, as much to make sure the focus stayed on the Beast and off Rose, as to answer the question. He really didn't want the Doctor to come up in conversation just yet. "Is it possible it might have somehow slipped into the Rift as it was falling towards the black hole, and been stuck there until he let it out?"
"Yeah, it's possible," Rose said, frowning in consideration. "Anything's possible." Owen snorted disbelievingly, but she ignored him.
"Or it could be a second monster," Gwen suggested. "If the one you saw before really was killed in the black hole, perhaps ours was another one altogether."
"Because it's so likely there are two of those in the universe." Owen rolled his eyes.
Now Rose turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows. "How likely is it that a big, green slime monster will terrorise the industrial estates of Cardiff?" she asked, with a gaze made of steel. "Or that a boy from fifteenth-century France will suddenly find himself in 2007? Anyone who's worked for Torchwood for more than about five minutes knows better than to rely on what's likely."
Owen bristled. "Look here, sweetheart," he began heatedly. "I don't know who you think you are, but I've got a damn sight more experience than you."
"Owen-" Jack began.
"No, Jack. I'm not going to sit here and be lectured by a teenager who probably hasn't even managed to clear away all her spots yet." He pointed at Rose. "You were bloody useful today, I'll grant you that, but don't think you can lecture me on working for Torchwood. I was working here before you took your GCSEs." He tapped the table. "I know your dossier. I looked you up. Rose Marion Tyler, born 1987. Mother: Jackie Tyler. Disappeared in 2005, reappeared a year later with no explanation other than that you were 'travelling'. Missing, presumed dead after the Battle of Canary Wharf." He sneered. "I don't care how much backpacking you did round Europe, sweetheart, it's not the same as having been right here, dealing with aliens every bloody day. Or even working in the A&E and dealing with the shit human beings do to each other and to themselves. Don't presume to tell me what I should and shouldn't be thinking or feeling about working for Torchwood, just because you're fucking the boss."
"Owen!" Jack snapped. "That's enough."
"Yeah, you would take her side, wouldn't you, nice bit of totty like that," Owen snapped right back. "Little young for you, maybe, but nice if you can get it. Even if she is a bit skinny for my tastes."
Fury scorched through Jack and he surged to his feet, kicking his chair out of the way to stand, fists clenched, looming over the smaller man. Owen rose as well, sneering.
The rest of the Torchwood team were on their feet, trying to calm the two men down and get them seated. Gwen had Jack by the arm, murmuring to him, "Sit down, Jack. Just sit down. Don't let him wind you up." Tosh and Ianto each had one of Owen's arms, and Jack presumed they were saying something similar to him. His vision was slowly clearing, and finally, he allowed Gwen to get him seated. Owen too was sitting back down, though the fire in his eyes hadn't abated in the least.
Rose was still sitting in precisely the same position she'd been in: nearly-empty box of Singapore chow mein in front of her, fork in hand, forearms resting on the table. She raised an eyebrow. "Has the testosterone faded a bit in here?" she asked dryly, looking from one to the other. Owen glared; Jack rubbed his face, trying to shove his anger aside. He should know better than to let Owen get to him.
"All right, then," Rose said, shifted the box of Chinese food out of the way, and moved her left hand forward so it was centred in front of her. "Let's talk about my qualifications, shall we?"
And she slammed her fork into the back of her hand, burying the tines in her flesh.
Again the room erupted into motion and sound, this time filled with shock. "Oh, my God, Rose!" Gwen said, over Owen's "I told you she was a psycho!" Ianto leapt to his feet and grabbed the emergency first-aid kit that was on the wall while Tosh bent forward, tentatively examining the damage Rose had done to her hand. Even Jack had jolted out of his seat, although he knew what she was doing: going for the shock effect before showing them how she'd heal, just as she'd done with him the day before in this very room. Even so, the sight of the fork protruding from Rose's hand made him ill. To other people, people who hadn’t been changed the way they had been, it might look as if it didn’t hurt. But he knew better.
Rose waved away Tosh and Gwen, who had both come over to help her, and met Owen's gaze solidly. "Watch," she said, and with gritted teeth, yanked the fork out.
Everyone winced, including Jack. Wordlessly, she held up her hand so that they could see it clearly, and four jaws dropped open as the wounds stopped bleeding and closed up of their own accord, leaving nothing behind to show she'd ever injured herself.
Rose looked at each of them, meeting every pair of wide, startled eyes, Owen's last of all. "I'm eighty-six years old," she said into a silence so profound the ticking of Jack's watch could be heard clearly. "I worked at Torchwood for more than sixty years, in every capacity except director-and that was only because I wouldn't take the job. I have seen more than any three of you put together, except maybe Jack. I know what I'm talking about, and I know what I'm doing, and I maintain what I said." She looked straight at Owen. "Ignoring a possibility because it isn't 'likely' is stupid. More than that, it's got a good chance of getting you or someone else killed. There are more things out there than we will ever see, and some of them are so far beyond what humans can imagine that no description could ever do them justice." Her face grew hard. "But know this. Remember the Sycorax? The spaceship hitting Big Ben? The Daleks and the Cybermen? Earth's not some little backwater planet nobody's ever heard of any more. We're known. They're starting to find us. And if this century goes anything like the way the 21st century went on the other Earth, we'd better be ready for them, because we are the only protection the Earth has got."
Jack glanced at the others. Tosh, Gwen, and Ianto looked sober, clearly considering what Rose had said. Owen, on the other hand, had on his best 'yeah, whatever' expression. "Okay," Owen said. "So you heal fast. Maybe you can even come back from the dead, like Jack. And maybe you're telling the truth about having worked for Torchwood in the parallel universe for a lifetime. But that still doesn't give you the right to lecture us like a bunch of newbies who don't know which end of the gun to hold." He stood, pushing his chair out of his way with more force than was strictly necessary. "When you've finished your lessons for today, let me know," he said to the room at large. "I've had all the schooling I need, thanks."
He stalked out, shoving the doors to the conference room open with both hands, and went down the stairs and out of sight. Rose sighed and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her right hand. "Can't make him listen," she said.
"Oh, he listened," Ianto said unexpectedly. "But he can't ever let you see you've shaken him. He'll be back with some logical reason why he buys your story, once he's worked one out."
Jack chuckled despite himself. Trust Ianto to summarise Owen's personality so pithily.
"Just so long as he comes round eventually." Rose put her hands flat on the table and stood. "We need everyone we've got to-" she began, then suddenly closed her eyes and grabbed the edge of the table, swaying a bit on her feet.
Jack leapt to his feet and just managed to catch her when her knees buckled. "Whoa!" he said, lowering her back to her chair carefully and then sitting back down beside her. "You okay?"
Rose blushed. "Yeah," she said. "Just got really dizzy for a second." Her expression was wry. "I think I might've overdone it today."
"You think?" he asked, with a teasing note to his voice, and was pleased when she hit him weakly with the back of her hand. "You've barely recovered, and I shoved you out into the field," he said more seriously. "I should've known better."
"You think you could've left me behind?" Rose retorted.
Ruefully, Jack laughed. "You're right. There's no way." He looked over at Gwen, Ianto, and Tosh, who were watching them both, their expressions worried. "Why don't you three go on," he said. "We'll let Rose recover a bit, then I'll take her back to the hostel so she can get some rest."
None of them looked thrilled with the suggestion, but they all did as he asked, going out through the glass doors and back down to the main floor of the Hub. He watched them go, then turned his attention back to Rose. "Soon as you're ready, we'll go. You need to get some sleep."
"My lack of sleep is all your fault, you know."
"Yeah, well, I won't be keeping you up tonight, don't worry."
She grinned at him. "We'll see how long you keep that resolution, Captain Harkness. You'll find I can be pretty persuasive."
He laughed. "You're incorrigible."
"Yep," she agreed, grinning. "And you're invited to incorrige me all you want."
He groaned at the pun, and she laughed again.
***
As it turned out, Rose was just as persuasive as she'd said, and it had been some time before she'd fallen asleep. He'd drifted off for a short while as well, spooned up behind her, but now, as darkness began to fall outside, he was awake and beginning to think seriously about the situation they were in.
Weighing heaviest on his mind was Rose herself. Not that he regretted having her here-no way was he ever going to regret Rose. But in retrospect, perhaps having jumped into a sexual relationship with her so quickly hadn't been the best idea. There was no doubt in his mind that they needed her at Torchwood; she had knowledge and experience nobody else did, and she'd already proven herself invaluable. But how would she feel about a romantic relationship with him if they were working together?
Not that he had a problem with it; he'd had relationships with co-workers, bosses, and subordinates in his time, and as long as everyone was willing to keep it professional when it needed to be, everything was fine. Then again, he was from a time when sex didn't have the emotional baggage that it did in the 21st century. There was nothing wrong, or even unusual, about having what Owen called 'fuck buddy' relationships, and nobody thought twice about it.
However, what he wanted with Rose was most emphatically not a 'fuck buddy' relationship. He wanted much, much more than that with her, and he was all but certain that she wanted the same with him. But if they were in a serious relationship, would she still be willing to work for Torchwood as his subordinate?
And that was the rub, he realised. It wasn't that he was afraid Rose would decide not to work for Torchwood; it was because he was afraid she'd choose the job over him. The thought caused a sharp, painful tightening in his chest. He might only have had her back for two days, but already he couldn't imagine his life without her in it.
But if she could bring her expertise to Torchwood and end up saving more lives in the process… it would be worth it. Wouldn't it?
Rose sighed and stretched like a cat, humming contentedly. He smiled-he couldn't help it-and dropped a kiss on her shoulder. "Feeling better?"
She purred happily, and he chuckled. "Loads," she murmured, turning over and cuddling into him. He wrapped his arms round her. "Feel a bit lazy, though," she added, resting her head on his shoulder. "I mean, look at me. Sleep, that's all I do."
"I can find something else to do if that's what you'd prefer," he said, waggling his eyebrows and leaning down to kiss her throat.
She laughed indulgently as he nuzzled her neck, but gently pushed him away. "You've had something on your mind since we got up this morning," she said. "I can tell. What is it?"
He made a soft 'hm' sound in the back of his throat. She'd always been able to see right through the Doctor; now it seemed she could see right through him as well. He shifted back a little so he could look at her properly. "How are you feeling about joining the Torchwood team?" he asked.
"You mean, after Owen's little temper tantrum?" She chuckled, shaking her head. "It would take more than his mouth to keep me away, if for no other reason than you letting me back in the field! I've been stuck at a desk too long. Besides, I dealt with a lot of arseholes in the other Torchwood as well. He's not the first."
"Not just him. I want you to think seriously about it," he insisted, looking into her eyes. "Because, you know, if you join…you'll be working for me." She frowned, and he clarified, "Not just with me. For me."
Comprehension dawned in her eyes. "You're thinking about the potential problems of an employee/boss relationship, aren't you," she said. It wasn't a question. He nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and she said, "How do you feel about it?"
"I've done it before," he said, pulling his pillow up to lean his shoulder against as he faced her. "And it's never been a problem. But I've almost always been the employee, not the employer."
"Except for you and Ianto?"
He gaped at her, startled by her perception, and she gave a slightly embarrassed half-smile. "I heard you when I was showering earlier. The walls aren't particularly thick in here."
"Ahh." That made him wonder what else she'd overheard-did she know that the others, not just Owen, weren't sure they could trust her? "Yes, Ianto and me. Though it wasn't a … romantic relationship, as such."
"Friends with benefits?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He shook his head. How to describe his relationship with Ianto? "No, no, not that. More like…" He looked at the ceiling, searching for the words. "Like we were desperately trying to find ways to fill the missing pieces of our lives. And it worked, sort of. When we had sex, I could forget for a while, and I think he could too. But the rest of the time, the emptiness was still there, and it slowly started to dawn on us that there really wasn't anything between us but a lot of trust and a lot of friendship." He looked back over at her. "I do care for him," he said. "I care for all of them. But it's not like what I feel for you."
She nodded slowly. "So what you want to know is, can I still take orders while we're sleeping with each other?"
"This relationship is much more than us sleeping together, Rose." He paused, and added, "Isn't it?"
Rose was silent for a moment, teeth worrying at her lower lip. "I worked for each of my husbands at Torchwood," she said at last. "And yeah, there were times when our private life could have interfered with work, but we never let it. I can't imagine you would, either." She smiled. "I want to give it a go. The relationship and the job."
A momentary stab of jealousy at the word husbands gave Jack a fleeting image of dragging Rose to the nearest Registry Office. What the hell had made him think that? Shoving the thought quickly away, he hugged her tightly. "I needed to hear that."
She pulled back enough to kiss him, still smiling. "Won't cause problems with the rest of the team, will it?" she asked.
"Nah," Jack said. "Not after your performance today. Besides, if you can handle Owen, you can handle anyone."
"Good." Unexpectedly, she pushed away from him again, flinging the bedclothes back and climbing out of bed. He watched, disappointed, as she slid her knickers on and picked up her bra. "Because we missed something today in all the chaos," she said as she fastened it and picked up her shirt.
His brow furrowed. "What?"
She drew her shirt over her head and shook her hair free, reaching for her trousers. "That boy-the one Gwen fetched from the castle. We just got him cleaned up and put somewhere safe. Nobody's questioned him, have they?"
"Probably not," he agreed, and climbed out of bed himself. "Do you think it's that important?" He pulled on his trousers and fastened them, reaching for his shirt.
She sat back down on the bed, socks in hand, and gave him a look. "Do you actually know why the Rift is more active than before, and bringing through bigger creatures?"
"No. But that little peasant boy's not going to have the answers, is he?" He tucked in his now-fastened shirt and pulled his braces up.
She rolled her eyes, tugging a sock on. "Jack, you didn't get this far without knowing that every piece of evidence is potentially important. Maybe he knows nothing. Maybe he stumbled into the Rift on his way back from the blacksmith's shop in 1427 or something and is simply terrified and wanting to go home. But maybe he knows more than we think. We won't know until we ask." The other sock was on now, and she reached for her trainers.
"True," Jack admitted, pulling on his own socks and boots. "We'd have to find someone who speaks medieval French, though. What I wouldn't give for the TARDIS' translation circuits."
"Dunno if it's from his period or his region," Rose said casually, "but I speak a few words. Enough to get a description of how he got here, I would say."
He stopped dead, staring at her. "You speak medieval French?"
"Only a few words," she repeated. He didn't respond, and she glanced up at him, apparently only just realising the depth of his shock. "Sorry," she said, grimacing. "I didn't think to tell you. My team got called out on a lot of the weirder human come-throughs, and we each learned a few words of some of the more common languages. For some reason, we got a lot of medieval French and medieval Danish people through, and the languages seemed to come fairly easily to me, maybe because I spent so long in the TARDIS. But the point is that I can probably get the boy's name, and where and when he's from. With luck, he'll be able to tell us how he got into the Rift."
Jack slid his shoulder holster on, checked to be sure his pistol was loaded, and pulled on his great coat. "Let's get going, then-now you've got me curious!"
***
The holding cells were nearly all full now. Jack held the door open for Rose, then followed a step behind her. She walked slowly down the hallway past five Weevils in their individual cells, each cowering against the far wall, toward the cell where the boy was being housed.
He lay huddled on the bunk at the back of the cell, eyes wide and frightened. Clearly, Owen's pill had worn off. Rose made straight for the cell and knelt down on the outside of the Plexiglass, getting down to the child's level. She said something that had the inflection of a greeting.
The child blinked in surprise, and responded in kind. He sat up slowly, as though unsure whether to trust her but willing to risk just this much. His brow was furrowed and he said something else-a question, perhaps.
Rose answered in a gentle tone, and he froze, with the expression of someone who's just received news they expected but had hoped not to hear. She's just told him we can't send him home, Jack thought. His heart went out to the boy. He knew what it was to be stranded in a time and place not his own. Bad enough when you'd chosen it, as Jack had, and when you knew it was a possibility; for this boy, time travel wasn't even in the realm of fantasy. He must be utterly bewildered, lost, and alone.
The conversation was continuing. It certainly sounded like Rose knew a lot more than 'a few words' of medieval French. Jack listened and watched as Rose spoke to him, making notes as he responded. He never relaxed, sitting as far from Rose as he could and making the sign of the cross repeatedly. Finally he shook his head and shrugged. Apparently he couldn't add any more.
Rose said a few more things in that same soothing voice, and smiled at him. He nodded soberly and lay back down, drawing the blankets over him. A muttering reached Jack's ears, words he actually could recognise: "Ave Maria, gratia plena…" Jack's heart broke just a little bit more, and he made a mental note to have Ianto find a rosary or a crucifix for him. Maybe it would help.
She rose to her feet, a bit stiffly, and turned to Jack, handing him the sheet of notes. "His name is André. He said he was on his way to Mass when he lost his balance and slipped sideways, as though he'd turned his foot. But when he'd gathered himself back up, he was by the side of the road here in Cardiff. He thought he'd died and gone to hell at first. In fact, I think he might still believe that." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Poor kid."
"I suppose a twenty-first century city would seem that way to a fifteenth-century boy." Jack glanced over the sheet. "Where's he from?"
"Some small town in eastern France. The view of the bay terrified him; he's never seen so much water in his life. He's not sure of the year he's from, but I asked him a few things, and it looks like Gwen was right about him being from the fifteenth century. Probably the first half, though I can't say for sure."
Jack chuckled and let his hand drop to his side, shaking his head. "You're absolutely amazing, you know that?"
Rose shrugged, but looked pleased. "Sixty years in Torchwood ought to have taught me something," she said. "Pity we couldn't get any other pertinent information from him, but-"
"It is coming."
The gravelly voice echoed off the rock, and both of them swivelled sharply to find its source. The boy André was standing right at the Plexiglass, hands splayed against it, staring at Rose with an expression as of a predator sighting its prey.
And he had spoken in English.
"Who's coming?" Jack demanded, sidling past Rose to stand in front of André. "And when?"
André ignored him; all his attention was on Rose. "Time searches for you," he said in that same gravelly voice. "It knows your scent. It knows your taste. It comes, and when it does, you shall know no more."
Jack shifted, moving to stand between the boy and Rose. "Time?" he repeated. "What do you mean, time? How can time search? And why would it be searching for Rose?"
"Jack," Rose said in a voice that trembled slightly. "Look at his eyes."
Jack looked, and recoiled slightly. The boy's eyes had gone from a light blue to a deep, blood red. They glowed in the dim light of the cells. All at once, the Weevils howled, in perfect tune with each other, so that the note seemed to penetrate Jack's body, shivering down his spine and reverberating in his skull.
"It is coming," André said again.
And then he collapsed in a heap, and the Weevils fell silent.
Jack had the door open in a second and was kneeling beside him, feeling for a pulse. Nothing, not even the faintest flicker of a heartbeat. Growling, he rolled the boy onto his back and tilted his head, breathing swiftly twice into his mouth before lacing his fingers together and beginning CPR. Thirty compressions, breathe, breathe, check the pulse-nothing. Thirty compressions, breathe, breathe, check the pulse-nothing. "Come on," he snarled, starting compressions again. "Don't you go all horror-monster on me and die now. Come back, damn you. Come back!"
"Jack," Rose said, shaking his shoulder roughly, and he realised she'd said his name twice already. He looked up at her. "He's gone, Jack," she said quietly. "And look at his skin."
Jack looked. His skin was pasty white, as though no blood had flowed through it in some time. He took the boy's hand. Stone-cold. Realisation hit him. "He's been dead," he said, shocked. "He's been dead for some time."
Rose nodded. "Something was keeping him alive," she said. "Probably just so it could warn me. But who? Or what? And why?"