The Doctor, for once, was not at the center of the blast. Probably all for the best, considering the guns involved, and that Romana already pulled a gun on him once, but the Doctor's not pleased about that. He found out after the injured were cleared out of the lobby, though with the blood still wet on the floor, and he's now standing in the doorway, eying Jack quietly.
"So you're going?" he asks after a moment, as if that wasn't obvious.
Jack's too tired, body, mind, and soul, to startle or cringe. He barely even glances back over his shoulder.
The Doctor. Great. Just the thing to round out his day.
"Seemed like the thing to do," he says. Run off, draw fire. "The closer I am to Torchwood, the more Romana will want to land the iron first of God on them." He unhooks a couple of the auxiliary cables from his laptop, tucking them into a side pouch of the backpack. "Can't put them on the losing end of a war just for my account."
The Doctor steps out of the doorway and moves slowly toward Jack, his expression unreadable. "I wasn't questioning it," he says simply. "Well, technically I was, but not in the way that you need to explain it to me. It's a good plan. It's what I'd do."
Jack would be surprised, at that, if he would work up the energy. As it is, it merits a vague eyebrow-raise. Are you trying to make me feel better? "I have a feeling you would have kept it from escalating this far in the first place."
At least, he's fairly certain the Doctor would not have shot Romana. ...then again, it's also quite possible that the Doctor would have died.
Donna might not be overly fond of Jack, all things considered, but she knows he's a pretty damn good leader (most of the time) and she knows Gwen respects him.
That and she has this sort of mother hen thing over pretty much the entire basement, Romana excepted. So, of course, having read Jack's post, she has to have one last moment.
Jack's just on a circuit of the room, making sure he hasn't missed anything (what is there to miss?) when he sees Donna in the doorway and stops. He... hasn't had much contact with her, aside from the incident just after the Calisto disaster, and he's not entirely sure what to think of her stopping by.
"Looks like it," he says. He'd try for a smile to play down everything, but he just doesn't have the energy. "Politics. Incidents. It's pretty much come to the point where I don't think my presence here will be helping."
That's answered by a thin, thin, bitter smile. "You'll manage better without me than with me, for the time being. My presence here would escalate things." He exhales. "...and you'll manage. Gwen has command of Torchwood. I'd trust her with a lot more than a basement."
He tilts his head at her next question. This again, is it? Hopefully she realizes that it's past the point where talking will fix anything.
"It'll work out," he says. I used to travel on my own... fairly frequently. It's nothing new."
Daniel hasn't known Jack for very long, but after hearing about what happened in the lobby, he can't let Jack leave without at least saying goodbye. He's a leader too. He knows why this has to happen. But that never makes it any easier.
So here he stands, watching from the doorway, not entirely sure what to say.
Jack glances back over his shoulder, catching Daniel in the doorway and giving him a vague at ease wave, not that he knows why. They're already stood down, and even if they weren't, he's not Jackson's commanding officer. Not anymore.
"Haven't decided yet," he says, with barely more flippancy than he feels. He just can't spare the effort to act, right now. "Probably somewhere in the city. Not much chance I'll be able to reverse the Rift on my own, but as far as I know, it's the only way back to my universe. I can't just walk away from it."
As for what happens when Romana mobilizes her angels to hunt him down, which she might well do... that's another question. Another problem. One he can't think about right now.
It's never a good idea to go off without a plan, without backup, and Daniel doesn't like it. He doesn't know why, but he trusts Jack, more than most people he's known throughout his entire life. The only thing stopping him from volunteering to go too is knowing that it might tip the balance too far, upset Jack's attempt to stabilize the situation. Daniel knows he would never accept that, not with lives at stake.
"This isn't over," he says quietly. "I'll play the part, try not to start more ripples in the pond, but if you need backup for anything, I'm there."
Jack meets his eyes. He doesn't smile - nothing about the situation is happy - but there's a shared recognition. There's something about being career military (or close enough to same) that civilians don't get, can't match, and the promise means a hell of a lot, coming from him.
"I appreciate that," he says. It won't be necessary. "...advise Gwen. While I'm gone. She's got a good instinct for command, but no formal training."
It stands in for all the things he can't say. Look after my people. They need someone to watch over them more than I do.
Tosh got to the lobby rather late. After all the shooting was over, but soon enough to hear the tail end of Jack's speech, see his promotion of Gwen...
She's standing in the doorway of his room now, arms folded and pressed tight against her chest - she can barely breathe anyway, it doesn't much matter that her arms are pressed into her diaphragm and making it difficult. She should say something now. She really should. But watching Jack pack, she can't really think of anything to say, so she's just left... standing there. Staring at him.
Jack doesn't actually register that there's someone watching him for a while. Jokes in poor taste about Tosh and her ninja-like stealth aside, his ears are buzzing and his attention is elsewhere, and with his back to the door, it takes him a while.
But he does catch her, eventually, out of the corner of his eye. Turns to see who it is, and, on recognizing her, lays down the shirt he'd folded and motions her in.
Tosh steps inside as he motions her in, just a few steps, and then she stops again. Her heart's beating too fast, and her throat feels like it's closed up just enough that she can't quite breathe right, that talking feels almost impossible.
She looks to his face, then away again.
"You're leaving."
It's not a question. She just wants to hear him say it, hear him tell her he's leaving, not just announce it to a room full of half the basement. Tell me you're not really going.
He can see that plea in her eyes, and it hurts all the more that he can't answer it. Not in the way she wants, anyway. He can't say he's not going to go.
"...I have to," he says, eventually, quietly. "It's that or a war between Romana's archangels and Torchwood, and we can't have that." He steps up, hesitates, not quite sure if he can approach or should. "You have a mission to complete. You have to get these people home."
Jack turns to look at him, trying to put the stone in his stomach away long enough to form words comfortably. It doesn't work out.
"It's true," he says. "Blood on the carpets - again - and sidearm negotiations."
He doesn't say that it was the only way to keep a bad situation from turning catastrophic. He doesn't say where he's going - he doesn't know - or leave instructions for how Torchwood is to perform in his absence. For anyone else, maybe he would. With Ianto, it seems superfluous.
And how damnably ironic that the Rift saw fit to give him so many people back, only to rip them away again.
"I'll have them cleaned." Ianto states quietly, as though nothing terrible was happening. As though this wasn't happening at all.
He shifts, awkwardly, hands in his pockets. Sure, this wasn't the Jack he knew, but it was Jack. Their leader, slipping away again, and no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, it hurt.
"Be careful," the emotion finally slips into voice, something unsettled, uncertain. Sure, he trusted Gwen with his life. It's how they all had survived when Jack left their universe, but now that it's happening again...
Jack laughs - a short, utterly mirthless noise that cuts off almost as soon as it's begun. Might as well be the end of everything, from his perspective, but at least the carpets will be clean.
"You too," he says. Tries not to add Try not to get killed. "Look after everyone."
He shifts his weight, trying to read Ianto's body language, wondering whether to cross the distance or stay where he is.
Little things. Carpets. This. When they're all that's left, they mean a great deal.
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"So you're going?" he asks after a moment, as if that wasn't obvious.
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The Doctor. Great. Just the thing to round out his day.
"Seemed like the thing to do," he says. Run off, draw fire. "The closer I am to Torchwood, the more Romana will want to land the iron first of God on them." He unhooks a couple of the auxiliary cables from his laptop, tucking them into a side pouch of the backpack. "Can't put them on the losing end of a war just for my account."
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At least, he's fairly certain the Doctor would not have shot Romana. ...then again, it's also quite possible that the Doctor would have died.
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That and she has this sort of mother hen thing over pretty much the entire basement, Romana excepted. So, of course, having read Jack's post, she has to have one last moment.
"You're leaving, then?"
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(what is there to miss?) when he sees Donna in the doorway and stops. He... hasn't had much contact with her, aside from the incident just after the Calisto disaster, and he's not entirely sure what to think of her stopping by.
"Looks like it," he says. He'd try for a smile to play down everything, but he just doesn't have the energy. "Politics. Incidents. It's pretty much come to the point where I don't think my presence here will be helping."
That's an understatement.
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It's not meant to be passive-aggressive, though it may come across as being a little bit so.
But her face softens, and she steps inside a foot or two. "Are you going to be all right?"
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He tilts his head at her next question. This again, is it? Hopefully she realizes that it's past the point where talking will fix anything.
"It'll work out," he says. I used to travel on my own... fairly frequently. It's nothing new."
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So here he stands, watching from the doorway, not entirely sure what to say.
"Where will you go?" he asks finally.
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"Haven't decided yet," he says, with barely more flippancy than he feels. He just can't spare the effort to act, right now. "Probably somewhere in the city. Not much chance I'll be able to reverse the Rift on my own, but as far as I know, it's the only way back to my universe. I can't just walk away from it."
As for what happens when Romana mobilizes her angels to hunt him down, which she might well do... that's another question. Another problem. One he can't think about right now.
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"This isn't over," he says quietly. "I'll play the part, try not to start more ripples in the pond, but if you need backup for anything, I'm there."
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"I appreciate that," he says. It won't be necessary. "...advise Gwen. While I'm gone. She's got a good instinct for command, but no formal training."
It stands in for all the things he can't say. Look after my people. They need someone to watch over them more than I do.
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She's standing in the doorway of his room now, arms folded and pressed tight against her chest - she can barely breathe anyway, it doesn't much matter that her arms are pressed into her diaphragm and making it difficult. She should say something now. She really should. But watching Jack pack, she can't really think of anything to say, so she's just left... standing there. Staring at him.
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But he does catch her, eventually, out of the corner of his eye. Turns to see who it is, and, on recognizing her, lays down the shirt he'd folded and motions her in.
"...hey."
It's about all he can think of to say, right now.
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She looks to his face, then away again.
"You're leaving."
It's not a question. She just wants to hear him say it, hear him tell her he's leaving, not just announce it to a room full of half the basement. Tell me you're not really going.
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"...I have to," he says, eventually, quietly. "It's that or a war between Romana's archangels and Torchwood, and we can't have that." He steps up, hesitates, not quite sure if he can approach or should. "You have a mission to complete. You have to get these people home."
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He leans in against the doorway, silent for a moment, as though he's searching for words.
"So it's true, then?" His voice is even, steady. That's just how he is, but the emotion is there in his eyes.
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"It's true," he says. "Blood on the carpets - again - and sidearm negotiations."
He doesn't say that it was the only way to keep a bad situation from turning catastrophic. He doesn't say where he's going - he doesn't know - or leave instructions for how Torchwood is to perform in his absence. For anyone else, maybe he would. With Ianto, it seems superfluous.
And how damnably ironic that the Rift saw fit to give him so many people back, only to rip them away again.
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He shifts, awkwardly, hands in his pockets. Sure, this wasn't the Jack he knew, but it was Jack. Their leader, slipping away again, and no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, it hurt.
"Be careful," the emotion finally slips into voice, something unsettled, uncertain. Sure, he trusted Gwen with his life. It's how they all had survived when Jack left their universe, but now that it's happening again...
He doesn't know what to think.
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"You too," he says. Tries not to add Try not to get killed. "Look after everyone."
He shifts his weight, trying to read Ianto's body language, wondering whether to cross the distance or stay where he is.
Little things. Carpets. This. When they're all that's left, they mean a great deal.
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