Fic: The Cold Heaven 6/10 + Epilogue
Story: The Cold Heaven
Author: wmr / wendymr
Characters: Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor (Duplicate), other canon and original characters
Rated: PG13
Disclaimer: I think you all know by now that I don't own them!
Spoilers: DW: up to Journey's End; TW: up to Children of Earth. NO SPOILERS for the DW specials
Summary: "They say black holes are like gateways to another universe" - Rose Tyler, The Impossible Planet
With very many thanks to dark_aegis, kae_nine and yamx for beta-reading beyond the call of duty.
Chapter 1: Gateway l Chapter 2: Impossible and Immovable l Chapter 3: Truth and Daring l Chapter 4: Flight l Chapter 5: Opening the Floodgates
Chapter 6: Finding Routines
He’s struggling to find words, but they’re just not coming right at this second. Him, lost for words! But it’s astounding, really. Does Jack really think he’s so unwelcome here with the two of them?
Or is it that he loathes himself so much he can’t believe that other people - most of all, people he loves - wouldn’t too?
“Jack-” Rose begins, but he stops her with a hand on her shoulder. This is his problem to solve. He’s the one who abandoned Jack and then ignored him for well over a hundred years of the man’s timeline. It’s about time he started making up for some of it.
“Of course we don’t have to send you back immediately. You need some time. That’s understandable. But I don’t want to hear you saying any more about imposing on us. That’s nonsense, that is. Absolutely ridiculous. As ridiculous as-”
“You’ll stay with us,” Rose cuts in. “Course you will. You’re our friend. Where else would you go?”
“Stay,” he says, quietly, firmly, before Jack can respond. “Or go. Whatever you want.” Because he’s made more than enough decisions for other people. “Stay here and come and work with us. Or stay at home and tinker with stuff, if you prefer. Or talk Pete into giving you a lab and go and invent something useful. Or spend your days sleeping and your nights exploring. Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s what you want. No demands, no responsibilities, no expectations.”
Above all, what Jack needs is time. Lots and lots of it; just because he’s broken his silence and actually told them what happened doesn’t mean everything’s going to be all right. Far from it. He needs patience and understanding too, yes - and Rose would point out that he also needs love, but that goes without saying, really, doesn’t it? The point is that they’re all things he’ll get if he stays here. If he goes back... well, what’s to stop him from throwing himself straight into another black hole?
Certainly not himself - the other Doctor, the Time Lord. Jack’s been avoiding him, from the sound of it. And he knows himself well enough to be aware that that Doctor will try only just so hard to find Jack - because, after all, finding him would involve consequences. Having to talk about important things, for example, and to acknowledge that he has a responsibility to Jack. And, perhaps, having to explain why he hadn’t been there. Why he hadn’t helped.
“Jack?” he prompts again as Jack says nothing. The Captain’s walked to the other side of the kitchen, past the island, and is tracing the edge of the marble countertop with his index finger. “Would you like to stay here, with us?”
Jack glances up, and his expression holds so much pain, so much desperate longing. “Please,” he whispers.
In less than a second, Rose is on her way to his side. “Then you’re staying. End of story,” she pronounces as she wraps her arms around him.
***
It’s a busy few days after that, with no time to talk properly. She can’t help thinking that Jack’s at least partly engineering it that way on purpose.
They take him shopping. He doesn’t just need clothes, but everything: shoes, toiletries, a mobile phone, watch, all kinds of things. The Doctor suggests looking for a long navy greatcoat, and instantly she remembers looking up, as she sat beside an injured Doctor on a London street full of burned-out cars, to see a coat like that: her first glimpse of Jack in five years.
But Jack vetoes the suggestion immediately, and also the trousers with braces the Doctor finds. Instead, he chooses black jeans, half a dozen black T-shirts and a battered leather jacket he finds in a charity shop and insists on buying, despite her offer to make him a gift of a new one.
He wants to make a complete break from the Jack Harkness he was in the other universe; that much is obvious. But it’s more than that. All that black - a gesture towards mourning, even if it’s subconscious? Or is he trying to fade into the background, instead of being the charismatic, larger-than-life man everyone notices? And is it just a coincidence that he’s going for a look similar to their first Doctor?
Whatever it is, Jack’s not saying - but she’s watching and wondering and analysing.
He insists, as well, that he’s going to find a job as soon as he has a full set of identity documents, and since he carefully folds each receipt and puts it inside the new wallet he chose she’s pretty sure that he’s planning on paying the two of them back for all of this.
They go to see her dad later, as instructed, and have a full debriefing in a secure conference-room about what happened at the Space Exploration Centre. Her dad also questions Jack in uncomfortable detail about his black hole experience; Jack answers the questions, but in a very clipped, unemotional tone, what she once might have called his soldier persona. Now, though, she understands that the only way he can bring himself to talk about certain things is by detaching himself from events.
Her dad gets the message after a bit and changes the subject. “We’re still working on the rest of your paperwork. The computer work’s all done; we just need some more photos for your passport and other stuff. Your birth certificate and national insurance number card are ready, so you’re all legal now.”
Jack even smiles faintly. “I wouldn’t feel the same without forged documents.”
Right. Of course - if he’s lived through a century and a half on Earth, then of course all his identity details would be faked. Have to be. There’s no way he could use a passport or driving licence that said he was over a hundred years old - and as for his real date of birth, no-one would believe it.
“Now that’s sorted,” her dad continues, “the Doctor’s vouched for you, Captain Jack Harkness, and that’s good enough for me. I still want to get you in for a couple of days of weapons assessment, all the same. See what’s what. Once that’s sorted, I’ve got a field team all ready for you to lead.”
Jack stands so abruptly that his chair crashes to the floor. “No.”
“Not a good idea, Pete,” the Doctor says, also standing and moving so that he’s shoulder to shoulder with Jack.
It’s a terrible idea, but of course her dad doesn’t know that. Jack’s nowhere near ready to feel comfortable commanding a team again. He will be, she’s sure of that; he’s too good at what he does, and too instinctive a leader, to stay like this for ever. But right now it’s the very worst thing anyone could suggest for him.
She suspects, even, that right now he couldn’t even bring himself to hold a gun.
Her dad’s frowning, getting to his feet. “The Doctor said you ran Torchwood in your universe, Jack. What’s the problem?”
“Dad.” She moves quickly around the table and lays her hand on his arm. “Long story, an’ it’s not something Jack wants to talk about. Just drop it, okay?”
“All right.” Her dad’s looking very curious, but accepting. And Jack’s coming back to the table.
“Mr Tyler - Pete.” Jack sounds his normal self now. “I do need a job. If you’d be willing to let me work in any other capacity I’d be grateful. I’m good with engines - very good. The Doctor can tell you that.”
The Doctor nods with enthusiasm. “He is. There’s not many people I would’ve allowed to work on my TARDIS. Jack was one of the few.”
“All right.” Her dad nods once. “I’m sure we can find you something. Right now - and this is classified information, so it doesn’t leave this room - we’re working on modifying a helicopter for field missions. Reducing the fan blade noise and radar signature, precision lift-offs and boosting the overall speed of the copter to near-jet accelerations. We're also upgrading the on-board surveillance and search and rescue avionics. Interested?”
“Yeah.” Jack’s smile is almost genuine. “Thanks.”
Time to change the subject - and, anyway, she wants the answer to this. “What happened with Carlton, Dad?”
Her dad’s smile isn’t at all nice. “Just told her that you two are squeamish about certain things. Bit soft that way. Said you told me the bloke you were sent to investigate was being tortured so you couldn’t stay. Told her I couldn’t possibly believe that she’d be involved with anything like that, an’ I’d be willing to send over some operatives if she wanted an independent investigation of the complaint.” The humourless smile widens. “She said that wouldn’t be necessary. Oh, and that she was mistaken about the missing person. Hunt’s called off.”
“Good,” she says roughly.
“I’d still like to shut the place down,” the Doctor comments coldly. Of course, in the old days he would have. He always gave people a chance, true, but if they didn’t take it, if they don’t stop killing or hurting other people, he’d turn the wrath of the Oncoming Storm on them.
“Some other time, maybe,” Jack says, and just for a second there’s a flash of the old Jack. Not for long, though, and once they leave her dad’s office and Jack’s escorted off to the hangar where the helicopter’s being built.
As the construction areas are a couple of miles away from Canary Wharf, it’s the last they see of him for hours. He arrives home late, pleads tiredness, and disappears off to bed, and that becomes the pattern for the rest of the week.
It’s as if he’s not there at all.
***
It feels good to be building something for a change, instead of destroying things.
It’s hot and dirty work in the hangar, and sometimes it’s dull and routine, but it still feels better than anything he’s done in a very long time. The people he works with seem a bit suspicious at first, probably wary of him due to his association with the big boss, but gradually, as they realise he knows what he’s talking about and he’s not trying to take over, they come to accept him. He’s not looking for their admiration, anyway, or their friendship. He’s had enough of that and its consequences.
He puts in long, hot days, leaving the hangar around eight or nine every evening, filthy and physically exhausted. Ianto would be horrified, but it feels good. He drives himself back to the Doctor and Rose’s house in a beat-up hatchback that used to be a Vitex runabout until someone ran it into a lamppost, arriving there after the two of them have eaten and have settled into whatever they’re doing for the evening. They’ve always kept food for him; he thanks them, points out that he needs a shower and says he won’t disturb them. He takes the food to his room and stays there until morning. It’s a routine, and it works.
Yes, he told them he wanted to stay with them, and part of him wanted it so much he ached. But it didn’t take long to realise that being around them is an entirely different kind of torture. It’s a reminder of days when they ran around the universe together, nothing on their minds but the next adventure. So much has changed since then; none of them is the same person now. It’s easier to avoid them than to spend hours pretending that it’s possible to recapture something that doesn’t exist any more. Easier to work all the hours he can, pretending that it’s what’s needed for the job, and then that he’s too tired to be good company.
Even with the physical exhaustion of long days in the hangar, though, he still finds sleep elusive. These days, he’s getting probably three hours or so a night, though that’s more than he got in the first few months after he walked away from Steven’s corpse and Alice’s accusing eyes. It’s hard, too, to lie in bed in the room next to the Doctor and Rose when he can hear them, most nights, enjoying each other.
It’s better than hearing them talking about him, which he has once or twice even if he couldn’t hear everything they were saying.
He should be pleased for them. Is pleased for them. All that time on the TARDIS, all that unresolved sexual tension and longing looks. All that time they were separated, never knowing if they’d see each other again. It’s hard, all the same. He loved them too, after all, all those years ago.
They worry about him, he understands from the bits he’s overheard. But they’re giving him space. Giving him time and hoping that when he’s ready he’ll spend more time with them, talk to them more. Let them help him.
The problem is, they think he deserves to be helped. They don’t see the truth, and that’s what makes it difficult to be around them. Yet the insane thing is that he doesn’t want to be away from them either.
So he stays in their house, joins them for breakfast every morning - usually a hurried meal with little time for conversation - and otherwise keeps to himself. They shouldn’t have to deal with him more than absolutely necessary, anyway.
***
They said they’d be patient, give him time, give him the space to be comfortable and become more himself again. But it’s been over two weeks and he’s still avoiding them. She’s had enough of waiting. It’s time to take action.
If the mountain won’t go to Mohammed and all that...
She doesn’t call first. Why give him a chance to come up with an excuse? She just sends out to her favourite sandwich shop for a carefully-chosen selection, grabs a couple of bottles of fruit juice, and drives down to the hangar where Jack works a few minutes before she knows the mechanics break for lunch.
A group of half a dozen or so comes out first, and Jack’s not with them. He’s not with the stragglers who come out in smaller groups a few minutes later, all heading towards the communal building where there’s a canteen and games-room. Just as she’s about to go inside and look for him, he emerges, stretching his neck and rotating his shoulders.
“Jack.”
He starts, then frowns in her direction. “Something wrong?” His brows draw together. “Nothing’s happened to the Doctor, has it?” There’s genuine alarm in his voice, and that gives her hope.
“Nah, course not.” She summons a bright smile. “Just wanted to have lunch with you, that’s all.”
A shuttered look covers his face. “I... it’s not a good time, Rose.”
“No?” She moves closer to him, deliberately crowding him. “You got other plans? Somewhere you need to be? Doesn’t look like it to me.” She waves the bag in front of his face. “You’re not gonna make me eat all this by myself, are you?”
He sniffs, and she knows the precise moment when the aroma of freshly-cooked bacon sarnie overcomes his reluctance. “Damn it, Rose, you always did know my weaknesses.”
Not any more, she can’t help thinking. He’s changed so much. It’s just fortunate that this particular taste hasn’t. They’ve already learned that he seems to have an aversion to coffee now; the first morning she poured him a cup from the fresh brew she’d made especially for him, he looked as if he was going to throw up.
“Come on.” She links her hand through his arm. “Bet you haven’t found the executive dining-room yet.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You in the executive dining-room, Rose? You’ve come a long way.”
“Helps being the boss’s daughter. But I was kidding.” She leads him away from the cluster of buildings and towards a path into a small clump of trees. In the middle, there’s a clearing with a picnic table, and this sunny autumn day is perfect for eating outdoors.
She lets him sit first, then sits opposite and spreads out the food, while Jack makes an obvious effort at stilted conversation, asking her about her job and what she’s been doing in the years since she ended up in this universe. It’s a start. It’s not what she intends to talk to him about, but at least he’s talking.
He finishes his sandwich, takes a long drink of juice, then gives her a resigned look. “Go on, then.”
“What?”
“You didn’t come all the way out here just to bring me a bacon sandwich. What’s on your mind?”
She holds his gaze. “You, of course.” He just waits for her to continue. “Well, how else can I get to spend time with you? You’ve been here over two weeks and we’ve barely seen you. ‘S like living with a ghost.”
His head dips. “I don’t want to be in the way.”
She snorts. “That’s rubbish! When were you ever in the way before? The three of us always did everything together.”
He looks at her again, his expression ironic. “You weren’t a couple then.”
“Since when does being a couple mean you forget your friends? That’s just an excuse, Jack. We wouldn’t have asked you to stay if we didn’t want you around.”
He shrugs, but says nothing, just looks down at the table. And then she stills. “It’s me, isn’t it? You still blame me.”
“What?” His head jerks up again.
She controls her voice as she speaks, and just hopes that her instinct is right. “For making you immortal. I should’ve remembered. When we found you in the lab, you told the Doctor to get me out of your sight, that you never wanted to see my face again. Of course you don’t want to be around me.”
“Rose...” He exhales noisily, and the look in his eyes tells her that he’s levelling with her, not trying to hide his real feelings. “Look, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some mixed feelings. But I don’t blame you. How can I? It’s not like you knew what you were doing, and anyway, how can I blame you for wanting me alive? It’s just that the way it happened it’s been more of a curse most of the time.”
It’s her turn to exhale, silently and with relief. Her bluff was right. Mixed feelings she can cope with; outright blame would be a lot harder.
She stretches her hand across the table in silent invitation. After a second, he reaches across and takes it in his own.
“I love you, you know that, right?” She curls her fingers around his. “It hurts me that you don’t want to spend time with us. It hurts me to know that you’re hurting, and even more to know there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
His hand clenches painfully around hers. “It’s not as simple as that, Rose. I’m not the same person you knew before.”
She shrugs, holding his gaze. “You think I don’t know that? Or that I couldn’t understand?” He’s the one who doesn’t get it yet. Not by a long way. “Just think about who I’ve been living with for the past two years. And how long I travelled with him alone before that. Think about what he’s lived through. You think he’s over all that just because he’s half-human now?”
His eyes widen for a moment, and then his head dips to the side and he smiles wryly. It’s an expression she remembers well, and it’s reassuring to see that there are still flashes of the old Jack there.
Leaning across the table, she rests a hand on his shoulder and brushes the gentlest of kisses against his lips. “You don’t have to spend time with us if you don’t want to. ‘Course you don’t. We’d like you to, but it’s your choice, all right? Whatever you want to do, it’s okay with me. With us. I just wanted you to know that.”
She stands, gathers together the debris of their lunch, and turns to walk away. Jack says her name, and she turns back.
“Thank you.” He’s still sitting, clenched fists resting on the table, but his eyes tell her he means it.
“Welcome.” With a wave, she leaves.
***
Part of him wants nothing more than to take her up on that invitation, to fall into the habit of spending his evenings and weekends with them, to become part of their lives. But that way lies the kind of loss and pain he’s sworn never to lay himself open to again.
He wasn’t exaggerating when he told Rose his immortality’s a curse. Everyone he loves is taken from him, over and over and over. After Ianto, after Steven - and Alice, who’ll never again believe he loves her - he can’t do it again. Of course he loves the Doctor and Rose. There was never any doubt about that. But getting close to them, letting himself get pulled into their orbit again, only to be sent away whenever the Doctor decides it’s time for him to go? Or, assuming even for one moment that he gets to stay here, watching them die some day?
No. Never again.
Of course, he’s too much of a coward to walk away completely, so he stays, brushing shoulders with them, metaphorically speaking, once or twice a day, sending texts to let them know not to wait up for him, finding notes on the fridge in Rose’s handwriting when he does get in. She always signs them love, Rose - even before she ambushed him with bacon sandwiches.
The day after, he has to stop himself from ending his text message love, Jack.
It’s tempting, too, three mornings later when Rose is describing an investigation that’s got her team baffled over breakfast, to jump in, ask the questions the Doctor isn’t and get involved. Strange markings left on the walls of abandoned buildings and on railway bridges, at first thought to be graffiti but, after an analysis of the paint, suspected to be alien. Not a language the Doctor recognises, he says, studying the photographs Rose has brought home, though he promises to come and look at the paint later.
“Want to bet he’s gonna lick it?” she says, grinning at Jack.
The Doctor just grins back, not denying the charge. But all day his focus is shot to pieces, memories of inexplicable alien messages in his head. Oh, odd symbols on walls is nothing like children chanting in unison, but it still brings it all back to him: puzzling over the recordings, adrenalin pumping as the three of them worked together, never once doubting that they’d get to the bottom of it - Torchwood triumphant again.
Until he realised exactly what - who - they were up against.
And that night, when he finally falls asleep, he’s driving that bus through the wilds of Scotland again, and when he stops it every child has Ianto’s face.
He dreams of that upstairs room in Whitehall, where the 456 taunted the human race from inside that tank, the one they had their human pawns construct for them. He sees the child inside the tank, hooked up to the alien. And when the child turns to face him, he’s wearing Steven’s face.
He cries out, begging the alien to let his grandson go - and when the creature turns, the fog clears and the alien’s wearing his own face.
***
tbc in chapter 7: Reconstruction
Author: wmr / wendymr
Characters: Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor (Duplicate), other canon and original characters
Rated: PG13
Disclaimer: I think you all know by now that I don't own them!
Spoilers: DW: up to Journey's End; TW: up to Children of Earth. NO SPOILERS for the DW specials
Summary: "They say black holes are like gateways to another universe" - Rose Tyler, The Impossible Planet
With very many thanks to dark_aegis, kae_nine and yamx for beta-reading beyond the call of duty.
Chapter 1: Gateway l Chapter 2: Impossible and Immovable l Chapter 3: Truth and Daring l Chapter 4: Flight l Chapter 5: Opening the Floodgates
Chapter 6: Finding Routines
He’s struggling to find words, but they’re just not coming right at this second. Him, lost for words! But it’s astounding, really. Does Jack really think he’s so unwelcome here with the two of them?
Or is it that he loathes himself so much he can’t believe that other people - most of all, people he loves - wouldn’t too?
“Jack-” Rose begins, but he stops her with a hand on her shoulder. This is his problem to solve. He’s the one who abandoned Jack and then ignored him for well over a hundred years of the man’s timeline. It’s about time he started making up for some of it.
“Of course we don’t have to send you back immediately. You need some time. That’s understandable. But I don’t want to hear you saying any more about imposing on us. That’s nonsense, that is. Absolutely ridiculous. As ridiculous as-”
“You’ll stay with us,” Rose cuts in. “Course you will. You’re our friend. Where else would you go?”
“Stay,” he says, quietly, firmly, before Jack can respond. “Or go. Whatever you want.” Because he’s made more than enough decisions for other people. “Stay here and come and work with us. Or stay at home and tinker with stuff, if you prefer. Or talk Pete into giving you a lab and go and invent something useful. Or spend your days sleeping and your nights exploring. Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s what you want. No demands, no responsibilities, no expectations.”
Above all, what Jack needs is time. Lots and lots of it; just because he’s broken his silence and actually told them what happened doesn’t mean everything’s going to be all right. Far from it. He needs patience and understanding too, yes - and Rose would point out that he also needs love, but that goes without saying, really, doesn’t it? The point is that they’re all things he’ll get if he stays here. If he goes back... well, what’s to stop him from throwing himself straight into another black hole?
Certainly not himself - the other Doctor, the Time Lord. Jack’s been avoiding him, from the sound of it. And he knows himself well enough to be aware that that Doctor will try only just so hard to find Jack - because, after all, finding him would involve consequences. Having to talk about important things, for example, and to acknowledge that he has a responsibility to Jack. And, perhaps, having to explain why he hadn’t been there. Why he hadn’t helped.
“Jack?” he prompts again as Jack says nothing. The Captain’s walked to the other side of the kitchen, past the island, and is tracing the edge of the marble countertop with his index finger. “Would you like to stay here, with us?”
Jack glances up, and his expression holds so much pain, so much desperate longing. “Please,” he whispers.
In less than a second, Rose is on her way to his side. “Then you’re staying. End of story,” she pronounces as she wraps her arms around him.
***
It’s a busy few days after that, with no time to talk properly. She can’t help thinking that Jack’s at least partly engineering it that way on purpose.
They take him shopping. He doesn’t just need clothes, but everything: shoes, toiletries, a mobile phone, watch, all kinds of things. The Doctor suggests looking for a long navy greatcoat, and instantly she remembers looking up, as she sat beside an injured Doctor on a London street full of burned-out cars, to see a coat like that: her first glimpse of Jack in five years.
But Jack vetoes the suggestion immediately, and also the trousers with braces the Doctor finds. Instead, he chooses black jeans, half a dozen black T-shirts and a battered leather jacket he finds in a charity shop and insists on buying, despite her offer to make him a gift of a new one.
He wants to make a complete break from the Jack Harkness he was in the other universe; that much is obvious. But it’s more than that. All that black - a gesture towards mourning, even if it’s subconscious? Or is he trying to fade into the background, instead of being the charismatic, larger-than-life man everyone notices? And is it just a coincidence that he’s going for a look similar to their first Doctor?
Whatever it is, Jack’s not saying - but she’s watching and wondering and analysing.
He insists, as well, that he’s going to find a job as soon as he has a full set of identity documents, and since he carefully folds each receipt and puts it inside the new wallet he chose she’s pretty sure that he’s planning on paying the two of them back for all of this.
They go to see her dad later, as instructed, and have a full debriefing in a secure conference-room about what happened at the Space Exploration Centre. Her dad also questions Jack in uncomfortable detail about his black hole experience; Jack answers the questions, but in a very clipped, unemotional tone, what she once might have called his soldier persona. Now, though, she understands that the only way he can bring himself to talk about certain things is by detaching himself from events.
Her dad gets the message after a bit and changes the subject. “We’re still working on the rest of your paperwork. The computer work’s all done; we just need some more photos for your passport and other stuff. Your birth certificate and national insurance number card are ready, so you’re all legal now.”
Jack even smiles faintly. “I wouldn’t feel the same without forged documents.”
Right. Of course - if he’s lived through a century and a half on Earth, then of course all his identity details would be faked. Have to be. There’s no way he could use a passport or driving licence that said he was over a hundred years old - and as for his real date of birth, no-one would believe it.
“Now that’s sorted,” her dad continues, “the Doctor’s vouched for you, Captain Jack Harkness, and that’s good enough for me. I still want to get you in for a couple of days of weapons assessment, all the same. See what’s what. Once that’s sorted, I’ve got a field team all ready for you to lead.”
Jack stands so abruptly that his chair crashes to the floor. “No.”
“Not a good idea, Pete,” the Doctor says, also standing and moving so that he’s shoulder to shoulder with Jack.
It’s a terrible idea, but of course her dad doesn’t know that. Jack’s nowhere near ready to feel comfortable commanding a team again. He will be, she’s sure of that; he’s too good at what he does, and too instinctive a leader, to stay like this for ever. But right now it’s the very worst thing anyone could suggest for him.
She suspects, even, that right now he couldn’t even bring himself to hold a gun.
Her dad’s frowning, getting to his feet. “The Doctor said you ran Torchwood in your universe, Jack. What’s the problem?”
“Dad.” She moves quickly around the table and lays her hand on his arm. “Long story, an’ it’s not something Jack wants to talk about. Just drop it, okay?”
“All right.” Her dad’s looking very curious, but accepting. And Jack’s coming back to the table.
“Mr Tyler - Pete.” Jack sounds his normal self now. “I do need a job. If you’d be willing to let me work in any other capacity I’d be grateful. I’m good with engines - very good. The Doctor can tell you that.”
The Doctor nods with enthusiasm. “He is. There’s not many people I would’ve allowed to work on my TARDIS. Jack was one of the few.”
“All right.” Her dad nods once. “I’m sure we can find you something. Right now - and this is classified information, so it doesn’t leave this room - we’re working on modifying a helicopter for field missions. Reducing the fan blade noise and radar signature, precision lift-offs and boosting the overall speed of the copter to near-jet accelerations. We're also upgrading the on-board surveillance and search and rescue avionics. Interested?”
“Yeah.” Jack’s smile is almost genuine. “Thanks.”
Time to change the subject - and, anyway, she wants the answer to this. “What happened with Carlton, Dad?”
Her dad’s smile isn’t at all nice. “Just told her that you two are squeamish about certain things. Bit soft that way. Said you told me the bloke you were sent to investigate was being tortured so you couldn’t stay. Told her I couldn’t possibly believe that she’d be involved with anything like that, an’ I’d be willing to send over some operatives if she wanted an independent investigation of the complaint.” The humourless smile widens. “She said that wouldn’t be necessary. Oh, and that she was mistaken about the missing person. Hunt’s called off.”
“Good,” she says roughly.
“I’d still like to shut the place down,” the Doctor comments coldly. Of course, in the old days he would have. He always gave people a chance, true, but if they didn’t take it, if they don’t stop killing or hurting other people, he’d turn the wrath of the Oncoming Storm on them.
“Some other time, maybe,” Jack says, and just for a second there’s a flash of the old Jack. Not for long, though, and once they leave her dad’s office and Jack’s escorted off to the hangar where the helicopter’s being built.
As the construction areas are a couple of miles away from Canary Wharf, it’s the last they see of him for hours. He arrives home late, pleads tiredness, and disappears off to bed, and that becomes the pattern for the rest of the week.
It’s as if he’s not there at all.
***
It feels good to be building something for a change, instead of destroying things.
It’s hot and dirty work in the hangar, and sometimes it’s dull and routine, but it still feels better than anything he’s done in a very long time. The people he works with seem a bit suspicious at first, probably wary of him due to his association with the big boss, but gradually, as they realise he knows what he’s talking about and he’s not trying to take over, they come to accept him. He’s not looking for their admiration, anyway, or their friendship. He’s had enough of that and its consequences.
He puts in long, hot days, leaving the hangar around eight or nine every evening, filthy and physically exhausted. Ianto would be horrified, but it feels good. He drives himself back to the Doctor and Rose’s house in a beat-up hatchback that used to be a Vitex runabout until someone ran it into a lamppost, arriving there after the two of them have eaten and have settled into whatever they’re doing for the evening. They’ve always kept food for him; he thanks them, points out that he needs a shower and says he won’t disturb them. He takes the food to his room and stays there until morning. It’s a routine, and it works.
Yes, he told them he wanted to stay with them, and part of him wanted it so much he ached. But it didn’t take long to realise that being around them is an entirely different kind of torture. It’s a reminder of days when they ran around the universe together, nothing on their minds but the next adventure. So much has changed since then; none of them is the same person now. It’s easier to avoid them than to spend hours pretending that it’s possible to recapture something that doesn’t exist any more. Easier to work all the hours he can, pretending that it’s what’s needed for the job, and then that he’s too tired to be good company.
Even with the physical exhaustion of long days in the hangar, though, he still finds sleep elusive. These days, he’s getting probably three hours or so a night, though that’s more than he got in the first few months after he walked away from Steven’s corpse and Alice’s accusing eyes. It’s hard, too, to lie in bed in the room next to the Doctor and Rose when he can hear them, most nights, enjoying each other.
It’s better than hearing them talking about him, which he has once or twice even if he couldn’t hear everything they were saying.
He should be pleased for them. Is pleased for them. All that time on the TARDIS, all that unresolved sexual tension and longing looks. All that time they were separated, never knowing if they’d see each other again. It’s hard, all the same. He loved them too, after all, all those years ago.
They worry about him, he understands from the bits he’s overheard. But they’re giving him space. Giving him time and hoping that when he’s ready he’ll spend more time with them, talk to them more. Let them help him.
The problem is, they think he deserves to be helped. They don’t see the truth, and that’s what makes it difficult to be around them. Yet the insane thing is that he doesn’t want to be away from them either.
So he stays in their house, joins them for breakfast every morning - usually a hurried meal with little time for conversation - and otherwise keeps to himself. They shouldn’t have to deal with him more than absolutely necessary, anyway.
***
They said they’d be patient, give him time, give him the space to be comfortable and become more himself again. But it’s been over two weeks and he’s still avoiding them. She’s had enough of waiting. It’s time to take action.
If the mountain won’t go to Mohammed and all that...
She doesn’t call first. Why give him a chance to come up with an excuse? She just sends out to her favourite sandwich shop for a carefully-chosen selection, grabs a couple of bottles of fruit juice, and drives down to the hangar where Jack works a few minutes before she knows the mechanics break for lunch.
A group of half a dozen or so comes out first, and Jack’s not with them. He’s not with the stragglers who come out in smaller groups a few minutes later, all heading towards the communal building where there’s a canteen and games-room. Just as she’s about to go inside and look for him, he emerges, stretching his neck and rotating his shoulders.
“Jack.”
He starts, then frowns in her direction. “Something wrong?” His brows draw together. “Nothing’s happened to the Doctor, has it?” There’s genuine alarm in his voice, and that gives her hope.
“Nah, course not.” She summons a bright smile. “Just wanted to have lunch with you, that’s all.”
A shuttered look covers his face. “I... it’s not a good time, Rose.”
“No?” She moves closer to him, deliberately crowding him. “You got other plans? Somewhere you need to be? Doesn’t look like it to me.” She waves the bag in front of his face. “You’re not gonna make me eat all this by myself, are you?”
He sniffs, and she knows the precise moment when the aroma of freshly-cooked bacon sarnie overcomes his reluctance. “Damn it, Rose, you always did know my weaknesses.”
Not any more, she can’t help thinking. He’s changed so much. It’s just fortunate that this particular taste hasn’t. They’ve already learned that he seems to have an aversion to coffee now; the first morning she poured him a cup from the fresh brew she’d made especially for him, he looked as if he was going to throw up.
“Come on.” She links her hand through his arm. “Bet you haven’t found the executive dining-room yet.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You in the executive dining-room, Rose? You’ve come a long way.”
“Helps being the boss’s daughter. But I was kidding.” She leads him away from the cluster of buildings and towards a path into a small clump of trees. In the middle, there’s a clearing with a picnic table, and this sunny autumn day is perfect for eating outdoors.
She lets him sit first, then sits opposite and spreads out the food, while Jack makes an obvious effort at stilted conversation, asking her about her job and what she’s been doing in the years since she ended up in this universe. It’s a start. It’s not what she intends to talk to him about, but at least he’s talking.
He finishes his sandwich, takes a long drink of juice, then gives her a resigned look. “Go on, then.”
“What?”
“You didn’t come all the way out here just to bring me a bacon sandwich. What’s on your mind?”
She holds his gaze. “You, of course.” He just waits for her to continue. “Well, how else can I get to spend time with you? You’ve been here over two weeks and we’ve barely seen you. ‘S like living with a ghost.”
His head dips. “I don’t want to be in the way.”
She snorts. “That’s rubbish! When were you ever in the way before? The three of us always did everything together.”
He looks at her again, his expression ironic. “You weren’t a couple then.”
“Since when does being a couple mean you forget your friends? That’s just an excuse, Jack. We wouldn’t have asked you to stay if we didn’t want you around.”
He shrugs, but says nothing, just looks down at the table. And then she stills. “It’s me, isn’t it? You still blame me.”
“What?” His head jerks up again.
She controls her voice as she speaks, and just hopes that her instinct is right. “For making you immortal. I should’ve remembered. When we found you in the lab, you told the Doctor to get me out of your sight, that you never wanted to see my face again. Of course you don’t want to be around me.”
“Rose...” He exhales noisily, and the look in his eyes tells her that he’s levelling with her, not trying to hide his real feelings. “Look, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some mixed feelings. But I don’t blame you. How can I? It’s not like you knew what you were doing, and anyway, how can I blame you for wanting me alive? It’s just that the way it happened it’s been more of a curse most of the time.”
It’s her turn to exhale, silently and with relief. Her bluff was right. Mixed feelings she can cope with; outright blame would be a lot harder.
She stretches her hand across the table in silent invitation. After a second, he reaches across and takes it in his own.
“I love you, you know that, right?” She curls her fingers around his. “It hurts me that you don’t want to spend time with us. It hurts me to know that you’re hurting, and even more to know there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
His hand clenches painfully around hers. “It’s not as simple as that, Rose. I’m not the same person you knew before.”
She shrugs, holding his gaze. “You think I don’t know that? Or that I couldn’t understand?” He’s the one who doesn’t get it yet. Not by a long way. “Just think about who I’ve been living with for the past two years. And how long I travelled with him alone before that. Think about what he’s lived through. You think he’s over all that just because he’s half-human now?”
His eyes widen for a moment, and then his head dips to the side and he smiles wryly. It’s an expression she remembers well, and it’s reassuring to see that there are still flashes of the old Jack there.
Leaning across the table, she rests a hand on his shoulder and brushes the gentlest of kisses against his lips. “You don’t have to spend time with us if you don’t want to. ‘Course you don’t. We’d like you to, but it’s your choice, all right? Whatever you want to do, it’s okay with me. With us. I just wanted you to know that.”
She stands, gathers together the debris of their lunch, and turns to walk away. Jack says her name, and she turns back.
“Thank you.” He’s still sitting, clenched fists resting on the table, but his eyes tell her he means it.
“Welcome.” With a wave, she leaves.
***
Part of him wants nothing more than to take her up on that invitation, to fall into the habit of spending his evenings and weekends with them, to become part of their lives. But that way lies the kind of loss and pain he’s sworn never to lay himself open to again.
He wasn’t exaggerating when he told Rose his immortality’s a curse. Everyone he loves is taken from him, over and over and over. After Ianto, after Steven - and Alice, who’ll never again believe he loves her - he can’t do it again. Of course he loves the Doctor and Rose. There was never any doubt about that. But getting close to them, letting himself get pulled into their orbit again, only to be sent away whenever the Doctor decides it’s time for him to go? Or, assuming even for one moment that he gets to stay here, watching them die some day?
No. Never again.
Of course, he’s too much of a coward to walk away completely, so he stays, brushing shoulders with them, metaphorically speaking, once or twice a day, sending texts to let them know not to wait up for him, finding notes on the fridge in Rose’s handwriting when he does get in. She always signs them love, Rose - even before she ambushed him with bacon sandwiches.
The day after, he has to stop himself from ending his text message love, Jack.
It’s tempting, too, three mornings later when Rose is describing an investigation that’s got her team baffled over breakfast, to jump in, ask the questions the Doctor isn’t and get involved. Strange markings left on the walls of abandoned buildings and on railway bridges, at first thought to be graffiti but, after an analysis of the paint, suspected to be alien. Not a language the Doctor recognises, he says, studying the photographs Rose has brought home, though he promises to come and look at the paint later.
“Want to bet he’s gonna lick it?” she says, grinning at Jack.
The Doctor just grins back, not denying the charge. But all day his focus is shot to pieces, memories of inexplicable alien messages in his head. Oh, odd symbols on walls is nothing like children chanting in unison, but it still brings it all back to him: puzzling over the recordings, adrenalin pumping as the three of them worked together, never once doubting that they’d get to the bottom of it - Torchwood triumphant again.
Until he realised exactly what - who - they were up against.
And that night, when he finally falls asleep, he’s driving that bus through the wilds of Scotland again, and when he stops it every child has Ianto’s face.
He dreams of that upstairs room in Whitehall, where the 456 taunted the human race from inside that tank, the one they had their human pawns construct for them. He sees the child inside the tank, hooked up to the alien. And when the child turns to face him, he’s wearing Steven’s face.
He cries out, begging the alien to let his grandson go - and when the creature turns, the fog clears and the alien’s wearing his own face.
***
tbc in chapter 7: Reconstruction