1

"Williams, you're full of shit." Jack Harkness shot to his feet and loomed over the slightly smaller man. His face was a storm; a growing tornado threatening to hit land inside Cooper's Diner. The red leather topped counter stool threatened to tip over, before settling back onto all its legs. Jack thought about taking him outside and giving him an ass whupping.

"Gee whiz, Jack," Rhys Williams said, "can't you have a simple discussion without getting bent out of shape?"

He leaned back on his stool and held up his hands, cowed by the older man's threat. "All I'm sayin' is if Coriten woulda caught that very first Hover Clutch then things woulda been totally different, and the Galactic Broncos woulda won the Super Bowl."

"That's bullshit, and you know it, Rhys," Jack said, but already the storm was passing. He took a relieved breath, thankful that it hadn't touched down inside Cooper's.

"Now now, you is a diner, not a Wild West Sector saloon. I don't want any trouble tonight, and I don't want any cussin' either." It was the esteemed Gwen Cooper herself, all five-feet-two of her, leaning on the cold aluminium counter and calming the boys down by giving them an eyeful of her sweet cleavage.

Cher hushed on the old Rock-Ola 434, and Jack crossed the black and white tiled floor, taking a couple of deep breaths as he went. He pushed in two buttons on the restored jukebox. The robotic arm flipped a record and, seconds later, Johnny Xdollita was talking about hanging in there, baby. That was just what Jack did. The ancient Boeshanninan had found this planet a quiet place to settle while having a family but it hadn't worked. Now he was bound here until his family moved on and forgot him, as they all do. Boeshanninans have a long life expectancy, his daughter not full blooded would die before him, probably his grandson too. So what if he looked barely forty and felt eight hundred some days, he knew he was over 100 and deserved some fucking respect from these young pups. He fought for them in the Galactic Wars while they were just jizz in their daddy's dicks!

He opened his wallet and offered a full credit to Gwen Cooper. He held it just far enough away to make her reach, all the time staring at the heaving bosom inside her almost sheer white blouse. For a woman just the wrong side of thirty, she had a damn fine figure. A fella could use a pillow like that to rest his weary head on.

The Williams kid was a smartass, and every day it seemed to Jack there were more and more of them in Torchwood Isles. Time was a kid like Williams would give someone like himself – a man who wore the coat of a rebel – some respect. It showed his true age was in the triple figures, not the forties he looked. He told himself that the best defence wasn't always a good offense, and that thought brought him full circle, back to the damn Galactic Super Bowl that caused the ten-minute argument in the first place.

"Thank you, Jack," Gwen Cooper said. She batted her eyelashes and stuffed the dollar into the cuss jar that sat behind the counter.

The jar was looking pretty full, and that was good news for the Rainbow Children's Hospice over in Lawton Sector, as Gwen Cooper donated every penny she earned from cussing customers to providing a better life, and death, for the children in their care. Can't have any herself see.

"Now, if you boys can't play nice, you can't play at all." She turned her eyes up to the large red clock that hung above the doorway.

"And anyway, look at the time. It's nine-thirty, and neither of you two are gonna be sittin' on those stools at ten-oh-one."

Jack and Williams were the only patrons left in the diner. The twenty-somethings had cleared out around eight, probably heading down to the Bawdy Bear to shoot some pool and drink some beer. Jack wished he'd joined them; a beer might just take the edge off his temper.

"I'm gonna head out now," Jack said. "I want a smoke, and if I stay here, I'm apt to talk about football to this knucklehead some more. And if I do that, I'm probably gonna have to put more credits in your jar than I make in a year."

He grabbed his coat off the end of the counter and found his cigarettes in the pocket. He placed one behind his ear and wriggled into the worn garment. He kept his eyes fixed on Williams the whole time, just in case the guy tried to catch him with a sucker punch.

Only one sucker here, he thought as he looked back at Gwen.

That was unless the proprietress herself was sucking, but he didn't think so. She had stepped back from the counter, fixing the top button on her blouse, turning it from carefree to conservative. Perhaps she could see the anger behind his eyes. No matter, Jack Harkness had had enough of Cooper's Diner for one night.

The plan was to get an early night. Eight hours of shut-eye before he got back into the rat race.

"Say, Jack," Williams said, "Are you opening up your shop this week? Some of the guys have started calling me horse Rapunzel."

He grinned and flicked his thumb at the horse in question visible out the window, the creature not like those earth ones. More the size of a rhino with long blonde locks flowing back over his shoulders.

"Planning on tomorrow." After eight weeks closed, Jack was pretty sure there were more than a few Rapunzels in Torchwood Isles. That was good; he could do with the money, but damn, already two months since he'd put his wife in the ground, and her only Sixty years old. Groomers were had to come by in these parts, especially one who could handle those creatures.

"Well, that's great," Williams said, and stuck out a hand. "I sure didn't mean to hurt your feelings just now."

"Forget about it," Jack said, ignoring Rhys Williams's olive branch. After a few awkward seconds, the man glanced at his hand and let it drop into his lap as Jack turned to leave.

Gwen grinned and shook her head as she wiped down the countertop. "Right you are, Jack. Rhys, you wanna think about drinking your Co-Cola and heading out to warm the car? I'm washing my hair tonight, and it's cold out there. I don't want you to total my car on a patch of black ice before we even get..."

She trailed off mid-sentence, as the ground rumbled beneath the diner, and shot out a hand to stop a ketchup bottle from crashing to the floor.

"What in hell was that?" Rhys cried, the cuss jar forgotten.

"Probably just a tremor, Rhys," Gwen said, but Jack thought her eyes were a little wider than they should be, and he watched the colour drain from her pretty little face. She gripped the ketchup bottle in both hands as she asked "Didn't you feel the one this morning? Just about frightened me to death."

"This morning?" Jack's pulse quickened. He looked at the nervous face of Rhys as the ground swayed beneath their feet for a second time and the lights dimmed momentarily, shadows washing over the diner as the light fittings swayed from side to side.

Williams hung onto the counter, his knuckles white with the pressure of his fingers against the aluminium.

"I didn't feel nuthin' this morning," he said, and reached for his half-empty glass of Coca-Cola with a shaky hand before draining it in one quick gulp.

Jack nodded to Gwen. "I'm getting out of here. I gotta get home to Alice and the boy."

Jack saw his own fear reflected in her eyes.

And with good reason. The shaking hadn't come from under their feet. It had come from above their heads.