Part 4 of this fanfic (specifically "Roses and Thorns") was written after the Torchwood Season 2 finale, during Doctor Who Season 4, and pre Children of Earth. It is a diligently-researched work of love that I never intended to make public; I began it for my own enjoyment, and continued it out of love, and as a means of coping with some of the grief left behind by TW Season 2. With that in mind, R&R, and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Torchwood and Doctor Who are franchises that don't belong to me. I simply like to visit their 'verse and play.

Primarily, what's not mine belongs to Russell T. Davies et al. of the current incarnation of the Whoniverse.


My name is Sage Smith, and I'm the Doctor's daughter.

I'm not the one he'd run to in an instant. Then again, neither am I the one he fears.

I'm the one he left behind.

My name isn't really Smith. For a century, I went by the name Miranda Small. Miranda was my sister, one of my sisters, and small was what I was when I landed here on Earth, pitiful and wounded, with only a half-dead Vortex Manipulator and a suitcase as my companions. I'd been at the Academy when Gallifrey fell, and I escaped right out of my dormitory as my home planet burned around me. My father was the one who destroyed that world.

"I was a father once," my father told a girl named Rose. That wasn't the whole truth, though. He still was one. There was Miranda, there was Jenny, and there was me.

I was the middle child, the only one who'd passed Initiation, and I don't think my father knew what I knew about Jenny. She hadn't been born yet when Gallifrey fell. If he'd known I was still here, still alive, and had put me in the same room with Jenny, I don't know what he'd have made of us. We were children born to war, trained to fight, and that wasn't what he'd have wanted for either of us. Our fathers, though, don't always have much say in who we are.

"Sage," Jack said again, trying to get my attention. I'd been staring at my roses, the lovely Sterling roses John had sent me as a thank you for saving his life, and wishing I could keep their petals from falling. There's no way to stop the dead from dying, though, and a Rose, once plucked, is already doomed.

"Yes, Jack?" I said. "Sorry. I was distracted."

"I noticed that. Maybe if you stopped keeping secrets from me they wouldn't keep distracting you when I need you."

"I told you, I have no idea why I said those things," I replied defensively. "I don't know when you're going to die, Jack, and if I did..."

"You probably wouldn't tell me," he concluded. "That's fine. I don't want to know. And anyway, it's not about that. I believe you."

"I'm glad to hear that, Jack," I said, releasing a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.

"It's the other secret that I'm disappointed in you for not telling me, Sage," he said. "Why didn't you tell me you saw Rose?"

"You must have gone through the CCTV frame by frame," I whispered, astounded and embarrassed to have been found out. "She was only there for an instant. I wouldn't have even known it was her, except for what she said."

"'Doctor'," he repeated. "I know. What I don't know is how she did it. She's trapped on a parallel world... isn't she?"

"Jack, I swear to you, I really don't know. I checked for Rift activity, temporal anomalies—"

"I know you did; that's how I knew exactly when to look in the CCTV logs. You narrowed it down for me quite a bit by covering your tracks. I wasn't able to retrieve the data myself, but Ianto was." He watched me plant my forehead on the heel of my left hand. "You might want to follow his advice next time and not delete CCTV footage when you've been sneaking about. I wouldn't have thought a damn thing about you using Toshiko's station except for the deletions. That's a lesson Ianto learned the hard way. But since you knew that already, something tells me you wanted us to know."

"Is Ianto mad at me?"

"He's worried, Sage, and frankly, so am I. It makes me wonder what else you might be keeping from us."

"Us? You mean Torchwood?" I blurted angrily.

"No, Sage, I meant Ianto and me. But if you're keeping something from Torchwood as a whole, now would be the time to speak up," he said gravely.

"It doesn't concern Torchwood. It won't affect Earth," I said softly.

"What won't?"

"It's who won't, Jack, and don't tell the others," I whispered. "I'll tell Ianto; I promise; but don't tell John. He might try to find her like he tried to find Gray."

I saw Jack wince. I hadn't meant to hurt him. Then again, the similarity of my situation to his was difficult to ignore. "Don't tell me. You have a long-lost sister and she's bent on world domination," he said, trying to conceal his pain in a jest. He realized after a moment, though, that I hadn't said anything to that. "You don't, do you?"

"Her name is Jenny," I whispered. "She's younger than me. I don't know much about her except that she's dangerous."

"Dangerous to whom?"

"Wish I knew," I shrugged. "Not to you, though, Jack. Torchwood. To me, maybe, but not the rest of you. And she doesn't know I exist."

"Is that why you told Martha not to tell your father you're alive?"

"Jack!" I protested. "Quit snooping! Why did you even check that?"

"Because you and Ianto both jumped a mile when I walked into the room. I really enjoyed John's poetry, by the way. Didn't know he had it in him," he remarked.

"You should hear him sing," I said, relishing the look of surprise on his face. "It's a bit unnerving when someone knows more about your lovers than you do, isn't it, Jack," I teased. John had been my childhood sweetheart. The Vortex Manipulator that had saved my life was his.

There was a lot I knew about John that most people who knew him would never have believed, including the ones who'd known him back then. There were sides of his personality that only I ever saw. But that was the way it was with most people when they were around me, including Jack himself.

"Are you sure Jenny is not going to be an issue?" he asked me, getting back to the business of my secret-keeping.

"No, Jack. I'm not sure. I'm hoping," I admitted.

"How's the hand?" he asked me. I'd sliced my hand and wrist open on the thorns of one of the Sterling roses the day before, nicking a vein and bleeding quite a lot. I had twenty-eight stitches, one for each year of the age I'd gone by as Miranda Small and still used when I needed a cover story. I didn't look 116, after all.

"It's sore," I admitted. "Kind of itches. I'll be okay, though," I replied.

"Now back to what I called you in here for, Sage," Jack said. "How's Laura?"

"About thirty percent of the ATMOS toxins have left her system, but she's not out of the woods yet," I informed him. "It's roughly the equivalent of the damage she'd have done to herself if she'd tried to kill herself in her garage," I said, then winced as I remembered he'd once helped a man do exactly that. In Ianto's car, no less. "Sorry," I said.

"It's all right," he said, pretending it hadn't bothered him, but his eyes had darkened two shades of blue. It was something he himself had never been aware of, but both Ianto and I knew to be our cue to give him space.

"Time for me to apologise to Ianto," I said, standing. I went around the desk and kissed Jack softly on the cheek. As I was drawing away, though, he put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me toward himself, putting his mouth to mine in a kiss that was full of longing and loss and tasted of brandy.

"I love you, Jack," I moaned. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't tell Ianto about Jenny," he whispered. "Not unless he asks."

"No, Jack. I'm telling him," I countered. "I won't keep secrets from Ianto that I'm not keeping from you. Order me not to tell him, if you really want to stop me," I said, daring him. I didn't know it, but my eyes had gone from grey to almost black... what Jack and Ianto knew to be their cue not to contradict me.

"You're right," he conceded. "I'm sorry." It was often difficult to find a balance in any relationship, but when one's relationship consisted of three people rather than the norm, the balancing act became infinitely more complex, and it was far easier to accidentally hurt the ones you loved.

I kissed him again, softly on the lips, and that time when I moved to leave he let me go. "I do love you so, Jack Harkness," I murmured from the doorway as I left.