This story has been raging around in my head for the past week and I had to write it down.

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Jack rolled his shoulders and streched. Flying was still not his favorite method of travel ... flying in a plane, that was.

"Ah, Captain Harkness.", a stocky young man greeted him, when he came out of the gate. "William Gates, UNIT.", he held out his hand, which Jack shock. "I am glad you came.", the way Mr. Gates spoke made Jack cringe. Kind of breathless and with an almost leery undertone.

The presence of Torchwood had been requested in the US because of a certain matter. A string of death of ... questionable origin was troubling the west coast and obviously the american authorities where at a loss.

Hoisting his bag on his shoulder, Jack followed Gates through the packed airport to a black limousine. "Nice.", he comented and waggled his eyebrows at the tall, slender driver, who gave him a lopsided grin and opened a door.

Gates, obviously not pleased by beeing ignored shoved past the driver and took his place beside Jack in the back. "I am terribly sorry, that I can't offer you some time to rest. The others are already assembled."

The 'others', Jack assumed where the UNIT agents working on the case ... but he was only partially right, he learned, when walking into the small conference room, that UNIT had claimed for themselves.

In one corner of the room stood, tall and pale as ever, someone he hadn't expected to ever see again. Aside from a rather masculine looking UNIT agent, she was the only woman in the room, her red hair, though pulled back tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck glinted bright red in the californian sun, streaming through the windows. Her face was unmoving, like white marble, but her green eyes danced with a well-known fire.

"... and this is Ylva Quinn", Jack had obviously missed the introductions and only the familiar name snapped him out of it. "I know.", he said, giving her a toothy grin.

"Captain Jack Harkness.", she said, pronouncing his name sharply. Her accent definitely brittish with that hint of something else. "Torchwood, eh?", she cocked her head and jutted her chin out, a onesided grin tugging at her lips. He knew that pose, she was teasing him. "If that isn't trusting the cat to keep the cream!"

His stomach did a sudden backflip. If she was here ...

It must have shown on his face, because she straightened up and her shoulders squared, an unmistakable nod and Jack felt like doused in icewater. Not good, so very not good.

Gates cleared his throat noisily and Jack turned to the rest of the room, everyone was looking at him. Slightly sheepishly, he took a seat beside the limo-driver from earlier, who leaned in and whispered: "Know Quinn?" He had a somewhat asian appearance and his eyes where black as night. Not bad, Jack thought.

"Yeah, why?"

The driver shook his head slightly. "She comes barging in here three days ago, with her boy-toy-assistant and takes over. Who is she?"

"To be honest", Jack leaned in a little more "I have not the faintest idea."

"Captain Harkness, if you could stop seducing Mr. Franklin, I would like to begin.", again, Ylvas face was impassive, but her eyes broadcasted her amusement quite clearly.

"Well, nobody else worth seducing here.", he shot back and raised an eyebrow at her. His grin could as well have been the proverbial gauntlet.

"Way to make friends, Harkness.", she snarked, her eyes saying: "Game on, Harkness."

That was always the way it went, when they met. It was always nigh on the end of the world and he could not stop himself from flirting with her, his heart beating faster at just one look from those sea-green eyes. Was that how people felt around him?

He had read the file. Every victim was missing a certain piece of brain, obvously extracted through a hole at the base of the scull, about one inch in diameter, rugged edges. There was not much new in what Ylva explained, so he busied himself with watching her.

She hadn't changed ... she never did. Still pale, almost a bit sicklish looking. Her skin was so translucent, one could see blue veins through it in places. She was dressed in a plain, black shirt, that hugged her curves so perfectly, he wondered if there where tailored t-shirts. Her black cargo-pants rode low on her hips and gave him nasty thoughts.

He watched her hands. She had such expressive ... his thoughts stalled. The two inch wide metal cuff she was usually wearing around her left wrist was missing. He had never seen her without it. In fact, he wasn't sure, if there was a way to get it off. More than once had he studied it at night, when she lay in his bed or he in hers. It was one solid piece of smooth, silvery metal, that always felt cold, whenever it had touched his skin.

When asked about the cuff, she had once told him, that it was her leash. The smile on her face was such pure, painful sadness, that he had never asked again. But now, the leash was gone. Fascinated, he stared at the blank skin peaking from under the long sleeves of her shirt. He knew, that an inch above the hem of that shirt started an intricate tattoo, which traveled all the way up her arm, over her shoulder, down the left side of her back and towards her left nipple. He shook his head, that was not a good direction his thoughts where taking. A bit more of that, and he was so not getting up any time soon.

The piercing ring of a phone interrupted Ylvas speech. "That will be all, anyway, I think.", she said and pulled the appliance from her pocket. "Quinn!", in two strides, she was at the door and without a glance back, she left the room.

"She realy is a weird one.", Mr. Franklin, the driver mused, watching Jack from the corner of his eyes. "No offence."

"None taken.", Jack gave back with an amused huff. "Three days, you said?"

"Yes. We had just taken over the case from local PD, when she strode in, had a talk with Mr. Gates and took over the whole thing. Since then, she has all the men and half the women drooling all over her. Not that she's acting on anything. Too busy with that assistant of hers, I bet.", he shrugged. "I mean, I do see the appeal. Pretty face, blue eyes, you won't believe and so propper with his suits and the 'Yes, Ma'am's in that english accent ...", he stopped himself and closed his eyes. "I am sorry, Captain Harkness. My mouth sometimes get's the better of me."

Jack wasn't listening anymore. His heart had clenched painfully as a wellknown pretty face, with blue eyes you can't believe had popped up in his mind. Yes, he too had been so propper with his suits and the 'Yes, Sir's in that welsh accent ...

-.-.-.-.-

"How are you?", she asked softly, standing in the doorway. From his vantagepoint on the bed in the dark room, she was only a silhouette.

"I remember.", he said quietly, "I died, Ylva."

She ducked her head and exhaled. "I know.", she came over to him and sat on the bed beside him. "I tried to tell you."

He shook his head vaguely, which wasn't easy, lying on his side. "I know ... but now I remember.", in the halflight of the room his eyes where two dark pools. "And I remember him."

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