FINALLY got round to getting this into a postable state - the sequel to 'Standing In The Way Of Control'. Please read and review. I'll warn you now there is a LOT of angst...wait how is that different to anything else I write? LOL

Doctor Who / Torchwood crossover so the usual suspects from the last story plus a few. Still AU after Doctor Who s3 and Torchwood s1 (pretty much ignoring that anything after that exists)

Disclaimer: I own nothing I just play here. Likewise for quoted song lyrics.

NOTE: Italics indicate dreamstates.

Rage Against The Dying Of The Light

Rose places the file face down on her desk and slips her aching feet wincingly back into her shoes. She glances at the clock. She is late; again, for her mother's family meal, but with Mickey still in the hospital she was pulling overtime to cover the workload. She pulls her suit jacket off the back of her chair and heads towards the lift.

Just as she is about to walk through the security gates in reception someone calls her name.

Rose sighs and pastes a smile on her face as she turns. "Yes?"

"There is a woman to see you Miss Tyler," the blonde receptionist tells her.

"I'm going home," Rose says impatiently.

"She really is insistent Miss Tyler. She will not speak to anyone else. She says she has information that you would want."

Rose checks her watch, looks wistfully at the exit, then says, "Take her to interview suite B. I'll be there in a moment."

After a most unpleasant conversation via her mobile to her mother to explain why is working late again, Rose heads to the interview suite. Hardly really even a suite, just a room beyond a two-way mirror with a table, some chairs, and voice and video recorders. Rose pauses to observe the woman. Blonde, hair tied back into a tidy ponytail. Black suit, almost as expensive as her own. Playing with a pendent around her neck. Pretty but tired looking, there are shadows under her eyes. Broken unpainted fingernails.

Rose opens the door and walks inside. "I'm Agent Tyler. You asked to speak to me?"

"Rose Tyler?" the woman brightens as Rose takes the seat opposite her and switches on the recorder.

"Who are you?" Rose asks suspiciously.

The woman ignores the question. "I have a story to tell you."

"Do you?" Rose folds her arms and wonders if this woman is another conspiracy nut job.

"I used to be like you," she says. "So full of the belief that we could make the world better." She twiddles the pendant, which Rose can now see is a ring threaded on a chain. "I always knew exactly what I was doing." She laughs harshly. "All fools they were, couldn't see what was right under their noses. But he did love me. He was a good man once. Once. It seems such a long time ago. He promised me he could show me the stars, such a romantic notion, little did I know."

"Why are you telling me this?"

The woman shushes her with a finger against her lips. "He was a great man, and he did love me. But it got twisted, warped along the way. So much that it became…" she hesitates. "We looked like the perfect couple. A fairytale. A castle in the sky. The King and Queen of the world residing in a floating palace. But they had to spoil it! The three of them. The girl, the freak and Him. I think my husband cared more about what He thought more than he ever cared about me. But I love him. And I won't let him fade quietly into the night." She smiles slowly as though remembering. "He used to play with them. The freak used to scream. I used to stop up my ears but I could still hear him. Before the silence. And the pet, he used to get him out of the cage and play with him. Roll a ball, make him fetch, roll over, play dead. All in that tiny little suit, like an elf." She laughs. "They all think I'm crazy. And I know that they hated me. The maid – the one he told to stand there and look gorgeous; her mother; the freak…they all thought I had lost my marbles and I let them. Let myself go into that created madness so the two of them can read nothing but the drumming. The Doctor. Harry."

"The Doctor?" Rose leans forward and seizes the woman's wrist. "What do you know of the Doctor?"

"He looked at me with such pity when I pulled the trigger. Harry was so surprised. But he suddenly understood. The bruises, the drumming, none of it mattered. We loved each other."

"What's your name?" Rose demands.

"Lucy," she says smiling. "Lucy Saxon."

The phone rings twice this time before she hangs up. She stares hard at the mobile in her hand and swallows. She needs to fix this somehow. Make it better. Make herself better. She redials the number again and before she can hang up, he answers in his cute American accent, "Hello?" A pause. "Are you going to talk to me or hang up again?"

"Hi Jack," she hesitates. "Its Tish Jones. Martha's sister? I don't know if you remember…"

He cuts her off. "I remember." His voice is suddenly quieter and sadder than before.

"I needed to talk."

She can almost hear his half-smile on the other end of the phone. "You've been dreaming about it."

Tish can hardly bring herself to answer. "Yes."

"Have you spoken to Martha?" he asks softly.

"She doesn't understand."

"I do."

Tish bites her lip at the sound of such concern in his voice. "I just needed to talk Jack."

"Oh Tish," he says sounding sad, "get on the train to Cardiff. I'll meet you at the station. Come tonight. We can talk properly. Please Tish."

Jack gives her a big hug as soon as he spots her on the station.

She smiles at him, while looking up at him from within the protective circle of his arms. It feels safe here, safer than she has felt in a long time. "Sorry to be a bother."

"No such thing," he says, keeping one arm around her as he steers her towards the SUV. He opens the door for her. "M'lady," he says smiling at her.

Tish cannot help but smile back at him. They drive in silence to the Hub, which he proudly shows her around. She stares round in bemusement at most of it, while Jack prattles on, before he eventually sits down on one of the couches. Tish sits nervously beside him. They have both been hoping to stave off the inevitable. They stare at one another.

"Have you?" she starts.

He nods. "Nearly every night."

She squeezes his hand and looks tearful. "Sometimes you were all that kept me going Jack. The thought of feeding you mashed swede. You always had a kind word or at least a smile…" she chokes down a sob. "Except when the Master…"

Jack sucks his breath through his teeth sharply.

"He wouldn't let us touch you. And I'm sure you don't remember." She sobs again, pressing her hand to her mouth. "Didn't you ever wonder why there wasn't any blood? I used to wipe it off your face with my own hands Jack because I didn't want you to…you don't deserve what he did to you."

Jack bites his lip and takes both her hands in his. "I'm sorry for that Tish, I really am. You should never have had to see that."

She starts to cry and Jack slides his arms around her, holding her close against his chest. He does not know exactly what the Master did to her and right now he can't bring himself to ask what she dreams of. She is shivering so he pulls his coat over the two of them. "You're safe here Tish, you are. He's dead. This is my place and nothing will happen to you here." He rocks the girl in his arms. "I'm here Tish sweetheart, its alright. You're safe." He presses his lips against her temple. "Ssshh you're safe here. I promise."

Gwen can hear Owen talking very fast somewhere above her head but she can't quite make out exactly what he is saying. She tries to rouse herself to a more wakeful state but can hardly open her eyes. She is so cold and so tired. Hands seize her shoulders roughly and shake her.

"Gwen Cooper you open your eyes and look at me this instant!"

She forces her eyes open and stares up at Ianto. "Little…forceful for…you…Ianto…" she stutters, teeth chattering. "Is that…your…bedroom voice for…Jack?"

He smiles at her, but it's strained. "You need to stay awake for me Gwen." He cups her cheek with his hand.

"But I'm so sleepy." She can feel her eyes drooping again.

"Hypothermia," Owen is muttering to Tosh. "We have to move somewhere else. We can't stay here waiting for Harkness to come running. He left us remember?"

"I know," Tosh says, also through chattering teeth. She sounds upset.

"Gwen?" Owen is speaking to her now.

She flutters her eyes fully open again to look up at him. He is looking down at her with ill-disguised concern in his eyes. "You need to keep your eyes open Gwen."

She feels herself nod even as her eyes start to droop. Owen pinches her hard on the cheek.

"Ow!" Gwen's eyes flash open. "Owen that hurt!"

"Meant to. Stay with me Gwen."

"Where's Jack?" she can feel chilly tears on her cheeks. "He's meant to be here. He's…meant…to…be…"

"Gwen!" Ianto is shaking her again. "Gwen!"

"Gwen?" She opens her eyes to find Rhys staring at her across the pillow. "Are you okay Gwen?"

She nods then shakes her head. "I don't know…weird dreams."

"Come here, you're shivering." He reaches out and touches her arms. "Bloody hell Gwen you're freezing!" He pulls her towards him, and wraps his arms around her. She starts to cry.

"Gwen? What is it?"

She hiccups. "I don't know."

Rhys tightens his arms around her and just holds her.

She held her sleeve tighter over her mouth as she ran. She doesn't know where she is running to, just that she needs to get away. But there is nowhere to run and so many people are dead. The metal spheres have killed so many. The air is thick with the smell of burning flesh and ash, and Toshiko wants to retch. She ducks into a doorway and wipes her stinging eyes, trying to keep from vomiting. Jack should be here. He should be here to save her. He had been before, when she needed him most. An angel standing in that doorway in his great coat, although she hadn't realised it at the time. She slides down the wall to rest on her heels. He is dead. He wouldn't let them go through all this alone if he was still alive. He wouldn't. Jack isn't like that. She presses her dirty knuckles against her eyes and wishes Ianto and Owen were with her…no actually she doesn't. She doesn't want them here in this. She wants them to live. Her own stubborn pride meant she took the risk of coming here alone while they continue north, and she is glad she pushed so hard. They'll realise soon enough what has happened to her. No one is getting out of this alive. But she wishes she could tell them goodbye, what they mean to her, a million things she will never say to those two brave men. Dear sweet Ianto. And Owen. Her darling Owen. She bites her lip as she thinks of the might have beens. And around her Japan burns.

Toshiko opens her eyes with a start and sits up in bed. She rubs her arms vigorously feeling the skin prickling as though she has sunburn. The dream had been so vivid. She looks at her alarm clock where the glowing green numbers tell her that it is three twenty seven a.m. She lies back down but does not fall asleep, lying awake and staring at the darkened ceiling. She cannot shake the feeling of despair that clings to her. Suddenly her mobile rings shrilly in the silence and she sits up, reaching for it.

"We could be in Tintagel or Timbuktu for all I fucking care," Owen says petulantly turning over on the mat that is serving as a bed. He is uncomfortable and cold which is putting him in an even fouler mood than usual.

Ianto glares at him from the doorway of the tiny abandoned hut in which they are sheltering. "I highly doubt its either," he says argumentatively back, "I think its Kazakhstan."

"Bloody white cliffs of Dover for all the closer to Cardiff it is," Owen growls, punching the balled up winter survival coat that is his pillow.

"What?" Ianto frowns angrily at him, and sits down in the doorway, staring across the barren landscape towards the tiny dark smoke smudge that is surely Europe. They have heard tales of what has happened to Europe. He leans his elbows atop camouflage trouser clad knees. He had traded a pair of binoculars for the combat gear somewhere near the Russian border. It seems odd to see the tea boy looking ready to go to war. But since Jack left Owen doesn't know what Ianto is capable of anymore.

"Never mind." He sits up. They have been travelling for nine months. Hiking mostly, hitching lifts where they can, hiding from the Toclafane. Staying nowhere for more than two nights. Not even stopping to mourn Gwen or Tosh properly. They'd left Gwen's body in the mountains, a grave in a pile of rocks. No one had got out of Japan. Well people on the road spoke of one, the mythical Martha Jones. Owen reckoned she was a complete load of bollocks.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ianto's hand stray to his gun.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," Ianto answers immediately, voice tense.

Owen tips dirt over the small fire they have going and it dies without a sound. He to reaches for his gun, another old Russian rifle like Ianto's, another product of the barter system, and crawls into the narrow doorway. His shoulder bumps the other man's, whose face is grim in the darkness, and Owen wonders at the twists of fate that meant Ianto was the one beside him. He would have expected Gwen most likely, or even Tosh; somehow Ianto – the tea boy – never crossed his mind as a survivor.

From somewhere comes the ominous sound of the Toclafane but it is impossible to tell how close they are.

Owen nudges Ianto with his shoulder. "Ready?"

Ianto is biting his lip but nods back. "Ready." He nods the barrel of the rifle in a salute. "For Gwen."

"For Tosh," Owen replies.

"For the girls," they say in unison and break cover of the hut.

Owen wakes, sweating and staring at the ceiling where the lights from the traffic outside play across it. He can hear Ianto's voice ringing in his ears. Tosh! He sits up and reaches for his mobile on the beside table. He presses speed dial for her. The phone rings at the other end. "Pick up Tosh, pick up," he mutters to himself, all the while wondering why he feels the sudden urgent need to hear her voice.

"Owen?" she answers, sounding more awake than she should at thirty-eight minutes past three in the morning. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," he laughs to try and dispel the tension in his chest. "I…err…just had a weird dream…and now I feel like a complete idiot. Sorry to wake you. Night Tosh." He hangs up before she can reply.

The drizzle is chilly and persistent. Ianto turns up the collar of his wool coat against the water that continues to get down his neck, looks furtively around and then crosses the street. He ducks into the shadows against the front of the building opposite and continues to hurry his way. Ianto runs down the steps that lead into the underground station. London at long last. Three hundred and sixty three days after they started. One left. He bangs on the wooden door in the hastily built wall. A tiny hatch opens and eyes look out.

"Who are you?"

Ianto fakes a smile. "A fighter."

The hatch shuts again and the door opens. A safe house. Not many of those left in Britain. He enters and the rag tag group of people stare at him suspiciously for a moment before returning to their conversation. Martha Jones, the girl whose name is on everyone's lips, the saviour of all mankind, whose prophecy will come true in two days time if we believe. Ianto Jones is done with believing. He intends to keep walking, back to Wales, Cardiff, the Hub. On his hands and knees if he has to, because he is so very tired. He catches sight of himself in a grimy grey rectangle of a mirror set against one wall. A fighter, not Ianto Jones tea boy. A stranger wearing army boots and carrying a rifle over one shoulder, albeit with seriously limited ammo, and a pack on the other. He looks old. Scarred face. His hair has prematurely greyed round the temples. What would Jack think if he could see me now? Ianto suddenly wonders then catches himself. Jack is dead. They're all dead. He gives the mirror one last haunted look, and then sits himself away from the crowd. He coughs again. Bloody annoying cough that has dogged him for weeks now. He coughs harder and ignores the blood flecks in his hand. He wipes his hand on his trousers. He sometimes wonders how he managed to get so far on his own, after the others...But he already knows the answer. Jack Harkness. For some reason getting back to Jack is the one thing he has aimed for. He just wants to feel Jack's arms around him once more. God bloody Jack Harkness, that man ruined his life. Before him Ianto had never looked at a man that way, certainly wouldn't of called himself gay; it was only ever because of Jack being who he was, but Ianto isn't sure if he will ever be able to love someone else without thinking of Jack. But right now he is so tired. Ianto coughs again, his lungs burning, shuffles himself against the wall and closes his eyes. Jack swims behind his closed eyelids and Ianto lets the darkness wash over him, because he is so close. So close to Jack. He can hear him singing, "Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag, and smile, smile, smile. While you've a Lucifer to light your fag, smile, boys, that's the style. What's the use of worrying? It never was worth while, so pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag, and smile, smile, smile." And Ianto Jones lets out his last breath with a smile on his face.

Ianto leaps out of bed and rushes to the bathroom. He crouches over the toilet bowl being violently sick. He doesn't notice the dark flecks of blood. Ianto coughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans his cheek against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. Finally he pushes himself shakily to his feet and goes to the basin, where he rinses his mouth out and splashes cold water on his face. He stares at himself in the mirror above the basin. Just Ianto. The same face he sees everyday, but somehow right now he is surprised not to see the greyness in his hair, the stubble on his chin, the dead hardness that should be in his eyes. Should be. But isn't. Ianto turns and goes back to his bedroom. He picks up his watch from beside the bed and squints at it. Five thirty. He may as well stay up. Go to the Hub early. He won't be able to sleep now.