A/N: This is the first fic I've written for the Who-verse, despite being a long time fan. However, after watching Utopia, this leapt into my head and wouldn't let go, so I had to get it down. Helpfully and fabulously beta'd by GracelessIV. Read on!
Jack recognizes her in an instant as he sits on a park bench reading yesterday's newspaper. There she is, her chubby little legs splayed out in front of her, baby fingers patting a shapeless mound of sand in front of her. There is surely no mistaking Jackie Tyler, her hair sky-high in the last remnants of the eighties, that dying decade. She's chatting to another mother without a care in the world, sitting on the bench in front of the sandbox.
Rose Tyler, defender of the universe, he thinks wryly. The defender of the universe is only four years old and right now her whole universe is in that shapeless lump of sand growing rapidly in front of her. He wonders what she thinks it is, what form it takes in her mind. A castle? Her home? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps this little girl is merely building a lump of sand, just for the joy of creation.
It astounds him to note how much her features will stay the same as she grows into the passionate, courageous young woman he knew and loved. Her big eyes are the same colour that melted his heart, though they lack the heavy mascara and eye-liner he thinks of as her trademark; her hair isn't peroxide-blonde, but its natural brown; already, the habit has formed of sticking her tongue between her teeth, kept in the corner of her mouth as she works intently, patting the loose sand clumsily into place.
Ostensibly, he's just here in London to pick up some transfer bloke from the Torchwood hub here and take him back to Cardiff, but that isn't until tomorrow. When Jack was told to come here, the temptation was too strong to resist, so here he was, a day early, a block down from the Powell Estates to keep an eye on his Rose.
It pained him that he couldn't speak to her, but he was a Time Agent. He knew the dangers of mucking with timelines and first meetings. Still, if years of training weren't holding him back, he'd be up in an instant, squat next to this intent young creature, ask what she's building, and help her with it. Well, years of training and the threat of an irate, overprotective Jackie Tyler. He'd heard the horror stories from the Doc often enough.
"Mickey!" Her voice is squeaky, something he didn't expect. He looks up just in time to see Mickey the Idiot, a few years her senior, stamp on her sand fort. She picks up a handful of the loose sand and hurls it in his eyes, scoring a direct hit. That's my girl, he grins as Mickey howls and attempts to claw the stuff from his eyes.
"Oi, Mickey Smith! You just leave my Rose alone!" cries Jackie. Mickey takes the hint and, blushing furiously, turns tail and scampers. Jack shakes his head and averts his eyes back to the paper as Jackie walks towards her daughter. It would be no good telling Mickey that, Jack knew. He looks back up and sees Jackie kneeling in the sand along with Rose.
"Now, don't cry, sweetheart, Mickey was just bein' thoughtless, that's all, we'll build up your castle again, right as rain..." Rose pushes the scattered pieces together again, squishing them into a form roughly the same as the old one, but markedly different.
"S' not a castle, Mum," she squeaks again.
"No? Tell Mummy what it is, then." Her small brow furrows. Jack knows that look so well, so well, even on this tiny face, the face so like and yet unlike the one he memorized throughout their travels...
"It's...it's..." She gives up. "I don't know. It's not right. He's ruined it. I want to go home." She stands up obstinately, arms folded. Jackie sighs and brushes the loose sand off her and Rose's clothes.
"All right, then, love, back to the flat. Are you sure you don't want to play some more?"
"I want to go home," she repeats. Jackie says good-bye to the other mother and carries her daughter home and...that's it. That's all Jack will see of Rose Tyler again, possibly the last time he'll ever see her: four years old, distressed at the wreckage of her sand thing. Unless...unless I came back to London for something else. The thought is oh-so-seductive; he realizes that he knows very little about Rose's past and here it is, playing out before him in the present. Another few years, he thinks firmly. After all, he can afford to wait. He isn't going anywhere.
He sits in the playground, scanning the same articles of old news, until the sun begins to set and the place is utterly deserted. There's nothing for it; she wasn't coming back. He admits to himself that he is waiting for her to come back, but not as a stubborn toddler in Jackie's arms, but nineteen, a gorgeous woman, his old travelling partner.
He waits. That's all he can do. He waits for Rose to grow, knowing she'll soon meet the Doctor and, by extension, himself. He waits for the Doctor to come back to Cardiff, the inter-dimensional petrol station. He waits because that's all he can do.
He stands up, tossing the newspaper in the nearest bin, ready to begin the walk back to the hotel room furnished by Torchwood. His foot comes into contact with something as he walks: a rock? No, it's a piece of sidewalk chalk, abandoned by a careless child earlier in the day. He leans forward and picks it up, finding it still warm from the sun.
Without knowing why, Jack scrawls Bad Wolf on the asphalt before dropping the chalk and continuing on his way.