Title: Breaking the Rules (1?)
Author: Rainwater Tears (litglitter)
Rating: T
Genre: angst…general…there'll be shippiness later.
Characters/pairing: Rose/Ten, Jack, Mickey, Jake…some Adam (that guy from "The Long Game" and "Dalek").
Spoilers: well, it's post-"Doomsday."
Summary: There are days now when she doesn't think about him at all, when he's just a presence nibbling at the underbelly of her memories, eating away at things that are a lifetime away. Today is not one of those days.
Disclaimer: I do not own "Doctor Who." I am, however, starting to think that "Doctor Who" owns me.
Author's Note: Okay, so, I've never written "Doctor Who" fic before, and I'm also very (unfortunately) American…so please excuse any horrible…Americanisms or whatever…I tried! I did!
And this was beta-ed by the fabulous adiaaida. Yay her!

--

She wakes up early and something's different. It's like all those mornings when she'd open her eyes to new planets, decades, species, but she's just in the same old bedroom as ever. Mickey's got his arm slung across her waist and his face is pressed hard into her shoulder, but she shrugs him off and pads across the floor to the bathroom.

In the mirror she looks the same as yesterday. Her face is thinner than it used to be, worn with time, a reminder that she's grown up far too soon. She doesn't know her exact age anymore, not after the year she lost, after all the time she spent jumping about through time and space. She thinks she's probably about twenty-seven.

She hasn't lost all the adventure. Every day is different at Torchwood. Sometimes she thinks it's strange that there can be a world with all these aliens and no Doctor, but she gets up and goes to the office each day, stretches out the corners of her mind to a world of knowledge she picked up traveling the universe in a Police Public Call Box.

To Torchwood she's a necessity. Everything they know, everything they've seen, she's lived and then some.

But it's not the same.

They call her Miss Impossible here. Got a problem that can't be solved by the laws of nature, humanity or physics? Take it to Rose Tyler and she'll work it out for you. Tell her it can't be done and she'll find an answer twice as fast. She works in a system of absolute chaos, trying anything and everything to make the impossible plausible; thinking herself sick; nattering away in her small little office until she works out a solution. Mickey likes to tell her she'll drive herself insane one of these days, but she knows he thinks she already has.

She pulls her toothbrush out of the cabinet and tries to sort through her latest case. A gang of Vlasychians have set up camp just this side of the moon and they're causing quite a few problems, most of which have to do with the Lunar cycle. Torchwood's team of astronomers (the brightest minds from all over the world) can't figure out how, and they've brought the issue to Rose.

She's faced Vlasychians before, a lifetime ago, on another world, and she tries to remember what the Doctor told her about them, how he stopped them. Nothing comes except the bitter taste of her own blood and when she glances in the mirror she can see where the sharp bristles of her toothbrush have cut into her gums. It's not the first time she's forgotten what she was doing while trying to solve a case.

She gives Mickey a nudge once she's showered and dressed. He won't have to get up for at least an hour, but she leans over to kiss him goodbye.

"Where're you goin' this early?" he mumbles, but she's already out the door.

-

Torchwood is quiet this early in the morning, and Rose is thankful for the silence as she steps into the lift. Most mornings are a rush, scientists and receptionists, even executives, rushing up to her from every direction with questions, requests and demands. She rolls her head back to stretch out her sore muscles and tries to remember the last time she took a day off. It's been months, she's sure, possibly more than a year. She barely even sees her parents anymore, or her little brother.

The lift dings when it arrives at the twelfth floor and the doors creak open. The hall that stretches out before her is a sterile white, and despite the fact that Torchwood has been open for years now, she's overwhelmed by the smell of new carpet. For an instant she's reminded of a planet the Doctor took her to once, a planet known for making the finest carpets in four galaxies. She sighs at the memory and pushes it back with all the others.

Her office is in the far corner of the building, a long walk. Certain that she's alone, Rose slips out of her heels to pad down the hall in her bare feet. When she reaches her door she slides her hand into her briefcase and pulls out a ring of keys. The smallest opens her file cabinet where she keeps data on every alien race Torchwood has documents on: a virtual who's who of the universe. The next key is to her flat, the third to her office door, and the fourth…the fourth key opens the TARDIS.

Rose flicks to the third key, barely glancing at the other three, and slides it into the lock. The door swings open to a view of her office.

She had originally been offered the largest office on the floor, all glass windows and a desk the size of her bedroom back in her own world, but she'd asked for something smaller, something more private, after a week. She got sick of all the staring, the feeling of all of her colleagues' eyes on her, watching her like a television. She'd had enough experience with that, thank you very much, she didn't need any more.

The office she had received in its place was the exact opposite. Once they'd moved in her desk (this one much smaller) there had barely been enough space for her files, and the one tiny window provided about as much natural light as one was likely to find in a prison cell.

Rose likes it, though. The room's location keeps her out of the way, so her co-workers don't stop by to chat very often, and she can reach just about everything in the room from the comfort of her desk.

Rose slides into the office and squeezes behind her desk to take her seat. Within two minutes she has her laptop booted and is sorting through her e-mails.

Ms. Tyler,

Attached is the file you asked for on the Vlasychians invasion of the Planet 19-2-Granite in 1982. You'll find tactics and weaponry on pages 2 and 34 respectively.

Thank you for your help,

Carl Leudenvig

Ext. 235

Rose saves the attachment to a folder marked "current cases" and clicks on the next e-mail.

Ms. Tyler,

My name is Susan Mitchell and I write for the New York Herald. I'm interested in doing a story on you for our society page and was wondering whether you'd be willing to do a phone interview anytime in the near future.

You can contact me either through e-mail or through the Herald at (212) 555-2941.

Sincerely,

Susan Mitchel

The New York Herald

Rose deletes the e-mail immediately. Ever since her mysterious appearance a few years back as the long lost daughter of Pete and Jackie Tyler, newspapers and magazines across the world had been desperate for the first interview. Everyone wanted to know where she'd come from, whether she was legit. Usually she was able to filter out the requests with a false e-mail address, but every few months her real e-mail would get leaked and she'd have to talk to IT about setting up a new account. Apparently she'll have to track Adam down later to see if he can help her out.

Adam is one of the nicest things about Torchwood. When they'd been introduced her first day she'd been momentarily shocked. The last time she'd seen him she and the Doctor had been dropping him off back home with a computer in his head.

But he hadn't recognized her, of course. This Adam has never done anything so stupid, at least nothing she knows of, and with the Doctor in a completely separate universe he will never have the chance. They'd been friends from the start, and his down-to-earth charm was refreshing at a quick-paced organization like Torchwood.

Rose, love,

Your father is holding a small cocktail party next Thursday and we were hoping you might come. Little Brendan's been asking for you.

We'd really like to see you, sweetheart. You spend so much time at work, when I see pictures of you in the society pages I hardly recognize you!

Love,

Mum

p.s. Tell Mickey, Jake and Adam that they're invited, too.

Rose sighs as she clicks out of the e-mail. It has been too long since she last saw her brother. She glances at the folder next to her. "I solve this case in time," she promises herself, "and I'll go to the party."

The last e-mail is from the security station downstairs and Rose clicks on it hesitantly. They rarely have cause to contact her, not unless something happens after-hours that they feel she should know about, anyway.

It's an automatic message, the sort of thing that merely requires the sender to fill in the blanks. Apparently she's had a visitor.

Ms. Tyler,

Jack Harkness stopped by to see you at 11:34 PM on Monday, September 29.

He left the following message:

"Please tell Rose that I will stop by again tomorrow at a more reasonable time."

Sincerely,

Torchwood Security

Rose gapes at the screen. "Jack."