Title: Indefinte Futures
Rating: 12
Character(s): Anji Kapoor, Adeola Oshodi, Yvonne Hartman, Martha Jones
Warnings/Spoilers (if any): Earthworld, Army of Ghosts/Doomsday, Journey's End
Summary: Everything has it's price; even if it is only marked as 'too high'.
Notes: Written for mscongeniality in the EDA ficathon for the prompt: Anji after her time with the Doctor. It might be fun to cross her with events in New Who (Aliens at Christmas? Again?) though it needn't be a direct crossover with the characters. On the other hand, UNIT or Torchwood attempting to recruit Anji could be highly amusing. I'm afraid it went more angst than amusement but ummm...hopefully it works for you?
It's a mutually convenient arrangement. Government funding isn't sufficient for the work they do, never has been really, so Torchwood have always had contingency plans. Using future knowledge for financial game feels a little less ethically murky when some of the proceeds are helping to protect the planet from alien invasion. Not that that ever stopped her, but she should sleep better at night or something. Yvonne is a reasonable woman and their arrangement means that Anji doesn't have them trying to recruit her or alternately locking her in a cell until she tells them everything she knows about the Doctor. Which honestly, given that he had fairly severe amnesia the whole time she knew him, isn't as much as they seem to think.
The biggest advantage of the job is Adeola. It's not as though Anji has this burning desire to rehash her accidental adventures round the universe. Just that its nice not to have to self-censor, to not need to stop an amusing anecdote half-way through because it refers to things undeniably alien, that will therefore cause whoever she's speaking with to think she's mad. She's met a few people who are 'in the know' and they tend to the extremes; either bitter and broken by their experiences or starry-eyed and evangelical about the wonders of the universe. Adeola is a refreshing change, still to young to have gained that officiousness that goes with being a glorified, and very bored, civil servant. For all that Adeola's nearly ten years Anji's junior, her lack of experience and normality of her dreams and fears appeals somehow. They do lunch at least twice a week, blowing off steam about clueless bosses, irritating co-workers, pointless dates and whatever garbage R&D/actuaries have decided to spout this week. The fact that their conversation is sometimes held in whispers because the co-worker in question has turned out to be an undercover alien – tentacles and slime are optional extras – somehow just makes it all the more fun.
Plus, given how clearly demented Yvonne is, its nice to have someone else around who agrees, and is all in favour of a good bitching session, especially if it involves cocktails. With all Yvonne's posturing about Queen and Country in the face of the vastness of the universe, it's nice to know that someone at Torchwood is aware of how ridiculous they can be.
There are holes in the tower. The official story is that there was a terrorist attack, though Anji is still too fried to begin holding forth on how farcical that is. As though the whole world hasn't had great metal men stomping all over it, besides the damn homicidal pepper pots in London. One Canada Square is barely controlled chaos and she slips around the shell-shocked remains of Torchwood's staff. So few people know about their base here that all she needs is to walk like she has every right to be where she is and they believe that she does. Logically given the scale of the carnage she can presume that Adeola is dead, but she has to know for sure, she supposes that in some way she owes her that much. She finds her eventually; she wishes vehemently that she hadn't.
The funeral is a slightly strange affair, with a firmly closed coffin. Adeola has big extended family, and the wake swarms with second cousins, university friends and neighbours. Anji spends a lot of time avoiding people in the crowd, both those she knows and those she doesn't. Adeola's mother is on the verge of hysteria, and her aunt and uncle are attempting to have discreet domestic and failing miserably. She takes refuge on a seemingly forgotten flight of stairs, the cold of their concrete seeping through her suit and grounding her and freezing her both at once. She is free now she supposes; she certainly made sure to abuse the abandoned computers, deleting any mention of herself either as a source of financial advice or as an 'associate of the Doctor'. For good measure she'd erased all mentions Fitz and Trix as well, Torchwood have had over a century to catch the Doctor without success so she reckons he'll manage just fine on his own. She curses Fitz briefly as she fiddles with the lighter she found in her pocket, carried on instinct even now, years after there stopped being an unreconstructed 60s drifter to have it thrown at his head, or an irritatingly enigmatic alien to lecture him on his filthy habits. She left that life behind a long time ago, she just wishes the price wasn't still always too high. When she looks up, one of Adeola's cousins is leaning against the wall watching her, and Anji almost throws up from how like her she looks. Despite the first impression the talk for a while, maybe its because the other girl's a medical student, maybe it's just a sort of catharsis they both need. They speak of blood and metal, and the faint hope that Adeola never knew what it was that took her apart so effectively. It's not until the girl has disappeared back into the crowd that it dawns on Anji that she never even asked the other girl her name.
Yvonne's funeral is an entirely different sort of strange. It's bright cold morning, and the proceedings are carried with the kind of military efficiency that would have warmed Yvonne's heart back when she was alive. A fitting tribute then, she thinks, watching the coffin lowered into the ground; not only closed but also empty if she's any judge. She watches Yvonne's parents, grief carefully restrained, and tries not think cruel thoughts about their daughter's cold determined mind, always bound with honour and duty and glory, now bound forever in cold cruel metal. Sense of duty and loyalty and self so strong it overrode emotional inhibiters and fearsome technology. She didn't fear Yvonne in any tangible way when she was alive, so it makes very little sense to be even a little bit terrified of her in death.
The sky is full of planets and the stars are going out. There's an eerie pall of smoke around the building she instinctively knows is UNIT's New York Headquarters. All around her chaos reigns as Wall Street spins into carefully controlled panic and it takes every last ounce of her self-control not to just sit down where she is and laugh uncontrollably at them all. Fussing around with their spreadsheets and predictions as the apocalypse breaks above their heads. This she thinks, is why she never felt any guilt whatsoever about using her future knowledge for personal gain. It's all so petty and impermanent, all those imaginary numbers flitting about making up profit and loss. In the face of the vastness of space and time it's meaningless. She walks quite calmly from the office heading for the roof terrace, pausing only to appropriate a bottle of champagne from someone in senior management's abandoned office. Finding a comfortable spot with a good view of the unfolding carnage, she swigs the champagne straight from the bottle and raises a toast to friends and lovers lost or forgotten.
She props her feet up on the parapet and waits for the world to end, or not. She did her time saving planets from certain doom; she reckons she's earned the right to a good view of the end of her own.