Here comes chapter two! I wanted to post this a little earlier but my friend who helps me (is kinda like my beta I suppose) has been ill.
Oh, thank you for the lovely the reviews, they made me extremely happy and a little giddy ^^


Chapter Two

Wishing you were somehow here again
Wishing you were somehow near
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed
Somehow you would be here

Wishing I could hear your voice again
Knowing that I never would
Dreaming of you won't help me to do
All that you dreamed I could

Phantom of the Opera - Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

At 4:15 PM, Rose locked the door to the café, her job for today done. Luckily the owner fixed with the cash so she didn't need to bother with that, because there was always a risk of getting robbed – and even though she knew that whoever was stupid enough to attack her would be severely crippled if they tried – her boss did not know that, and she wasn't into enlightening him on the subject either. The sun had decided to shine a bit, so the weather was a bit nicer, which she was very grateful for. She put the keys in the pocket of her pink jacket, put on her black gloves and breathed in the fresh, English spring air. The day had been grey for starters, but now it was a beautiful afternoon, still a bit chilly but beautiful nonetheless. She stood there, breathing in and just feeling the sun on her face as she could feel, and see, people moving past her in the corner of her eye. Sometimes, she just liked to stand still and feel everything, people living their lives, walking past, talking on phone, young couples walking hand in hand, laughing, kissing, just… everything. Roses' job was that of an observer, and this translated into her everyday life. Or maybe it was because of her everyday life that she was an observer? Hard to tell, they blended together so very well.

Walking down the street, she navigated between people, people that, just as her, ended their working day at 4PM. She set course to a store on the corner of the main street and went inside when another customer opened the door to get out. A cascade of colours and smells washed over her, in a strangely soothing way. She smiled and hummed to herself as she picked out a gorgeous bouquet of blood-red roses. Delicately she touched the velvet petals as she headed to the counter to pay for them. The owner of the flower shop was a happy and bubbly woman from Latin American, who chirped about this and that with her customers, asked Rose about her day at work as she wrapped the flowers to protect them from the cold. Rose was rather impressed by her; the skills she had with her customers made them return over and over again and made her little flower shop very popular. Rose laughed, told her that it actually had been a good day, not too much people and yes, she was very happy that the sun decided to grace them with their presence just as she quit for the day. Nonsense talk that shopkeepers had perfected over the years, and Rose was still impressed by it. It was a handy skill to have, after all. She smiled when she exited the store and once again was swept away by the stream of people in the streets. Her stride was long and sure, walking past shops, crossing a street and turning left, getting out of the small, busy city core. Silence came over her, only to be broken by lovestruck birds serenading each other, and a chilly wind gently touching her cheeks. As a matter of fact, Rose had been born in this small suburban London town, and spent her first years here. This place was her home-town, but not her home any more, memories were bitter-sweet. Even so, she always came here a few times a year, having a mission in this town was an added bonus, since this was one of the days she always came here. If she didn't know that Jack had a mission, she'd suspect him of passing by just to give her some mental support, it was just something he would do, and she loved him for it. Her brother in all but blood, in all other ways that was important. She was fiercely proud of him and his work, and that was partly why they kept their relation a secret. "You're my kryptonite," he'd said once, lovingly teasing. Meaning that she was a weak spot for him, his strength and weakness, both at the same time. Someone that, like his parents, could be used against him if something happened. The secret part was mostly her idea, he didn't like it at first but she was stubborn and refused to bend so he went with her plan, even though he insisted that he was proud of her and this would not change the way he acted. And this she knew was the truth. Jack was flighty, flirty, a tease and not hard for anyone to get in bed – guy or girl didn't really matter to him – but he was loyal to a fault, and he was her rock and had been since she was ten years old.

She opened the gate with a slow, deliberate move, and the old metal gate screeched in protest. The groundskeeper still hadn't oiled it then, she noticed with a smile. She moved the bouquet to her other arm as she closed the gate, that screeched loudly once again. Then Rose walked forward, taking in the lovely weather, and thinking about the last time she was there. It was a while ago after all. She kept on walking until she reached her destination. Carefully, she crouched in front of the black stone. She removed her gloves and tenderly, lovingly traced the names on the gravestone. Pete Tyler and his beloved wife Jacqueline. Dearly loved and forever missed. May Angels lead you home. Rose placed the roses in front of the grave and kept on tracing their names with her fingers.

"Hey Mum… Dad. I still miss you guys. Still wondering how my life would've been if you still were here. How would I be different? Would we still be living here, or would one of your marvellous ideas have gotten us anywhere, Dad?" She chuckled a bit at this. "I know I've been lucky though, and mostly I'm actually rather happy. I'm quite sure that's what you wanted for me, since the two of you were so very happy together, and I do remember the two of you talking about happiness with me. I was a kid, but I do remember, and I hold your words close to my heart."

After talking to her mother and fathers' grave a while about nothing and everything, she rose from her hunching position and slowly traced the golden script that told her parents' name one last time. She kept looking down, not really thinking about anything more than the semi-hollow feeling in her chest. Rose sighed and stretched her neck a bit, and then she noticed the man sitting on the bench about 60 feet from her, clad in leather jacket and jeans. Oh God, it was him, the guy from the café. What the heck was he doing there?! She quickly glanced around and saw Jack, quite a distance away, talking with someone. Mr Pierce, would be her guess. Oh great, just her luck. And it was then that Jacks friend (or was he?) noticed her. Even with the distance, she could see his icy eyes narrow and his face getting a suspicious look. "I'll just pretend not to have seen him, I'll go with that." So she ran her hand through her hair, placed a kiss on her fingertips before she touched the gravestone one last time. Rose hadn't looked straight at him, so she was quite sure that he didn't know that she was aware of his penetrating gaze, the one that still lingered on her. She couldn't for the life of her figure out why. It couldn't be because of Jack, because Jack… well, he was Jack and flirted with pretty much everything and everyone, she knew that missions didn't stop him from trying to get laid. Him flirting with a café girl shouldn't be that suspicious. Maybe that man was just paranoid. She glanced down to the grave, a serene smile ghosted across her beautiful face before she set her sight on the gate where she had entered the cemetery. Time to get moving, hopefully without interrupting Jack. He would never blame her if she screwed up whatever he was doing, but she could not forgive herself easily – and not to mention it would look bad in her resume, for sure. She mentally snickered at the thought. Then she started to walk away from the grave, careful not to look towards Jacks location, nor the other way, at the man still sitting at the bench and still observing her. Pretending she didn't see him would be stupid, not to mention weird, something an ordinary person wouldn't do, unless to make a point and wordlessly tell the other party 'I am ignoring you' or something similar. So she settled for just walking past, maybe a nod or so as she passed him. That was reasonable, polite and nothing out of the ordinary. But as she kept walking, he rose from the bench. "Crap."She didn't react, just kept on walking, but her senses were tingling and blood pounded hard in her ears, making her erratic pulse almost the only thing she could hear. She scolded herself and her treacherous body for its reaction. That man wasn't a target or an enemy – she hoped. If he'd been a target, then it would be natural that she was alert and ready, ready for fight or flight. Silly, stupid hormones, making her feel just… odd, out of place. And stupid criminals and agents making the cemetery a meeting place today of all days. As she walked closer to him, she looked up at him, nodded slightly and smiled a bit as a greeting without words. But he stood in front of her, slightly turned away, she knew that pose. It was a relaxed pose, his face towards her but his body slightly turned away – it was a great way to not seem too intimidating and straight on. If he had just stood there, body turned all the way towards her, it would have been a confrontational pose (arms crossed would have been icing on the cake for that pose). Yeah, Rose decided, this man was definitely an agent like her and Jack. She had had training in body language and so had he, it seemed.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he startled her by opening his mouth and actually talk. "Is it a recent loss?" His voice was deep, and slightly concerned. "Well, you sure know how to act," she mused. Fight or flight, fight or flight? Not a hard choice. Fight, always.
"No, not really." She graced him with a small smile. Rose Tyler had never been a coward and would not be this day either. "But it was their wedding day today so… Is your own loss recent?" A polite counter-question, which almost seemed to surprise him.
"My friend is paying his respects, I am simply his chauffeur." He answered simply.
"Oh, I see. My condolences to your friend." She widened her smile a tiny bit and he nodded, and moved slightly out her way so that she could pass him. And she swept past him, blood still pounding mercilessly in her ears. Rose focused on walking normally, like she didn't have a single care in the world. And once she exited through the gate, she was sorely tempted to look back at him but she willed herself not to do it, and pleased with her own inner strength, she kept on walking.

It took her about half an hour to reach her current home. It was a lovely townhouse she rented while the family owning it was on a vacation somewhere in Asia. Sure enough, Torchwood paid for it (she still paid for her own apartment, doable rent was not something she'd willingly submit to), but she was the one on the contract for safety measures. Better safe then sorry, in case someone went digging a little too deep. Rose wouldn't mid owning a house like this one day. Because it was a house, a real one, – with a garden – not an apartment. Well, she had a garden too, but it just wasn't the same. Less responsibility with an apartment though, and as she worked, maybe it was for the best. But dreaming a bit was always nice. Rose opened the door and went inside, happy that she was inside again, because her feet had begun to get uncomfortably cold. She happily wriggled her toes when she got out of her boots. And without thinking much about it, she hung her jacket, and went into the kitchen to make herself some hot, steamy tea, and maybe a sandwich too, she hadn't eaten since lunch after all. She turned on the TV in the living room first, loving the soft background sound in the back of head while she moved around in the kitchen. Rose was a decent chef, but she found it incredibly boring to make food for only one person, hence why she mostly ate something simple when she got home. She allowed herself to dream about Marthas' cooking. That girl could cook! Even Mickey could cook. The two of them together could make the most amazing feast. She mentally drooled and then laughed at herself. If she was lucky, she could have some of their cooking soon, if they didn't visit a restaurant of course. Rose had celebrated (no, not really) her twenty-third birthday just three days ago, and Martha insisted that they celebrate her properly when she was back. It was heart-warming, the way Martha and Mickey cared. Jack cared too, of course, but he was her brother, and family and friends are always slightly different. She hummed happily and dared to send a text message to Martha from her personal phone; "I think we can have that dinner soon :)" was all she wrote, and her friend would ask no more, because she knew about Roses job, and respected that silence about it was an important aspect. However, Martha had a certain clearance from Roses bosses, they thought it was a splendid idea to have a reliable doctor as a friend (or soon-to-be doctor) since they sometimes got into trouble that ended with more or less bloodshed. It was ridiculous, from Roses point of view, but she didn't really care. She had known Martha almost as long as she had known Jack, and trusted her just as much. Getting an okay from her bosses was just a plus, less to worry about than if she hadn't. Sandwiches on a plate and hot, hot tea in a cup in her hand, she kept on humming as she went into the living room, settling down on the sofa, deciding to watch the old BBC version of Pride & Prejudice – the family had left a ton of DVDs, very nice for Rose when she just wanted to relax and just be in the moment. Cuddling down with tea in her hand and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she felt rather content as the movie started to play.

Bang!

Rose woke up, startled, and her hand unconsciously went for the gun she always had under her pillow. Another loud bang from the outside, and she carefully slid down the bed, her naked feet instantly reacting to the cold floor. But she didn't care. Slowly she took her gun, holding it in her right hand as she silently walked across the floor. She entered the living room; the sound came from the door to the garden, not the front door. She hesitated, and again it was a bang on the door. She watched the door suspiciously; the blinds were down so she couldn't see anything. Before she decided on the best course of action, she noticed something. Her mind temporarily stopped working as she stared at the deep red stream of blood that slowly seeped inside from the other side of the door.


Now, who's bleedin' on her doorstep?
Until next chapter!

/Lady Tisala