"Look," Jack continued exasperatedly, "She's not just some girl. She's Rose and we were friends…good friends…and stop smirking Gwen, not that kind of friends." Gwen did not stop smirking and Jack decided to let it go.
"How exactly," asked Tosh sensibly, "Did you ever meet the girl in the video?"
"Well now," Jack temporized, "That's an interesting story. See, I was hovering cloaked not too far from-"
"No," Tosh cut him off before he could get into the full swing of his tale, "I mean, she's from another universe. Can this TARDIS thingy cross realities as well?"
"Yes," said Jack. "And no." His face darkened as he realized exactly how hard it was to explain this convoluted situation to his crew. "I've never been to any alternate universes. I met Rose and the Doctor right here, in this universe's London."
"So," Ianto interjected, "This lady in the video…is some sort of…alternate Rose. Different from the one you know."
"No," said Jack, shaking his head sadly. "They're the same. I mean, my Rose and the Rose in the tape are the same individual. There was no Rose originally in that universe. She crossed over to the other side."
"In the…oh, what the hell did you call it again…"
Jack fixed Owen with a withering glance. "TARDIS," he replied.
"Whatever."
"And no," Jack said. "Well, not the last time anyways."
"This is not getting any clearer, Jack," Gwen groused.
Jack grunted and walked behind his desk. With the comforting wood expanse separating him from his infuriating colleagues, Jack felt a little less claustrophobic and a little more like perhaps he could go on with his story unmolested. He leaned with his palms against the edge of the desk, took a deep breath, and tried to get it all out in one fell swoop.
"Look, I don't know exactly what happened. All I know is that the three of us - the Doctor, Rose, and I - were traveling around the universe, saving worlds and having a grand old time. Then…" and here Jack paused slightly and closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Then we got separated. Or, at least I did. I spent the better part of a century trying to catch up with them again. To find the Doctor. And when I found him, Rose was gone. He said she'd gotten sucked over into some alternate universe and that…that she couldn't get back." Jack looked up at his team through the carelessly handsome sweep of his dark bangs. "And all I know is that it had something to do with the Army of Ghosts and the destruction at Canary Wharf."
"You mean Torchwood," said Ianto, cottoning on. "It had something to do with us. She's trapped in some bizzarro alternate universe because of what we did." Jack nodded and Ianto's brow darkened. The team was silent for a moment, contemplating as they so often did, the bad work that Torchwood had done in the past; the vast network of sins it seemed they'd never fully make up for, no matter how hard they tried.
"Well, I've got a question," Owen said, breaking in on their somber mood. "If it took you a hundred years to find this guy the last time what makes you so sure you can find him now?" Jack watched as horrified realization spread across his friends' faces. He stood up and extended his hand in a calming motion.
"It's all right," he smiled, slipping a small cellular phone out of his trousers pocket with his other hand and flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, "I've got his number."
"What," said Gwen, "He's got a cell phone?"
"No, not exactly," Jack squinted at the scrolling contacts list on the tiny square screen. "But Martha Jones does." A second passed as everyone in the office who was not Jack exchanged perpetually frustrated glances, and as one replied:
"Who the hell is Martha Jones?!"
/
Martha stumbled into the open doorway of the control room, a pink towel wrapped in a turban about her head. Falling against the doorframe and barely catching herself, she darted a terrified glance at the central column. The Doctor was holding tightly to one of the larger levers (which Martha had always suspected had no purpose other than to serve as a handrail), having barely kept to his feet himself. Donna, by now, was clinging to the armrests of the chair with a white knuckled death grip; her mouth a slim white line of teeth behind lips stretched thin with fear.
"What's going on?" Martha asked as another stomach turning heave of the TARDIS sent her careening into one of the support columns. She latched onto it for dear life and turned again to the center of the room. Surrounded by the whine of error alarms and bathed in the pulsing blue-green glow of the central column, the Doctor grinned insanely back at her.
"No idea whatsoever," he said brightly, as if he found the whole idea of being them tossed about his ship like so many coins in a child's piggy bank the height of fun. As if to emphasize this point the TARDIS rolled again, causing the Doctor to nearly collapse to his knees, held up only by his single handhold, and swinging Martha to the opposite side of her safety column. The pink towel, having had considerably more of a ride than it could handle, slid to the floor, leaving Martha's black hair to curl wetly against her back. Donna clung to her bolted seat, turning slightly green with the sickening motion of the ship.
"Well, what did you do?!" Martha repeated with exasperation as the Doctor hauled himself back to his feet.
"Nothing," he said, turning his attention to the wildly blinking lights of the control panel with a look of concern. "We were just having tea," he explained, waving his hand absently at the collection of china shards and tea remains littering the floor, and forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be holding on.
The next lurch sent him flying to the floor panels.
"Well you must have done something!" Martha continued, once the Doctor had picked himself up and resumed his grip.
"Not a thing," he said, sounding truly surprised at the notion, and scanning the cryptic green messages flashing across his readout screen with intense curiosity. "She seems to be doing it herself. Funny that." The Doctor's brow creased and he started pulling levers and pushing buttons seemingly at random.
"What!?" Martha was shouting now over the din. She glanced at Donna, wondering if the Doctor had been referring to their mutual friend, but the confused look on Donna's face convinced her otherwise. He must be talking about the TARDIS then. He often spoke of her this way, like it was a real person with a mind of its own. Martha supposed that if any machine could be said to have a mind, then the TARDIS certainly would; however, it was her personal belief, despite what the Doctor might intimate, that there was only living mind in charge of the TARDIS, and that was the Doctor himself.
Donna, speaking for the first time since the convulsions had started, asked, "Are we going somewhere?"
The Doctor's eyes flicked again over his screen. "Yes," he answered simply.
"Where then?" Martha shouted.
"I'm not entirely sure about that just yet." His eyes flicked over to her briefly before returning to their study. "Sorry, little busy at the moment." He grabbed yet more levers, twisted several knobs and made what seemed a vain attempt to open one of the front panels for a look inside it all, but was stymied by his complete inability to stay stationary for more than a few seconds at a time. The violent jerking motions of the ship had not lessened since they began. As more and more lights brightened the console into a virtual Christmas tree, the sound of competing alarms reached a crescendo. Beneath all the ruckus, the tinny strains of "Rule, Britannia!" could just barely be made out.
"Bloody hell," Martha said, wrapping her arms more tightly around her column, "Who would be calling me at a time like this."
/
"Hello, you have reached the voice mail of Doctor Martha Jones. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and a short message I'll get back to you as soon as I'm available. If this is a medical emergency, please contact the nurses' desk of Mercy Hospital or else page me at . . ."
The message droned on in Jack's ear as he flashed a winning smile at his team, which he was not entirely sure would convince them that he would find a way around this new wrinkle in his plan. A piercing beep caused him to flinch and he turned towards the back wall of his office in order to compose his message in the relative solitude its blank surface provided.
"Umm….hi, Martha?" Jack could have smacked himself in the forehead at his lame opening. "Jack Harkness. Look, I know it's been a little while, but …well, I kind of need to talk to the Doctor." Great, he thought, I now sound both lame and needy. "It's rather urgent," he went on, "And I figure that you know how to reach him in a pinch." A thought struck him then; the last time he'd talked to Martha she'd been Earth-side, but with intentions to rejoin the Doctor in the not too distant future. "Heck, you might even be with him right now."
"Regardless," he went on, realizing that he was running out of recording time, "I'd really appreciate it if you could call me back. It's currently," Jack checked his wristwatch, "Eleven-oh-five a.m., on Saturday, November 22nd…ah, 2007." Jack racked his mind for any additional information that might be necessary. "Were in Torchwood 3's offices in Cardiff…Earth of course. Ummmm…." Jack looked around at his team, "And it's really, really important." The phone beeped in his ear again and Jack snapped shut the now useless device.
"So that's it then," said Owen derisively, "We just wait for her to call?" Although the others did not voice their concerns, the feeling was general. They didn't have time for this. They didn't have time for anything, let alone waiting for some flighty girl Jack had on speed dial to return his messages. That sort of thing could take weeks.
"She'll call back, all right," Jack assured them heatedly. "I told her it was important."
"Jack," Gwen soothed, "It's not that we doubt your friend will come through. It's just we don't have a lot of time to wait on her."
"You think I don't know that?" he replied sharply, "You think I like waiting around like some pathetic bridegroom? Believe me, I wouldn't be doing this if I had any other choice." Gwen's cheeks colored, and she looked away. Jack realized suddenly that his tone had been rather harsh and that he was likely taking his own anxieties out on his friends. Not a good plan to foster future team interaction.
If there is a future, he mused.
Sighing, Jack collapsed into his desk chair. Steepling his fingers, he swiveled to observe his entire team. They were each presenting him with matching worried faces. "Look," he said in a calmed voice, "I'm aware that the situation is drastic. Trust me, I'm not ignoring the seriousness of the warning we've been given. I trust Rose with my life and if she says the sky is falling, I duck and cover. But I also trust her assessment of the situation, and if she thinks we need the Doctor." He leveled his gaze at his teammates and raised his brows emphatically, "We do."
"So," he continued, "We wait. And if anyone else has any bright ideas about what we can do to try stopping this thing from exploding in the meantime, please be my guest." Jack held his hand palm up towards them, inviting any suggestions. Owen snorted, but turned away. Tosh bit her lower lip unconsciously, her forehead creased in thought. Ianto returned to studious contemplation of his tea. Gwen looked thoughtful for a moment, then opened her mouth as if to say something.
She was interrupted by a pulsating screech that approximated something between scraped piano strings and a belt-less vacuum cleaner…with a little humpback whale song thrown in for good measure. In other words, unmistakable.
Jack leapt from his seat and found himself crowded with his team in the doorway to his office. Everybody had stepped away from the pulsing blue light which seemed to be irradiating the back corner of the room. They watched as, slowly, a large blue police call box materialized in Jack's office. As soon as the box lost all appearance of insubstantiality, the dreadful noise ceased and Jack's desk papers, which had been scattered in some strange, apparently source-less wind, settled fluttering to the floor.
"See," said Jack, casting a superior glance over the half-huddled forms of his team, "Told you it would work." Smiling as broadly as his face would allow, and stepping forward into what little space remained in his office, now crowded with a desk, 5 people, and a blue police box, and threw his arms out in greeting (barely avoiding smacking Ianto in the face in his exuberance). Teeth flashing, Jack aimed his address at where he suspected the outside camera was placed.
"You got my message!"