Jack had told everyone to get some sleep but Miranda felt restless. Since she couldn't shake the feeling, she decided exercise would help and headed to the gym with her sword. She turned, swinging her blade in a high arc as she spun. She landed and rolled. She turned and leapt. She tried to make her moves as graceful as possible. She darted backwards and forwards, using as much of the mat's surface area as she could. The sweat dripped down her face and her breath heaved in her chest. Normally, she did this to music, but since it was so late, she'd opted for silence. She wasn't the only person who lived in the Hub. The only sound was her feet on the mat and metal slicing the air.
"You've got excellent form," a voice said from the doorway.
Miranda turned, raising the blade defensively. It was John Hart. She wiped her brow and said with contempt, "What do you know of such things?"
He turned, highlighting the kitana hanging from his hip. "You think this is just a decoration?"
Miranda let out a scoff. "The sword is an antiquated weapon in this century. I can't imagine it being anything more than a historical hobby in the fifty first."
Hart smirked. He gripped the hilt and the scabbard, holding it parallel to the ground. He made a great show of unsheathing the sword with a smirk on his face then tossed the scabbard down onto the mat. He leaned backwards, widening his stance and holding the sword above his head. After a bow from his shoulders, he turned his palm face up, gesturing with his hand.
"C'mon, Dollface," he said, smugly.
For a minute, she thought about not accepting the challenge. Miranda saw no reason to show off nor wound the Captain's pride but there was skill in the way he was standing. She gave into her curiosity and bowed low. She wondered who would attack first.
"I expect you to hold nothing back," she insisted.
"Likewise!" he shouted and lunged.
She easily parried the blow but her riposte missed. Hart dodged her. He lifted the blade, swinging it downwards. The clang of metal echoed in the empty space as Miranda blocked him. She had to give him a great deal of credit. He lasted a few minutes. That'd be impressive for an immortal of the Game but it was astounding in a mortal, especially one who was injured. His mistake wasn't even amateur. Miranda had simply out manoeuvered him. Hart was laying flat on his back looking up at her. He smiled and winked. He held out his hand so she could help him up. Miranda hesitated and then helped Hart to his feet.
"Where did you learn the sword?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"Picked it up here and there," he said with a shrug. He began examining the edge for damage. He was lying but he knew she wasn't exactly being honest either because the next thing he said was, "Same as you."
Miranda shifted uncomfortably. Jack hadn't told Hart about her or Ianto. Since Gabriel Morris died taking a bullet for her, Miranda refused to hide her immortality from Torchwood team members. Hart was different. Not only did no one trust him with the information, no one exactly expected heroics from him. When he had pulled Fish to safety earlier, it had been looked upon with suspicion. Miranda didn't expect him to stay past his trial period. The more likely scenario would be that Hart vanishing into the night. She wasn't about to trust the secret of the Game to this transient. He didn't know she was immortal and probably assumed she was her age of appearance - her early twenties.
She changed the subject as she examined her own blade, "And where did you pick up that particular sword?"
"Sixteenth century Kyoto," he said, as if he were mentioning the name of the corner market.
"May I?" she asked.
Hart turned and, without warning, tossed the blade at her. Miranda leaned, catching it by the hilt. She swung the sword, cutting the air with it. Miranda's eyes widened. This sword was a piece of master craftsmanship. Swords like this only existed in museums and a few were in the hands of immortals of the Game. Hart wasn't a fool. He knew exactly what he was carrying. She handed the sword back to him with infinite care. He picked up his Napoleonic jacket off the mat.
"You should be far more careful with both of those, Captain," she said, a bit annoyed at the carelessness.
"They're just things, Dollface," he said with a shrug.
"So like a man of the future to think a piece of history is disposable," she said with scorn.
"So like a human of the past, thinking history is indisposable," Hart said, with equal scorn. He waved around. With a frank tone, he said, "You lot like to think history can last forever because they like to think they can last forever… their lives or their memory. They're afraid of death or afraid of being forgotten when both are inevitable. You don't strike me as a someone who's afraid of dying."
Miranda didn't answer him. She heard the plastic of the mats crinkle as Hart stepped towards her.
"Why are you afraid of being forgotten?" he asked.
In memory of his honesty earlier, she said softly, "You're mistaken, Captain. I'm afraid of forgetting."
She still wasn't facing him but she heard him bend down and pick up the discarded scabbard. He sheathed the sword, not looking up. Since Hart seemed to be in a chatty mood, Miranda turned and asked, "Can I ask you something, Captain?"
"You just did, Dollface," he said, flatly. He didn't turn around.
"Why are you still here?" she asked.
Hart smirked, thinking he'd caught a bone. "Why? Afraid I'll tell the good Captain about your little bit of sabotage?"
"Our little bit of sabotage," she corrected. She'd caught him red handed about to do what she'd already done. His denial made her angry. "Do you remember what you told Ifan when he asked why you helped Gray exact his revenge?"
"I didn't have a choice," he said. He wasn't repeating his words but said them as if he were explaining himself again.
She snapped her blade into its own scabbard with a clack. He opened his mouth to say something but Miranda cut him off. "Ifan's right. There's always a choice but a decision isn't about a choice. It's about the consequences. You had a choice. Help Gray and live. Refuse Gray and die. Dying wasn't an acceptable consequence for you. You chose to live. It's a choice few here understand, Captain. But I do. The path to survival is rarely pure and noble. You did try to put it right in your own way."
He didn't answer her. He muttered under his breath. "A question of honour…"
Miranda pretended she hadn't heard him since she didn't think he intended her to. "Jack made his choice, Captain. He made the choice with the consequences he could live with. It was the wrong choice and he knows it. One day, Jack may make another wrong choice. He will think his brother can be saved. So, I made a choice and I will accept those consequences. His thoughts will leap in only one direction once Gray is dead and that is towards me. I'm also prepared to accept those consequences."
"For the same reasons I was?" Hart asked, genuinely curious. "He break your heart too?"
She smiled even though she was turned away and Hart couldn't see her. She said, quietly, "No. We broke each other's," and then changed the subject. "You still haven't answered my question, Captain."
He let out a snort and said, "What? This planet was boring. I came here and it stopped being boring. Does there have to be another reason?"
She wanted to roll her eyes at the obvious lie and posturing. She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Considering your actions with the 'radiation cluster bombs' and Jack's brother? It's advisable. Considering what I've heard from Jack? Absolutely."
He didn't answer her. He just walked out of the room. She pursued him. He was walking away from her as fast as he could without running. Instead of taking the obvious route to his room, Hart stepped up into the main Hub. Miranda continued to follow him. Maybe she should have let it go but something in her wouldn't.
"I asked you a question, Captain," she pressed as he walked towards Jack's office.
Hart shoved the door open and it banged against the wall. Prying little bitch…
Miranda cast a nervous look at the closed hatch. The noise was loud enough it had probably woken Ianto. Then again, her presence should have been enough to do that. Down in the gym, she was out of the young immortal's range but now she was well within it. Miranda finally saw where the former Time Agent was headed. Hart opened the bottom drawer of Jack's desk for the hidden whiskey bottle. He didn't bother with a glass.
"Have a drink with me, Dollface," Hart said, waving the bottle at her.
"I'm still waiting for an answer," she repeated.
Hart laughed, drinking down more of the liquor. "What if I told you, it'd already happened? That I'd been here and knew I had to be here."
"Could you tell me why?" she asked.
He laughed again, taking another long swig off the bottle. He was a time traveller that understood reality. Eventually, you encounter a time and a place where you're dead. If you bounced around enough, sometimes you even got to narrow it down to when and where; sometimes even how. The look in everyone's eyes when they'd seen him was practically proof positive. What else could it have been? Miranda wouldn't have been so upset if he'd just gone to the corner shop. They wouldn't have been so surprised to see him. He didn't want to think about it. He'd spent so long trying to avoid his own inevitable demise. He didn't want to admit he was afraid. He wasn't afraid of dying. Now that he thought the moment was finally upon him, he didn't want to admit he was afraid that his life hadn't meant anything. He didn't want to admit that his nihilism wasn't working for him. What had he ever done but take up space? But there was something about her that drew honesty out of him like some poultice pulling poison from a wound.
"Because I die. And maybe I want my life to mean something before I do that."
"You didn't strike me as a man afraid of death," she said, throwing his own words back at him. "And you're a liar. Have you ever said an honest thing in your life that you didn't try to back out of?"
He snickered, pushing aside some of the things on Jack's desk aside. He stepped around to its front and then hopped up so he was sitting on it. He spread his legs and patted the wood between them.
"What do you say, Dollface? How about a send off? You? Me? This sturdy desk? No paralyzing lip gloss. Cross my heart and hope to die… stick a needle in my eye."
Miranda stepped forward, the smell of the liquor increasing. She stepped between Hart's splayed thighs. The welcoming heat coming off of his body was like a furnace. She wasn't going to roll her eyes at him and walk away like the others often did. She was going to do what she suspected no one had ever done before - call him out on his shit. She leaned in, her nose almost touching his.
"You're a liar and a poor one at that. Feel free to drown yourself in Jack's booze, Captain, but you will not be drowning yourself in me. Not now. Not ever. You want to have sex on this desk because it's cheap and low, just like the way you feel now. I am not an affirmation of your self loathing nor am I a whip for the mortification of your flesh," she said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "If you cannot live with the consequences of your choices, then do the honourable thing and fall onto that sword strapped to your hip. Is it a question of honour, Captain? Or is it a question of fear?" She saw his jaw shift. She turned and as she walked away, she said, "Either way. You've chosen to live. So do it and do it properly or don't do it at all."
