Author's Note: First, thanks so much for such a positive response to the last chapter! I really do love hearing from y'all. :)
Second...I hope this chapter makes sense. I'm afraid there's lots of Whovian jargon, but upon rereading it before uploading it I think it's understandable. Don't be afraid to let me know if it's not. But I hope it is.
Anyway, allons-y!
Jack is keeping calm.
(Because Jack Harkness is not the kind of man who panics.)
He summons up every iota of confidence that he has in him and shoots the woman the most dazzling grin he's produced yet, and says, "That's gonna be harder than it looks, sweet heart."
The woman smiles at him, but there's nothing resembling amusement or friendliness in the pull of her lips. "I know," she replies. "That's why I brought you here. If I could have, I would have killed you without you ever knowing about it, met you in a grocery store, found you at your precious Torchwood, come to you as you slept in your bed. But the conditions need to be precise. And I need your undivided attention."
"I'm not sure you understand," Jack says, sad to have to ignore the obvious joke in come to you as you slept in your bed as she rolls up the sleeves of her blouse. A sick resignation sets over him at the action; whatever's going to happen next isn't likely to be pleasant. "I can't die. People have tried. For years."
"One hundred and twenty-five years," the woman agrees, and Jack goes still. "Don't underestimate me, Mister Harkness. I know all about you. I wouldn't have come here unprepared. And the people who've tried to kill you in the past aren't me."
Her sleeves are now rolled up to her elbows, and she holds out a hand. One of the human men runs up to her with a wicked-looking knife with what looks like an ivory handle, engraved with some kind of rune that Jack hasn't seen before. It's ceremonial, no doubt about it. A ritual.
"You have a name?" Jack asks.
The woman runs a reverent finger over the side of the blade, and looks up. "I do," she says plainly.
Jack laughs through his frustration. "Look, I know you don't have my real one, but you have something to call me. Can I have something to call you?"
The woman regards him for a long moment, perfectly still with the knife in her hands. "Anna," she replies after an eternity. "You can call me Anna."
Anna seems to be done at that, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "So, Anna," Jack says quickly, "Why take the Winchesters, then? If this is about me and you, or me and your employers, or whatever it is, why bring them into it?" She opens her eyes with a disapproving expression.
"Precautions," she says, her voice crisp and efficient. "If this is to work there is no room for error."
"But what do they have to do with me?" Jack insists. "I didn't even know them four days ago. Did you just use them to bring me here from Cardiff? Even if I had to be here for you to kill me good and proper, you really couldn't have thought of a better way to lure me over than to put two kids in danger?"
Anna's gaze is unwavering and unemotional. The faintest trace of a smile creeps onto her face. "There is so much you don't understand," she says, and there is something in her voice, some terrible hint of deserved superiority that brings to mind how small and childlike Jack always feels in the presence of the Doctor's vast knowledge, and it frightens and angers him all at once.
Jack shrugs and shakes his head, grinning wide. "Then enlighten me," he replies. "I'm always up to learning new things. And while you're at it, why don't you tell me what you are? Because despite that pretty girl you're wearing, you're not human."
"You're perceptive," she says, her smile taking on a tinge of amusement. "You're also right, Mister Harkness."
"Really, Jack is fine," Jack says magnanimously.
Anna shrugs. "Jack, then. No, I'm not human."
"Not a demon, either," Jack says. "Something else. Made a pretty grand entrance."
"No," Anna says, and there's something that's almost a laugh in her voice, like church bells. "Not a demon. You're in good hands, Jack. I regret that it comes to this, but your life goes to the service of a greater cause."
"Yeah?" Jack asks. "Such as?"
The wind rises again and lightning flashes, and Jack sees...something. Behind Anna. (Wings, his brain tells him, wings.) Something he can't make out. (Wings.)
Something. He can't make it out.
Jack shivers.
"I'm an angel of the Lord, Jack Harkness," Anna says, and there are voices behind her voice and whispers surrounding her telling Jack that if he could hear her voice, not the voice of the pretty girl she was wearing, he'd probably wake up several hours later with another KIA to his name, "and your death will help to win the final battle for the armies of God."
Jack finds that he's breathing hard, and his limbs are trembling. He grits his teeth to calm himself, and says, "You're talking about the Apocalypse."
Anna nods. "The end of days."
It's not in Jack's nature to admit when he's lost. He keeps up a stoic face in front of the Doctor; he won't do less in front of this woman. Angel. Something. "What do I have to do with the Apocalypse?" he asks.
"Nothing," Anna says. "Not directly. But great events happen one tiny push at a time. And you are one such push. A pivotal one."
"Something I do is going to trigger it?" he asks. He doesn't believe it. He doesn't believe in the Apocalypse, in angels and demons, not like that. Demons are refugees from the Time War, he knows that. The Doctor told him that.
Rose hadn't asked about angels.
Anna quirks an eyebrow. "You are giving yourself a lot of credit, Jack," she says, putting a delicate, mocking emphasis on his name. "You don't trigger the Apocalypse. But you do hand a hell of a gun over to Lucifer."
Jack inhales slowly, pensively, and nods his head. "Right. Lucifer."
There's an energy that crackles in the air, and Jack realizes after a moment that's Anna getting angry. He doesn't shrink back, but it takes a little doing to refrain. When she speaks, it is through gritted teeth. (He wonders idly if the girl came with that mannerism or if it's one Anna has adopted.) "You will learn to believe, Jack Harkness."
"Thought you were gonna kill me," Jack says idly.
"Before that, you will learn to believe," Anna returns. "If only just before."
She lifts the knife.
"You didn't answer my question," Jack complains.
She lowers the knife with a glare.
"About the Winchesters," Jack continues. "So I'm going to help the Devil win the Apocalypse or something. Why the kids? Why'd you have to hurt Sam? Doesn't seem terribly angelic. And why bring in the Black Annis to try to do your dirty work?"
"I didn't bring the Black Annis," Anna says, sounding irritated. "They were here anyway. I knew John Winchester would bring his boys here to deal with the Black Annis. And I knew you'd show up to protect the boys."
"Is that a problem?" Jack asks. "I mean, if you've got to kill me to stop the Apocalypse or win the Apocalypse or whatever it is you want to do, you couldn't wait for me to save the boys first?"
"That's not what this is about," Anna says, and Jack has had enough.
"Then tell me what it's about," he demands. "Explain it to me. I know I'm just human, I know I have a limited understanding, tiny brain, narrow scope, but I have a lot more years and a lot more experience than most humans you'll come across. If you're going to kill me, you owe me an explanation. Tell me what's going on. Tell me what this has to do with the boys, and tell me how you forged that letter 'from the Doctor' well enough to convince me."
If he chokes a little on the last words, Anna is kind enough to ignore it.
Her face is painted with confusion. "Letter?"
"The letter you wrote to get me here," he spits. "The one that you made to look like it was written by the Doctor, saying the boys were in danger."
"I didn't write a letter," Anna says. "I knew you would be here, now, and so I met you."
"That's likely," Jack laughs, his voice harsh. But then he stops. He breathes deeply, narrowing his eyes as he looks at Anna.
There's a taste on the air, something bright and electric and a little coppery. So faint he'd missed it in the whirl of sensory experience he'd been having (like his chest throbbing and Sam whimpering and the smell of mold hanging in the air and Dean shouting at him, and what he wouldn't give to be able to focus on those again). But he knows that taste, knows the way it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up a little.
"You're a time traveler," he says quietly. Anna says nothing. "You're covered in artron energy; you reek of it. You knew I'd be here because when you're from, I've already been here. You're trying to create a paradox."
"A stable time loop," Anna corrects.
"No," Jack says. "Because I bet you didn't hear 'Anna went back in time to stop Jack from ending the world'. I bet you heard 'Jack saved the Winchester boys on May second, 1994 in Romney, West Virginia.' And that's all. Isn't it? And if you kill me, I can't save the Winchesters, and so you never hear that I saved the Winchesters. Game, set, paradox."
"It won't be when I finish this," Anna says, and if it's a threat it's a hesitant one. "Doesn't your Doctor say that time can be rewritten?"
Jack's laugh is acid. "Yeah," he says. "But if you didn't send the letter, then he did, and he sent me to stop a paradox. I'm starting to think that this is it. Tell me, what is plan B?"
"There is no plan B." Anna's voice is tense.
Jack shakes his head, exuding disappointment. "Yeah, Anna. There is. There's always a plan B. You're too good for there not to be a plan B. I get away. You can't figure out how to kill me. One of your henchmen betrays you. I don't know. What's plan B, Anna?"
"There isn't—"
"What's plan B, Anna?" Jack shouts, and all the anger and fear and frustration come pouring out of him. "I'm not stupid!"
Anna sets her jaw and strides over to Sam, unconscious on the floor. A chill falls over Jack and he says, "Wait, wait. Just hold on."
Anna crouches by Sam and cocks her head to the side. "What do you see when you look at this boy, Jack Harkness?" she asks.
Jack hopes he's not getting the answer wrong when he says, "An innocent kid. A little boy with, I don't know, artron sensitivity. He's scared, Anna, like his brother. Please, let them go."
"An innocent kid," Anna echoes thoughtfully. She laughs under her breath. "Not exactly innocent," she says.
Jack suppresses a shudder.
"Do you know what I see when I look at him?" she asks, and Jack shakes his head. "I see Samuel Winchester. Lucifer's future vessel. The instrument of the destruction of the world, the hand that triggers the end-times. I see the boy with so many bloods mixed in his own that I can't see how he could possibly count as human anymore." She glances up at Jack. "Artron sensitive? No, Jack. I wonder that your Doctor didn't tell you what he did to this boy."
Jack tries to juggle the ideas that Anna has thrown at him but can't, can feel them slipping, and knows that he can't fight the only question that could possibly pass his lips: "What did the Doctor do?"
Anna rocks back on her heels, studying Sam. "The boy has Time Lord blood in him," she says.
Jack stops breathing.
"At six months old a demon came to him, a demon filled with the blood of your Time Lord friend, and bled into Samuel," she continues. "His brain was changed by it. Made open. He has the neurobiology of a Time Lord in the body of a human. Synaptic connections are made so quickly in his brain that he can barely keep up with it. Right now it's just manifesting in his excellent grades in school and his irrepressible curiosity. Later, it will manifest as his ability to open his mind to Lucifer and serve as his vessel."
"That's not possible," Jack whispers.
Anna shrugs, the tightness in her shoulders belying the casual nature of the gesture. "It's not. Not yet. Because it is only a quarter to midnight, and tomorrow is Samuel's eleventh birthday."
She stands and turns to Jack, her arms crossed. "How much do you know about the childhood of a Time Lord, Jack?" she asks.
"Only legend," Jack replies. "Most of it was lost in the Time War, but you know that. The Doctor hasn't really waxed lyrical about his upbringing, if that's what you mean."
"Do you know what happened to them, when they turned eight?" Anna asks. Jack says nothing, doesn't move. Anna sighs. "They were forced to look into the Untempered Schism. Into the heart of the Vortex, unfiltered, to see the fabric of time and space itself. It's said that this experience was pivotal in the evolution and development of their species."
"Do angels believe in evolution?" Jack quips.
Anna ignores him. "A Gallifreyan child must look into the Schism to truly become a Time Lord, and it must happen in their eighth year."
A feeling akin to nausea begins to rise in Jack as he starts to understand. "Sam's not eight. He's eleven. If he had to be exposed to the Vortex, it's too late."
Anna shakes her head. "Sam's human biology is fighting the Time Lord blood's reconstruction of his brain," she says. "His humanity is limiting him, and he's developing more slowly than a true Time Lord would. His brain is only now reaching the point in his development where he needs the Vortex to progress."
Jack refuses to understand. "I don't...what does that have to do with me?"
Anna looks down at Sam, and through her placid façade Jack can see fear and disgust. "This boy is destined to kill the world," she says softly. "The abilities given to him by his Time Lord biology will enable him to do that. Without exposure to the Vortex, he'll never finish developing. He'll never be able to become what he was meant to be." She looks back at Jack, her eyes hard. "You, Jack Harkness, are the only source of Vortex energy that Sam could possibly encounter in his eleventh year."
Jack realizes he's shaking his head. Everything is shaking, a little. "Vortex energy?" he cries. "My vortex manipulator broke more than a century ago. And anyway, that's not how it works. You don't—"
"Not your toy, Jack," Anna interrupts sharply. "You." She stops, and tilts her head again. "You don't know."
"That's becoming increasingly obvious," Jack says, trying for a laugh but ending up with only a hoarse cough.
Anna walks up to him, and, with a slim, cool finger, tilts his chin up so that he meets her eyes. "Your inability to die is a gift of the Vortex," she says. "You are filled with the energy of time and space, filled to bursting. And if Sam is exposed to that energy, it will trigger his altered neurobiology and he will be all but unstoppable."
"So you're going to kill me before I can expose Sam to Vortex energy," Jack says slowly. Anna nods, and he swallows hard. "If I hadn't...if the Doctor hadn't sent me here, today, what would you have done to stop Sam from being exposed to the Vortex? If I hadn't been here...would you have known what could have done it?"
Anna hesitates, but her expression softens and she shakes her head. "Probably not," she says, and her voice is more gentle. She's heard it in Jack's voice. She's heard the acceptance.
"What would you have done?" Jack presses.
Anna straightens, and says, "I would have killed Sam Winchester to ensure that Lucifer doesn't obtain his vessel."
"And Dean?" Jack asks.
"I would not have harmed Dean," Anna says, but Jack remembers the Doctor's words.
This is about Samuel. Dean is collateral damage.
Dean would never have let her kill his brother, not without making damn sure he died protecting him.
Jack smiles as everything falls into place.
"If I hadn't been here for you to kill, you would have killed Sam," Jack says softly.
Anna nods. "I would have had no choice."
Jack nods in return. "Okay."
Anna's smile is soft and light and peaceful, and Jack relaxes into his chair. She pulls up the knife that she's been holding and begins to whisper to it.
As she does, Jack says, "Hey, one more thing." She looks up. "What does all are pash mean?"
She frowns, then her face clears. "Allar pash," she corrects. "Enochian. Bind the children. It ensured that Samuel and Dean couldn't fight."
Jack shrugs one shoulder, and Anna goes back to her chanting.
Jack looks over at Dean, still slumped in his seat, his breath deep and rhythmic. He smiles again at the sight of him, at the knowledge that Anna will leave them be once he's dead. Dean and Sam will be able to grow up. They'll be better off because Jack had been there.
And he'll be able to rest.
The thought arises independently, but Jack doesn't fight it. This woman, this thing, this Anna, says she can end him once and for all. He's not sure if she's telling the truth, if she really can kill him, but she seems pretty certain. And there's a part of him, a not insignificant part, that longs for that.
Jack isn't suicidal. But Jack is tired.
Anna stops chanting, and Jack looks up at her. She holds the blade out for him to see. "This will separate your soul from your body," she says. "And I will scatter the atoms of your physical form throughout the universe, where they can't be reassembled. You won't be able to come back. I promise you."
Jack nods, and takes a deep breath. He grins at her, that famous grin of his, that grin that has gotten him out of so many tight squeezes.
It's the last time he'll smile that way, he thinks. It's the last time he'll do anything.
"Grant the Undying Man a dying wish?" he asks.
Anna waits.
Jack looks up at her, a look cast from beneath his lashes in a way that he's never met anyone who could resist. "A good-bye kiss?"
Anna hesitates.
Then she drops her arm to her side, approaches him, and cups his cheek in her free hand, pulling his face up to her, and their lips meet.
It's short, electric, warm, and so peaceful Jack almost falls asleep in its brief duration. He knows, in that moment, that she's pretty much as far from human as he's met. And in her inhumanity, there is something old and comforting, something that soothes him.
When she pulls away, Jack is grinning again. "Thanks, sweet heart," he says, and means it.
She smooths his hair back, and smiles in return. "You're welcome, Captain Harkness," she says, and raises the dagger over her head.
Jack closes his eyes and waits for rest.