Atonement
by Soledad
Author's notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.
It might seem a little strange that – after Andy – now Maggie, too, used to have someone in Torchwood. However, I imagine that the ones close to Torchwood members might be drawn to Torchwood, somehow.
Chapter 11 – Negotiations
The tone of the erstwhile Torchwood Three leader frightened Maggie very much. She didn't want to forget his day; the day that should have been the day of her death, yet, miraculously, became the birthday of renewed hope. She backed away from the man I the heavy woollen coat, so much the same as he'd supposedly looked in Aunt Madelyn's stories that it was downright frightening, her eyes wide with panic.
"No!" she hissed. "There's no way you're forcing that sodding amnesia pill of yours down my throat, Jack Harkness! I won't take it and that's final!"
"I don't think that's your decision," the main said coldly.
"Neither is it yours, technically," the blonde girl – Jenny – interfered, sounding at least a decade older than before. "It's Ianto's. And considering how much she seems to know about Torchwood, dosing would be a tricky thing anyway. Unless you want to turn her into vegetable – and she doesn't deserve that."
Captain Harkness seemed to hesitate and Jenny kept beating the proverbial iron as long as it was still hot.
"Besides, we got what we've come for. We've found and neutralised the device; and we've found your runaway resident. Let's go back to the Hub and have Ianto decide what to do about him… and her," she nodded in Maggie's direction.
"And If I don't want to go with you?" Maggie had no intention to walk into that rat trap where Aunt Madelyn had been murdered by her insane boss.
Jenny walked over to her and laid a small, surprisingly strong hand upon her forearm.
"I think it would be better for all parties involved if you did," she said. "Don't worry; they won't hurt you. Ianto is a fair person and a lot less hot-headed than Jack here," she grinned and actually winked at the intimidating Captain Harkness. "Just come with us, please. I'm sure we'll be able to find a way that would be acceptable for everyone."
"What about him?" Maggie asked, meaning Adam.
"Well, his cards are probably a bit worse than you," Jenny admitted. "But I'm sure he'll be fine, too."
"Don't make promises you may not be able to keep," Captain Harkness warned her seriously.
Jenny shrugged. It was obvious that she had no doubt about the outcome of things. But Adam had just had enough.
"Why aren't we dealing with this here and now, since you've already made up your mind about me?" he snapped. "In fact, why don't you just kill me? It would be more merciful than what your precious Doctor did to me, leaving me behind like this, half man and half computer, in a time not yet ready to accept such things?"
"Don't tempt me," Captain Harkness said in a low, dangerous voice.
"Oh, I'm not," Adam replied bitterly. "In fact, I'm offering you the golden opportunity to get rid of me, once and forever. Look, I'm making it easy for you!"
He clicked his fingers. The infospike dutifully emerged, opening up his skull and revealing part of his unprotected brain.
"C'mon, Captain," he taunted, "why don't you just put your gun into the hole and blow my brains out directly? That would surely destroy the interface, too, and you'd hit two birds with the same stone."
"Are you gone mad?" Maggie hissed, looking everywhere except at his exposed brain. "He won't have any scruples killing you. He's done it before, without as much as blinking."
Captain Harkness scowled. "That's what Madelyn told you? That I was Torchwood's executioner?"
"Weren't you?" Maggie asked, more steadily than eve she would have expected.
For a moment she thought Captain Harkness would shoot her instead of Adam. For a moment she'd almost welcome it. It would have solved all her problems; and it was still better than wake up in some sort of insane asylum, without memories, without even knowing who she was.
She didn't need Adam to tell her about Retcon. Aunt Madelyn had warned her to keep well below Torchwood's radar. Told her what happened to those who didn't.
"That's enough, calm down, all of you," Jenny's voice broke the testosterone-heavy tension with surprising authority. "No-one is getting killed, especially not here. We're all gonna back to the Hub and sit down to discuss things like the responsible adults we are. Or pretend to be," she added, not looking at anyone in particular.
Maggie found that she liked Jenny a lot, whether she was an alien or not.
Ianto's hopes for a few hours of restful sleep pretty much evaporated after he'd first woke up from a particularly vivid nightmare. One featuring himself, choking some unknown blonde girl to the death in a dark, rain-soaked alley.
He sat up on the narrow cot that counted as a bed in the restroom, making a mental note (for the umpteenth time, as there was always something more important) to have Rhys throw out these shoddy old things and get something more comfortable for the night shift. They spent night after night here when on call; they deserved to be able to rest properly.
The pressure building up behind his eyes signalled an oncoming killed headache and he sighed wearily. He hadn't been prone to headaches before joining Torchwood One and becoming an Archivist. The doctors at Headquarters had guessed that the suicide device planted in his brain was responsible for him now reacting to pressure with these almost-migraines, but here was nothing they could do to help him.
There were definite disadvantages of using barely known alien technology.
Resigned to his fate, he climbed out of the… thing that – by severe exaggeration and by the lack of a better name – they still called a bed and paddled over to the communal showers. Hot water usually helped him to relax and it loosened the cramps in his leg that had kept causing him problems ever since his fateful encounter with the eraser.
The Arcateenian healer had repaired most of the mental damage caused by the telepathic attack and the nanogenes did their best to repair the damaged nerves, but recovery was very slow, to his endless frustration. He knew it was a miracle – or rather the achievement of Chulan medical technology – that he wasn't completely paralysed to begin with, but it was still hard.
Sometimes he wondered whether he'd be able to do field work ever again. Between the limp and the headaches he was capable of dealing with the paperwork and the Archives as always – well, almost – but running after Weevils, for one, was out of the question and would remain so for quite some time yet. He couldn't even climb up to Myfanwy's nest anymore, and strange as it might sound, he missed the cuddling with their pterodactyl.
He closed his eyes in defeat as he was standing under the shower and felt the hot water pounding down his whole body. He was in his mid-twenties: an age when other people were at their most active, building themselves a life, founding a family, pursuing various interests, delighting in their youth and strength. Something he, too, had dreamt about when still with Lisa.
Yet here he was now, barely more than a cripple, traumatised in more ways than he'd care to count. Burdened with a responsibility. That had driven his predecessor, Alex Hopkins – a good, decent man according to Jack – mad enough with despair to murder his entire team and then kill himself. All in the name of sparing them the worst.
Life was definitely not fair.
Sometimes he'd have gladly switched places with his old schoolfriend, Idris Hopper, now working for Mr Grainger at the City Hall. Being mobbed at the workplace was not a pleasant thing, for sure, and Idris had more than his fair share of that, both for being gay and for having served as the ill-remembered Mayor Blaine's PD – but it was still infinitely better than being the Torchwood Director.
Even though Idris probably wouldn't believe it.
The door of the shower room opened and Ianto was grateful for the distraction from his increasingly depressing track of thoughts. Something must have occurred. Sally wouldn't bother him here if it weren't something important, and everything was better than his current wallowing in self-pity.
He switched off the shower, snatched a large towel and wrapped it around his waist, padding out of the shower cabin barefooted. Sally wouldn't be bothered by his semi-naked state. Modesty was the first thing that usually fell victim when one started to work for Torchwood.
Another little thing taken from them without compensation.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
It couldn't be something big or dangerous, according to Sally's carefree expression. She'd only come down to the showers because he'd left his comm in the restroom, apparently.
Sally, not the least embarrassed indeed, looked him up and down with a critical eye.
"You're still way too skinny," she declared disapprovingly; then she apparently noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. "Headache?"
"Oncoming," Ianto replied with a dismissive gesture. "What happened, Sally? I hope you're here for a reason, other than to ogle my naked body?"
"What's wrong with that?" she returned, grinning. "It's a nice one, even if a little skinny; and besides, Jack ogles you all the time."
"Yeah, but I sleep with Jack," Ianto pointed out. "I don't sleep with you."
She tilted he head to the side, still grinning. "Is that an invitation, Mister Jones?"
"You wish!" Ianto couldn't help but grin back at her.
She never failed to cheer him up, even though their light-hearted banter was completely innocent and without any hidden agenda. They were roughly of the same age, they shared certain interests – the love for James Bond films, for starters – and her company was one he'd learned to value during the recent year. Being with her felt like being normal again – like hanging out with mates, have a beer, talk about rugby and films and stuff and generally just having fun. Something he'd missed ever since Canary Wharf.
"Perhaps I do," she teased; then she became serious again. "Anyway, I came down to tell you that we've got Adam again… and that alien device."
"That was fast," Ianto whistled, impressed. "Good job, Sally. I hadn't expected you to locate them so fast."
"I haven't," she admitted fairly. "Adam seems to have had enough mother wit to realise his best chances were with us and decided to come back voluntarily."
"That was sensible of him," Ianto was relieved. They were stretched thin enough without having to organise a hunt for their runaway… guest all over Cardiff – and beyond.
He'd still have a serious discussion with the young man, perhaps have Tosh come up with a better surveillance method, but the fact that Adam had come back on his own spoke for him. Perhaps he wasn't a lost case, after all.
"There's a problem, though," Sally continued. "He was taken in by some woman who knows more about Torchwood than she ought to.
Ianto snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Half Cardiff knows more about Torchwood than they ought to," he reminded her. "The Rift has been here since the 1890s and so has been Torchwood Cardiff – that's more than a century! Lots of people have worked for Torchwood in that time, and those people had relatives and friends who have inevitably picked up things, even without Jack's silly idea of having the name painted on the SUV in foot-tall letters or throwing his weight around whether it is necessary or not."
"I thought you'd Retcon the witnesses," Sally said.
"We couldn't Retcon everyone back to their diapers each time something unusual happened," Ianto replied. "That would have caused serious harm to the local gene pool."
"You mean more damage than the Welsh already have?" Sally grinned.
Ianto gave her a dirty look that was made completely inefficient by the twitching of the corner of his mouth.
"Anyway," she continued, "they're bringing back both Adam and the woman. I've instructed Mainframe to get us all available CCTV footage from their meeting, just in case."
"Good thinking," Ianto nodded. "All right, I'm getting dressed now and will be with you in twenty minutes to make coffee. The really good one."
"I thought you still aren't allowed to have caffeine," Sally said in surprise.
Ianto sighted. "I'm not. But sniffing the coffee vapours helps, too… if it's the really good coffee, that is."
Maggie didn't know what she'd expected the secret Torchwood base to be like, but it certainly hadn't been this. Not this immense, cavernous interior, not the sewer chick combined with the high-end technology she was sure couldn't be found anywhere else on the planet – and most definitely not a pterodactyl drawing its lazy circles high up, just under the domed ceiling.
How the hell did all this fit under the Millennium Centre anyway? Through some weird sort of space distortion? She was a technical writer, not a scientist, but she'd been good enough at physics and maths at school to come up with several possibilities that could work.
At least in science fiction.
Cos they certainly were under the Millennium Centre. She recognised the water tower from Roald Dahl Plass that clearly went all the way down to the bottom of the base, the falling water pooling around its lower end before being redirected by several narrow canals and led away somewhere even deeper.
Speaking of which, wasn't the moisture bad for all that sensitive electronic equipment? Or had the computers some kind of special isolation that prevented them from getting wet?
She looked around again, taking in the glass-walled offices and research labs on the upper level, the balconies that ran around the whole place, the eerie, otherworldly atmosphere of it. It seemed unlikely that such a place would exist anywhere else but in Batman films, and yet there she had the hard proof that it did.
This was where Aunt Madelyn had worked. Where she had died in her best years, when she'd still had her entire life before her. Not by some murderous alien or dangerous, malfunctioning alien tech. No; she'd died by the hand of her own boss; by the hand of someone she'd considered a friend.
Maggie shook her head to free it from the memories. She had to concentrate on her own fate right now. She would not let them take her memories; of Torchwood, of Aunt Madelyn, of Brian… of last night when she'd found the strength to go on with her life. She just wasn't sure how to persuade them to allow her to remember.
This was Torchwood, after all. And Torchwood was notoriously ruthless.
Her attention was caught by a young man in a sharp, charcoal-grey three-piece suit, leaning on a light metallic cane. He was coming from what seemed to be a kitchenette, if the huge, antiqued coffee machine of high-polished chrome and brass was any indication. He was neatly groomed, his white-striped navy-blue tie in a perfect Windsor knot, his dress shoes polished to perfection.
He had a friendly, albeit somewhat bland smile plastered over his face but deep shadows under his blue-grey eyes. Most likely the PA of the Torchwood Director, Maggie decided. Those poor sods always got worked ragged, being responsible for everything that was going on – from their bosses' schedule through personnel matters down to playing teaboy. Or barista, depending on said bosses' preferences.
He limped closer, switched the cane into his left hand and extended the right one to Maggie.
"Ms Hopley, I presume?" he had that peculiar, lilting accent only people born and bred in Wales could produce. "How nice of you to come here so that we could talk. I'm Director Jones."
Maggie shook the proffered hand, wishing the earth would open beneath her feet and swallow her in the whole. How could she possibly have mistaken the boss of the whole place for the coffee boy?
"Oh, don't worry about it!" Director Jones replied, making her realise, to her mortal embarrassment, that she must have spoken her thoughts out loud. "Happens to most people at first. My predecessor," he added with an amused glance at Captain Harkness, "made them believe that being rude and wearing outlandish clothes are the basic preference of all Torchwood Directors. I happen to agree, but I haven't had the time to disparage those prejudices yet."
Maggie gave him a wary look. "So you're the boss here?"
"Officially," he deadpanned. "The sad truth is, however, that my minions pretty much do what they want, no matter what I tell them to do."
"Now that is a blatant lie," the pretty blonde behind the insanely complicated surveillance equipment declared. "Don't listen to him, Ms Hopley; and, more importantly, don't believe him. All those pleasant manners are just a mask he wears to mislead people. In fact, he's a slave driver and a micro-manager of the worst sort."
"Guilty as charged," the small, polite (and most likely false) smile of Director Jones grew into a broad, honest grin. "You should not scare our guest though, Sally. I'm sure she heard enough weird things about this place from her aunt to last for a lifetime. Dr. Conwy is said to have a sarcastic nature; and a pretty low opinion of her co-workers."
"And that was at a time when Torchwood actually had a competent staff," Captain Harkness added, grinning like a loon.
"Oi, Harkness!" a wiry, dark-haired, weasel-faces man – based on his white lab coat probably a doctor – protested indignantly. "Before you'd start dissing the staff I'd like to remind you that you were the one who chose to hire us… including Teaboy here."
"A little more respect, Dr. Harper, if I may ask," Director Jones said in mock offence.
"Try earning it," the doctor replied – and then they all laughed.
All except Adam who looked extremely and Maggie herself who was completely bewildered. This was Torchwood? The gloomy, dangerous, often insane Torchwood of Aunt Madelyn? This bunch of mostly young people, with a weird sense of humour, set in a futuristic scenario that would have made Batman die from envy?
"Well, then," Director Jones said when the hilarity was over, at least for the time being, "I think Jenny should take the device to the lab so that our resident geeks can work with it. Tosh, Jack and I will relocate to the conference room with our guests to discuss with them their choices. And Owen, I'd like you to join us."
"What for?" the doctor in the white lab coat asked in obvious surprise. "I'm just your medic."
"You're our chief medic, and that makes you part of the senior staff," Director Jones corrected. "Besides, you are – were – a member of the old team and rank has its privileges."
Therefore they relocated to a conference room indeed; one that looked fairly average, save for the large video screen embedded in one of the walls, and were served the best coffee Maggie had ever tasted in her entire life. Then Director Jones – or Ianto as he intended to be called – cut to the core of things without preamble.
"Ms Hopley, before your arrival I've had the chance to study the file of your aunt as well as the CCTV footage from the area where you're living. Well… actually, Sally did it, she's our communications expert. We also did a complete background check on you, for which I'm sure you can guess the reason. I understand that you intended to commit suicide tonight?"
He asked the sensitive question matter-of factly, without the slightest trace of pity or judgement in his voice.
Maggie nodded.
"However, it's also my understanding that you've reconsidered, after having met Adam and seen the alien device, correct?" he continued.
Maggie nodded again.
"Am I also correct about you having quit your flat, your job and given away all your personal belongings in preparation for ending your life?" Director Jones continued in the same factual, emotionless manner.
Maggie nodded a third time.
"I see," Director Jones said thoughtfully, and for some reason Maggie had the feeling that he did, in fact, understand. A very old soul seemed to hide behind that youthful face; old and tired and having seen more than any human being should have seen.
"And you do want to keep your memories, especially the ones that inspired you not to kill yourself after all, am I right?" he then asked.
"Yes," Maggie said. "Please, don't make me forget. My memories are all that's left to me. If you think it's dangerous for me – or for you – if I remember, I'd rather you executed me. I know Torchwood has done that in the past."
"Not on my watch," Director Jones said coldly. "I'm not having people killed, unless they're a danger for the rest of this city, which you most definitely aren't."
"But I know too much, don't I?" Maggie murmured, because there was definitely a but.
Director Jones nodded. "You7 do; but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Not if you're willing to leave Cardiff, where the risk of slipping something to old friends by accident is too high."
"Leave Cardiff?" she repeated, stunned. She'd lived her all her life, never got any further than Swansea – and never wanted to.
Director Jones shrugged. "Since you've got rid of everything you've possessed, moving wouldn't be a difficult task, I imagine."
"True enough," she allowed. "But I don't want to live in foreign countries. Where would you send me anyway?"
"Not too far," he replied, smiling. "Our sister branch in Glasgow, Torchwood Two, is about to build a new team. Right now, they're just an office run by one man who needs help. Desperately. I'm sure Sir Archibald would welcome a technical writer of your skill and experience. He's an honest, old-fashioned gentleman but digital archiving isn't exactly his forte."
"Digital archiving?" Maggie found that prospect interesting. "I've done a bit of that at my last workplace.
"Which is the reason why I'd like to send you to Torchwood Two," Director Jones gave her a brief, wry smile. "You'll have to sign the general secrets act, of course, but as you'll see, Torchwood employees are paid quite handsomely to keep our secrets."
"But what if this Sir Archibald doesn't want a technical writer on his staff?" Maggie asked, warming up to the idea of moving to Glasgow. "Or if he's already got his eye on someone else?"
"It wouldn't matter," Director Jones replied with a shrug. "The Torchwood Director has authority over all existing branches. Sir Archibald will accept whomever I send him. Period. I don't really think he's even begun to look, though. He likes to take his time – even if he doesn't actually have any."
"You mean he's lazy?" Maggie grinned.
To her surprise, the Torchwood Director grinned back at her.
"That would be a somewhat disrespectful term, speaking of someone of the lesser Scottish nobility… however, a most accurate one," he answered. "Sir Archibald likes to contemplate his tasks rather than actually doing them, you see."
Maggie laughed. That sounded like a lot of people she knew – including her father. Who'd be surprised by her sudden decision to move to Glasgow, but not half as shocked as he'd been, had she actually jumped from that rooftop.
"People will understand that you'd want a new start after a year of mourning," Director Jones said quietly. "And Glasgow is a big city; your quality of life won't be any lower than it was in Cardiff. You'll have plenty of opportunities to meet new people, to make new friends. You'll be safer there, away from the Rift."
That was all very true, of course. Leaving Cardiff where every street, every sound, every smell reminded her of Brian and of her terrible loss would be a relief. Building a new life for herself somewhere else would be a challenge to occupy her mind; to keep her sane. And without the Rift and the weird stuff it spewed out on a whim, working for Torchwood wouldn't be any more dangerous than any other job.
Besides, she'd been willing to die, just earlier in this very night. What did she have to lose?
"All right," she said after some consideration. "I'll do it."
"Good," Director Jones said, obviously relieved. "I'll speak with Sir Archibald first thing in the morning and mail him your file. Just the basic CV, don't worry, it'll be up to you how much you tell him about the rest."
"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" she asked. "I have nowhere to go and no money for a hotel. I have literally nothing but the clothes I'm wearing."
"You can stay in one of our safe houses," Director Jones replied, "and I'll authorise an advance on your first payment, so that you can get at least some basic necessities again. The first couple of months will be something of a struggle, I imagine, but you'll manage."
"Do you want to buy some of your stuff back, eventually?" the sweet-faced Japanese woman the others called Tosh asked. "We can track your things down easily enough."
Maggie shook her head. "The old books and films, the ones that truly meant something to me, I didn't have the heart to give away. They went to my Dad. I can get them again from him. The rest was what we'd got together with Brian," her voice broke just a little, "and I think I'm better off without them."
"Call us when you want your books delivered to Glasgow," Director Jones said. "Rhys – that's our general support guy – can organise free transport for you. We'll stay in touch anyway; the two branches keep each other up to date."
Maggie nodded. "Thanks. What will become of him, though?" she added, looking at Adam. "I know he screwed up and you're probably mad at him, but I owe him everything. Meeting him did save my life, you know."
"Good for you," Tosh glared at Adam who became stark white under the weight of her scrutiny. "I'll still have his head on a plate for messing with Mainframe. No-one messes with Mainframe and walks away to tell the tale. I'm serious, Ianto," she added, turning to their boss.
"He won't just walk away," Director Jones said. "We'll stick to the original plan and send him to Torchwood House. With Jenny and whomever I can borrow from Colonel Mace. There's no phone sing there, the landlines are secured, and no other living person for miles, save the custodian of the House. And he can make himself useful in the Archives. They're still in a sorry state."
"Would that be safe?" Captain Harkness asked, speaking for the first time during the briefing. "I don't feel comfortable with him around sensitive stuff."
"There isn't any, not anymore," Director Jones reassured him. "Sir Archibald and I have been shifting stuff between Torchwood House and Torchwood Two for almost a year by now. We've even moved the most… erm… endangered pieces to outlying storehouses in different towns. You'd know it, too, if you could be bothered to actually read your memos before you'd delete them."
Captain Harkness muttered something under his breath about paperwork being boring but Director Jones ignored him summarily. His ice blue eyes were fixed on Adam's pale face.
"Understand this," he said in a calm, even voice that was more frightening than any spectacular rage he might have worked up for good effect. "This is the very last chance I'm willing to give you. Screw up again and I'll have you Retconned so far back to your diapers that you won't even remember how to use a chamberpot properly. Have I made myself clear?"
Adam swallowed with visible effort. "Yes, sir."
"Good," Director Jones said. "I won't warn you again," he rose, reaching for his cane. "Ms Hopley, I'll have someone take you to the safe house that's currently empty. I'll also ask Emma, my secretary, to pick you up tomorrow and go shopping for clothes with you. Adam, you're restricted to your quarters for the next seventy-two hours; that should give you time to think about your adventure – and Tosh to calm down a little. After that, you can return to your assigned duties."
He limped to the door, leaning heavily on his cane. On the threshold, he looked back for a moment. "I think I'll take the day off. Tosh, can you run things for me, assuming that the Rift behaves?"
"Sure," she smiled at him gently. "Go home and get some rest. Jack and I will manage whatever may come up."
"Actually," he said, glancing at Captain Harkness meaningfully," I was thinking of giving Jack the day off, too… unless an emergency happens."
Captain Harkness broke into a wide, white grin that almost split his face in two. Maggie thought she'd go blind from it.
"Hey, Mister Jones, I thought you'd never ask!" he shouted in delight.
"I'm not asking," Director Jones corrected. "I'm giving you the day off. Of course, should you feel the need for some company, I might be persuaded to pay you a visit – or allow you to visit me."
"Couldn't you just get a room and not force us to watch your mating dance?" Dr. Harper muttered in disgust. The others just laughed.
"Not before breakfast," Captain Harkness declared. "Today is Wednesday, and on Wednesdays Rhys and Emma always serve us a traditional English breakfast. What other job has benefits like that?"
Approximately two hours later – Maggie had been shown the communal showers in the meantime and given a change of clothes the tall blonde from the lab called Lloyd by her colleagues kept in her locker for emergencies – Rhys and Emma arrived indeed and began to prepare an opulent English breakfast, complete with sausages, baked bones, ham and eggs, breakfast tea, toast and everything that belonged to one. While the hot parts were fired up in the microwave, Sally and Jenny decked the table in the conference room, Ianto made coffee for everyone (except for himself, he added ruefully, but that couldn't be helped) and Beth Halloran came in, too, right on time, with freshly baked blueberry muffins from the nearby bakery.
"I can make coffee," she said apologetically, "but baking is not my thing."
As the muffins were as good as home-made ones, not to mention still warm, nobody seemed to mind, though.
After breakfast Andy Davidson – whom Maggie happened to know from the police investigation concerning Brian's fatal accident – took her to a safe house near Bute Park. It wasn't really a house, just a two-bedroom flat with a closed balcony, and a rather bleak one at that, but it served its purpose.
"It's just until Ianto gets everything settled for your moving," he explained. "He thought it would be better than putting you into one of the restrooms in the Hub. They ain't very nice, you know."
"I wouldn't really mind," Maggie admitted. "I hate being alone… too many memories."
"I can stay here until Emma comes to take you out on a wild shopping spree," Andy offered. "I've got the graveyard shift, so I can sleep in the afternoon."
"You'd really do that?" for the first time since Brian's funeral, Maggie allowed her tears to flow freely. "I won't be very pleasant company, I'm afraid."
Andy gave her one of those friendly smiles she'd already found so comforting when he'd first appeared on the site of the accident and tried to help her.
"It doesn't matter. The first thing one learns as a PC is to sleep whenever one gets the chance, not when it's scheduled," he said. "C'mon, we can sit on the sofa together, watch crap telly, and you can cry over it as much as you want."
As a rule, Maggie wouldn't have cuddled on the sofa with a virtual stranger, in an empty flat not her own. But her life, now that she'd chosen to keep it after all, had taken a truly unexpected turn that she needed to digest first. Besides, Andy Davidson wasn't a complete stranger. He'd checked on her from time to time since the accident; they talked a bit on such occasions, discovering that they both used to have somebody in Torchwood – and had lost them during the same horrible incident.
And now they were both Torchwood themselves… in a manner. Maggie didn't believe in predestination but this was an odd coincidence. Perhaps if one ad family in Torchwood one was touched by the weird in some way – enough to be drawn to the very source of that weirdness?
She shook her head slightly. Brooding led to nowhere; she'd learned that lesson during the last year. She'd been given a second chance at life, a new hope; and she was determined to make the most of it.
~TBC~