Many thanks to all my wondrous reviewers, who are helping me through my revision! thedeejay, NikkieSheepie, specialfrancine, milady dragon, deeta, gernumblies, FanGirl moment xD, L.A.H.H. and Marian Locksley.

"The inner box unpacks the outer at the same time as the outer box unpacks the inner." Jostein Gaarder's 'The Solitaire Mystery' again. It's a great book, and explains this concept better than I can.

It took a while to write, mostly due to a jumble at the end garnered from around my bedroom and my story files. You'll see…

Unpacking Both Boxes

The sheet of paper fluttered down down and down and rested on the ground like a promise.

As one, the team looked at it.

Rift spikes within the Hub itself were rare. Even rarer were ones where the result of the spike was neither a rampaging alien, a ticking bomb nor a deadly disease from another era.

"Do you think it's safe?" Gwen whispered, as though the piece of paper might have ears.

Hang this Owen thought and strolled over. "Everyone stand by in case I get a paper-cut."

"Owen…" Jack warned, knowing full well that appearances can often be deceptive. But it was too late.

"One A4 sheet of paper. White, with typing."

"That could have been the most dangerous thing that has ever come through the Rift. You know the protocol, Owen. We do not just pick up random pieces of space junk on the assumption that they're harmless!"

"Unless we're Jack Harkness." Ianto muttered. "It's just a piece of paper. Hardly dangerous. "

"What language is it in?" Tosh asked, her eyes lighting up at this sudden opportunity. This could be the Rosetta stone of alien speech! "Is it alien?"

"Nah, sorry Tosh. Definitely English."

"Well what does it say then?" Gwen demanded.

Owen scanned the first line. Then he reread it. "You don't want to know." He announced, slightly shakily. He read the second and third lines, and felt the insides of his stomach squirm. More and more with every word. Holy shit! he thought, and paused to read more. And that. And that.

Jack snatched it off him, and read:

'"Well what does it say then?" Gwen demanded.

Owen scanned the first line. Then he reread it. "You don't want to know." He announced, slightly shakily. He read the second and third lines, and felt the insides of his stomach squirm. More and more with every word. Holy shit! he thought, and paused to read more. And that. And that.

Jack snatched it off him, and read… Oh, just reread the above bit if you haven't worked it out by now. I can't be bothered writing it out again or the whole thing will just get circular.'

Jack looked round at them all. The others were all staring at him.

"What's wrong?" Tosh asked.

Jack checked the sheet of paper. Tosh's comment was there too.

"It's got our entire conversation written on it. Every single word." Jack glanced down and was irked to see that he'd unwittingly mimicked the text before him. It even told him so.

"It knew what I was thinking." Owen said shakily. That means Jack can read what I'm thinking now? God, I hope not.

"Sorry Owen." Jack replied, and mentally kicked himself as he continued reading.

Gwen looked in between the two of them. "But that's impossible!" She exclaimed, reading off the script without knowing it.

Jack scanned ahead to check that this wasn't just changing as he read it:

'"Maybe it's a time loop?" Tosh suggested. "One of us has written it in the future…"'

"Maybe it's a time loop?" Tosh suggested. "One of us has written it in the future…"

'"With perfect recall?" Owen interrupted, trying to hide his worry with sarcasm. "And knowing everyone's thoughts?"'

"With perfect recall?" Owen interrupted, trying to hide his worry with sarcasm. "And knowing everyone's thoughts?"

'"Well, what's the other alternative?" Gwen demanded. "That someone else is dictating what we're going to say, like we're just characters in a bloody story?" She hated even the thought of that idea.'

"Well, what's the other alternative?" Gwen demanded. "That someone else is dictating what we're going to say, like we're just characters in a bloody story?" She hated even the thought of that idea.

'"It's still doing it, isn't it?" Ianto asked.'

"It's still doing it, isn't it?" Ianto asked.

Jack looked up. "Just one more line to go… yeah, said it. That's it. Finito."

"Thank God." Gwen murmured. "That was…"

"Creepy." Owen finished. "Really, really creepy."

"How do we know it's ended?" Tosh asked, examining the piece of paper. "How do we know there aren't more somewhere? That our whole lives aren't just being written by something else?"

"We don't." said Ianto morosely. "Our whole lives could be controlled and we wouldn't even know it. No real choices, no freedom… Cheerful thought, isn't it?"

"But we're breaking out now then, aren't we?" Gwen asked. "If we're realising that we're figments of someone's imagination like that then we're escaping, yes?"

"But that could be controlled too." Owen pointed out, successfully crushing that option.

"But I'm not controlled! I'm a free human being! I can make decisions!"

"Just because we think we're free doesn't mean we are." Tosh replied quietly.

"It's all determined anyway." Owen stated. "Forget about that –" he waved his hands at the piece of paper "- we never had any freedom in the first place."

"Of course we do! I made a free decision when, when…" Gwen cast around for an example. "When I joined this place!"

Jack gave a short bark of laughter which made everyone turn to look at him. "No you didn't. We manipulated you; I manipulated you. You never really had a choice. You were always going to choose us – we played on your natural curiosity and you took the bait."

"But that curiosity's not controlled! It's part of me! I chose to be like that!"

"Genetics." said Owen shortly. "Upbringing. Everything that's ever happened before. It's all just one big chain of cause and effect, and we're the poor sods who have to put up with it."

Tosh had put her head in her hands. "That theory… if that's right we're not to blame for anything we do. Theft, murder… you can't punish people, or anything! Gwen's right – we must have some kind of freedom. This can't just be some kind of puppet show!"

Owen shrugged. "We can't both be right."

"You are both right." Ianto said suddenly. "Because everything is caused. Our actions are determined by our choices and feelings, and everything that's happened before. But if it's caused by something internal – like a choice – then you still have some control and freedom."

"Nice theory." Jack commented. "I like it."

"Doesn't help much with this though, does it?" Owen snarled, gesturing towards the piece of paper again.

"Just because it says everything doesn't mean it's causing everything." Tosh replied thoughtfully. "It could just be a record of what we're doing. Someone could be watching us, or know what we're doing somehow, but that doesn't mean they're in control."

That argument was mutually accepted, for fear of the consequences should it not be true.

Later, Jack made a thorough search of the Hub. There was nothing on the ground floor, but Myfanwy's nest was full of shredded scraps of paper, most of them no longer legible. Jack could barely read any of the torn, inkstained scraps of handwritten notes. Some were on post-it notes, others looked more like they'd been ripped from a diary:

'12.15 Catch a bus… one good RE result (35/35 on the miracles essay!)… PILLS… get collected from party at 11?... finance talk

They didn't make much sense, so Jack picked out a few typed ones:

'"…you bitch! All I did was make one little suggestion and you decided to chuck a bloody stapler at me!"

"Yeah, but if God knew she would do that…"

"Then He's a bastard…"'

Jack remembered that conversation. But there were other bits he didn't recognise so readily, and some scraps were a lot more worrying than a team brawl:

'"Some sort of emergency system's been triggered, the lower floor's flooding and Ianto's trapped down there…'"' …Tosh had forgotten about Owen. She had forgotten about most things…''…No-one else died that day…''…last time you stood here Ianto was still alive'.

Jack threw the scraps of paper from his hands.

One sheet landed, face up, covered in spidery scrawl, and glared at him as he walked away.

"What if we're all just imaginary? I write stories, but sometimes it seems more like the stories are writing themselves. Same with mine. My personal story, I mean. It's more like a fairytale, sometimes. It's all such a mess. I can't make head or tail of it. But it's so weird, when you just get glimpses of them, or hear their voices in your head. You know what they're going to say. Except sometimes you don't, and they choose to go down a different road entirely.

I can see why God doesn't show his face much. Creator and created. It wasn't meant to be. In the end, most of us just don't want to know."