A/N: Oh my gosh, the end is finally here. Thank you everyone who's skimmed, perused, read, and most importantly enjoyed this adventure. A special, lasting, heart-felt thanks to veritas6.5 for everything.
There's no room inside Gwen's head for worry, no thoughts to spare for the dazzling array of worst case scenarios dancing on the edge of her consciousness. If not for the stabilizer weighing down her pocket, she feels like she might float away like a balloon to hover high among the structural supports of the laboratory. The space within the Doorway whispers to her, indistinct and full of promises. Hesitating on the threshold of the Doorway, a heavy, warm hand on her shoulder pulls her away from her destination, turning her until she's staring into the deepest bluest eyes she's ever seen. The searching stare anchors her to her body again, and she smiles up at Jack. Briefly, she covers his hand with hers; trust me, she wants to say, even as a distant part of her wants to apologize for another promise broken. But neither set of words come out, and all she can say is, "See you on the other side."
"Yeah." Jack's voice is heavy with resignation as he pulls her into a hug, resting his mouth against her hair. Tell her you love her, you stupid old bastard. Tell her to come back to you, forgive her for agreeing to this lunacy, but for the love of all that is good and right in this world, do SOMETHING before she walks through that damn door. The base need to act overwhelms the gentle goodbye he imagined, and he tilts her face up for a scorching kiss, before releasing Gwen to her task. He tries to smile at her as she raises her chin proudly and steps through the Doorway. It's futile to try and dissuade himself from worrying; but he understands her need to save everyone at any cost, and he loves her all the more for it. And if something goes horribly wrong, he has every second of eternity to find her and make things right again.
The back of her neck prickles as Gwen passes through the first door and the small empty space leading to the second. Pulling the stabilizer from her pocket and cupping it in her hands, she spares one last glance for the solemn faces of the Directors and the faceless mass of people at her back before stepping through the second door.
She is everything and nothing at once, in this space between times. Later she won't be able to articulate what it looked like, what she heard. All she's aware of is the lead weight of the device in her hands, fingers moving without conscious instruction over the hundreds of moveable parts, and the endless ranks of ghostly people trudging past her, through her, towards their future.
Something that is both simultaneously more and less than wind stirs against her cheek, sibilant whispers twining around her, full of interesting ideas and alluring promise. Steeling her eyes shut against the endless ranks of grey shadows passing around her, Gwen lets her focus slide back to the solid weight in her palms, neither hot nor cold, but reassuringly solid in this not quite real place. The whispery feelings around her grow more urgent, a coaxing pressure brushing against her mind suggesting the feel of soft skin and cool kisses and the sweet taste of almonds. She struggles against the mental intrusion, dragging her concentration to heel; she must not be distracted from her duty, there is too much at stake. The feeling recedes momentarily then slams against her, whispers no longer, but a high, keening shriek without sound that rips along her nerves and pierces deep into the marrow of her bones, threatening to tear her apart. The intensity of the feeling swells past tolerance past meaning and comprehension. A tortured scream, hers, joins the cacophony, ravaging her throat as a primal sound of hurt and fear erupts out of Gwen's soul and she falls forward on her hands and knees, weak, heaving and shuddering into the soft warmth of sunlight.
Gwen lies there, curled up tight against her memory of the violation until new sensations slowly draw her back to the land of the physical and linear. When she can open her eyes, she's greeted by a gentle blue sky and a sun that seems to pulse with virile newness. The light hurts her eyes, but it warms the frigid edges left too long in the vacuum between times and calms the tremors wracking her body. After a moment to gather her wits, Gwen scrambles to her feet, wiping her mouth against a lingering sick feeling in her stomach and looks around the endless field of yellow and green grass stretching up to her waist and tickling her arms. Shielding her eyes against the light, she tries to penetrate the distance of the horizon for some disturbance which might suggest humans. A faint pattern of splotches to the north is the only break on the endless plain, and that lonely landmark is the destination she sets off toward.
The pattern emerges slowly, shadows solidifying into darker patches of bare earth and sod huts, figures crawling over and around the crude dwellings and at the very edge of her vision, a vibrant blue box stands out like a beacon among the greens and yellows and browns. Gwen lips stretch into a grin and she quickens her pace at the sight, revitalized by the familiarity. Breaking free of the barely touched plain, she's greeted by a ragged line of cold-eyed laborers. They do not return her tentative smile, and after a moment of hesitation, two of them step forward to flank Gwen.
With a parting look of suspicion, the other workers return to their task of peeling thick strips of sod from the turf. One of Gwen's guards gives her a gentle push forward. "Walk."
It's a struggle to keep calm in the face of such nebulous hostility. Hasn't she saved them? Risked her life to escort a civilization of strangers from the mouth of danger to a fertile new land of hope? An open-armed welcome is surely the least she deserves. As the second guard seizes her arm and begins dragging her bodily toward the settlement, Gwen summons every ounce of cold calm to slam shut the lid on surging panic, the desire to fight back against such handling. Unarmed, outmuscled, outreached, there is no possibility of her coming out ahead in a tussle. Cooperation it must be then, lacking any sound alternatives. Deliberately she moves to keep pace, banishing her worries and reaching for the reassuring confidence of authority. "Take me to the Directors."
Her demand stops the pair in their tracks for a moment, and they confer in a flurry of hushed whispers before easing their grip on her arms. More gently now, they guide her down a long series of muddy tracks weaving through the chaotic smattering of grassy huts in varying stages of completion, around crowded fire pits scratched into bare earth, past newly exposed fields of black and red earth, and raggedy children everywhere, pausing from a thousand insignificant moments of play and work to stare at the strange woman passing through their midst.
The community is bordered by a long lazy curve of pristine river, and Gwen marvels at the serene industries gracing the banks. In small clusters the woven net is being reinvented, clay is being dug, and everywhere, men and women armed with sticks and bits of fibrous string are fishing. A shout from one of the scattered groups hails her guards, and Suo-Koh Kim jogs up from the river's edge, pulling Gwen into a warm and muddy hug.
"I'll take her from here; you boys don't worry about a thing." Suo-Koh Kim ignores the gawking of the field hands, relieved beyond words that Gwen has finally made it through. The weeks between the first arrivals and this moment have been an ugly mess of overnight building, with Jack working frenetically beside her, as the Doctor searched far and wide for a piece of time Gwen might have washed up on. It had all come to naught, and the two men had agreed to wait just one more week before committing fully to the search. Gwen's return will bring a much needed peace to Jack and the Doctor, but there's something she has to do first.
Releasing Gwen for a moment to survey the other woman, she can't help but pull her back for a second quick hug of relief. "There's two people I want you to meet." Guiding Gwen down the slippery mud bank, she whistles three notes sharply at the water's edge. There's a pause before two children bob up several feet from the shore. She glares at them, repeating the call emphatically and the duo splash toward her, giggling and dunking each other and arguing with all the vigor and violence of two kids at play.
They stand before their mother, water running down soggy brown rags and carving light tracks into the thick coating of mud turning their brown skin black. The girl stares up at her mother shyly, twisting under the stern gaze, and does her level best to ward off an impending scolding. "It wasn't us, Ma. Da-On and her cousin started everything, really they did. And I said we should stay by the bank but then Soh-Soh followed her and I had to follow him, Ma. You said I had to keep an eye on him…"
"You're lying, she's lying!" The little boy tries to elbow past his sister, but she shoves him back and they go down in a spatter of mud and a whirlwind of small ineffective fists.
"Monsters," Suo-Koh smiles beatifically, reaching down and dragging her children apart, holding them at arm's length and surveying them with thinly veiled adoration. She shoots the now muddy Gwen a slightly apologetic look, before setting her apparently chastised young down gently. "I'd like you to meet my children: Mai-Oh Koh," she gestures her daughter forward, "and Soh-Kim. Say hello to Mama's friend Gwen, kiddos."
The children shove each other awkwardly in their efforts to hide behind each other, suddenly shy in front of a stranger, but they cannot escape the corral of their mother's long, unyielding arms. Gwen valiantly stifles a chuckle before crouching down to their level, long past caring about a bit more mud on her clothes. "Why, hello there," she offers the duo her most charming smile, erupting into a wide grin as the pair before her suddenly develop a keen interest in the muddy ground in front of them. "How old are you?"
Mai-Oh Koh squelches her toes in the mud before giving in to the need to answer a question to which she knew the answer. "I'm seven years old, and Soh-Soh is five."
The boy scowls at his sister's grievous error, "Five and a half!" he contradicts petulantly, "Besides, you won't be seven for a whole 'nother week."
"Billions of years in the past and all they can see is a week here or there." Suo-Koh Kim chuckles, speaking aloud for Gwen's benefit; her squabbling offspring too wrapped up in their argument to notice the dull conversations of the grown-ups. Right now, she's deeply indebted to their youthful ignorance for all it protects them and simplifies their existence. "All right, that's enough from you two for now. Off with you lot." As quickly as a snake-strike, she bends over, flicking water onto her children and sending them splashing back towards their small community of playmates.
Gwen doesn't answer, temporarily stunned by the resemblance between the boy and his mother, same dark almond eyes narrowed in frustration, same knife-sharp nose and cheeks unsoftened by the curves of baby fat which give his sister the appearance of a roly-poly puppy. Briefly overcome with melancholy, she can't help but think of the children she might have had, in another time, another life. She can claim to have made Cardiff her child, hers to love and protect as long as she lives, but ultimately she knows it's just playing pretend. A city of millions is nothing compared to a child of her own, to worship and raise, to adore and to scold. Unconsciously, she finds herself reaching for Suo-Koh Kim's hand as she watches the little orange heads bob in the lazy currents.
"They would have died without you." Suo-Koh Kim squeezes her fingers, struggling to keep her hoarse voice steady. "Everyone would have died."
This is the moment when Gwen realizes she doesn't know how to be a hero; she can't nod and smile and bask in what might be adulation, and what might just as easily be self-loathing. On instinct, she wraps Suo-Koh Kim in a tight hug, holding and being held with mirrored need and desperation. She knows the mad desperation which had driven the wild scout to seize upon her small piece of time, the willingness to do anything and everything to give her family a future. She had done nothing different, back when she had a daughter of her own. Nothing had been off limits when the 456 came calling and the governments of the world had stupidly attempted to sue for peace. "Did you volunteer?"
Suo-Koh Kim squeezes the tiny woman in her arms compulsively, before releasing her to hail a small cluster of men struggling in the deeper water with a crude raft. "I would do anything for them." She admits softly, "I'm glad I didn't have to do more, thank you." The words are woefully inadequate, but they seem to shore up something that was cracked inside the small, fierce woman by her side, and that makes it seem better, somehow, as the two shorter men balancing on the raft catch sight of them and dive into the water, swimming frantically towards the bank.
Time slows to the space between heartbeats for Gwen as Jack reaches the river's shallows, splashing towards her with a wordless shout of triumph. She's running to meet him before her mind has quite finished processing the sensory inputs, heedless of the staggering of her steps on the slippery mud beneath her feet, or the weight of saturated denim dragging at her legs, collapsing against him as they collide, and she holds onto him with all her strength.
Their reunion is almost more than Jack can bear. He had accustomed himself to the idea that he would have to devote the rest of his immortal life to tracking Gwen across the vastness of space and time, that it would be eons before he got to see her and hold her, or whatever was left of her by the time he found her. To have her, alive and whole, here and now, is a staggering, overwhelming sensation, and it's a long moment before he can speak again. "The next time you try to do something like that, I'm putting you on a leash," he murmurs into her hair, touching her in a thousand innocent places to assure himself of her presence and her well-being, and to hear her laugh at him, touching him back with equal assurance; and their shared need is better than any hedonist paradise he can imagine.
The Doctor is loath to disturb such a moment, precious for the relief it brings to two good people who did not deserve what he had put them through. However, there's always too much of a good thing, and when he judges their embrace to be approaching that line, he clears his throat, catching Gwen's eye and smiling gently. "Well done." He can see weariness in her eyes and the set of her shoulders, and smell the touch of the Void still clinging to her. Briefly he's seized by a feeling of guilt for the dangers he urged her into, for the lingering troubles this experience will bring her, but rationalizes it away before it can blossom into remorse. There was no one else; it had to be her. She made it through just fine, and he would definitely have gone and rescued her if anything bad had happened. Which it didn't. It's all over now; everything is all right, or mostly right anyway. He gives himself a vigorous mental shake to vanquish the last whispers of doubt and claps his hands together. "Right then, it's time that we go."
Suo-Koh Kim and Jack nod, but Gwen balks. "Go?" She gives the Doctor a quizzical look. "Shouldn't we stay and help? We can't just leave them here like this."
The Doctor regards Gwen carefully, fondness and approval gone abruptly in the face of his cool consideration. "We've been here long enough, we did all we can for these people while we were waiting for you. They needed a new start, and because of our actions, they have it. We can't build their homes, we can't till their fields, and we can't negotiate with their new neighbors. They have a future that is entirely in their hands now, a future that is not ours to meddle with. You will do the most good in your own time."
Gwen stares out blankly over the running water that's sparkling with a purity her Earth had long forgotten. She can't deny the Doctor's argument, but the idea of leaving sits poorly in her gut. Abandoning people in uncertain circumstances has never sat comfortably on her conscience, and having guided them to this place, her sense of duty is almost overwhelming in its insistence that their well-being is her responsibility. She looks between Jack and Suo-Koh Kim for some assurance or alliance, but finds nothing. "Please." Head hanging, she knows it's a battle that was lost before she got here, decided in some discussion she was never meant to be a part of, a conclusion foregone before she entered the Doorway. She battles briefly with impotent rage before straightening up impassively; this isn't something that can be solved by sulking until the decision makers' backs are turned and then doing what she wants anyway. Might as well retain some shred of her dignity.
Suo-Koh Kim smiles sympathetically at the dejected woman before her. "We're old hands at scraping by," she tries for the joke, but getting no response from the cool stare, switches tactics with lightning speed. "You shouldn't feel like you're abandoning us here, that's stupid. We knew what we signed up for, any fate in our control is better than what we had before you came."
Jack takes Gwen's limp hand, squeezing her fingers and towing her out of the water, "Come on, let's go make sure that our base hasn't been demolished by some freak accident brought about by improbable circumstances." With vestigial reluctance, Gwen allows herself to be distracted by Jack, and Suo-Koh Kim's stories of rebuilding in her absence: how the communities of the mega-cities had fractured in the face of so much available space and groups had broken off by the dozens to search for mountains and oceans and lakes, listening to the children recounting their experiences living in sod huts and learning to swim and trying new things to eat. The walk back to the TARDIS passes far more swiftly than her journey from it a brief hour or two ago; she is warmed by the sun and surrounded by friends. The unbound steppe of what might eventually be Mongolia, in eight thousand years or so, stretches toward the horizon in all directions glowing golden in the late afternoon sun. Small and fragile against the sea of grass, she watches as the Doctor bids farewell to Suo-Koh Kim and is pulled into a tight hug. He returns it gently and fondly ruffles the ginger heads of the children trying to clamber up his legs before plucking them off and murmuring stern instructions in their small ears before returning them to their mother.
Suo-Koh Kim takes her children from the stranger who had brought so much hope and love and life into her existence, and watches him walk back to his ship where his companions wait by the door, but Gwen watches Suo-Koh Kim watching the Doctor, sprouting stubbornly out of the unbowed grass, bending not to wind nor time nor fear, protective and restraining arms around the two things she holds dearest across all time and space, and knowing. She waits for the moment when Suo-Koh Kim turns her tiny family back towards their home, as the Doctor nods to Jack and opens the TARDIS door, and Jack follows him inside and now it is only Gwen watching Suo-Koh Kim watch her. The feeling of sick foreboding makes itself heard again, but Gwen only lifts her hand in salute to the huddled family in front of her before turning and stepping slowly into the warm golden glow of the TARDIS.
The journey home is peaceful compared to the tumultuous first trip; the whooshing, grinding siren and gentle swaying of the walls are the only indicators that they are tumbling through time and space like a leaf in the wind. A shiver through the walls signals a landing, and the door swings open one last time and Gwen trails the Doctor back into the lobby of Torchwood. Martha is ready at the entrance, a wide grin contrasting sharply with the exhaustion in her eyes, dirty fatigues, and the combat shotgun resting easily in her hands. Martha makes a sharp chopping gesture beside her ear, an old hand signal for the squad behind her to stand down, and slings the gun over her shoulder, stepping forward into the foyer. "It's good to see you lot again," she says warmly.
"What happened? How are you? Where is everyone?" Gwen pushes past the Doctor as he steps forward, squeezing her most trusted ally in a tight hug and glancing over her shoulder, past the stock of the weapon, into the room beyond. Somehow even more surveillance equipment had been squeezed into the tightly packed office, operators all but sitting on each other's shoulders amid the suddenly casual marines leaning against the walls in full combat dress.
Martha returns the embrace, "We evacuated as many civilians as we could from the immediate area around the Rift, and locked everything down tight in a ten-kilometer radius around where we thought the worst damage would be. Everyone else was instructed to stay inside until further notice." She disengages from Gwen's arms, turning and gesturing for them to follow her along a slender path winding around the heaps of equipment stacked around the edge of the office. "It's a good thing we did, too. It's been a bit of a mess these last weeks; I've seen worse situations than this, but not many. There were a few days where it was pretty touch and go, but then the reinforcements from UNIT and Her Majesty's forces showed up, and it's been a bit more manageable since." She leads them through halls made long and winding by stacks of supplies and equipment and off-duty soldiers, stopping in the first empty corner she finds to perch on a crate shoved against the wall. "It's quieted down in the last few days; we've decided to open the first set of barricades tomorrow morning and let folks start settling back down. It's still a bit of a mess in the immediate area, but I knew you'd want everyone back to normal as soon as possible."
Gwen nods with approval, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle comfortably back onto her shoulders. "Sounds like you've got a good plan of action there. How are the streets around here?"
"Only slightly worse than normal; take a gun if you decide to go out."
Gwen smiles slightly, "Of course." She accepts a compact handgun and spare magazine, settling them comfortably on her person, sparing a sideways glance at Jack. "Let's go," she wraps her hand in his and heads back towards the exit.
The streets of Cardiff are nearly as silent as a prehistoric plain as Gwen and Jack pace the empty blocks around their city, boots thumping in tandem against the asphalt, gait slowing as they help each other over mounds of rubble and trash, pausing to study rainbow smears of gore and mutilated corpses slumped and distorted, catalogue the possible causes of damage and attempt to identify small movements flickering in the periphery of their vision. As they move further from the base, the splotches of red and green, black and purple are obscured by bagged corpses, carefully wrapped in black plastic and canvas, thin lines of black text on attached cards identifying the contents for future handling. In the eerie stillness, a soft sound of crackling plastic and spasm of movement draws her attention like a lightning bolt. Catching Jack's eye, Gwen draws her gun, gesturing to the approximate source of the sudden stimuli. Jack nod, drawing his beloved Webley, approaching the bagged corpse Gwen had indicated, crouching on the dyed pavement and delicately peeling label away from the plastic covering. Gwen falls into their old pattern of operating, turning her back on Jack and the source of her interest in favor of watching the rest of the empty street, senses straining to pick up any further cues indicative of mischief.
"Oi, you can't be here!"
The sudden shout cracks through the oppressive silence like a whip and Gwen suppresses a startled movement, angling herself to keep the patrol of soldiers in view while maintaining the integrity of her field of vision. Behind her, Jack scans and discards the useless label: Subject of indeterminate origin. Sustained two wounds to chest, one to head. Disregarding the commotion behind him, he tests the smooth wrapping, peeling back a corner to see what lies inside. The body within the shroud wobbles gelatinously and shifts as a squad of UNIT auxiliaries surround then, assault rifles covering the pair and the body by Jack's knees. Something blue begins to ooze up through the impermeable wrapping, and Jack acts without delay, shoving himself back into Gwen's legs and rolling with her away from the rapidly expanding bubble of plastic as the goo stretches its container past the plastic sheet's limit of give, erupting in a frothing hissing geyser, smoking and bubbling as it falls sluggishly back to the pavement.
The adrenaline tingles and fizzles along Gwen's senses, laughter refusing to be contained by the severity of their predicament, enhanced by the click of six safeties being released, weapons of the UNIT soldiers trained firmly back on them. Slowly, she drops her handgun and raises her empty hands to her head in the universal expression of submission, sensing Jack follow suit beside her.
"Can anyone tell me what the hell is wrong with the civilians in this part of town?" The man on point growls from behind a reflective visor, careful to keep the crazy couple in his crosshairs. "I mean, absolute martial law is a fairly straight forward concept, right?" He makes a disgusted face, and wags the barrel of his gun in Gwen's direction. "Lets get them to a shelter."
"Bloody hell! It's Gwen Cooper- Torchwood!" Another faceless member of the squad holsters his weapon, shaking his head at the leader's antics and, breaking formation, steps forward gesturing for the rest of the soldiers to follow his lead. Gwen tilts her head back to look up at the tall, tall man, a voice out of memory barreling into the present as Larry Samson lifts his visor and stares down at her. "Can't say that I expected to find you wandering the streets alone, eh? I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised, though."
"You should know better." Gwen agrees wryly, the retort spilling out without thought. Possibly it's not the most appropriate choice of first words for the man standing before her, Jack and the rest of the squad looking on, confused by the sudden turn of events. Then again, what could she possibly say to the man she had trusted when she couldn't trust herself, who she had almost fallen in love with, and who had sort of run out on her, right when she was read to begin her life over again? They had moved on with their irreconcilable priorities; Samson with his wife and Gwen with Torchwood. There is nothing to feel awkward about, she tries to remind herself, it would never have worked out, and its better that it never started, whatever it might have been. She can't deny that finding him here brings light to her day and she pulls him into a quick hug, onlookers be damned.
Samson returns the hug easily, gesturing to the squad to complete their patrol without him. "I suppose I should." He agrees, checking their surroundings carefully as he releases her from the hug.
"I didn't mean to pull you away from your work." Gwen watches the squad disappear down the other side of the street, extra vigilant after her warning. "How was China?"
Samson shrugs casually, "You shouldn't be out here. We're still finding hostile creatures holed up in ruined buildings and dark corners." He puts a gentle hand on her arm, "Let's get you and your friend back to your base, there's someone there I want you to meet."
"I'm sorry; I don't think I got your name." Jack rises to stand beside Gwen, his friendly question contrasting with his unfettered aura of alpha-maleness, looking to intimidate, or at least start a fight, with the big man who never quite stops touching his woman. He had never really considered himself a defensive person before he met Gwen; offhand quips about being willing to share had always felt more natural to him than possessiveness, but somehow that never is a proposition he's willing to when it comes to Gwen Cooper.
Gwen pulls away from the pressure on her arm automatically; she's been Torchwood's director for years now, and she was a talented field agent for even longer, so why is everyone's first reaction to try and get her out of the way? "If there are things still lurking about, we should go after them." It's a better excuse than trying to explain exactly why this level of familiarity is so singularly not helpful right now. She can see it in the position of Jack's feet, in the promise of violence in his eyes; angry and excited and aroused by the promise of confrontation. She places herself squarely between the two men, a physical barrier between two surging testosterone bombs. "Jack, this is Larry Samson. He's from UNIT and helped me clean up the Hub and move to our new location. Larry, I've told you about Jack."
Briefly Jack narrows his eyes at the other man over Gwen's shoulder, but when Gwen tenses for the oncoming fight, the threat of violence dissipates and he simply smiles with the full force of his charm. "You never said he was cute!" Her unamused expression tells him loud and clear that she's not buying his shtick, but she lets him move her gently out of the way so he can offer his hand to Larry Samson. "Captain Jack Harkness."
Larry firmly shakes the offered hand, electing to ignore the warning squeeze applied with more force than is strictly necessary. "It's an honor, Captain." He pauses a moment, letting a moment pass before asking, "Is this going to be awkward now? Maybe this isn't the best place for us to stand around being mildly uncomfortable with each other."
Jack wouldn't be Jack if such frankness didn't even slightly charm him, "You know, Larry, I don't think it will be." Especially not if you keep your hands to yourself.
The threat of another large jealous man handled, Larry turns his attention back to Gwen to address her suggestion of pursuit. "We auxiliaries are being recalled tomorrow night; I'm sure you'll have plenty of thrilling adventures once we're gone." He shudders with mock delicacy at the thought.
"Why? Where are you going?" Her pride smarts a bit at being treated like a prize to be fought over, but nothing can keep Gwen's curiosity down for long.
"Where ever I'm told to, just like the good little soldier I am." Samson smiles angelically, earning himself a punch on the arm. "Now can we go? I'd rather not spend my afternoon chasing after you and God knows what through the sewers."
"Coward," Gwen smiles and digs her elbow she digs into his armored side before turning to Jack. "Coming?"
Jack studies the two in front of him, looking for something hanging between them before shrugging it off. "I'm going to look around a little more. I'll meet you back there." He presses an tender and unnecessary kiss against her mouth before turning and sauntering deeper into the silent battleground.
Gwen waits until Jack disappears from view before retrieving her gun from the pavement and holstering it. The temptation to run after him, finish their patrol together dancing across her mind briefly, but she dismisses it. She jerks her head at Samson and begins walking back towards the base, "How bad was it?"
Beside her, Samson hesitates, scanning the dark corners and alleyways, double-checking the wrapped corpses and broken windows as they continue to walk. "Surprisingly bad," he admits after a moment, "I've never been in a scrape quite like that before. I'm sure it could have been worse, but I'm not quite sure how. It was good we got here when we did, I'm not sure what would have been left if we hadn't." He takes another pause to think, which is quickly interrupted by an inquisitive sound from Gwen. "We had absolute orders to hold the ten kilometer mark; nothing was to get in or out. But when we heard what you lot were up against in Cardiff, well there wasn't any debate over whether we should come assist." He shrugs again, as though treason and dereliction of duty were only worth mentioning casually, in passing. "There were things I couldn't have dreamed in my worst nightmares digging through trash like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, like there was nowhere else they'd want to be; things my nightmares have nightmares about; and other less terrifying things that went mad and panicked trying to escape. A lot of damage for little fuzz balls, and not just to property, either."
Gwen understands his not-so-subtle hints when he escorts her down to the much expanded Torchwood infirmary. Beds have been pushed together, wall-to-wall and spilling out into any space which might be large enough for a person to lie down in, and sometimes even where there wasn't space, and every bed was occupied, every off-duty soldier sporting a bandage or a dressing somewhere. "Oh holy shit," Gwen profanes softly at the sheer scale of damages done. "I don't suppose the field reports are on my desk yet."
Samson shrugs carelessly, a foot soldier's disregard for paperwork in the face of catastrophe, threading his way through the bustling alley between the beds. "As far as I know they are, and we'll be evacuating this lot to a designated ward in Saint Mary's. I've been told that the majority did not sustain direct contact with any foreign materials, but Martha gave orders to check them all the same." He smiles fondly at the mention of her name, "She's one hell of a leader."
As Gwen nods wordlessly, trying to quiet unhappy guilty feelings for abandoning her post, he stops her by the foot of a particular bed, the patient sitting up alert and awake, in spite of thick swathes of bandaging covering the right side of her face and shoulder. The patient fixes Samson with half of a warm smile and a sloppy, left-handed salute. "Back so soon?" There's a slur in her rough voice.
Samson grins sheepishly and reaches out to touch the woman's uninjured shoulder. "Extenuating circumstances, love. Gwen, I'd like you to meet my wife, Sergeant Liz Samson. Liz, this is Gwen Cooper, Torchwood's director."
Carefully, Gwen presents her most sincere smile and shakes the Sergeant's hand firmly. "It's lovely to meet you, Sergeant Samson." Deep in the recesses of her mind, it feels odd to be shaking the hand of Larry's wife, but so much of the emotional attachment she's had for the man in question has cooled under the pressure of time and space. The woman's strong, calloused hand and steady stare make Gwen feel more like the esteemed leader she is now, and less like the struggling beginner she had been.
"It's an honor, Director Cooper. Your organization's been Lars' favorite new topic of conversation since I woke up." Liz's smile twists awkwardly, half of her mouth trying to convey the nuances of her feelings and falling short. "I'm still trying to take it all in, really. Maybe it's silly, but I fell out of the world thinking there was something rare and wonderful about aliens; that UNIT was elite, and it stood alone on the bleeding edge of something great. And then when I woke up, it turns out the whole thing's about as common as dirt." She can't keep the disgruntled tone out of her voice.
Gwen shakes her head and smiles, "It's still important work, still good, still special." She waits for her words to have the desired effect before broaching a subject of her curiosity. "Can I ask about," She gestures awkwardly towards the right side of Liz's face.
Liz shrugs her left side uncomfortably, "There was an influx of fire-moths last week. It's not too bad, I was lucky."
Beside her, Larry makes a disgusted sound. "Woman, I did not join an expedition into the middle of China and scale mountains and consult with mystic sages of dubious origin, just so you could come back to die in England." His wife rolls her good eye and slugs her husband in the side, causing a harried orderly to scurry over and usher them out for disturbing a patient.
"I can't believe you just got me thrown out of my own infirmary!" Gwen's attempt at false indignation fails in the face of Larry's persisting good cheer. "Are you incapable of behaving nicely?"
Larry ponders the statement for a moment before shaking his head slowly, "You reminded me of her so much." He hunches his shoulders against Gwen's startled expression and continues, "Maybe it's weird and stupid to be saying this now, and I felt horrendous about running out on you when I did, but it was confusing, you know?" He keeps his eyes fixed carefully away from Gwen's direction, "You were great; you are great, but you seemed ready for something more than coffee once a week and I panicked. I wouldn't have had the self-control to say no if you ever raised the issue, so… I'm sorry, in person this time."
The civilians in the outer-most ring of barricades are let back into their homes on schedule, but that is the last time that anything runs according to the plan for a solid five months. There are always more aliens to be found lurking about, most not overtly hostile, but never any less dangerous for that, so there are sweeps to be organized and curfews to be enforced, additional police forces to be trained to cope with the sheer numbers of lingering trespassers, both terrestrial and not.
Strange new diseases break out among workers who spend too much time working close to the site of the Rift, running rampant among all the strata of civilization, and quarantine becomes the new buzzword. Martha is still working double shifts with everyone and anyone who might find a cure when it is discovered that the water supply has been contaminated by foreign debris, and weeks are lost trying to manage the logistics of importing water for several million people while more contractors are brought in to try and clean up the pollution.
Every morning, Gwen manages to be pleasantly surprised that she is still in more or less the same shape she had been in the night before, and not horribly altered by deep space radiation or some interstellar virus, but she still craves UNIT's ever-delayed departure date. Ignoring the foolish, prideful whispers echoing in her mind suggesting she kick them out and handle everything herself, and damn the consequences, she knows it would destroy her tiny team of six to try to manage so many problems on such a grand scale. It's a delight when, nearly at the end of the year, the first of the auxiliary teams begins to pack their mounds of surveillance and medical gear into plain black bags and boxes. They bus the first waves of soldiers back to their barracks, leaving behind echoing quiet and towering stacks of paperwork to be gone through.
"Home alone!" Mickey stretches his arms dramatically wide, as though to embrace the expansive white walls, bearing only faint black scratches where equipment had been pushed up against them for many months.
Gwen elbows him playfully, "Don't you have an actual home to go back to?" For all her levity, it's a legitimate question; Cardiff could never hope to rebuild the damages the invasion had wrought half as quickly as it had been torn apart.
"We built to last," Martha smiles slyly as though the laws of supply and demand in a time of scarcity are beneath her interests. "But I'd like to make sure we don't have any uninvited guests hanging about for Christmas. We'll be around if you need us." Imperiously she tugs on her husband's arm until he follows her out.
Jack looks around the space, twice as large, and far more spacious than the crumbling cement layers and catwalks of his Hub. "What did you do to fill this space before UNIT moved in?" It's got no soul, as far as he can see, a blank void that would suck him in and devour his sense of adventure with its plain off-white walls and inoffensive artworks in wooden frames standing guard over the few remaining terminals. Like an office, only less exciting.
"Filled it with ideas, mostly, and a bit of junk." Gwen shrugs off the barely perceptible slight to her base; as far as she's concerned, Jack will just have to adjust to something other than his sub-basement-chic. She studies the blank space, willing her mind back onto its well-worn path of ideas for improving and expanding. Stealthily, she slips up behind Lois, who is still working as industriously as ever, and taps the younger woman on the shoulder. "Go home, you. Get some rest and enjoy the holidays. I'll let you know if anything comes up."
The sudden touch doesn't penetrate the fugue of work Lois has immersed herself in until the task before her is completed, and when she completes the document, she looks up, reality catching up with her all at once. "What? Oh, alright then, if you're sure." She glances at a calendar on her desk and turns on a mega-watt smile. "Have a Merry Christmas." She stands slowly, letting cramped muscles ease into the new position, closing down her terminal and a mobile unit, tucking the latter into her satchel and sauntering out into the chilly December evening.
As the door clicks shut behind the administrator, Gwen lets out a sigh she feels like she's been holding for the last five months, since returning to the twenty-first century. Finally she's alone with Jack, and the innermost thoughts she has held from her co-workers. She's long since given up feeling guilty about such deception, it's become common knowledge that Gwen has a secret she's keeping and it's none of their damn business, so the may as well let the matter lie.
"I want to know what happened to them." It's the first time she's voiced the desire aloud, for Jack's benefit as much as her own. He hasn't stopped worrying over her since they reunited in that muddy wet river thousands of years ago, hasn't stopped watching, waiting for her to crack under the pressure of holding worry and guilt so close to her heart. He deserves to be a part of this process; after all the times she's run off on him and he's run off on her in their history together, she wants to undertake this with him. What precious little time she's been able to devote to introspection in the small hours of the morning between rest and action has been enough to yield this decision, even if it's given fruit to little else.
They will find closure on this matter together.
Jack looks down at her, catching the small details of fatigue and sorrow she tries so hard to bury around everyone, tries to mask with determination and force of personality. She wants the world to see her the same way it sees him: indestructible, unyielding, and eternal, but she'll never be able to fool him. "Are you sure you want to know?" He crosses over to her slowly, hands lingering on her cheeks, smoothing down her neck and shoulders, letting the physical sensations of just being here with her tingle with electricity along his nerves. "You can't change the outcome now, Gwen. The past is meant to be left as it is; sometimes there is nothing we can do to change an outcome." It's not an argument that could sway her opinion on her more mutable days, and this is certainly not one of those. Gwen juts her jaw out mulishly, her favored expression for debating the finer points of history and destiny. It rubs his patience raw and breaks his heart all at once to think that her views on the topic might ever change. The world needs people like her, who believe, with all the stupid, stubborn, desperation of her Welsh soul, that anything and everything can be made better through work and will. It's a painful sort of optimism to watch, now more so than ever before.
"I have to know." It's her only imperative, the single force driving her forward now that all the loose ends are tidied away, all her T's crossed and I's dotted. There is no fate worse than never knowing; even if the failure destroys her, it's preferable to this feeling of suspended animation. Gwen casts around for a solution to her need, drawn magnetically to the idling desktop on Lois' desk. She's scarcely sat down to begin powering the PC back to life when Jack spins her away from the monitor.
"Will you please just let me do this?" she protests. She feels shame at her plaintive tones, the weakness that makes her beg, but it doesn't matter in the face of her need to eradicate her ignorance on this matter.
Jack stoops until they're nose-to-nose, looking deep into Gwen's eyes. "What will you do if they failed?" That's all he really cares about in the end, how Gwen will handle knowing about the inevitable conclusion.
Gently Gwen rests her forehead against his, letting her eyes close against his probing. In the silent darkness behind her eyelids she finds an answer and it slips out in a moment of unintentional honesty, "I don't know; cry probably." She doesn't open her eyes until the feeling of his lips warm against her temple disappears, and the thump of his receding footsteps fades. Only then does she open her eyes, turn to face the terminal's display, and begin her search. The first query she tries on an internet search engine yields firm results, and the second presents her with an immediate destination within reach. She's in motion immediately, grabbing coat and keys in a tornado of frenzied activity, nearly bowling Jack over in her haste to get to the garage.
He steadies her on her feet, and silently follows her into the SUV, riding quietly beside her through the winding streets and stretches of highway to London. It's almost a relief to see her like this, after so much time watching her go through life struggling with agonizing compartmentalization. She needs this, and therefore so does he, and he will stay with her through the ordeal. The light is fading as Gwen parks haphazardly on Great Russell Street, lit with strings of feeble white and gold lights, jogging up the wide low steps of the British Museum, weaving around the soaring marble columns and tourists. It takes only a flash of her badge and she's past the security checkpoint, speed-walking towards the elegant map taking up one full side of the grand entrance. Jack catches her there, and pulls Gwen away from the grandiose floor plan, towards the Asian Exhibit.
As they near their destination, Gwen's pace increases until she is the one towing him along to the polite amusement of their fellow patrons. She stops suddenly before an austere glass case containing a dusty brown mummy under a newly posted sign for 'The Celtic Peoples of Ancient China.' The world shrinks to just the three of them as Gwen raises a hand to hover over the thick wall of glass separating her from the long-limbed, twisted figure grinning back at her through ragged strands of orange hair, its tattered wrappings still held close in death. "Do you think it's her?"
"I doubt it," Jack scans the engraved plaque beside the case, "One of her great grandchildren at best, this one's dated from 3500 BC. I doubt even Suo-Koh Kim could have lived that long." He squeezes her shoulder gently, facing the macabre, grinning skull face on. "Maybe they made their civilization last five thousand years; maybe they crumbled into grass and dust after fifty. Maybe they rose up and conquered the continent before they fell; maybe they lost the war and were enslaved by their neighbors. But it doesn't matter; either way they died in full control of their destiny and on their own terms. Compared to that, do the details really matter?"
When she tilts her head and squints, Gwen thinks she can almost pick out the face of Mai-Oh Koh smiling back, but that might just be fancy running wild. Jack's words ring with a profound truth, but it doesn't overcome the pang of loss. It is foolish of her to have hoped that the society of refugees could have survived to the modern day, but it had been a secret longing none-the-less, buried beneath layers of rationality and practicality until it is all but forgotten, only to be rediscovered at this moment. "The Doctor never would have allowed them to move if they could have survived to modern history, would he?" She can feel Jack nod an affirmation against her head, and she lets the truth wash over her like a wave of cold water. Many things make sense now and she shivers, pressing closer to Jack.
"Don't think about it like that," he advises gently, wrapping a comforting arm around her. "They lived because of you. They had children and their children had children, and those children spread out and intermarried with other populations and passed their genes onward. A group doesn't cease to exist just because the original members die. You gave them this chance, and I am so proud of you."
Gwen absorbs his speech thoughtfully, staring into the face of what had once had been a living human. The empty eye sockets stare back at her, tugging at something on the edge of her awareness. She blinks and the feeling vanishes. "Let's go home." Maybe she can scrape together a small holiday celebration for the two of them, late as it is.
Jack catches a glimpse through the crowd of another tourist, bedecked in a Stetson cowboy hat and checked bow tie, his quiet contemplative expression separating him from a hundred other terrestrial tourists. Jack alters their route, guiding Gwen toward the display occupying the Time Lord's attention.
The Doctor doesn't look away from the collection of artefacts arranged in the case before him as his companions join him. Together they stare at the scraps of cloth and fragments of pottery, and he is grateful to the pair for the small bubble of quiet respect that surrounds and protects them from the rest of the uncaring and noisy world. It's a relief not to be keeping the secret any longer, though he wouldn't put it past his friends to have suspected such an outcome. There's never any real permanence to civilization, human or otherwise, not on any meaningful scale. Whether the living memory of a people covers fifty years or five hundred, everything that is created will be destroyed in time. Maybe a well-timed intervention offers a few years, maybe a few centuries, of respite or grace time, but in the end it only delays the inevitable. So long as the struggle is valiant and the purpose noble, he will never consider the effort expended a waste, because it's never about changing the ultimate Ending but rather the here and now, with a relative understanding of the fluid nature of 'here' and 'now' of course. When he finally inclines his head in farewell to the relics he meets Gwen's sorrowful stare square on.
"Did you know this would be the result?" she asks softly.
The Doctor has seen her in action enough times by now to expect aggression, possibly even violence. This quiet acceptance is a surprising new facet of her character, although judging by the way Jack's arm tightens around her, the Doctor not the only one surprised by her reaction. He gentles his expression, revealing nothing to answer her question. "Even if I did know, even if we all knew, there is nothing better we could have done…"
"And whatever happened, they chose that path," Gwen interrupts with only a trace of impatience. "Yes, I understand that part, Doctor." Her expression changes to one of earnestness, "And I do believe that you would have done things differently if there had been a better alternative, but…" She trails off, unable to properly articulate her frustration. A sense of failure hangs heavy on her shoulders, refusing against all argument, to be rationalized away. She knows that it is impossible to save everyone all of the time, that rookie level of hubris was something she had suffered and outgrown several times over, back when she was fresh on the job. The limits of her ability shouldn't be so uncomfortable, not anymore, yet she cannot release the terrible feeling of responsibility. Clumsily, she covers the lapse in conversation with a shrug, "What happens now?"
The Doctor gives her and Jack a briefly calculating look. "Well, life will go on, for you and for me. I'll be on my way after this; whatever you do will be your own choice, I'm sure." He touches Gwen's cheek with a long gentle finger in a fleeting gesture of comfort. "You could always come with me, if you like."
Gwen freezes at the unexpected offer, and feels Jack clamp down painfully on her arm in surprise. She's afraid to look back at him, afraid to see in his face that bright eager longing that speaking about the Doctor brings to his expression like nothing else in the Universe. For herself, it's a prospect as horrifying and frightening as it is exciting: to be able to pass through the vastness of space and time, see marvels and meet people beyond her imagining, but at what cost to what she's built here? The instant the thought pops into existence, she knows her decision has been made now and forever. How can she turn her back on the organization that she's built out of nothing into something worthy of respect? Cardiff needs Torchwood, and Torchwood needs Gwen Cooper and that is that. Gently she shakes her head, negative.
Jack can feel her freeze at the offer, and he can't blame her for staring goggle-eyed at the Doctor. There was a long time when he would have killed, burned the world to the ground, to have such an offer freely given. But that time has passed, and he made a promise to the woman beside him that he would not run off without her. He looks down at her in time to see the shock wear away from her features, leaving only absolute resolution behind. "Are you sure about this, Gwen? There are some truly amazing things out there; you shouldn't feel like you have to stay here out of obligation. Martha would understand, she could hold everything down until you get back…" He falls quiet at the look she gives him, full of compassion and warmth but unchanged in her decision. He gives her a crooked smile which he hopes reassures her, before addressing the Doctor. "I think we're good here. Thanks, Doctor. Travel well."
The Doctor smiles at the brief exchange, giving the pair a lopsided salute and stepping into the alcove where his darling TARDIS is parked. "I'll see you kids soon; Merry Christmas."
"Don't forget to write!" Gwen calls after him before the siren blares and the ship dematerializes back into the Time Vortex with a rush of cold air. The museum lights flicker, a warning that the premises will be closing shortly and all visitors must please make their way to the exits at this time. She takes Jack's hand, lacing her fingers through his, as they start their trek back to the entrance.
Outside it has started snowing, a delicate layer of lace settling on the cars and streets and people rushing towards the warmth and light of the nearest pub. Jack strolls slowly beside the woman he turned the Doctor down for, "What are you going to do now?" He asks her, nodding politely to cheers of 'Merry Christmas' from passing strangers.
"What we always do," Gwen replies rhetorically, returning the holiday greeting with a rising feeling of excitement at the prospect of being in London for Christmas Eve as a strange pattern of lights emerges in the sky and an otherworldly siren blares, signaling the start of some new adventure.
END