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"I want to leave," Jack told Red the moment they were out of earshot. The dappled gelding regarded him with one soft brown eye.
"But if I leave," Jack continued despondently, "these gods will destroy the Nepthalae. Actually, if I stay they'll still probably do it. Oh, hell."
Red sighed deeply and rested his nose just above Jack's collarbone. Jack stopped walking and looked up at his horse. Red watched him calmly from his shoulder, nipping lightly at the stripes of his coat. One black edged ear twitched and Jack smiled wistfully at his gelding, stepping back and patting a large, gray cheek. Red tossed up his head and then knelt, rolling away from Jack, scratching his back in the grass before coming to rest on his side, facing him. Jack watched him with a small smile – horses were meant to have their feet on the ground, not in the air, and the dappled gelding looked quite ridiculous.
"You've got the right idea, I think," Jack told his horse wryly and sat down next to him. The grass was cool and slightly damp from the night, dew just starting to settle. Red inched up and offered his shoulder, curling his muscular neck around so that his head rested by Jack's elbow, his shoulder blade at Jack's back. Jack leaned into the inviting warmth. His gelding turned to face him quietly, and Jack patted his nose thoughtfully, a deep seated calm settling over his earlier grief like fresh snow. Red made things simple, Jack thought ruefully.
"The stars are bright tonight," he said after a moment, tone hushed. "They've been bright every night. It probably has something to do with the Gates being open."
Red huffed at him, and there was a silence. The dappled gray hair radiated warmth, and Jack rested a hand between the gelding's ears, leaning his head back onto the horse's withers.
"What am I to do, Red?" he asked the horse quietly. Red huffed and Jack closed his eyes with an unhappy smile.
He didn't realize that he had fallen asleep until something whacked him on the head, hard.
"Ow!" he complained, looking up and squinting in the sudden, bright sunlight. Owen was holding a piece of plastic from the rubble of Torchwood Three. It was high noon in Jack's dream-version of Cardiff, and he was leaning on a rock tossed up from the crater of the destroyed Hub.
"Idiot!" Owen seethed, whacking Jack again with the malformed lump of blue plastic. "Moron! Dimwit! What the fuck were you thinking?"
"What was I thinking?" Jack spat, rising to his feet and making to grab the plastic out of Owen's hands. He missed. "What are you thinking? You want me to kill them?"
Owen tossed his piece of plastic away and paced, swiftly back and forth in front of the smoking crater of Jack's nightmares. "I don't know. I don't know."
"She had Ianto, Owen," Jack told him desperately.
"Don't even start with me, Harkness," Owen snapped, still pacing.
"But how did she find him?" Jack asked the general air, moving to pace beside Owen. The medic stopped him short.
"Forget the teaboy for a second," he cried, exasperated, and Jack's patience thinned.
"Answer the question," he said lowly, telling himself firmly that provoking rash Owen to fight would be a very bad idea, and also quite unproductive.
"Do I look like I'd know?" Owen sneered.
"From where I'm standing? Yes," Jack snapped.
Owen deflated. "Well, I don't," he said, suddenly bitter. "Anyway. I'm here to tell you that they're pissed." He jerked his head upwards, clearly indicating the gods.
"Yeah, like I needed you to tell me that," Jack replied petulantly, hopping up to sit on a massive upturned stone that likely used to be part of the sidewalk. Owen regarded him for a moment.
"You were in love with him." It wasn't a question. Jack glared at his friend.
"None of your business." Like he was really going to talk about Ianto with Owen, of all people, Jack thought sourly.
"Yeah, it is my business," Owen sneered. Jack wondered abstractly to himself why the hell Owen cared. He hadn't even liked Ianto. "I was there, remember? Both of you shagging like rabbits, I couldn't've missed it. Well? Were you?"
"I'm tired of people asking me this," Jack ground out, eyes prickling. He looked down at his knees and took a deep, steadying breath. Calm. Stay calm, and do not think of the time Ianto had flown off the handle because Owen had tracked alien blood all over the Hub, looking for a specific file.
"And who do you think has to clean this up? I have an idea, Doctor Harper. Why don't we stay in our playpen, like a good little boy, instead of tracking Malakaxian blood all—over—the sodding—Hub!"
The memory whispered like a breeze through Jack's dreamscape. He swallowed.
There was a silence.
"Shit." Owen hopped up to sit next to him on the upturned piece of rubble, eyes bright with something that, if Jack hadn't known better, looked like remorse. "Sorry."
"Yeah," Jack rasped, not meeting his eyes. "Me too."
There was another awkward silence. Owen wasn't really the one to go to with troubles of the heart, Jack thought wryly. "If that goddess brings Tosh next," he started, and was gratified to hear Owen's breath catch, "should I send her your best?"
"That was low, Harkness," Owen growled.
"Well, lord knows that Ianto's not going to respond when she calls again," Jack replied bitterly.
"I don't know what to tell you," Owen declared after another moment's silence. "They want those Nepthalae dead, but you might be able to appeal to a few of them. Screw Mithros, because he's a war-god—I'd say talk to Alanna's Goddess." He gave a little nod. "That's your best bet. Or my mate Gainel, actually, although fat lotta good he'll do. Veralidaine's parents might help you, too."
"I can't believe you're talking to me about gods with a straight face," Jack replied, deadpan, although he was grateful for the subject change. Owen scowled.
"Yeah, well, when they call you to council you start to take them seriously," Owen scoffed, although he also seemed grateful for the subject change. "Alanna's Goddess," he continued,
"Veralidaine's parents."
"Since when are Daine's parents gods?" Jack asked, thrown for a moment. Owen shrugged.
"Minor gods. Northern god of the hunt, and goddess of childbirth. Weiryn and the Green Lady."
"Oh," Jack muttered, for lack of anything else to say. "How do I contact them?"
Owen sneered at him. "Well, since you refused to talk to anyone, you don't. I do. Shall I?" He gestured dramatically with a hand and Jack rolled his eyes.
"By all means," he mocked.
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"You are tiny. I can see the whole of Time and Space—every single atom of your existence, and I divide them."
The Bad Wolf, the golden goddess with streaming eyes, apparently called Rose Tyler, raised her hand. Daine turned.
She was on a space ship of some kind, and there was a wall with a moving picture, although she could not quite make out what the creature in the picture was; only that Rose Tyler was killing it.
Rose, you've done it, now stop. Just let go.
Daine turned left and right, but she could not see the speaker. She would, however, have bet her life that it was Jack's Doctor, the man who loved Rose, but was too foolish to do anything about it.
"How can I let go of this?" Rose asked, voice distracted and, somehow, terrifying. "I bring life."
There was a whisper from somewhere and nowhere and Daine knew, for no reason but without the shadow of a doubt, that with one breath she'd brought permanent life to Jack Harkness.
"But that's wrong!" Daine accused. "You can't control life and death!"
"But I can," the Bad Wolf replied simply, and she turned her head so glowing eyes locked on Daine's face, truly looking at her for the first time. Daine suddenly felt a thrill of fear, but the Bad Wolf continued speaking. "The Sun and the Moon. The Day and the Night… but why do they hurt?"
The dream faded abruptly and Daine found herself sitting bolt upright in her bedroll, breathing hard. Suddenly, she knew the answer.
I can see all of Time and Space.
Rose Tyler had brought Jack back to life. She kept on bringing Jack back to life. She could see all of time and space in that moment, just that moment—that's why the dream kept on repeating! Daine was seeing parts of the same moment, broken up, over and over again, because that was all that existed for this Bad Wolf. That moment, projected through all of time and space.
"My head is killing me," Daine muttered.
"Love?" Numair's voice was drowsy. She looked down into sleepy dark eyes, jostled awake by her movement. She grinned and ran a hand through his soft, unbound dark hair with delighted affection. He hummed and closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. Daine giggled but shook his shoulder, not wanting him to go back to sleep. The black eyes opened again and Numair gave her a wounded look, clearly wanting to go back to sleep. Daine's grin widened.
"Numair, I figured it out!" she whispered urgently, and his eyes widened.
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