The rift had been silent so Jack had sent the rest of the team home. The three immortals had had a small supper and then Miranda had returned to her aborted chore. She was deep in thought. She should be using the mindless exercise of counting bottles and examining expiration dates to relax before she turned in, but her mind was rabbiting on and on. Ianto was right. Henry was right. How many times over the years had she told her students or Jack that love was worth the inevitable grief? It made her a hypocrite, but time and again, Miranda ignored her own advice. Her reasoning was a bit flawed. She was simply older than them and by a considerable margin. Sadly, she wondered when the losses through the eons would drive Jack completely mad. She wondered when Henry would call on her to uphold her promise to end his life when the despair and loss became too much. She'd fought to stay alive for so long that survival was all she knew but the idea of living forever - truly forever - terrified her.
But what if Henry was right? What if she hadn't reached some sort of endpoint, but was still within the process of coping? After all, what was thousands of years when compared to eternity? For the first time, she was wondering if it was possible to reach a point in immortality where she was accepting of loss. Had Henry figured out something in five hundred years that she hadn't managed in four millennia? Had the student become the teacher?
She closed the cupboard and moved onto the small refrigerator to count those medications. She took out a small amber coloured bottle. The moisture immediately condensed on the glass. When she turned it to read the expiration date and it slipped from her fingers, smashing on the floor. Miranda uttered an ancient curse.
"Everything under control here, Will?" Jack asked from the stairs.
"A minor accident," she said, frustrated. "I was clumsy."
"Let me help you," Jack said. He looked around, searching for something to help her sweep up the mess.
"You don't even know where the broom or the dustpan are, do you?" Miranda said, amused.
"Not a clue," he said, still looking around.
She shook her head, smiling slightly. She pointed. "That cupboard there."
While she sopped up the liquid with some paper towels, Jack took out the small hand broom and dustpan. He got down on his hands and knees and started sweeping the broken glass into a pile.
"What was it?" he asked.
"An antibiotic," she said, tossing the wet towels into the bin. She picked up a bit of broken bottle that had the label still attached. She twisted the piece of glass, reading. "Nearly expired… Trash anyway."
Once the mess was cleared away, Jack turned to her and said, "I just got off the phone with Colonel Ashline."
"The final decisions?" she asked.
"Monthly UNIT briefings and quarterly palace briefings for the next year…" he said, trailing off.
Miranda let out the breath she hadn't know she was holding. While she'd expected their scrutiny to increase, this was far better than she'd expected. While, technically, Torchwood had autonomy, it was only within their sphere. For any government to function, it needed to know what went on within its borders. They currently had annual meetings with Her Majesty and only quarterly briefings with UNIT. While inconvenient, it was better than having to endure the presence of a UNIT official inside the Hub and that was what some politicians had clamored for.
Jack shifted uncomfortably and then added, "… in person."
Now that was a significant change. The tea with Her Majesty was always in person, of course, but the quarterly briefings for UNIT were held over the phone. Torchwood only went to London, in person, annually. During the trip, there were meetings with all major government offices and officials. Monthly trips to London? Miranda was not pleased to hear that. Jack often delegated such things to either her or Ianto.
"I'll work something out with Ifan," she said, leaning back against her desk.
Not surprisingly, Jack didn't argue. He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. He jutted out his chin a bit but said nothing. Miranda wondered what he was about to say given the defensive posture.
"Is there something more, Jack?" she asked, impatient.
"I'd like for you to clear John for the field," he said, flatly. "It's been long enough."
It was Miranda's turn to cross her arms over her chest. She was about to object but Jack said, "Tonight. He's downstairs."
Before she could get in a word, he bounded up the stairs and out of sight. She understood Jack's urgency. Originally, due to his advanced age - well advanced in terms of Torchwood - Jack had hired Fish as a back-up field operative only. Fish, wanting nothing more than to help his colleagues, had gone through the field certification process. After a rough start, the technician gleefully began going out on field calls. It had become one of the best aspects of his job. But with Henry in his life, his priorities had shifted. He'd told Jack that he would be returning to life as a back-up field operative only and Jack couldn't fault the man for a decision that would drastically increase his life expectancy.
With Hart confined to the Hub, Fish was having to go out on more and more field calls. The former Time Agent had been itching to get back into the field but Miranda had wanted to wait until he was fully recovered. Which he is… an annoying part of her brain sneered. Truthfully, she'd procrastinated facing Hart. She'd performed a few examinations of him but always in the autopsy bay and always lightning fast.
She picked up her medical bag and descended the north stairs towards the staterooms where Hart had taken up residence. The words of her friends ringing in her mind. She kept trying to shake them off as she raised her hand and knocked on Hart's door. It took a few moments before the door opened. Miranda felt her mouth go dry. Hart was standing there, shirtless. His jeans were on but undone. His hair was a bit messy. He looked tired, as if she'd woken him.
The moment he saw it was her, he reached down, swiftly buttoning and zipping his jeans. His hands flew up to his head, running his fingers through the thick coarse hair, trying to straighten it.
The sight was so uncharacteristic, Miranda asked, "Are you all right, Captain?"
"Yeah, fine, Dollface," he said, giving her a small smile. He looked behind himself. "Wasn't expecting company."
"Jack asked me evaluate your ability to return to field duty," she explained, holding up her bag.
"Oh, right! Great. Uhhh… Just… just one second," he said, shutting the door.
Miranda stood there, awkwardly, in the hallway. He opened the door wide, and gestured for her to come inside. The room showed all the signs of having just been hastily cleaned.
"You needn't have tidied for me, Captain. This won't take long." She dropped her medical bag on the table and waved at the bed. "Sit."
While she opened her medical bag and began digging for her things, Hart sat down, obediently, and said, "Trying to be a good host to a lady is all, Dollface."
She rolled her eyes at him. "And I had hoped that chivalry had truly died by the fifty first century."
He laughed at that. "It has. When in New, New Rome."
Miranda, using Ianto's trick of hiding behind a professional demeanour, began to examine him. As expected, she found nothing abnormal. In fact, Hart was completely healthy. She tugged the stethoscope out of her ears and turned towards the low table. She dropped it back into the bag, shutting it. Without turning around, she said, "Your recovery has been excellent."
"Told you I was a fast healer, Dollface," he said. He stood up and put his shirt back on.
"You're cleared for field duty," she said, officially.
While she was grateful Hart was fully recovered, a small part of her had hoped he wouldn't be fit for field duty. It might be boring but desk duty was safe. Hart was a man of great cunning and resourcefulness. Though there were three immortals on the team, how long could he survive as a field operative? The realisation of how concerned she was for his safety sent her into an emotional tailspin.
Strawberry curls appeared in Miranda's mind and a beautiful voice, rough with illness, along with it. I don't regret us… not one second we had together… I should have been braver sooner… Miranda leaned on the table, closing her eyes against the memory. Her second wife had thought she'd damned her soul for eternity with their love. And on her deathbed, all she had regretted was not professing that love sooner. The words of her friends began to ring through her mind again but they really weren't their words, they were hers repeated back at her.
Suddenly there was warmth at her back. When she turned, Hart was barely a hand's width away from her. There was a soft look on his face. His scent was strong in her nose. The whole room smelled like him but standing so close it was wafting towards her like smoke.
He bravely asked, "Do I have permission?"
She didn't answer him as he moved closer. He wasn't touching her but she leaned against the table to keep some distance between them. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts, he'd caught her off guard. She put her hand up flat against his chest. She stared into his lust blown eyes. The blue rings sparkled. There was so much depth there; a complexity that swept her away. She pushed firmly.
"John…"
He'd lied back when she'd nearly broken his arm in the autopsy bay a month ago. Permission was always verbal. He leaned back slightly and gave her a serious look. A little bit of the lust drained from the room and he said, seriously, "Tell me no and I will."
She wanted him. Goddess below, how she wanted him. This man? She'd never encountered anything like him in four thousand years. He was like unadulterated passion, fire and heat. And she wanted him to burn her alive. All her arguments died in her head. There was nothing but the burning skin beneath her palm and the intensity in his eyes. She curled her fingers, fisting her hand in his shirt. She pulled just enough for him to notice. He started to lean towards her, his mouth curling in an ever widening smile. When his lips were bare millimeters from hers, he swerved his head, bypassing her lips, settling his cheek against hers. His skin felt feverishly hot.
His breath was hot on her ear as he whispered, "I'm going to make you come harder than you ever have."
With his face buried in the crook of her neck, he shoved her skirt up to her waist. The next sound in the room was ripping cloth as Hart grabbed her knickers and tore them. He dropped them to the floor and then kicked them under the table. When she reached for his jeans, he stopped her. He grabbed her hands and put them on his shoulders.
"Don't. Fucking. Move," he ordered and her eyes darkened more.
His raw assertiveness was all the foreplay she needed and Yi Mei-Xiu did something she didn't do often - she submitted. Staring straight into her eyes, his gaze like a laser, he seized her hips and yanked her forward to the edge of her desk. So sudden and quick was there jerk that she let out a startled yip. He didn't break their gaze as he unbuckled his belt. He undid the button and flies of his jeans, shoving them down around his thighs. Not once did his gaze waiver.
She was staring straight into his eyes as she felt him breach her. His smile changed and his jaw dropped a bit. His pupils dilated further, completely blown with lust as he penetrated her. She leaned in to kiss him but he brought his hand up, pressing his fingers to her lips.
"Not yet," he said with a twisted grin.
He slid into her, inch by smoldering inch, burying himself to the root. His cock was like a red hot iron rod. She was so wet and, oh, so very tight. He felt the end of his cock bump her cervix. Perfect fit, he thought with satisfaction. It was then that he kissed her. Up until this point, he'd been rough, almost cold but his kiss was anything but. It was deep and soft, his tongue sliding along hers. He felt her shudder in his arms. He angled his hips and gave a jabbing thrust. Miranda let out a scream as the head of his cock slid against her g-spot, hard.
"Gods, you are so… fucking… tight…" he gasped. He kept thrusting into her, one hand at the small of her back, the other curled around her arse. She was so tight, the walls of her sex gripping him so hard, that each thrust was almost like penetrating her anew.
Her head fell back and she let out another scream, it was almost painful and Hart stopped as a possibility came to him. He looked at her, concerned and asked, "Am I hurting you?"
She gave him a defiant look. "I am not a delicate virgin… and I believe you made me a promise earlier you have yet to fulfill."
"Your wish is my command," he said. His smile brightened his eyes and Miranda saw the love blossoming there.
He buried his face in her neck, sucking on the soft skin. He began thrusting into her again. The scent of woodsmoke and jasmine filled his nose. Hart hadn't been boasting about his skills. He knew exactly what she wanted as she responded to his touch. Within a few minutes, she felt her orgasm beginning to curl in her belly. He brought her straight to the edge and he held her there. She had no idea how but every time she nearly fell over the edge, he pulled her back. Soon she was panting, desperate for release.
"You ready, Dollface?" he asked, lifting his head. He ran his tongue up her neck and then sucked a mark up by her pulse point. He was disappointed as he saw it yellow and fade before his eyes. "Beg."
Miranda whimpered, canting her hips against him. She was so close… if he'd just…
"That wasn't begging," he said, sweetly. He sucked another mark up on the other side of her neck.
She let out a snarl. Her hands grabbed his hips and she tried to take control. He was having none of that. His reached up, wrapping his hand around her throat. He squeezed slightly, cutting off just enough air to make her dizzy.
"You have to say it," he whispered into her ear. He slowed his movements and Miranda let out a keen.
"John… Please…" she begged.
"I'm going to make you scream," he whispered in her ear. He suddenly changed his angle and increased his pace. His hand drifted from the small of her back to his hip. He grinned as he activated the fifty first century technology concealed beneath the skin and muscle. His cock began to vibrate on its lowest setting.
Her back arched. She fisted her hands in his t-shirt, tearing the stained cloth. She screamed, "JOHN!"
He'd kept his promise and Miranda was coming hard and long. She had her face buried in his neck, breathing in lungfuls of his scent as she screamed, muffled against the skin and shirt. He wanted to hear her. He reached up and yanked her head back by her hair. Without his shoulder muffling the scream, it began to echo through the room and probably down the hallway. It was over a full minute later when Hart slowed his thrusting, easing her through the aftershocks. Each one sent a wave of ecstasy through her, causing Miranda to convulse.
He deactivated the vibrate setting with a few quick presses into his hip. He felt on the precipice of his own climax and he gladly fell over that edge, pulsing his release into her with a wordless shout. Each spurt of his come was like molten lava and she wanted more. He buried his face into her neck, his shoulders trembling. He withdrew but stayed standing there between her splayed thighs. He was leaning his weight on the top of the table, still recovering from the force of his release. He was surprised at how emotional it had been for him, how intense. He hadn't had anyone like her in a long time and certainly no one in this backward century.
Her forehead was resting against his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. She could feel the come running out of her onto the table. It was seeping between her arse and the table top, becoming sticky and cold. She was so boneless, she didn't care nor did she think her legs would support her. Her arms were around Hart's neck as she caught her breath.
When her legs were finally felt strong enough, she slid off the table and stood. Hart reached up and began to undo the buttons on her shirt. She gave him a surprised look but didn't stop him.
"Oh, you didn't think we were finished did you?" he asked with a grin. "We're just getting started, love."
He lifted her up and turned with her in his arms. He laid her back onto the bed as she laughed, blissfully. The sound of that laugh was like music to him as she yanked the t-shirt over his head.