Chapter Three

Don't tell me you're afraid of the past

It's only the future that didn't last.

Mickey catches up to her, slightly out of breath, looking stern. "Rose, listen. It's not him."

She leans her forehead against the glass window and digs her fingernails into her palms. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Her voice is barely above a whisper. The floor finds its way back under her feet again. The air feels still and heavy all around.

"Because, Rose, it's not him, not really." He is worried. "He's...he's not your Jack. Not the Jack Harkness from our old world. He's from this universe. And he doesn't know us, Rose." Mickey is nearly pleading for rationality, accurately guessing that she won't decide to be complacent about the matter at hand.

"But he's still...'e's still Jack," Rose breathes, eyes still fixed on the room in front of her. He can't see her back through the glass. The quarantine bay is sizeable, and he is the only one in there, standing out against the white walls and stainless steel. From here, he is a mirror image of the Jack Harkness she left behind all those years ago. The exact same and yet completely different.

She whirls around to face Mickey, nearly wanting to panic. "This is impossible. I can't..." She kicks a nearby bench to illustrate her point, and it clatters noisily against the wall. Her mind is having a difficult time comprehending what, why, and how. There is a stranger in the next room whom she knows and loves. Jack, but not Jack. I am the Bad Wolf...

The door on the opposite wall opens and a man in scrubs and glasses emerges, Dr Carroll, who has been here since Torchwood's revival. He sees the question marks on Rose's face and fills them in.

"Happy New Year, by the way, both of you." He stands behind Mickey and looks through the window with a trace of a sigh, removes his glasses. "He won't answer any of our questions. Isn't going to tell us anything anytime soon, it would seem. Went through three nurses trying to run tests, he, ah...made certain unwelcome advances at the first, and then started screaming his head off at the other two."

Rose is staring at him now. "Did you get the test results back?"

"Yes, and..." Carroll shrugs, resigned. "Nothing. He's healthy, and human. Other than a few bruises and questionable mental stability...not even a sniffle."

"So he doesn't have to be in quarantine."

"Well, no, but -"

"I'm going to go and talk to him," she interrupts, and her tone leaves little room for argument.

Mickey gives it a try, regardless, for old times' sake. "I don't think that -"

But Rose is halfway to the door already, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Rubbish. I have clearance, don't I?" She does, of course, and so does Mickey, but he doesn't follow. Dr Carroll doesn't have the authority to stop her, but is correctly thinking that he has a right mess on his hands.

Jack looks up as the door swings open, and promptly bounds to his feet. His eyes narrow as he watches her cross the pristine white floor.

Rose realizes she is holding her breath, lets it out and bites her lip. Uncertainty seeps in.

"Rose Tyler." Her voice breaks slightly.

Something flickers across his face for a half of a second, no more, but Rose catches it. Surprise, perhaps. Acknowledgment. She decides to wonder about it later.

"Jack Harkness." He looks her up and down appraisingly, and she almost has to bite back a smile. "Captain Jack Harkness, that is," he amends, in command of every ounce of the self-assurance she remembers so well. Remembers from another person.

Rose fights back the need to throw both arms around him, to smack him, to burst into tears. "Dr Carroll told me you've been reluctant to talk to anyone."

"Could be." He folds his arms across his chest and regards her through narrowed eyes. "Am I a prisoner?"

"No."

"Then why are you keeping me here? Why should I answer your questions? Your people have my ship. My weapons. Dragged me back to this place. And trust me," he adds smugly, "they wouldn't have been successful had I been conscious."

"I'm sorry," Rose says, and she means it. If it's alien, it's ours. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'm not going to lie to you. I have no reason to."

Jack remains impassive, but his expressions are so dearly familiar to her that she knows he is listening. How far removed is he from her Jack? What has happened to him, where has he been?

"Do you know where you are?" she asks. "When you are?"

"Twenty-first century Earth. Torchwood," he adds, rather darkly, as though the word tastes bitter.

"Yeah." Rose's voice goes soft, and the next words come out in a rush, without thought. "You're a Time Agent. Fifty-first century, yeah?" She is reaching for a connection, anything. But she doesn't quite get the reaction she'd expected.

"Might be." His jaw tightens and he looks weary for a moment, as old as she feels. "But twenty-first century Earth shouldn't know about the Time Agency." His voice has turned cold. There is an utter darkness hiding behind his blithe words and mannerisms. Jack, but not Jack. She wonders what his story is.

Rose sighs, presses her fingertips to her forehead. "We have a lot to talk about."

"You've got that right, at least, Rose Tyler." He walks a few paces back and forth. "About letting me out of this quarantine. And returning my ship. Just as long as we're clear that I'm not staying here." He won't. She knows he'll find a way of leaving whether they formally release him or not. But her head is still spinning with strangeness and hope and frustration, and she wants so very badly to tell him everything. Hundreds of memories are crowding upon themselves.

"You don't 'ave to be in quarantine. But I do want you to come with me."

And having just met her, he has no reason to not be suspicious. But he sees desperation behind her eyes, something achingly similar to himself. The girl standing in front of him is as white as a ghost, and he knows there is more she needs to tell him. There is much to be learned, and if she is grasping at straws, then so is he.

"I want my ship back." He knows his location won't go unnoticed for long.

"I know. I'll tell them to leave it alone."

Jack scoffs. "Doesn't matter. They won't be able to get into it, anyway." He pauses, glances down at himself. "And my clothes. Hospital gowns are too twenty-first century. Although," he continues, twisting his neck around, "you might be on to something with this slit up the back."