Chapter Four
There is fiction in the space between
The lines on your face and memories
Write it down but it doesn't mean
You're not just telling stories.
Rose steps out into the hallway, shuts the door behind her, and promptly fails to contain a flurry of unwanted tears. Mickey is waiting, and bustles over in a fuss.
She collapses on the bench and drops her head in her hands. In the span of a few minutes, all of the memories she has tried so hard to shelve away have been pushed into sharp relief. You could come with me. Running, always running. From what? If I run fast enough, I won't have to look back. All gone, everything lost, in the space of a heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Never say never ever.
Mickey is worrying at her. She draws a long, shaky breath and rejoins the present. If this is going to work, she can't fall to pieces. Nervous breakdowns never helped anyone.
"What did he say to you?"
"Nothing." She lifts her chin in resolve. "I'm signing 'im out. Into my custody."
Mickey holds up both hands, shakes his head. "Oh, no. You can't. He'll take off the second he leaves this building. It's against policy. An' Pete's not even here. No way."
"He won't leave." Rose stands up, determined. Mickey is all too familiar with the expression on her face. "And Pete isn't here. Well, that's his problem, then."
Mickey looks slightly offended. "Even so, what're you trying to pull? He doesn't know who you are, Rose." He looks at her searchingly.
"No," she says, sadly. "But he's here." And somehow, even that alone would be enough. A connection. The unexpected. She has come too far and seen too much for it not to mean something.
She leaves wordlessly, already faraway in thought. Signs the necessary paperwork, abstractly amazed at how easy it is, at how nobody questions her. Travel the universe, save the world a few times, and autonomy is available en masse. And authority which Rose rarely utilizes.
She passes Jake on her way back, and tells him to stop working on the ship. No explanation. He looks as if he'd like to tell her to piss off, but keeps his opinions silent until she has left the room.
And Jack, surprisingly compliantly, walks with her out of Torchwood Tower without question. His footsteps next to hers sound familiar. An echo of all the footfalls lost on countless worlds running hand in hand. A blast of cold air hits them as they step outside; the sky has gone grey and cloudy and Rose absently hopes it won't rain again.
Jack shivers, turns his collar up against the wind. "Twenty-first century Earth," he shrugs. "Freezing. So what exactly do you plan to do now that you've got me here, Rose Tyler?"
She silently admits that she hasn't got a clue, really, and wonders if he is simply playing along. But she needs to talk. "I have a lot I need to tell you."
"And I have a few questions of my own." The wind picks up, scatters leaves and litter and paper at their feet.
She recalls his expression earlier when he acknowledged Torchwood, heard her name. "Well." Pause. "How's chips sound?"
Jack raises an eyebrow, looking bemused. "Sounds like a plan."
The inside of the café is welcoming and warm, small and utterly normal. The few customers look up briefly at Rose and Jack as they enter, with little interest, just another couple of unimportant people out of hundreds on the street.
Jack plows into his pile of chips as if he hasn't eaten in a week. Or maybe there aren't chips in the fifty-first century. Rose isn't sure. She knots her fingers together under the table and watches him act as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. At what point did this world split from the other?
She clears her throat tentatively. "Your ship," she begins tentatively. "Why's it called Bad Wolf?"
He shrugs, swallows a mouthful of grease. "Just sort of sounded good. Old Earth nursery rhyme, right?" He grins slyly. "Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf..."
I might be, Rose thinks, and recollects singing and streamers of golden light. "And why'd it crash?"
Jack's grin fades quickly. "Malfunctioned. I was in a hurry. Nothing I can't fix."
"In a hurry from what?"
He doesn't meet her gaze, pops another chip into his mouth instead. "Let's just say I'm not supposed to be here."
"Makes two of us," Rose mutters, mostly to herself. Through the window, people rush back and forth and bunch together in the grey outside; it has begun to rain and drops splatter the sidewalk, quickly growing in number.
Jack watches her watching the rain. "In that case, why don't you tell me what you have to tell me, before I have to disappear."
"Right." She wonders where on earth to possibly start. "I dunno...how much of this you're going to believe. But I can't...I can't not tell you, and you have to know that it's important, more important than any of this, and that I haven't got a reason to lie to you..." She is rambling, she knows, talking away the absurdity of the moment. Any minute reality could settle in.
Jack holds up a hand, and she trails off. "It's okay," he says kindly, looking at the girl across the table from him. She is struggling with something, and somewhere far off in his mind, a voice is whispering for him to listen, because this is far from insignificant. "Go ahead."
She glances out of the window again, and then looks directly at him, into his eyes. Takes a deep breath, and begins her story, words spilling out on top of each other. Tries to stick to the essentials, but it is useless. She begins with that night in the basement of Henrick's, oh so long and long ago. Tells him about the Tardis, the Doctor, and it is the first time she has spoken his name out loud in months and months. The blue box and the man that were both her home. Tells him of being taken away to the end of the world and back, of the Gamestation. About the other him, of dancing next to Big Ben in the middle of an air raid, running and running through time and space, the three of them, of the Time War and Bad Wolf. Black holes and impossible planets, alien invasions on Christmas. And finally she tells him about her last story, the last great battle, the void and Bad Wolf Bay and Torchwood and how it all ended.
Jack sits still and quiet the entire time she is speaking, so urgently, and leans forward and doesn't speak or interrupt. Listens to her fantastic tale and doesn't tell her that she's mad, doesn't try and leave.
"And that was the end of it," Rose is saying. She fiddles with the silverware on the table and suddenly feels drained. "All over, jus' like that, gone." Like having the ground fall out from beneath your feet, or the sky caving in. "And then you showed up, an' I saw the words on your ship, words I never thought I would ever see again, and...well, I still don't know what to think." She looks up, and her eyes are fierce. "So whether you believe me or not - I understand why you wouldn't."
Jack has every reason not to, and considers the stranger sitting across from him, and unexpectedly feels very lost. "I do believe you." And it is possibly the most honest admission he has made in ages.
Rose is slightly incredulous, relieved at the same time. "You do?"
He does, but doesn't quite know why and decides it is easier to ignore the specifics. "I'm not from this century," he reminds her. "Time travel and alternate dimensions-" he waves a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Well, yeah. But as for traveling between worlds...it's just not done, it's not possible in any century."
She fights back the urge to laugh. "That's what I thought." I can see everything. All that is, all that was. All that ever could be.
"That's a hell of a past you've got, Rose Tyler. All of that." He leans back and studies her intently. Intrigued. "And I don't know why, but I'm still here."
The rain slows and stops. They have been inside a long time, the café is becoming crowded and fills with nameless people and chatter. "What does it all mean?" Rose asks, absently.
"It means we should probably get out of here." Jack stands and tosses his napkin onto the table. "And I'll tell you what I can, and you can tell me how different I am from the Jack you knew, and you can decide for yourself."
tbc
