To: .
From: .
Date: 29th October, 2010
Re: Rebuilding
Dear Jack,
I'm trying to give you space, but I want you to know that we're making progress. I'm not sure if you want to know or not. Frankly, I don't care. You have to know. It's been a month since you left and we've done so much.
You're everywhere, Jack. You, Tosh, Owen and Ianto. I've had to sieve through the digital archives for the report to the Crown (more on that in a bit). Everything has your signature and Tosh's coding. I couldn't forget if I wanted to, of course, but every sighting of her, of any of you, makes me more determined. The world, the work, that you fought for cannot die; it would dishonour their deaths. I don't mean to upset you by telling you any of this, but you know what it's like. You were there when Ianto and I found Tosh's fingerprint all over the programming in the Hub, you helped us through it. You've done this so often, Jack, I understand why you didn't want to rebuild again. It's someone else's turn now.
Speaking of rebuilding, that's what the proposal's all about. I reckon I knew it wouldn't be a matter of phoning the bursary and asking for the spare change to rebuild he Hub, but I rather hoped. Maybe it would have been had the 456 not happened. Still, it's a laugh, isn't it? "Why does the world need Torchwood?" For a start, it does wonders for the Weevil population…. Still, things have changed. We're not exactly after the Doctor anymore, and good old Queen Vic's orders aren't pulling much weight either.
So proposal. Maybe I have made it to desk sergeant. That's what head of Torchwood is, isn't it? Desk sergeant with a gun, and a bit more running. Well, like any good desk sergeant I knew I needed someone to help me with the brunt of the work. Although I must admit, I didn't do any stalking of the new recruit the way you might have. I think she's been stalked quite enough by Torchwood, truth be told…
"I did not think this through." Gwen collapsed next to Lois, and rested her head on the back of the seat in front of her.
Lois glanced at her over the top of the magazine she had found left on the chair by its last occupant. "I did wonder," she said. "You've not been well before noon for a week now."
Gwen frowned at her. "You really need your own flat." She sat up, and began rummaging through the bag at her feet for a copy of the proposal they had written to present the next day. "And hopefully we'll be calling an estate agent on the way back to acquire you a living space larger than my sofa."
Lois laughed. "That would be nice. But, just so you know, Gwen, I've been fine with it. You and Rhys have been absolutely lovely. I know it's hard having your flat invaded; and, it's being me puts you face-to-face with everything, all the time, doesn't it?"
"You know, I don't think of it that way," Gwen admitted. "You give me hope. Rhys is used to it, because it used to be Ianto on that sofa. When Jack was working, or being broody Jack, or we had had a bit much to drink. He didn't often want to go to his own flat, and I never pushed it. Jack spent nights there as well. When I'd get up in the morning and see one of them there it reminded me that I wasn't alone, and that was easy to forget after Owen and Tosh."
"You've got Rhys to do that too," Lois reminded her. "Since he knows about it all."
"Yeah, I have." Gwen smiled, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her face. "But I think he rather hoped I'd give up the Torchwood nonsense after the 456. Settle down. We've savings; I could have stayed at home a few years."
"You couldn't have done that."
"No, I-." The train jerked suddenly, cutting off her words. Gwen thrust her hand out, with the reflexes born of police work and Torchwood, but Lois's head collided with the seat in front of her.
"All right?" Gwen asked as Lois sat up, rubbing her forehead.
"Bloody Great Western," Lois sighed. "But, yeah it's—Gwen?"
Gwen had risen, and was peering down the empty corridor. "Lois," she murmured. "Have you seen a conductor or a food cart at any point since we left Cardiff?"
"No, but we've only been gone twenty-."
"Sir, you did say the loudspeaker was broken? So just to be sure it's how many stops to Swindon?"
"Two, I believe. Next stop after mine." The businessman smiled at her over his paper, but then resumed reading.
"Right, thanks."
"Gwen, we're not-." Lois began. Gwen glared down at her, and she pursed her lips. They needed to work on Lois's field tact. Unfortunately, she wouldn't have the time working as just a receptionist that Ianto had had. She and Rhys had managed the few times she'd spotted a Weevil on the street, and the one time Andy had called her about an alien artifact found at a crime scene, but they would need more help, and training for Lois, if this were really going to work.
Certainly, Lois's look when Gwen began to walk down the corridor and motioned for her to follow was a sign that she did not have Torchwood-level paranoia. Still, she followed orders. That was good.
They continued through the train, and Gwen noted that she did not see a single figure of authority. Not even an acne-covered ticket-taker slacking off to flirt with a pretty blonde.
"My dad's a train driver," Lois said as Gwen slid open the door at the end of their car. "Worked for Southwest all my life. London to Portsmouth."
There had been a time when Gwen might have stopped walking to gape at her, but she was more disciplined than that now. She merely turned her head slightly with an eyebrow raised, hoping to convey what the fuck? without much hassle. Lois was not just chatting, though. She was carefully eyeing the seats surrounding them, and Gwen came to the conclusion that she was trying to make them look natural. Maybe this girl deserved more credit than she had thought.
"Really?" she asked, sliding her hand into her hand back to firmly grip the handle of her gun. "Did he let you wear the cap?"
"Sometimes. Took me to work when I fancied a day off school. Really, quite boring in the end, though, sitting on a train."
"Oh, I dunno," Gwen said, putting her hand on the door that lead to the first car. "I think it's relaxing. When I was at college I'd take the train home, just to Swansea, for a bit of calm. Mind, I didn't have a car yet either." She yanked the door open, and gasped as she stepped into the front car.
Rather than the irritable workers who usually sat in the quiet car, she had found the missing rail staff. They were seated, and looked to all be sleeping quite naturally, but for the clouds of purple that were being exhaled each time their chests contracted.
"Oh my God," Lois breathed as Gwen hurried to the nearest person, a conductor who was snoring lightly. The train was jerking more, so she kept her hand firmly on the seat's armrest as she examined him. The queasiness she had been fighting earlier was gone, at least. The purple mist looked familiar, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember where she had seen it. This was all so much easier with Jack there to be a portable alien involvement encyclopedia.
"Joy Riders," she finally said, opening her eyes. She straightened, and headed towards the door of the driver's compartment.
"What?"
"There's an alien species that likes to take over technology, usually forms of transport. They put the owner to sleep, and stick them somewhere. Then they go messing about with the machinery, or what have you. We've seen it with a car or two before, but nothing like this. Jack swears they did an aeroplane once, but we never believed him. I suppose with the Rift being less patrolled, they thought they'd get lucky."
She put her hand on the door to the driver's compartment. "Lois, your dad, did he ever teach you how to stop a train?"
"I—but other trains on the line-." Lois's hand went to the side of her face in nervousness.
Gwen reached out and put a firm hand on her companion's shoulder, pulling the gun out of her bag with the other. Lois flinched at the site of it. "I do know how to use a radio, Lois. Besides, their sleep secretion only works for half-an-hour, or so at a time."
"I—I—yeah. All right."
"You're sure?" Gwen demanded, as the train lurched violently once more.
Lois's eyes flitted back and forth for a second, but then she took a deep breath and met Gwen's eyes. "Yes."
"Right then, let's go." She opened the door to reveal a white, froglike creature leaping about on the trains controls. It had a huge head, which looked rather like a Hallowe'en skeleton's head. It's long legs ended in long feet, with jointed toes that it used to push the buttons and pull the levers that it couldn't possibly know the uses of. As it bounced around it made a whistling "wheeee," noise, like a child on a swing.
"Freeze," Gwen snapped. The Joy Rider spun, or rather leapt, around. It's bulbous blue eyes blinked at her.
"What are you?" it demanded in a low his. Gwen nodded at Lois who slid in the driver's seat, taking advantage of the creature's distraction. It was not as stupid as Gwen had hoped, though, and it leapt onto Lois.
Gwen saw its head inflate, in what she assumed to be an inhalation that came before secretion. Without a second thought, she pulled the trigger on her gun. The force at close range was enough to cause a veritable shattering of the inflated head. A viscous purple liquid splattered all over the car. Lois shrieked as the majority of it landed on her. "We're Torchwood," she asserted, lowering the gun.
"Stop the train, Lois," Gwen commanded, trying to keep the girl focused. Rule one of Torchwood: alien matter can be washed off later. Lois obeyed, her teeth clenched in misery. Gwen reached out for the driver's radio.
"This is Torchwood," she said into it. "We've a situation on First Great Western, the nine fifty-five train from Cardiff. We've had to stop the train on the tracks, and we need assistance."
There was confusion from the other voices on the line, at first. They responded a bit better when she told them she was special ops, and agreed to send help and a bus to take the passengers of the train.
"Make an announcement to that effect," Gwen told Lois, handing over the radio. The stench of the Joy Rider's blood had finally reached her now that the issue was settled. "Thank God we decided to go over a day early."
Lois nodded, and didn't bother to ask where Gwen was going. Gwen supposed that her face gave away the fact that she was likely to be sick until the bus arrived, and knowing the jostling movement of British buses, until they got to London. Lois could read her. It was good that they had a connection.
Still, they really did need to get the girl her own flat.
Even then it wasn't a matter of taking the thing's body into the conference room and saying, "This is why you bloody need Torchwood," but it did make it a tad easier. Lois is a damn good persuasive writer. I had her do most of the actual writing up of examples, to show her all that we've done, all that we do. She has to understand, doesn't she? That Torchwood is so much bigger than what she's seen before. That we're capable of being bloody fantastic.
Of course, seeing it all on paper is a bit different than getting covered in alien blood. I think she took about twelve showers in the hotel room that night. So did I, come to think of it, when I first got soaked in non-human bodily fluid. It's downright disgusting, but I suppose you do get used to it.
I didn't want to have to kill it. I'm still not the sort to shoot first, ask questions later. But it's not like we have anywhere to jail it, and I didn't want it tranquilizing Lois, and me there not knowing how to stop the train. It wasn't worth the lives of everyone on board, after all. Though, I don't suppose I really thought of all that in the moment before I pulled the trigger. It must have been somewhere in my mind, mustn't it? Do you learn to weigh things without consciously thinking? Or have I changed after all?
I imagine these are questions you must have asked, aren't they, Jack? Tell me your answers, if you get a chance. I can't really see you pausing to check your email in an internet café, with a bad cup of coffee by your elbow, and a bloke doing a drug deal over Skype next to you. But, then again, it's hard to see you being a tourist at all in your RAF coat. It's hard to imagine you as anything but leader of Torchwood.
Will anyone feel that about me? I can't see it.
Anyway, we got the funding. Rhys has contractor friends we're going to meet with this week, and until then we've rented a warehouse by the docks. Bit creepy, after everything we've seen happen at those warehouses, but it was our best option. Lois has a flat, and Rhys and I are going to buy a house after all, now that I've a salary again.
Things are happening, Jack. Good things. Light can come out of the dark.
I miss you,
Gwen
To: .
From: .
Date: November 1st, 2010
Re: RE: Rebuilding
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
-Robert Frost