Author note: Happy New Year everyone! I hope 2009's been good to you. It has to me. I'd like to take this moment to thank the internet gods for NaNoWriMo and chancing upon Galadriel1010, whom I finally met for real in September. Rach, honey, I hope the sugar hasn't fritzed yer screen enough to see this! :D

*raises imaginary champagne flute* Have a good one, people!

Part Eight: The Marionette's Final Act

"Gwen?" Jack's voice chimed through the intercom. "Hey, Gwen?"

Gwen shook her head at Tiffany, muttered something about a moment's peace and tapped her ear device. "Yes, Jack?"

"Me and Ianto are popping out for an hour or so. You, Owen and Tosh alright to hold down the fort?"

"Can do," said Gwen.

Tiffany whispered, "Where's John?"

Gwen nodded. Into the comm. she said, "Where have you left Vera? Just so we can be sure, you know."

A strange sort of empty silence followed, enhanced by the slight hiss of static through the comm. devices.

"Jack?"

"John's gone. Hopefully that's the last we'll see of him."

Gwen mouthed the word 'gone' at Tiffany. "Yeah, alright then Jack. You two have fun." She hung up and took Tiffany's hand again. "Fancy that. Pompous bugger just swans in and out. Holds a few people at gun point. Struts around like he's all that. You'd think he owned the place or something... Tiffany?"

"He'll be back," said Tiffany. And you won't like the consequences...

"What makes you so sure?"

Tiffany didn't meet Gwen's searching gaze. Gwen said, "Ah. This another of those fiction things?"

"Yeah."

"Should I ask?" Tiffany stiffened up again. Gwen added, "Do you want me to ask? Sometimes listening helps." She patted Tiffany's hand. Tiffany looked away again.

"Oh, you're going to think I'm crazy," she said with some certainty.

Gwen laughed. "I already do."

Tiffany looked Gwen steady in the eye. "I want to talk to John."

"You're crazy."

"There's more to him than you think," Tiffany urged.

"I don't want to see you at gun point again, Tiffany. I don't want him hurting anyone else. He's a madman!" Gwen dropped her hold on Tiffany's hand. "You know that."

"I know more than you think." Tiffany laughed. No humour in the dry sound. "I'm turning into one of those cryptic characters I hate." She sighed. "Yes, he's mad. But also extremely sane. A different kind of sane. And I want to talk to him."

"He's gone."

"I'll find him?"

"You just said you didn't want to go outside again."

"I was wrong, then."

"Tiffany—"

"Gwen. Please."

Gwen's face fell. She never could resist and honest plea, Tiffany knew. "Fine. If you end up lying unconscious on some floor anywhere, don't come crying to me."

"I won't."

Gwen frowned at Tiffany's back as she walked back up the tunnel corridor.

***

Tosh yawned. Reflected that though most would call this yet another long night, comparatively speaking, where Torchwood was concerned, this was just the norm. All over and over and over again.

And didn't she just love it. Tired as she was, could Tosh see herself anywhere else right now?

Foot steps behind her. Tosh hunched further over her keyboard. Working all along. She'd been working all along. No one could say anything otherwise—

"Tosh," said Gwen, leaning on the back of Tosh's chair. "Do me a favour, would you?"

"Depends," said Tosh.

"Think you can trace John Hart's wrist strap?"

Tosh twisted her chair around. Fixed Gwen with a wary look. "Why?"

Gwen gestured to her right, where Tiffany stood. "Our girl here appears to have found her suicidal streak."

Tiffany waved meekly. Tosh laughed. "If you ever decide to stay, Torchwood would be good for you." Tosh turned back to the screen. "Can't go a day without risking life or limb."

"Or both," said Gwen.

Tosh laughed again. "I'll see what I can do, Tiffany."

"Thanks," said Tiffany. "I appreciate it."

"I still say you're mad for going after him," Gwen told her.

"I think you're fictional. No wait. I know you're fictional, and yet you think I'm mad because of something else?"

"Perhaps we should rate your sanity, or lack thereof, cumulatively as opposed to objectively?" said Tosh. She tapped a few more keys. Pulled her glasses off the top of her head and brought them to her eyes, peering at the small readout on the screen. "Got him."

The rift alert went off. Gwen strode to the next set of computers. "Flare predicted at Bute Park."

"Bute Park?" said Tosh, glancing over. Gwen nodded. "That's where Hart is headed." She consulted her blue map. Flicked from that to CCTV. "He's about halfway there, I reckon. Must be after the flare."

Tiffany looked over Tosh's shoulder. "How can he be halfway there?"

"Fast walker, I guess."

Gwen clapped her hands together. "Owen!"

An echoing voice from the medical bay. "What?"

"Hold down the fort."

Three voices said, "What?"

Gwen ignored them all. Held her hand out to Tiffany. "I'll drive you up. It's not far. Tosh can you coordinate? Pin down his exact position?"

"Did you just use the words pin and position in a sentence about John Hart?" said Tiffany. Tosh snorted a small laugh. Gwen sighed, the sound tired and long suffering.

"You want that lift or not?"

Tiffany took Gwen's hand again. Flashed what she hoped was a bright smile. "Sure thing."

***

Gwen pulled her car up in the tennis court car park. She shot a side long glance to where Tiffany stared out of the window. "Want me to come with—"

"No," said Tiffany. She turned, smile apologetic and bland. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap."

"It's okay."

"It isn't."

Gwen prodded Tiffany's shoulder. "It is." Tiffany poked hers back. "That's more like it." Gwen dug around in her pockets, brought out an ear piece and handed it to Tiffany. "Direct line to Tosh. She can guide you around. This park's pretty big. Don't want you getting lost."

"Thanks." Tiffany unbuckled her seat belt and began to clamber out of the car.

"Be careful?" said Gwen.

"I will. I know all the rules."

Gwen laughed. "I'll wait here, okay?"

"Thanks again."

"No problem."

Tiffany strode off into the dark park, Tosh's quavering voice in her ear.

***

Hart knew he was being followed. Of course he knew. On the one hand too easy to tap into Torchwood's communications – did they ever learn? – and on the other, well, Hart just knew. Some senses had been honed to perfection. Right now there was a tingle at the back of his neck and boy, wasn't Tiffany making her presence known. He ducked behind a thick tree and circled it soundlessly, keeping the girl only just in his sight, ensuring he wouldn't be in hers.

A twig crackled under his booted foot. Hart sent it a downward glare. One covert glance around the trunk to confirm whether Tiffany had or hadn't heard...

"Hi."

"Hmm," said Hart. Couldn't resist adding, "Back for seconds?"

Tiffany, to his delight, rolled her eyes.

"You stalking me is such a lovely reversal of roles, don't you think?" said Hart.

"I wanted to talk to you," said Tiffany. She pulled her earpiece out. "Alone."

He leered. Automatic response. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Tiffany watched him advance with wary eyes. Step after step closing the dim distance between them, and Hart had that predatory look about him again. Right in front of her now. His grey eyes looked black in this half light.

"You wanted to talk?" said Hart. "So talk."

"I... " Tiffany swallowed and tried to remember her reasons for this whole idea. Her brain kept getting distracted somewhat. God. He shouldn't be this attractive... Tiffany shook her head. Focus. She raised her chin, met Hart's eyes with a challenge and said, "I know about Gray."

John froze up for a moment. All his muscles going tense. His calm voice a wrought contrast to the panic inside. "Do you indeed?"

Tiffany nodded.

Conversationally, Hart said, "I could kill you right now, you know. Here in the dark with no one to see. It'd be almost too easy."

Tiffany took a meaningful step backward, and Hart laughed. "I know," she said, once she'd attained what she felt was a much nicer distance between the two of them. "I know you could. But you won't?"

"What, and let you run free with all that knowledge in your head?" Hart's voice was bitter. "Run back to precious Jack, tell him all my secrets, blab to your heart's content and all that."

"I wouldn't blab," Tiffany assured him. There was only so much canon she could mess with. Jack finding out about Hart's agenda this early on? Tiffany didn't like to think what could happen...

Tosh and Owen would still be alive. Torchwood wouldn't have been outnumbered come the finish. Ianto wouldn't have died. Jack wouldn't have ran, ran, ran away—

Foolish folly of a fictional hope. Tiffany forced herself back to the present. "I wouldn't blab, but I might understand," she said.

"Understand?" Ever more bitter, Hart said, "Seems simple enough to me. What's left to understand?"

"Show me your wrist."

Hart cocked an eyebrow, just about visible in the half light. "That your best line?"

"I want to know if he's gotten to you yet," said Tiffany. "Show me your wrist. Please."

Hart, with a defeated snarl, wrenched his sleeve up and showed her his wrist strap. Tiffany took in the fused flesh, and she shuddered, felt sick. Hart tugged his sleeve back down. "Seen enough, or shall I extend this to a full floor show? Sing and dance like a good little marionette while you pull all the strings and tell me about things you can't possibly know?"

"I'm sorry," Tiffany whispered. She smoothed a hand down his wrinkled jacket sleeve. "Really, I am."

"What the fuck have you got to be sorry about?" He ran a hand through his slick hair and glanced away.

"Nothing. Everything." Tiffany mirrored him, wiping strands of hair from her face. She circled him, coming to rest against a tree. Very much in his line of sight. "As an avid fan, my glee over your upcoming suffering has compounded into guilt. You're real, you're here, and you are now, and I'm sorry."

"You sound like some sort of cracked prophet. Going to tell me to beware the Ides of March next?"

A dry laugh. "Maybe."

Hart consulted his wrist strap and huffed. "Look," he said, pacing around to lean on the tree trunk beside her. "Much as I would love to stay and chat and all—"

"The flare?"

"Yep."

"Where?"

"Should be right over there," Hart said, pointing through the trees. Tiffany could just make out the late night shimmer of the river Taff. "In a few minutes."

A golden glow filtered through the branches, sending the shadows that lurked from tree to tree into a strange, illuminated panic. Hart pushed away from the tree and paced toward it, shooting glances at Tiffany over his shoulder. "Well," he said after a few moments, "you coming to see me off?"

Tiffany followed him into the next clearing. Her mouth went dry when she saw the full rift flare, and she had to clutch a branch for support. Hart laughed at her. She ignored him, tried to find words. "That is..."

"Never seen one before?"

"Not in the flesh," said Tiffany. Her eyes felt like saucers they were so wide. "That is just..."

Hart joined her in staring. "Yeah." His next words were anxious, wary. "Look, about Gray—"

"You don't have to explain."

"Thanks, I think." Hart shook himself. "Right. Rift time." He stuck out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Tiffany Summers."

She took the hand, gave it one sharp, squeezing shake. "Likewise." She smiled, and Hart walked across the grass to the flare's opening. He turned. Waved once. Tiffany waved back.

And then...

And then Hart stiffened, half submerged in the tendrils of rift energy. Tiffany could see, even in the dim light and silhouetted by the glow of the flare, the flash of fear cross his face. "Run," he whispered, looking behind her. Too far away now, he started to move out of the grasp of the flare. Too far away and too far in. The tendrils would not release him. "Tiffany, run!" he shouted, pressing buttons on his wrist strap in desperation even as he was sucked further in. "RUN!"

Tiffany whirled. The glow of the rift disappeared from behind her, leaving Tiffany alone in the almost darkness.

But not.

Snarling in front of her. Teeth and mass and screaming. Tiffany was screaming, her limbs freezing her to the spot. She cried out even more as something struck her.

Hard.

Merciless.

And then...

And then came pain. Tiffany whirling down and away into streaked, screeching darkness.