"There's something wrong with him," Daine told Numair that night after dinner.

They were curled up together on the same balcony that Daine had almost fallen from that afternoon, sitting in a chair that was just slightly too large for one person, and too small for two. Captain Harkness had pleaded exhaustion from his travels and retired to the spare room that Numair had given him. Daine was rather glad of the fact, to be frank - something about their new guest sent little alarm bells ringing in her head, and not because he was attractive. There was something about the way his smile never reached his eyes, something about his easy laugh that made her wary. He felt like an Immortal, like a spidrin or a Stormwing - part animal, part human, and yet not.

"Yes," Numair replied thoughtfully, lips close to her temple, so that his breath whispered across her forehead. She hummed, enjoying the affectionate touch. "There is. His wrist strap had no magic in it."

"I know," Daine murmured, her cheek against his collarbone. "He feels like an Immortal. But that's wrong, he's a two-legger, isn't he?"

Numair stroked her hair. "He appears as much," he agreed. "I'm not getting anything odd off him at all, magically. He's not even Gifted. But my intuition is telling me that he's very strange indeed." Numair smiled. "He's a puzzle, my love," he murmured and Daine chuckled. Numair loved puzzles.

Daine shifted in his lap so she could look him in the eye. "Do you think there really is a Boeshane Peninsula?"

"Yes," Numair said. Daine frowned at him. He winked at her, tweaked her nose, and drew a little pouch out of his pocket. "Eyebright. Shows when someone's lying."

Daine batted at his hand when he reached for her nose, and instead reached and playfully tugged at his. "Since when d'you carry that around?" she demanded.

Numair nuzzled into her palm. "Thought it might be useful." He shrugged. She chuckled a little, stroking the bridge of his nose, and they smiled at each other for a moment before Numair's eyes went distant again, thinking of their new acquaintance. "Cloud is still convinced that he's a wolf?"

Daine nodded.

Numair sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. When he thought, he had a tendency to tug at his nose, but he couldn't because Daine's hand was already there. She smiled and tugged it for him. Distracted, his eyes refocused on her and her smile became a teasing grin. He stuck his tongue out at her. "Well," he added after a moment, shaking her fingers playfully from his nose, "we like wolves, don't we?"

Daine was a member of the Long Lake wolf pack in Dunlath, as was Numair, recognized as her mate by her friends. She smiled. "We do. I suppose this means we're—what d'you call it?"

"Giving him the benefit of a doubt," Numair supplied, pulling her back against his chest. Daine let him, resting comfortably with her cheek against his collarbone.

"That's the one. Giving him the benefit of a doubt." Daine snuggled into his arms contentedly.

.

.

Jack leaned his forehead against the door frame.

Yes, he thought sadly. These were good people. That meant he had to get away, and fast.

For no reason at all, they'd given him a meal and a room for the night – the nicest meal and the most comfortable room he'd had for a long time. Why, the last time he'd had such a nice meal had been—

With Ianto, of course. Something painful touched his heart. Was it really that long ago? A nice warm meal, chicken and wine and a fireplace and company that meant him no harm? Yes, he thought grimly, unable to stop the memory of a glass enclosure filled with smoke and the weight of a dying man in his arms. It had been that long ago. Cargo ships and black market traders always had lukewarm food and cold eyes.

Ianto's eyes had been - but he stopped the thought right there, before it got out of hand. Dead and gone, he told himself viciously. Jack glanced back at the silhouette of the two cuddled on the balcony, a shadow against the brilliant stars, and felt a moment of regret.

And here were these two, he mused as he watched them, a young couple that he did not know, giving him, as they had said, the benefit of a doubt. They looked frankly adorable together, curled close and speaking in low murmurs.

If he were a different man, he'd kill them and steal their home, live for a while in their nice tower, use their goods. Or he'd play on their age difference, obvious but irrelevant, and work to separate them to secure his place here or even just for his own amusement. They were both quiet attractive - Jack could have his pick. Or he could have both of them; that could be fun, too.

He sighed as the thought entered his mind, and quickly banished it. He never harmed innocents, Jack told himself firmly, never intentionally. Even all those years ago, before the Doctor, before Torchwood, before he'd become immortal – when he was a greasy, untrustworthy Time Agent, he'd never hurt innocents if he could help it.

The thought was unconvincing. The nightmarish image of his grandson, standing in the center of a pool of light, calling for Uncle Jack in fear and confusion, begged to differ.

Right, Jack thought, taking a deep, steadying breath and forcibly banishing the memory, he never harmed innocents for no reason. His grandson had saved the lives of millions of other children. It had been necessary. Necessary.

As long as there was, you know, reasoning behind it, he thought sarcastically to himself. Because clearly, hard cold logic made everything better.

He swallowed.

Jack didn't need to sleep much; as an immortal, he found himself in need of less rest. Nevertheless, that bed that the two had shown him was warm and inviting, and the last truly inviting bed he'd had was, of course, with Ianto. Jack was so tired. He moved away from the door frame and walked, silently, downstairs to his room.

.

.

There was a Girl in Daine's dream.

The room was faded, with vague shadows and darkness, but the Girl was golden and clear. She wore strange clothing, all pink and blue, but her skin glowed, and tears made tracks from her dark, shimmering eyes. Her hair was bleached blond, the way some of the court ladies did it, although it too glowed brightly, like the rest of her. There was a brilliant, burning light behind her, but it did not hurt Daine's eyes.

"I am the Bad Wolf," the Girl said, voice indistinct, as though Daine was listening to her from underwater. "… Scatter, in time and space. A message."

"Bad Wolf?" Daine felt herself echoing. "Who is Jack Harkness?"

"Protected…" the Girl replied, eyes focused beyond Daine, as though there were someone standing behind her. When Daine looked, however, she could see nothing and no one, just the dark and the blue shadows.

"What?"

"I bring life," the Girl told the thing behind Daine urgently. "But why do they hurt?"

"Who hurts?" Daine asked. She took a tentative step towards the Girl. "I don't understand."

"My head… is killing me…"

Pain exploded behind Daine's eyelids and she yelled, sitting bolt upright, heavy blankets falling around her waist.

"Daine!"

She was in her bed, Daine thought wildly, in her dark room, with Numair beside her. He had jolted awake with her, alarmed, and he wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders in concern. "Are you alright?"

Daine looked at him with wide, wild eyes for a moment, willing her pounding heart to calm and the sharp pain in the center of her forehead to fade. The shadows of the room were not the blue of her dream; instead they were gray and navy and familiar. The room was dark and warm and safe, utterly safe, unlike the vague, urgent danger that had emanated from the room in her dream. The blankets at her waist were soft and cozy, and Numair was a comforting presence beside her. Numair's other arm came up around her waist, and Daine realized that she was shaking from the pain. "Sweet?" His voice was anxious, and she could just barely make out his eyes in the darkness.

Safe. Beloved. She leaned into Numair's arms.

There was a thump and a thud downstairs and after a moment Jack Harkness flung their door open with a bang, racing into the room, without a shirt. Daine jumped, and Numair hissed in surprise, hand out, ready to cast a defensive spell. Jack stared at them, breathing heavily. "Someone yelled," he said urgently. "And not in a good way. Are you alright?"

The tense set of Numair's shoulders relaxed, and his arm curled back around Daine. "Thank you for your concern," he started, kindly but sternly, pulling Daine protectively to his chest, "but I think—"

"My head," Daine interrupted, speaking for the first time. The pain had faded enough for her to think properly, sliding from the center of her forehead to the pressure points above her ears. She clutched at her temples.

Jack hung awkwardly by the door as Numair rubbed at Daine's scalp. "Dearest?" he asked, eyes dark with worry.

"A dream," Daine wheezed as the pain faded. "That's all. There was—golden light. And a Girl." She looked up at Jack hovering there by the door. The man was actually naked; he had a sheet clutched to his waist like an afterthought. He had been part of her dream, she was almost sure of it, although she could not recall him actually being there."I'm sorry I woke you," she said.

"S'alright. You can wake me up anytime," he replied with a bright grin, but Numair's eyes flashed, his arms tightening around her.

"If you do not mind," the mage said coldly, "We would like some time alone."

"Right," Jack muttered, startled, as though realizing that what he had said was unacceptable but unsure why. "Right. I'll see you in the morning. Sorry." He left, sheets trailing behind him.

"Numair," Daine reproached gently. The pain had faded almost completely now, and she smiled at him.

"He flirted with you. While you were in bed. With me." Numair spluttered, indignant. Daine chuckled.

"Did he bruise your poor ego?" She tugged playfully on a loose strand of his long dark hair. "Are you afraid I'll run off with that strange man we found in the woods, my love?"

"How are you feeling?" Numair countered, gently rubbing her temples with his fingers. "Does it still hurt?"

Daine frowned and shook her head, "No. It's gone now. That was—weird."

"Yes. You said there was a girl in your dream." His fingers smoothed tenderly along her hairline. "Can you remember anything else?"

Daine shook her head. "It's gone now." She smiled at him and he smiled back, though tentatively, clearly still worried. Silly man.

She reached to kiss him, and he held her close for a long moment. Then he pulled back.

"I can't believe he flirted with you," Numair growled and Daine laughed, bright and amused.

"You have nothing to worry about," she said warmly, cupping his cheek.

"He's younger," Numair muttered, leaning into the touch, always self-conscious about his age.

Daine stroked his cheek with her thumb tenderly, smiling at him, ready to reassure him, yet again, that she could not care less that Numair was roughly fourteen years her senior. Then she frowned, looking thoughtful. "I don't think so, Numair," she murmured, stroking his cheek. "I think—I think he's older than he looks."

"Better looking," Numair sulked, but he leaned into her hand.

"Never!"

They smiled at each other, and Numair kissed her this time. "I'm glad to hear it," he whispered, and Daine giggled.