A/N: Gosh, this one was difficult to churn out. I'm out of the habit, damn my GCSEs. D: Thankfully, I have just one exam left, and now I shall be getting back into the habit of doing this properly. I've had a lot on my plate, fingers crossed that putting this fic to the side to study was worth it, eh? Apologies if this is a bit patchy. Getting used to writing Daria as a major character, you see, her inner dialogue is turning out less certain than Charlton's was. Also, if there are any problems understanding my logic in the Jack-Ianto-Doctor scene, just ask any questions and I'll answer them individually and put them in the A/N next chapter. Song for this one is 'We Did It When We Were Young' by the Gaslight Anthem, an amazing band who I will be seeing live next Tuesday night. :) Enjoy!
She padded out of the bedroom, bare feet near-silent on the thick carpet of her – their – room.
Andy's moving in, it turned out, had been the best decision she'd ever made. She'd worried slightly that maybe he would intrude on the space, the one place where she could be herself, that his things would clutter hers and take over. It wasn't like that – he supplemented, complimented the apartment. Completed it.
Putting the kettle on to boil, wincing at the chill of the kitchen tiles, she leaned against the countertop, tracing her nail idly against the marble surface. Sighing, she walked slowly to the sofa, sitting down and putting her feet up on the coffee table.
Daria felt content, but worried that maybe the feeling would be going soon. The card from the woman in red stared at her from the table, a silent reminder of the visitation from what seemed like another world. Frustrated, she got up, and went to make the tea.
The air outside was hot and stuffy, the windows of the apartment open to let in as much of a breeze as possibly, and yet she still insisted on tea with breakfast. It seemed the right way to start every day, somehow; peaceful, understated. A grateful ritual to some morning god.
As she measured out the loose-leaf tea into her Wedgwood teapot, she thought about Torchwood and how it had changed her life for the better. It was Torchwood that had brought her Andy, brought her a much needed change of career. Possibly it had brought her the red stranger; Torchwood was one of those jobs where it took over your entire life, put you in contact with people you never would have previously encountered. Daria pushed the red woman once more to the back of her mind, ignoring the silent black glare of her presence.
It was just lucky Andy already knew about it – Daria doubted she could have stayed with him, knowing the secrets she did about the world.
She set up a simple breakfast at the kitchen table – tea set prepped and ready to go – and set about making pancakes, while Andy stumbled into the room and sat at the table in one of their high-backed oak chairs. He smiled at her, and for a second she paused to admire him – admire the pale skin of his chest and arms, the straight, strong line of his collarbones and shoulders, and his unruly blonde hair. Lifting her gaze to his honest brown eyes, she was struck by something.
"We've been together for eight months, Andy. Eight months today."
He grinned, "Surprised?"
She moved to his side, shrugging her cardigan further up her shoulders and kissing one sticking-out ear fondly, "Not really. Sounds strange, but I can't remember life without you."
He kissed her then; warmth spread through her body and she smiled into his mouth, then pulled away. "Still have to go to work, though."
Daria moved back to the kitchen, and drizzled golden syrup and butter over the still-steaming stacks of pancakes, and carried them through to Andy, a good start to what felt like a good day.
"We need to figure out a way of getting that card off of Daria," Jack mused, trailing a finger down Ianto's arm absentmindedly.
"Mmm," Ianto said, glancing up through his lashes at Jack, "I think we have to get out of bed for that. Just a thought." He received a pinch in return, "Ow."
It was then that the Hub alarm went off, loud and stark in the quiet of Jack's room. Jack frowned, sitting bolt upright and checking his Vortex Manipulator, "That's weird, it didn't even pick it up here…"
"Oh no no no, don't get up for little ol' me," a broad voice called from the upper levels of the Hub. Jack and Ianto simultaneously pulled on clothes with fervor and climbed the ladder to Jack's office, buttoning shirts one-handed.
"Doctor," Jack said, and Ianto frowned slightly at the softness of his voice, the open delight he heard in it. It was only the Doctor – oh.
This was a face he did not recognize, being neither the Doctor he'd encountered at Canary Wharf, nor the younger model of Doctor he'd been seeing recently. This one had close-cropped hair, large ears and a large nose, and spoke with a Northern dialect. He admired the cut and sheen of the Doctor's leather jacket for a moment, being a fan of good tailoring, then realized with a strange abruptness that this was the Doctor that Jack had first known.
This was, in every way, Jack's Doctor. Before Jack became 'wrong' to him, before…was it before Rose? Or after?
"Jack," the Doctor said, pulling him into a hug, "I knew you'd do me proud. Torchwood Three, eh? You the leader?" For a moment the Doctor frowned, tentatively sniffing at Jack, and said, "Ah…that's what I was talking about."
He pulled back, but kept his hands on Jack's neck in a gesture that was simultaneously tender and strict, "I've just made a quick stop. Rose is upstairs, in the TARDIS, but…I told myself not to let you see her. I can't."
"Doctor," Jack said again, and this time he sounded sad, pleading. Ianto watched quietly from the background, a silent witness to this meeting of old friends, as Jack carried on, "Doctor, let me see her. Please." After Rose, then, Ianto thought, and decided to keep Canary Wharf locked behind a deadbolted door, as always.
The Doctor moved his hands to Jack's cheeks, and patted him quietly, softly, "You know how it works, Jack. You're up there, too. You meet yourself, you make things here so much more risky. It's bad enough I came back to visit myself."
"Which one of you did you meet? Ten, Eleven….?"
"Neither. Which is why I'm so worried about this. I met my twelfth incarnation, Jack. He told me to come back to this point to let you know about something that you," Here he paused, and looked directly at Ianto. The Welshman felt inclined to shrink away; there was something so intense, so alien about this Doctor's gaze that Ianto felt as though the Timelord knew far too much. Keeping his gaze steady on Ianto, he carried on, "and you, may find very interesting."
Jack moved away from the Doctor, sat behind his desk, and Ianto itched to smooth out the tense muscles in the captain's back, but kept his silence, merely nodding to the Doctor and moving to Jack's right side. The Doctor studied them closely, then smiled, "Settled down, have we Jack? What happened to being an interplanetary playboy, eh?" Again that steady gaze on Ianto, "You got him tied down, have you Ianto Jones?"
Ianto glanced at Jack, masking his alarm as best he could, "I can only hope so, Doctor."
A hand on his, warmth squeezing his fingers. Jack smiled, saying, "Definitely."
"Well, good for you. I'm glad someone managed to make you settle," the Doctor smiled, wry this time, then said, "Now, when I tell you both this, I have to instruct you to not tell a soul, apart from, if you want to, this Gwen Cooper I've told myself about. But for her sake, I'd suggest you don't; I told myself to tell you two because you are not in any direct danger from the knowledge. Gwen would be in danger."
Jack nodded, and Ianto tried to follow as best he could, but put up a hand. The Doctor nodded at him, and Ianto supplied, "Doctor, when you're talking about yourself having a conversation with your future incarnation, could you possibly call him Twelve? Just for clarity?"
The Doctor laughed, a full-bodied sound, and grinned, "Of course, mate, sorry about the confusion. Twelve told me that once I tell you this and get Rose and past-Jack away from here, I need to take Retcon. This meeting cannot exist in my mind or the timeline will change, and I don't know what effect that could have. I'll take some along for Rose and past-Jack, put it in their drinks. That explains why you don't remember waiting in the TARDIS for me to come back from this meeting, by the way, Jack."
"I tend not to keep track of those things anymore, Doctor," Jack said, in a way that Ianto suspected was meant to heavily confirm the Doctor's earlier suspicion. The Doctor nodded in a way Ianto recognized as resignation.
"Anyways. Back to what I was on about in the first place. You know about Torchwood Four, right? How the Abode was lost?" With a creak of leather, the Doctor folded his arms and leaned against the glass wall of Jack's office. Ianto replied, "Not how, just that it was."
"Well, what I'm here to tell you is that Four is not lost. That it will be resurfacing soon. And let me tell you, do not get in their way. Two used to be more than just that one man in Glasgow, and it's because of Four that it is now. They are ruthlessly efficient and take commands from no one – except me."
Jack raised an eyebrow, "You? Wasn't Torchwood originally formed to get rid of you? Huh, is Four some kind of UNIT wannabe, now?"
"No, Jack. UNIT wishes it was as powerful as Four," the Doctor said, "And apparently, according to Twelve, in recent days Four has issued itself an objective, and I am told that I need to inform you, 'not to get in their way'." He wrinkled his nose, "To quote myself. Now, anyways, Retcon. For me, Rose and past-Jack, please."
And with a start, the tense atmosphere dispersed, and Ianto immediately unlocked the draw of Retcon, dispensing the amounts needed for each person. Jack chastised him for his dose for the Doctor – "He needs a double dose, believe me…" – and they handed over the white pills, which the Doctor stowed away in his jacket pocket.
Extending a large hand to Ianto, the Doctor smiled, "It's been a pleasure, mate, it really has. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I know you'll both get through this just fine." Ianto took the hand offered and shook, feeling warmth and calluses in the Timelord's palm, "Hopefully."
Jack pulled the Doctor into a long hug at the Hub door, and Ianto watched from the office, pensive as he swore he saw the captain smell the Doctor's jacket for a long moment. It was a gesture of desperation he recognized, and when the Hub door shut behind the Doctor, Ianto turned away from Jack's face, imagining he didn't see the shining of tears in Jack's eyes.
A/N: Also, credit must be given to Sushi Chi, who was the person I took the name of Torchwood Four's base from, as she uses 'the Abode' in her rather excellent fic 'Straighten Up And Fly Right', which if you haven't read it, I'd recommend giving a read as it's absolutely wonderful. 'The Abode' just sounded so awesome and Torchwood-y I had to use it. :)
