A/N: Here it is! The final installment to this five-parter!
Enjoy!
xXx
CeruleanBlues
Roads Untraveled
Part 5
Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia
14.04.2805, 1325hrs (New Earth)
"Damn it!" he sputtered, raking his fingers roughly through the short strands of his hair as he spun around. "Mike, can you latch onto their coordinates?"
The dude was already furiously tapping away on his Vortex Manipulater. "On it."
"All right, Brody, you're staying with Puck and Finn," Sam instructed, fishing out the canister of Nanogenes and tossing it over to the other agent. "Fix them up and teleport them back to Torchwood for a proper medical check. Mike and I will meet you back at base. We'll radio over if we need anything."
His teammate nodded. "Roger that."
Sam turned back to Mike. "Got it?"
"Almost there," he replied, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Residual vortex particles are rather tricky."
It clicked in his head, all of a sudden.
"Don't bother," Sam told him. "They're back at the Void Ships."
Mike arched a skeptical eyebrow. "You sure?"
He stared right back, in all of his given authority. "Are you questioning me, agent?"
Clearing his throat, the other man straightened up and squared his shoulders. "No, sir."
Satisfied that he'd received the right answer, Sam nodded tersely, adjusting the coordinates on his Vortex Manipulator. "See you on the other side."
He felt the familiar jolt of being teleported, the sharp tug in his gut, and then the heavy pull as his feet landed on stable grounds. Another flash of light blinded him for a moment before Mike materialized in front of him, and after a quick check that they were both still intact, Sam took in the less-than-favorable surroundings.
"Fuck," he muttered, immediately reaching for his sonic blaster.
The scene that greeted them looked like a set out of a war movie. Dead academics and henchmen littered the area, pools of blood forming morbid puddles of crimson, and firearms that had been discarded in the midst of what seemed to be a battle of retaliation.
Weep not for roads untraveled
Weep not for paths left alone
"What the hell happened here?" Mike gaped in shock, edging cautiously towards the nearest body sprawled lifelessly on the ground. Crouching down, he checked for a pulse and spat a curse when he found none. "This isn't good."
'Cause beyond every bend
Is a long blinding end
It's the worst kind of pain
I've known
The familiar whirr of an engine snapped them back to the present, and Sam whipped his head around to see the swirls of dirt and sand circling an interplanetary parked at the furthest end. The Void Ship was about to take off with Quinn, Sue and Mercedes on it, and in a moment of weakness, he desperately tried to keep his surging emotions in check. Another executive decision against Torchwood training protocols had to be made, regardless of how he felt for the epigrapher who was being held hostage.
"Brody." he very nearly yelled into his headset. "What's your 20?"
There was a crackle in his ear, and then a muffled voice came through. "Still at the Citadel, Sam."
He stifled an aggravated sigh, knowing that he shouldn't be taking his frustrations out on his fellow men. "Once you're done, I need you down here, pronto. We have a cleanup situation at hand."
"Copy."
"Mike, you're going to stay out here; do a check for survivors. I'm going in."
Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Sam broke into a sprint, leaping over broken objects and shattered equipment. The hot air blasting from the Void Ship's engines were blowing tiny granules and stray bits about, scratching at his face and impairing his vision as he rounded for the back entrance. It was shut; the tires were starting to retract as the spacecraft prepared for launch.
"Shit!"
He spied a stack of crates a couple of feet away and made quick a calculation of the distance. Swiftly, he climbed on, gaining a vantage point from the height as the Void Ship hovered higher and higher. Licking his dry lips, Sam made the jump. He soared through the air; arms extended, back arching, almost suspended in time, and then his fingers closed around the metal handrail beside the doorjamb. His biceps flexed in an effort to hold his weight, his body still dangling dangerously off the ship.
His eyes darted up to the red button, just inches out of reach.
"Damn it!"
With a grunt, he pulled himself up, closing the gap and releasing one hand enough to slam it down on the knob. The hatch slid open with a gratifying swoosh. He swung his legs over, the back of his left boot catching on the ledge and hauled his body into the entryway, landing noisily on the metal grating. Grimacing, he scrambled to his feet and promptly hit a lever to shut the door.
"I'm in," he informed his team. "Shouldn't be difficult to find them now."
"Roger that, Sam," Brody replied from the other end. "I'm en route to Gallifrey from Torchwood."
"Copy that, Brody."
Locating the pilot's deck didn't take much at all; he'd been on enough ships in his life to memorize floor plans to over three hundred models across the galaxy. Stealthily, he climbed up a set of stairs, hearing familiar voices when he reached the second floor landing. He crept down the corridor, following the muffled conversation until he came to a chamber at the front end of the carrier. Inching closer, he pressed his back up against the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the situation.
The only problem was the bloody cabinet blocking his view.
"Where are you taking me?"
Quinn's voice sent his heart racing again tenfold, the stubbornness in her tone more than a warm welcome because it meant that she was at least still conscious and lucid.
"Trust me when I say that it's not going to matter to you," Mercecdes retorted.
"Krop Tor," Sue informed her curtly. "That sounds like fun, doesn't it?"
Sam's ears perked up at the new information even as confusion and doubt flooded his head. He frowned, brows furrowed, wondering what a woman such as Sue Sylvester wanted to do on such an impossible planet—or most importantly how she came to know of it.
Krop Tor was classified information; something even the United Nations of New Earth didn't know about because it was a planet that shouldn't exist. Technically, a planet orbiting a black hole shouldn't even be feasible. Astronomers, astrophysicists and cosmologists have been studying probabilities for years, trying to figure it out, but the mystery remains. A sanctuary base had been abandoned there long after the scientists have evacuated, the environment too unpredictable and unstable for habitation.
"But there's only—"
"Wait, what?" Mercedes remarked, her pitch rising into an almost-screech. "That's not the plan. I thought we were going to Dalton VIII?"
"Change of plans," Sue said evenly. "If we go back to New Earth, Torchwood would be all over us the second we breech the surface."
"I can bet that they're all over you right now," Quinn bravely retorted.
"But there's nothing on Krop Tor," Mercedes protested, sounding slightly more hysterical than before. "Besides, it's too dangerous for teleportation, especially with such a big ship. If we're not careful, the black hole could eat all of us up."
Sue didn't even hesitate with a response. "Well, that's a risk I'm willing to take."
Sam knew the potential of that black hole. The gravitational effects alone would shake the flight patterns of the Void Ship. It wasn't built to travel such daunting conditions; there was no mistaking that they wouldn't survive the landing.
"Not on my watch," he muttered under his breath, darting behind the hindering cabinet.
"You're out of your mind, Sue," Mercedes continued to object, now pacing the length of the deck as her counterpart blatantly ignored her to concentrate on piloting the vessel. Sam spied the map of the galaxy on the screen, noticing the roundabout route that Sue had decided on. An icon at the corner flashed mauve, a universal warning of sorts. In the background, Mercedes hadn't ceased her frantic disapproval at the choice, hoping to sway the older woman back to their initial plan.
And then he saw Quinn, all bound up to a chair; her hair mussed, a streak of dirt across her cheek, the Torchwood-issued get-up askew, and gnawing on her bottom lip. Her shoulders are hunched over, tensed and looking uncharacteristically defeated. His heart ached to see her in such a position, the distress marring her flawless features. As though sensing his presence, she turned her head all of a sudden, their eyes locking instantly. A wave of relief swept over her face, but as she made to open her mouth, he placed a finger to his lips to silence her.
"You know what, Mercedes," Sue shot back, interrupting the other woman mid-sentence as she whipped her sonic blaster out and aimed it right at her partner-in-crime. "I'm so tempted to blow your face off and throw you out of my ship right this instant if you don't shut your pie hole. I'm in charge here; you just nod and agree with everything I say."
Sam stiffened at the sight, knowing that he needed to act fast before things escalated into something ugly.
"We agreed that this is an equal partnership," Mercedes glared back head on, not the least bit phased by the weapon pointed at her. "I've invested in this just as much—if not more—than you have. Let's face it, Sue; you wouldn't be able to achieve this if it weren't for me."
Give up your heart left broken
And let that mistake pass on
"That's right," Sue leered. "Which means I have no need for you anymore."
"You know that's not true."
She shrugged. "I've got Blondie over there. She'll suffice in doing my job for me."
It happened in a blink, as Mercedes lunged over for her own firearm, holding it up to Quinn's temple. "Maybe; maybe not. Let's see if Golden Girl here is of any use when I—"
The smirk that graced Sue Sylvester's lips was that of a relentless dictator. "Go ahead. You know that you're only screwing yourself by getting rid of her."
Sam watched at her hard-set expression morphed into that of a scornful person—someone bitter and jaded from the unsatisfactory years—at having been ridiculed time and again. It was a dangerous emotion to have, especially with a sonic blaster in her hand. Any slight agitation could tick her off.
"Mercedes, you don't have to do this," Quinn implored. "We can work together; you and I, like we used to."
'Cause the love that you lost
Wasn't worth what it cost
And in time you'll be glad it's gone
"Like we used to?" she spat out venomously. "That's the last thing I want with you right now. Whenever you were there, I was always overlooked and underappreciated. Honestly, Quinn, your righteousness sickens me, and now I'm going to end this once and for all—"
"No!"
He leapt into action. Slamming his boot down on Mercedes' wrist, effectively dislodged the weapon, only to hear another go off. A cry pierced the air; an icy chill ran down his spine. Breaking his fall with an effortless tumble, Sam whipped his head around to find Quinn in a grimace, blood oozing from her right arm.
"Shit," he growled, noticing that Sue had her gun trained on him next.
"Sam!" came Mike's voice through his earpiece. "What's going on in there?"
"Well, well, well," she drawled. "Look who decided to show up to the after party."
"Sue, please, don't," Quinn groaned, wincing in pain, eyes tightly shut.
Sue gave a pout, pretending to deliberate over a decision. "This is getting really tiring, you guys. I have enough of this rivalry bullshit—"
There was a clatter of movement as Mercedes scrambled for her firearm. A split second later, another shot rang high in the deck. Regardless, that was enough. Surging to his feet, Sam slipped a pocketknife into Quinn's uninjured hand before hurtling forward and swiping his leg across the back of Sue's knees. She fell with a dreadful thud, immediately unconscious.
"Shit, Sam!" Brody yelled into the headset. "Status. Sam, I need your status."
"I'm okay, guys," he croaked. "Situation under control."
"Sam!" Quinn called out, still struggling with her restraints. "You need to activate the emergency landing sequence now or—"
The blaring of alarms cut her off, and he raced to the console, eyes peeled on the multiple screens displaying statistics and maps. On the main one, though, what he saw made his mouth run dry. Never before had he witnessed such power, such splendor as that of a black hole. It burned bright, a ring of yellow, red and orange that circled the spherical recesses of darkness within.
"Sam!"
As if on cue, the Void Ship began to rattle and shake, a violent turbulence that rocked the entire vessel. Objects fell to the ground, wooden crates sliding against the metal grating, instruments and equipment crashing all around them, and all of a sudden, the lights went off.
"Fuck!"
Struggling to stay on his feet as the tremors worsened, he quickly consulted his wrist monitor for the appropriate coordinates for Arcadia. He punched them into the system, and with a couple more commands, the ship stilled, as though suspended in time and space. Knowing what was about to happen next, he braced for impact.
He was yanked backwards, his fingers slipping off the console as he was dragged off his feet. The vessel began to warp, the molecules in the air twisting around his body, and before he could register the throbbing in his head, he was catapulted forward into the front panel of the deck. There was another lurch of the ship, and then a hard thump before he heard the telltale whistle of capsule's landing sequence.
In the near silence, he heard a groan.
"Shit, Quinn!"
Still a bit disoriented from the teleportation, Sam struggled to right himself. Knees wobbly and biceps stinging, he grunted at the uselessness of his muscles. Leaning heavily against the console, he turned to see Quinn sprawled out on the floor, unmoving. Vaguely, he was aware of the collective sound of footsteps in the distance, but his focus was solely on the blonde epigrapher. Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, she had managed to free herself of the restraints, and as Sam sunk down next to her, he noticed the reddened rope burns on her skin. Shifting his eyes up the length of her arm, he hissed at the wound on her arm, cursing the fact that he couldn't do much with the Nanogenes and mentally willed for Brody to get his ass in there immediately.
Delicately, he reached down to shift the strands of hair out of her face, his fingers trailing down to check the pulse point on column of her neck.
A pair of boots emerged in his periphery.
"Is she alive?" Mike asked, the concern in his tone.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, she's breathing."
"Brody has the Nanogenes."
"No," Sam said gruffly. "I'm taking her back to Torchwood. I trust that the both of you can take it from here."
"Don't worry about it, Sam," Mike assured him, gesturing towards the other two women still out cold on the floor. "We've got it covered."
Hastily, he programmed the coordinates into this Vortex Manipulator before scooping Quinn up in his arms. "I'll see you back at base."
"Copy that, Sam."
With a click, they vanished in a flash of white light.
New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters
14.04.2805, 2115hrs
She awoke slowly to the steady beating sound of a heart monitor; the clinical smell of antiseptic and disinfectant hitting her nose, and as she lifted her heavy eyelids, it was to a dimly lit medical bay. There was a dull throbbing at the back of her skull and her throat felt scratchy when she groaned to sit up.
Glancing down at herself, she was aware that she was still clad in those standard-issued clothes even though her Kevlar vest and boots have been removed. The tightening around her bicep brought her attention to the bandage that had been wrapped around it. Instantly, she was flooded with memories from the Void Ship—a bitter reminder that she had indeed been shot—and cursed the day that she had once trusted Mercedes Jones and Sue Sylvester.
"God, I really need a bath right now," she mumbled, running her fingers through the tangles in her hair, now free from the ponytail. There was grime and remnants of sweat and blood on her skin; she felt manky and sticky.
Removing the pulse oximeter from her index finger, Quinn cautiously swung her legs over the cot and set her feet down on the cold floor. Her shoes had been neatly placed by the side, and with a bit of difficulty, she was finally able to lace them up. The painkillers in her system were making her slightly dizzy as she stood, and it took a moment to collect herself before sluggishly heading out of the room.
The corridors were empty; the place was quiet without their usual activity, and she wondered if she was even in the Torchwood Headquarters until a series of stifled voices coming from a random room piqued her curiosity. As she approached, he could identify Sam's distinct tenor, sounding heated and tight.
"I made an executive decision as team leader of the group," he spat out.
"You went against orders, Agent Evans," Director Schuester fired back. "You failed to complete your mission and right this instant, you're risking yourself, your team, and Torchwood by securing a highly sought-after artifact into our premise. We are now a target point in the entire galaxy."
The Book of Rassilon.
Eyes widened, Quinn realized that someone had brought it back, and not in the way that the Director wanted it to. A small smile crept to her lips, silently reminding herself to thank the team leader about it later on. Not only had he gone and done the unspeakable for an agent, he had even stood up to his actions.
"Look, I understand your displeasure, Director Schuester, but—"
"This is inexcusable, agent," the older man snapped, cutting him short. "I should have you stripped of your title and field duties, and thrown into solitary for disobeying a direct order. Whatever your morals are on my decision, it isn't yours to question it. As a field agent, your job isn't to think, but to do—"
She wasn't going to allow it. Fishing into the pocket of her trousers for the spare visitor's pass, she scanned it on the security device, gave her thumbprint and stormed in as best as her condition could the second the door slid open.
"It's not his fault," she blurted out.
Seven pairs of eyes zoomed in on her; seven different expressions and only one that was unfathomable. Staring into those emerald orbs, she moved towards the center of the room, bridging the space between them, breaking it only to face the fuming head of authority. Chin tilted in defiance, she forced the nerves away in confrontation.
"Ms. Fabray," he began, the storm brewing beneath the calm exterior he was now projecting towards her; professionalism at its best. "I believe that you should still be recovering from the traumatic ordeal. Regardless, this does not concern you, and I suggest you stay out of Torchwood affairs."
"It was me," she pressed on anyways. "I begged Sam not to destroy it."
Director Schuester sniffed, glaring pointedly down his nose at her. "And Agent Evans is very capable of making his own decisions, is he not?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then I suppose there is no further argument—"
She took a step forward. "No, you don't understand—"
"The book will be handed over to Auxiliary for disposal," he informed her, finality in his tone.
"No, you can't!" she cried out in protest. "That book is important. It holds the answers to the Time Lord's existence and some of the deepest secrets in the universe. We can study from it, learn of the science and technology—"
"It is a threat to us, Ms. Fabray," Director Schuester thundered. "I understand what that book holds in your line of expertise, but it is of no regards to us. Torchwood isn't going to waste our resources trying to protect it any more than we already have. By having the book on board, we are exposing ourselves to unnecessary risks that I'm not willing to take. The best choice of action is to destroy it."
"So that's it, then?" she sputtered. "As much as you like to think it does—and I mean this with no disrespect to your authority—destroying that book isn't going to eliminate the bigger threat out there. The Book of Rassilon is only the first step to understanding what the Time Lords have tried so hard to protect from the entire universe."
The frown on the director's face deepened, the creases multiplying on his forehead. "What are you insinuating, Ms. Fabray?"
Quinn squared her shoulders, inhaling a deep breath, her eyes darting over at Sam for a split second before she began explaining. "In the Circular Gallifreyan codices, there have been sparse mentions of the Untempered Schism, but what it is exactly and what it does, we don't know yet. All that I can tell you, is that it is something extremely sacred to the Time Lords. Every single time that the Untempered Schism appears in the scribes, it is connected to The Book of Rassilon. Its location, its purpose, what it meant to the Time Lords; it's all in the book. You destroy it and you're risking an even bigger threat to the universe."
There was a pregnant pause, the silence heavy in the room.
Finally, Director Schuester cleared his throat. "Why wasn't this brought to my attention?"
"Because I didn't know of your intentions to destroy the book before," Quinn replied tersely.
"And how sure are you about this Untempered Schism? Is it a myth, perhaps? Something Time Lords tell their children to scare them into going to bed."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You think I'm lying and making this whole thing up?"
He shrugged. "Do you have proof of this theory?"
"It's not a theory, you—" she stopped herself, biting her tongue before she could lash out an insult in his face. "Do you have my satchel? Or my journal?"
Emma Pillsbury rushed forward with her requested possessions. Quinn snatched it out of her hands and then began spilling its contents onto the circular table that seemed to be a staple fixture in every room in Torchwood. Loose pieces of paper fluttered out of the bag until it was empty, but her journal wasn't in it.
"Where is it?" she demanded, hazel eyes blazing. "Where's my journal?"
"I have it, Quinn."
She spun around just as Sam was pulling the signature leather-bound book from the side pocket of his trousers.
"Couldn't risk anybody getting his or her hands on this," he muttered, looking slightly sheepish.
Torn between wanting to kiss him senseless and wringing his windpipe, Quinn settled with something less dramatic. Crossing the space between them, she retrieved the book from him before offering a tight smile.
"Thanks."
His only response was a curt bob of his head, even though his features softened just a little bit at her gratitude, and she hoped he knew that it was for more than safekeeping her journal. Turning away from him, she began flipping through the pages, stopping at the one she was looking for and then sifting through the pile of papers on the table.
"Here," she eventually spoke, sliding the book over and pointing to the characters that had been written there. "Loosely translated, this says 'before the Untempered Schism lay a plaque bearing the Seal of Rassilon'. That seal can also be found on the front cover of the book."
"Still it doesn't—"
"This, right here," she went on, ignoring the director's attempt at dismissing the evidence. "Is states that 'Rassilon himself grew obsessed with the Untempered Schism; its raw power and terrifying beauty', and in the line after that here, it says, 'Pages after pages, Rassilon wrote about it'—"
"Ms. Fabray—"
"Even Rassilon—the founder of the Time Lord civilization—was afraid of the Untempered Schism. Clearly, whatever it is, it's bad news. If we don't find the Untempered Schism before someone else stumbles over it, all of time and space might never be the same again."
It went so still after that, she could hear a pin drop in the room.
"How long do you think you will need to work on translating the entire book?"
There was an overwhelming sense of elation that Quinn didn't know how to respond to. Her heart was bursting with euphoric emotions, giddiness and immense relief radiating through her body, a brilliant grin splitting her features.
"A month," she gushed. "Two months tops."
Director Schuester pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have a very strong feeling that I'm going to regret this," he muttered, heaving a sigh. "I'm going to grant you confidential access to the book. You will be given level-five security for the duration of your work. You are not to leave Torchwood premises with that book or any materials pertaining to it. You are not to consult with anybody outside of Torchwood—including family members or otherwise—without my written permission. I want full updates on the project promptly at seventeen hundred hours, New Earth time, every day, and you are not to discuss these matters to any other personnel in Torchwood. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," she replied solemnly.
"All right, then," the man smoothed down the lapels of his suit jacket and rolled his shoulders before striding towards the door. He stopped short just shy of the exit, however and turned to one of his men. "Agent Evans, I would like to speak to you personally in my office. Now."
Sam gave another nod. "Yes, sir."
With a last parting look, Quinn watched on as he trailed after his superior.
New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters
14.04.2805, 2320hrs
He traipsed down the hallway towards the living chambers, heading for the room he knew she was given. In the off chance that she was still awake—considering the chaotic few days they had on top of her recovery from the gunshot wound—he would very much like to properly talk to her about everything that had happened on Gallifrey; the misunderstandings they had and other pressing topics in his head.
Coming to a halt in front of her door, Sam felt his palms go clammy and hastily wiped them on his black chinos. He squeezed his eyes shut, internally counting down from ten to stabilize his galloping pulse rate. It was ridiculous; he had stood up to the most dangerous of men in the galaxy, had fought off terrorists and corrupted high-ranking officials, but the one person he was currently sweating over was a five-foot-five woman with an intelligence and a heart of gold.
Inhaling a deep breath, he lifted a fist and knocked.
Seconds passed, and he reckoned that she had probably fallen asleep. However, just as he was about to turn away, the door swung open, revealing a very awake-looking Quinn Fabray in an ivory-colored tank top and pair of linen trousers riding low on her hips, a silver strip of skin visible and tantalizing him in so many ways. Her blonde hair had been carelessly piled up atop her head, held together by a pencil with strands falling over. She blinked, startled by his presence.
"Hi."
Forcing down the lump lodged in his throat, Sam found his lips twitching in a lopsided grin. "Hi."
"What are you—why—do you need anything?"
There was a tentative quality to her question, and suddenly all of his well-placed thoughts were scattered about the Milky Way. Self-consciously, he rubbed the nape of his neck; a nervous tick that he had developed over the years.
"I—well—I'm sorry to turn up unannounced like this so late at night," he rambled. "It's just that, I was hoping that we could talk, you know, now that we're finally able to. I think there are a couple of things we need to address."
"Oh." She folded her arms across her chest, unintentionally accentuating those twin mounds when the curves of her breasts peeked out from the edge of her neckline. "Okay, then."
With everything he had, Sam kept his eyes glued to her face, lest she were to catch him ogling her goodies. Even then, he could feel the initial stirrings of an impending arousal in the confines of his pants. The last thing he needed was to sport a massive boner and offend her with mistaken intentions. It wasn't from the lack of trying—he pictured the most unattractive animal he could think of and paired it with the most hideous outfit in the entire history of New Earth—but his little soldier just wouldn't stay down.
"Can I come in?" he asked with a hopeful expression. Perhaps sitting down would help with his uncomfortable situation.
Wordlessly, she stepped aside for him to enter, shutting the door after.
And then he was standing stupidly in the middle of her room, unsure of what exactly he had to do next. His gaze landed on the desk at the corner of the room, littered with books, maps and mountains of stray pieces of paper that extended out to her bed. It looked like a library had exploded in there, especially when he spied a tall pile of academic materials by her wardrobe. In the center of it all, The Book of Rassilon lay opened on a swivel chair.
"You're actually working?" he arched an eyebrow incredulously.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Can't afford to waste any time now, can we?"
"You really should get some rest," he told her, gesturing at the bandage around her arm. "It'll be good for the recovery."
"And yet somehow you've decided it would be the best time to come and talk to me?" she deadpanned.
"I was just trying my luck."
"Right," she smirked. "Okay, so I guess we should talk."
Gingerly, he perched himself down on a vacant spot atop her duvet. "Funny story; I don't know where to start."
She leaned against the edge of the table, her head tilted thoughtfully sideways. "I suppose I should thank you first, for not destroying the book. You trusted me and you went against direct orders from your superior knowing that you would get into a lot of trouble for it."
"Well," he chuckled. "A month of Emma's paperwork is worth it if it means that you'll forgive me for being an ass about the book in the first place."
"You were just doing your job—"
"But that's not it," he cut her off. "What you thought about me—about us—wasn't true. Sure, I mean, whatever Brody told you—about being too attached to our missions and subjects—those were set rules given to us as agents of Torchwood, but then I met you and I just—I couldn't be bothered about the rules. I wasn't trying to lead you on; I really do like you, Quinn. What we have between us doesn't have to end with this mission. I want you; I want to be with you—properly, exclusively—in every way possible."
Getting those words off his chest felt as though a gigantic weight had been lifted, and he figured that he had made quite an impressive speech until he noticed that Quinn had averted her gaze to stare at the floor and was gnawing on her bottom lip.
"Is it even a possibility?" she mused out loud. "I mean, are you even allowed to have a relationship? Between us, you're a field agent and I'm an epigrapher. We're both tethered to our work 24/7. We wouldn't even be able to have date nights and—"
"Contrary to what you believe," he narrowed his eyes. "We are entitled to personal days, so I do in fact have a life outside of this place."
"And when exactly was the last time you actually went out for some fun?" she quipped back cheekily.
"I'll have you know that the guys and I went out for celebratory drinks after our successful capture of Sebastian Smythe, and we got so pissed after, I still can't remember what happened between the fifth pint of lager and waking up to find ourselves completely naked on the banks of the Overgron River."
She snorted in amusement. "Wow," she remarked. "I did not see that coming."
Affronted that she was laughing at him, Sam harrumphed. "You know what, that's not even the point."
"So what is the point, then?"
With a sigh, Sam rose from the bed and came to stand directly in front of her, an arm's length apart. "From where I see it, we'll be spending a lot of time together anyway. Who the hell needs date night when we can be discussing Time Lord history and arguing about who's a better marksmen now that you'll have to learn basic combat and defense techniques? Honestly, Q, do you see us as the normal, conventional couple who holds hands and have candlelight dinners?"
"Honestly, Sam, with all the craziness in our lives, some normalcy would be nice."
He tried—and failed—to conceal the hurt and disappointment on his face. "Oh."
She surprised him, however, when she narrowed the gap between them to wrap her arms around his neck, gazing adoringly up at him through her long lashes. "But for you, Agent Evans, I think I can make an exception."
"Oh, thank God."
They met in the middle, their lips reacquainting themselves seamlessly before she took the upper hand and abandoned all pretenses at modesty, slipping her tongue out to run it over the ridges of his teeth. Kissing her felt exquisite, like drinking velvety hot chocolate, and he never wanted to stop. Her dexterous fingers delved into his hair, scraping at his scalp as she tightened her hold to bring herself flushed up against him, his throbbing erection at full attention and prodding at her belly. He swallowed her small whimper as much as she did his groan, and when she gave a tug, he was struck with a realization that his hands were still uselessly by his sides.
Determined to right that problem, Sam made a grab for her waist, slamming their pelvises together. Giving her a suggestive squeeze, he began backtracking; bringing her with him until he felt the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. In one swift move, he spun her around, tipping her off-balance as they tumbled clumsily onto the mattress, papers crunching underneath them. Lightning-quick reflexes allowed him to catch himself before he could untimely crush her to death, and then he was hovering above her; one knee between her thighs, the tip of his nose brushed against hers as her chest heaved with labored breaths.
"We're not moving too fast, are we?" he husked, trailing one hand beneath the fabric of her top. "Because we barely know each other for a week and normally—"
She hooked her thumbs through the belt loops of his trousers and gave a hard yank downwards, effectively shutting him up. "I thought we've established the fact that we're not normal."
He grinned salaciously back at her. "Absolutely," he purred before swooping in to recapture her lips. "What's so great about normal, anyway?"
"Okay, stop talking."
It was easy enough, especially when his mouth was subsequently occupied with other more orally compliant tasks, and then it felt like high school all over again—frantic snogging in the janitor's closet, or trying not to get caught feeling up Brittany S. Pierce in the kitchen while his mom had her back turned—because fire was running in his veins and all he could think about was needing to feel more of her soft skin against his.
"Eventually you're going to do more than just kiss me, right?" she rasped, her nail digging into the flesh of his shoulders.
"Yeah," he murmured, peppering chaste pecks down the slow of her jaw, nibbling at the tempting spot just beneath her ear. "I can take a hint."
Languidly, he ran his tongue down the column of her neck, tasting as much of her as possible until he found her clavicle, giving it a light nip. She squirmed beneath him, an impatient whimper escaping her throat when he nuzzled the dip between her breasts.
He didn't know how it happened, but then she was cupping him through his trousers. Involuntarily, he released a gasping sigh, lifting his head up to see the coquettish gleam in her gorgeous hazel orbs. She gave him a tentative squeeze; her intent apparent in her predatory gaze, and it was then that he decided that enough was enough. The slow teasing could wait another time.
Pulling away, he began shoving fabric aside; unceremoniously peeling her tank top off her body and nudging the linen trousers down the length of her legs, letting it catch around her ankles and leaving her in a matching set of black cotton lingerie. Only then did he realize that she was giggling at him.
Brows furrowed in confusion, he asked, "what?"
"I think you just broke a world record right there," she snickered.
"Well, I'd like to credit that to the impeccable Torchwood training but we both know that I'd be lying," he preened. "I'm just that good."
"You think you're so impressive, don't you?"
Cheekily, he winked. "I am so impressive."
"We'll see."
And then her nimble hands were on his belt buckle, undoing it with effortless precision. Without breaking eye contact, she proceeded to pop the buttons with a flick of her wrist. His breath hitched as she dragged the zip down and her knuckles brushed against his clothed erection. She paused to trace the waistband of his dark blue boxers, the ravening glint in her striking hazels returning in full force. He opened his mouth, intending on saying something witty or smart to commemorate the moment, but his plans fell flat the instant she wrenched his chinos and pants down his hips in one sudden movement, his shaft springing to attention.
He saw the approval in her leer and couldn't help the burst of manly pride in his chest.
"Impressed, Ms. Fabray?"
"It's…adequate."
Sam wasn't fooled by her attempt at nonchalance; could see it in the way she swallowed at the sight of his package, the lust written all over her beautifully flushed features. Yet, he wasn't going to call her out on it because he knew that he would prove his point by the time he was done with her.
Leaning forward, he seized her lips once again, their tongues dancing a complicated tango as he positioned himself at her entrance. He could feel her moist and heat, his tip bumping insistently against her slick opening. Hooking his arms around the crook of her knees, he hoisted her toned legs up over his shoulders. Despite everything, though, he still wanted her approval, and reluctantly tore his mouth from hers just to do as such.
"You ready?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Good to know that they still teach basic courtesy here at Torchwood."
"Hate to burst your bubble, Q, but that's all me."
"Just shut up and show me how impressive you really are."
"Roger that."
He plunged in; one smooth stroke that had her crying out to the heavens. A groan, low and long, rumbled from the back of his throat at the incredible feel of having him fully sheathed inside of her. A delicious shiver ran down his spine as her muscles clenched tightly around his engorged manhood. Only when she began wriggling her hips did he move with shallow thrusts, slowly stretching her out. The moans that came out of her mouth were a sweet serenade—one that he never wanted to stop listening to—and when her palms came round to cup his rear, pushing him that much deeper in, he reckoned it was almost enough to send him over the edge.
Almost; because he was a Torchwood agent, damn it, and he wasn't going to surrender that easily.
Setting her feet back onto the mattress, he rolled them over. She sat straddling his waist, hands flat on the planes of his abs, her blonde hair curtaining her face like a halo, cheeks reddened and looking positively radiant; he didn't know how he got so lucky. Eventually, she got restless of his blatant gawking and began grinding against him, only to withdraw seconds later before sinking down once again, effectively creating a wonderful rhythm. Grasping onto the swell of her hips, he bucked up into her, matching her thrust for thrust, panting as they sped up, chasing after the fulfillment that they both wanted.
"Q…" he strained to articulate. "Q, I think I'm going to—"
Taking one of his hands, she brought it down to her bundle of nerves. Understanding his cue, Sam pressed a thumb down on the swollen nub, eager to see her come apart. With a gasp and a string of curses, she slammed down hard onto him and soared over the edge. Back arching and head thrown back, she was ethereal, and he was unable to erase the memory etched into his mind of her in the throes of passion. Her walls fluttered around him, triggering his own release with enough sense to pull out of her before emptying himself on his stomach.
Utterly spent, Sam collapsed back down on the paper-laden bed, now uncomfortable against the sweat coating his skin, but he was too exhausted to care.
"You just made a mess," she pointed out rhetorically.
He grunted and watched while she resigned herself to sacrificing a piece of her work as a makeshift flannel for his business, catching the trails that were dripping down his side. When that was done, she crumpled the sullied paper and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket.
"Was that impressive enough for you?"
She pretended to give his question some serious consideration, her succulent lips pouting invitingly as she regarded him with an adorable tilt of her head.
He blinked, wondering if he ought to be insulted.
"Seriously, Q?"
"Well…"
Sam didn't allow her to continue; simply flipped her onto her back and silenced her giggles with a searing, breath-taking kiss.
Seventh Galaxy, Skaro
15.04.2805, 0115hrs (New Earth)
The intergalactic tracker beeped, a red dot pulsing against the holographic projection of New Earth—a planet equivalent to that of a ball of dirt—and Davros' face contorted into a loathsome sneer. Diagnostics flashed before him; inferior atmospheric pressure, subpar technology, biologically-fragile human race, fertile geography. The Time Lords would have to be a completely barmy bunch to trust such poorly-defended beings with their most treasured possessions. Then again, the Time Lords were nothing if not utterly foolish.
Weep not for roads untraveled
Weep not for sights unseen
Davros could feel the tingle in his mind; could practically taste the power on his tongue.
May your love never end
And if you need a friend
There's a seat here alongside me
"The Book of Rassilon will at last be mine."
A/N: The end! LOL! I know that the last bit is a cliffhanger and a possibility for a sequel, but I can assure you that there will be none. It's just going to end up being one massive sci-fi story that I can't handle and then muck it all up, and I'm not about to resort myself to such a responsibility. Either way, I hope you guys have enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it!
NileyOvergron: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a nice, long review! I really appreciate it! LOL! I know that putting Sue and Mercedes as the villains is a predictable move, but their characters wrote themselves so well, I couldn't bring myself to not do it. Of course Sam was going to rescue Quinn, and yes, of course they were going to have some awesome make-up sex! As if I can deny Fabrevans such a scene :P At the moment, I'm going back to THA because chapter 12 is long overdue and I did promise myself that I'd work on it as soon as I was done with WIME, but here I am, writing a completely new story and distracting myself with one-shots. Not to say that I wouldn't be jumping into those. Surely somewhere down the road, I'd pop in random one-shots, we'll see! Cheers!
Keira: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I hope this update answers your questions regarding the history and relationship between Quinn and Mercedes. People weren't born evil, I should hope not. Hope you've enjoyed this ending! Cheers!
Guest (1): Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! LOL! I'm a suck for those scenes where a guy just shuts a girl up with a kiss. Of course, sometimes, the guy would get slapped for it or whatever, but I'm sure it's a damn effective method 90% of the time! Hope you've enjoyed the ending to the story! Cheers!
FabrevansFTW: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving and review, and reading my author's note! I really appreciate it! I'm flattered and honored that you trust me enough as a writer of a fandom that you adore! I've received reviews and PMs in the past that had readers dictating what I should write, and I try my best to make everyone happy, but after a while it became someone else's story and I didn't like that. From then on, I vowed to make decisions on what I feel should be written and not what people wanted me to write. That's not to say that I don't like taking prompts; if anything, they're so much fun to explore because I'm still writing the story the way I wanted it. Also, it's a huge compliment to me knowing that you're not reading my stories just for the m-rated stuff. I love writing them, of course, but I'm also glad that you find my contents just as worthwhile as the smut. Hope you've enjoyed this ending! Cheers!
RJRRAA: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! As always, you've never failed to make me smile every time a notification pops up to let me know that you've reviewed! Of course Sam would save her :P Is there any other way? LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this ending! Cheers!
Exgleek: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you think that the story is cool :) It's tough to write, to be honest. I sweat over it every single time and had to keep checking and re-checking my facts. LOL! Sorry to have spoiled it for you by adding in one more chapter to the story; I'm actually just like you when I read fanfics! I love reading them uninterrupted because I can't take the wait and the anticipation. Hope you've enjoyed the ending, though. Cheers!
ficmonsteR: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Thank you so much for the kind comments! Hope you've enjoyed this ending! Cheers!
Clara: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad you've liked the story so far, and certainly hope that you've enjoyed that ending! Cheers!
Guest (2): Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate the lovely comments! Hope you've enjoyed this story! Cheers!
Guest (3): Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! Glad to know that I had gotten you excited for this last chapter! Hope I hadn't disappointed you with the ending :) Cheers!
Song used: "Roads Untraveled" by Linkin Park