It took nearly half the night for Torchwood to clear the scene. They returned to the Hub with samples of the smoke devices, the streamers and paint, and the terrorists' bodies. Fish set to analyzing everything while Gwen and Ianto worked tirelessly on locating the rest of the group. Jack disappeared into his office with John Hart. He opened his personal safe and dropped some files onto his desk.
"Read those," he said, without turning around.
Hart opened his vortex manipulator and started to tap.
"You know, you should learn to read English better," Jack said, impatient.
"I've learned to speak it haven't I?" Hart snapped. He tapped the pages. "This sort of thing takes a while you know."
Jack did know. It had taken him years to learn English when he'd first landed. Everyone always teased him for not bothering with Welsh but English had been hard enough. People in his time relied on translators the same way people these days relied on calculators. Very few people bothered actually learning another language. He sat patiently waiting for Hart to finish reading the display on his vortex manipulator.
A strange look crept over Hart's face and when he finally closed the strap he couldn't believe what he'd just learned. A whole segment of the population that was immortal? Some daft Game with combat to the death? The universe is big and vast and complicated and ridiculous. Sometimes rare and impossible things happened, so he wasn't surprised the Game existed. Hart was more surprised that no one had ever found out about it. A secret that big kept for that long? Impossible. But he'd seen the evidence with his own eyes. Miranda had died in his arms and now she was in the autopsy bay performing a post-mortem. She should be the one laying on that fucking table not the one working at it!
"How the fuck has no one found out about this?" Hart asked. He shoved the papers back into Jack's direction. "Fucking Agency knew everything about everything."
"Dunno," Jack said, twisted in his chair a bit. "I have some theories but nothing I know for sure. You know how dangerous questions can be."
Hart at least understood that. When you were in the past and tried to figure out how to connect the dots to your own time, you could get yourself into trouble. Hart stood up. He leaned his arm up against the window frame above his head. He bent forward, looking down over the main Hub and shoved his other hand in his pocket.
"It's harder than I thought it'd be," Hart said. He tapped the glass with his finger. "The slow road… living in the past…"
"You expected it to be easy?" Jack asked. He picked up the files and locked them back away in his safe.
"The backwards ideas. The fear. The prejudice. All this antiquated garbage they think is 'technology'… I can handle all that. Them?" Hart used, nodding at the main Hub. He used his arm to push off from the window and he shoved both hands in his pockets. "They're legends."
"They're just people," Jack said, shrugging. He sat back down and starting on his paperwork. There was a rather large pile of things that needed his signature. As was his habit, Jack didn't actually read most of it. He left that to Ianto and Miranda a lot of the time. The only thing he ever really read were the field reports. He picked up his pen and started signing his name.
"He's not what I expected," Hart replied with a small smile.
"Who?" he asked, not looking up.
"Fischer. I like him. He's a good bloke," Hart said. He jerked his head towards the window. "That's the hardest bit."
"What? You think being his friend is hard? Think about how I felt when I hired him," Jack bit back. His comm unit beeped and he tapped it. "Yeah, Yan?… Uhuh… Can't-… but-… No, I wasn't-… Okay… 'Course… Give me two minutes."
"Got you wrapped around his little finger, that one does." Hart let out a chuckle and Jack gave him a nasty look. He turned his voice serious and said, "He's good for you."
"He is," Jack admitted. He still didn't look up, signing another few pieces of paper.
"I'm sorry, you know. About… everything."
At that, he stopped. He didn't put down the pen nor the paper in his hands, but he looked up at his former partner. "I know."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Would it stop you if I said no?" Jack responded with a slight glare.
Hart let out another chuckle. He jerked his head towards the window. Again, he turned his voice serious and asked, "What happened with you and her?"
"The same thing that happened with us," Jack said. He tossed his pen onto the papers in front of him and leaned back in his chair. "We were too alike. We have the same faults."
Without another word, Hart got up and went to leave the room. He'd always thought that Jack was the better of them but he didn't say so.
"Was it all bad? Those five years?" Jack asked.
Hart turned his head, looking down at the bunker's entrance. Miranda's words echoed in his head. Have you ever said an honest thing in your life that you didn't try to back out of? He remembered the end of that five years, when the time loop had finally ended. He and Jack had just finished 'celebrating.' Jack had held him close and told him he loved him. Hart had taken the coward's way out and pretended he'd been asleep. The very next day he'd requested a new partner and that had been that.
He continued to stare down into the bunker as he said, "You convinced me that happily ever after is possible for someone like me. I'm glad you've found yours. Truly, I am."
Before Jack could answer, Hart left without another word. The moment he had stepped out of his office, Jack began fielding calls. Even though it was very late at night, local politicians and law enforcement were frantic. The fiasco at the park was a nightmare. There was no squashing the story. Ianto was doing his best, but for now as far as the media were concerned, it was an act of domestic vandalism. Torchwood had removed all evidence of aliens from the park. After several loud, blood pressure increasing phone calls, Jack stepped over to his team and asked, "Theories. Leads. Anything?"
"I've nothing on the CCTV yet, Jack. I've got the AI looking for just about anything," Fish said, tapping the screen.
"Local police don't have any leads," Gwen said.
Jack heard Miranda walking up the autopsy steps behind him. "Will? Anything useful off the bodies?"
Miranda shook her head. "Nothing pertinent to the case. They had the same gear as the kid downstairs just more of it."
Fish pinched the bridge of his nose, bowing his head. They were all so tired.
"We regroup, people. Let's all get some sleep," Jack said, sighing. "Bright and early in the morning."
"Henry's got a train to London," Fish said, hesitantly.
"It's fine, Fish. Give Henry my love and I'll see you when you can get here…" Jack's voice trailed off. He pressed his mouth into a thin line. "Tom's in town isn't he?"
Fish nodded, wincing a bit at the mention of his lover's adopted son. A slightly awkward silence descended between the two men. It seems that Fish was privy to some knowledge that Jack was not. It looked for a moment like Jack was going to say something to Fish but thought better of it. He turned away, his hand in Ianto's. The two of them were muttering in low whispers. Ianto was looking at Hart every few sentences. The Welshman shook his head and went to go about taking care of the resident pets and putting the Hub into night mode.
Miranda gave Gwen's shoulder a squeeze before the former PC picked up her things and left. She whispered something in Fish's ear and then turned towards the autopsy bay. She scarcely looked at Hart. Again, Jack had told everyone to get some rest but, like Ianto, Miranda still had things to do. To save Ianto the job, Miranda decided to clean up the autopsy bay herself. She put the bodies away. She left the instruments to soak. She fed Dewi. After eating a few feathers, the niffler ignored his meal. He was sitting on her desk chair, looking up at her. He blinked, tilting his head. The niffler's digestion hadn't been very good since the addition of a stranger to the Hub.
"Do you want to come downstairs tonight?" she asked him.
He jumped off the chair and waddled over to her. He sniffed her ankle and laid down, resting his head on her shoe.
"I'll take that as a yes," she said with a tired smile.
"Never seen one domesticated before," Hart said, descending the stairs. His appearance startled Dewi. The niffler bolted from Miranda to his box under her desk with a howling noise. He put his hands in his pockets, slowly walking towards her.
"I owe you an apology, Captain." She didn't turn around as she spoke.
"No, you don't. I understand why you didn't want me to know… ripples in a pond." He leaned against the autopsy table, crossing his legs at the ankles. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she said, flatly.
"Liar," he said, teasing a bit.
"I'm tired," she replied, honestly.
He could hear the double meaning. He said as he shifted his weight, "I never understood why your eyes were older than your face."
She didn't answer him, just continued scrubbing at the instruments. "Is that a bad thing?"
"Yes," he said, quietly. "They wear you down; time and life."
"That they do," she said, mostly to herself. She braced herself for the questions she knew were coming. It was always the same ones. People would ask how old she was or how she managed. They'd ask her about history or if she'd known anyone they'd learned about in history classes.
But Hart didn't ask her any of those questions. Instead, he cleared his throat, softly. He asked, as a kindred spirit, "What happened to you?"
"I beg your pardon?" she asked, finally turning. She gripped the edge of the sink, the sudsy water running off her hands down the metal. Did this man have the temerity to ask about her first death?
He didn't flinch away from her tone. "To make you hate yourself…" too…
There wasn't a single bit of the psychotic hedonist on his face or in his voice. Once again she was face to face with the true man. He'd asked a direct question of honesty. It was something no one had ever asked her before. She swallowed.
"Don't presume to know me, Captain," she snapped.
"I know you better than you think." Hart waved at the morgue stairs. "That was what needed to be done. We both knew it. We're the same, you and I, Dollface. We do what needs to be done. We just don't like living with it. You were wrong. It's not about fear. It's about atoning."
She turned, dumping the instruments and began to rinse them. His words hit close to a nerve. She'd said a few uncomfortable truths to the former Time Agent last night. Turn about is fair play…
"It's not your fault," he said, shrugging. "I get the feeling you're old enough to know that sometimes things just happen." He started to walk towards her. He took each step carefully, like approaching a cornered animal. "You're a realist that life has turned into a predator. It's not wrong to deny your nature."
"You are too familiar, Captain," she said, angry. "You overstep."
"But I'm right," he said, a bit self satisfied. He reached up, as if to run his fingers down her face. He remembered her previous warnings and curled back his fingers, pulling away. "You asked me why I stayed? Because I want to know how you did it. How did you beat back the dark. Is it because you've been doing it for the Twins know how long?"
He was lying. They always say that hearing is the last sense to fade when you die. Miranda knew it was the truth. The whole world had gone dark and she couldn't feel her body anymore, but she'd still heard Hart's voice as if he was whispering down a long tunnel. He had feelings for her. It was completely mental that she returned them. The idea that she could feel something for this man was ludicrous… wasn't it?
"I learned that you can't," she admitted. "The darkness is always there. Light doesn't destroy the darkness, it just makes it go away for a while. Unlike the darkness, light must be created."
"I love it when you get philosophical," he said with a smile.
"You asked."
"I did," he replied. There was an uncomfortable look to his face before the true man vanished and the psychotic hedonist slipped back into place. "What do you say, Dollface? Let there be light?"
"You men of the future…" She let out a scoff. "You know, I lived through the gluttony of Rome. I thought mankind couldn't become any more hedonistic. Then I met Jack. And now I've met you. You fifty first century men. The human race has become soft… decadent… My contemporaries would have filleted you alive."
She turned, checking him with her hip to move him away. She dumped the instruments onto a towel to dry. He narrowed her eyes at him. She'd judged him for his own posturing but she was just as bad. He might flout himself about while she used a stone cold tone and hollow looks but it was all the same. He wasn't going to let her get away with the hypocrisy.
Angry, he grabbed her arm as she passed him. "Don't act like you're better than I am, Dollface. I didn't think I could find someone who hated themself as much as I did." He squeezed her arm harder, giving her a shake. He narrowed his eyes and threw her own words back at her. "Then I met you." He pulled her in, pushing his face into hers. "The difference between us is I don't wallow in it. I don't dress the 'A' up in lace and wear that scarlet letter like a badge of honour. Because it isn't. I use it."
Miranda had no idea how this conversation had turned this way. She had no idea why she wasn't removing Hart's liver like she promised. Maybe it was because what he was saying was true. Maybe it was because of the way the blue of his eyes was like an ocean, swallowing her up as the moment stretched between them.
"Night, Dollface." He let go of her arm and backed away.
Miranda let out the breath she had no idea she was holding. As he walked away, she said, "Don't call me that, Captain."
But they both knew her heart wasn't in it.