When Pete had enough courage to go back up to the white room at the top of the building, he found Rose and Jackie curled on the floor, the girl asleep with her head on her mother's lap. Jackie looked hardly better, her own face puffy as she blinked up at Pete, stroking her fingers through her daughter's stringy hair.
"She wanted us to wait five and a half hours," Jackie whispered sadly, not wanting to wake the clearly distraught girl.
"Reinette," Mickey muttered, hunched on a box nearby. Pete turned to him, curiously. "Long mad story, but he left us on a space station. We were waiting five-and-a-half hours. Sort of the running joke between them, wait five-and-a-half hours."
Pete glanced at his wristwatch, surprised that it was closer to six hours. His head felt heavy, full of everything with the day. "Let me get you lot to food and a bed. I have a driver waiting downstairs."
He'd half expected Jackie to protest. Instead, she merely nodded gratefully, looking at Mickey. "We'll need to get her down there. She's like as not out for the count. If you can get her?"
"Right." Without protest, Mickey rose stiffly, moving to gently scoop up the younger woman in his arms. Rose didn't even stir as she lay limp, her blonde hair spilling over his leather sleeve, her swollen cheek against his chest. Pete sighed heavily as he reached a hand to help Jackie up.
"Cried for hours, she did," Jackie murmured, heartbreak in her voice as she watched Mickey move ahead with her daughter. "I haven't seen her do that since she was a kid."
Wearily, the party made their way to the elevator and down, to the parking structure below. The large, black SUV waiting for them was manned by one of Pete's regular drivers, but if the man was shocked to see a woman looking exactly like Pete's dead wife, he didn't let on. He quietly and efficiently helped Mickey load Rose gently into the back seat, as Jackie crawled in beside her daughter, and Mickey beside Jackie. Pete took the front seat by the driver, glancing back to the trio behind him. Mickey met his gaze with a woebegone expression, completely at a loss as to what to do. Jackie had eyes only for her daughter.
The ride continued in silence, as the driver wisely chose the private, back entrance to Pete's building, far away from the prying eyes of paparazzi and an open security presence. He went ahead, using his private passcode to open the back doors, allowing Mickey with Rose inside, Jackie close behind. With easy familiarity, Mickey navigated the way to the elevator that led to Pete's private penthouse at the top floor.
The lights automatically came on as they entered, and Pete pointed Mickey towards the spare rooms down the hallway. Jackie stepped in quietly, blue eyes wide and smeared with ruined makeup. "This your place then?"
"Yeah," he nodded, glancing around his posh, if plain, apartment, shoving his hands self-consciously into his pockets. "It's where I've been living, at least, since my wife died."
His wife. That brought Jackie around, the stunned fog she'd been in clearing as she nodded, a more critical eye taking in the bland, if expensive furniture, and the plain and generic artwork. "Guess you don't spend a ton of time here, then?"
"Not so much," he admitted, impressed she sussed that much out. "Place to sleep, keep up appearances. It's nice, yeah, but not home."
She only nodded mutely, comfortable trainers squeaking on the marble floor as she wandered aimlessly, looking about. "It looks too nice to touch anything."
"You haven't seen my room," he laughed, then flushed as he realized what that implied. If Jackie caught on, she didn't show it, wrapping her arms around herself.
"I should go check on Rose, yeah?"
"Right. She's just down the hall." He pointed in the direction Mickey had gone. With a tight smile, she followed, her shoulders hunched in on herself as her feet scuffed the floor the entire way down. Pete watched her go, holding his breath. When he heard soft voices he released it, wandering into the kitchen. The cold remains of that mornings coffee were in the maker, and he flipped on the burner underneath to warm them as he wandered to the freezer to contemplate food. He couldn't cook to save his life, had never managed more than cheese toast, and that was hit or miss half the time. After he'd moved out on his wife, he'd taken to hiring one of those fancy, personal chefs that all his Jackie's friends raved about, and had them come in every few weeks to fill his freezer full of things that he could heat up with minimal trouble. He stared at the bags, figuring pasta was simple enough.
Mickey wandered in just as he finished reading through the heating instructions, looking as grim as Pete had ever seen the normally ebullient young man. "She woke up a bit when I set her down, but I think she's asleep again. May need to call someone though."
"Let her rest. We'll see how she is in the morning." Pete remembered all too well the place where Rose was at. "Jackie still in there?"
"Yeah," he murmured, eyes glazed as he scrubbed at his face. It had been a long day for him, for all of them. "Are we really stuck on this side, then?"
Stuck? Mickey had never put it like that before. Had he hoped to return this time around, to stay home? Maybe all the trips back to his world had made him long for something he hadn't found in this one. "Yeah, 'fraid so, as least as far as Dr. Singh can tell. We are still running tests."
"And that's it? No more Cybermen?"
"Looks like it," Pete replied, setting down the package and leaning against the black, granite top. "You worried about what you're going to do now?"
"Yeah," Mickey shrugged, the leather of his jacket creaking with the action. "I mean...well, I guess Rose is here now, but I don't know. It's what I've been doing for years, this mission. Weird to have it end."
"Torchwood has plenty to do and plenty more you could be doing, you know." Pete glanced at the frozen meal. "We can talk about it tomorrow. You hungry? Was going to whip up some pasta...thing. I think it's got seafood...and a white sauce?"
That made Mickey snort somewhat. "Yeah, I'll pass. Just want to grab a pint and crawl into bed."
"You're welcome to stay. Rose might appreciate it."
Mickey's good humor faded somewhat. "Maybe? I don't know. Right now, I just...I think it would be good if I gave her some space, yeah."
Pete wasn't as sure that was a good idea, but held his tongue. "Come check on her tomorrow, then. Give her a friendly face to look at."
"Right," Mickey nodded, shoving hands into his jeans pockets. "I'll see myself out. Tomorrow, then?"
"See you then," Pete replied, watching Mickey go thoughtfully before turning back to the project at hand.
By the time Jackie made her appearance, he'd heated up one packet and was working on the second. Meanwhile, he was rummaging through his stainless steel fridge, looking for something that vaguely resembled a leafy, green product. So far he'd come up with a withered bunch of dried leaves and a package of slime that reminded him of one of the alien research projects he'd witnessed the week before. He really needed to pay better attention to the food the chef put in there.
"Something smells good," he heard her call as he spun around, plastic bag full of brown, wet, sludge still in hand. Her eyes flickered to it as Pete cleared his throat, and tossed it in the trash bin before she was completely and thoroughly disgusted.
"Do you like pasta," he evaded, nodding to the microwave. "Heating up some...linguini is it? With seafood? Shrimp and clams I think. Maybe oysters?"
He cleared his throat nervously and tried to look very busy with the batch already warmed up, stirring it about in the bowl.
"Always were rubbish with cooking, weren't you?" She laughed softly as she took the bowl out of his hands before he made a right mess with it. "Got forks and things?"
"Yeah, in that drawer." He pointed to the one to the right of the sink. "If you like, we can eat in the dining room. Never eat in there, normally. Might be...nice."
"Sure," she smiled, gathering cutlery enough for them both.
"And something to drink. I am warming coffee, if you'd like."
"Maybe something stronger," she suggested, her head cocked in that way she always had, inviting but not quite sure she'd be accepted. She...rather his Jackie did the same thing this Jackie did. Bloody hell, this was getting confusing, fast.
"Stronger...sure!" He glanced towards the wine rack in the corner and the liquor cabinet beside it. "Wine, scotch, whiskey?"
"You choose," she replied, taking her bowl of pasta and moving towards the dining area. She carefully picked a seat across from the kitchen, watching him as he pulled out his best red, one of his wife's favorites, and poured two glasses. By then, his own pasta was finished, and he managed both it and the two glasses as he settled across from Jackie with a nervous smile.
"Here you go, French Cabernet Sauvignon, a good year. Thought you'd might like it."
"French?" Eagerly she snagged the glass, gulping it as if it were a cocktail rather than a fine wine. Her nose wrinkled somewhat as she tried to hide a cough. "It's...good?" She only managed that weakly, her voice cracking as she did.
"You aren't supposed to guzzle it. You sip it." He was trying not to laugh at her, but he couldn't help it, especially not at her wounded indignation.
"I know that, just it's a bit nicer than what I'm used to is all." She sniffed, now sipping the wine, but still not quite managing to hide her dislike. "Maybe it's an acquired taste, like coffee?"
"Maybe," he conceded, sipping at the wine, letting it roll around his tongue, before swallowing it hard. "You know, it is kind of rubbish, isn't it?"
That seemed to break the ice between them, as Jackie snickered into her glass. "It's the worst, like vinegar in my mouth."
"Now that you mention it, yeah, very much like vinegar." He took another sip and grimaced it down. "Why the bloody hell did I buy this stuff?"
"Because it's French and posh and someone told you to?"
"Pretty much," he admitted, pushing the glass away. "How about a pint instead? I have a couple of lagers."
"That I will take."
The glasses of fine and expensive cabernet where whisked away, and lager put in their place, as they each tucked into their meal, companionably silent as they tiredly ate. For her part, Jackie seemed to enjoy whatever it was that he'd warmed up, spearing a scallop appreciatively.
"Nice food. Someone make it for you?"
"Got a personal chef that comes in a few times a month, checks that I'm not starving."
"Convenient," she nodded, glancing at the kitchen. "It's nice in there. Always wanted a kitchen like that, all shiny appliances and everything. Always had my second hand ones, and Mickey had to fix that for me more often than not. Surprised they lasted as long as they did."
"You like to cook?" That surprised him. His Jackie had been rubbish at it, hence why he'd paid for personal lessons for her birthday.
"Like? Well I do it. I don't know, Rose never starved. My shepherds pie is all right, I guess." She fiddled nervously with her fork and he could guess that this Jackie was likely just as much a danger as the other in the kitchen. "But I make the best tea on the planet. Saved the Doctor's life it did. Something about tannins and free radicals, I never can make out what he's going on about half the time."
Grief suddenly paused her as she stared at Pete with wide, blue eyes. "He won't be back, will he?"
Pete chewed slowly on the pasta, regarding her evenly. "I don't know. Maybe. He's the Doctor, and frankly the only creature I know of capable of doing it. But would he? He said that the jumping was creating the cracks in the universe, endangering all of us. Maybe he could figure out a way, but maybe he won't because it's too dangerous."
"Which means we are stuck here? Rose and me?"
"Yeah," Pete replied simply. He watched her carefully. His wife would have thrown a fit by this point, started screaming, yelling at someone, possibly throwing things. But this one, she merely set down her fork, fingers moving to her lager, but not picking it up. She simply stared into the golden liquid, tears shining in her eyes.
"It was an accident that I was even there at Torchwood with them. I don't think I was meant to be. It just happened so fast, and then...yeah." She sighed, sniffing as she did so. "Bev won't know where I'm at. Neither will Mo! You think they will declare me missing?"
"Maybe dead," Pete replied, pushing aside his bowl. "I'm sorry, you know. I didn't give you much of a choice, did I?"
"S'alright," she waved him off, finally picking up her glass to sip at its content. "You were just trying to keep me safe. I get it."
Despite her reassurance, he could see the hurt and worry she swallowed along with the golden liquid. The Jackie Tyler he knew was never one for mad adventures, at least not unless a zeppelin and a posh hotel were involved. Mickey had said something similar about this Jackie. She'd never left the estate, never tried or dared to do anything else. And now, there she was, stuck in a strange world that was like her own, but so very different. For starters, she was sitting in this luxury flat, having dinner with a man who looked very much like her long dead husband.
"I just...couldn't do it, you know." He blurted the words faster than they came to mind, and it shocked him how easily his confession tumbled out. He cleared his throat, studying the pink shrimp and gray clams in his pasta. "I couldn't just walk away from a world going to shit on that side and leave you there to...you know, maybe die again."
Jackie stilled across the table from him. Pete felt his cheeks burn.
"You see, my wife...my Jackie, she died due to Cybermen. I was trying to save her, and I couldn't. She got turned into one, and….yeah."
He breathed a sigh as he stirred the rest of the noodles and sauce in its bowl, suddenly no longer particularly hungry. "I just couldn't let it happen again is all."
For long moments, neither of them said anything.
When Pete dared to look up again, Jackie was watching him with a soppy smile. "You are such a git, you know."
"How am I a git?"
"A romantic one, yeah, but a git all the same."
Pete was still trying to work how in any of that confession he could possibly be accused of being a git, but Jackie rose, gathering her used dishes. "You done with that?"
"Yeah," he murmured, startled she gathered up bowls and cutlery. He didn't think he'd seen his wife do that in close to twenty years.
"It was sweet of you, Pete, but you should have been worrying about yourself and your mission," Jackie chastised him as she made her way into the kitchen. He trailed behind.
"And what, leave you to die there, turned into a Cyberman, or a Dalek, or whatever else was going on there?"
"I was fine," she sniffed, moving towards his sink, eyeing the dishwasher critically. "This is much fancier than what we had. Do you need a license to run it?"
"No, it's not that hard, and you are avoiding the point," Pete snapped. But Jackie ignored him, as she began scraping dishes and rinsing things, placing them in the admittedly state-of-the-art dishwasher as if she owned the place.
"You have any soap for this?"
"Under the sink," he pointed, as she dutifully turned and found it in a rack on the door of the cabinet. "If I hadn't found you on the stairwell, you'd have been dead."
"Yeah, but you didn't need to take me with you."
"And what, leave you to a world torn apart by those things? Not bloody likely!"
"The Doctor would have sorted it out, I'm sure, could have done by now I suppose." She squeezed soap into the appropriate spot, closed the door of the dishwasher, and then trailed her acrylic nails across the touchscreen, frowning at its complexity. "What? You don't have buttons on it?"
"Touch, just like tablets."
"Like what?"
Pete sighed, remembering Jackie's world wasn't quite as advanced as his. Gently pushing her aside, he punched the screen and brought up the appropriate cycle. A nearly silent whir began as the machine came to life. Jackie stared at it, clearly impressed.
"You certainly live posh, having something like that."
Trust Jackie Tyler to be stuck in the middle of a strange world, without a penny to her name, and find something fancy and high end far more interesting at the moment. "Jackie…"
"Look, I know what you were doing." She flapped her hands at him before crossing herself to stare at the fancy machine quietly. "I know that you were trying to help. Maybe you were trying to redeem yourself because of your last wife, I don't know. I just know right now I don't know where I am. I don't know what I'm doing. And I got a daughter who just lost her entire world. And that...that I know something about."
Tears pooled in her blue eyes as she dashed at them hard. "Maybe I should go check on Rose, yeah? Make sure she's alright? We can talk some more tomorrow."
Without another word, she was out of the kitchen, sparing Pete no further glance. He watched her go, before glancing back at his spotless kitchen, cleaned by Jackie.
"Well, at least that's different," he sighed, slumping against the granite counter top.