You can always tell when I haven't been vigilant about setting boundaries at work, because huge gaps occur between chapters! If you are reading this, I sincerely appreciate it, and I hope you'll drop me a line when you're finished with this chapter, to let me know you're out there. :-)

Well, if you'll recall, Tammy Litzinger is a bit of a liability, and Martha had decided to stay behind in 1980 to help her... whatever that might mean. But, she did give the extremely useful information that she got zapped by the Angel in Oystermouth after having tracked it from Roald Dahl Plass in Cardiff, indicating that the Angels probably came through the rift!

But whatever. Because Martha is in another time, another place, and the Weeping Angels always make things more complicated than they need to be. The Doctor, with a malevolent foe in their midst who screws around with time, is anxious about this state of affairs...

I think you'll like this chapter. We dip our toe into Torchwood, Glenn gets a taste of yet another kind of power, and our heroes get a big of a heart-to-hearts.

Again, thank you for sticking with me! Enjoy. :-)

ELEVEN

"Let's get Glenn's mum and niece rescued," the Doctor announced with true motivation in his voice. Now that Martha was away, he wanted this affair over and done with as soon as possible. He turned to face the CPU that he had placed in the pit beside the platform and said, "But gents, I just need you to know, and to keep in mind, that there's probably a Weeping Angel stored in that unit, and it's been here in the TARDIS with us for a while. I don't know whether Angels listen and scheme while they are dormant, much less whether it can hear us from inside a hard drive, but we need to be prepared for anything."

"Yikes," Glenn muttered.

"Playing with fire, indeed," the Doctor said, under his breath.

He ducked under the railing and stepped down into the wire pit, and picked up the CPU. Jack stood by to take the handoff. The Doctor climbed back out, as his friend placed the unit reverently on the console.

The Time Lord stared at the thing for about thirty seconds, contemplatively, unmoving. Finally he said, "Glenn, I wonder if you could check for Rift energy while you're doing your thing."

"I, er… don't know. What… why… erm…" Glenn stammered.

"The Rift is huge. There are different channels that lead different places… such as Cardiff. If we could identify where the Angels came from, we'd have a better chance of properly getting rid of them when we deposit them back into it."

"I'd love to try, but I wouldn't have the first clue how to do it," said Glenn.

"If you could, say, experience Rift energy, could you then detect it in an Angel?"

"I should think so," Glenn shrugged. "No guarantees, but it's worth a try."

"Like when a police dog goes sniffing for a missing person," Jack said. "Gotta give him a whiff of the person's favourite sweater or whatever, so it knows what it's looking for."

Glenn and the Doctor frowned at him. After a pause, Glenn said, "Yes. Essentially. Thanks for comparing me to a dog."

"Well, a really sophisticated one," Jack said. "Who doesn't so much sniff as…"

"Yeah, yeah, stop before you dig yourself a hole," Glenn muttered, waving the comments away.

"Does Torchwood have a way to immerse him in different types of Rift energy?" the Doctor asked.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Easy. Although, I have to admit, until now, I hadn't considered that there might be different types of Rift energy."

"That's because you don't have a TARDIS," said the Time Lord nonchalantly, setting coordinates.

"Yeah, but still," Jack said. "Torchwood…"

"Want me to land in the Plass?"

"No, we can go in directly. But it's the middle of the night. No-one is usually there at this time, except for me, and sometimes Ianto."

"Right. So, do we go into Torchwood in the morning. Shall we hop forward, or do it the old-fashioned way?"

"Doctor, if you're looking for my two cents, I could use some rest," Glenn said.

"I agree, said Jack. "Fewer mistakes if we just hunker down until morning."

"Fine," the Doctor conceded, putting up the shields round the TARDIS and powering down the vortex interaction modules. "Get some rest if you need it. What time do your people come in?"

"Six or seven," Jack replied.

"That's four or five hours away. Everybody up then, yeah?"

"Thanks," Glenn said, then disappeared down the hall, finding the room the Doctor had lent him two days prior. He was still not operating at one-hundred-per-cent since "reading" the Weeping Angel in the cemetery, but he didn't want to say so. Instead, he crashed on the bed, and hoped four hours' sleep would be enough to rejuvenate him.

The Doctor spent an hour pacing round his bedroom, worrying, thinking, and then doing both at the same time. Martha's well-being, Tammy Litzinger, the Angels, the Rift… they were all one big semi-organised jumble in his brain and he could not stop connecting the dots. It was hardly the first time he'd realised what a curse it is being the sort of man who can see the big picture all at once.

He resisted the urge to ring Martha again. He resisted the urge to self-medicate somehow. He resisted the urge to yell. He resisted the urge to hop forward in time, and cheat.

Eventually he did lay down on his bed, in his clothes, shoes and all on top of the comforter, and begin to read a book. He was not committed to the idea of rest just now, and would not make himself vulnerable to it.

The next thing he knew he was waking up to the TARDIS' gears grinding around him…

A quick, confused dash to the console room revealed Jack standing at the controls, smiling.

"What's going on?" the Doctor asked, hearts racing.

"I moved us into my office. Cool, eh? The coordinates were set two or three weeks ago when we came here to put Glenn in a cell," chirped the Captain.

"Ah, mem'ries," Glenn sighed, sarcastically. The Doctor, truth be told, hadn't even noticed he was there.

"I didn't wake you because we don't really need you," Jack shrugged. "I've got my people at Torchwood, I know how to give Glenn what's needed. Go back to bed. I know you talk a good game about not needing sleep as much as humans, but... come on."

"No, I'm fine," the Doctor said. "Let's just… do this."

And that was when outside, they heard a voice call, "Jack, what the hell?"

Jack opened the door to find Gwen standing there, half-frowning, and half-befuddled.

"What do you mean, what the hell? We've got a TARDIS. We needed in, so in we came. And hello to you, too," he said to her.

The Doctor and Glenn stepped out into Jack's office around the same time Ianto, Tosh and Owen turned up as well.

There was a longish silence as everyone surveyed one another.

At last, "This is my team," Jack said to the Doctor and Glenn. "Gwen Cooper…"

"Ex-police," the Doctor said, holding out a hand for her to shake. "Got us a list of the missing. Thanks."

"Erm… yeah, that's me, ex-police," she said, blinking away a bit of something that seemed to come over her. Suddenly she couldn't look him in the eye.

"And Toshiko Sato, of course," Jack said.

"A great big flaming genius," the Doctor said, with a smile, shaking her hand. "Physics and tech – perhaps you and I are cut from the same cloth."

"Oh, I don't…" she said, diffidently.

"Have we met before?" the Doctor asked her.

"Erm…" Toshiko began, scanning her memory. She was sure she would have remembered…

"Owen Harper…" said Jack.

"Physician?" the Doctor asked, greeting Owen.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Owen asked.

Ignoring the question, Jack finished up with, "Ianto Jones. Everything these people can't do, he does. He's our getting guy. Coffee, equipment, retcon pills…"

"Excuse me, retcon pills?" the Doctor asked.

"Vehicles, fake IDs, wardrobe," Jack said. "If Torchwood were a Broadway musical, Ianto would be the producer. And the stage manager. I would, of course, be the star – I sing a mean Sunset Boulevard."

The Doctor chuckled, shook Ianto's hand and said, "Nice to meet you."

"And you," Ianto said, like a professional.

"This is Glenn O'Keeffe," he said to his team. "It's a long story. But hey, that reminds me: don't review the surveillance footage of the holding cells for the last two weeks unless and until I tell you, okay?"

"Why?" Tosh wanted to know. "I was just about to do that."

"Please don't. I'll tell you about it later," Jack said. "Don't worry, everyone keeps their clothes on. It's just, it'll need a lot of context."

"Fine," she said with a little harumph, and a suspicious eye-narrowed look at Jack.

"And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the Doctor. For those of you who thought he might be a figment of my imagination…" and he poked the Doctor in the arm with two fingers. "He's actually here. Not a hologram, nor a manifestation. Solid. Can speak. See?"

The Doctor waved at everyone a bit akwardly, and said, "Hi."

"I never said he was a figment of your imagination, I just said…" Owen began.

Jack ignored these protestations and plowed ahead. "And Martha Jones is, at present, hanging out in 1980, trying to help a victim of the Weeping Angels come to grips with what's happened," he explained. "Someday, I'm hoping you'll meet her, as well."

"Wait, you found one of the victims?" asked Tosh. "How on Earth would you do that, given the properties of the quantum displacement?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked, Toshiko, because that's kind of why we're here," Jack answered.

Jack explained Glenn's origins as a half-Eternal, and a bit about his abilities, and why they were useful in the tracking of people lost to the Weeping Angels. The Doctor then took over explaining the intel Martha had got from Tammy Litzinger, about having tracked the Angels from Cardiff, and the possibility of pinpointing specific aspects of the Rift.

"There are aspects?" Gwen asked. "Since when?"

"Since always," said the Doctor. "The TARDIS has used it for fuel for years, and over time, has been able to differentiate channels of the Rift. Which only makes sense, because if there's a channel into Cardiff, Earth, early twenty-first century, then there's got to be other channels in there that lead to God knows where."

"Wow. That's incredible. And sensible! Why have we never seen this?" Gwen asked.

"Because we don't have a TARDIS," Toshiko said, horrified. "Okay, I'm going to need to know more, Doctor."

"Later. And don't look so appalled – the equipment you have is incredibly advanced for the likes of this planet, and it is more than sufficient for the work you lot do. A Rift Manipulator? I mean, come on! How brilliant is that?"

"But knowledge…" Tosh began.

The Doctor cut her off gently. "I agree, but for now, we just need to get good old Glenn here a tour of the Rift, to see if he can pick up, like the TARDIS, what your equipment cannot. And use it to identify where the Angels came from…" the Doctor explained.

"…so we can kick their asses back there," Jack finished.

"Right this way," Ianto said, gesturing out the door, into the main Hub.

Glenn followed, without ever having said a word. He had almost forgotten that he had been here before, and that at that time, he had tried to take down Captain Jack pretty hard. He clenched his fists, and hoped for the best.

The Doctor and Jack were left alone in the latter's office. Well, alone except for the TARDIS, looming large in the now very small room.

Jack sat down at his desk, and the Doctor lounged in the chair across from him with his feet in another chair and his hands folded over his middle.

After a few beats, the Doctor asked, "How's he doing?"

"Who?"

"Glenn. With his bad-guy sobriety? It's been a day or two since we've checked in with him, hasn't it?"

"I suppose, yeah. I guess he's doing all right."

"Well, we'd better hope so, if we're plugging him into the Rift Manipulator."

"It's not like plugging him into the TARDIS, though," Jack said. "It's not like he can absorb its energy, or learn more about it and wreak havoc. It's a rift in time and space. The worst he could do is escape into it, and that would only hurt himself."

"Sure about that?"

Jack examined the Doctor's face, and the Doctor cocked and eyebrow for effect.

"I hate it when you do that!" Jack protested. "I mean, it's kind of sexy, but still! It means you know something I haven't thought of yet!"

"I'm not worried about the Rift itself, Jack, I'm worried about how many of your computers and machines and bits and bobs it's wired to," the Doctor said. "I mean, if you're going to do this Torchwood thing, and I can't stop you, then I at least want your equipment secure."

"Do you think he can worm his way into our software?"

"I'd say it's not outside the realm of possibility. If the Weeping Angels can do it…" the Doctor said, spreading his hands in illustration, rather than finishing the sentence.

Jack stared at the door through which Glenn, Ianto, and the others had disappeared. He contemplated what the Doctor had said for a minute or so, then said, "I've got to give him some lead."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Show some trust."

The Doctor smiled. "Says Captain Jack Harkness who rebuilt Torchwood not to be a bunch of hypocritical power mongers."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic," Jack said with a frown.

"I'm not. I don't like admitting it, but I do like what you've done here," the Doctor said. "Discreet, a bit minimalist. Smart. I watched that video of your team in action. Owen might be a bit rough around the edges, but Gwen is an incredible asset, Ianto seems to be a steadying influence on everyone, and Tosh… wow."

"Owen's a brilliant medic," Jack said. "If you knew what I know…"

"I believe you. Maybe he's just… grumpy. Anyway, well done, Jack."

"Thanks. We're just trying to help. That's all. Just like you."

"I get that."

Jack smirked, and said, "Are you trying to say you're giving me lead? Showing trust?"

The Doctor feigned shyness and said, "Aw, you caught that?"

"Do you worry about me?"

"About your safety? Yes. About your state of mind? Yes. About your access to weaponry? Sometimes. About what your very existence means for the universe? Hell, yes."

"About me relapsing," Jack said. "Turning back into who I was when you met me?"

The Doctor took a deep breath, and said, "Not really, because Jack, I don't think you really were that guy. It was a guise. A thing you adopted just because you were bored. You were good-looking, clever, and charming, and it worked, so…"

"Do you really think that?"

"You've got a bit of mischief in you," the Doctor continued. "That's just in your DNA. And the Time Agency just wasn't for you. Sure, time travel is exciting, and skulking about like a secret agent as well. But going on specified reconnaissance missions, answering to a team leader or something, constantly surveilled, tracked… no wonder there are so many rogue Time Agents. It attracts people with fire in their veins, and then douses them with reality."

"Yeah, it got old."

"Reminds me of me, once upon a time. Are you forgetting how I got her?" the Doctor asked, gesturing toward the TARDIS with his head.

Jack laughed. "Oh yeah! I had forgotten!"

"I haven't always been the Boy Scout you see before you."

Jack continued laughing. "Boy Scout, indeed!" Then, his mirth died down, and he said, "But you are the model by which I try to live my life. Me, and Martha. And Rose, and everyone else you've ever travelled with. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah. Can't say I'm comfortable with it, but… I took you on. All of you."

"And now I'm taking on Glenn. And I can be his guide, his sponsor, if you like, but I can't worry about him twenty-four/seven. He needs to know that…"

"Jack!" they heard calling from the other room.

Owen jogged into the room. "Glenn says he needs you."

"Why?"

"He said, hand-holding. I'll assume it's metaphorical?"

The Doctor and Jack looked at each other knowingly. Jack said, "Early days, what can I say?"

It was 9:15 a.m. in New Canaan, Connecticut, on 8 October, 1980. Martha had already been at Spring Hill Hospital for two hours that day. She had done her best to bring non-descript clothing that would fit into the professional landscape of 1980, but that hadn't yielded much, so she was settling today for a white button-up shirt and black trousers, purchased in 2004 for her medical school interview. Her mobile phone was squirrelled away in her pocket, and she was paranoid about dropping it.

Currently, she was drinking terrible coffee at the same table in the recreation room where she and Jack had first spoken with Tammy Litzinger. Only today, she was sitting across from Dr. Sybil Penn, with whom she had been invited to stay during her time in New Canaan. Dr. Penn smoked like a chimney, a fact that had become abundantly clear the moment Martha had stepped foot in the woman's home. Martha wasn't a fan, and resolved to sandblast her hair and clothes, once this little episode was over.

At the moment, there were a lot of papers and logs strewn over the table, and but for the two of them, the room was empty.

"As you can see, Louise is a voluntary committal," said Sybil, a cigarette hanging from her lips, opening a file and pointing out the intake form.

"Right, Louise," Martha said, reminding herself to use Tammy's assumed name, and switching her attention to a hand-written report written by another doctor, back in August.

"She came to us a couple of months ago, saying she thought she had travelled through time, and that she was having difficulty functioning in society." Sybil took a proper puff of her cigarette now, and held it between her index and middle fingers.

"Okay, what sort of difficulty?" Martha asked, trying not to inhale.

"Really? The time travel thing bothers you less than the difficulty-functioning-in-society thing?"

"No, but the time travel bit is irrelevant until we can pinpoint why she can't function."

"If you say so," Sybil sighed. "I guess that's why you're here: a fresh perspective."

"I just think that if we can work out why she isn't functioning, we might be able to work out where the time-travel delusion comes from," Martha riffed. It made sense. Or, it would, if Martha didn't already know that Tammy/Louise had actually travelled through time.

Sybil looked through the documents, and pulled one loose. She put it right-side-up in front of Martha. "Okay, not functioning because of, if says here, lethargy, melancholy, and an inability to, as she called it, see clearly. Meaning, she felt she was always walking around in a fog. She lost a job because of it, I believe."

"Yes, this is in keeping with what she indicated to me," Martha said, reading.

"There are tons of notes like this, on this so-called fog of hers, and the lethargy. For a while, she couldn't understand what people were saying to her, her response to was so delayed. It was difficult for her to communicate."

"I've seen that sort of thing before," Martha muttered, still concentrating.

Sybil nodded, as if to say we all have. "These days it seems to sort of come and go, and eventually, the time travel delusion disappeared – perhaps a month ago. Or at least, she stopped talking about it. But her socialization is still sub-par, and she doesn't seem ready to be out in the world, or so she thinks… it would help if we knew more about her before she came. To this country, or to this hospital – either one would be great."

"What do you know?"

"Only what's she's told us, which isn't much. She grew up in England, but wouldn't tell us where. She said she used to be married, but isn't anymore – not entirely sure what that means. She did not use the word divorce, so who knows? She would not tell us her husband's name, nor whether he's still alive, nor where he might be living if he is alive. She wouldn't tell us whether she was married in England or the U.S. All of that would be easy enough to find out by writing to your government, but Dr. Appleton seems to think she wants to tell us, but is waiting for some sort of breakthrough."

Martha frowned. "Okay. Interesting," she said. But secretly, she was thankful for Dr. Appleton, because without his unorthodox view, these folks would find out that Louise Marchand doesn't exist, and things would get a right sight more complicated.

Sybil went on, "She said she used to work as a photographer, then one day, she took a picture of something so disturbing that it sent her reeling."

"Really?" Martha asked, as the Doctor might, with a tinge of amazement and a bit of okay, keep talking.

"But, of course, she wouldn't say what it was, or where. At one time, she was saying it's what caused her to become a time-traveller, but as I said, she hasn't mentioned time travel in a while, and she's been shutting is down when we ask about it."

A thought occurred to Martha. "It seems that if we could get to the bottom of what was in that super-disturbing photo, we might know what ails her, and how to treat her."

"The same thing has occurred to me," Sybil said, snuffing out her cigarette. "If she witnessed a crime, or accidentally photographed severed body parts or something…"

"Right. Let me try," Martha said. "Maybe I can, I don't know, appeal to her culturally somehow."

"Yes, please do. Meanwhile, I'm going to see if Dr. Appleton will relent a bit about sending for her official documents from England," Sybil said, standing up, and pulling a fresh cigarette from a pack in her pocket. She lit it up, and then continued, "If nothing else, we need to see her immunization records."

Martha stopped, as if she'd been knocked in the head, and could now see very bright stars. "Her what?"

"Her immunization records," Sybil said, gathering two papers out of the array on the table. "You know – which vaccines she's had. It worries me that we don't know. If she's not been inoculated for polio, mumps, et cetera et cetera, then we need to get it done if she's going to be here for much longer."

"Vaccine…" Martha said, staring off into space.

"Yeah, vaccine." After a pause, and another puff off her cigarette, Sybil said, "Martha, are you okay?"

"Oh, erm, yeah… I was just wondering if I could help you get through the bureaucracy of the NHS, to try and get at those records."

"If I can't get through to them, then have at it," Sybil said.

"Thank you, Sybil," Martha said. "This conversation has been very helpful."

"Don't mention it," said the other woman, leaving the room.

There were still miles to go before they could sleep, but the way Martha saw it, they had three problems. The Doctor, Jack, and Glenn were working on one. She may not have known it, but Dr. Sybil Penn had just given her key ideas for solving the others. She needed to see Tammy ASAP, and then she needed to call the Doctor.

Martha's clever... the Doctor can see the big picture and connect dots that weren't always there, but so can his lovely and talented companion. ;-) I wonder if you're able to work out what she's thinking?

Either way, it would make my day if you'd leave a review! Thanks so much for reading!