Work Text:
The cluttered tent was noisy with people coming and going. Jack could see them all as he sat at a canteen table at the far end, sorting through paperwork. Military people, UNIT, senior government types, and a few of the Torchwood survivors of what was already being called the Battle of Canary Wharf. It was easy to pick them out, the Torchwood people -- they all wore the same haunted, shadowed expression that Jack had seen many times before, though usually the people wearing it were bedraggled refugees in rags, not Oxford and Cambridge graduates in business suits.
There had been over eight hundred of them before the invasion; only about two dozen were left. Slightly more than half were confirmed dead, the rest were simply listed as "missing." The sheer waste of life made him sad; the ignorance and stupidity that had led to all this made him quietly furious. It left him wondering if operating the Torchwood stations in relative isolation from each other was really such a good idea. Not that he'd ever want to be under the control of a fool like Yvonne Hartman, even marginally, but if he'd had the slightest idea of what they were doing down here, he'd have put a stop to it somehow. Hartman. What a goddamned fool. If she weren't already dead, he'd cheerfully kill her.
Someone approached and offered Jack yet another bundle of paper. Without looking up, he said, "On the stack there, please." The document was added to the already considerable pile.
Just another day mopping up Torchwood One. He and Suzie had been here for two weeks, dealing with the administrative nightmares, consulting with the government on cover propaganda, and most importantly, sorting through crate after crate of alien tech as they were hastily pulled out of the damaged building. They had to decide what was worth salvaging and what wasn't.
He wasn't at all surprised that the Doctor and Rose had been here. He'd seen the CCTV footage that survived, spoken to the few witnesses. He was mildly surprised that the Doctor seemed to have a new body, but he'd told Jack about regeneration once, outside Rose's earshot. Jack wondered what had happened to cause him to regenerate, and it made him ache just a little more to think of how close he'd been, how close he'd come to finding them.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, picking up the document that had just been dropped off. Casualty List, it said. It started with Torchwood staff, pages and pages of them. At the end, attached almost as an afterthought, was a page titled Civilians. His eyes quickly scanned down the list, looking for nothing in particular.
His eyes stopped when he reached two particular names, and he sucked in a breath, feeling like he'd just taken a hammer to the gut.
Jacqueline Tyler, Flat 48, Bucknall House, Powell Estate, London, SE15 7GO Rose Tyler, Flat 48, Bucknall House, Powell Estate, London, SE15 7GO
No. His heart began to pound as he stared at the piece of paper. Maybe it wasn't her, maybe it was some other Rose Tyler. There was no date of birth.
Rose. The space station in the Orion Nebula. All three of them in formal dress for a gala ball that Jack and Rose had cozened the Doctor into attending. She looked gorgeous, the picture of fresh, youthful beauty. Rose caught a glimpse of herself in a full-length mirror and laughed. "What's a shopgirl from a council estate doing here?"
A council estate. The Powell Estate. And he readily recalled one of the Doctor's many comments about Rose's mum Jackie. Jacqueline.
He leaned on the table in front of him, studying the document intently, as if it would change if he stared at it long enough, hard enough. Impossible. It couldn't-- The Doctor had done, would do, anything, everything, to protect Rose. It wasn't possible. She wasn't, couldn't be--
Rose.
He sat motionless for long minutes, denying it, denying even the chance that it might be true. His mind sorted through the options, the possibilities, trying to find some hope.
Rose. That morning in Cardiff, when they'd gone shopping. The face Rose had made behind the salesgirl's back when she started flirting with Jack.
He stood, the list still in his hand, and left the tent. He walked through the small complex of tents and temporary structures surrounding Torchwood Tower until he reached the perimeter. He went behind the last building, and mercifully, the area was deserted. He leaned against the wall, still clutching the list, staring at it.
Rose. Kyoto. Resplendent in a sky-blue kimono. Performing a tea ceremony with such grace that it had nearly brought tears to his eyes.
He tried not to think of what might have happened, tried not to hear her scream in the conversion chamber. Tried not to envision her being sucked back into the soulless, endless void.
His mobile rang, once, twice. He ignored it. He sank down on his haunches, clutching his coat around him. The light began to fade, and the air grew chill.
Rose. Standing so calmly among the Daleks. So certain that the Doctor would rescue her.
The Doctor. How had this happened? How had he let it happen? Could Jack have saved her, if he'd been here?
He wanted to rage, to scream, to sob, but he couldn't. He was just...numb.
Rose...
"Jack?" He looked up to see Suzie standing there, a vaguely worried expression on her face. "Where've you been? Why aren't you answering your mobile? I had to get Tosh to pinpoint your signal." It was almost full dark, and she was carrying her small Maglite torch. "Jack?" she repeated. Are you all right?" Her expression was slowly changing from vague worry to frank concern.
"Suzie," he said.
She crouched next to him and gently peeled the list from his nerveless fingers, flickering the torch at it, and her eyes grew wide when she saw what he'd been holding. Silently, she grasped his elbow and pulled them both to their feet. She slipped an arm around his waist, and he let her, glad that he didn't have to think, to lead. They went to the street, and Suzie found a cab. They sat together in the backseat on the ride to their hotel. Suzie clasped his hand tightly, but she didn't ask, didn't talk, and he was grateful.
They made it back to his room, and the door had barely closed before she was seeking out and finding his bottle of brandy, pouring and handing him a glass. He sat down on the edge of the bed and drank, draining the glass, and she refilled it. He drank again, and as she took the glass he dropped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Rose. Her hair in pigtails, wearing that absurd purple jumper, the day they'd visited Datkya's fifth moon to see the galaxy's highest waterfall. The way she'd stood there, gaping in wonder, until the Doctor finally tipped her mouth closed with a grin.
He felt his boots being unlaced, yanked off his feet. He knew he should protest, tell Suzie she didn't need to do that, but he didn't. It felt good. The boots dropped to the floor, and Suzie kicked off her own shoes before stretching out beside him, her head propped on one hand. She dropped the other to his chest and just let it sit, a comforting presence, and he clasped it inside his own.
It was comforting to have Suzie here. They were good at this, at being strong for one another. After she broke up with the last boyfriend, she'd called him, sobbing, at one in the morning. He'd gone to her place and they'd just sat, and he'd held her, letting her cry and until she finally slept. She was a friend -- as much of a friend as he could ever have, really -- and a friend was what he needed.
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, feeling the weight of her against him. Finally, for the first time since he'd said her name back at the site, he spoke. "Her name was Rose."
Rose. Wearing that absurd t-shirt on the night they'd met. Drinking champagne on the hull of the Chula warship. Dancing in his arms.
She lifted her head from his chest, meeting his gaze. "I'm so sorry, Jack."
Her eyes were filled with such sadness that Jack felt a surge of guilt for allowing her to take on his grief. He lifted his hand, stroking her hair gently, trying to return some of the comfort she'd offered him. She was so pretty, and so warm, and so...alive. He didn't make a conscious decision to guide her head down to his mouth, but he did it just the same. They kissed, long and slow and thorough. Suzie's lips were soft and beautiful, and she tasted faintly of oranges, reminding him of the scent of the flavored iced tea she was always sipping.
Rose. As they kissed, the sharp pain receded just a bit, becoming an ache he could almost stand. Wordlessly, Suzie started to peel off his clothes and her own, touching him everywhere, and he responded, unthinkingly, drawn in by her natural sensuality. Once they were both naked, he wrapped himself around her; her skin was so soft, and she tasted so good. He gave himself over to sensation, to the sheer joy of feeling her respond under his hands and mouth, listening to her soft gasps and moans.
He'd be a liar if he said he'd never fantasized about making love to Suzie, but he'd never thought it would be like this. He'd pictured them almost fully clothed, against a wall somewhere, having frantic, furious sex off the adrenaline rush of a dangerous mission. He'd never thought it would be like this, rolling around on a huge bed, gentle and sweet and unrushed. He'd never guessed how beautiful she looked when she came, shuddering in his arms.
Maybe under different circumstances it would have been as he'd imagined, but today, it was something else, as Suzie reminded him in the oldest, sweetest way ever devised what it was to be human...and alive. He kissed her softly, nuzzling her neck as he wrapped his arms around her, allowing himself the moment of respite.
~~~~~
He woke to a gentle kiss on his lips, and opened his eyes to see Suzie.
"No weirdness, okay?" she said. As ever, she was direct and forthright.
He was grateful, relieved. "Okay." He reached out, burying both hands in her hair, and tilted her mouth down to meet his. "Thank you."
"Yeah." She grinned and dropped one more kiss on his mouth, then reached for his discarded shirt, slipping it on. Why did women do that? Not that he minded, he thought absently; her long legs were a thing of beauty. "We should eat something," she said, reaching for the room service menu, flipping through it as she leaned back against the headboard. "And I've some things to talk to you about, if you feel like it."
"Yeah?" He reached for a lock of her hair, twining it around his fingers. He didn't really feel like it, truth be told, but it would be good to try and distract his mind.
"Yeah. One of the staff here is interested in our open admin position. Overqualified, but he's already recruited, so." She shrugged. "He's also a Welsh boy, needs the work, and he desperately wants out of London."
"If you think he's right for it, I'll meet him tomorrow." Jack had faith in Suzie when it came to assessing people. He wondered what she'd have thought of Rose.
Rose. The little sister he'd never had. The girl who'd helped to change him from a con man into something new. The friend he would always cherish.
The ache was still there, and it wouldn't fade for a long, long time, if ever. But it was bearable, just.
Sensing his shift of mood, she smiled at him. "You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah." He managed a smile for her, a real smile. "I will be."
He almost believed it, too.
~ end ~