Nothing Else but Change
Chapter Four
"In this world of change naught which comes stays and naught which goes is lost."
Madame Swetchine
Jack shivered as the dank air settled around him. There was some light creeping into the room from further down the corridor, a watery-weak glow that didn't get much brighter as he walked towards it. It was hard to tell when he was exactly, because he hadn't ventured this deep since at least 1941, when they'd converted the lower levels into bomb shelters. Judging by the feel of the place, the gas lamps on the walls and the smell of fresh plaster, they'd only just finished this area off, which put him at some point between 1900 and 1906. Finishing the Hub had been Emily's grand project and she'd seen it through to the end, it and hers.
With an odd sense of reverence, Jack ran his hands over the smooth walls. It had taken him so long to accept this place, so long to settle here, to let Torchwood become a part of him. By then, it had been adapted and rebuilt and retro-fitted and refitted and changed so many times that even he couldn't be sure where all the corridors went. It had character, the kind that you only got from a century of experience and hard knocks. This Hub still felt fragile, new and shiny in a way that made Jack want to seal up the doors and keep it pristine. There'd be so much blood shed on these floors in years to come; it was stupid to think that locking it down would stop that from happening, but it didn't stop him wanting to try.
Cursing his own sentimentality, Jack found a staircase that he was fairly sure led up to the main Hub, climbing cautiously just in case Alice was up there. That woman had never really understood the concept of 'reasonable force', something Jack had come to appreciate over the years, as much as it had frequently alarmed him.
The Hub itself confirmed his guess about the date, although he could at least pin it down to some point after 1903. He'd put the bullet hole in the wall himself. There didn't seem to be anyone around, and in this era, there were no handy computers for him to access for information. Well, there was one, but it had driven four people mad already and no one wanted to be the fifth. Jack actually suspected it was a Chula scout ship with warped AI, on the basis that the Chula had always taken an unusual interest in Earth and their AIs were notoriously unstable, but he wouldn't be able to tell anyone that for at least another five decades and by then, it would have committed electronic suicide. In the absence of computer assistance, he could always raid the archives in the hopes of finding something he hadn't known when he was first here, or he could just sit and wait for the strange glowing thing to turn up again and take him to his next stop. At least he had an idea of what it was now, for all the good it would do him.
There was a sound from the main entrance, and after a moment's debate, he moved behind one of the thicker pillars. It wouldn't shield him from sight for long, but he'd at least have the advantage of surprise. This Torchwood had a tendency to shoot first and not worry too much about questions.
The newcomer seemed to be alone, although he was muttering as he came down into the Hub, pulling his coat off and hanging it up carefully. Jack smiled. He'd kept the coat rack for sentimental reasons, and now he remembered why. Slowly, he moved out from behind the pillar, waiting to be noticed.
"...seriously, where does she expect me to get that on a Sunday? Mr Cartwright might open up if I asked, I suppose, but- What the hell?"
Jack smiled again. It took a lot to get Charles Gaskell to curse. "Hi, Charlie," he said, folding his arms and grinning. "Good to see you."
"Jack?" If the reaction hadn't been so predictable, it would have been funny. Charlie's eyes were so wide they looked like they might fall out of his head, and his jaw dropped almost to his chest.
"Close your mouth, kid. You'll catch something if you're not careful." Going for casual, Jack leaned back against the pillar. The last of the drug was definitely wearing off, but he still felt tired and a little shaky. Maybe he shouldn't have had that second whisky with Gerald. Keeping his voice as casual as he could, he said, "Tell me something, what year is it?"
Give him his due, Charlie was bright, and he didn't ask stupid questions. "1905," he said, then closed his mouth with a snap. His eyes flickered to one side, then back to Jack. "Er. When are you from?"
It wasn't hard to miss the slight emphasis on 'you', and Jack frowned a little. Charlie was a good kid, and a damn good Torchwood agent, but he was a lousy poker player. "Why'd you ask?"
"Because the last time I saw you, you were getting on a boat to New York." Having retrieved most of his composure, Charlie raised an eyebrow. "So either you're Jack Harkness's evil twin, or you're from another time period. Not the first time-travel I've seen."
"You're good. Better than I remembered." Shrugging, Jack said, "I'm from the future. Quite a long way in the future, actually."
"Fair enough." Charlie spread his hands. "Why are you here, then?"
That was a good question, and it would have been even better if Jack had an answer. He shrugged. "I wish I knew." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a long story. You got anything to eat?"
Once out of basic training, there were three rules a Time Agent lived by. Never turn down a meal, never turn down a drink and never turn down a bed. Charlie was only likely to give him two of the three but right now, Jack would take what he could get. As he made his way across the Hub, his legs were shaking, and he dropped into the chair nearest the small, curtained-off space that they used as a kitchen. Really it was just a glorified cupboard where they kept the food, but Jack had managed to rig a kind of fridge together that at least meant things lasted more than a few days down here.
"Bread, cheese," Charlie's voice was slightly muffled as he rummaged at the back of the pantry, "and..." There was a distinctive clink of bottles. "Just don't tell Alice they're back here."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought Emily-"
"Nah, she doesn't care as long as it's not on the job." Emerging, Charlie held out a bottle to Jack. "But Alice will nick them and demand a ransom. Assuming she doesn't just drink them."
Snorting a little, because yes, that was very true, Jack took the bottle, rolling it between his palms. New recruits to Torchwood learned pretty quickly not to open mysterious boxes, not to eat mysterious substances, and not to play drinking games with Alice unless they wanted to lose a month's pay and the last of their self-respect. Jack held off from opening the beer, instead watching Charlie wield the bread knife as though it was a lethal weapon. Which Jack supposed it was really, especially with Charlie on the other end of it, although it would be manslaughter, or possibly death by misadventure. Charlie wasn't exactly good with his hands, as the wedge-shaped chunks of bread he was carving demonstrated.
Hiding his smile, Jack put the bottle on the ground and sat back in his chair, waiting for Charlie to put the knife down before speaking, just in case. "Tell me," he said, crossing his legs at the ankles, "is it still January?"
"Still?" One eyebrow raised, Charlie answered the question anyway. "It's the fourteenth. Is that important?"
"Possibly." Jack tapped his foot, trying to think. "It's been the fourteenth every time so far. I wonder why."
The plate of bread and cheese appeared in front of him as if by magic, and Jack looked up into Charlie's distinctly irritated face.
"If you're not going to make any sense, just have something to eat and head on out of here. We've got Jack Harknesses coming out of our ears right now."
Jack frowned. "I thought I was on my way to New York."
"You are, but you're ego's big enough that we're still feeling it here." Charlie took a huge bite of his bread and cheese, not quite meeting Jack's eyes. There was definitely something more to it, but it was probably best not to push it for now. If he hadn't known about it at the time - this time - then he probably didn't need to know about it now.
They ate in silence for a few moments, Charlie studiously keeping his eyes on his plate, and Jack just taking his time, feeling his body begin to settle as the last of Stacy's drugs wore off. They were leaving him exhausted, but with no wish to tell Charlie his life-story, which was probably just as well because he didn't know when the next time-shift would happen, and he hated getting cut off when he got to the good part. There had always been a lot of silence between him and Charlie, he remembered. Even if people weren't taken in by Jack's easy smile and even easier flirting, they tended to be amused or impressed enough to warm to him, at least a little. Charlie never had done, and that tension had been between them from the first day to the last. It wasn't one of Jack's regrets exactly - it wasn't like he could make the guy like him if he didn't want to - but it had always hung over his memories of this time, this man. Somehow, he didn't think he was going to get the chance to put that right, not when Charlie didn't even seem able to look him in the eye.
Since Charlie didn't seem to know how to start the conversation again after his slip of the tongue, Jack waited until they'd both finished to ask, "So. What is it Emily's got you trying to find on a Sunday? And since when do you work weekends anyway? I thought you went up to London to see that girl of yours."
Blinking a little, Charlie looked confused for a moment, then shook his head. "You must be from a seriously long way in the future if you don't remember this case." He sighed, gathering up the empty plates and bottles, and taking them back into the cupboard of a kitchen. "We had some strange reports of attacks this week, so Emily asked me to stay and look into them. They were nasty ones, slashings and maimings. Three people were killed, six grievously injured. This morning, Emily sent me a message with a list of chemicals that I should find and bring with me when I meet her tomorrow, although where I'm supposed to find most of them, I have no idea."
Although he already had a fairly good idea of what it was going to say, Jack asked, "Would you mind if I had a look at the list? Maybe I can give you a hand with it."
"Your memory coming back, is it?" Charlie said, pushing his hands into his pockets and eyeing Jack suspiciously.
Jack had forgotten how deep Charlie's paranoia ran, the fear that had kept him alive and in one piece, more or less, until Torchwood had recruited him. It had taken years for him to learn to trust anyone, let alone the brash, loud American in their midst. Then Jack had gone off to America and-
"What is it?" Still staying well out of arm's reach, Charlie moved a little closer as Jack's memory finally joined the dots. Apparently his own poker face needed some work.
"Nothing," he said, a little too quickly. "Just an after-effect of the time-travel. Felt a little dizzy for a minute there." With one hand over his face, he took a moment to pull himself the-hell-together, because this was not the moment to lose it. That could wait until he got home. If he got home. Yeah, this line of thought was going really well.
"Jack?"
When he felt himself enough to actually look up, Jack met Charlie's now-definitely-panicked expression with his best don't-worry-smile. "Sorry. Been a long day. You were going to show me that list, right?"
Still looking deeply unsure, Charlie reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it over without a word, watching Jack carefully the whole time, as though he expected to get bitten or jumped on or something. As far as Jack remembered, that hadn't really been Charlie's thing, and one of the ongoing causes of tension between him and Alice. Suppressing his grin, Jack ran his eye down the list.
He'd always respected Emily, not least because she'd played him expertly, and there weren't many who could manage that. Reading the things she'd asked Charlie to find for her, he had to revise his opinion of her again, because if you put them together right, you'd have a pretty effective Weevil deterrent. He had no idea where the hell she'd got the recipe from, but at least now he understood Charlie's problem. Some of the ingredients would be damn difficult to get hold of any day of the week, let alone a Sunday.
Of course, as with everything in life, it wasn't what you knew, it was who. Jack looked up at Charlie and grinned, watching the other man's expression shift from puzzled to wary.
"You want a hand with these?"
"You know where to get them?" Apparently the thought of not having to annoy shopkeepers on their day off was enough to win at least a little of Charlie's trust.
Still grinning, Jack reached out and clapped Charlie on the shoulder, ignoring his flinch. "Charlie, my boy, watch and learn."
What he actually ended up doing, for the first ten minutes anyway, was following and learning, as Jack led the way into the depths of the Hub. The sense memory was even stronger now than when he'd first arrived, the smell of this place bringing everything back so vividly that he shut his eyes at the bottom of one ladder, waiting for Charlie to join him and just trying to force everything back down in his mind. There was nothing as evocative as the smell of these newly-plastered walls, the way he could tell that the constant drip of water from the Bay hadn't found its way in here yet; that would take another couple of decades. There were no Weevils in the cells, because Torchwood hadn't met them yet. That would change in the next few days, apparently, but for now, everything down here smelt new and fresh.
"Are you sure we're allowed down here?" Charlie pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, wiping his hands off as he looked around. "Emily and Alice usually-"
"It's fine. Come on." Operating more on instinct than anything else, Jack led the way down the corridor towards what he remembered as being the store room for some of Torchwood's more dangerous finds, as well as the things Emily didn't want anyone else getting hold of. The fact that she'd given Charlie the list with them on suggested that she thought he knew about the room. Forgetfulness had been a sign that Jack had noticed all those years ago, when he got back from his disastrous trip to America. By then, Charlie was dead, Alice was running more wild than usual and Emily was-
Jack wasn't going to think about that. He hadn't wanted to think about it at the time, and he certainly didn't need to dredge it all up now. Not with Charlie so close.
When they finally reached the room in question, Jack waited for Charlie to light the lamp before taking a good look around. He remembered bringing boxes down here for Emily, full of the random debris that washed through the Rift, some of it that he recognised and more that he didn't.
"Is everything down here..." Charlie trailed off, shaking his head. "It's all alien?"
"Pretty much. Oh, except for that." Nodding to a door at the back of the room, Jack added, "That's the armoury, and I think most of the things in there are human. And explosive." He gave Charlie a sidelong look. "I thought you'd worked for Torchwood for years."
"I have, but. Well. I had no idea there was so much. Emily doesn't always tell me everything." There was a definitely note of reproach in Charlie's voice, and Jack didn't really blame him. Working for Torchwood under Emily meant operating on a strictly need-to-know basis. The fact that Emily chose to tell Alice everything didn't help; Charlie was outsider enough in society, without being made to feel it in Torchwood as well. Jack knew a little about that, but all he could do for now was give a sympathetic shrug.
"You know how it is. Come on, let's get what we need and get out of here."
With Charlie reading things out and Jack locating them on the shelves, they were done in under half an hour, the box of powders and liquids that were all relatively innocuous on their own and that would seriously inconvenience any Weevils who came too close.
"What's Emily going to do with all this?" Charlie wondered as they headed back to the ladder and the main Hub. "And what does it have to do with the assaults we've been investigating?" They were almost at the foot of the ladder, and when Jack didn't answer, Charlie turned to him, blocking the corridor. "Jack. If you're from the future, then you know what's happening, what's going to happen. What's going on?"
How much harm could it do? In two days time, Charlie would meet his first Weevil and the experience would change him, permanently. In five months time, three weeks before Jack would return from America, Charlie would be dead. Could telling him about the danger lurking in his future really make any difference at this point? Jack looked into Charlie's eyes, white against his dark skin in the half-lit corridor.
And knew he couldn't do it. Things happened in an order, and that was the order they happened in. Messing with the fabric of time and space was way outside Jack's job description. Even as a Time Agent, he'd spent more time putting these things right than he had shifting them for the Agency's benefit. Besides, that had always been more fun, racing to make sure things happened the way they should, trying to make the twists in time straighten out in the end. There was an art to creative causality, and he wasn't about to start sullying it now.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Charlie, I really am. You're just going to have to trust that Emily knows what she's doing."
"Oh, I'm sure she knows what she's doing." The bitterness in Charlie's voice made Jack wince. It was the same as he'd heard from Gerald and Stacy, and no doubt what he'd hear from Tosh eventually. "It's the 'trust' part that I'm having difficulty with."
"I know." Jack's voice wasn't much more than a whisper. Maybe this was harder because he hadn't seen Charlie die, hadn't been back in time for the funeral, hadn't been able to do anything except read Alice's badly spelled report. He'd always wondered what would have happened if he'd been around at the time, if he'd spoken to Charlie before he'd gone out and done something so monumentally stupid. Brave, but stupid. Perhaps this was his chance to find out, to explain that the Weevils weren't just humans who'd been changed, that they were fundamentally alien, and that they couldn't just be talked to, reasoned with or taken down with a pistol and a whole lot of rage.
Charlie was still standing there, watching him, waiting for a reply. Maybe this was Jack's chance to put it right, to see what he should have seen all those decades ago, the loneliness and desperation in Charlie's eyes. Or maybe he was just being punished for not doing so in the first place. That gulf between them was as wide as ever, and he felt like he was missing his chance to bridge it. But there was nothing he could say, so he just shook his head, hating himself for it. "I'm sorry, Charlie. But there are things you're just not supposed to know. None of us are supposed to know them, not until it's the right time."
"And by then it's too late." The bitterness was fading into something that sounded more like soul-deep sorrow. "No one will tell me anything," Charlie said softly. "Nobody trusts me. It's no different in Torchwood than it would be anywhere else."
That stung, but it was hard to deny the truth of it, and Jack just shook his head. "I'm sorry, Charlie," he said again, knowing the words were useless. "There's nothing I can tell you."
"I thought you were from the future." There was a definite challenge in Charlie's voice now, some of that suspicion creeping back in. "If you've already been here-"
"It doesn't work like that," Jack cut across him. "And even if it did, it's been a long time. Nowadays I have trouble remembering the safe combination, let alone what happened this long ago." It was meant to be casual, careless, everything he didn't feel, and it went down about as well as he'd expected.
"You've forgotten us, like you'd forgotten all those people who were killed and hurt this week? Is that what's going to happen, Jack? We all just get left behind?" Charlie was close enough now that Jack could have reached out, put a hand on his shoulder, and it would have been hard to restrain himself if the anger in Charlie's eyes hadn't been so raw. "I just get forgotten?"
Jack hated feeling this helpless, and it took a real effort not to turn that into anger, because Charlie didn't deserve that. Instead, he just gritted his teeth and met Charlie's eyes without flinching. "It's not like I've got much of a choice, Charlie. And I can't tell you what you want to hear."
They stared at each other for a long moment, until Charlie finally shook his head, looking away. "Torchwood was supposed to be better."
"Yeah." There was nothing he could say to that, so Jack just hefted the box of chemicals. "Look, Charlie, you knew when you took this job on that it was going to be like this. That you were going to watch people getting on with their lives without being able to take any credit for helping them. You also knew who you were working for. Last time I checked, compassion wasn't in the job description. I'm sorry." He softened his tone a little, not sure if he was really getting through. "Look, you can either stand there and try to get me to tell you things I can't talk about, or you can get out there and do your job. Your choice."
The words echoed around the corridor, and Jack swallowed hard, no longer sure whether he was talking to Charlie or himself. It had been fun. Mostly. Well, parts of it, seeing all these different Torchwoods, the memories and futures playing out in front of him, as though he was some kind of time-tourist, like the idiots who'd taken a picnic and a yacht to the English Channel to watch the Spanish Armada burn.
This wasn't a game. It certainly wasn't fun, but it wasn't some kind of magical mystery tour. These were lives he'd left, or was going to leave behind, and he'd really, really had enough of it now. He wanted to go home, and not to 2000 either. At some point, home had become a small blue box with a silly flashing light on the top, that he'd more or less given up hope of seeing again.
Charlie was still watching him, and Jack made no attempt to keep his face blank.
"What happened to you?" The words weren't much more than a whisper, but Jack had to look away.
"It's a long story, and I can't tell you most of it." He shook his head. "Look, I don't know how much longer I've got here. Let's get these things sorted out for Emily, then you can go home and I can wait to see where I'm going next." When he turned back, he'd got his best 'brave' smile on, the kind that people didn't argue with because of the brittleness around the edges.
Worked every time, especially when he told himself that he could stop faking it any time he liked.
Charlie didn't say anything as they carefully climbed back up into the Hub, and they sorted the powders and liquids in near-silence, passing the list back and forth and double-checking each other's mixtures.
"There." Jack held the small bottle up, shaking it a little to stir the oddly-coloured contents. "Hopefully Emily will be satisfied with that." As he lowered his hand, he looked over at Charlie, who was putting the stopper back into another bottle with far more attention than was strictly necessary. Choosing to treat the silence as 'conclusive' instead of 'awkward', Jack carefully put the bottle back on the table, resting his finger on the cap. "You'll be able to get home at something approaching a reasonable hour."
"And you?" Still not looking up from what he was doing, Charlie glanced over at Jack, who shrugged.
"I'll wait for my ride, I guess. Make myself comfortable. Don't worry about me, I know where everything is."
"Of course." Obviously coming to the end of a mental struggle, Charlie straightened up and looked Jack squarely in the eye. No good conversations ever started that way. "There's something I think you should know. And I think I need to tell you because I think you already know it. Knew it." He hesitated, frowning. "I think you knew it, and I think you knew because I told you."
"Okay," Jack said slowly, untangling the tenses as best he could and ignoring the creeping chill in his spine. "But, Charlie, there are some things we're not supposed to know in advance."
"I know. But." Breaking off again, Charlie shook his head and took a deep breath. Jack felt his own shoulders tensing in anticipation. He didn't relax even a little as Charlie said, "There is currently another version of you frozen down in our vaults."
Well. That was unexpected, to say the least. Some of the tightness went out of Jack's gut because that was so far from the worst that he'd feared it was almost laughable.
"I'm not going to tell you more than that," Charlie said quickly. "But, I wanted you to know that we find you. That however it is you got there, we find you. I thought- I think you know that. Will know that."
"Right." Mind whirling, Jack blinked a little, trying to get everything straight in his head. It only took him about three seconds to realise that was a pointless activity, and that Charlie was still staring at him, looking for all the world like he'd ratted on a friend. "Thanks," Jack said, clearing his throat when the words stuck. "Seriously. It sounds like quite the big deal."
"It is." Shifting a little, Charlie went back to not being able to meet Jack's eye. "I just thought you should know."
"Charlie." Jack waited until Charlie actually looked at him, then put all the sincerity he could into the words. "Thank you. I've always trusted your instincts and so should you."
Charlie nodded jerkily, then looked around the Hub, snagging his coat from the back of a chair and struggling into it before turning back to Jack. "Thank you for your help with this." He waved a hand at the bottle of soon-to-be Weevil repellent. "It probably would have taken me all day and all night."
"You're welcome." As Jack held out his hand, gripping Charlie's firmly, he tried not to feel like a total bastard. What Charlie had just told him sounded like it was going to save his undying ass one day, while Jack was about to send Charlie out into a world of Weevils without a word of warning. He only realised the handshake had gone on for an inappropriate amount of time when Charlie carefully drew back, giving him an odd look. Jack flashed him a grin, hoping it covered the lapse, keeping it up as Charlie retreated a few paces from the table they'd been working at.
"Well. Goodbye then, Jack. I suppose I won't be seeing you again. Well. Not this you, anyway."
The grin didn't even slip. "Not unless I'm still here tomorrow, in which case you'd better have some of that beer ready for Emily."
Smiling a little, Charlie took a few more steps backwards, then turned and headed for the door. He hesitated at the bottom of the steps, glancing back and giving Jack a half-hearted wave. Then he was gone, and Jack held onto his grin until he heard the upper door slam shut as well, the way it always did, no matter how much they messed with the mechanism.
Slowly and carefully, he leaned down towards the table, resting his hands on it and letting them take his weight. His shoulders hunched, and he let his head hang down, just breathing for a few minutes, in and out, as though if he waited long enough, someone else would come along and solve this for him.
Nothing happened, which was, if he was honest, something of an anti-climax.
Jack lifted his head, looking round the Hub that looked so shiny, untainted by the fires, floods and explosions that would imprint themselves on this place in years to come. He'd moved around for most of his life before Torchwood, never settling anywhere long enough to become attached to it. Now, with these walls rising up and surrounding him, he was starting to understand why, because in this instant, he hated this place. It was his home and his prison, locking him in to one place and one route through time in a way that nothing else had managed.
Except it hadn't, had it? Torchwood was a good excuse, that was for sure, and it kept him fed, clothed and stopped him getting bored. But he hadn't stuck around here for Torchwood, at least not at first.
Lifting his head further, Jack stared up at the ceiling, where the lift would descend from in a century's time. He'd stayed with Torchwood for one reason, and one reason only, that promise of what would come if he could just hang on long enough. The century had turned twice, just as the girl had said, and here he still was. Waiting for someone who had probably forgotten about him long ago.
Jack didn't have that luxury. He couldn't just go on his way, living out his life here in Cardiff. Oh, he could live, but that was all he could do, with no end in sight, and if this went on much longer, he wasn't even going to be able to wait in the right place any more. A hundred years of patience, thrown away in just a few hours. And by what? There wasn't a mechanical time-machine in existence that could have moved Jack the way he'd been shunted about today. He'd known that all along of course, even when Gerald had asked if it was him doing it. Jack was good but he wasn't that good. His vortex manipulator was back at his Hub, and there was just no way that a time jump could be this smooth.
Unless the time machine was of such sophisticated technology that it vastly outstripped anything any human or most aliens could build. Unless it was the most advanced ship in the universe. Unless it was so complex and powerful that it had to be alive to do what it did. There was only one time machine in the universe that matched that description, and he knew whose ship that was.
He'd had enough of these games.
"Where are you?" he yelled, waiting for the echoes to die away before taking another breath. "Come on, it has to be you! Where are you? Is this some kind of test? A lesson? Well, I get it." He paused, listening to his own heavy breathing in the quiet of the Hub. "I got it! Life's not fair. Good people die and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Do you hear me? I got it. Lesson learned!" He stopped again, swallowing to try to stop his voice from cracking and throwing his arms wide. "Just show yourself!" The anger was bleeding into desperation now because it had to be him. It just had to be. Nothing but a TARDIS could have done what he'd been through today, and there was only one of those left. "Isn't this enough for you?"
Jack turned in a slow circle, taking in every dark corner of the Hub, looking for what he knew had to be there. It just had to be. He forced the last of his anger into a surge, his throat hoarse as he shouted, "Please! What more do you want? Where the hell are you?"
The last words died away and dropped his hands, some of the anger seeping away and leaving him feeling empty. His last half-screamed question had left him with little more than a whisper.
"Doctor?"
There was no echo this time, the word too soft to resonate anywhere but in Jack's mind. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. He'd been lying to himself again, convincing himself that what he wanted - what he needed - was going to be true. He should have known better by now.
"Doctor."
"Jack."