Nothing Else but Change
Chapter Five
I believe the future is only the past again, entered through another gate.
Arthur Pinero
The TARDIS was different. Gone were the greens and golds of Jack's memory, replaced with soothing blues that faded to white around the central console. That was much the same, although it seemed to have even more pieces of string and sticking plaster on it, and the time rotor was almost colourless. Through it, Jack could see a man, standing and watching him.
He didn't move, barely dared to breathe as the man - the Doctor - began to circle the console, touching switches as he went, as though something would happen to the TARDIS if he took too much of his attention away from it. Maybe it would. A lot had changed since Jack had last stood here, not least the man now coming around to face him.
"Hello, Jack. It's been a long time." The voice was gentle, almost toneless and there was a deep weariness in the Doctor's eyes.
In the past century, Jack had had a lot of time to think about what he'd say when he got here, when he was finally face to face with the Doctor again. Now, here he was, and all he could think was how old the Doctor looked. How tired.
As though reading his mind - and who said he wasn't? - the Doctor smiled sadly. "Yes, I know, bit of a disappointment for you. But even regeneration can't keep you going forever."
"How long-" Jack began to ask, but the Doctor waved a hand vaguely.
"There are things that even we're not supposed to know, my friend." The smile was starting to make Jack uncomfortable, the peacefulness of it so different to the Doctor he remembered, who'd been full of restless energy and swift, broad grins. When this Doctor spoke, it was as though each word cost him a few seconds of his life. His last life. But there was still a sparkle deep in those age-old eyes, and when he raised an eyebrow, Jack felt something like relief at the familiar gesture. "So," the Doctor said, more briskly. "You've been messing about with time travel, have you?"
"Hey, it wasn't my idea," Jack protested, holding up his hands. "You're the one with the TARDIS."
That seemed to amuse the Doctor, and he turned away for a moment, adjusting a screen on the console. "I think you'll find," he said, waving Jack over, "that you are only fifty-percent correct."
His months on the TARDIS were a long time ago now, but everything Jack had learned came flooding back to him, slowly at first as he tried to interpret what he was seeing, then in a flood as he recognised the symbols.
"That's a time signature," he said, feeling stupid as he looked over at the Doctor, who was nodding.
"It's more than just a time signature. Look again."
There was something familiar about the arrangement of circles, glyphs of a language that Jack barely understood. He'd learned to read the basics though, the bare minimum that the Doctor had been able to teach him so that he could help around the TARDIS.
And that was what the symbol reminded him of. The interlocked rings were what Jack would have expected to see if they were running a diagnostic on the TARDIS' systems, to show that she was working properly.
The symbol was the one for an operational TARDIS.
This time when Jack looked up, that melancholy smile was back on the Doctor's face.
"Am I reading this right?" Jack asked, trailing a finger over the outer circle.
"Mostly, I expect." Folding his arms, the Doctor leaned against the console. "The real question is where did you find it?"
A TARDIS. Jack blinked as he looked back at the screen. That was definitely the symbol for a TARDIS, and not for this TARDIS. There was another TARDIS out there. The thought was enough to make him giddy.
"I didn't," he said, the Doctor's question finally seeping into his brain. "I think it found me. Something came through the Rift, blew up half our equipment. I thought maybe it was a power surge, some weird piece of alien equipment."
The Doctor huffed a little. "It was, in a way. She's hiding for the moment, just lurking in our time stream, but she's definitely there, and she's definitely interested in you."
"Well, who could blame her?" Jack said, only half-aware of what he was saying. Because, well. A TARDIS. It didn't even seem possible. He only realised he was staring again when he felt a light pressure on his shoulder, someone leaning against his arm.
"She's young," the Doctor said, so close to Jack's ear that his breath stirred Jack's hair. "Probably confused and frightened. She latched onto you because of your- Well. Nearest living mind, I suppose." Shifting a little, the Doctor made a show of sharpening the focus of the screen. Even after thirteen lifetimes and hundreds of years of experience, the Doctor was still a lousy liar, at least as far as Jack was concerned. There was an answer to his questions lurking there, Jack was sure of it, but he was willing to wait for the right moment to ask. One thing at a time.
"It's funny," he said instead, "Gerald asked me if I thought I was doing this to myself. And it was good, seeing him and Charlie again, however briefly. Do you think she knew that?"
"Of course." There was absolute certainty in the Doctor's voice. "She's been taking you where you wanted to go, where she thought you needed to go." Reaching past Jack, leaning against him even more, the Doctor patted an empty space of console. "They're good at that. Where did she take you?" The question sounded innocent enough, but only if you didn't know the Doctor.
Turning his head a little, so that their noses were almost touching, Jack looked into the Doctor's bright blue eyes. They were close enough that he could see himself reflected in them, and for a moment, he thought he saw more figures behind him, stretching out and on into infinity. Every face from Torchwood that he'd known, and every face he would know, all those lives that would pass him by, that he would leave behind. The weight of the years had felt heavy in the last few hours, but looking into the Doctor's eyes, he knew that even those hundreds of people, thousands of years that he'd lived and would live were barely a fraction of what the Doctor had seen and experienced already. It was a weird sense of perspective and just trying to adjust to it was making Jack's head spin, even more so when the Doctor blinked, shattering the illusion as he pulled back a little.
Jack did the same, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "I think she was taking me where I wanted to be, at first. Places where I was safe, at home." Times of comfort, sharing a hug with Tosh, a drink with Gerald. Jack took a deep breath, then said, "And I think she was taking me to places I regretted not being, where I couldn't make the difference I wanted to. People died or suffered because I wasn't there." Stacy and Charlie, both warped by Torchwood in their different ways, forced down paths of destruction, and there was nothing Jack could do about it. He knew that now.
Nothing he could do. He bit his lip, the force of realisation hitting him like a tidal wave.
"Jack?" The Doctor's hand closed around Jack's wrist, the contact pulling him back to the present, to the warm lights and gentle hum of the console room. "Jack, what is it?"
"I know where I need to go." The words almost stuck in his throat, and even as he tried not to think about them, he felt for the first time the gentle pressure against his mind. It might have been there all along, building so slowly that he hadn't even noticed, or it might have just made the connection, latching onto feelings that ran deeper than he could say. Whichever it was, he knew it was there now, a second humming to match the one he could hear with his ears, this one softer, higher pitched, but definitely there. He shook his head, not sure whether he was talking to the Doctor or the fledgling TARDIS. "I can't go back there."
"I think you're going to have to, Jack." There was a sternness in the Doctor's voice that caught Jack by surprise and he looked up, shaking his head. Ignoring him, the Doctor went on, "She's in your mind now, and trust me, she knows you better than you know yourself. You don't have a choice in this."
"There has to be a way to make her-"
The Doctor interrupted him. "No. You don't make a TARDIS do anything. She's a living being, Jack, and she's letting you come along for the ride. If you're lucky, you might even learn something."
Sheer frustration made Jack's voice sharper than he'd intended "And what have you learned?" he asked, trying to moderate his tone a little before going on. "What am I going to learn? I mean, I've got a lot of time on my hands right now. I've got as long as it takes, all the lifetime you need." He shook his head, finding the calm he needed, because this was too important for him to lose it now. " Tell me, Doctor, what great mysteries of the universe am I going to learn by having to look people in the eye and not telling them how they're going to die?"
The Doctor leaned back against the console rail, looking at Jack with the same weary calm that he'd had when Jack first arrived. "They live before they die, Jack. Maybe you'll learn how to do that too."
When Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to look at that cool, composed expression any longer, he felt the TARDIS in his mind again, trying to wrap around him like a blanket, trying to draw him away from the pain and into its embrace. Except that it would take him to the place that hurt the most, give him the chance to change events, make things better. And that couldn't be done. The TARDIS - his TARDIS, and boy, that was never going to get old - wanted him to, though, and didn't seem willing to take no for an answer.
Still with his eyes closed, Jack said, "If I do this, if I go where she wants this time, will she take me home afterwards? To my own timeline, I mean."
"You'll have to ask her." There was a rueful note in the Doctor's voice. "Most of what goes on in a TARDIS's mind is a mystery, I've found, but if she's young, she'll probably take at least some of your advice. This is a big responsibility, Jack." He waited until Jack opened his eyes to go on, "The TARDIS is a living being, and she'll need looking after. She's young and scared and a very long way from home." Pursing his lips, he seemed to wrestle with something for a moment, then added, "She can't go home any more. You'll need to give her one."
There was something in the way the Doctor said it, the weight he put on each word, that chipped away at Jack's defences. He'd been thinking of the young TARDIS as doing this to him, but just maybe he was doing this to her as well. Self-pity was all very well, but he knew he could get used to having her there, a constant presence at the back of his mind, a constant reminder of what he'd stayed at Torchwood to do. He was waiting for the Doctor. The right Doctor, not the man in front of him, old and tired and worn.
"Alright," Jack said at last. "Look after her and do what she says. Got it." He hesitated, needing to ask, and knowing he wasn't going to get an answer here and now. "Doctor," he said softly, "what happened to me?"
The dual hum of the TARDISes was the only sound for a long moment, and Jack was starting to wonder if the Doctor was going to say anything at all.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry, for everything. Believe me when I tell you that things change, even you, and that I'm not the man I was." That sad smile was back, and the disappointment settled as a lump in Jack's stomach. As though sensing it, the Doctor shook his head, looking away. "You have been the one constant in my life, and I thank you for that. For more than you can know right now. But I can't answer your question. Not yet."
Jack didn't trust himself to speak, not even sure what he would say if he did. Watching the Doctor, watching him wrestle with whatever was going on behind that old face, all Jack could feel was pity, and an echo of the love that he'd had for him, a long time ago. He'd always thought that when they met again, he'd be angry, furious and probably a little desperate. The desperation was still lurking there, but it was overlaid with a veneer of that old affection, whether he wanted it or not.
One of them had to break the silence, and Jack decided to volunteer.
"So." He coughed a little, then tried again. "So. What do I need to do? Do I click my heels together and tell myself there's no place like home?" He was making a real hash of trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn't like the Doctor was doing any better.
As though agreeing, the Doctor gave him a grateful look before gesturing to one side of the console room. "If you ask me, you just need to walk out of that door. She'll know what to do, and so will you."
"Right." There was still a rectangular door cut into the side of the console room, although at some point it had acquired huge wooden beams around it, possibly to hold it in place. Who knew around here? "Simple as that, huh?" He turned back to the Doctor, who didn't seem to know what they were supposed to do now any more than Jack did. This wasn't his Doctor, this wasn't the man he'd been waiting for, and somehow, a goodbye kiss didn't seem appropriate. He still hadn't decided whether he was going to greet his own Doctor with an embrace or a right hook, but neither worked right now. This whole brief encounter had left him unsatisfied, still with more questions than answers, and it looked like that wasn't going to change at the last minute.
Screw that. He hadn't managed to make a dramatic entrance, but he was damned if he was going to exit quietly.
"Be seeing you, Doctor. Soon, I hope. Thanks for nothing." Spinning on his heel, he strode towards the door, not planning on looking back.
"Jack!" It was the first time he'd heard any warmth in the Doctor's voice, and it stopped him despite himself. The Doctor waited until he'd turned back, the silence hanging between them again. He was standing by the central console, one hand on the panels, the other in his trouser pocket. It was probably just a trick of the mind, the same thing that had made him see all those Torchwood people earlier on, but for an instant, Jack felt as though he could see all the other Doctors, all those years of experience and loss and love, bearing down on this one, tired old man. Jack shivered as the Doctor said, "Goodbye, Jack. Good luck."
And in that moment, as much as he couldn't find it in him to forgive him yet, Jack couldn't hate him either. He raised his hand awkwardly.
"Goodbye, Doctor."
Once he'd managed to make himself turn around and walk towards the door it was easier; easier still when the doors opened smoothly at his touch, and Jack strode out of the TARDIS.
And back into the Hub.
It wasn't unexpected, but it still made him catch his breath when he glanced over his shoulder to see nothing but a blank wall behind him, no sign of that familiar blue box. There would be time and alcohol enough later to sit and mourn that loss again, but for now, Jack shook himself and peered up and down the corridor, trying to get his bearings.
This Hub felt so familiar that it threw him for a moment. Somehow, he'd expected it to feel as strange as all those other Torchwoods. Instead, it really did feel like home, and that was disconcerting in its own way. His instincts were telling him that he was on level four or five, somewhere near the shooting range if the faint smell of gunpowder was anything to go by. Level four, then.
Orienting himself, he headed towards the nearest ladder up into the main Hub, trying not to hurry but trying not to take too much time either. There was no way of knowing exactly what was waiting for him, and Jack hesitated with his hand on a rung of the ladder, half-catching his breath. As he waited for his nerves to settle a little, something at the back of his mind tingled, and he turned in time to see the faint glow at the other end of the corridor. He recognised it now for what it was, the vortex energy swirling from the heart of a TARDIS. He'd only seen once before, and even then, he'd obeyed the Doctor when he'd told him to look away. This time, he stared into the little ball of light, willing it to come closer and not knowing if that was a good idea or not. Faced with the choice of the unpredictable effects of the vortex and what was waiting for him up in the Hub, Jack would take the vortex every time.
As though sensing that, the light began to fade again, leaving Jack blinking away the afterimage and wondering what the hell it had meant. Was that approval? Comfort? Was the TARDIS who'd adopted him trying to tell him something? Or was it as confused as he was and looking for him to give it answers?
He was damned if he knew, but he wasn't going to find anything out standing down here in the dark. Pulling himself together, he turned back to the ladder and began to climb.
It wasn't like Jack was a stranger to time travel. His century of service to Torchwood aside (it probably didn't count if you didn't have a choice), the longest he'd ever spent in a continuous timeline were the years of his childhood, and that had been short enough. Since he'd joined up, fought a war and got kicked out again, he'd hopped from place to place and time to time, never stopping long enough for anyone to catch up with him, not even the Agency. So he was used to walking into times and places that he'd seen before, and his mind catalogued the changes automatically, assessing and processing before he really knew what he was doing.
Looking around him now, he realised how little he'd changed about the Hub in the two weeks since he'd lost his team. Apart from the paperwork, he hadn't cleared anything away, hadn't moved anything, hadn't made any permanent alterations, even thought the place could really use it. He hadn't taken the balloons down, or done anything to clear up the streamers or bottles of drink that were all ready for the millennium celebrations that the team would never have. Beyond that, there were six tiles missing up by the catwalk above him, where they'd had to shoot down a nasty Mynock, and the low bridge over the pool at the bottom of the water tower could really use a handrail. Of course, there were also about a hundred other routine maintenance jobs that they all should have done in the last year, but Torchwood didn't exactly give them much time for routine things.
"Jack?"
It was strange, Jack thought as he turned around slowly, how many different ways there were to say his name. One syllable, one vowel sound and infinite inflections of meaning.
Over in the doorway of his office, Alex was standing with a puzzled look on his face, glancing from Jack to the main door. "I didn't hear you come in," he said, the same confusion in his voice that he'd put into Jack's name. "I thought you were out with the others."
Jack hadn't known how he was going to handle this moment, what lie he was going to tell, but now, he knew, with absolute certainty, what he had to do.
"I am out with the others," he said, almost surprised at how steady his voice was. "And I'm here with you."
You didn't get to be head of Torchwood without being quick on the uptake, and Jack could see the moment Alex caught up. He straightened a little, looking Jack up and down. "Past or future?" he asked.
"Future."
There was silence between them for a long time, just the sound of the water flowing down the tower and into the pool, and the ticking and whirring of the computers around them. Alex wasn't stupid, and he knew Jack far too well to be fooled by his attempt at a poker face. After another few tense seconds, Alex lifted his chin a fraction.
"Are you here to stop me?"
"Maybe." Coming a few steps forward, Jack made a show of looking away into one of the Hub's dark corners, which also brought the nearest computer into his line of sight. The clock in the corner read 21.45 31/12/99. Closer than he'd hoped. He looked back at Alex. "Do you want me to stop you?"
There was no hesitation at all. Alex simply shook his head, one hand going into his pocket. "You have to understand, Jack. This is for the best. I've seen it. This is what I have to do."
"This isn't mercy, Alex. It's murder." Jack was trying to keep at least some of his attention on Alex's posture, the hand hidden in his pocket, while also trying to keep his brain on track. It probably would have helped if he'd known what that track was supposed to be, but he'd never been scared of improvising. He took another step forwards, bringing him to just a few yards from the office door. Alex tensed a little, and Jack tried to force his body language into something approaching non-threatening. Even if this was all he did, even if he didn't - couldn't - stop Alex, he had to ask the question that had been haunting him. "Why?"
Whatever else he'd been expecting, it wasn't for Alex to deflate so suddenly, his shoulders slumping and knees almost giving way. Jack moved instinctively, catching him before he could hit the ground in a crumpled heap. Everything was so surreal, everything crashing around him as, in his arms, Alex began to cry.
For all that he wanted to, Jack couldn't cry with him. He'd barely shed a tear in the two weeks since he'd lost his team, and if he started now, he didn't know he'd be able to stop. All the grief that he'd felt, then and now, the frustration and anger at what had happened was growing hard and cold, a steel core that meant when Alex looked up at him, face red and streaked with tears, Jack couldn't find it in himself to pity him. He gripped the trembling man by the shoulders and shook him.
"Why, Alex? What the hell could be so awful that this was your only answer? What happened to you?" It was easier to be like this now that he was here, looking into the face of a man he no longer recognised. This wasn't the Alex he had known, who'd been solid and sure and full of life. He wondered why he hadn't seen it sooner.
For answer, Alex held out the hand, the one that had been in his pocket. Hanging from his fingers was the locket that Jack had retrieved from...from the body. He swallowed, forcing himself to hold it together for just a little longer. By the time he'd picked it up, it had been blank and cold, with no sign of how it could have driven Alex to do what he'd done. Now, it was glowing gently, lighting up further when Jack reached out and traced one of the engraved lines with the tip of his finger.
"What is it?" he asked, resisting the urge to just snatch it away. This thing was the cause of all the trouble; maybe if he could destroy it now, he could stop it all from happening.
Even as he thought it, he felt a jolt of something, running along his finger and spreading out through his body, like a spike of electricity through his skin. Alex stiffened and pulled away.
"No," he said, and Jack overbalanced, sitting down hard on the cold concrete and scrambling backwards as Alex slowly got to his feet, his free hand reaching under his coat. "I can't let you do this, Jack. I can't let you stop me."
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. Jack was here to get answers, not to get caught up in things like this. As Alex moved to stand over him, he wondered how the hell he always ended up like this, with more questions than answers and looking down the barrel of a gun.
"I'm sorry, Jack," Alex said, looking down at him blankly, although his face was still red and blotchy from his earlier sobbing. "I have to do this. This," he held up the pendant, "means that I have to do this. You haven't seen what's coming. You don't know what it's like. I can't- I won't put my people through that."
Jack had faced down more than his share of madmen both before and during his time at Torchwood, and he knew the signs well enough. Alex had the calm, determined look of a madman with a mission. They were the most dangerous, because they couldn't be reasoned with, appealed to or persuaded. Jack had wanted to understand what had happened, what had driven Alex to this point, only to find that there was no reason, just the paranoia from some kind of alien device. He didn't know if that made it better or worse.
Despite himself, he found he was laughing, a deep down hysteria that bubbled up as much as he tried to keep it down. He turned onto his elbow, hardly able to hold himself up as everything poured out of him, all that pointless, futile grief. Maybe he'd thought that because he'd given so much of himself to this place, Torchwood owed him something, some kind of explanation or justification or just a reason that he could tell himself to make things better, to give his duty meaning. Except Torchwood didn't work that way. There was no end in sight, no end and no sense to be made of this. He should have known that, after all the changes he'd been through, all those losses and partings and deaths. He should have known that there was no reason for it all, that he couldn't look to anyone else to make sense of it for him. He was all he had, and he always would be.
When the torrent subsided, he was still half-lying on his side, panting hard as he tried to pull himself back to the present. He felt hollow inside, empty and purged but with some of the cold determination returning, and he turned over enough to look up at Alex.
"If you're going to shoot me," he said, the words rasping in his throat, "then just shoot me."
Alex gave him a sad smile, the same one he'd had just before he'd shot himself in the head. Maybe he'd smiled like that at the team as well. "Goodbye, Jack."
Jack was really sick of people saying that to him. He'd half-opened his mouth to say as much when Alex raised the gun and Jack's world exploded with pain and darkness.