MISS COOPER
The Time Jumper Disclaimer: I don't...well...nah, I don't own anything, really. Author's Note: Oof. This story is over a year old, and I hadn't realised! AND I haven't updated this since the end of August. Now, that's bad; that's very, very bad and I'm sorry. People will get e-mails saying this has been updated and will just go 'Yeah..erm...what's happening, again?' Yeah...apologies. If there's anyone who isn't particularly fond of the Doctor...oh, what am I saying? That's ludicrous! No, it's just, this chapter is fairly Doctor-heavy. Maybe I should save it as a Torchwood/Doctor Who crossover? Hmm. The details about the Doctor are fairly central to the plot, I think and...ignore Bilis' cryptic warning at your peril! It's something...major! To anyone who's still reading this, thank you very much! Previously: "Who are you?" one of the men spat; the one who had spoken first. "Me?" said the second voice breezily. "I'm the Doctor!" He sounded…young. Exuberant; full of beans, self-assured and a little bit cheeky. His voice conjured up images of a youthful smile and manic energy as she tried to match a face with a name. Jack's mysterious 'Doctor.' The 'right kind' of Doctor? She'd always imagined him to be…older, a bit regal-like; a severe, authoritative cross between Han Solo and Prince Charles. She opened her eyes blearily at the sound of the Doctor's name, her curiosity getting the better of her. She strained her neck in an attempt to see what this Doctor looked like, but she barely had enough energy to lift her head. It felt as if her skull had turned into iron and that someone was drilling right through it. Her thoughts were still disjointed and wooly; every stream of consciousness seemed to take on the consistency of stretched elastic, stretched too far beyond its potential. Her eyes flickered across to Jack, slowly and she tried to concentrate on the individual stitches and fibres of wool that made up the shoulder of his coat; some dark navy, others lighter and purplish as she listened to Bilis and the Doctor. There was an awful, rattling noise, like the sound of an old person choking, which set her teeth on edge and drove a small shiver down her spine. In her fuzzy, concussed state, it took her a while to muddle out that Bilis Manger was cackling to himself like a malevolent warlock; the sort of chilling laughter she thought she'd only ever hear in old horror films, and she let out an involuntary whimper. Jack's hand had tightened on her shoulder. Whether it was to reassure her or whether it was just an angry, frightened reflex at Bilis' laughter, Gwen wasn't sure. She lay, only semi-conscious, like someone just about to fall into the pull of sleep, vaguely feeling as if she were floating, as Bilis' demented laughter subsided and silence rang through the ruined office. "Of course you are," said Bilis silkily, sounding amused and patronising, as if placating a sulky child. Gwen knew that if she had been able to look at him, his dark eyes would have been glittering with an ominous glint as he smiled nastily at the Doctor. "Of course you are," he repeated fervently, with a triumphant sort of quality to his voice. He sounded gloating. Dangerously so. "Forgive me, an old man's indulgence," he said softly, not sounding in the least bit apologetic. It was as if he were toying with him-dangling bait in front of his nose; playing with his food before devouring it. "I just wanted to hear those words for myself, I'm sure you understand," he hushed pleasantly. "Rather than in echoes of ripples across timelines..." "Meaning?" "My dear Doctor, do not disappoint me," Bilis said disapprovingly, in a whispered, almost breathless tone. "The three words that will cause your death…the final words of the last Time Lord. Exiled and abhorred by his own people. By all accounts," he said playfully, as recalling a piece of delicious gossip. "There are precious few who will hear them." Bilis was taunting the Doctor in much the same way as he had taunted Jack and Gwen; reveling in his role with acidic words and hissing delivery. He reminded her of a snake. Gwen felt another spark of anger build up at the back of her skull; another dull emotion to add to the complex whirl of feelings careering round her mind. Her anger at Jack had not dissolved, yet it wasn't as prominent as everything else; the bolt of compassion she'd felt towards him when he'd run into the room shouting her name; anxiety at what Bilis was doing; why the ceiling had caved in; confusion over the sudden appearance of this Doctor, and every feeling of abandonment and helplessness that the mention of the Doctor dredged up. But torturing this Doctor about what his last words would be? That was inexcusable and unforgivable. She felt Jack move beside her, hand automatically groping for his absent gun in anger, heard his outraged intake of breath. The Doctor though, seemed unabashed. From where he was standing, probably a few metres from where she and Jack were lying, she heard clusters of rubble and plaster move, as if he'd begun pacing, or had kicked a chunk of stone out of the way in boredom. "Really?" he asked genially, and it was clear from his tone that he either did not believe Bilis, or he was finding it hard to summon up any kind of interest in what he was saying; as if matters of last words were quite beneath him. "Those are my last words?" It came out sounding like a disappointed whine. "Still, better than 'Go to your room', I suppose," he admitted, and by the way his voice echoed loudly across the room, it sounded as if he'd glanced in their direction as he said this, especially seeing as Jack gave a small sniff of recognition. "Small problem, though," the Doctor continued breezily. "Time. In. Flux. They could be 'Bibbity Wibbity,' though I really hope they're not, or they could be, 'I don't believe it' or… 'Yes we can'…I'd rather not know, thanks so button it! Ta." Gwen felt something soar inside her chest as the Doctor's indignant rant pittered off. He'd told Bilis off. And he hadn't even raised his voice; as chirpy as you like. Here was a man who could take on Bilis…out-maneuver him as if they were playing a game of chess. She felt inexplicably confident and hopeful, like she could really trust the Doctor, as if he could sort it all out…She innately knew, without seeing, that Jack had given a large grin in early triumph. Bilis spoke, undaunted. "As waffling as ever, Doctor," he commented critically. "Oh, yes!" replied the Doctor happily, as if Bilis had paid him a huge compliment. "Though quite alone," whispered Bilis, and Gwen could tell, from the thick, heavy silence that suddenly fell between them, and the chill of dread that gripped her chest and stomach, that Bilis had landed a powerful blow. The Doctor made no answer. "Ahh," remarked Bilis, triumphantly, as if spotting a vital flaw. "Not quite so arrogant now, Doctor…imagine that; a Time Lord with no arrogance! Inconceivable, is it not? Let me not be similarly guilty of such rudeness," he said smarmily. "Let me enquire after the health of your charming companion…I trust Miss. Tyler is well?" And that was when Gwen's mouth exploded into a convulsion of agony; one wave of pain after another. Searing, red-hot pain unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Her every tooth seemed to be on fire; a razor-sharp agony that gouged down into her jaw and sent white spots dancing furiously across her vision and thick tears form in the corners of her eyes. It was like…like volts of electricity had been stabbed across her teeth and she yelped like a wounded animal, so loudly that she didn't realise that Jack was screaming too… The Doctor ignored the pained yells of Jack and the dark-haired woman, half-buried in the dusty rubble behind him; his eyes snapping towards them for less than a millisecond as they started to thrash around as if they were fighting off invisible demons. Under any other circumstances he would have bounded to Jack's side, anxious to find out the source of their shouting. A delayed after-effect of their energy saps, perhaps? Pain detections? A pre-lapsed vision plant? But something about the look in Bilis' eyes rooted him to the floor; something about the way he'd said, 'Your charming companion' left him cold and instantly suspicious. He knew. Bilis knew that she wasn't with him anymore, that he'd lost her, and he was exploiting this. He knew that the mere mention of her name would cripple him with sadness, the ache of loss, regret and hurt, and how deeply he missed her…that was why he'd said it. He was going to use the Doctor's emotions as a weapon against him, or something to bargain with. Using Rose against him. He stared at Bilis, at the midnight-black, merciless holes in his skull that acted as his eyes, containing nothing but malice and deep-rooted contempt. Eyes that knew far, far too much and he hoped that his own eyes did not betray him. What was he doing, this Time Jumper? Oh yes, he knew who he was, knew what he was. Knew he wanted to open the Void, but why? He could guess that the Daleks could be involved somewhere, but why? He'd worked out Bilis' thinking towards Jack and his colleague in almost a split-second, known that Bilis would have wanted to use them to open the Void, using Bilis' own, more primitive trains of thought. It was the reasoning behind it that he was having problems in recognising. Why? At Bilis' comment, an unshakable feeling of unease and horrific realisation crept across him. He could not permit himself to speak. "But, of course," said Bilis smoothly. "You have parted company from your little human. Such a pity. She did so dote upon you, the silly child, and you in return sent her hurtling into the jaws of hell. Still," he said reasonably. "Time convenes; molding and shaping….bad wolves will howl and levers will break." Something incomprehensible strolled across his mind; something dark and death-like that hit him harder than a bag of hammers. Only he and Rose had been in the Ghost Room when she'd fallen into the Void. The memory; one he'd buried deep within his mind, came careering back to him; the feeling of the cold, hard clamp beneath his fingers; the soft, fluffy texture of the blue jumper that she'd been wearing; the force of the Void, trying its utmost to pull him in as he clung on to the handle, desperately. Her last, triumphant grin at him as the Daleks whizzed past between them. The panic and pain on her face as she held on to the lever, her eyes never leaving his…the feel of the cool, smooth wall as he leant against it. Only he and Rose knew that the lever had broken. "Levers will break…" Time Jumper. Void. Rose. No! A creeping coldness spread through the Doctor, followed by a surge of blinding anger that had his Time Lord senses tingling; his nerves standing on end, raw and sharp. There was a rumble of unquenchable rage growling in his chest, ready to surge its way out as soon as his now-brittle self-control slipped just a tiny bit. A build-up inside his very core; the unstoppable terror of the Oncoming Storm…. Bilis watched him, motionlessly, like a lion watching his prey; calculating, alert and menacing. "Ah, the torment of enlightenment," whispered Bilis. "Do you see?" he asked icily, standing unnaturally still. "Tell me that you see, Doctor. Tell me you understand…Because I saw," he told him tonelessly. "I saw that you would condemn the Daleks into oblivion and I decreed that with the right, ah…leverage," Bilis sniggered appreciatively. "Such an act would not go unpunished." "The imprisonment of the Daleks in the Void was always going to happen," retorted the Doctor quietly, his breathing shallow. "It's a fixed point in time. It can't be undone." "Ah, but the perpetrator of such an act can be undone…at the loss of an ordinary human, no less," taunted Bilis, reveling in this, enjoying every second. "You're quite correct, of course, Doctor. I saw, like you, what would inevitably happen, and so added in a little twist of my own…" Bilis' tone changed; became more syrupy and grating, almost fatherly; sordidly parental. "Do you think she misses you, Doctor? Do you think she still calls your name, screaming it into the darkness after the nightmares you can no longer save her from?" He sounded wondering. Thoughtful. Almost pensive. Creepily obsessed with seizing upon the right answer… The Doctor stared down at the chalky floor. He concentrated on an off-white and grey stone of rubble beside his left foot. Listed how many elements it was made up of, recalled their positions in the Periodic Table; thought about the Greek symbols they were represented by and went through the numerous steps of chemical reactions they'd spark off if they were mixed with other elements. Satisfied that, at the moment, his instinctive rage was not about to manifest itself in the form of murder, the Doctor raised his eyes to look at Bilis, his gaze unrelenting and utterly unforgiving. "You broke the lever," he stated calmly, eyes fluttering over Bilis; his neat hair and pristine suit; a little once-over that still seemed to penetrate him. It was not an accusation or a question, as he needed neither. It was a simple clarification. "You made sure she would fall." His tone was tortured, yet resigned as if he were talking, not because he wanted to, but because he was afraid of what he would do if he didn't. Bilis looked at him as if he were a very clever little boy who had completed a school exercise to a particularly high standard, who would be rewarded for his efforts with a nice, shiny gold star. His answering smile, that crinkled up the corners of his insect-like black eyes with chilling self-satisfaction, was all the answer the Doctor needed. "How about a change in decoration, dear Doctor?" offered Bilis prissily, his smile manic and nasty. Without waiting for any indication from the Doctor to show that he had heard him, Bilis clicked his fingers. The sharp, cracking sound was sickening, like a human bone being cracked into two. The Doctor found himself in a long, white, brightly lit room with smashed, expensive-looking glass doors at one end and a blank wall, lit up with floodlights at the other. It was familiar. Heartbreakingly familiar. Not the warm, nostalgic familiarity you feel after meeting an old friend you haven't seen in years, but a painful, haunting ache that dug hollows in his chest. The same sort of burning sorrow and longing that he felt whenever he dropped off into sleep every few months and dreamt of Gallifrey; the burnt orange sky refusing to fade away from his mind's eye, always unreachable. It had been a while. He'd thought…well, he didn't know what he'd thought…or expected. But when he found himself once more in the very same room that he had lost Rose…he felt just as broken now as he had then. The pain had not dissipated with time. How could it have? It was like no time had passed at all. There was an ache in his chest, pulling at his shoulders; it burnt at the back of his eyelids and welled up, unmovable in his throat. Rose had been…so many things. Proof that there was still something worthwhile left in him. She'd loved him. He'd accepted that, albeit unwillingly…not that he understood what it was about him that made her stay with him, made her choose him over her mother. Someone to show him that there was still hope. That he could learn to be a better man, because she'd believed in him, so he'd had to give it a try, hadn't he? Hope that he wouldn't always hurt so much, wouldn't always feel such guilt, such self-loathing, because it had lessened since he'd met her and so he had allowed himself to hope that she would keep on making him better and…eventually he'd be good enough for her. Hope for what else? That they'd always have each other because she'd stubbornly refused to acknowledge the idea that they'd let any other outcome happen, any other path take its course. She made him want to keep on traveling the universe, enduring all the death and suffering, just so he could see the wonder and excitement in her eyes. So he could see how happy he had made one fragile human being. Yes, it was selfish, of course it was, but she had meant more to him than anyone else. She wasn't even his species, but she'd provoked stronger feelings of awe, affection and pride in him than the Time Lords ever had. And that…probably wasn't how things were supposed to work. Frankly…he didn't care. He hadn't ever told her he loved her. Because he didn't. He didn't love her. It was just such a ridiculously human, banal notion. It wasn't enough. Humans literally couldn't feel, couldn't comprehend anything greater than love. But Time Lords could. Could feel so much more. To say he loved her was cheapening and undermining… The numbness he'd felt as he'd leaned against the wall, knowing that she was just on the other side of it, yet still an entire universe away. He hadn't felt like that since Gallifrey had burned. Time. His power over Time made him a Time Lord, yet Rose gave meaning to the term, 'The Doctor.' He'd lost his best friend and therefore lost himself… That was what he'd felt that day. And he could feel it now; feel it gnawing at him as he stood here, Bilis only metres away; dark and shadowy, his back to the vast white wall; the opening of the Void that he and Rose had sent the Daleks through. Jack and the dark-haired woman were lying, sprawled in one of the corners, only half-conscious…yet they couldn't see what he could. The room would have stayed the same for them. This was his perception. He could close his eyes to the room, try to black it out, but it would be no good because the white, hateful room…he'd still be able to see it in his mind. There was another reason, too. He'd rather look at Rose. Behind him, like part of an unfinished photograph, the Doctor could see two life-size, corporeal-looking figures of himself and Rose. It was like watching a moving image of a real person on a cinema screen. He could make out the soft creases in the figure of the Doctor's crumpled pinstriped suit, see the dark roots of Rose's hair against her scalp, contrasting with the brittle blonde colour of the rest of it. Yet, he could tell, from the golden tinge that tinted them both; the gilded glow that surrounded them like an aura so that it looked like they were glimmering, like the iridescent sheen on oysters, that they were made up of potential time energy. They weren't really solidly there at all…they were energies and emotions of what could have been portrayed as images, like inverse ghosts. If ghosts were an echo of what had passed, these were ghosts of the future, of what might have been… She'd been holding on to the clamp with her arms locked in the same, unmoving position, as the pull of the Void had swept her feet out from under her, as if gravity had been lost and her arms wrapped around the clamp had been the only thing keeping her grounded. The muscles where her arms met her chest were aching. She'd gone through a very brief phase when she and Shareen used to go to the gym. That had lasted only about two months, as the only reason Shareen had wanted to go in the first place was because she'd fancied some muscular bloke who perpetually wore very short shorts and a tight t-shirt. The aching in her arms was similar to the feeling she used to get the next day after doing those weights machines. The insides of her elbows felt tender, as if they'd been knocked together and her hands felt sore and stiff; the joints complained when she stretched her fingers out, as if she were suffering from a bad case of writer's cramp. The Void had died down and closed, and so dazedly, not quite able to believe that it had worked, she had untangled herself from around the clamp, grinning over at the Doctor. Relieved. Exuberant. She'd kept her eyes fixed on him, half fearing that she'd be pulled into the Void herself if she looked away. She tried to run over to him, but her legs felt weak and spindly, like they were made out of matchsticks; they didn't seem to want to carry her. She felt like she had pins and needles; the nerve endings were all numb. Adrenaline and fright could do that to her, the Doctor had told her, once. Clumsily, like a toddler taking her first, tentative steps, she tried to half-run over to the Doctor's clamp but her legs buckled underneath her and she tripped, collapsing flat onto her backside. Laughing at herself, gleefully, her head tilted back, she flung her arms around the Doctor's neck as he reached her side, bending, half to hug her, half to help her up. Finding herself quite unable to scramble back to her feet, as her limbs refused to listen to any sort of electrical impulses sent from her brain, she just hugged the Doctor tightly, giggling helplessly to the point that she was nearly hysterical. "We did it!" she squealed happily at him between laughs, smiling impossibly widely, her eyes shining, letting him take most of her weight. "Yes, we did," the Doctor agreed proudly, chuckling along with her, chin digging into her shoulder. "We did it…we…we're…" she burbled breathlessly, pulling away from him enough to give him a dopey grin with her tongue sticking through her teeth, which he returned, before reaching for him again and resting her head on his other shoulder, her hands fisted into his jacket. The Doctor, his grin a mile wide, adjusted his grip so that he was hugging her around the waist rather than her back. Rose was shaking, breathing heavily, clutching at him but still tittering. She was probably about three seconds away from crying tears of relief. Stress- shock. Couldn't help it. Both of their eyes were watering anyway; it had been like being caught up in a particularly strong wind machine. Gently, the Doctor pulled her to her feet by her wrists, keeping a hold of her so she wouldn't topple back over. Flicking windswept hair off her face, she pressed her lips together to hold back a teasing smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling as something just above the Doctor's head caught her eye. "Oh God, look at your hair!" she laughed, reaching up to pat it down, gingerly. "You look like you've been dragged through a hedge!" The Doctor sniffed. "I like hedges." But Rose was looking down at a damp black smudge on the side of her hand, from where she'd swept her hair off her face. "Ok," she said slowly, eyes serious as she squinted up at him. She gestured at her eyes with her two first fingers. "Mascara. How bad is it?" The Doctor considered her, thoughtfully, careful to keep his face blank. "It's…fine. Honestly…brilliant," he assured her, unconvincingly. Rose arched her eyebrows at him. The Doctor burst out laughing; rubbing at her cheek with a long finger and turning it round to show her the dark stain on the pad of his finger. "Awful," he admitted, with a nod still laughing. "Ridiculously bad!" he insisted, picking her up in a hug and swinging her round as she started laughing again and weakly demanded to be put down… The golden figures of himself and Rose faded away. So did the smells and emotions that they had brought with them. For a few minutes, the Doctor had been able to feel their giddy relief, feel the electrifying adrenaline that had been coursing through them, feel the happiness that radiated off both of them, feel the friendly affection they felt for each other as the figure of Rose touched the figure of the Doctor's hair and as he touched her cheek. Faintly, he had been able to smell her. Rose's perfume that she'd been wearing that day; it had been the same perfume she'd worn when he'd tried to take her to see Elvis; the fresh washing powder scent of her clothes; the smell of her shampoo clinging to her hair, and that warm, unnamable smell that was uniquely Rose. He had photographs…probably…somewhere; he had memories, perfect images of her in his head, but it had been years since he'd been able to smell her. It was Rose…so Rose. Home. Safe. Warmth. Love Affection. Laughter. Compassion. It made his eyes feel scorching hot and it made his jaw and his chest ache. This was it. This was him, unraveling; the pressure in his skull finally becoming too much; his emotions boiling over. He was very, very aware of the double beats of his heart, pumping blood through his body at an increased rate; he could feel the fabrics of Time running through his mind like slippery satin; he registered the dull ache in his lower jaw as he clenched his teeth as if his teeth were made of granite. This was the Oncoming Storm…about to be unleashed. This time…there was no stopping it. He could only hope that Jack was sharp enough, aware enough to cotton on, to keep up, because he could only give him one chance. Just one. Acting so quickly that it could have been a reflex, he plunged his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and, his thumb fumbling with the settings, pointed his Sonic Screwdriver in Jack's direction. Bilis leered at him and openly laughed, showing yellowing teeth, like stubs of old parchment. "Ah…Memory Lane. How quaint," he sniped, his inky black eyes clouding over in revulsion. His steely smile faded as he looked over the Doctor's shoulder with a slight, putout frown. "Teleport," he growled in realisation, turning dark, accusing eyes at the Doctor. "Time Agent," supplied the Doctor, with a hostile glare, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Jack…or rather, where Jack had been. "He's good at disappearing," he said bitingly, to antagonise Bilis, but the pride in his voice was more than evident. Bilis exhaled a soft laugh and gave a conceding nod. "Yes, and yet he's even better at causing the End of the World, is he not? The world will end, Doctor…at the exact moment that his oh-so-human heart…breaks," he told him, savouring his cryptic, mysterious words with relish. "I can promise you that," he whispered, his eyes mournful, taking half a step towards the Doctor, moving for the first time in quite a while. His movements were jittery, like those of a spider's, and he stretched a frail-looking arm towards the Doctor, his skin yellow and papery, as if to touch the Doctor's face. "I have," he continued, softly. "I will…I do." He took a step back again, his footfalls silent, smiled indulgently at the Doctor…and disappeared. He had Jumped. Gwen hadn't realised that she'd fainted again, until she came round, still lying in the same position, covered in a sheen of sweat, her jaw aching and her mind reeling. She could only have been out for a few seconds. Her mouth felt like she'd had all of her teeth punched out, and then stuck back in haphazardly like bits of Lego. She could feel something damp on her neck, but didn't know if it was sweat or blood; it had crept in to the hollow of her throat. There was a taste of something metallic at the back of her mouth and her tongue felt thick and heavy, and was throbbing. She'd bitten it. Breathing heavily, she wildly looked around for Jack, disorientated, panicking for a few seconds that he'd disappeared, but she made out something warm and fleshy lying on her wrist and she patted it, desperately. It was Jack's hand. And they were lying on the floor of Bilis' office in London…and the ceiling had collapsed…and Jack's Doctor was here. That was about all she could process; her head felt like it was stuffed with fluff. Nearly shaking with relief, she grasped it and shook it, as if to wake him up and squeezed herself as close to him as the rubble between them would allow. "What the hell was that?" she asked him, panting. The arm that had been trapped between hers and Jack's bodies before, was free, and so she tried to lift it to her mouth, wanting to feel her jaw, to see if it was dislocated or something, but her wrist gave a sharp twinge of pain that jolted right up to her elbow. She let out a muffled cry of pain, biting down on her chapped lips to silence the sound and decided to keep her right arm where it was. Better. Just. Jack's breathing was heavy near the top of her head; she could feel his hot breath on her temple, and turned towards it, unthinkingly. "That was the rest of the team looking for us. Must have noticed we're missing," he whispered to her, quickly. "Torchwood fillings. Act as tracking devices," he explained stiltedly, as if this was not something that he wanted to go into huge amounts of detail about, just now. She attempted to say something dry and sarcastic, just to add a hint of normality into this absurd business, but Jack shushed her and hissed at her to listen. So she did. Bilis and the Doctor's voices still sounded jumbled and distant, as if they were coming from a poorly-tuned old radio, but if she concentrated; really, really listened so that she could hear the blood pounding in her ear drums, she could make out that Bilis was saying something about levers and punishment. It was hard, trying to stay tuned in; like trying to concentrate on a dull lesson on a hot Friday afternoon in the summer at primary school; when the windows are open to invite in a humid breeze, and the sun's baking down through the windows, heating your shoulders, and all you really want to do is lick on an ice-lolly, lying back on the dry field. But the pain in her wrist, and the weak throbbing in her jaw readjusted her focus and she heard Bilis say, 'Do you think she misses you, Doctor? Do you think she still calls your name, screaming it into the darkness after the nightmares you can no longer save her from?' ' She'. He was taunting the Doctor about a woman; evidently someone who had meant a lot to him, otherwise he wouldn't have used it as ammunition, would he? 'Misses you'…'Still'… 'No longer'… Right. It was a woman he'd lost. She could vaguely remember Bilis saying something about a 'Miss. Tyler' before her mouth had exploded…She swallowed, wanting to ask Jack what was going on, because she was completely clueless and she hated being so powerless, but she could sense that he was listening intently, and so she thought better of it. She listened in silence, keeping deathly still, until Bilis made that horrible, cracking sound with his fingers and Gwen flinched, mentally preparing herself for another change in her perception of the room. The room though, stayed exactly the same; just as war-torn; the air was still thick with dust that clogged the back of her throat and tasted like bricks and libraries. Whatever Bilis had done…it was just for the Doctor. There was a long, cloying silence, in which neither Bilis nor the Doctor spoke or moved; she'd have been able to hear the rubble shifting if either of them had, and the uneasiness that drifted over her made her feet itch, made her feel claustrophobic. Beside her, she could feel Jack beginning to tense, as if readying himself for something, coiling his energy up; she could feel the shift in his manner; he suddenly seemed so much more alert, like a predator about to spring. How or why…she didn't know. She couldn't feel anything different, but Jack seemed to be waiting for something, like waiting for a bomb to go off; she could feel the thick adrenaline he was giving off in waves, and it set her stomach churning with nerves and anticipation. "I think I know what he's doing…" he growled at her under his breath. "Gwen. Keep a hold of me, you hear? Tight as you can," he instructed, his arm going tighter around her so that his hold was nearly painful. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was trying to crush her windpipe. Blindly, she trusted him; nodding, her dark hair splaying over his coat. She was still trying to puzzle out what the hell was going on, a dull throb beating behind her sinuses, when she heard a funny, whirring noise, like those clockwork toys that you find in Christmas crackers, that you wind up and then release them on a flat surface and they whiz about the place like spinning tops. Before she was even aware of what was happening, Jack's hold around her upper arm had tightened, and with momentum from God knows where, he rolled her over so that she was literally lying completely on top of him, all of her weight pressed fully against his chest. "Wha-?" His hands scrabbled behind her back for a second before his arms went fully around her and…she felt the world shift. Her eyes closed of their own accord; her vision going immediately black, but with flower-like shapes and spirals of colour whirling across her mind's eye, like some sort of light trick. She scrunched them together, her face falling into a tight scowl. Her ears popped; the same sort of disorientating sensation you feel when taking off in a plane, and she swallowed her own saliva; she couldn't help it, even though her mouth was dry. There was a pressure behind her eyes, a dead weight resting on her chest, constricting her breathing, pushing in on her from all sides, as if she were being squeezed through a tube. This must be what drowning felt like…except there was no water; there was just air; she was drowning in air; there was just darkness all around her; she felt as if she were on an impossibly fast waltzer, unable to stop, unable to think, unable to breathe…until her back slammed into very hard, very musty damp ground, and all of the wind was knocked out of her… "All right," Jack groaned in her ear. "Maybe a bit too rough. Even for you," he panted, trying to get his breath back as he rolled off her. Gwen gave a noise that something between a cough and a laugh. Was there ever a time at which Jack would deem it inappropriate for some form of innuendo? She collapsed into a full-on coughing fit, coughing up bile and dust, tears streaming down her face, spitting it all out onto the ground. Jack eased her into a sitting position, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Hey, hey, hey. Easy," he admonished, gently, rubbing her back. Sniffing back tears, Gwen shot Jack a grateful smile and buried her face in his shoulder, hugging him one handedly. Almost immediately, she let go of him, distracted, and gaped round at her surroundings. She'd thought it was just her eyes, reacting to whatever it was that Jack had done to them, but she saw that they were in fact sitting in what looked like a dank, dark cellar, or something. The only light was from a dim orange security light fixed to the ceiling, which seemed to be made of paving slabs. It was a wide square room, with damp, pebble-dashed walls, and the floor was cold and wet. It seemed to be made out of concrete, but encrusted with mud and moss in patches. It smelt…old and musty; like a flannel that has been left sitting in stale water. To her right, were steep stone steps leading up to a tiny pinprick of light. Daylight. They were somewhere underground. There was nothing else in the room, apart from a thick, metal door directly in front of her, a bit like a heavy firedoor. It was a deep, red-wine colour and chipped with bits of rust, not too unlike the crash doors they had leading to the tunnels at the Hub. Beside the door, sticking out of the brick wall, Gwen could make out a complicated-looking keypad; the sort of ones where you key in a couple of digits to open a door release, but beside that was a card scanner, a bit like the ordinary ones you found in shops for paying with credit cards. If that wasn't enough, beneath that, she recognised something that was evidently a fingerprint pad and a retina-scanner. High-security… At first glance, she'd thought that the doors were blank; the poor lighting hadn't exactly helped, but when she focused, she could see that, where you would normally expect to find a door handle, there was a very familiar painted black symbol. A large 'T' made up of hexagons; the symbol of Torchwood, embossed on the metal. "Where are we?" she breathed, massaging her sore wrist. Jack sighed heavily. "Torchwood," he said shortly, his voice hard and reluctant. "Department Zero."
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