Tempus Alternat

The Doctor drops Rose's hand, pulling away from her and Ianto as he races across the Plass. There is only one reason he can think of that he's feeling what he's feeling, and that the TARDIS is feeling what SHE'S feeling. His telepathic abilities may not be the same as what they were before, but he still knows...

Sure enough, ahead of him he can see Jack, standing by his ship, and beside Jack...he sees himself. In brown, of course, the brown suit, can't wear t-shirts, not him, and that coat, that wonderful coat. He really misses that coat. Pulling up along side them, where they stand looking at the TARDIS, he continues right past them to touch the ship, ignoring himself completely.

"Nononono, I'm right here, that's not me, I know, I know, he is, but...oh, you can feel her, too, can't you? Oh, that's new, isn't it? You can sense him because he's me and you can sense her because she's you, oh you clever little girl you..." He grins up at the TARDIS, and then abruptly turns around, smile gone as he regards his counterpart. He's known this would happen eventually, but he isn't quite mentally or emotionally prepared for it, not with everything he and Rose have had to work through to get to where they are now.

"Oh, it would figure, wouldn't it? All of bloody time and space and TWO universes, and we had to end up here and now and so did you. Of course you bloody well would, probably pulled you here ourselves. Well, isn't that just WIZARD."

Meanwhile, four months in the future and 150 miles to the east...

"We could have been so good together!" Christina called to him, her red double-decker bus hovering just outside the TARDIS.

"Christina! We were!" he replied, exchanging farewell smiles with her. He watched a moment as she took off, then stepped inside his TARDIS.

He walked to the console slowly, hands in his pockets, eyes cast downward. Carmen's words drifted through his mind: Your song is ending, sir. It is returning. It is returning through the dark.

"Nah... Low-level psychic, right?" he announced suddenly, discarding his coat and dropping it on the grated floor. "What does she know? Still plenty of verses left in this song!"

He patted the console, beginning to adjust controls. "So, old girl, when shall we go next? Maybe another holiday," he mused. "We did Christmas... Now, Easter... Hey! No. No, never mind. I don't have anything green..."

He contemplated the Time Rotor a moment, then grinned broadly. "New Year's! We didn't celebrate the new year... Might as well go back and catch that one." He flipped switch and levers, programming their trip. "Let's go visit Jack. And Ianto, of course. Plus, that way I'll have a chance to do a bit of research on that Malcolm fellow. And possibly, forewarn them about a flying bus..."

He threw the Dematerialization Switch. "Allons-y!"

---

Seconds later, the TARDIS began to rematerialize. Alarms immediately blared.

"What?!" he exclaimed, utterly confused.

He dashed around, his brow becoming increasingly furrowed as he examined displays and monitors. Several laps around the console later, the TARDIS abruptly changed course, rematerializing just outside Torchwood's 'Tourism' office.

"Good thing the shields were up..." he muttered, examining the data recorded by the TARDIS' instruments. "More of a temporal sideswipe, instead of a full-on collision. But..." He frowned. "That just can't be... That's not..."

He rummaged in his suit pocket and (after setting aside a yo-yo, three peppermints, and some metal items that may have been coins, but could have just as easily been hardware) came to the item he'd been searching for: Martha Jones' mobile.

He dialed a number, holding the phone to his ear as he cautiously exited the TARDIS, glancing right then left.

"Jack!" he shouted as soon as Jack answered, not even waiting for a greeting. He began walking towards the office and, with his voice now lowered to a hushed whisper, he continued, "Jack, I may have something of a problem here... Possibly a very big problem. Maybe... Well, no. I don't think anything will, you know, go boom. But! Either A, I'm already here -- in which case, there is a significant issue with my temporal control -- or two... No. Wait. B, someone else has a TARDIS here, which doesn't make any sort of sen--" He broke off abruptly, frowning, finding the office locked. "And where are you?"

It's early in the new year, and Cardiff is cold and damp with it. The weather is nothing unusual, but it's unusual for Cardiff to start a year in such a damaged state. After the air raids of World War II, it seemed Cardiff would never see such destruction again; few would've ever predicted the bombings that tore the city without warning, and none at all imagined that horrific metal-encased aliens would steal away the entire planet.

Despite the physical state of the city, things have been more quiet than usual. Maybe it's the shock and tragedy that have bonded people together and made things more peaceful.

Of course, it helps that the Rift spent a stretch of time in unusual calm. The average Cardiff resident doesn't know that.

It'd be nice if the calm lasted. With only three people on Torchwood's staff, the decreased activity helped keep things from getting overwhelming. It certainly must've been a relief for Gwen to have less activity when she alone had to cope with it after a strange Rift spike took Jack and Ianto. They'd returned not too long after with the Doctor and his TARDIS, but apparently they'd all passed some two years elsewhere and elsewhen. Torchwood was back to three, and just in time for the planet to move, too. Thankfully, they were able to work on that with others who, like Jack, had known the Doctor. That still left them with only three, though.

Recruiting is never easy and involves plenty of retcon. As the Rift goes wild again— even more than before the planet moved— there really isn't time for that no matter how much they need the extra help. Creatures once content to live in subterranean Cardiff surface in greater numbers than before, more often hostile than not. The Rift dumps on them a relatively average number of objects, but with a much more than average rate of being dangerous. Time-displaced humans and aliens fill the safehouses; as Torchwood gets one moved out, it seems like two more arrive. It's too much for their small numbers.

Any sense of work schedule is gone with all the problems that need solving. Jack insists on a break for each of them here and there for the sake of their sanity, as long as the Rift predictions look a little more reasonable than those for other days. It's beyond exhausting. Jack even takes to calling the Doctor when they can't handle things themselves, and even with undoubtedly ulterior motives to wanting the Doctor visiting, things are very much focused on saving the world, or at least saving Cardiff.

Just when it seems like it might be their calmest day in months, with the predictions good enough to let Gwen take a day for sanity, the Rift alarms go off and send Jack running to the nearest computer terminal.

"What the hell?!" He grabs the monitor as if that'll change things. It doesn't. He bellows out into the Hub as he reads. "Incoming on our roof and doubt it's a late delivery from Santa! We should have time to grab equipment and get up there, but I can't tell what we're getting!"

His vortex manipulator is giving him a warning and he gives it a quick check. "That was a spatial-temporal flux, uncertain range. Definitely not Santa."

He hastily pulls on the belt for his holster, Webley already inside thanks to how often it's needed use lately. So much for the day's predictions. Activity on the Plass will almost undoubtedly require lots of clean-up, both of the area and of witnesses' memories.