Broken Space

Tory's been scouring the library for Torchwood stuff. It's a pretty standard day for him and one that generally keeps his mind occupied, which is good at this point. He's so intent on finding research materials that he's wholly unprepared for the 8 1/2 by 11, black, spiralbound journal that falls into his hands.

He doesn't even have to open it up to know what it is. But he does anyway, fingers tracing the faded lettering:

Saturday, September 25th. Somewhere in the vicinity of 12:41 A.M. to 1:25 A.M., Colin Stephens moved into 346 68th St., Woodridge, Queens, NY. But who can remember the time of this event precisely?

Tory closes it quickly, heart pounding, hands trembling slightly. How in the world? It's impossible. He pushes the books on the shelf out of the way, wondering if there's some sort of magic portal to his bedroom closet behind them. But it's only the wood of the bookshelf.

"What the hell is going on here?" He says out loud, to nobody in particular.

Having spent the night in his old room in the Compound (without telling Edward), Tory returned to the house they shared in something of a more calm mood. Still, his stomach was a flurry of anxiety as he opened the door. "Edward," he called. Not happy, not angry. Just his name, like he was anyone else.

Only he wasn't, and Tory had no idea how this was going to go.

Edward normally didn't find it necessary to venture terribly far from the home he shared with Tory, but his comments in reference to his conspicuous absence at the wedding had made him think. Tory needed a certain encouragement and a certain presence in his life and Edward, being with him, was meant to be the provider of said comfort. It got him broody and dark.

He knew there was a piano in the common room and, picking a time when it was pleasant outdoors and people were less likely to be milling around inside, he made his way up there and sat down to play.

Tory really wouldn't say it, but after all the social type things revolving around Bran and Ephram's wedding that he attended alone, he was kind of bothered, but wasn't sure how to bring it up.

There was that and the drunken flirting. But that wasn't going to come up. He could squelch a certain amount of guilt, and that could be his little secret for a while.

But all of that was in the back of his mind when he came home from the library after the Torchwood meeting, still reeling from the attack on Fionchadd. He deposited his usual stack of books on a counter, and called Edward's name tiredly.

Edward had never really slept much at night. As a vampire, he hadn't needed to and now, as a human again, nights were filled with musings on how to fluster Tory and watching Tory sleep. As such, he was in Tory's bunk taking a nap, back turned to the door.

Asleep, but still a light sleeper.

Edward didn't usually get affected by changes in weather (part of being a vampire, after all) but since he was human and the island was tropical, it was inevitable. It was particularly miserable today and Edward felt like the ever-present breeze had utterly stopped just to spite him.

There weren't many people around the part of the island he usually kept to and he thought nothing of stripping down to his shorts and diving beneath the ocean waves. Vampires had always been quick in the water and Edward had always been a strong swimmer, so he didn't have any worries about drowning.

Besides, who would notice if he did? He wasn't particularly friendly.