PARABOLICAL GRAFFITI

Since Cardiff my flat is currently who knows where in the universe, can anyone recommend an alternative around here?

[Torchwood] Please remember that getting drunk today is an option, not a requirement. That said, enjoy the drinks I left in the kitchen for you. Sensibly.

[Jack Harkness] You still owe me.

[Ethan Thomas] Mr. Thomas, can I trouble you for a moment of your time?

Alright Torchwood boys and girls we going to save Jack? Maybe form a plan? Or do I have to it myself?

Hate this. All of it. They keep looking at me like I'm broken and I hate it. They want it fixed, but I don't know what needs to be fixed. It's hard to remember what it used to be like and it hurts to try and think about it and it gets so loud sometimes. I know I disappoint them. They pity me. I know they do. And I don't want to hate them for that. But I think part of me does.

I just want it over. No more. I don't want to die, except maybe I do, I just want it all gone. I feel like I'm just going to start screaming sometimes and not stop. Maybe it would be easier if he just came back. I didn't think so much. Owen's going to hate me for saying that.

Gone, gone, gone.

He left me with the drums, but they'll go away soon too. They won't stay without him.

Too quiet...I'll go mad without anything to distract me from thinking.

He said it was always. Always his.

So much lies. Gone now. And only the drums remain.

It's better now. The constant drumming. My poor Master. Nobody understood how alone it made him. Now he's not alone. He has me. He needs me. My Master was right. I just needed time to adjust. It's a nice rhythm...reminiscent of Ravel's Boléro. Really quite soothing if I don't dwell on it too much. Something in the background too keep it from getting too quiet.

It's hard to remember what life was like before my Master. I think it's better that way. I'm where I'm supposed to be now. I'm where I'm needed.

It's so constant. So very, very constant. Always there now.

He says I'll get used to it. It won't be so bad.

He's right. Of course he's right.

But for now it's just there. Always there.

Drumming and drumming and drumming.

( Private to Torchwood (Jack, Gwen, Owen, Tosh) )

I'm so sick of rain. It's becoming ridiculously redundant. There wasn't even this much rain in Cardiff. And that's saying something.

This isn't what I expected.

If you did this again, Jack, I'm going to strangle you. Multiple times.

What the heck is going on? What am I in Los Angeles?

...In 2005?

A little old to be playing hide-and-go-seek, aren't we, Doctor? Over a thousand years old, the both of us, and we're still stuck in this cliché little routine of ours. So, let me get this straight, and- feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but: you disappear, you come back, you disappear, you come back, again- sort of like a puppy. Am I right? Because, God, I have always wanted a puppy! Though, I will admit, I may just find them a bit more enjoyable when they're Doctor-shaped.

Oh- so sorry, I've done all this wittering away, and left all of you mindless little pawns in anticipation, haven't I?

I'll give you all a little hint as to just who I am, shall I? Starts with a "Lord" and ends with a "and Master Over All".

Oh! And, try your best not to frown, ickle Captain and crew, I'm quite sure you'll all get there someday.

Right then. I'm in Los Angeles. In 2005. Sadly that's not even an especially abnormal day in the office. The explosion must have caused something to happen with the Rift. I just hope the others are alright. Owen's body can't repair itself if he's been injured. And I would hate for something to happen to Tosh.

Tosh? Owen? Jack?

Fuck. As much fun as typing one handed is, anyone useful for popping a shoulder back in place?