Broken: A Time Lord's Story (Doctor Who Novel)

Chapter 4 The Tardis Chooses

Jack Harkness stood on top of the Millennium Centre, gazing down at the last of the theatre-goers heading for the car park. Happy, blissfully unaware people who looked like ants scurrying around the Plass. Even up here, he could hear music spilling out from neighbouring pubs. Saturday night and all was right with the world, or at least the part that was Cardiff Bay. The crowd had a beautiful night for a good time. Jack glanced up at the clear star-studded night sky and then down at the bay, enjoying the way wharf lights mixed with the moon's reflection to dance like fairie lights on the ripples of the water.

For once, luck favoured the team. In fact, the last couple of weeks had been downright peaceful. Breeding season for the weevils had ended, nothing had come through the rift in almost a month and the government wasn't harping about expenses. While not quite a vacation, it would do until one came along. Maybe a few months from now -- in Paris. Paris sounded good. He knew of a lovely little place down on the River Seine where he and Ianto could bring the stopwatch and play. The image of the Welshman cavorting about the room brought a smile. The epic weekend would have to wait, though. A guy couldn't have everything, not even an immortal one.

The roof of Torchwood Tower had long ago become his sanctuary. Up here, concealed by a perception filter, (the last thing he needed was a report of Batman on top of the building)‭ he looked down on the bay and reflected on the state of his life. A strong, cold breeze whipped up around him, making him grateful for his great-coat. Up here, the chill in the air bit into his skin, tingled and stung, reminding him how good it felt to be alive. Here, he could truly unwind, especially at the end of a bad day or in the middle of a sleepless night.‬ The idea of explaining his presence always tamped down that urge to feel a bit superior to the folks below.

‬Someone whooping from a nearby pub shifted his attention from the bay rippling in the night to the street below. The revelry outside the pub brought back memories of the nights when the entire Torchwood gang partied in those same bars. He didn't party much anymore. At least not on the Quay. The moment of sadness reflected in his eyes. Sometimes he swore Owen still flirted, and Tosh still twittered after a simple drink in those pubs. An unexpected buzzing from his wrist startled him,‭ ‬bringing an end to the review.‭ ‬A quick punch of numbers entered the code to deliver the security feed to his wrist monitor. His eyebrows merged when the CCTV showed a quiet control room. He switched camera feeds to the cell hallway. "What the ..." he muttered at the sight of spooked weevils cowering at the back of their cells. He turned the camera for a better view and almost fell off the roof at the reason for their sudden fear. After three long years, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Jack ran for the lift, whooping like the drunken club patron below.

The TARDIS sat at the end of the hall. The TARDIS meant the Doctor had finally paid a call. In the Hub.

He bounced on his heels, waiting for the platform to descend and then raced for the holding cells. Each long stride came with a list of greeting lines through his head. ‬The last time he saw this silly box, he had regenerated.‭ He'd obviously stopped for a refill of rift energy. A cute young red-head ‭followed an impossibly young Doctor out onto the street. Jack remembered how hard his heart pounded at the sight, and the crushing disappointment that followed when the Doctor walked out of view of the CCTV cameras.

Now‭ ‬here sat the TARDIS.‭ ‬Jack waited; ‬worry notching up a level when no one came out. Without realising, ‭not sure what to expect, ‬he held his breath and reached to open the door. A nervous chuckle escaped when it cracked open to an entirely different interior. Everything had changed. Copper replaced the coral struts;‭ a glass floor and staircases with proper railing replaced the metal grating and ramps.‭ ‬Silly do-dads still dominated the console.‭ ‬New dials and an ancient Royal typewriter replaced the bicycle pump.‭ ‬Red and yellow pumps turned out to be mustard and ketchup.