Knowing the Narrative (Profiler, Profiled)

James Novak looked up as a man in his mid fifties and a business suit walked into the room. His first impression was that this was a man accustomed to being listened to. On his heels was a woman who couldn't have been far out of her teen years. He couldn't even identity the color of her hair. What struck him was her eyes and the strong, tired look in her face. She had seen more in her life than most, more joy and more sadness.

“Castiel. My name is Aaron Hotchner I'm with the FBI.” The man said taking a seat.

“I'd like to ask you a few questions, is that alright?”

“What is your friends name?” Castiel replied instead.

“My name is Sasha Jordan Scott. Is Dean the only one who calls you 'Cass'?”

Castiel sat straight up in his chair. “How do you know that?”

“Dean has referred to you by that name three times in the last 45 minutes.” Aaron Hotchner answered. “Is it reserved for him?”

“No, Sam calls me that rather frequently.” He looked from the FBI agent to the woman and back again. “What is your purpose here?”

“To try to get you to stop killing people. To find out why Sam is hunting these people, what makes them monsters in the eyes of the Winchesters and to discover why you are with them.”

“Most of that I can agree with. But I'm not convinced talking to you is a good idea.”

“Because you think you can't get through to us? Or because Dean wouldn't like it if you talked to us?” Hotchner inquired.

“Because for all your honorable intent you don't understand the Winchesters. And there is no way to convince you of the truth.” Castiel said sharply. He took a short breath.

“And because Dean asked me not to say anything.” He finished lamely.

“I think you'll be more inclined to answer my questions.” Sasha prompted. “They are slightly more informed than what you would here from Hotchner's team.”

“I make no promises.” Castiel responded, considering her carefully. “But go on.”

“How long has it been since Jimmy Novak's soul ascended to heaven?” Castiel sat up even straighter than he had been. Hotchner performed a similar maneuver. “None of the three of you have ever met me before. But I do feel like I know you, for whatever reason. I know you consider yourself the Winchesters guardian. I know you were super worried Dean was still especially pissed at you at one point but when it was all over he tried to defend you. I know only two things seem to matter to you: what Dean thinks of you, and Dean himself. I know you didn't like Sam at first but he taught you a lot. Dean may be the righteous man but they are both good men. Now please tell me, how long has it been since the cemetery?” As if to make some sort of a point she holds her right hand next to her head and snaps her fingers once. The gesture must mean something because Novak's face instantly calms, his entire body seems to calm, thoughtful and purposeful. “Five years.”

“Emmanuel.” James Novak nods.

“Clarence.” Another nod.

“Gadreel.” Novak starts but nods, wordlessly.

“Hannah.” For the first time since he was brought into the station the man looks uncomfortable. As if he just now realized the woman across from him should not know

any of these things.

Sasha for her part seems to have retreated into herself slightly. Her hand to her chin, as if deep in thought. She squeezed her lips tight. “Hotch, we have two people we need to find right the hell now.”

“Amelia and Claire Novak.” Hotch said without hesitation.

“No! You leave them alone.” Castiel demanded, his voice low, almost thunderous.

“You do remember them?” Hotchner says with no small amount of surprise.

“He's suddenly feeling bad about his vessels family.” Sasha noted, almost absently.

“What. Are you. Doing?!” Castiel growled, punching out almost every single word.

“You misunderstand me Castiel.” Sasha said softly. “I'm not trying to threaten you.”

“And neither are we.” Hotchner interjected, trying to force some semblance of reason into the conversation. “We just want to make sure they're safe. And at the risk of sounding like a complete and utter douche bag. Dao si obećanje Džimiju. Pokušaću da ti pomognem da ispuniš to obećanje.” She stood up and walked out of the room.

Aaron Hotchner or 'Hotch' as most of his team called him waited a few moments. He pushed his chair back away from the table. “What did she say?”

“I...I don't understand.” The man was all but frozen in place. His eyes seemed to be the only thing working besides his jaw. “I don't understand.”

Sensing they weren't going to get anything else out of the man, Aaron stood turned, and walked out of the room.

Castiel looked down at his hands, and then up at the one way mirror. His assurance at apparently having found an ally undercut by his confusion at the detail of that ally's knowledge. This woman, Sasha had not only known Jimmy Novak was quite literally no longer with him, she had even known to call Jimmy his vessel. Most concerning, she knew the exact moment he had been atomized by Lucifer. Lucifer, who, possessing Sam's body had merely snapped his fingers once and ripped his body, his vessel – Jimmy Novak – to shreds. 'you made a promise to Jimmy. I will try to help you keep it.'

“..Then we have to find a way to reach Jimmy Novak.” Hotchner concluded.

“Castiel.” Sasha interjected. Hotchner, JJ and Prentiss all looked up at her. “If you want to get anywhere with these guys, call him Castiel. It's what he prefers to be called. You should call him that for that reason alone. As far as the man in there is concerned Jame Novak died 5 years ago!”

“You mean we have to join the narrative in order to fight them?” Rossi's comment drew a vague, tight smile from their friend.

“I'm saying you have to approach the narrative from their standpoint rather than your own. These guys are the hero of their own story and their lives have given them a master class at seeing through other people's bullshit. Castiel is practically autistic which means he reads people as clearly as I do.”

“I've been meaning to ask you about that.” Reid admits.

“Discerner of the motivations and intentions of the heart. Everything that is not of the body. I read body language like words but...”

“You feel everything as clearly as if it was directed at you.” The unit chief Aaron Hotchner surmises.

“Being around someone like Morgan actually makes me a little nauseous. Intense, unrestrained, unfiltered, if there weren't so many other input patterns in the room you would feel destructive.”

“Input patterns?” JJ asked, suddenly struggling to keep up with the conversation.

“The multiple sources in the room. And the stabilizing influence some of us are having on you.” Reid clarified.

“JJ is a protector, and a mother twice over. Protects her family and her team. Her emotions are natural, even if they can't always come out. Rossi and Prentiss are very schooled. I couldn't get a read on either of them if I tried. The very fact that they keep such a tight rein on their emotions means there's not much there for me to read. I can give generalizations. You're both professionals and in your own ways a lot like soldiers. Duty, honor, sheep dogs.”

“Sheep dogs?” JJ queried.

“Happy and normal until someone attacks your flock. Which is where this ties back into your case.”

“I was wondering when we were going to get back to that.” Morgan huffed.

“Castiel considers himself the Winchesters guardian, their protector. He honors your work, what you attempt to do day in and day out. He's just shaking his head that you are so completely wrong about who he considers to be righteous men. Or at least Good men. Don't try to reach Jimmy Novak. Try to get through to Castiel. And by the way, the Winchesters didn't do that. At least, not intentionally.”

“Do I want to know?” Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi asked simultaneously.

“If you ask the question I'll assume the answer is yes.” Sasha replied, a bite to her voice that hadn't been there before.

Reid raised his hands. “Actually we should stop to think about whether any of us even DO want to know. And apply what we've learned to the case..to the people,” He corrected himself “..in the holding cells.”

“I'm all for that.” Prentiss acknowledged.

Her comment effectively ended the conversation as everyone who wasn't already standing stood up, gathered files and made their way out the door.

Hotchner walked up to Sasha. He didn't speak right away. “I did notice you kept throwing some, surreptitious glances my way while you were talking about being an empath. Am I easy for you to read?”

“Yes but, it wouldn't have been respectful to share publicly what I get from you. It is too easily misinterpreted. Or seen as a violation of privacy. Justifiably so.”

“I appreciate it.”

“It wasn't just for your sake Aaron. I don't need these people hating me because I violate personal boundaries.”

“Still, I appreciate it. What do you sense from me?”

“The part relevant to this case? Castiel would see you as a kindred spirit. He is a warrior of God, a solider. At one time he would have done whatever it took to accomplish his mission. And that still drives him. And yes I am talking about Castiel not you. But it describes you as well, doesn't it?”

Aaron Hotchner didn't answer. He knew there wasn't the need.

Flashed of Captain Jack

 Samuel Francis Taylor was strolling down a rather deserted Georgia Ave in Washington DC. He'd just had a promising interview at Tubman elementary school and was feeling like grabbing a quick latte at Starbucks before heading home. It was a very ordinary-feeling morning, and had been, it seemed, a very ordinary couple of weeks. Now those who knew him best knew him as a man of action, a solider. And it is not easy for a solider to stomach the ordinary, the mundane...at least not for very long. “But that's why I did this isn't it? So I could have an ordinary life?” It troubled him greatly That his life was so empty compared to what it had once been. What he could not have guessed was his life was about to get much less uninteresting.

There he was, seated at the front window table at Starbucks drinking his customary Peppermint Latte, the epitome of minding one's own business, and he found the person sitting along the far wall starring at him. He tried to ignore it, and for about 4 and 1/2 minutes he succeeded. Eventually he couldn't stand it any longer, and walked up to the man.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Taylor asked softly, but firmly.

“I'm sorry to stare.” the man replied in a gentle tone. “It's just you remind me of someone.”

“Is it a good thing or a bad thing that I do so?” Taylor asked with a bit of a sardonic edge.

“Well, I guess a good thing. Take a seat if you want. I think we'd attract less attention that way.”

“I can't argue with you there.” Taylor replied, pulling out the seat across from the stranger. “So who is this friend I remind you of?” he continued conversationally.

“Oh I'm not mistaking you for him.” The younger man said quickly. It's just you remind me of an old friend, whose been around the universe a time or two...his words not mine.”

“Hehe, this might be a smaller world than I gave it credit for.” Taylor said grinning.

The younger man stared at him as though sizing him up. An embarrassed look crossed his face for a moment but Samuel just shrugged as if to brush the awkwardness away. “Listen,” the younger man said slowly “I realize how strange this is to ask in a city this sprawled, but are you new to the area?”

Taylor raised an eyebrow but made no vocal comment. He was too busy figuring out how to reply to the question. He didn't know if he was right that this young stranger was a professor at one of the colleges in town, but he was clearly an academic. Getting the impression he was in the middle of a staring contest he raised his eyes to meet the other man's and replied softly. “I have a place some blocks north of here, but have only been here for a few weeks. Not sure if I'm staying...” he eyed the man steadily and, deciding there was nothing sinister about his demeanor. It stood in his mind that there was no harm in opening up, at least a little bit. “It depends if I get a job in the next month or so.”

“What sort of work do you do?” the stranger asked, sounding a little too interested.

Still, Samuel was courteous as he replied.“I don't wish to seem rude but...I don't really know who you are.”

“My name's Spencer, Spencer Reid.” the young man said amiably.

“Call me Samuel.” Taylor replied. Spencer's face actually seemed to droop at that. “What is it?”

“Nothing. It's just I thought you might have been the Captain.” Samuel's expression grew stunned and his back straightened sharply. “What is wrong?” the younger man asked, genuinely concerned.

“Well, first of all, how can you think I'm him and not know for sure by my face? Secondly, if you mean Jack Harkness, we have a question and answer session coming up.”

Spencer Reid's demeanor grew uncomfortable. His entire body seemed to quiver as he replied. “Ah, I'm not sure where to go from here.”

“I can understand that.” Jack, as you'll remember was his real name, replied calmly. “I'll assume The Doctor is the man whose 'been around the universe a time or two'. I'd say we should start there.”

There was a note to his voice that Spencer found confusing, but he decided not to put his new friend off by saying so. So he lowered his voice and stated: “True, but not here. We might draw some...unwanted attention.”

Jack couldn't argue with the logic of that statement. And in view of the stares they were already receiving by the indoor patrons, he saw only one other course of action. He just hoped he didn't sound like he was inviting the man to a romantic dinner or something like that. “My flat's about 10 blocks away?” He ended his words on a high note to indicate that it was merely a suggestion as well as his hope for agreement.

Spencer was on the point of agreeing when his mobile rang. He drew it out and saw 'JJ' on the ID. “Not the best timing in the world!” He said calmly, but clearly irritated.

Jack just grinned. He wasn't sure who this kid was, but had made up his mind to do whatever he could to find out. It was a sensation Spencer thoroughly shared. Jack watched Spencer methodically pack his laptop and dress in his layers. It was fairly simple, his next step. And fairly obvious.

“Ten blocks north, two blocks East, apartment 103. I'm there almost all hours of the day. And I know enough of you to know it's as good as telling you the address.”

Spencer looked up. Something about the Captain told him not to let this guy walk off into the night. “Do you have a pen and paper handy?”

“Never leave home without them.” Jack replied cheerfully as he drew the requested items out of his pocket. Spencer wrote furiously on one of them.

“Here's my cell number. We have a lot to talk about when I get back.” He hesitated. Something was incredibly different about this man, almost contradictory. He made up his mind to do everything in his power to find out what; and there was only one way he knew to do that. “Jack, do you want to come with?”

Jack's expression held a greater degree of amusement than surprise. “It's weird for me to hear you call me that. But it makes sense I guess. But what would I do? For that matter what do you do?”

Spencer chose to ignore what he thought was sarcasm. “Help my team and I solve what's at least a double-homicide. I'm with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. We call ourselves the BAU.”

“It'll be nice to see if I'm actually up for some of this weirdness.” Jack said in reply as he stood up. While Jack walked back to his seat to get his jacket, Spencer called Hotchner on his cell phone and got the answering machine. “Hi Hotch, it's me. I'm bringing a friend with me on this case. I'll to assume you'll want things kept under wraps but...It's Captain Harkness. Enough said.”

“How much do you guys know about me?” Jack asked from the front passenger seat of Spencer's car.

'Not too much.” Spencer replied honestly. “Just that you traveled with a man we call 'the Doctor' and that you once met with Colonel Jack O'Neill.” Spencer looked over at his friend, waiting for some reaction at the name...none came. “Our team leader Aaron Hotchner and I met up with him at a restaurant a month or so ago...Do you not remember him?”

“Doctor Reid. I barely remember myself.”

“Then there's one more thing I ought to tell you. Only Hotchner, Garcia - our technical analyst – and I have even met the Doctor. I'm pretty sure no-one else on my team has a clue who he is...” Spencer paused his speech, hoping no further description was needed; it wasn't.

“...So don't bring him up as a character reference?” Harkness finished for him. “I got ya.”

“Who's your friend?” Agent Rossi asked the instant Spencer walked in to the conference room.
“My name is Captain Jack Harkness.” Jack said in reply, as though the question had been directed at him in the first place. “Spencer wanted me to join you in your latest case and I want to see if I can help.”
“I see.” Agent Hotchner said slowly. “Well I don't really see all that clearly. Why do you think you can help with murder cases?” Jack looked thoughtful for a second, clearly wondering how much he should say. Spencer quickly jumped in.
“Listen, I realize how weird this sounds. I'm asking you all to trust me on this, give him a chance.”
“Good enough for me.” Hotchner said. And clearing his throat, he continued with the briefing. “We have three dead women in San Francisco. Melissa Jansen, 34, murdered in her North Beach apartment home. Sophia Dristan 27, Condo in Pacific Heights, Cassidy Miles 34, in her loft above Fillmore Street Boutique. Each kill was 4 days apart, each with throats slashed and an incision in their left forearm. San Francisco police has invited us, unilaterally, but there are jurisdictional conflicts. The last murder was 2 days ago which means if the unsub keeps to his timetable, we have two days to prevent another murder. Wheels up in 20.”
Sidelong glances were cast in Jack's direction as everyone bustled out the door. He wisely chose to ignore them and kept his attention focused solely on the pictures of the crime scenes. An hour and a half later, as they flew to San Francisco, the typical examination of possible motive more or less over with, Jack asked Hotchner to come sit beside him. It was a request Hotchner had absolutely no problem adhering to.
“You're not as dubious as the other members of your team.” Jack observed quietly.
Aaron Hotchner looked Jack in the eyes a moment and let his gaze drift from the top of his hair to his waist. More specifically, to his wristwatch and pistol. “I don't know if having you here is a particularly good idea. On that much I agree with them. I'm curious as to your abilities and the best way to learn is in the field.”
Jack stared at him. This wasn't what he'd expected. “I'm not planning on joining the team or anything. I only want to have input in this case, I don't care about involvement in the group.”
“Well that will put Morgan at ease.” Hotchner joked dryly.
“I'll keep with my last remark and NOT ask what that meant. But tell me this, if you will, is Spencer's intuition usually right?”
Hotchner paused, unsure what to reply to that. “Spencer doesn't usually make intuitive leaps. But he knows what he's talking about most of the time. And nine times of ten he's correct in his conclusions.” Jack's mind seemed to process this information quite quickly. Of greater concern to Hotchner was how familiar he found the expression on the man's face. It was almost Reid-like. Eventually the look became more placid and Hotchner stopped staring. “Fair enough?” he asked the soldier-like man they'd brought along. Jack nodded.
Aaron stood up to join Derek Morgan and Agent Rossi near the front of the plane. “I assume you heard most of that.” he said as he sat down.
“Who is he?” Derek Morgan asked bluntly.
“Including Spencer, he and I have at least two friends in common...I'll explain that later. But he wants a chance to prove himself. I don't see a problem in giving him that chance...” Hotchner held up his right hand to stop Morgan from questioning his judgment. “It's not typical I know. Neither is Spencer taking a stranger on faith. Then again, for all we know Spencer's known him for a while, though this is the first we've heard of him. I don't know if he can help or not, but if he can I don't want to miss this opportunity. But profiling the Captain is not our assignment here, agreed?” Rossi nodded and turned back to his file folder. Derek shook his head as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing; but nodded his agreement nonetheless.
Almost 11 hours in San Francisco passed without incident. Hotchner and Jack had set up at the Pacific Heights office, David Rossi and Derek Morgan at North beach. Reid and JJ had gone to canvas Fillmore st. They were no closer to finding the killer, or even a theory as to how the 'unsub' as they called him selected his victims. It occurred to Hotchner that there was another 'fresh set of eyes' he could call on, that might actually give him some insight into the stranger they'd brought with them. At this very moment he was sitting across the table from said stranger, and they'd agreed to a 'no secrets' policy between them.
“You seem pensive.” Harkness observed without looking up from his papers.
“I have a call to make. An old friend of mine might be able to help.”
“What's stopping you. Unless it's me.” Now he had said this as a joke, but Hotchner's response of a sharply raised head was enough to show him the accuracy of his statement. “If you're scared to offend me, don't put yourself out. By your face, you're going to have your technical analyst look me up. I wouldn't put yourself out there either. I wouldn't trust half the stuff you might find about me. I mean that in the personal. I wouldn't trust it. But I won't be surprised or hurt one way or the other. It's up to you.” This was not a rushed or nervous statement on Jack's part. On the contrary, his voice seemed calm and collected; his words simply a matter of fact. Hotchner was certain he'd never met anyone as forthright, hard-headed & carefree as Jack Harkness, not in such confusing abundance. If the time had been convenient he would have loved to sit down and interview the man about his life story. As it was he picked up his cell phone and dialed a number from its memory. He walked to the edge of the room.
“Sarah, it's me. Yeah I'm on a case. Listen, I realize you wanted to be kept out of things but I really wish you were here right now.” He listened for a moment. “No, it's not about the murders, it's the case.” Jack hid a smile behind his hand. “There's someone here I wish you could meet. He's not a cop...A solider supposedly. His name's Jack.” Captain Harkness could almost feel the squeal of the person on the other end of the line. “Wait you know him?” Now it was Jack's turn to jerk his head and stare. He stayed that way a while. When Hotchner finally closed the phone and sat down, Jack kept his eyes focused on him as if his gaze was a laser beam.
“I'm to tell you that your enigmatic friend says 'hi'.” Hotchner stated calmly after a moment.
“I wish I knew what that meant.” Jack responded with a shake of his head and shoulder, as if trying to shrug off an annoying insect by his ear.
“You don't know who that is?” Hotchner asked curiously.
“I would say 'the Doctor', but you called her 'Sarah'. Either way, let's get back to work.” Jack turned back to his papers without another glance or word to his co-worker. And although he knew it was perfectly sound advice, in that getting back to work made sense, Hotchner was distracted. It was a strange situation unto itself, that Spencer would invite someone along for the ride. And learning that this man was a friend of the Doctor's, Aaron had naturally hoped to learn more of that particular enigma from Jack. But Jack was behaving as though he wasn't sure of his own history. It didn't feel like secrecy, more like uncertainty.
“What did she say by the way?” Jack asked several minutes later.
“Who, Sarah?” Hotchner responded, sincerely inquisitive.
“Yeah. What did she say about me? Am I up to this?”
Hotchner smiled quietly. “She said this falls into the list of things that you're good at.”
“She might be right. It feels right to be doing this...and I'm glad to be useful again.”
This statement made no sense to Hotchner, and he had no qualms about saying so. But he decided to be a bit more careful with his words. “Jack, no offense but I would think after traipsing around with Smith..”
“I literally wouldn't know sir.” Harkness said, blatantly interrupting him.
“Amnesia?” Hotchner asked simply.
“No not really. It's a long story that I'd rather get into later but essentially I wanted a new lease on life and that's exactly what the Doctor gave me.” Jack looked down at his hands then back to Hotchner.
“At the expense of the old one I take it?” The agent replied curiosity evident in his voice, concern etched into his facial features.
“Exactly that.” Jack replied, only mildly surprised at the other man's perceptiveness.
“I was getting that feeling Jack. And I admit I'm curious. But I won't bother asking you about it.”
Jack Harkness looked up and the man he knew he could consider his friend. Not because he'd backed off. But because he'd noticed Jack's oddities and had chosen not to bring them up. “Thank you.”
“Now, let's get back to work.” Hotchner replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

Essex

 

The cultural center of London

“What's wrong?” Mickey Smith's dark features curled in a frown as he looked over to his girlfriend.

“You don't want to know.” Rose Tyler replied accurately and honestly.

“Rose,” Mickey said tiredly. “Let it go. He left over a year ago.”

“And I can't figure why. Well nothing that makes any sense anyway.” Mickey sighed audibly. They'd had this conversation enough times for him to know what she'd meant by the remark. But walking around Trafalgar Square at 9 at night, two days before Christmas was not the place for this discussion.

“It's alright for him to be gone Rose.” was all Mickey said in response. “The rest is his problem not yours.” he added in a comforting tone. This wasn't the time to ask what he'd brought her out here to ask. But perhaps when they got back to their place and finished dinner...before she started worrying about going to her mum's for Christmas. It was never a pleasant time for either of them; Christmas with Jackie Tyler.

Rose sighed, then smiled.“Thank you.” She leaned in to kiss Mickey on the lips. “For everything.” They shared a warm smile. The year since the battle of Canary Wharf had been the happiest and most contented year of Rose Tyler's life. And Mickey had made it possible. She hoped that someday soon they could be more than just boyfriend and girlfriend, but somehow could never make herself believe it.

2113 Sterling Drive, Essex.

Sarah Jane walked into in to her son's room. The first thing she saw was the homework assignment on the wall. She beamed with pride. Luke was barely in the 10^th grade and he was already showing up his teachers. I know what you may be thinking; that such an attitude was typical tenth grade behavior. You'd be absolutely correct, if the boy's classes were tenth grade level. They weren't; they were for a masters, of physics. You may now therefore better appreciate her pride in her son...Luke was asleep, or seemed to be at any rate. And not wanting to intrude any further than she had, she turned around to leave.

“They literally don't know what they're talking about.” Luke said through closed eyelids.

“I take it you're not just being derogatory.” Sarah Jane replied gently.

“They teach relativity and quantum physics, but treat them as nothing but theories or suggestions.”

“As long as YOU know that you are right, then that's all you need to know.” She said, repeating words that she knew must sound tired to his ears by now.

“You're right I do know. But why? I mean how can I be so certain?” He sat up from the bed and swung his legs around over the mattress. “I know you know.”

“It's because of your father.” She said with a frankness that surprised her as much as it did him. “He treated these concepts as fact, even common knowledge.” She closed her eyes to push back the image in her mind. When she opened them again Luke was looking at her with concern as well as his trademark curiosity. “I guess we humans do have some form of genetic memory.” she finished coldly.

“Mom, I know you don't want to hear this but it's freaking me out and I need to tell someone.” He paused and waited for a response. No verbal reply came, but her eyes sent him a clear message 'proceed with caution but proceed'. At least that must have been his reading of it because he continued quickly. “I feel like I MISS him.” Suddenly he had no desire to keep talking. “I thought you should know.”

“It's..It's not that surprising Luke. I miss him...Sometimes.”

She walked out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her. Luke was her son, he deserved the truth. Her mind kicked into 'thousand mile' mode the instant she got back to her room. As she lay down on the sofa, almost hitting her head on the bookcase, she found herself smiling. “After all that time; who would have believed it?” It was an amusing thought, more for the fact that it was true at all than for the irony of the truth. She'd spent about half a decade gallivanting throughout the universe with a self described 'alien physician who happens to be a pacifist'. And after all that, who ended up stealing her heart? A genuine solider who even 12 years after being discharged from service, STILL carried a gun everywhere he went. Not that she had particular cause to complain about that, the pistol had saved her life; it was how they'd met in the first place. Of course thinking about how they'd met brought her the far less pleasant memory of how he'd gone. In her mind she was there again. It had been two days after Luke's third birthday. She'd come home from work to find a picture of an atom drawn in blue crayon on the table. Beside it was a note from her husband.

“I didn't know this was possible. I won't ask you to forgive me.

I only hope one day you will understand.”

...She'd fallen asleep crying that night. It hadn't occurred to her until a few days later that the 'this' in the note might refer to her son's picture of the atom. But why would that have scared Jerome off? Why would he, or any father, have felt fear instead of pride? She raised her head from the sofa. She'd put the question off long enough and she needed to figure this out. The answer came in 3/8ths of a second. “It was literally because of him.” she said in a low voice, but letting anger seep through anyway.

Myraid Whovian Adventures

 So finally finally FINALLY getting abck into writing. This was my... well this is my more traditional fare. Not Camelot, not Superhero.

Martha Jones sat quietly in her chair. A beautiful lunch had been set by her guide and traveling companion. She was hungry and some of her favorite foods were set out: ginger noodles and crisp green beans, things of that sort. The problem was she was hungrier for explanations than she was for sustenance. It had been a long time since Smith had agreed to sit and eat with her, just sharing a meal as friends. And while he had joined her at the table, he hadn't said a word.

“Is this a goodbye meal?” She asked eventually. “Is that why everything's so nice?”

“Neither of us expected this would last forever.” Smith replied stoically. “Which honestly is a welcome change.” He continued in a softer voice.

“What do you mean?” Martha queried.

“Most of my companions lately had this feeling or sensation that they and I would go on and on like this forever. Bouncing around in time, exploring both space and cultures, getting stuck in the middle of major problems, finding genius and risky ways out of them. The last time I believed that, my friend was killed. I haven't made that mistake since.” He stopped staring at his hand and looked Martha straight in the eyes. “If I don't say goodbye to you soon, I'll be weeping over letting you die. I prefer the perception of being a pratt than being a...whatever you call someone who leaves a trail of corpses in their wake.”

Martha Jones stared at her friend. Her mouth was firmly closed, to prevent looking like any more of a fool than she already felt. “I'm sorry Doctor.” She whispered. “I understand a bit now...What was her name?”

Smith looked confused. “HIS name. It wasn't a romantic relationship. In fact I didn't think much of him most of the time we traveled together. He'd been a con-man most of his life and I thought he should have been grateful I wasn't the time-cop he took me for. But dying in a hail of Dalek laser beams, just so I could finish my work? It changed my mind pretty quickly...Of course I never got the chance to tell him.”

“You know,” Martha began after a few moments of quiet. “You're right. It is time we parted ways. As long as we do so on good terms, I don't see a problem. But can you do something for me?”

“I'll do my best.” Smith admitted gently.

“Set me down in the United Kingdom, but not in England?” Martha responded easily. “I want to explore just a little bit, without feeling like a total lost kid.”

“Cardiff Wales alright?” Smith asked at once. “We're heading there anyway; a pit stop for what the TARDIS uses as fuel.” Martha nodded slowly. A few minutes of peaceful quiet later they heard the gears grind and then quiet down. They had landed.

Martha stood up, shouldered her backpack and smiled faintly. “It was good though wasn't it?” She suggested. “Everything we saw, every nook and cranny of different celebrated legends?” Smith gave one of his rare, genuine smiles, and nodded in return. “Come back sometime if you want.” Martha breathed. “We can't run forever, not in a huge stretch like that. But this goodbye doens't have to last forever either.”

“I''ll...see what I can do.” Doctor John Smith answered in a voice barely above a whisper.

As she walked out of the Tardis and into the clear blue air of what she judged to be a day in early autmun, Martha wasn't sure how she felt. She had known for a while she was living in someone else's shadow. That it was out of sorrow, not romantic love didn't change the distance she'd sensed from her friend. Was it enough to finally have an explanation for the hidden emotions nad half-answers? She decided it was.

“Excuse me miss, are you lost?” A male voice stated from a short distance to her left. She turned and saw a man in his late thirty's with dark hair and a very concerned expression walking up to her. He stopped a few feet from her and didn't say another word.

“Not lost, no.” Martha responded quietly. “I never know where I'm headed so I can't really lose my way, not in the traditional sense anyway.”

“A wanderer.” The man responded calmly. “Listen, I realize how weird this sounds but, are you traveling with anyone?”

“Not anymore.” Martha answered honestly. “It's going to take some time for me to get over it. And we might as well introduce ourselves. I'm Martha Jones.” She extended her right hand.

“Captain Jack Harkness.” The man replied, clasping her hand firmly in his own. “I uh...I'm not sure what to do now.”

“Meaning what?”

“I'm tempted to take you below to show you more of my life. The problem is...no one is supposed to see that. The alternative being getting a coffee around the corner, but that might be more exposure.”

“I hope you don't take this wrong but you're sounding like a Torchwood agent.” Jack's face flushed. “I know about them. I had a cousin who worked at canary Wharf. She told me more than she probably should have. So I wasn't too surprised at what happened there.”

“Now I have a lot less reluctance bringing you downstairs. Btu do us both a favor and follow me directly up to my office when we get there?”

“I'm fine with that.”

It was in silent confidence she followed her host down the elevator and through a couple of corridors before coming into a wide space filled with lots of technology and scanning equipment. True to her word she didn't say anything to the two men she passed as she followed Captain Harkness up some metal stairs to his office. There wasn't much to say. It wasn't til Jack had closed the door to his fairly-organized office and reached out a mug of coffee in one hand, a mug of tea in the other that she even found anything worth breaking silence.

“I'm seriously hoping one of these isn't drugged.” She quipped, only half-joking.

“Well, I will take whichever one you don't. I just never know coffee versus tea people as quickly as I probably should.” The man replied with a smile.

“If it's caffeinated, I'll take the tea.” She did and they sat down. For a few moments they just sipped their mugs and stared at each-other.

“Why me?” Martha asked bluntly. “Why did you come up from the down under to say hello to me?”

“I didn't.” Jack admitted haply. “I thought an old friend of mine had shown up finally. I thought I'd find some answers from him. Apparently either my scanner still needs some tuning or I missed him by about 30 seconds yet again.”

“My thought is the latter.” Martha quipped easily. “

“Why do you say that?” Jack inquired shortly.

“Two reasons. One: You're Torchwood. You're entire organization was designed and brought together to protect Earth against alien incursions like Smith. It makes sense you'd know how to track alien technology like his ship. The other is...I don't want to sound like an intelligence agent.”

“You mean you don't want to be a Quisling. You know the Doctor and don't want to give him up to his enemies. Well, I have no way to convince you things have changed in this organization since the battle of Canary Wharf. But my personal motivations are different than those of my superiors. I don't wish him harm. And the questions I have for him...probably couldn't go on any official report anyway.”

“If I told you I've spent months of my life traipsing around the known and unknown universe with an alien who never speaks his feelings and has a binary cardio-vascular system...you wouldn't be floored?”

“That's the Doctor alright. And yes, I can track the TARDIS. I spent some time inside it actually, if you can believe that.” Jack added casually. “Actually, something is a little off here. The Doctor was one of the most passionate people I ever knew. The destruction of his home-planet might have had something to do with that. But he never hid his sorrow or anger very well at all. I don't suppose he told you how old he is?”

“He's ancient and forever.” Martha droned. “He's seen the universe grow old and never goes back to see how far we've come...You meant if he's older or younger as I know him than when you knew him.” She realized. Jack nodded slowly. “Jack, if you are who I think you are...he is definitely older now.”

“How can I confirm your suspicion without breaking his faith in me?” Jack Harkness pressed.

“Did you die in a blaze of Dalek laser beams?” Martha responded bluntly. Jack looked stunned. “I'll take that as a yes.” Jack nodded slowly. After a moment he found his voice, weak though it was.

“It's the last thing I remember, before the accident. I've been waiting for him to come back with some genius, half-cocked explanation for...whatever happened. Hence being sorrowful when I missed him again.”

“This all is pretty new to me.” Martha posed. “He and I had already decided to part ways when I found my answer, straight from his fairly unguarded heart. I guess I'm not making sense? I learned minutes ago that Smith plays things so close to the vest because the last time he trusted someone with his feelings, he basically lost control...or was devastated from the loss. I still can't read him all that well. I guess he decided it's better not to risk trust and friendship, if people are just going to leave you behind or die on you.”

“Martha, that doesn't make any sense.” Jack insisted. “You're making it sound like he's mourning the death of an old friend.” His mouth dropped open as the implication of Martha's words slowly reached from his ears to his brain. “He doesn't know I survived?” He breathed finally.

“Is there a reason he should believe that?” Martha returned with feeling and desire in her words.”I've met the Daleks myself. Nothing survives their weapons. Nothing that isn't one of them avoids their hit list.”

“It's just...I always thought he was the one who brought me back. Kind of a going away present and an 'I'm sorry' all in one. Which is why I was so confused that I've lived a century here on Earth without hearing from him. You're telling me I got that all deeply wrong?”

“It must have been something or someone else to bring you back to life. Trust me Jack: He thinks you're dead. From what he said right ebfore he dropped me off here, he's chosen this cold and detached life to avoid being hurt by the death of a friend. Once I figured that out, I was a lot more 'OK' with leaving him.” The pair sat in silence for a few moments.

A young woman with straight dark hair and a police badge walked up the steps. She tapped on the clear glass door and waited. Jack waved her in. “We'd like to talk with you downstairs if you have a minute.” The woman said meekly. “Nothing really is going on, and hopefully it won't...But we need to talk.”

“I'll be right down.” Jack replied instantly and honestly. “Gwen Cooper, this is Martha Jones. She's set me straight on a few things. For once I'll be willing to listen.”

Gwen smiled and walked out the door and down the steps again.

Martha Jones waited. “I imagine you have a lot of questions about that?” Jack postulated.

“Let's get to your team. I get the feeling you'll have as much to say to them as to me.” Martha replied.

“With the exception of the use of one word, you are perfectly right.” Jack replied evasively.

Jack Harkness walked into the very middle of the room, with Martha Jones a little behind him. Gwen Cooper was on his immediate left. Two men, both fairly well-built and stone faced were right in front their leader. It looked strangely like the trial of a prisoner. The slightly stockier man, who clearly had no overabundance of patience, stepped forward.

“I won't beat around the bush. You are our leader when it comes to this work, you should not be our director when it comes to our lives.” He spoke as though he'd finally come to a conclusion, and looked away as if he expected a hammer to fall.

“Hopefully eventually I'll be able to drop that perception.” Jack muttered quickly.

“It's not a perception, it's a reality.” The other man stated in a small voice. “Even according this company, you're not supposed to have this much control over things not directly affecting our mission.”

“That's not what I mean Ianto.” Jack replied in a rush. “I don't want to be seen as a director anymore. And I'm not just saying that because we have company. I'd like to continue to be a leader. I was a solider most of my life and I know how to inspire both confidence and action. That's the point. I want to inspire confidence, and eventually loyalty...not demand it. I know I have a lot to do to convince you, of all this, especially you, Owen. But I promise, if you give me a chance, I will find a way to prove my intentions.”

“Uh, not saying we're not glad to hear that, but I have to ask...” The man referred to as Owen stated.

“It wasn't for regulations that I ran this place with near-military standards and extreme detachment.” Jack Harkness began quietly.” He seemed to realize Martha would have no context for his words. He turned to his guest and began.“I hope you understand I really am different than my superiors. As far as how we treat aliens anyway. I just wish I had treated my own staff with the same consideration.”

“Okay, I'm very lost right now.” Martha Jones admitted.

“I go against policy as far as how to deal with the threats my team discovers and deals with. I don't see potential enemies every time I meet an extra-terrestrial. I've made the same mistake with my team the last year as you just described from as Smith: keeping everyone at arms length. It's more understandable for us here, more natural I should say. We're a regimented and efficient organization for the most part. I've never seen a reason to make an exception...Until just now.”

“Because now you see where that choice leads.” Martha replied in a small voice.

“Well yeah. But also because you've shown me how wrong I was about him to begin with.” Jack said with a small laugh.

“I hate to admit it but I'm confused.” Ianto put forth easily.

“Join the club.” Owen responded.

“Torchwood was originally designed to protect the entire Earth from alien threats like Doctor John Smith.” Jack recited. “Actually let's sit down for all of this back in the conference room.”

“Hell with that let's sit down right here.” Gwen insisted. Everyone sat on the floor right where they stood, even Captain Jack.

“I traveled with this same Doctor Smith for a brief time. His binary cardio-vascular system and the fact that he carries a sonic tool better fit to build things than to kill things suit him well. He loves leading with the emotional heart and fixing things rather than attacking them. Something eventually cracked the shell that was holding back what his enemies referred to as 'the oncoming storm'. I was a few rooms down from him when flames shot up from all over. 'Electrical lightning in very small stripes both blue and red' would probably be a better description. What's weird is I had already been shot by the Daleks. I guessed that Smith had somehow brought me back to life. I've spent the last one hundred and forty-nine years wondering why someone who cares enough about me to restore me to life, wouldn't care enough to come back to see me again. Or explain why I can't die anymore.”

“And this woman set you straight on that?” Ianto queried.

“I'm Martha Jones. Smith just dropped me off a few minutes ago. And as I knew him...he still thinks your Captain Harkness died in that blast.”

Riding the Sky with Spencer

The quickest of one shots. Also some of my earliest work. So much so I don't even remember writing it! 

I’ve seen some funny things in my time, but this takes the cake.

Is it a puzzle for us to solve, or simply an ancient riddle from some bygone era?

I’m definitely hoping the latter, but I don’t know.

“True, I myself would prefer it if there were no direct connection to us, but my experiences to date seem to indicate otherwise. Since joining Starfleet I have seen..”

You’re a member of Starfleet?”

“I am. Why does that surprise you?”

Your uniform is not exactly Starfleet issue.”

“Strange. I Was just thinking yours was somewhat dated. That it is remarkably similar to the late 22nd century standard uniform.”

That’s where I’m from genius!

“I did not intend offense sir. I was simply attempting an objective assessment.”

(more slowly) Why do you talk like that?

Are you referring to my formal intonations sir? (Trip nods)“My programming does not allow for elisions…I am an android.”

what do they call you?

My name is Data. But it is self-chosen.

Gentleman, don’t you see what this means?

‘I am afraid not sir.”

We are all Starfleet from different times. Although I don’t think Data and I are from such different eras. The people that brought us here must be very deliberate in their actions, which would indicate that this post here is intended for us specifically. (to Data) How long have you been here anyway?

“prior to the commander’s arrival, 23 minutes 11 seconds.”

and we’ve been chatting for..?

“Approximately 7 and ½ minutes.”

There must be a reason for this. I mean I have never doubted that there was some reason for anything that ever happened. I guess I mean motivation. What was my motivation in moving here. This is a small apartment, I need no other. Yet I cannot help but feel I am missing something. I chose to be alone, on the fringes as Jake would say. I still laugh at such slang. Now, as I said, . I don’t usually have a reason for keeping track of the time, but I should probably try to keep track of the days.

There is very little left to us, but we learn to make do.

I remember traveling. It was fun, exhilarating and for the most part, quite a ride. It was also a distraction, a respite and a misguided adventure. I no longer need the distraction, writing is a respite, and life is as great an adventure as I can handle right now. There is a lot going on in the here and now, and I’d better get used to living in the here and now. That’s not to say I don’t travel. I still drift off into the olden times. But it’s very brief and I no longer invest quite so much energy into them. They are brief and versatile, as they were at the start.

Came the reply from the thin and very pale young man who came out of the male washroom. The almost worried look on this agent's face quickly turned into a huge grin as he recognized the visitor. “Jonas!”

“Yeah.” Came the soft reply. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything?”

“How'd you know to find me here?” Spencer Reid asked as he motioned to a chair at the front work station. Jonas sat down as indicated then sat up equally quickly. The chair was too low to the floor for his long legs. Noticing this Spencer motioned his friend to a room up another flight of stairs. Jonas walked up the steps, with Spencer at his heels.

“What brings you here?” Spencer asked as he closed the door to the conference room.

“You do.” Jonas replied as he seated himself in the chair closest to the screen, furthest from the door. “I thought I'd check and see how you were getting along and really didn't want to check in over the phone.”

“Are you kidding me?” Spencer asked in a slow, dead serious voice.

“Nope.” Jonas replied quickly and a moment later he frowned. “Why should I kid about something like that? And why does it surprise you?”

“It's just the phone number you left me went straight to voice-mail each time I called.” Spencer stated in a tone of voice of which Jonas could make nothing. “I honestly thought you'd returned to Kelowna.”

“I did, Spencer. Council's out of session now so I took some days off. And as always I would prefer not getting into that any more than I have to.”

Spencer did not reply to that right away. And when he did it was in a slow, deliberate voice. “Jonas, I don't want to say this, but that doesn't make sense.”

“Does Kelowna not have lay councilmen?” Jonas replied stiffly.

“I don't see how working with the USAF and working as a councilman in Canada can go together.”

“Well, they don't. I was considered a deserter when I first came to be at Cheyenne Mountain. When that exile was rescinded I came home to bring...an understanding to a very gridlocked council. They don't really go hand in hand.” Jonas looked up to see a troubled expression on his friend's face.

“Alright maybe I'm imagining it but you seem to have something specific that brought you here.”

“You did Spencer. I'm not kidding about it. I had some notion of clearing up a particular past confusion ...or inaccuracy if you like that better.”

“You refer to the simple question of which 'Kelowna' you're actually from, I take it?” Reid stated with a small, forced smile.

“Well yes. But verifying any of it would require Hammond's approval. So I don't know if we even should get into this at all.”

“I uh, think I'll repeat my original question and ask how you knew to find me here?”

“General Hammond looked you up. You did say you worked with the BAU. And that organization stems from this building...It wasn't very hard after that.” Jonas Quinn's face had turned pink. Whether from embarrassment or amusement, Reid couldn't really tell. He quickly decided it wouldn't matter.

“No, I guess it wouldn't be.” Spencer admitted slowly. “Jonas, I'm not going to let you off the hook. When we first met, you were a murder suspect and a stranger, to this country if not to me. Last time we were surrounded by the rest of my team and I could understand not spilling your mind right then. And I will ask later if that was more for my sake or yours. But please, I can't go blind like this.”

“More than reasonable Spencer. And I suppose I can tell you all this without Hammond's approval...As long as I can later claim it was a fictional story or just one possible explanation. But we both should be sitting down for this.” Jonas stated, motioning Reid to a nearby chair.

Reid sat down right next to Jonas and stared at him, expectantly.

“Long story short and we go from there okay?” Jonas asked of his friend, who simply nodded. “I'm not from Canada. I'm from another planet, and a country called Kelowna. I'm as human as you are but I wasn't raised around here at all. 'Cheyenne Mountain' is known as 'Stargate Command' by my team.”

“I hate to say it but my first thought really is 'can you verify any of this?” Reid responded in a breath.

“Not without showing you the star-gate itself, which again I can't do without General Hammond's approval. And don't look at me like that. As I indicated, right now I could just be spinning a tale to gain your trust or making up a good story to explain away my idiosyncrasies. Once you're presented with proof of them it becomes, as Doctor Jackson would say 'a whole different ball game'.”

“That isn't why you're here is it...I mean you didn't come all the way from home just to explain where home is...Did you?!”

“Spencer for the last time I came to check up on you. I didn't have your contact information. This is the only way I knew to make sure you were alright. You been okay lately? You sound kind of raspy.”

“It's just I didn't really expect to see you again. And even less did I anticipate actually doubting your words. You understand the dilemma?”

Jonas took a mental look back over the two encounters he'd had with this genius. “I didn't know you'd actually meant it: I'm one of your closest friends.” He said at length. Reid's features softened a bit at this admission but his eyes remained coldly fixed on the traveler.

“You do realize it's kind of extra-ordinary what you're asking me to believe.” Reid said in a breath.

“You can accept it or not, it doesn't matter to me. I just wanted to make SURE you'd gotten better from the last time we talked. I mean the first time.” Reid gave Jonas a confused look. Jonas Quinn put his left arm straight out in front of himself and touched the inside of his left elbow with his right pointer finger. “I didn't know at the time what it really signified. I saw the marks at the Denver station and I only later learned the- interpretation for lack of another word. You looked so pale at the karaoke bar I was afraid it withered you.”

“I've pretty much kicked the habit.” Reid replied in as calm and controlled a voice as he could manage. “And I appreciate your concern.” He added solemnly.

Jonas Quinn smiled slightly and the pair stood up.

“You won't tell anyone else will you?” Jonas asked as they walked down the stairs to the bullpen.

“Anyone who would bother already knows.” Spencer replied thoughtlessly.

“I mean my own claim as to my origins.” Jonas insisted through a forced smile.

“Only as a fanciful story used to pass the time. Much like Hotchner's account of Smith is held now.”

Jonas shivered. “Do you honestly not have a winter coat?”

“It's not winter where I'm from.” Jonas replied simply. “And it was good to talk with you 'soul to soul' again Spencer. I'll miss it when I go back to the council.”

“Jonas please do me a favor and not mention the council again? It sounds like you're making it up!”

“Oh alright. But why is that the part that's making you so uncomfortable? I would think it would be the SGC...ah nevermind.”

“You have no idea how easy I find it to ignore that statement.” Spencer replied, a little shortly. “But enough of this mess. What say we go up to Alexandria, more specifically Murphy's Grand Irish Pub, get some bangers and mash?”

“Reid I get the impression you're trying a little bit more than what is usual for you, to be colloquial and congenial. I assure you it's not needful.” Jonas said with a strained face. “But if you don't mind driving us out there, I could use some vittles.”

“I can honestly say I never expected word games to come out of your mouth.” Reid said in response, obviously trying not to smile. “But sure, let's get out of here.”

The drive to Alexandria Washington took a little over 30 minutes and wasn't really anything to talk about. In fact Jonas seemed to be having trouble talking about anything at all. They were just entering the heart of the suburb when Reid pulled into a parking lot and shut off the engine.

“What's wrong?” Jonas asked in a voice as filled with trepidation as sincere concern.

“Oh I thought my phone was going off.” Jonas didn't reply except to raise an eyebrow. “It would mean we had a case and I was needed back at Quantico.” Reid explained softly. “But as it isn't really ringing, let me take this opportunity to remind you, or is it 'inform you' that you are one of my closest friends, no matter where you really come from. And there's other things to chat about than origins and explanations. It's time to be ourselves. However guarded or relaxed that means.”

“I have absolutely no trouble accepting that. I'm just glad you feel the same.”

Reid engaged the engine and exited the hotel parking lot in one smooth turn. “So what are the other members of the SGC like?” He asked his friend and soon to be messmate.

“O'Neill is a genuine solider type and a little on the sarcastic side of friendly.” Quinn replied without thinking. “Samantha Carter seemed to be a scientist first and a Major in the Army second. Teal'c was even less well educated in what is normal than I am...But he'd been around here longer than I had and still managed to teach me a thing or two about what he referred to as 'probable explanations'.”

“And Doctor Jackson?” Spencer pressed.

“I didn't know him that well.” Jonas admitted a little sadly. “I replaced him on the team when he went on medical leave. I was only able to go home when...right after...he came back.”

“Hence your desire to prove yourself when we first met you. And your general affability now. You've proven yourself to yourself...as it were.”

“Yeah, that's pretty much it.” Jonas replied with ghost of a smile.

Two minutes later they pulled into the restaurant parking lot and Jonas smiled warmly. He was certain no matter what this meal and conversation consisted of, he'd thoroughly enjoy it.