Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam was helping Phyllis with the desk--he'd long ago realized that if he wanted anything organized to his satisfaction, he had to do it himself--when the second most important catastrophe of his life walked in. This time, it was one of Chris's arrests.

On occasion Chris had trouble bringing in suspects, but that was mostly because Chris didn't have any conception of how to use force. (As opposed to Ray and Gene, who just didn't have any conception of how to use force appropriately.) But this suspect wasn't resisting. In fact, he sauntered into the station as if he were looking forward to it, winking at two of the cleaning girls.

Cleaning staff, Sam reminded himself sternly, looking over the detainee with a critical eye. Someone is a fan of the World War II aesthetic. "Chris?"

Chris pushed him forward, trying to keep him under control and at arms' length at the same time, a combination not eager to work out well. "Found this bloke at the construction site, boss. Poking around behind the cordon."

"And I was only too happy to come in, officers." He grinned indiscriminately at all of them. "Especially escorted by Mr. Handsome here--"

Chris actually blushed, in a highly discomfited way. Sam groaned inwardly. I'd better save him before he's rendered totally useless. "He's not interested."

The suspect looked up sharply. Apparently he didn't like being called out. Then again, given the way he was looking over Sam, now--

"And neither am I," Sam said, just as the suspect opened his mouth. At that, he looked disappointed.

"Categorically, or just not today?" he asked.

Sam suppressed a sigh, and handed Phyllis a pen. "Name?"

"Jack Harkness," the suspect said, playing his eyes over Sam from toes to hair. "And you are?"

"Detective Inspector Sam Tyler," Sam said, selecting a notepad from the desk. "Chris, if you'd escort Mr. Harkness--"

"Captain," Harkness said. "Call me Captain Jack, if you want."

Sam paused for a second to look him over, hopefully communicating the fact that he was in no way impressed or amused. "--to the interview room, I'll alert the gov."

"Ooh," Harkness said, lagging as Chris tried to drag him along. "Interview, you say? The more the merrier."

Sam held up a hand, and Chris stopped. "Captain Harkness," he said, "has DC Skelton actually informed you of the reason for your arrest?"

"I've pieced a few things together," Harkness said.

"You're under suspicion for the murders of three police officers," Sam said. Not exactly true, but true enough. "I shouldn't need to tell you that this is a serious offence."

"Murders?" Harkness said, genuinely surprised. "Well. I'll help out all I can, but I just got here."

Sam eyed him. "From America?"

"America?" Harkness asked. "Oh, the accent. No, I'm actually from a little place called the Boe-Shayne Peninsula--"

Sam looked at Chris. "Interview room."

"Meet you there, then!" Harkness called, giving him a thumbs-up as he was hauled away.

-

Sam poked his head into Gene's office, noting that the mess seemed to be reaching some form of critical mass. Gene was ignoring all of it, as his time was apparently better spent reading backissues of Just Jugs.

"Any news on the case, gov?"

Gene didn't look up. "Not since the last time you asked. Forensics is taking their sweet time."

As they tend to. "Chris brought someone in. He was found loitering at the construction site."

Gene flipped a page. "The bloke, or Chris?"

"The suspect."

Gene put the magazine down, sliding off the edge of his desk. "I don't need to tell you how serious this is," he said. "No cop-killer bastard is allowed in my town, at all, whatsoever, full stop, do you hear me? But if Chris keeps nicking everyone who so much as looks at the bloody scene--"

"I think I'd trust his instincts on this one," Sam said. "He's... suspicious."

"Lost and found?" Gene asked.

Sam nodded. "And, gov--there is a slight possibility he'll try to chat you up," he warned. "He seems to have tried it on everyone he's met thus far."

"He does, and I'll put his face through a wall," Gene said. "Whether or not the rest of him will follow will be dependent entirely on my mood. What are you grinning at?"

Sam tacked on a poker face. "Nothing, gov." Just enjoying the imagery.

They walked to the Lost & Found.

Harkness was sitting at the table, taking the time not, surprisingly, to chat up Chris, but rather to stare with disconcerting intensity at his watch. He looked up when Sam and Gene walked in, and Sam could almost see the half-second it took him to remind himself that he was playing the happy fool. Sam tapped Chris's shoulder, motioning him out.

"This is DCI Gene Hunt," Sam introduced, and as soon as Harkness opened his mouth he moved to enlighten him. "Who is violently not interested."

Harkness's mouth snapped closed. "That's a shame."

Gene tapped his fingers on his arm in what was probably meant to be an intimidating fashion.

"So, how can I help the fine men and women of the Greater Manchester Police Force?" Harkness asked.

"Speak for y'self," Gene said. "I know I didn't bring any birds in here. What were you doing at the construction site?"

"Looking for a friend of mine," Harkness said. "His name is the Doctor. I'd really appreciate some help finding him."

"That's not a name, that's an occupation," Sam said, assuming his chair and jotting down notes.

Harkness peeked toward the door. "Maybe for some people. Anyway, he doesn't tend to stay in one place for long, so--"

"You said you were looking for this man," Sam broke in. "Why would you look for him at an abandoned construction site that is, incidentally, at this moment a crime scene?"

"Let's just say he tends to co-occur with police boxes," Harkness said.

Sam took the statement down, realised it made no sense, and frowned. "What--"

"I don't know what's going on with you boys," Harkness said lightly, "but I probably won't be much help."

"Let us be the judges of that," Sam said.

"Happy to be what help I can be," Harkness said. He flipped open the cover on his watch, scanning it quickly.

"You got somewhere to be?" Gene asked. "Are we boring you?"

"Not at all, DCI Hunt." He flashed him a quick smile.

Sam drummed his pen on the table. "Why do you keep checking your watch?"

"Just checking something out," Harkness said, poking it a few more times and flipping the cover shut. "I don't suppose you and I could talk alone, DI Tyler?"

"No," Sam and Gene said at once.

"That's a shame," Harkness said, giving Sam what was probably supposed to be a winning smile.

"What were you doing three days ago?" Sam asked. Gene leaned back, crossing his arms and probably just watching to see how things would go. Please don't. You need absolutely no more ammunition.

"You know, that's too bad." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You would have liked what I had to say."

"I doubt that. Three days ago, Mr. Harkness."

"That's an interesting and very complex question," Harkness said, at least pretending to consider. "You'll have to define 'three days ago.' Well, really, just the 'ago' part."

Sam and Gene stared.

"It's just that three days ago for me is really, and I mean really different from three days ago for you," he said, and chuckled. "And believe me, it took about seven PhDs to figure out a convention that made sense."

Gene leaned in. "Are you shooting for the loony bin?" he asked, lowering his voice to internationally-recognised dangerous levels. "Do you want us to bring in the boys with white coats?"

Harkness's perpetual smile became slightly more strained. "I sense disbelief."

"Do you." Gene nodded. "I can make you sense a lot more."

"Really?" Harkness chirped. "I'd be interested to see--"

Sam's head hit the desk at roughly the same time that Harkness's head hit the ground.

Three minutes later, with an absolute lack of progress, they stepped outside the room. "You know," Sam mentioned, "giving suspects concussions has a much lower success rate than I think you think it does."

"Doesn't change the fact that half of them deserve it," Gene said, going for a cigarette.

On occasion, I'd even argue that. "So, what now?"

"Bang him up for obstructing police justice," Gene said.

Until he realised that it would mean prolonged exposure to the man, Sam was almost happy to comply.

-

Hours later, just as he was leaving for the night, Phyllis caught his eye with a disapproving frown. "That bloke you and Chris banged up is running his gob on something," she said. "Refuses to speak with anyone but you." She gave him a censorious look as she straightened the stack. "Wouldn't advise you take this one home with you, boss."

Witty as always, Phyllis. "I'll keep that in mind. Cell Two?"

"Right down there."

"Right." First line of chat-up and I'm gone.

He picked his way back to the cells, opening the observation window and glancing inside. If Harkness was at all inconvenienced by having been thrown in gaol, he certainly didn't look it.

"Evening, DI Tyler."

"I was told you wanted to speak to me."

"And I do!" Harkness hopped up. "Um, if I told you I had a confession, would it get you inside the cell?"

"Do you have a confession?"

"I could say I do."

Sam sighed, just loudly enough to tell Harkness that he wasn't amused, and pulled the door open to step inside. Harkness stood, waiting for him to close the door behind him. As soon as he did, he cleared his throat.

"Your watch won't exist for twenty-nine years."

Sam mentally stumbled. That hadn't fit into any of his predictions. "What?"

"The one in your left pocket," Harkness said. "Or at least the one that was in your left pocket when you interviewed me. You're an anachronism."

Sam's heart sped up. "What are you talking about?"

"You can stop pretending," Harkness said. "I can spot a time traveller a mile away. I can also tell that you're stranded here."

He'd responded before it occurred to him that it might be a trick. A plant affiliated with Crane, or maybe a joke on him by Ray--assuming Ray knew someone this good an actor. "How?"

Harkness motioned at his chest. "You have a temporal cushion around you. You get one if you're dropped into a time period that isn't yours--it's the universe's way of mitigating the potential damage. Yours is much further decayed than if you had a time device to bolster it."

Temporal cushion? Time device? Sam crossed his arms. "How do I know you're not making all this up?" How do you know any of this? Come to think of it, What the hell are you talking about? might have been a better question, as plausible deniability went.

"Look, you can trust me," Harkness said.

Sam remained unmoved. "Why?"

Harkness turned, sweeping a hand through his hair. "All right," he said. "When you got here, something made room for you. Eased your transition in. It constructed a life for you, and most of us don't have that luxury."

"Of us?" Sam interrupted. Harkness ignored him.

"I've only read about one other case where that's happened," he said, "and that was facilitated by a unique piece of alien technology. I want to find it. Well, I found it; I want to find the man who flies it." He looked into Sam's eyes, goading him to recognition. "The Doctor."

You keep saying that. "The Doctor." "Doctor who? There are several in Manchester."

"Not a medical doctor," Harkness said. "The Doctor, with a definite article."

"I don't know anyone who goes by that title," Sam said.

"Then how did you get here?"

"I don't know!" As soon as Sam realised that his voice had raised, he lowered it again. "I was in an accident. Vehicular accident. And I woke up in 1973. If you can explain to me the logic in that--"

"What kind of vehicle?" Harkness asked. "Was it a blue police box?"

What? "I'm not sure the make and model will do anything to explain this, but from the half a second I saw of it before it hit me, it looked like a blue hatchback." Something else occurred to him. "A police box is not a vehicle!"

"Not normally, no. But the one parked down in the construction site isn't a normal police box."

"What one?" Sam asked.

"It was right in the middle of your cordon," Harkness said. "Come on. You must've noticed it."

Sam tapped his thigh. He was beginning to wonder if Harkness actually was insane. That would seem to be my luck.

"All right." Harkness stepped back, leaning back against the wall with enough force to shake him. "You don't believe me; that's fine. I can prove it, but not from in here. If I'm lying, feel free to lock me up again."

"If this is how you plan to avoid being charged--"

"Oh, please." Harkness leaned forward, dropping his voice. "You won't charge me with anything. If you didn't throw me in here to keep me on hand, you did it to scare me into telling you something. If you're keeping me around, you already believe half of what I say; if you really suspect me, you'll have to let me go when you realise I don't know anything." He smiled. "So, what is it?"

Well, all of that is technically correct. Damn. "How do you expect to obtain this proof?"

"Get me out of here," Harkness said.

Couldn't have seen that coming. "And how would you suggest," he asked, heavy emphasis on suggest, "I do that?"

Harkness waved to the front desk. "Easy--it's all in my stuff. Get me the documents I showed you. Trust me, I can make them as official as they need to be."

Sam couldn't figure out whether to be annoyed or amused. "You want me to help you forge documents with which to secure your release."

Harkness slipped along the wall, grinning suggestively. "I'll make it so worth your while."

Sam laughed without realising it, and covered it with a choke. "The fact that you're trying to bribe me is mad enough without the added madness that you're trying to bribe me with sexual favours. I can assure you that with an attitude like that, you'll be in this cell for a very long time."

He ducked out and shut the door, ignoring the protests from inside.

-

Sam came into CID the next day to find Harkness signing his release forms, attended by a distinctly awed Chris. He got as far as "What the--" before Chris was talking at him, excited as a very small dog.

"Boss, you'll never believe it. Works for the crown, he does--showed me his papers and all--"

Sam could feel a headache coming. It was still a way off, but he had no doubt that it'd arrive soon. "Did you ever consider that the papers might be forgeries?"

Chris looked surprised. "They were signed and all."

"And his accent?"

Chris looked back over his shoulder. "Spent years overseas in America. Undercover." He grinned, as if to say And that is so, so cool.

Phyllis stormed up to the desk, dropping the tray with his personal effects onto the counter. "Sorry for the trouble, sir," she said, giving him the same look she gave everyone. Sam suspected that if they ever arrested the Queen by accident, she would be met with the same acidic glare.

"Hold on," Sam said. "Does anyone remember checking his papers yesterday?" Because we did, and nothing said anything about working for the Queen of England.

Something impacted the back of his head, setting off the long-awaited headache. He didn't even have to look to identify it as Gene's hand.

Gene sauntered in, looking Harkness up and down. "You'll have to excuse my DI," he said. "He suffered an accident some time ago and has been seeing conspiracies ever since."

And conveniently, you forget that most of my theories have been correct.

"That's quite all right," Harkness said, grinning as he put on his watch. "Happens to the best of us."

The worst part was that then, he had the gall to wink.

"You'd best be on your way, then," Gene said, and Sam was slightly reassured--whatever he might believe, it was evident that Gene didn't like Harkness any more than Sam did.

"Actually, I think you can help me," Harkness said. He stuck his hands--and most of his effects--into his pockets, leaning on the desk. "Official business."

Chris cleared his throat, and stood at a Chris sort of attention.

"We're a bit busy," Gene said. "If you want, I can assign some plod to look for your mate."

"Actually, I was hoping to borrow your DI for a bit," Harkness said.

Oh, no.

Gene scowled, and Sam could practically hear him weighing his own amusement against the importance of the case. "Now, why would I be compelled to let you do that?"

"Well." Harkness slipped his hands into his pockets, making an odd, coated open-hand shrug. "I thought it might help that I worked for the Queen."

"DI Tyler is pursuing a serious line of inquiry as regards the murders of three uniform police officers," Gene said.

"And I said I'd help out as much as I could," Harkness reassured, nearly crooning. "As soon as I locate a very important, very elusive man."

Gene frowned.

"I don't think that would--" Sam began, and Gene interrupted him.

"Fine. Have him back by dark."

Alarm exploded just behind Sam's eyes. Oh, you are not-- "--Gov," he tried.

"With a full tank," Gene muttered.

Harkness looked more pleased than Sam was remotely comfortable with. "Can do, boss." He inclined his head toward the door. "Come on! Introduce me to this construction site."

He turned with just enough torque to sweep his coat dramatically, and sauntered out.

"Gov," Sam began again. I can't believe you just sold me out.

"Cheeky bastard," Gene said, and looked at him significantly. "Keep an eye on him, Sam."

Sam let himself, for a moment, show surprise. "Keep an eye on him?"

"Whether or not he's in Her Majesty's employ, a few years across the pond can make anyone go loopy," Gene snapped. "And he's got more loops than last night's dinner. I won't have him cocking up anything on my turf, got that?"

Aha. Unlikely allies. It was better than having to work with him. "Got it, gov."

-

He stepped out into the early-morning light, finding Harkness leaning against the edge of the building. After a quick glance to ascertain that no one was watching, he stepped up. "I don't believe you."

Harness shrugged. "Didn't really think you would. Weirdly enough, though, in 34 years I actually do work for the Queen. Well, sort of." He pushed himself away from the wall, brushing off his hands. "Ever heard of Torchwood?"

"No."

"Oh." Harkness blinked. "Well, you probably will. Walk with me."

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

Harkness waved a hand out in front of him. "This way."

"Who are you?" Sam asked. "Really."

"Captain Jack Harkness," Harkness said again. "Ex-Time Agent. Freelancer. Occasional con man. Just one more guy trying to make his way in the world."

"How did you forge those documents so quickly?" Sam demanded.

Harkness reached into his coat, pulling out a slim black book. "Here," he said, handing it over. "Take a look."

Sam opened it, flipping to the first and apparently only page. This is psychic paper, the paper read. It says whatever I want it to. It's really useful.

Sam handed it back. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it, now?" Jack flipped it open again. This time, the paper read That's ridiculous, and you're insufferable. "You're so hostile. You know, DI Tyler, sooner or later you're going to realise that I really am a good guy."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "That would carry a bit more weight if you hadn't just admitted to being a con man."

"Oh, please." Harkness swished his hand through the air. "Just because you come from an era where the concepts are antonyms."

"Con," Sam said. "To swindle or trick. To persuade by deception. To dupe."

"Hey, Mr. Dictionary," Harkness griped. "Okay, let's just move past that. Construction site?"

"You're apparently in charge," Sam said.

"Apparently." He clapped his hands together. "Can we drive?"

"Okay," Sam said. "Pick a car."

"How about--"

"Not that one."

Harkness looked at him. "Okay. How about--"

"No." Sam was already wandering toward one of the generic police Austin Allegros.

Harkness walked after him. "Is this one of these 'any colour you like, as long as you like black' deals?"

"No," Sam said. "This is one of those 'you do not control this department' deals. Get in."

"Shotgun!" Harkness called, slipping into the passenger-side seat. "Call me Jack, by the way."

"No," Sam said, and threw the car into gear.

-

They rolled into the construction site, parking near the cordon. The scene was old enough that earlier crowds had dispersed, and what hadn't already been picked over by Forensics was probably not that useful any more. Still, no one had cleaned it up, and the field of broken glass was--

--actually, it looked like it had been disturbed since the last time Sam had visited. It probably said something that Sam registered that before registering the blue police box which seemed to have sprung magically up in the centre.

"Recognise it?" Harkness asked.

Sam frowned. "It's a police box," he said. "That design was common about ten years ago, but they're hardly unheard-of now."

"Come on," Harkness said, stepping out.

Sam shut off the engine, closing the door behind him and pocketing the key.

"If you didn't come in the TARDIS," Harkness said, "then how'd you get an alias? Transfer documents, a flat--"

"Did Chris tell you all this?" Sam asked, ducking under the cord and walking up to the police box. Harkness followed, hopping ahead to knock on the box's door.

"He was amazingly open. Doctor!" he called, rapping on the wood. "Doctor, it's me! Jack!"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You expect him to spend the day standing inside a wooden box."

"It's bigger on the inside," Jack said, fishing in his pocket until he came up with a key. "I'm just going to stick my head inside. One sec--"

He stuck the key in the lock, and tried to turn it. It wouldn't turn.

"Try jiggling it," Sam suggested dryly.

Harkness took it out, looked at it, and stuck it back in. It still failed to work. "That's odd," he said. "It worked a bit ago."

"Mh-hm." Sam leaned against the door, trying to keep a straight face. "So, this police box is actually a time-travelling alien spaceship, but its one key has inconveniently ceased to work."

"I'm telling you, it used to work," Harkness growled. "Someone must've changed the locks. --why would he change the locks?"

"To protect your alibi?" Sam suggested.

"Funny." Harkness glared at him. "I'd think you'd be glad to believe me. I hear you don't particularly like it here."

Sam grimaced. "Who told you that?"

"Chris." Sam could almost hear Harkness's mind wandering. "Nice guy. Few bolts short of a ship, though."

Sam laughed before he could catch himself, and didn't quite manage to cover it. "You're talking about an officer of the Greater Manchester Police Force."

Harkness grinned. "Yeah, I noticed that. Never could resist a man out of uniform."

Sam looked to the sky.

"So why don't you believe me?" Harkness asked. A small pad of paper and a pen emerged from an inner pocket. "What doesn't add up?"

Little things. Everything. "Enough."

"Why would I lie?" He put the paper up against the box, and scribbled a quick note.

"There." He slipped it into the crack of the door, wedging it in with a pebble. "I guess he'll find me. Unless you have some kind of a directory of weird, inexplicable things going on around town?"

"Well, there are the papers, and the calls into the station."

"Great." Harkness sighed, turning his back on the TARDIS and walking away. "I miss the days when you could just grab a computer and it'd tell you everything you needed to know."

"Hm," Sam said. "Google. Wikipedia."

"Not actually around where I'm from," Harkness said, and Sam looked up at him. "What? It's like the printing press isn't around in the 2000s. Great concept, great machine, we've just got better ones."

"Where are you from?"

"You'd call it the fifty-first century." He shrugged.

"And yet you're speaking period--if American--English," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah. That's a bit complicated."

Sam grunted.

"So what's the Manchester nightlife like in 1973?" Harkness asked, falling into step beside Sam. "I mean, if I might be stuck here a while. Anything fun?"

"I haven't had the chance to experience much of it," Sam said. Aside from that which I've been exposed to while making arrests. And the Warren. Come to think of it, assuming it hasn't changed under new management, you might fit in there.

"So what do you do, DI Tyler?" Harkness asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Sam considered half a dozen ripostes, but discarded them in favour of a stony silence.

"Ouch," Harkness said. "If this is your style, no wonder you don't have any fun."

"I already told you," Sam said, ducking under the cordon, "that I wasn't interested."

"But you didn't say categorically," Harkness pointed out, with a less-than-wholesome grin.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"See, there was another perfect opportunity," Harkness said, poking an elbow into Sam's ribs. Sam skittered a pace to one side, regretting it immediately as Harkness chuckled. "You keep stringing me on and I'll keep following. I know some guys get off on that."

"I'm not one of them."

"See, you say that, but--"

Sam crossed his arms, turning to face him. "Insofar as you can be considered a category, I am categorically not interested in you as anything beyond a potential suspect and--"

"Time traveller?" Harkness suggested.

Sam spun on his heel, stalking down the street again. "That has yet to be proven."

"But you want to believe me." Harkness caught up with him in an odd hop-skip, falling into step beside him. "Don't you?"

I want to believe that what I've experienced is real. "I want to believe in the theory."

"I can start from there." Harkness ducked down, bringing his mouth to Sam's ear. "I've got lots of theories."

Sam sped up, resisting the urge to swat a hand to his ear, and wondered what the gov would do if he just shot Harkness and claimed there was no other choice.

"And lots of theory," Harkness said. "Got an A- in Theory of Applied Time. You want to know stuff; I know stuff. Come on. Ask."

Sam considered.

"Nothing ventured," Harkness began.

Nothing gained. Sam nodded. He knew Google. Odd litmus test, but. "All right. Tell me about time travel."

-

That night, as Sam was checking the progress made (minimal) on the case he should have been working on, Annie stole up behind him and gave him a friendly punch in the side. "You've had a busy day."

"Not especially." Sam tucked half a dozen papers into half a dozen folders, dropping them onto the pile at the end of the desk. "What've you been doing?"

"Went looking for you," she said. "Where's your friend?"

"I honestly have no idea," Sam said. "He vanished about an hour ago, after I refused to let him sleep in my flat."

Annie nodded vacantly.

"He complained that he had nowhere else to go," Sam explained. "I offered to put him up in cells for the night...."

Annie looked less amused than he'd hoped.

He shrugged. "Anyway."

Annie leaned forward, laying a hand across his wrist. "Sam. Can you tell me more about where you come from?"

Sam laughed, a bit, because it had to be a joke. "What, Hyde?"

"No, not--" She shook her head. "Your time, Sam. Where you're really from."

He pulled back, looking over her face. Odd sort of time for everyone to believe me. "I thought you were of the opinion that it was all a delusion."

She looked sharply away, brushing hair out of her eyes with the hand that wasn't on his. "That doesn't matter."

Matters to me. "You're acting a bit erratic," he said.

"Just been thinking, is all," she mumbled.

Mm-hm. He pulled his hand away, examining her face with a critical eye. I suppose I can't bend your ear about it whenever it crosses my mind and then refuse to talk when you ask. "What do you need to know?"

"Details," she said, without thinking. "To make it real to me. I need to know how it happened."

He grimaced. "How what happened?"

She looked at him, eyes deep and compelling. Too compelling, maybe, but by then he couldn't notice. "How you got here."

-

An odd headache kept him up most of the night.

It was a low ache, almost subliminal until he thought about it, at which point it ricocheted between his temples like a demented pinball. He kept looking at his clock, which jumped across weird primes that he shouldn't have recognised as primes--10:39, 12:01, 1:37, 3:49.

By the time he walked into CID, he'd lost track of time altogether. He had breakfast in the canteen before wandering up into the office, hoping to get work done on the case before being embroiled in... extracurriculars.

Instead he stepped in to find Ray already at work. Or at least at his desk; no actual work could be observed.

"You and Cartwright went out late," Ray said, smirking. "You finally getting some action, boss? Might cheer you up a bit."

Sam grimaced. "What are you implying?"

"Saw her leave the station with you," he said, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Met you out back." He chuckled.

Sam glanced over him. Ray was, by and large, repulsive, but he wouldn't make up something so obviously untrue and try to pass it off to someone who knew it wasn't true. It wasn't his style. "I left alone," he said. "WDC Cartwright stayed to--" To do something. I'm sure she mentioned what. "--finish some unfinished business."

Ray eyed him.

"If she left with someone else, that's not my business," Sam said. "Nor is it yours."

"Huh," Ray said. He poked a knuckle at him, dropping ash on his trouser leg. "Pity. You need it."

He replaced the cigarette between his lips and put his feet up, studiously ignoring Sam. Sam returned the favour.

Half an hour later Harkness wandered in, glanced at Ray (who appeared to have fallen asleep), and cleared his throat. "Morning, DI Tyler."

"Good morning," Sam said, looking for a long, complicated form to start that would prevent him from leaving. "I trust you had a pleasant night."

"Very pleasant. DC Skelton was kind enough to lend me a pillow and his floor," Harkness said. "And if you're concerned about the virtue of your junior officer--"

Sam held up a hand. "Please, just--stop, right there."

Harkness attempted an innocent expression.

Sam sighed and cleared his desk. For once, no overly-bureaucratic forms were in evidence. "Do you have any leads on your friend?"

"No," Harkness said. "And that's weird. I mean, I--" He paused, glancing at Ray. Ray was still asleep. "Can we step outside?"

Sam nodded, and headed for the door. Harkness followed him, calling up the lift with his wrist device instead of the usual button.

"First time I found him--simple," he said. "Scanned for alien tech. He has this device, this sonic screwdriver--never leaves the police box without it. Now, I'm not picking up anything but the TARDIS."

"Maybe he's inside," Sam suggested.

"I thought of that. But it was the same when I checked yesterday, too. And this morning. Who parks their timeship in Manchester and never goes out to see the sights?"

"I see," Sam said.

"But thanks."

The lift arrived and opened, and Harkness stepped inside. Sam followed. "Excuse me?"

"Thanks," Harkness said. "You know, for offering a genuine suggestion. No snippiness, no condescension. Sounds good on you."

Sam exhaled, stabbing the ground-floor button. "Any time."

"Don't get me wrong, he's a big fan of the low-tech approach. Big Madame Okoboji kind of guy."

And Sam was lost again. "Who?"

Harkness waved a hand. "Famous thirtieth-century lit-figure. Tended to scrap things together with whatever she found. Don't you have one of those?"

"Try 'MacGuyver,'" Sam suggested. The lift doors opened.

"Right. Well, he's a real MacGuyver. Once, we were in Kyoto, thirteen--" he glanced down the halls, dropping his voice. "1336, and so we've somehow managed to offend the great shogun-to-be Ashikaga Takauji, and I swear, the Doctor makes out of knives, cord and wood ash this rudimentary clockwork robot thing--"

He pushed the door open, stepped outside, and paused.

"What is this?" he asked.

"What?" Sam looked up. A note had been taped to the station door; it read Jack in large block letters. "Hang on. That's my handwriting."

"Are you leaving notes for me?" Harkness asked, pulling it down and opening it. The writing inside was in neat, swooping cursive.

Harkness frowned, and handed it over. "That doesn't sound like the Doctor," he said.

Sam turned it over, holding it to the light. "What kind of paper is this?"

"What?" Harkness rubbed a corner between his fingers. "Oh, some kind of ragvine paper, I think. Durable, cheap, nice texture. The Doctor keeps a few pads of it lying around."

"It feels like a polymer," Sam said.

"Well, it would. It's ragvine paper." Harkness opened his watch, pulling up a display. "And it's from the TARDIS. Same residual time signature. Fading fast, though--must have been put here hours ago."

His watch chirruped.

Sam looked at the display. "What is that?"

Harkness looked down, and his expression darkened. "I must be coming closer to my own timeline than I thought," he said. "Which means I don't have a lot of time to find this guy."

"What--"

"Car," Harkness said, steering him toward the car park. "You choose. I'm picking up the foretremours of a time crisis, and believe me, we don't want to get to the actual quake."

"What happens--"

"Every sentient thing in the vicinity gets consumed."

"Consumed?" Sam said, singling out the nearest car to them. "What do you mean, 'consumed'?"

"Eaten. Swallowed. Absorbed by Time. Pick a descriptor," Harkness said. "But first pick a car and let's go."

Sam unlocked the doors, sliding into the driver's seat. "Back to the box?"

"Back to the box," Harkness agreed, dropping into the passenger side. Sam pulled out of the car park, heading onto the streets.

Nine or so streets away, a shudder passed through him from his fingertips to spine. He glanced up out the windshield--it was a perfectly pleasant day. "Did you feel that?"

Harkness shook his head. "I didn't feel anything."

"It got cold," Sam said, poking at the dashboard. Something was wrong. "These dials are--"

The radio buzzed. "Eight-seven-zero, are you there? DI Tyler, respond now if you can."

Sam snatched the handset. "I'm here. What's going on?"

"We've got some trouble back at the station," Phyllis said. "Need you back here."

"Understood. On my way."

He pulled into a side street and turned, speeding to as fast as he could justify. He was just glancing around a turn when something lunged from his peripheral vision.

He slammed on the brakes--no time to do anything else--and then for half a second he was in 2006 again with a burgundy people-carrier cutting him off, with Maya's scream over the phone ringing in his ears, with a blue hatchback somewhere speeding toward him--

--and the next second he was back in the seat with Harkness stretched across him, hands on the wheel, and they were up on a kerb and inches away from the brick-face wall of a shop.

Harkness was breathing hard--after a second, Sam realised they both were. "I'm sorry," he started. "I--"

Harkness pried his fingers from the wheel, pulling back onto his own seat. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Sam managed. "Just--"

"You were not here for a second," Harkness said. "Where did you go?"

"What?" Sam's head snapped around.

"That look in your eyes," Harkness said. "I've seen it before."

Sam shook his head, drawing a hand across his mouth. "Sorry. I--"

"Get out," Harkness said, pushing his door open and leaning across Sam to do the same on his side. "You're not safe to drive. I'll take us back to the station."

Sam started laughing, with only the vaguest idea why. "You're from the fifty-first century! How the hell would you know how to drive a car?"

"Step out of the car," Harkness said. Sam took control of himself by sheer obstinate force, and stepped out.

As soon as he did, his head shot through with pain and he collapsed against the door. Meaningless primes danced through his mind.

He heard a door slam. Disconnected in time and reason, he felt Harkness lay an arm across his back as though he were pinning him down. A low tak-tak-blip echoed across his ears. "What are you doing?"

"Figuring out why you're affected and I'm not," Harkness said, and that didn't make any sense at all. "Hold on."

"I am holding on," Sam said, slightly offended that Harkness would need to suggest it. His hands were definitely gripping the body of the car.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of his thoughts.

"Right." There was the creak of bending leather, and Harkness took his wrist. A moment later a wide leather strap closed around it, and the confused miasma evaporated. Sam looked up, calm returning in eddies and waves.

"Thank you," he said. "What was that?"

"Don't thank me yet; this is a stop-gap," Harkness told him. "That device will protect you from what's happening, but not for long."

"What is happening?" Sam asked.

Harkness took a deep breath. "...I don't know. That thing I told you about--the temporal cushion. It's decaying much faster than it should be, almost like someone is chipping away at it." He shook his head. "But that's impossible. No one knows how to tap that. I mean, there have been--"

He trailed off. Sam gulped in air, trying to steady himself. "Tell me what's going on."

"There's this theory," Harkness said, "that if you can degrade the temporal cushion enough to put the world into a time crisis, you could use the energy released to power--well, anything. Time ships most of all; time ships require a specific kind of energy and that--"

"--means nothing to me," Sam interrupted. "Break it down!"

Harkness turned, grinding his teeth. "Okay! You're a molecule, all right?"

What? "Is this helping--?"

"You've accumulated a lot of extra atoms, and one by one they're splitting off now," Harkness continued.

I haven't studied chemistry for a while, but I don't think that's how molecules work. "This isn't helping."

"Someone wants to take all those extra atoms and split them," Harkness finished. "Schlbam! All at once. Nuclear explosion, except with time instead of radiation. But there's only one race I can imagine would have the technology to do that."

I see where this is heading. "And that would be your friend?"

"But he wouldn't," Harkness said, with the same sort of iron faith Sam had heard himself use in talking about justice, talking about the law. "Not the Doctor."

Perfectly reassuring. I feel reassured. Sam started to snicker.

Harkness popped the nearest non-driver's door open, shoving Sam in. He sat behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition and peeling off.

Well, he apparently knows how to drive a car.

Half a street from CID something dashed by again, this time skidding to a halt in the middle of the road. Sam caught a glimpse of pronounced white bone, teeth and talons and tusks, a beast the size of a horse with a body like a dog's, snarling at them. Harkness slammed on the brakes, but not before they hit it.

Or appeared to. It evaporated the instant they did.

"All right," Harkness said, tearing out of the car. "That was a bad, bad sign! I have to get you out of here."

"What?" Sam demanded, clambering out as well.

"By whatever means necessary," Harkness added. "Flat-out time jump, if I have to! Something about you is breaking the universe, and I don't know why. Remember how I said everything would be consumed?" He rounded on Sam. "If those things won't, worse things will!"

Sam backed away. "This is not my fault."

"I'm not looking for someone to blame," Harkness said, and a rising howl sounded from the Station.

"Shit," Sam hissed, dashing forward. Harkness caught his wrist, pulling him back.

"Look, we have to go back to the site. If we can get you inside the TARDIS it'll protect--"

Sam backpedaled, yanking his wrist out of Harkness's grasp. Yes, of course, the alien police box we can't get inside. "I am not leaving them!"

"Sam." Harkness turned, tense and edgy. "These things are coming for you. We get you out and they'll disappear, trust me!"

Two more beaded into existence on the road before them. Harkness whipped around, coat snapping in the air.

Sam ducked away, sprinting past them.

"You--" Harkness began, couldn't think of a word, and launched himself after Sam instead. "Lunatic!"

Sam rounded the corner and almost stopped dead in his tracks.

A small pack of the things had taken over the car park, one of them perched atop Gene's Cortina, the rest running riot amongst the parked cars. A few were crouched over bodies, some of them moving, some of them not. Sam caught sight of Gene crouched behind one of the unmarked cars, with one of the dog-things circling in.

No!

The headache was thrumming back. He didn't quite feel himself charging in.

-

Jack didn't have time to marvel at how incredibly unfair it was--find the TARDIS, be chased off by a time crisis. He'd be inclined to think it was the universe's joke on him, if the universe wasn't suffering as well.

And of course, DI Sam Tyler the anomaly was disregarding all plan and reason in favour of the "rush right in" approach.

"Sam, no!" Jack caught his arm, whipping him back. "Listen, you--"

"Let me go," Sam yelled. "Go, leave! This has nothing to do with me!"

Jack caught his other arm, digging his fingers in. "It has everything to do with you! Sam, listen, you are the root of this crisis." Sam struggled and Jack held on, trying to catch his eyes. Trying to get it through his head this time when it hadn't worked before. "This is happening because you are here!"

"No," Sam said.

"You said it yourself, you're here because of an accident!--you don't know how this stuff works, and I do. And I'm telling you--"

"Let go of me!" Sam yelled, and contorted so quickly it broke Jack's grip. He ran for the chaos, and maybe it was Jack's imagination that he could hear the TARDIS powering up. He didn't want to believe that there was any other reason.

He could hear the monsters screaming, and the two thoughts The Doctor is here, his TARDIS is here and Do the right thing, damn you did three swift turns inside him as they crouched and leapt.

Then there was no time for anything.

He hit Sam as Sam ducked, wrapped his arms around him, and hit the touchscreen on his wrist. Through the blue flash he could see the dogs land around them, claws in their shadows, and then the world turned to vertigo and white dunes and slate-grey sky. They hit the ground hard.

He caught his breath on hands and knees, standing slowly. Sam gasped, fingers curling through the gypsum. Jack waited until he looked up, until he met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. For both of us, I'm sorry.

Sam looked away, across the alien dunes, and staggered to his feet. He stared, not quite understanding, not at all willing to accept or forgive.

Jack looked at the time device still on Sam's wrist. "I'm really sorry," he said again. "You don't know."

"Where are we?" Sam asked, voice hollow.

Jack shook his head. "...I don't know," he admitted. But I do know it's a long way home.