Chapter Text
The occupants of the TARDIS were all silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Deidre was mulling over the recent discovery of her status as a grandmother. The Doctor was keeping himself busy, trying not to think of anything more than piloting his beloved ship. The Master was plotting ways to exploit and use his knowledge of the events that had just transpired and David was just trying to not lose his mind.
David could still see the images John had shared with him back in the lab in the alternate Earth's Torchwood and was wondering if he would ever be able to come to terms with his newly realised heritage. He had had inklings and suspicions but to finally have it all laid bare, with no uncertainty made it all too real.
He wandered the halls until he came to his bedroom, as he opened the door the smell of fresh flowers filled his senses. There on the bed stand was a fresh cut bowl of violets and on almost every flat surface in the room were more of the purple flowers.
David sat on the bed, a wry smile on his face, "I get it," he spoke aloud to the TARDIS, "very subtle," The light in the room dimmed as he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes.
What seemed like only minutes later he awoke to a soft knock on the door. The Doctor entered the room, changed into his more familiar blue suit and holding some folded clothes in one hand, "I repaired the storm trooper shirt," he smiled pointing to where the hole had been, "well, I didn't personally, I can barely sew on a button, the nanogenes did it. After I had to train them not to try to put an ear on it."
The Doctor sat on the edge of the bed, "I'm dropping Deidre off first, then you, if you still want to go home."
David sat up, "I don't really know what I want," he shrugged, "what day is it anyway?"
"Any day you want it to be," The Doctor smiled, gesturing around the room, "it's a time machine too, remember?"
"If we were strictly speaking of the current Earth calendar, what day is it's" David clarified.
"Hmmm, Monday," The Doctor replied after some thought.
"The one before we left or the following week's Monday?"
"One of the two," came the reply, "but the point is, what day do you want it to be?"
"I don't think I'm ready to go off to film yet, so not the Monday before the Wednesday I'm due on set," then David paused, shaking his head, "how do you keep track of days?"
The Doctor laughed, "I try not to. Too confusing. I just pick one and stick with it." Then his face grew serious, "when we restored your memory there was that little um, glitch."
"Right, some of The Master's energy got transferred to me," David replied.
"Well..." The Doctor started, then stopped, "it could be nothing."
"Care to elaborate on that?" David prompted.
It was painfully obvious by the way The Doctor was stalling that no, he didn't really care to, but after a bit he did, "I don't know if you noticed but when you got upset at well, you know, you um... well, influenced the temperature around you."
"Now, try again with something that makes a bit more sense."
"All right! When you got hot under the collar, as the saying goes, so did everyone else," The Doctor quickly explained.
"That's ridiculous!" David countered, "maybe the thermostats were affected by that black out!"
"Could be," The Doctor replied in an even tone, "but how do you explain that?" he pointed at the flowers on the bed stand suddenly drooping as water in the bowl started to boil.
David stared at the bowl, and then took a deep breath forcing himself to calm down. As he did so the water stopped bubbling, "I'm doing that?" he asked after a bit.
"Would appear so," The Doctor picked one of the dead flowers up and sniffed it, "when you were first linked with the meta, err, John the room got cold. Fear or anxiety I think, then when you got upset it got very hot."
"How is that even possible?"
"Good question," The Doctor nodded approvingly, "but I'm afraid, for once in my life, I haven't got the first clue. Well, a first clue, but definitely not a second. Or maybe it's the third clue I'm missing? Either way," he waved his hands dismissively, "the important thing is we need to find out what's causing it and um, as much as I hate to admit it, we're going to need help."
"Who could we go to for help?" David asked, "and not wind up being sectioned?"
"I have a friend, after a fashion, he works for an agency that specialises in the unusual," The Doctor offered, "but before I go any further, you have to promise me to not boil anymore water."
"Come again?"
"Don't get upset," The Doctor elaborated.
"I can't promise that until you tell me what you have to say," David replied reasonably, "but I do promise to listen with an open mind."
"Fair enough," The Doctor smiled, "Torchwood, this Earth's version is run by someone I trust explicitly."
"The real life Captain Jack?" David perked up.
"Exactly," The Doctor nodded.
"So what is his actual name?"
The Doctor rose, "his actual name or the one he goes by? He's known as Jack. I offered to give him a pseudonym for the show, but he is, um, how to nicely say this? What's a good way of putting it when someone is massively proud and justifiably so, of their accomplishments?"
"Vain?"
"I was looking for something a bit more complimentary, but yeah, that applies," The Doctor laughed.
"I would really like to go home, at least for the night, can we wait until morning?" David asked.
"Of course," The Doctor agreed, "but before you get loose on the unsuspecting public without being able to control this, I think it's best we get it all sorted."