Actions

Work Header

To the Stars and Back

Chapter Text

Following the queen's carriage along a barely-there road in the thick, blustery Scottish wind, Zoe was glad for her coat. Huddled inside it, fingers turning stiff and frozen around the collar, she blew out a gust of air that turned white in front of her eyes as the slow procession dipped down a hill, slick mud making the path treacherous. On a hidden hole in the ground, the Doctor unbalanced, knee wobbling, arms pin wheeling as his feet went from under him. Taken aback by the sudden flailing of alien limbs, Rose ducked only to slip on a patch of slick mud, hands grabbing at the Doctor's trousers that made him topple backwards, hands reaching for Zoe who, taking in the local floral and fauna, failed to notice her friends falling like dominoes, was nearly pulled face first into the mud by the Doctor's attempt at keeping his balance. It was only down to Jack's finely-tuned reflexes that kept them all upright and out of the mud with their dignity more or less intact, even if Captain Reynolds looked upon them with a lip curled in disdain.

 

Falling back into line with smothered laughter, eyes bright with shared amusement, a house grew large before them.

 

On their final approach – a fan of architecture from her days spent living in a palace – Zoe took in the building. It was a large house with dark stone that was built up out of the earth and rimmed by a huge stone wall whose purpose appeared to be keeping people out, though she silently questioned the need for such a thing as there were a dearth of people in the middle of nowhere and anyone approaching would be seen miles in advance. As they entered the courtyard, mud churned beneath the wheels of the queen's carriage, and a stray flapping hen squawked as it dashed in its odd, wobbling run out of the way. Zoe cast her eyes around and saw that a number of staff quickly disappeared from view as their attempt to prepare the house for the unexpected royal visit came to an end.

 

Abruptly, she was reminded of the time when Maximilian III Joseph, prince-elector of Bavaria, stopped by Versailles unexpectedly. It was the only time Zoe had seen Louis lose his calm , receiving only half a day's notice of the man's arrival. She had been unceremoniously shuttled off into her and Reinette's apartment with the understanding that she was to do nothing and say nothing that might offend the prince-elector, which she thought was a little insulting at the time but, in hindsight, had probably been wise. As it was, Maximilian – and not Max or Maxi-boy as she light-heartedly referred to him as to Reinette who was torn between laughter and shock at her disrespect – only stayed two nights but it was a lot of work for the palace staff to pull off at the last minute. Given that the owners of the house they were approaching had less than two hours notice, she was impressed that things seemed to be in order.

 

“Would you get a look at that," the Doctor whistled, face turned up in naked astonishment. “There's something you don't see every day.”

 

Having been focused on the inner workings of the house, eyes trailing after servants with fondness in her chest for days gone by, Zoe followed the Doctor's gaze and felt her mouth slip open in surprise. On top of the house, emerging from a metal-structured glass dome, was a huge golden telescope that stretched out up into the sky.

 

“That's amazing,” she said, taking an eager step forwards. “Particularly in this century. What do you think the magnification is?”

 

He glanced down at her, thrilled that she appreciated it as well. “Depends on how many prisms were used.”

 

“I wouldn't mind getting my hands on her scopes,” Jack said, managing to turn a harmless sentence dirty. Rose, less enamoured with technology as the rest of them, wrinkled her nose at the innuendo, hands tucked into her armpits. “Much nicer than a winter garden. I see a strange amount of winter gardens in places like these. It's like either have a sun room or have a green house, don't have both.”

 

“I think I've got a winter garden somewhere,” the Doctor said. Zoe briefly leaned her cheek against his arm to warm her face. “Lost track of it a couple of centuries ago, but I was growing some very nice plums. Well, I say plums.”

 

Used to his nonsensical ramblings, she tuned him out and squelched the mud beneath her feet, a small grin of enjoyment slipping onto her face. It was worth the annoyance that would come later at having to clean them before entering the TARDIS, but, having grown up in London, squelching in mud was a pleasure discovered in France. Feeling it shift and burp beneath her feet, she remembered wet winter days of exploring the grounds of Versailles with a bemused and infatuated Reinette trailing after her, imploring her to try and keep herself clean, like a mother hurrying after a mischievous child.

 

Lifting her knees and using the Doctor for balance, she threw herself into it, satisfaction filling her as the mud carved over the top of her shoes. A choked snort of laughter that made her look up: Jack was watching her, smiling. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” he said. “You're just adorable.”

 

She stuck her tongue out at him and shoved her hands into her pockets to get feeling back to her fingers. Feeling light-hearted and eager for whatever adventure the TARDIS had in mind for them, she leaned against the Doctor who brought an arm around her shoulders while Rose did the same with Jack. Zoe watched as the queen's soldiers flowed easily into formation around the carriage and the servants spilled from the house to line up in order to welcome the queen who alighted from her carriage in slow movements. The bustle of her dress making it difficult to move at speed, her slowness aided master of the house, Sir Robert MacLeish, as hurried out of his house, flustered. A mildly handsome man with dark, greying hair and a noble bearing, he was pale as though on the med from a long illness.

 

Dipping into a bow in front of his queen, he pressed his against his diaphragm to hide the tremors that ran through him. “Your majesty.”

 

“Sir Robert,” Victoria greeted, entirely unconcerned that she might be putting him out a significant amount by her unexpected arrival. Aristocrats, Zoe thought fondly, fingers touching her wedding band. “My apologies for the emergency. How is Lady Isobel?”

 

“Indisposed, I'm afraid.” Sir Robert straightened up. His eyes darted from her face to those of his servants who stood stiff and silent on either side of the steps before snapping his attention back to her. His tongue twitched out against his bottom lip before disappearing. “She's gone to Edinburgh for the season, and she's taken the cook with her...the kitchens are barely stocked. I wouldn't blame your majesty if you wanted to ride on.”

 

“Oh, not at all,” she dismissed, enjoying the opportunity to stretch her legs after so long inside her carriage. “I've had quite enough carriage exercise. And this is charming, if rustic.” Zoe fought the smile that wanted to pull at her lips at the polite way to say small and unkempt. “It's my first visit to this house, though my late husband spoke of it often – the Torchwood Estate.”

 

Torchwood.

 

It was as though a bomb went off inside of her as she stiffened and pulled away from the Doctor so suddenly that he stumbled. A coincidence, she thought, dragging her eyes around the courtyard before settling on the words engraved into stone above the door, stomach dropping.

 

Torchwood House

 

“I'm sorry.” The interruption was sharp and rude, Jack's eyes jumping to her in warning, but she stepped forward, striding towards the queen and Sir Robert before the shifting of the royal guards reminded her that one did not approach the Queen of Great Britain like that. “What did you just say? Did you say Torchwood?”

 

Victoria's face took on the pinched, sour expression of the disapproving and made no move to answer what she viewed was an impertinent question. Irritation began to swell inside Zoe, and she was seconds away from demanding an answer when Sir Robert answered for the queen.

 

“Yes,” he said, and the feeling that had been building in her chest broke free and solidified into a heavy iron ball sank with slow dread into her stomach. “It's been this house's name since it's founding in the 16th century. Is it important?”

 

“I – maybe,” she said, staring at him and then Victoria. She suddenly remembered herself and pulled back with a small bow, tripping over herself when her toe caught on the back of her heel. “My apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt. It's – er – it's a touch of the wine like the Doctor said. Really should cut back.”

 

“Yes, you should,” Victoria said, disdainfully before looking over Zoe's shoulder. “Now, shall we go inside? And, please, Sir Robert, excuse the naked girl.”

 

Rose blushed and apologised, tugging on the bottom of her denim skirt to cover her thighs as best she could.

 

“She's a feral child,” the Doctor said, maintaining his Scottish accent though his eyes were on Zoe who was looking around with increasing agitation. He walked forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, thumb pressing into a pressure point on the back of her neck, calm radiating outwards. “I bought her for sixpence in old London Town. It's was her or the Elephant Man, so...”

 

He shrugged.

 

“Thinks he's funny, but I'm so not amused,” Rose said, looking to the queen. “What do you think, ma'am?”

 

“It hardly matters,” Victoria said to Rose's disappointment. “Shall we proceed?”

 

They watched her enter the house with Sir Robert, and the servants jumped into action to escort the queen's property into the house with Reynolds overseeing everything as soon as her dark form was out of sight. The Doctor stepped behind Zoe and brought his other hand to rest on her waist, a firm, steadying presence. The cool warmth of him seeped into her, but she didn't turn to look at him, too busy frowning at the house, desperately wanting to believe it was a coincidence. After Christmas, she hadn't given much thought to Torchwood, too busy and too happy to be concerned with something that was over with, but hearing the word again brought back her feelings of uncertainty and fear over the organisation that had built an alien weapon to destroy the Sycorax.

 

“It's more than that,” Zoe murmured, thinking out loud. “They already had it. They were just assembling it.”

 

Perhaps it was a coincidence, the universe was large enough and strange enough for coincidences to happen, but the TARDIS generally brought them to places they needed to go when she went off course, and Zoe suspected that they were needed at the Torchwood Estate.

 

“Hey.” The Doctor's breath was warm against the chill of her skin, and she started, remembering that she wasn't alone. “You're talking to yourself, and you only do that when you're thinking something through. What's wrong?” She opened her mouth to lie and say nothing, but he beat her to it. “And don't say nothing, because it's obviously something. You recognised the name Torchwood, why's it important?”

 

Turning so that she was standing nearly on top of him, she tilted her face up. “Have you ever heard the name before?”

 

“Torchwood, can't say I have,” he said. “Why?”

 

“I've heard it before, at Christmas,” she said. “And I didn't like what I -”

 

“C'mon, you two,” Rose called from the front step. “The queen's waitin'.”

 

Jack glanced into the house. “Not so much waiting as leaving us in the dust.”

 

“Later,” she promised, meeting his eyes.

 

He nodded and tookher hand, attention briefly stolen by a small locked box that was lifted from the carriage. They made their way across the mud and joined Rose and Jack in entering the house.

 

“What's got you two looking so serious?” Jack asked before taking in the tense lines of Zoe's face and his expression fell. “Oh, no. What's is it?”

 

“Not here,” she said. “But keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

 

“You mean like how the servants all look alike,” he said, drawing their attention to the liveried servants. The Doctor made a small sound in his throat when he saw that Jack made an excellent point: they were all tall, pale, and bald. “I'm not as familiar with Scotland as I am with England but I don't think they're meant to look like that.”

 

Rose discreetly examined the one closest to them. “Coincidence?”

 

“You know what the Doctor says,” he frowned. “Never ignore a coincidence.”

 

“Unless you're busy,” the Doctor added. “This is leaving a strange taste in my mouth, like when I eat pears. I don't like it.” Aware that they were losing track of Victoria and Sir Robert, he ushered them inside. “Did you notice our host?”

 

“Nervous as an Octarian lemur in a bath,” Jack said, and when Zoe and Rose looked at him oddly he quickly explained. “They really don't like taking baths.”

 

Rose looked amused. “Actually got that, thanks.”

 

“Something's clearly afoot,” Zoe said, quietly. “Just...” she sighed. “Everyone be on their guard. There are some things I need to tell you but we don't have time now. The TARDIS clearly brought us here for a reason, and I'm willing to bet the coffee machine that it's not a good one.”

 

The inside of the house was much darker than she liked in her interior decorating. She preferred open spaces with lots of natural light streaming it through the windows; she liked light-coloured furniture as well: soft cotton covers with bright cushions that helped to brighten a room. Her one complaint about the TARDIS was the lack of natural light within her magnificent walls but since they tended to stop off at a planet every other day, it didn't matter so much. Torchwood House, though, was all polished dark wood with rich tapestries and ornate rugs; the furniture heavily coloured and solidly designed. Use was made of the natural stonework, lovely but dark, only serving to add to an overall feeling of gloom and coldness that seeped into every room of the house despite fires burning constantly to chase away the winter chill.

 

“Well, despite Zoe injecting a sense of gloom into proceedings, this is fun,” the Doctor said. “Queen Victoria.”

 

“You know, we spend less time than I would have thought with royalty,” Jack said, shoulder brushing against Rose's in the narrow space of the corridor. “Based on your stories and all.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

They all spoke at once. “Cleopatra.”

 

“She's just a mate,” he protested before flapping a hand in Zoe's direction. “And she's mates with royalty as well.”

 

“It's true,” she nodded, making an effort to shake the cold feeling from her shoulders. “Louis XV and I are like this –” she crossed her fingers in front of them. “Although, I don't reckon good Queen Vic wants to be our mate. Talk about stiff upper lip.”

 

“Eh,” the Doctor dismissed with a shrug. “She never really recovered from losing Albert.”

 

A sentiment that both Zoe and the Doctor were able to appreciate as they were led through the creaking corridors and up a flight of narrow stairs and then down on through the hall. The house was more labyrinthian than it appeared from the outside, and Zoe thought it would be lovely for children to play in but there didn't seem to be any signs that children lived in the house at all. They reached their destination, which, she was pleased to discover, was the observatory; Queen Victoria and Sir Robert were already present finishing their conversation regarding their shared acquaintances.

 

The room itself was much nicer than the rest of the house as it was all natural stone with no wood panelling or floors, giving off a more relaxed feel. It reminded her of the Doctor's storage room on the TARDIS with all the same sorts of strange trinkets within: there were discarded sketches piled up beneath a half-finished lunascope and a golden solar system that lay on its side gathering dust, along with a faded chalk drawing on the wall of the phases of the moon. It was like entering a scientist's abandoned work room but the main feature of the room was the large golden telescope that was visible from outside.

 

“Oh, that's so cool,” Zoe breathed, her eyes feasting on the telescope from the doorway, forgetting her worries. “It's like a work of art.”

 

“This is, I assume, the famous Endeavour?” Victoria asked, eyeing the telescope with a curiosity that looked honest.

 

Zoe knew that Albert had been the innovator of the two, pushing Britain further and deeper into the Industrial Age with his patronage of various charities and development projects; she hadn't considered that Victoria might also be interested in such things. Then again, she thought about her and the Doctor and how they each took an interest in each other's hobbies even if they didn't fully share in them.

 

“All my father's work,” Sir Robert explained. “Built by hand in his final years.”

 

“By hand?” She interrupted again. “Sorry, ma'am, Sir Robert, but – by hand? That's incredible.”

 

His mouth flickered into something of a smile at her enthusiasm, making him look more handsome and younger than before. She couldn't help but smile back.

 

“It became something of an obsession,” he said, relaxing into their company. “He spent his money on this rather than caring for the house or himself.”

 

“I wish I'd met him,” Doctor said. “I like the sound of him. That thing's beautiful.” He gestured at the telescope. “May I?”

 

“Help yourself,” he said, and all four of them moved forwards at once, excited like children let loose in a toy shop with their parents' money burning a whole in their pockets.

 

“What did he model it on?” Jack asked, a gleam in his eye that he normally only got in junk yards or when he saw a particularly good-looking ship that he wanted to sink his hands into.

 

“I know nothing about it,” Sir Robert confessed with the tiniest of shrugs. “To be honest, most of us thought him a little, shall we say, eccentric. I wish now I'd spent more time with him and listened to his stories.”

 

“Hindsight's a bitter thing,” Zoe said, hand smoothing down the shaft of the creation with awe. “But you're here now.”

 

Sir Robert inclined his head gratefully to her.

 

“It's a bit rubbish,” the Doctor said, abruptly, and her head snapped around, mouth falling open at his rudeness. “How many prisms has it got? Way too many. The magnification's gone right over –”

 

“Doctor,” she snapped.

 

He looked up, startled. She shook her head sternly at him, eyes flashing with warning, and he looked around, wide eyed, realising his faux pas.

 

“Ah, sorry, that was rude,” he apologised, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it's pretty. It's very pretty.”

 

“Please excuse my friend,” Zoe apologised, properly. “He's ferociously intelligent but he often forgets that not everyone's at the same level.” The Doctor looked down at his feet, chastened. “Your father's work is incredible. Not only did he create something functional but the aesthetics are amazing. You should be proud, Sir Robert; this is brilliant.”

 

“Thank you, Miss...?”

 

“Tyler, Zoe Tyler,” she said, debating for a moment before deciding to lean into their cover story. “And it's professor, actually.”

 

Jack snorted softly from behind the telescope.

 

“Quite right, Professor Tyler,” Victoria said. “And the imagination of it should also be applauded.”

“Mmm, thought you might disapprove, your majesty,” Rose said, rolling on the balls of her feet, her interest in the telescope lost. “Stargazin'. Isn't that a bit fanciful? You could easily not be amused, or somethin', no?”

 

“This device surveys the infinite work of God,” the queen said, clearly not impressed with Rose even as the Doctor rubbed his eye to hide his amusement. “What could be finer? Sir Robert's father was an example to us all – a polymath steeped in astronomy and sciences, yet equally well versed in folklore and fairy tales.”

 

“Stars and magic,” the Doctor said, meeting Zoe's eyes. How often had she claimed something was magic to prolong the excitement and delight of an experience? “I like him more and more.”

 

“My late husband enjoyed his company,” Victoria said, turning to speak directly to Jack who blinked in surprise at being under her regard. “Prince Albert himself was acquainted with many rural superstitions, coming as he did from Saxe-Coburg.” Jack didn't know what to say as he wasn't sure what Saxe-Coburg was, so he just nodded; fortunately, Victoria looked back to Sir Robert. “When Albert was told about your local wolf, Sir Robert, he was transported.”

 

“A wolf?” Jack asked.

 

“It's just a story,” Sir Robert said with a shake of his head, his nerves making a reappearance in the shake of his hand.

 

“I love stories,” Zoe told him. “I'd love to hear it.”

 

Sir Robert hesitated, eyes darting briefly to the side of the room before he began. “It's said that –”

 

“Excuse me, sir.” A tall, bald servant stepped out of the shadows, interrupting. Zoe wasn't quick enough to hide her surprise, not as well trained as Victoria whose eyes gave a brief twitch: servants didn't interrupt those that they served, or at least they hadn't in Versailles. “Perhaps her majesty's party could repair to their rooms? It's almost dark.”

 

“Of course.” He swallowed and nodded, looking paler than he had before. “Yes, of course.”

 

“And then supper,” Victoria said. “And could we find some clothes for the naked child? I'm tired of looking upon her nakedness. Sir Robert, your wife must have left some clothes: see to it.” She cast her eyes over all of them. “We shall dine at seven and talk some more of this wolf. After all, there is a full moon tonight.”

 

The queen left the room, and Sir Robert nodded to them before following his queen's exit. A servant waited by the door to show Rose to the Lady Isobel's room but Zoe caught Rose's hand before she was able to leave with him. She stared the servant down, raising an eyebrow imperiously, and he stepped out of the room to give them some privacy. She didn't doubt for a second that he would press his ear up against the door to listen in, so she searched through the Doctor's pockets, then her own, and finally Jack's before she found two small square devices that she tossed into the air, creating a sound bubble around them.

 

“Bit much, isn't it?” Rose asked, reaching out to touch the bubble but Zoe slapped her hand down. “Ow!”

 

She ignored her and turned to glare at the Doctor instead.

 

“It's a bit rubbish, isn't it?” She repeated back to him with a poor imitation of his Scottish accent. “What on earth possessed you to say that?”

 

“I know, I know,” he said, embarrassed. “It won't happen again.”

 

“It better not,” she warned him. “Because I don't fancy being locked away just because you've insulted a queen.”

 

“I would never –!”

 

Her look of disbelief stopped the words in his throat before he lied to her.

 

“Just try and behave yourself, would you?” Zoe said, voice sharper than usual. “I've already told you that something is wrong with this place. The last thing we need is you acting like you.”

 

The Doctor put his hands into his pockets, hurt by her words. Rose and Jack exchanged a look behind her back.

 

“What is it then?” He asked, sullen. “Something's got your back up good and proper. You going to tell us, or are you just going to snap at us?”

 

Her nostrils flared with annoyance, and she thought snapping at them might make her feel better before the urge drained from her. It wasn't their fault she was on edge.

 

“It's this house,” she said, frustrated. “The name of it. I've heard it before but a hundred years from now. There's an organisation called Torchwood in the 21st century. I don't like what they do, and I don't like the fact that we're here in a house with the exact same name with Queen Victoria.” Her expression turned pained. “Are you sure you've never heard the name Torchwood before?”

 

The Doctor nodded, but Jack cleared his throat lightly to get their attention, his hand rising into the air.

 

“I have.”

 

She stared at him. “You what?”

 

“I've heard of Torchwood, of course I have,” he said. “It's the premier research institute in my time. It funds a lot of scientific projects into the more abstract areas of science. It also funds archaeological projects, medical research, social welfare projects. It's sort of an umbrella organisation for thousands of smaller organisations. The Time Agency actually received its initial start-up funding from the Institute back when governments were still fighting over whether or not it was a good idea.”

 

The Doctor rubbed his jaw. “Now that you mention it, the name Torchwood does sound familiar. I must have heard it when I was bumping around your time.” He smiled at Zoe. “There we go. It's a research institute. Nothing nefarious about that. Quite positive I'd say. And Queen Vic is known for being a bit ahead of her time with certain things – Albert's influence, I'm sure – so maybe she founded it in his honour.”

 

Zoe shook her head. “No. What Jack's describing isn't the Torchwood I know. Well, I say I know. Harriet was very, very circumspect about the whole thing. It's what got me suspicious of it in the first place, or more suspicious, really.”

 

“Why don't you start from the beginnin'?” Rose suggested. “You're in the middle of it an' makin' no sense. Tell us what you know.”

 

The Doctor pointed at her. “She's got a point. Gold star, Rose Tyler.”

 

She beamed.

 

“All right,” Zoe sighed, rolling shoulders that were tight with tension. “It's Christmas Day, the Sycorax are on their way, the Doctor and I are at UNIT headquarters.” They nodded, taking themselves to the scene she drew. “He was outside talking to Alistair, so I came in and took a seat with a cup of coffee. I wanted to tuck myself out of the way because I was tired and was enjoying not having to be in charge. Above my head on the walkway, Harriet was talking to that assistant of hers, Alex.”

 

“Nice guy,” Jack said. “Lovely ass.”

 

The Doctor pulled a face while Rose rolled her eyes.

 

“They were talking about preparing a weapon to take down the Sycorax,” Zoe said, and the Doctor focused intently on her, body still. “A weapon that could be put together in a couple of hours that Harriet believed would be enough to take down the ship.”

 

Jack frowned. “What kind of weapon?”

 

“I don't know,” she said. “She didn't tell me. She didn't even tell me about Torchwood. I only know about it because I overheard them. I asked but –” her laugh was bitter and brittle. “She said it was classified.”

 

“Harriet Jones told you that something was classified?” The Doctor asked, hands deep in his pockets. “That doesn't bode well.”

 

“The only thing she really told me was that Torchwood was founded to protect Britain and its interests,” she said. “And while UNIT operates on an international scale, Torchwood is solely a national organisation.”

 

Rose stared at her. “That...feels wrong., but I don't know why.”

 

“Yeah,” Zoe agreed. “We never put the conversation to bed, not really. I was – I suppose I was disappointed in her. We had an argument of sorts, but she didn't use the weapon in the end.” She rested her hand on the Doctor's arm. “After you regenerated, she said that it wouldn't be right to disrespect his sacrifice by using it. It was a close call though, too close.”

 

“She was going to use a weapon?” The Doctor asked, frown shadowing his eyes. “Our Harriet? We're talking about the woman we were trapped in Downing Street with? Slitheen? End of the world? Worried about her mother?”

 

“Do we know any other Harriets?” She held up a hand to forestall a list of names sure to fall from his mouth. “Yes, our Harriet. Harriet Jones. Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. We're talking about the same Harriet.”

 

“And she wanted to use a weapon?” He repeated, struggling with that fact. “What would it have done?”

 

“Blown up the Sycorax ship, I assume,” Zoe said. “Like I said, she was light on the details.”

 

“And the reason you didn't tell me this earlier?”

 

“Regeneration, Christmas, exams, graduation, forgot about it.” She listed off on her fingers. “Honestly, I just shoved it to one side. She came around to our way of thinking by the end, and I was just so glad everything was over that I didn't see the point in ruining our time together by talking about weapons and secret organisations. Although, I did mean to ask Alistair about it when we went for lunch but we all got talking and I had a bit too much wine, so I forgot about it again.”

 

“Is this the argument you told me about?” He asked. “After New Earth? You said that you and Harriet had argued about what to do if I wasn't there to help. Is this what you were talking about?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Right.” He didn't look pleased. “So, the TARDIS has brought us to what appears to be the founding of the Torchwood Institute, which could be a good thing if we follow Jack's experiences, or it could be bad if we go with Zoe's.”

 

“Could be both,” Rose suggested. “There's like five thousand years between our times. Could be bad now but good later?”

 

“Optimism,” the Doctor said. “I like it.”

 

“So what do we do?” Zoe asked. “If whatever happens here is going to found Torchwood, are we part of events? Do we need to leave?”

 

He shook his head slowly, reaching out with his Time Senses to feel the timelines.

 

“No,” he decided. “If the TARDIS bought us here then we're supposed to be here. We need to go about our business as though it's a normal day. That means no worrying about interfering with the future or past. It just means doing what we normally do. In this case, investigating; keeping our eyes open and our ears to the ground. Rose, you should go put on some clothes, you tart.” Rose barked a laugh, surprised. “Jack, go with her. One thing we shouldn't do is split up.”

 

“Copy that,” he said with a small salute. He offered his arm to Rose. “Shall we, my lady?”

 

“Why thank you, captain.”

 

“Stay safe,” the Doctor urged, bending to pick up the sound compressors, tossing them back to Jack. He waited until they were gone before he turned to Zoe. “You really need to start telling me these things when they happen.”

 

Her eyebrows raised at his tone. “I'm telling you now.”

 

“Just as we're about to step into a situation that, knowing us, is going to turn dangerous,” he said. “It's no good to me now.”

 

“It would have been no good to you then, either,” she replied, tightly. “You were bouncing all over the place from your regeneration. It'd have gone in one ear and out the other.”

 

Angry colour climbed into his cheeks, and exasperated annoyance flickered to life within him. She was the most frustrating person at times, but as he looked upon her face, he was unable to stay angry at her for long. “I wish you would have told me. I don't like being blindsided with things like this.”

 

“Doctor –”

 

“Zoe, please.” He cut her off impatiently. “I can't keep you safe if I don't have all the information.”

 

“Keep me safe?”

 

“Yes,” he exclaimed before quickly lowering his voice. “The last time you didn't tell me something, you ended up stuck in France for six years. I suppose I should be grateful you told me now before – oh, I don't know – you end up leading a tribe of bloody Scots.”

 

“They're not tribes, they're clans,” she shot back at him. “And you know well and good that clan culture was all but wiped out at the Battle of Culloden a hundred years ago!”

 

“Don't correct my history!”

 

“I will when it's wrong!”

 

“Dammit, Zoe!” The Doctor strode away from her to cool his temper, hearing her exhale behind him. When he turned to look at her, she was leaning against the telescope rubbing at her eyes, looking tired. “I need to keep you safe. If I can't keep you safe, what is the point of me?”

 

She met his eyes. “I've never asked that of you.”

 

“You shouldn't have to ask.” Closing the distance between them, he snatched up her hands, pressing them against his chest over his hearts. “Zoe, you're the most important thing in my life. You're my – you're you. You know how I feel about you. How can I not want to do everything I can to keep you from getting hurt? Is it any less than you'd do for me?”

 

Her expression softened. “No.”

 

His anger and irritation drained from him. “I love you, and it's obvious that whatever Torchwood is, it frightens you.”

 

“Not frightens,” Zoe corrected. “It...I don't know what it is, but Harriet is working with it to build weapons. And if a woman like Harriet Jones has bent her principles to allow them to do that then I worry about what else the organisation is capable of. How deep into the British government does it go? How have you never heard of it? You spent most of the 70s in Britain but didn't hear a thing about it. I find it hard to believe that two alien-focused organisations don't bump up against each other all the time, so why don't you know?” She let her fear tip free. “Doctor, why are they hiding from you?”

 

All excellent questions that he intended to think upon at leisure when they returned to the TARDIS, but for now he took one of his hands and stroked his thumb over the soft skin beneath her ear, trying his best to soothe the worries that clung to her.

 

“We'll find out. We always do,” he said with a gentle tenderness that had her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. “Have I ever told you that you worry too much?”

 

“Maybe once or twice,” she admitted. “Just...promise me you'll be careful today. No antagonising the queen or Sir Robert or the weird bald servants.”

 

“Cross my hearts,” he promised before tugging her to him. “Come here.” He folded her into his arms, holding her against his chest. Her arms wrapped around him in turn, and he kissed the top of her head. “Torchwood. You know, I swear I've heard that name before but I can't quite remember where.”

 

“51st century?”

 

“Maybe, like I said, I've spent enough time in Jack's time that maybe I picked it up there.” Although, he wasn't sure, he was reluctant to make Zoe worry any more than she already was. “It'll come to me.”

 

She rubbed her forehead against his chest before pulling out of his embrace. “Whatever Torchwood is and whatever danger it poses, there is definitely something happening in this house. What do you think that story of a wolf is about?”

 

“No idea,” he said, pleased that she was returning to normal. “But it sounded like folklore and science coming together like the good queen said. I love it when the two coincide.”

 

Her mouth twitched. “You would.”

 

“As though you don't.”

 

She didn't deign to respond to that. “Did you see that servant though, how he interrupted Sir Robert?”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“Servants don't do that,” she explained. “They're meant to be incognito and part of the furniture. The very idea that one of them would interrupt their employer, let alone in front of Queen Victoria is unthinkable.”

 

Amusement crinkled his eyes. “Sometimes I forget you lived with royalty.”

 

“It does rub off on a person,” she said. “But another bet I'm willing to take is that that servant isn't a servant. Have you noticed the lack of women around here?”

 

“Not uncommon when the lady of the house is away, surely?”

 

“Including leaving no cook behind?” She raised her eyebrows, questioning. “As I've said, something's not right here. This is not how a house is supposed to be run in the absence of its mistress, particularly when the master of the house is still in residence.”

 

“As much as I would love to debate the differences between the 18th century French court and 19th century Scotland, you do make an excellent point,” the Doctor said. “I say we should all be on our most charming and best behaviour tonight. Between the four of us, one of us should be able to get the story out of Sir Robert.”

 

“As long as you don't insult his father's work again,” she said.

 

“A slip of the tongue!”

 

“Of course.” Her fingers curled into his jacket, stopping him from moving away from her. “One sec.” His expression melted into delight when she rose up and kissed him, his arms going around her waist as her hands framed his face. “I love you.”

 

His grin was wide and thrilled. “Yeah, you do.”

 


 

As a clock chimed seven, they were led into the dining room. Zoe was well aware that she and the Doctor were severely underdressed for dinner with the queen, but she was somewhat immune to dinner with royalty after years of having meals with Louis and Marie. Noticing that Rose and Jack weren't there, a spark of concern burning through her, she raised her eyebrows at the Doctor who nodded his head subtly and inquired of their whereabouts from the head servant.

 

“Your companions beg an apology, Doctor,” Angelo said with a small bow and arolling accent. “The young lady's clothing has somewhat delayed her.”

 

“Oh, that's all right,” he said, his Scottish accent making a welcomed return. Zoe tapped her ring against her wine glass until she caught the Doctor's eye and stilled the nervous tic, picking it up to drink instead. “Save her a wee bit of ham.”

 

“The feral child could probably eat it raw,” Victoria said.

 

Zoe choked on her wine.

 

“Very wise, ma'am,” Reynolds said immediately with a brisk laugh. “Very witty.”

 

“Slightly witty, perhaps,” the queen conceded. “I know you rarely get the chance to dine with me, captain, but don't get too excited. I shall contain my wit in case I do you further injury.”

 

Reynolds turned pink at the public chastisement and looked down at his plate, mortified. “Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.”

 

“Besides, we're all waiting on Sir Robert,” the Doctor said, cheerfully, as their simple dinner of ham and potatoes was served. “Come, sir, you promised us a tale of nightmares.”

 

“Indeed,” Victoria agreed, delicately cutting into her meat. “Since my husband's death, I find myself with more of a taste for supernatural fiction.”

 

His eyes tracked across her face. “You must miss him.”

 

“Very much,” she said, sounding more human than she had so far. Her knife and fork hovered over her plate before a soft sigh fell from her mouth. “Oh, completely. And that's the charm of a ghost story, isn't it? Not the scares and chills, that's just for the children, but the hope of some contact with the great beyond. We all want some message from that place. It's the Creator's greatest mystery that we're allowed no such consolation. The dead stay silent, and we must wait.”

 

Zoe thought of Reinette and the grief that came with knowing she would never be able to speak to her again, or even hear her breath.

 

“I think the silence is the worst,” she said, candlelight dancing in her eyes. “You don't expect it, it's not something you think about until it happens, but there's an echoing silence in the space where they used to be. Sometimes I think I might go mad with how loud that silence is.” Her eyes flicked to the Doctor. “No matter how happy I am now.”

 

He glanced down at his plate, the shadows hiding his small smile.

 

“I agree,” Victoria said. “Have you been widowed long, my dear?”

 

“Six years,” she answered, cutting into her potatoes to give her hands something to do. “Though it oftens feels like yesterday.”

 

Victoria inclined her head at her in sympathy before she turned to Sir Robert.

 

“Come, begin your tale, Sir Robert,” she instructed, lifting the heavy curtain of grief that had fallen over them. “There's a chill in the air. The wind is howling through the eaves. Tell us of monsters.”

 

Aware that it would be impossible to refuse the queen, Sir Robert began his tale. His rich, deep voice, which lilted with his beautiful Scottish accent, filled the room; Zoe was immediately entranced.

 

“The story goes back three hundred years,” he explained. “It's said that every full moon a howling rings through the valley, and the next morning livestock is found ripped apart and devoured.”

 

“Tales like this just disguise the work of thieves,” Captain Reynolds dismissed, seemingly recovered from Victoria's sharp tongue. “Steal a sheep and blame a wolf, simple as that.”

 

“But sometimes a child goes missing,” their host countered. It was clear that despite passing it off as a story, he believed the truth of it. “Once in a generation, a boy will vanish from his homestead.”

 

“Are there any descriptions of this creature?” Zoe asked, loathe as she was to interrupt a good story.

 

“Oh, yes,” Sir Robert said with a nod. “Drawings and woodcarvings. And it's not merely a wolf, it's more than that. This is a man who becomes an animal.”

 

The Doctor leaned forwards, eyes shining with excitement. “A werewolf?”

 

Looking over at him, Zoe's breath caught in her throat. Silhouetted by the silver light of the full moon, he cut a handsome figure, and her worlds shifted, laying on top of each other, disorienting her for a moment: she was seventeen and worried about her A-levels; she was twenty-four and in love; she twenty-nine and graduating university. Her life swirled around her, the anchor of which sat opposite her bathed in silver light, enraptured by a tale of werewolves. The love for him that resided within her throbbed powerfully as she looked at his face that, after so many years, still found joy and excitement in a simple story about wolves and men.

 

I love you, she thought at him, wishing he could hear her.

 

“My father didn't treat it as a story,” Sir Robert explained, drawing her back to the conversation at hand. “He said it was fact. He even claimed to have communed with the beast, to have learned its purpose. I should have listened. His work was hindered. He made enemies. There's a monastery in the Glen of Saint Catherine...the Brethren opposed my father's investigations.”

 

Against the sideboard, looking out at the moon, Angelo began to softly chant, lupus deus est, lupus dues est, but it was so soft that no one heard him, caught as they were by the story being woven through the candlelight around them.

 

“Perhaps they thought his work ungodly,” Victoria suggested.

 

“That's what I thought, but now I wonder,” he said, looking at the polished table underneath his pale hands that were speckled with dark hair. “What if they had a different reason for wanting the story kept quiet? What if they turned from God and worshipped the wolf instead?”

 

“And what if they were with us right now?”

 

Zoe tore her eyes from Sir Robert and looked to the the Doctor who had spoken. She followed his eyes to Angelo and fear shot through her at the sight of his mouth moving, the sound of his voice growing louder and louder until he drowned the sound of everything else in the room out. She pushed away from the table, chair scraping against the floor, her cutlery clattering against the china plate as she got to her feet.

 

“Where's Rose?” She demanded. “Where's Jack?”

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Victoria demanded, rising. “What's happening?”

 

Pulling his weapon free, Reynolds jumped in front of the queen and used his broad body to shield hers. “Explain yourself, Sir Robert!”

 

He gripped the back of his chair, knuckles white, and the lines on his face deepened with his regret. “I'm sorry, your majesty, but they've got my wife.”

 

“Where?” Zoe slapped her hand down onto the table, forcing his attention onto her, glass. “Tell me where!”

 

He hesitated, eyes flickering to the still-chanting Angelo. “The basement.”

 

Zoe barely heard the Doctor yell after her to be careful as she sprinted from the room. She ran through the hallways that were bathed in the light of the full moon, coat flapping behind her and muddied boots echoing thunderously each time they hit the floor that whined under the abuse. Fortunately – or unfortunately depending on where one was in the house – she was able to follow the sounds of screams to locate the basement with ease, taking only one wrong turn into a water closet that left her swearing before finding her way.

 

Bracing herself, she slammed into the heavy wooden door shoulder first and burst inside in an explosion of noise and broken locks. Any dignity such an entrance might have afforded her was immediately lost when she fell down the steps that closed the gap between door and floor, hitting the ground shoulder first, temple knocking against the straw-covered concrete. Lights danced in front of her eyes when she sat up and came face to face with a young man in a large iron cage.

 

The shock of her arrival froze the scene as she and the man stared at each other.

 

Metal chains rattled, and Rose called out, voice warbling with adrenaline. “He's a werewolf!”

 

Zoe's breath hitched in her throat, eyes wide.

 

Jack swore. “Zoe, phone!”

 

Fumbling with her pockets, she threw it to him.

 

She couldn't take her eyes off the man in the cage. He wasn't human; or, at least, he wasn't entirely human. Like the servants in the house above, he was pale and bore a shaved head but he was sat crosslegged in robes with rotten, yellowed teeth. It was his eyes that made her pause, the realisation that she was facing something feral and dangerous made her skin prick. They were unnatural and sent fear shooting down her spine when they fixed on her, jaundiced and knowing. A sharp grin cut across his face, saliva crusting the edges of his mouth.

 

“You're like me.”

 

His voice felt like sandpaper over a chalk board, setting her teeth on edge. She shifted until she was on her feet, wobbly from her fall, and knelt in front of his cage, safe in the knowledge that Rose and Jack would free the hostages. She leaned in, nose wrinkling at the potent stench of stale sweat and old urine that rolled off him, but she couldn't bring herself to move away even as her heart thudded heavily in her chest.

 

“What?”

 

“Mongrel,” he rasped.

 

“It's called being biracial, mate,” Zoe said, the barb of century-specific racism missing her by a wide mile. “Know you don't see much of it up here, but try not to let it startle you.”

 

Saliva speckled her face with his next spat insult. “Cross-breed.”

 

His body convulsed, shoulders heaving over on himself, tendons in his neck standing out. He bared his teeth at her, filthy fingers grasping at the bars to spit one last insult at her.

 

Hybrid.”

 

The skin on his body started to stretch and pulse, and Zoe fell back from the cage, scooting back on her hands and feet, keeping her eyes fixed on the werewolf. Riveted, she watched as his flesh tore open and his blood spilled out of him. The heat of it rolled outwards and swept over her like a warm summer breeze as it spread out across the floor to pool around the toes of her boots. The dark red of his muscles looked alive and in pain as they writhed around his bones before firecrackers were set off, startling her with their noise. It took a moment to realise that it wasn't actually firecrackers going off but rather white bone breaking into sharp, jagged fragments that sliced through his muscles and flesh before they reformed themselves; the sharp tang of blood was heavy in the air, and thick, rough hair pushed out of the skin, covering him from head to toe. Eventually, his size became too much and the cage broke opened around him.

 

“Oh my god,” Zoe breathed, as the sight of the heaving, ferocious creature panting above her sent shockwaves through her. “You're actually a werewolf.”

 

“Come on,” Rose screamed at her from the doorway, the rest of the prisoners escaping to freedom down the hall. “Zoe!”

 

Jack vaulted back down the wooden steps and bent to grab her by the elbow, pulling her roughly to her feet and dragging her away. She stumbled after him, boots slipping against the blood-slicked floor, distracted by the creature, but he pushed her up the stairs and into the hall. Coming back to herself, she grasped hold of the door and slammed it shut, holding it in place as Jack shoved a small chest of drawers in front of it, sending the vase of flowers balanced on top shattering into pieces on the ground. It wouldn't do much except buy them a few extra seconds but they might need those seconds. With that done, she and Jack turned and sprinted up the hall towards Rose who turned a corner and slammed straight into the Doctor.

 

He caught her before she bounced off him.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” She demanded.

 

“What's –?” He began to ask but Jack grabbed him and Rose, physically turning them around and giving them a push.

 

“Werewolf,” he exclaimed. “Run!”

 

“Seriously?” They all flinched at the sound of a howl from behind them, and the Doctor nodded. “Right. Run, run, run, run!”