Rose didn't have a weapon.

It was part of the standard Torchwood package, of course; there was a slot in her belt for it, right next to the torch and the small pouch of tablets that worked against radiation poisoning. As hard as everyone tried to convince her it was necessary, at the time refusing the sidearm felt like conspiring with the Doctor, even across universes, existing for just a little bit longer in the private world they'd build between themselves.

Now, as a wailing alarm pierced her ears and armed soldiers jogged past her in an orderly line, Rose felt distinctively naked without one. There was no whirr of a sonic screwdriver behind her, no TARDIS to disappear into, no hand to hold. She was no longer part of a team; it was suddenly, starkly aware to her that if she was going to live like the Doctor had lived, she couldn't just think like Rose Tyler any more. She had to think like Rose Tyler and the Doctor in tandem, or else buckle down and carry a gun like everyone else.

Right. Step One. She didn't need a gun; she didn't need a sonic screwdriver. No time for Spock when the domestic approach would do. Taking a deep breath, she cast her eyes around the room, and they settled on poor Sophie, huddled in the corner and casting her eyes around the room fitfully while everyone else hurried about her. Rose sidled over, sticking her hands in her pockets and leaning against Sophie's desk.

"A lot of fuss, eh?"

Rose crossed her arms and leaned, as casually as she could, against Sophie's desk. The other workers in the office were twittering nervously amongst themselves; nobody noticed Rose.

"Oh more'n that, ma'am. They say a prisoner's got loose."

"I didn't know Torchwood kept prisoners."

"Well, they don't normally. Holdin' cells and all that for diplomatic incidents, but we never keep somebody longer'n it'll take to figure out whether or not they want global domination or a stop off for chips."

Lights still flashed in the hallways. The soldiers had long since passed, but most of the office workers around them looked nervous and jittery. Outside this large room full of cubicles Rose could hear the scurrying and low, muffled voices of men talking and the clicks on and off of short-wave radios. The situation was eerily familiar to Rose, and it took a moment to realize why.

"This doesn't look like a diplomatic incident; it looks like a prison break."

Rose had seen dozens of prison breaks. She'd done dozens of prison breaks. Only most times she was the prisoner, not the prisonee. The itchy feeling of overexposure, the need to slide behind a pillar or a cubicle wall and make herself as small as possible, now made a little more sense.

"There was this whole big fuss a few days ago," Sophie went on, picking at her curls. "We weren't supposed to know about it, now you see, but Anna down in corrections, she called up here yesterday and said the director'd put in a requisition form for chains and cell wall reinforcements and a whole list of technology of all sorts. I figure they caught that shapeshiftin' thing givin' us trouble a few months back."

Rose lifted her eyebrows.

"This sort of vampire thing; slipped right past our scanners because it drinks blood and turns itself human."

Rose's time at Torchwood had begun with paperwork, had quite a lot of paperwork 'round the middle, and was rapidly approaching old age with paperwork. She had a feeling that it had something to do with Pete wanting to please her mum; she was, at least, not in danger of being executed by alien governments or being possessed by ancient time travel machines. And that wasn't to say it wasn't exciting - there were a lot of plans for the as-of-yet unnamed device, Mickey and Rose up late with half-eaten pizzas and unfinished drawings on the backs of napkins, and half a dozen scientists gawping at her every time she found a way past another hurdle they found impossible. It was gratifying work that brought her a little bit closer to the Doctor every step of the way, but she hadn't done much in the way of actual field work at all.

So when Sophie told her about a blood-sucking alien, she did something that probably wasn't normal.

She grinned.

"All that stuff, do you know where it ended up?"

"Sub-basement, I think. Just underneath the labs. Cold storage." Sophie eyed her like the madness might be infectious; for all Rose knew, it might be. She'd caught hers, after all, from a daft old alien.

"Thanks Sophie, you're a star," Rose said, winking at her. "Back in a tic!"

***

Finding an alien in the middle of an alien warehouse was turning out to be surprisingly challenging. It was nearly half an hour of following armed men down corridors and fluttering her eyelashes (and her last name) at guards before Rose finally found something exciting.

Cold storage, Sophie'd said. And she was right, it was colder down here. Her arms were covered in gooseflesh as she tip-toed to the end of the corridor, where there was a row of three big, metal doors that looked like the sort on commercial refrigerators in restaurants. Beyond them she could hear a sort of commotion: things crashing together, boxes maybe, and the sound of scrambling feet and men shouting.

"Oi! What are you doing down here?"

Damn.

"Oh, me?" Rose lifted her eyebrows, doing her best to look good and lost. The man facing her wore a military uniform – not exactly Torchwood standard, that – and was holding a particularly wicked-looking gun. Rose tucked her hands under her arms and squinted at him, putting on an air of relief. "Oh, thank god!" she took a few steps towards him. First day, it's a bit nerve-wrackin', innit? This place is so big. Fraid I've got a bit lost."

"Well," said the guard, looking slightly mollified. "Don't know how you wound up here, of all places. Best keep behind me. There's a foul sort running around here."

She fixed herself behind him, eyes on the huge doors to cold storage. Several times he suggested hide in an adjoining corridor, but she waved the suggestions off; the noises from inside the huge, refrigerated room were growing louder, until finally, all three doors burst open and a figure, huge and intimidating and dressed in black, appeared framed in the middle one. Steam rolled in thick clouds around him, obscuring her view of him; Rose moved closer.

The figure ran into a room off to the side that Rose hadn't noticed before. In the dark she caught a blurry glimpse of black before the door clanged shut, and looked behind her to see if Soldier Boy had caught up. This definitely seemed like a "shoot first, ask questions later" lot, and the creature, whatever it had done, was going to get its one chance. Perhaps, she thought, she could reason with it, find out what it wanted, and work something out peacefully.

Just as she'd placed her hand on the knob, though, a cacophony of shouting to the beat of booted feet assaulted her ears. The doors had opened. Swearing softly underneath her breath, Rose backed into the shadows, watching with wide eyes as the soldier in the lead forced his way into the room.

There was a shot. Before she could cry out in protest, Rose had to throw an arm across her eyes to shield them; a brilliant golden glow flooded the corridor. Then the air was peppered with the harsh staccato of automatic machine gun fire, and the glow receded.

"Rose?"

Pete was standing in front of her, forehead creased with worry. Several men stopped to talk to him, and he gave orders to them in a low voice while Rose craned her neck to try to see inside the room. It seemed to be just an empty office; the soldiers were working together to lift a limp body into a body bag.

"Got your man then," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Might've at least given it a chance to tell you what it wanted."

"He had his chance, and he spent it assaulting my men," Pete Rose, what are you doing all the way down here?"

"Tryin' to find Mickey's floor," she lied. "Got lost."

"Oh, well you've just gone down one floor too far. Mickey's just above us. Why don't you go on up then? That's a good girl."

Pete was often awkward. To the public, he was her father and had been for twenty years – in private, she was a daughter he'd never asked for. Admittedly she hadn't given him much of a chance in the months after Canary Wharf, and didn't really make it much easier now, trading the cold shoulder for being unpredictably enthusiastic at the thought of doing things that put herself in harm's way. There were a lot of times when he didn't quite know how to approach her, just because one response could earn her ire, but another could earn Jackie's, and he liked to avoid both if he could.

Still. 'Good girl' was a bit much for a man who'd been living with at least one Prentice-Tyler woman for the last twenty years.

And Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell your mum I'll be late for dinner. Conferencing with the president again, I'm afraid."

Rose offered him a smile and darted off down the hallway. The smile faded as soon as she was sure Pete couldn't see her. Something was going on.

***

"It was weird, mum, I'm tellin' ya. Something's going on."

Several hours later, Rose was passing boxes of Chinese takeout to Mickey and her mum in the huge, airy kitchen at Pete's estate. It wasn't quite dark out yet, sunlight still spilling in through the huge sliding glass doors that led out to the garden.

"But that's what Torchwood is, innit?" Mickey shoveled another forkful of lo mein into his mouth, taking around it. "I mean, there's always somethin weird going on, s'what you signed up for. Just like on the TARDIS."

"Nobody on the TARDIS ever told me to run along and behave like a good little girl," said Rose. "If he knew what was good for 'im."

Rose rummaged through the bag for her chicken fried rice; the bag seemed heavier than usual. Setting the small white boxes out in a row, she found she'd ordered two helpings and an order of dumplings she'd never eat, because she didn't like them. Mickey gave her a pitying look; she hadn't accidentally ordered food for the Doctor in ages.

She pushed the extra food towards her mother, who was just tucking in with a box of rice balanced on her growing belly.

"Oh, now sweetheart, Pete's just trying hard, that's all," she pointed her chopsticks at Rose. "He's not half worried you'll clam up again."

"Mum, I told you -"

"I think he's done right by you," continued Jackie. "The job and the apartment. And you not even his daughter! Wouldn't hurt you to be grateful once in a while. Mind you I had half a mind to burn his ears off myself, lettin' you put yourself up at Torchwood. You still aren't safe."

They ate in silence until the sound of the door opening and closing signaled Pete's arrival. It had grown dark out, and Jackie was just finishing up the last of the dumplings when he came in looking rumpled and tired.

"Sorry I'm late, Jacks," said Pete, setting his briefcase down on the floor next to his seat. "President Saxon's such a talkative chap."