I have been working on the last two parts of End of Days and the next chapter of Adaptation. But in the meantime, something new has come up. You know how some things just won't leave you alone? Well, this won't.  So I thought I would give you a little glimpse into the next series of stories. This is actually, completely canonical...but as usual, nothing is what/where it seems. Let me know what you think.


Title: Great Loves
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, the Doctor, others
Ratings: Oh, please. As if you didn't know
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, yadda yadda

Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and fans the bonfire. François Duc de La Rochefoucauld 

Prologue

Nebthet Island, on the Planet of the Phoenix, seventh from the double suns of Alpha Comae, in the constellation of Coma Berenice, on the tenth year of the fifth century of the Second Diaspora of Man.

The monastery of Our Compassionate Lady of the Blessed Brilliance sheltered under the massive overhang of the canyon wall, next to the rushing waters of the Apis river. The water pushed the paddles of the four-story wheel next to the mill where all the local farmers ground their corn and wheat in exchange for providing the monks with flour for their bread. A short climb up the canyon the monastery gardens burst with fruits and vegetables to feed a dozen different races and metabolisms. Under the stone roof provided by the canyon, individual cells surrounded a vast central hall that served as refectory, library, and study. A short distance away, a second building served as infirmary and jail when necessary.

The ancient place had more in common with a research library than a religious house; the Lady did not demand your allegiance, only your brains. Scholars came to Nebthet to study and then returned to their own worlds to teach, taking with them the subtle training they were not really even aware they were getting: think for yourself... follow the line of reasoning wherever it might lead... apply your conclusions... fight if you must, but teach when you can... Of those that applied each year, only a handful were chosen, carefully selected with an eye to their cultural matrix as well as their own abilities and talents. The monks had pursued their mission for over fifteen hundred years and thousands of scholars had taken their message across the stars.

Brother Dewydd adjusted his cowl as he walked across the lawn towards the library entrance. He was something of a celebrity in the community, and residents discreetly pointed him out to newcomers as he passed. Legend had it that he had been there at the founding of the monastery during the Bloody Years between the Diasporas; in fact, some of the documents in the secure cases in the Scriptorium seemed to suggest that he had been the driving force behind it. It was hard to believe, since he looked no more than thirty nine or forty Earth years, his dark hair innocent of gray and his skin unlined and supple. But sometimes there was a look in his blue eyes that belied that youthful appearance, an unfathomable sadness that spoke of centuries of grief and loss, and in those moments even the most skeptical was willing to believe.

The monk noticed the attention with amusement. It was the same every time the annual transport docked and thankfully it lasted only for as long as it took the scholars to get settled in and get to work. There were a few good prospects this year, especially the young woman from Hyssos. She was trained as a physicist and already had several solid achievements to her name. Whether they could break through the pompous arrogance of the upper-crust Hyssoni was still to be established, but he though there were some positive signs.

He shook his head as the song began again. It was more of a memory of a melody than anything he could recognize. He had found himself singing it in the shower earlier that morning and now could not get rid of it no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't quite human but it wasn't quite anything else either, but the sense of knowing nibbled at the edge of his consciousness. After the lecture he was going to spend some time at the Library terminals doing some research. He was sure that he could identify it even if he could only find a minute snatch of it.

As he passed the kitchen window, Abbot Lucas waved at him. The de facto head of the monastery insisted on taking his turn at all the menial tasks; he insisted keeping his hands busy allowed him to concentrate on things that needed thinking about. Dewydd envied his serenity, knowing that his own essentially impatient nature would never allow him that sort of relaxation.

When he reached the lecture hall he found it packed to the rafters. Usually he only taught the advanced students in groups of no more than six, but Lucas insisted that he give the welcome speech every year. Dewydd's demurrals were met with a stern glower that barely hid a grin. If we put you up front and let them stare at you for a while, the novelty will wear off and everything will go back to normal, he would say, and Dewydd could do nothing but grin and acquiesce.

He had done the speech hundreds of time, and he could do it in his sleep, so when the music started again even louder than before, he simply concentrated on letting the words flow. The soft melody was now accompanied with a gentle double beat, as if someone was beating two drums a half-step off unison. It made his own heart race and skip. He noticed that some among the audience were looking around. One, a g'Lally musician, was marking the rhythm on the arm of his chair, and he saw Lucas and his assistant Marianne come running into the room. He rubbed his chest hard, as if trying to keep his heart from leaping out.

And then it was there, and the crowd gasped in terrified awe. Tall,dressed all in black, its grey bald head ending in short curling tentacles where the nose and mouth would be in a human, its right hand holding its secondary brain. It was an Ood, a member of a race whose beginnings were hidden in the mystical Earliest Time, who moved through time and space at will, keeping themselves aloof from the rest, but sometimes reaching down to touch them, always with gentle kindness.

The Ood faced Brother Dewydd. “Captain Jack Harkness.”

Jack shook his head. “Not any longer. Not for millennia.”

“It is who you are.” The Ood reached with this other hand and pulled off Jack's cowl. “We have need of you, Jack Harkness. He has need of you.”

Jack did not need to ask who he was. He sighed bitterly. “And he only sends for me when he needs muscle.”

“He does not send for you, Jack Harkness. We looked into the past and understood that you were the only one who could help him.”

“What's wrong?”

“He is dying, Jack Harkness. The last of the Time Lords is dying, in the wrong time and place. And if he does, the Universe itself may fall into darkness.”