Enter beautiful girl
But things are not what they seem
As we stand at the edge of the world
"Excuse me, sir,
But I have plans to die tonight
Oh, and you are directly in my way
And I bet you're gonna say it's not right"
"Excuse me, miss
But do you have the slightest clue
Of exactly what you just said to me
And exactly who you're talking to?"
Seeing her on the screen didn't change anything. The woman who stood on the edge of the square and watched the people heading off to their lives only to at some point finish her coffee and head into the crowd where she honestly did seem to just vanish. The feeds did nothing to help him, and all he could do was stare agape at them when Toshiko finally ran the program and picked her out of history itself.
But she had died.
History had written it, and history had left her name emblazoned on it so that so many would know who she was, and what she'd done. History being so important, being so true and honest he had to actually stop to wonder how she'd done it. There was a slight doubt that it was really her, but honestly he'd seen so many things in the past year that for all he knew the Rift had opened and dropped history on his front steps.
Parts of his mind flickered to life, casting faded images upon his memories of things he thought were too surreal to actually be real. Phrases that clearly were of his own saying, but from times he never recalled ever actually being.
-- "This is never easy... it's a risk, and while I do adore taking the big ones with you... this isn't the same as hopping through time. This is rewriting it..." --
His fingers gripped to the edge of the monitor and his silent gesture begged for Tosh to run the feed back. The woman appeared and moved backward through the crowd, steam being pulled in from the air to the contents of her cup and then it would stop rewinding to jump for a moment and be played again.
"It's her? You're sure?"
"Well not really... but I mean does explain the painting we found Jack."
That was the other thing. The other thing he really couldn't explain. It wasn't ever easy to not explain what he was, or who he had been but his image showing up in a painting from a time when he was positive he'd never been to? That was near impossible.
Then again he was an impossible thing.
"I told you I don't even know what that is."
-- "Ladies... ladies... honestly I could give your artist here something far more interesting to paint if you'd allow me the freedom."
"Truly Jack, this shall be fine enough. Just please sit with us." --
Shaking his head he ran his hand over his features for a moment, trying to focus on the image as it played back for him once more. The hand that ran over his nose and mouth moved to his forehead and then into his hair feeling it against his palm. None of it made sense, and the flashes of a life he'd never lived came more frequently, and he was actually starting to grow fearful that all of the traveling through time had ripped a hole in his timeline. That he was now seeping through all his years and his mind was soon going to be just one big ball of twine with all the events of his life tumbling atop the others.
"Run it back again."
"Run it back again."
It couldn't be her, not here... because he knew that she had died.
Not even the Doctor could've changed that, nor would he have... but part of Jack felt responsible for whatever this was. The memories he had that didn't seem to belong to him, felt like the earmarkings of a book that he'd forgotten he'd read.
Time was something he'd almost taken for granted having so much of it, that the time he lost... the years he knew were taken... it bothered him to believe there might be more out there he was unaware of.