Caution: spoilers for s2 and s3 finale of the new series, also listening to "Song for Ten" would be useful (see on youtube, nice fanvideos)

Chapter 1: All days are nights

All days are nights to see till I see thee,

And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 43

Rose - Daydreaming

Rose was not daydreaming. In fact, everybody knew that Rose Tyler never daydreamed. Indeed, she might have been walked upon sitting in her chair, with legs propped on her desk and eyes staring through the wall, fixed on something (or someone) who wasn't there. She also sometimes seemed to lose track during meetings, parties and even her own speeches (but then she would only pause for a second, shake her head and continue without a word of explanation). But that was called „calculating" or „reconsidering" or (although way less often) „creating the connections hierarchy".

Everybody knew Rose Tyler never daydreamed and they made sure all new employees of Torchwood knew it too. After all, she was the genius child of the boss, she was a head of a department of her own and she had an uncanny tendency to pick the most useful artefacts out of the daily load that came to the office by the means of a big, unmarked black truck.

Sometimes she simply had to walk in the unloading area to pick a broken sonic screwdriver (this one she kept to herself by special permission of the labs overseer), freshly loaded xenon gun, an archive reader with some interesting blueprints (this she fished out of a truckload of different PDA-likes) or find the part that research dept has been looking for since April.

So, whatever Rose Tyler was doing now, was not daydreaming. She was in her office, in the weird white room, door half-closed (just in case something interesting happened, like the whole building catching fire) and she sat, with her head on her hands, elbows on top of some new documents, eyes staring absently ahead.

Rose was rethinking the possibilities. Except, these weren't the possibilities or rethinking normally considered as "working problems" in Torchwood. No, she was rethinking long gone and past possibilities concerning one hyperactive alien she left a universe away.

Today was the first anniversary of her coming to this place and the only thing she could think of was that she actually missed so many good occasions. Like, when they just ran from something big and ugly - not once, mind you - and got to the TARDIS at the very last moment, and jumped through the door, shut it close and just stood there, panting, high on adrenaline, smiling like idiots at each other…

…or this time when they just got out of this weird museum - they could have just kicked the kid - Adam? - out, and she could have got to the bottom of the problem, and perhaps, just perhaps, make him a little happier. She just knew, she could have walked into the control room, and he would be brooding in the main chair - or with his head inside the machinery - or staring intently at some display, and she would just be there and he would talk, finally, and she would comfort him - just a hug, one of their normal hugs, and he would perhaps relax, just a tiny little bit…

… Rose stretched and run her fingers through her hair. Somewhere nearby there was a cafeteria, and in this specific cafeteria they made the best ever chips in this universe. Of course, it being the Torchwood cafeteria, it would be stacked with all different kinds of food, but for now, she would settle for chips. Perhaps something more healthy later, but now she had this stupid craving to stuff herself full of processed potato and drink excessive amounts of Coke. And perhaps, just perhaps, to shed a tear for lost opportunities.

"Miss Tyler?" her secretary poked her head inside. "Mr Tyler is here. And you have a meeting in twenty five minutes."

So, Rose wasn't daydreaming, but she certainly lost the track of time. And this was also something that never - or almost never - happened.

The Head of Unusual Solutions Department stood up, straightened her jacket, fixed seams of her suit pants and smiled professionally.

"Let my father in, Jeannie, I'm only making some last notes."