She was suddenly glad that her head was ducked, that he couldn't see her face, because she was finding it increasingly difficult to not cry. His promise left her feeling aching and bitter, aware that he said and did all the things Malcolm should've said and done. If Jack Harkness and Malcolm Merlyn were the same person, she would've given anything for this version to be her dad instead.

Just when she thought she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears any longer, his words had her laughing, and she had to fight to keep it from sounding hysterical. Jesus, she was a wreck, a mess of almost-tears and and soft laughter and heartache and guilt. She turned her head, put her face in his chest, listened at the way his words rumbled.

"Sometimes your life doesn't even sound real," she said, and was pleased to find that she sounded marginally steadier than she felt.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking, trying to remember the parts of her life that were happy. It was hard to find them through all the tragic. "The Queens were a multi-billion dollar family. So were the Merlyns." She'd let him realize the implications of that himself. She grew up rich and privileged. That part wasn't hard to figure out. "I own and manage a club called Verdant. Ollie was the one who started it but I guess he wasn't cut out for business management."