Suppose I never, ever met you... (Childfic for senseofliberty)
Fact: There's what appears to be a red-headed fourteen-year-old girl standing in front of him.
Fact: She seems to be calling him "Dad," despite the fact that he absolutely knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is far too young to have a fourteen-year-old daughter.
Fact: He's also 100% certain that he has no children in general, because that's definitely something he would know about.
Fact: Julian Sark is very, very confused right now.
"-probably shouldn't be doing this. Am I going to screw with the time-space continuum? Oh... God. Man, if I screw up the time-space continuum, my chance at getting a job at Torchwood is shot. You don't know how hard I have been trying to get that job, even if it's just under that.. Hunt guy. He terrifies me, man, but it's better than nothing and, hey, I figure if my former terrorist dad can get a job, I-"
And she's still talking. In fact, she's beeen going on like that for about five minutes and he hasn't managed to stop her yet, because he's too busy staring at her like she's utterly insane. He figures one of them is, but he can't be a hundred percent certain yet that it isn't him, so he's reserving judgement.
"-are Julian Sark, right?"
At the sound of his own name, Sark blinks, finally registering the words coming out of the girl's mouth. "What?"
"'Cause I'm going to feel like an idiot if you're not." The girl shoves her hands in her pockets, tilting her head to the side and looking him over with striking blue eyes. Very familiar striking blue eyes, now that he's actually looking. His eyes.
Oh.
Okay then.
He's definitely the crazy one.
"I... What?" It's the only sequence of words he can manage to get out, given the circumstance. Strange teenage girls calling him dad tend to make proper articulation something of a memory.
The girl shakes her head and holds up her hands. "Whoa... I mean... I could be totally off-base here, but Mom had pictures and... God, when you said you talked like a James Bond villain, she wasn't kidding, like, at all.
He blinks again. "...What?"
One of the girl's eyebrows goes up. "...Can you say anything else?"
This time, he shakes his head, hopping that might knock him out of his stupor. "I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time processing this... What?!"
"I'm your daughter!" The girl flails her arms spastically like this is the most obvious thing in the world. "Kinda.. Sorta... In the future, I guess? Or some weird alternate future or something? Irina Conway? ...Mom had to give me her name on account of you dying before I was born and before you guys were, like, married and stuff, which, incidentally, I totally don't blame you for. I mean, I know teenage girls hold weird grudges like that, but-"
Sark is either going to have an aneurysm or a heart attack and he isn't sure which one he'd prefer at this moment. As it stands, he just focuses on breathing. He doesn't even know anyone named Conway, for the love of God, much less anyone he'd have a daughter with.
Irina apparently notices that he's turning a little pale around the edges, because her hand goes to her mouth as if she just said something profane. "Oh... God. I probably shouldn't say things like that."
"Please stop talking," Sark hisses through gritted teeth. The aneurysm seems more likely at the moment. He might welcome it, in fact.
Irina blinks a few times, looking more like him than he's entirely comfortable with. "Geez, you're so young and yet... You totally sound like I thought my dad would sound like."
Word Count: 623