December 4th
Jack never lets the team stay in the Hub on New Year's Eve. It's just one of the many mysteries that make up the Captain. So as the revellers flood into Cardiff Bay to head bang the night away at Bogiez or to simply get very drunk indeed at Salt, the team are ushered out of the doors and across the Plass. The last rain fall of the year slicks down their hair, washing away another year of exhilarating terror and the bolts slide firmly into place behind them as the base goes into a pre-programmed lockdown.
Jack watches them on the security screens with the last of Ianto's excellent coffee steaming in his mug, and wonders briefly what they're going to do with their night off. Would they even know what to do with the sudden free time?
"Not likely." He murmurs, turning away from his team to the almost empty Hub, saluting Myfanwy as she flies past.
Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with his spare time either. He's spent more New Years Eve's here in this room than anywhere else in the universe, good, bad (too many, for too many bad nights) and some that were still lost in a drunken fog, but he still only knew one sure fire way of spending time alone in the underground base. Paperwork.
With a deep sigh he dragged his handsome self up the stairs to his office, and settled into his chair reluctantly. A long night of coffee, reports and solitaire stretched ahead of him. God it was almost enough to make him get out those little suicide pills and disappear into oblivion for a few hours, but then his eyes lighted on his office phone with a lewd little grin.
Torchwood Two was on his speed dial.
Well, he'd always liked a man with a Scottish accent.