He stood leaning against the peeling white paint of back wall of the gym, half hidden in the shadows, drowned out in the thunderous applause. There was only person clapping louder than he was – a peroxide blonde woman who had forced her way into the first row, elbows at the ready. The rest of the audience was clapping, but far more quietly. The peroxide blonde – Jackie, he remembered – beamed at her daughter as seven year old, pig-tailed Rose Tyler was awarded the bronze medal.
He could almost hear Jackie's proud bragging to the other parents from here. Rose's face was stretched into a grin so wide it could've split the sun. She hadn't noticed him – almost no one had.
That was good.
It was bad for him to be noticed. If he was noticed he was memorable – and that was bad for someone as old as he was, not even taking time paradox's into account.
With one last proud smile of his own at the brunette child, Captain Jack Harkness pushed off the wall and quickly disappeared fully into the shadows.