Creator's Note: Welcome back to the creepiest villian in Torchwood (Bilis Manger!). Please note I own nothing and, for the duration of this fic, Jack Harkness is mostly James Harper. If you haven't watched "The Real Jack Harkness" you may need to. Otherwise, the name thing won't make sense. My muse, of course, wouldn't let this one go. I wrote this almost all together (except for a lovely brief nap and some garlic bread).
--On With the Show!--
He was lost, somewhere in those dreams of his. He was in the dark, small shadows and pockets of light dancing all around him. The room itself was dirty on all sides, but it wasn't the room or the shabby curtain that he was concentrating on.
It was Jack's trembling fingers and his assumed identity being called out. It was the cautious, embarrassed smile. It was the downcast eyes, trying not to be too hungry. It was a need to forget the glares of his men. It was the way he was strong and yet it took James' hands in his own to calm things.
James felt himself fall down on the bed gently, Jack beneath him, his eyelashes tenderly raking James' cheek. They admired each other just momentarily before Jack had taken a try at James' buttons. James had smiled as he had begun to help. And now, there was nothing left but the trousers.
Jack was somehow more calm in knowing he was going to commit the act, in knowing he had left Nancy's words far behind, her desperate words. And now he was the desperate one, craving another man's touch. He watched the pants slide away from James, noting the tan against the briefs and the physique, clearly he had been fit for a very long time.
"Going to leave me alone in this?" Jack felt the bed underneath him. He had been leaning to one side, just watching James undress further and admiring him in the smoggy night. He smiled faintly before his dark uniformed pants were stripped away. James was on top of him in an instant. He went to remove the final light from the room.
"No. Leave it on. I want to see you." It wasn't a command or an order. A suggestion that made James smile as he brought a deeper kiss onto Jack's quivering lips. He felt hands begin to gingerly bring themselves to his hips. He felt Jack's gun beginning growing against his own.
"Careful of that weapon, soldier. Someone might get hurt."
"We both might."
"Not while we're here, together." The words were a whisper in the shadow from James to Jack.
And them the alarm sounded and Jack's eyes popped open. He reached out with his fingers, realizing that there was warmth in the empty space of his sheets and a pair of shiny black Oxfords were rising away very quickly. In his groggy state, he called out for Jack. There was no response.
He went out into the rest of his bedroom, searching the area for his trousers and a shirt, his trademark suspenders still hanging around his belt loops. He shrugged, unable to find a shirt.
"Woah! Jack, have a rough night?"
"Why thank you Gwen. Good Monday morning to you too."
"Guess I should be more used to you being shirtless now, shouldn't I?"
"I wouldn't get too used to it." Jack replied grimly, finding his button-down shirt hanging from the coat rack.
"Good morning. First round of coffee?"
Gwen turned to Ianto. "So, Ianto, another good round of naked hide and seek then?"
"Must you be so jealous in the morning?" Ianto thought better of himself when he saw the Captain's eyes slightly less sharp than normal. "Gwen, I've left a letter on your desk."
"Fine. I can take the hint." She tore from the room, hands in her pocket.
"What's wrong, Jack?"
"Don't call me that."
"You're pale and shaking, was it a bad dream?"
Jack smiled forlornly. "On the contrary. I think I found my answer."
"To what, sir?"
"Ianto, I, was dreaming about the Real Captain Jack Harkness."
"He was quite a man, wasn't he? He was the one in that picture with you and Tosh."
"Yes."
"I could be jealous, but you're with me, aren't you?"
"Am I, Ianto? Am I ever fair to you?"
"I don't push and I don't expect things. If I did that, I'd be Gwen. Just look at her, all shook by death and loss. She expects us to go running off at any moment." Ianto glanced from the shades at Gwen, who had been allowing work to seep through more and more after Owen and Tosh had succumbed to the great fate of all Torchwood employees in one way or the other.
"But what if I did again?"
"We need you here."
"He needs me."
"He's dead. You said so yourself last night."
"But he's alive, in my dream. He could have fallen through the Rift, couldn't he?"
"Jack, don't hope for impossible things. I should know."
"You're right."
Gwen's voice called out. "Ianto? Who sent me this picture?"
Jack followed Ianto back to Gwen's desk near the couches. She was pale, her eyes wide. Jack took the photo from her hands while Ianto checked the return address. He frowned. "I thought you knew these people."
"I do. I do. It's my mum's address. But this is impossible."
"I don't quite see what's wrong, then?"
"My mum has blond hair. Always has. This is not her picture and yet this is her name and her handwriting scrawled across the back. The handwriting doesn't match on the return address. Who could have sent it and what does it mean?"
"Did your mother ever dye her hair?"
"No, she couldn't have. Our family's hair doesn't hold dye. We have some Irish roots."
"Oh dear. I don't mean to be the harbinger of doom, but..."
"Ianto, what is it?"
Gwen and Jack turned to find Ianto working at one of the terminal computers with a handwriting sample software that was running at very lengthy speed. He turned back to Jack, and then looked from Jack to Gwen. "This handwriting matches Bilis Manger. Tosh has a sample from every case we've done and it's a match. Gwen, he's back. And it looks as though he's going after you."