Chapter One
The Hub . . .
Jack stretched back, heaved his feet onto Tosh's desk, and settled back into the chair, trying to get comfortable.
His eyes flickered from one screen to the next, trying to find something interesting.
There - a bunch of kids on a doorstep, looking like fluffy baby chickens in their multiple layers of winter gear. Maybe they were disguised Myridhen, he thought hopefully. What better way to gain access to an unsuspecting victim's home than to dress up like innocent little children?
His idle hopes were dashed when the door opened and the puffed-up preschoolers began an off-key rendition of 'Silent Night.'
No, he thought, disappointed. A gang of Myrhiden would have mobbed the elderly couple the moment they opened the door. And if they were going to sing a carol, they would have at least sung in tune.
The CCTV footage flicked to another random image, a street empty of everything except the Council-provided Christmas decorations.
"Just like me," he murmured, trailing a finger over his favourite blue-striped shirt, his favourite because it was Ianto's favourite, the one that matched his eyes perfectly. "Looking absolutely gorgeous, and there's no-one around to admire me."
He was fairly sure he used to enjoy having the Hub to himself. And, on occasion, to himself and Ianto.
But now the emptiness was oppressive rather than peaceful, the silence echoing, interrupted occasionally by sudden muffled noises and squeaks. Once familiar companions, the noises were strange to him now, evoking unpleasant memories. The creaking of chains, hissing of scorched flesh, gagged shrieks, that insane, grating giggle. . .
He stood hurriedly, making his way to Owen's desk and retrieving his IPod from the top drawer. Hooking it in to Tosh's fourth computer, he turned the volume right up, unconcerned about facing her wrath if the speakers were blown.
Pleasantly surprised at Owen's taste, he let the music of Snow Patrol drown out the memories and the background noise, and turned his attention back to the monitors.
Cars disgorging loads of well-dressed people, who scurried across the frosted grass into an overly ornate church.
A well-off neighbourhood which had obviously erupted with the spirit of competition in the weeks leading up to Christmas eve, the decorations shrouding each house and front yard a rich, glittering testament to their wealth and determination to out-do their neighbours.
The few bars remaining open were doing a roaring trade, single men and women away from their families, or with no families to go home to, trying their hardest to have a good time, maybe picking up a stranger just so they won't have to go home alone.
He imagined Owen would be in one of those clubs somewhere, celebrating his release from command and attempting to get someone drunk enough to go home with him.
A movement in an alley off to the side caught his attention. Was it a Weevil? A grindylow? . . . no, he realised, disappointed. It was a couple making out, pressed tight against the brick wall. The camera resolution wasn't even high enough for him to see any details.
He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, then swung his feet of the desk, making his way to the kitchen to get a late night coffee.
A pristinely white paper sign now adorned the front of the coffee machine, text large and bold, and Jack wondered idly how many times Ianto had replaced it. His own experience said that paper signs in kitchens grew stained and tattered in a remarkably short amount of time.
There was a new rule, apparently, forbidding anyone but Ianto from touching the machine.
He made do with instant, retrieving the small pot of coffee from the pantry and the little electric kettle from the storage cupboard. Crossing his arms, he waited impatiently for the water to boil, wishing Ianto was there, and not just for his coffee.
A few minutes later he was back at his desk, searching the footage again, mug of bitter brew in hand.
He'd been back for one week, and already Jack was bored. He'd forgotten how life was here, in comparison to travelling with the Doctor. In Cardiff, it was long weeks of nothing happening, rain, filing reports and examining alien hardware, interspersed with adrenaline-and-terror-fuelled fights for life and sanity, usually accompanied by rain.
With the Doctor, though, the fight for life and sanity was nearly constant. And usually rainless.
That last year with the Master had been a bit too intense for his liking, though.
Shivering at the dark memories threatening to rise up again, he took a sip of his coffee, grimacing, then turned his attention back to the screens, trying to find a distraction.
Part of him regretted allowing the others to have the night off, now. They were barely being civil to him at the moment - Gwen was moody, alternately pissed off with him for leaving and insanely happy to have him back; Tosh was at least talking to him, but she was more withdrawn than usual, and for the first few days he had had the feeling that she was stalking him using the security cameras whenever he was out of sight to make sure he wasn't leaving again; Owen was glad he was back, if only so he didn't have to be in charge anymore, but kept snarking at him, even more viciously than usual; and Ianto . . . he wasn't getting anything from Ianto, just that blank, dead mask and cold eyes, accompanied by a 'Yes, Sir,' or 'No, Sir,' or the occasional, 'I'll take care of it, Sir.'
It was eerily similar to how he had been just after Lisa died, except that the impassive facade had been presented to the entire team back then, and now it was directed solely at Jack.
The girls and even Owen still got the occasional slight smile and raised eyebrow, cute rhyme and sardonic remark, but Ianto gave him nothing. Well, he had given Jack a concussion and an incredibly vicious-sounding tongue-lashing in Welsh when he first walked into the Hub last Monday, but he'd received nothing but blankness since then. It hurt more than he would have expected.
He had gone in search of Myfanwy earlier, figuring that even a reconstituted dinosaur might be better company than his own, but she was ignoring him, apparently no more happy than the others were at his six-month, still inadequately-explained absence.
Despite their attitudes, he wished the team were here. Arguing with them would have at least livened things up, hopefully got a few feelings out in the open.
They had all looked so tired, though. So goddamned tired. They had all needed a break, and it was Christmas, so he had ordered them all to go home, told them he would stay in the Hub. The distrust in their eyes had cut deep, and it was a measure of how tired they really were that they had left him here alone.
Well, the distrust in Gwen's, Owen's and Tosh's eyes had cut deep. The ice in Ianto's had flayed flesh from bone. A feeling he knew very well now, courtesy of the Master.
He took another sip of coffee, gaze continuing to flicker from screen to screen, knowing it was extremely unlikely that he was going to spot a Judoon strolling down the deserted back-roads of Cardiff, but there was nothing else for him to do.
There was no paperwork - Owen seemed to have kept it all up to date, though he had his suspicions about who was really responsible for that.
Jack had already gone through most of the mission reports completed since he'd left - all the ones that mattered, anyway. He had come into his office one morning and found his desk buried under neatly stacked files, a post-it note attached to the front of each with a few words in Ianto's pathologically neat handwriting, suggesting to him which sections he should read.
His sincere thank you had won him an impassive stare and a blandly murmured, "It's my job, Sir."
He had met the new inhabitants of the cell blocks, had a look at the few bits of tech that had washed up from the Rift whilst he was gone and identified some the team hadn't been able to put a name to, he had attempted to break into Owen's filing cabinet to have a look at the more recent medical records (because unfortunately patient-doctor confidentiality did extend to Torchwood, and it was something Owen was surprisingly protective of), only to be met with a dead-lock seal.
He was so bored, and he needed a distraction yet he couldn't leave. There had been another new rule made in his absence about never leaving the Hub unmanned. It was a sensible rule, he supposed, and he didn't want to undercut Owen's authority or confidence by discarding it, but it was a pain in the ass.
Regardless of the rule, Jack had promised he would stay, and now was not a good time to be breaking promises. Not if he wanted to prevent being sedated and micro-chipped like a family pet with a habit of straying. And not if he wanted his team to ever trust him again.
Otherwise, he might have gone down to join the press of desperate singles at one of the bars. A bit of admiration, some harmless flirting, a quick fuck to distract him, exactly what he needed at the moment.
Maybe he should call Ianto, he thought to himself. Sure, the man hated him at the moment, but Jack had brought him around before. Maybe it wasn't even hatred lurking behind the mask - could be honest fury, homicidal rage, hurt, fear, fear of being hurt . . . the sooner he knew what it was, the sooner he could begin plotting his way into being forgiven.
Besides, he kind of missed the sound of his voice. And his accent. And that little twitch of the mouth that was, for him, a smile. The quirked eyebrow, and quirky sense of humour. That little moan when Jack's mouth found just the right spot on his neck. The feel of Ianto's body beneath his, or above, or beside, or around . . .
He found himself reaching for the phone, but was distracted by one of the images flashing across the screen.
"Hello," he murmured to himself, leaning forward hurriedly and pressing a key. The random display halted, and he grinned.
There was a furry red bundle slowly stalking, sloth-like, across a dimly-lit intersection, its long claws starkly silver against the black tar road, needle-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.
He manipulated the camera angle and focused until he could see the names written on the street signs, then stood, grabbing his coat and heading through the Hub to where the SUV was parked.
Then came to a sudden halt when he recalled the new rule.
"Dammit!" he hissed, sitting down again. He pulled out his mobile, then hesitated. It wasn't anyone's idea of a good time, having to babysit the Hub on Christmas eve. He gazed at the screen - the furry thing slinking its way across the road had only just reached the centre of the intersection. It was so slow, he could probably catch it and get back here before anyone noticed he had gone . . .
"They're mad enough already, without me breaking the rules the first week I'm back," he decided, and entered speed-dial 4, waiting impatiently as the phone rang.
A/N
Merry Christmas! A little late, I know. I'd call it a Boxing Day Gift except that was yesterday. Or at least, it was in Aus. If it's still Boxing Day where you are, then Happy Boxing Day!
Please leave a comment - I love hearing from you guys :) (And it seems only fair since I'm giving you a gift. An unasked-for gift, but a gift all the same)
Hope you all had a good Christmas!