Title: Home Alone
Author: SerenityJane
Fandom:Torchwood
Characters: Jack Harkness
Warnings: This product contains fluff, which is a choking hazard, and may also cause disappointment for anyone expecting anything of susbstance. Not suitable for use by children under the age of three!
Summary: The team have left for the day, leaving Jack alone in the hub. Not expecting any major emergencies, he decides to relax and indulge in a secret passion.
He slowly decends the ladder down into his room, and once he reaches the bottom, he lets out a sigh, then stretches his arms above his head, wincing at the crack of his spine. He wishes, not for the first time and definitely not for the last, that the immortality thing would stop him from getting old, as well as stop him from dying.
He strips his clothes off as he heads to the shower, leaving a litter of laundry in his wake.
He steps into the cubicle and turns the taps on as far as they will go, bows his head as the hot, hard needles of water dig into his skull.
Fifteen minutes later he emerges pink and prune-like, newly born. He towels the water off his body as he walks back to the bedroom, performing an odd skip and jump as he manages to dry his legs without altering his pace.
Tossing the towel aside, he walks to his bedside cabinet and retrieves a small silver key from its hiding place beneath a jar of hair-gel, kept here rather than in the bathroom cabinet, close by in case of emergencies.
He moves to the foot of the bed and kneels beside the large, heavy wooden chest kept there, unlocking the padlock with a smooth twist. He grunts slightly as he lifts the heavy lid.
He begins to sift his hands through the contents, assorted as those of a magpie's nest..
A newer version of his favourite pistol, a gift from his old mentor, is carefully placed on the floor, soon followed by a clip of ammunition, a half-finished tube of lime-flavoured lube, three unmated socks, an army ration pack so old not even the most stingy of staff-sergeants would make his men eat it, one of Íanto's ties (a favourite, the one with alternating shades of blue and purple diagonal stripes. Ianto had been so upset when he couldn't find it . . . usually it was a pair of underwear that Jack kept as a memento, but Ianto was an exception in more ways than one), some loose change, a pair of tweezers, and last of all, a rolled-up flag is removed and placed reverently on the bedsheets, the symbol embroidered onto the red fabric containing a concept only barely taking form in this young world.
Jack then reaches his fingers into the depths of the chest, nails only just catching at the gap between the base and the side. He heaves upward, grunting slightly, and the false wooden bottom of the chest swings upward on silent hinges.
He runs his fingers lovingly over the carefully hidden contents, not needing his eyes to recognise them individually, he knew the feel of them so well.
He makes his selection, then carefully restacks his treasures. He replaces the wooden panel and repacks his odds and ends, before closing the lid and re-locking the deceptively delicate-looking padlock.
He stands, treasure clutched to his naked chest, and walks to the wall beside the ladder. He flicks the light-switch, and the room falls dark.
He makes his way back to the bed, pulls back the thick duvet, and crawls in underneath. He twists around to lie on his stomach, then pulls the covers up over his shoulders.
He reaches out and switches on the lamp by his bed, the harsh metal box of a room softened by the gentle light. He places his prize on the pillows, just beneath his nose. He sniffs the object delicately, enchanted by the musty perfume. He trails his fingers along the smooth paper, so delightful against his skin.
He opens the treasure, and begins to read . . .
Her red hair was tossed about carelessly by the tempestuous wind as she stood, wild and free at the heights of the crows-nest. He watched her, and he was filled with awe and desire, and terror. "What the hell are you doin', you stupid gel!" he shouted, barely audible above the crashing waves. "Do you think your father paid me to help you escape from your uncle's treachery, only to have you fall to your death whilst still within spitting distance of the castle?" "I think my father is a fool to trust you, no matter that you owe him your life after he spared you from the gallows! He would have been better to let you hang, rathen than pity you as just a hungry little boy stealing bread. Look at what his mercy has made of you!" She tossed her head, and he could see her foot slip slightly, almost causing her to fall. He gasped, and his men gasped along with him. God, she was so beautiful, so passionate. So stubborn and irritable! Breath-taking. "My father was is a fool to trust a pirate! Especially one as notorious as yourself, captain." "That's treason, me girl! I don't care who you are, call the King a fool again and I'll climb up there and throw you over the side meself!"
Jack, smiling to himself, snuggles further down beneath the covers, and turns the page