"Ain't nobody here but us chickens, doll," he called from below. "And I'm always up for you." Martha rolled her eyes and climbed down the hatchway into Jack's private space. She found him sitting in an old wing chair before a small gas fire in the tiled wall.
"The way you talk, you'd think you really were from the 1940s," Martha teased, settling on a footstool near his feet.
Jack shrugged. "It's an era that seems to fit me. Goes with the great coat."
"And of course you'd never ham it up on my account."
"Never. Cross my heart." They sat companionably, soaking up heat from the fire, the little tongues of flame flickering over the tiles and a set of five steel needles covered in black stitches in Jack's hands. Martha watched quizzically as he knit, round and round.
"So what're you knitting, then?" asked Martha eventually.
"A balaclava," he answered, drawing out the word. "Wanna see?" He gave her a cheerful leer over the top of the needles. "Pleeeease let me show you my balaclava, Martha."
"Oh Jack," she giggled. "You're the only person in the entire universe that could make a balaclava sound dirty." He grinned.
"Essential for the troops, sweetheart. Essential."
"Is that where you learned to knit--the war?"
"Mmm. Great War. Army hospital." He finished up one needle and moved to the next, flicking the thin black wool out of the way.
Martha's brows went up. "Hospital? Were you hurt? I though you couldn't--I mean..."
"Oh no, I wasn't in the hospital. Worked there. Towards the end." His hands stopped moving for a moment.
"They taught the wounded soldiers to knit as therapy. Helped with dexterity, especially with hand wounds, burns. Gave me something to do in off hours, and I've just kept at it to pass the time. Turns out I'm good at it, and it keeps my fingers nimble," he said, taking up the work again with the tiniest lecherous wiggle of his brows. "And the little gal who was doing the teaching! Boy, I would have pretended to be interested in whatever she was handing out, just to get close to her. Beautiful girl, Doris. Black hair, big brown eyes, the cutest dimples.
"No wait--the dimples. That was her brother. Arthur. And I thought Doris was the family looker. Phew." He looked off into the middle distance over Martha's head with a fond smile and a glint in his eye and looked back down with a frown. "Damn. Dropped a stitch."
"Would you teach me?" Martha said hesitantly.
"Teach you to knit?" Jack asked, surprised. "Do girls do that any more?" He got out of his armchair and began rummaging through a plastic bin stashed under his bed.
"Tish is learning. Stress reduction after..." Martha's voice failed for a moment. She shrugged. "She says a lot of her friends are taking it up. It'd be nice to have the shared interest. Could do with a stress reliever myself."
"Martha," he answered, sitting back down in the chair, "I'll be your stress reliever any time. Come," he added, patting his lap, "have a seat."
She shot him a look. "Oi, what kind of stress relief you offering, Captain?"
"I only bite if you ask politely and kiss me first." He patted his knee again. "C'mon. I don't have a sofa down here and if you don't sit on my lap we have to sit on my bed. Which, come to think of it--"
Martha perched obediently on his knee.
"Right!" grinned Jack, bringing his arms around and handing her a set of wooden needles and a bright ball of red wool. "Now," he said, cuddling her close, "make a slip knot...like--oh, you've done that before."
"Yeah, we use it all the time in surgery. Useful in laparascopic procedures."
"I love it when you go all medical." He put the slip knot on the first needle and put his hands over hers, his breath tickling her ear. "Now. Slip the other needle through the slip knot, front to back like that...right...and put the yarn around...okay, now dip the needle down like this and pull it through...good, you made a new stitch. Put it back on the first needle. And again..." Martha hesitated, trying to think what to do. Sitting on Jack's lap seemed to make her slow and a little fumble-fingered.
"Here's how you remember," he said. "The rabbit pops into the hole--" the needle went into the stitch-- "puts on his scarf--" he guided her hand, wrapping the yarn around the needle-- "comes out of the hole and hops away--" pulling up the new stitch.
"Rabbits?" Martha grinned, turning to face him. Her nose was inches from his.
"Rabbits," said Jack. "My favorite beasties."
Soon there were 20 stitches on the first needle and Jack was guiding her through the first row of actual knitting. "Pops into his hole--puts on his scarf--comes out of the hole and hops away...Jack," she murmured, "I don't think you need to keep your hands on mine, I think I've got it."
"You sure?" he said softly. She felt his smile against her cheek, and turned to look in his eyes.
"If I didn't know better," she said, a sad note creeping into her voice, "I'd swear you were trying to seduce me, Jack Harkness."
"I'd be insulting a beautiful woman if I didn't at least try," he answered, tilting his head. His blue eyes were lidded but somehow very bright in the gaslight. She brought her forehead down to touch his.
"Oh, my darling Jack," she sighed, putting the knitting down. "A little too soon for both of us, yeah?" He brought his arms around her fully and pulled her closer, her legs across his lap; she put an arm around his neck and rested her head on top of his.
"Here's the thing," Jack said, his head against her chest. "I don't think either of us will ever be completely over him. And that's something I'll have to put up with a helluva lot longer than you. How long you gonna wait for him?"
Martha was quiet for a moment. "I'm not waiting for him. No, really," she said as he pulled away to look her sternly in the face, "I'm not. I mean, you're right, I won't ever be completely over him. How could I ever? But I'm doing better than I was. Leaving--it was the hardest thing I ever did, Jack. Seriously, it was worse than...than that year. It just hasn't been long enough. For me."
Jack sighed and released her from the circle of his arms. She stood up, tucking the ball of red wool under one arm.
"I tell you what, though," she said. "When it has been, I'll be back, and--"
"--and I'll teach you how to purl," finished Jack, kissing her free hand, looking up at her with sultry affection.
When she climbed back up into Jack's office, Owen was leaning unexpectedly against the door frame.
"Well! Doctor Jones!" he smirked. "What were you doing down there?"
"Jack was teaching me how to knit," she said, sweeping past him brandishing the red wool and needles. "He showed me his balaclava," she said over her shoulder as she grabbed her coat. "G'night."
Owen watched her retreating form out the gates, pursing his lips slightly as his eyes followed the purposeful sway of her hips. "I just bet he did," he said. "I just bet he did."