Chapter 1

Trying to account for the troubles you've found
Hey could you use a little help to be honest with yourself
See it tear you up, and it calls your bluff
When the lie that keeps you warm, is the truth you're counting on

-"Bluff" from Pilot Speed

Being emotionally tethered to an immortal alien comes with its own set of complexities. Most people can flip through pages of their lover's family photo album like clicks on smart phone. But exploring Jack Harkness' past is more like an Egyptian archeological expedition. And the more I dig, the more interesting tangles I find. Tonight would be no exception.

It was a few weeks before Gwen's wedding. I was spending more time than usual in the archives to keep out from under Jack's foul mood. Everyone else was avoiding him too – Owen went to a medical convention on clavicle replacement surgery (a strange topic for a man whose treatments were mostly on dead bodies); Toshiko was scouring electronics wholesalers for computer equipment; and Gwen was off with Rhys picking caterers and reception venues. This gave Jack a wide birth to pace and grumble. Usually, the others were at a loss about Jack's moods and were used to him not sharing details. They depended on me to explain things to them if it was something to do with Torchwood and the rest they preferred not to know.

But everyone knew what was eating at Jack this time – Gwen's wedding – although they had different takes on why. Owen thought it was jealously, that he "had gotten to it and Jack hadn't". Tosh felt that Jack was very lonely and wanted what Rhys and Gwen had. And Gwen, well, she thought Jack was just sore he hadn't returned in time before Rhys had popped the question. Only I knew the truth was much more complicated than jealousy, loneliness, or timing. A set of photos from just after the Great War told a tale the others couldn't even imagine. But at that point all I had were shattered fragments, a bundle of curiosity, and a hunch.

Two things always got Jack out of a bad mood, talking about himself or a lengthy blow job. The latter may not have given me the information I was looking for, so despite the deliciousness of the idea, I decided on the former. I emerged from the basement and walked into his office in the early evening, though such timing is hard to discern in the windowless Torchwood Hub. I approached him slowly, tentatively with the sleeves of my off-white shirt rolled neatly to the elbows. My tie was slightly ajar and there was the faintest of dust on the right knee of my navy blue pinstriped pants.

I found him watching the Moxisum Tracus, the white corral creature that grew on platter of shallow water resting on his desk. A half empty bottle of hypervodka, its mouth still warm and wet from his lips, rested casually to his right. "You're slipping Ianto," he mocked, placing the magnifying glass on the desk and crooking his head slightly over his shoulder, "Took you at least two hours this time to find something interesting to grill me about."

"You've been somewhat inaccessible lately, wouldn't you say?"

"Never stopped you before."

True but why give him more ammo. I walked over to him and dropped the unmarked file folder on the desk. Photos peeked out like wayward pubic hairs through a swimsuit. "What do we have this time?" he said as he opened it. A crooked smile grew across his face and then disappeared as he started arranging the pictures like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Only he had the concept of the full picture. Jack's voice grew serious, "Paris circa 1919. Where did you find these?"

I don't give away all of my secrets, not even to him, "Who are the people there?"

He sighed and I could almost feel those sweet blue eyes of his soften misty, "Richard and Carol. We were in the war together."

I grabbed a folding chair and pulled it up to the desk next to him, brushing against his leg while doing so. I was wearing his favorite cologne, Terre d'Hermès. He said it made me smell like an English forest. He'd make me wear it whenever we went camping and would fuck me for hours in a bed of wet grass and soft moss as a reward. Being sensitive to smells, his reaction was predictable. One whiff and he was ready to pounce. No sooner had my ass hit the chair this time did he reach to grab my face for a kiss. I stopped him with a finger against his lips before his charms won the campaign. "Story first.," I demanded.

He growled and pouted before sitting back in his chair. With a frown, he came back to the photos and began arranging again. He face became serious and his gestures more like a gypsy organizing Tarot cards. This took some time and I could tell it was pulling memories from him some of which were quite sad and others critical to my investigation. I was on to something and getting anxious to know what it all meant.

He picked up one of the smaller pictures. Jack was in his uniform (looking simply dashing, I might add) standing with his arm around another man in Army uniform. "That's Richard, Richard Cooper." Jack held the photo like a treasured memory. "We were mates, served as part of the Bluffs, the 3rd Regiment, 6th Battalion. We became fast friends from the moment we met and spent the weeks before our orders getting drunk and chasing cute French damsels." He tapped the picture for emphasize, "This was taken after drinks at a base canteen." Jack ran his finger across the man's face like a blind man traces braille, "Rich was a conscript and survived when others were falling like flies. They called him 'Lucky Dickie', well, until he met me."

He stopped talking, lost in his memories, "You're not boring me." I took the picture from him and looked at it more closely, "Were you sleeping together?"

Jack gave me that 'you've got to be kidding me' look then continued, "They paired us up for obvious reasons, a man who couldn't die with a man who never saw a bullet. Our first time out together, we were assigned to cross over enemy lines and blow up a supply bridge. We blew up the bridge but before we could get back to camp, we were spotted by a group of the Kaiser's finest." He possessively took the photo back from me. "Rich was shot up real bad and so was I. I played dead in a nearby ditch so Fritz would pass us but Rich, limp in the middle of the road, wasn't exactly playing. He had lost a lot of blood and his leg was badly mangled." Jack put the one photo down and picked up another of the same man sitting up in an infirmary bed giving a thumbs-up sign, "I carried him 12 miles across the lines to an army hospital."

"Who's the nurse?"

"Anna."

"She gorgeous, even in that uniform and her hair tied up like some school teacher."

"We thought so," Jack said grinning, handing me the picture.