12
Jack knew he was being morose but he couldn't shake the morbid feeling as the entire team seemed to shy from him and his anger.
Maybe he shouldn't have kicked the workstation while Owen was working at it and he knew Myfanway's constant screaming for release until he relented and opened the skylight was not helping.
Now she was gone and the silence seemed to echo.
Gwen was the first to crack, rising from her chair and asking for the rest of the day. Jack gave them all the day, intending to hide away and lick his wounds …well, drink some scotch anyway.
Lick.
Swallow.
Same difference.
Duncan McLeod.
Why was that niggling at him so much?
Jack found himself wandering across the Plass, chewing over the events that had cost him his head archivist.
His team member.
His …
Focus.
Duncan McLeod.
McLeod.
Connor McLeod.
Connor McLeod of the clan McLeod.
Duncan McLeod.
Huh.
Jack was moving quickly as he struggled to remember where the business card was for Connor, his antique shop a firm favorite. Finally Jack was sitting at his desk with the card in his shaking hand as he dialed, then waited.
"Connor McLeod speaking" came a low gravelly voice and Jack found himself smiling.
"Connor. It's Jack Harkness, remember me?" Jack asked and the barking laughter told him that he was, indeed remembered.
"Well, what can I do for you then, Jackie" Connor asked happily, "You and I've not broken bread since … what. Just before the Millennium."
"A lot had happened since then old friend" Jack sighed.
"What is wrong?" Connor asked softly, hearing his old friend's pain.
"I lost someone" Jack whispered. "Why must we always love."
"It is the curse of the immortal" Connor replied, "To love, to lose, to be left behind. Although we are not of the same elk, we have always walked the same path my friend."
"Drink?"
"I have … ah. A cousin is staying and …" a sigh as Jack felt something happening and then, "Yes. A drink then. Come to me, you remember where my London shop is?"
"I'll be there before sunrise." Jack said, rising and pulling his coat on as he wrote a brief note to Owen.
As the connection was cut Jack thought he heard something in the background. A voice, asking Connor what was happening in Gallic.
It sounded … like music.
Gods, he was hearing things.
He pulled up outside the store, seeing the light on and hastened to the door, looking both ways before touching the keypad and letting his palm print open the door, and slipping inside to the instant heat.
"Connie?"
He was walking towards the back where the private quarters were when he heard steel striking steel and he was running before it even registered.
Connor was locked in battle with another, lithe and lean, this man seemed to have the upper hand and Connor slipped, falling to a knee and looking up with shock as the sword swung for his neck.
Jack screamed as he struggled for the Webley and it rose to fire, finding both man on their feet with swords lowered and a look of surprise.
"You are here early" Connor finally said, stepping forward, "You were driving too fast again."
Jack didn't answer, too busy staring at the opponent now calmly sheathing the sword and pulling on his shirt, covering his smooth skin.
Ianto Jones finally looked up, back at him and grimaced before turning away.
"So you win again cousin" Connor called out, "Your feet are still moving too slowly."
"Really?" Ianto swung to glare at him, his welsh lit exaggerated in anger, "Then why were you on your knees again Connor!"
"Touché my love" Connor laughed, "Well played."
Jack sat heavily as it all finally made sense.
All those deaths.
All those stories.
Ianto had never lied.
He was hiding in plain sight the whole time.