Hey again! I would like to apologise to the people who have emailed me about this but I think I've kept to what I said! (You know what I mean.)
Aussi, this story had led to a dead end but now ... I have ideas again :D And time :) This is short but I've already started chap six (I know, shock horror). So enjoy!

CHAPTER 5

Tuesday ...

Wednesday ...

The clock on Jack's desk chimed midnight, sending a lonely call echoing around the Hub.

Thursday ...

The workstations were dormant and sleeping, expect for the odd screen shining into the semi darkness, depicting the ever running rift detector programme. An inescapable grinding noise became the next thing to disturb the silence in the Hub.

Jack hurried out of the cog door, his greatcoat wafting out behind him. His manner of walking and the strength and confidence of his stride gave the impression that he had an extremely important job to take care of but, in reality, for once in his incredibly long life, Jack was acting on a memory, or rather on a whim conjured up by a memory.

Memories seemed to playing a big part in his life recently, he reflected miserably as he climbed into the SUV once more during that night ... sorry, for the first time that day.

Since he'd seen Gwen in McDonalds, he'd been in zombie mode. Captain Jack Harkness seldom did zombie mode. The last time he'd been in a state like that was in 1941 when he came home from leave to find his wife and their seven month old daughter who he'd never met had died a week before by a bomb when the house was hit.

He started the engine, revving it several times in frustration.

It wasn't zombie mode, he clarified, asserting the exact meaning to his current state of mind yet again. He was simply deciding his next course of action in the Gwen plan. She was his drug and, like before, he was hooked on her. Only this time around he'd been previously convicted of being a 'Gwennie' and now the drug was illegal and the police were monitoring him constantly in case of a relapse.

'Not a relapse. It can't be a relapse if you never got over her.' An unwelcome part of his brain leered in his air.

He swerved the car onto the main road.

Tosh thought something was wrong. That much was easy to see. Owen obviously shared Tosh's opinion but hid his feelings as always. Rhys was ... Rhys. He couldn't hide the hurt and betrayal that he felt about Gwen but when it came to hiding his feelings about Jack's involvement with her, even Jack couldn't tell what he was thinking and he'd had years to practice reading people's expressions and body language. Martha was worried about Jack's sanity if her constant checking if he was alright and bringing him coffees were anything to go by.

He stopped the car by an old warehouse, surrounded by a mass of gigantic buildings that radiated 'Big Boy's Mechano Set of Corrugated Steel', and reversed into a space marked with two letters in flaking red paint – TW. An owl veered gracefully overhead hooting. It was the only living creature in this maze of steel and fake yellow light shining dully from the metal lampposts. He hated coming here; it usually meant that someone had died.

The rain drizzled down the back of his neck, causing him to shiver unpleasantly. There was another reason he hated coming to this secluded complex of buildings – it nearly always rained here.

He walked sedately to the shelter of the door. His key fob left his pocket and, as soon as the key entered the lock, a 10cmx10cm sheet of steel slid upwards noisily to reveal a number pad.

He loved this part of it – it was so James Bond.

4 8 5 3 2 2 9 0 1. He hadn't had to come here for one year, four months and seventeen days if he remembered correctly. The last time had been when Paddy and Sarah died.

The door grated sideways into the wall. He could have just gone straight through the garage door to the person's room that he was looking for but for some reason, he couldn't face walking into the past with a click of his fingers. And it had been a while since he'd visited his former colleague's graves (of sorts).

He stepped through the door and it shut automatically behind him. Inside the warehouse were hundreds of smaller rooms about the size of an average household garage. The wall facing into the warehouse didn't exist and had been instead replaced by a simple practical archway. Above each archway read a name and a date. There were several rooms that weren't filled with anything and just collected cobwebs in the corners and around the single light bulb attached to the ceiling in the exact centre of the room.

He dreaded the day that he'd be moving boxes into one of them. A new name would join the ranks in the warehouse and a name would leave the ranks of Torchwood.

He walked purposely down the first aisle, past the empty rooms and then the rooms with the most recent engraved dates.

Paddy Whitty
12/12/2017

Sarah Lynn
12/12/2017

Georgina Baka
07/02/2016

Taylor Redford
23/06/2015

Terry Francis
28/02/2013

Louie Grate
11/03/2010

Ianto Jones
18/10/2008

Gwyneth Cooper
01/09/2008

He came to a halt 23 rooms into the warehouse. Looking back the way he had come, a sense of overwhelming loneliness struck him. The door was out of sight and stood, alone, in the never ending semi darkness, it was impossible to stop the memories of Gray, his parents, Ianto, Georgina, Sarah and all the others swamping him.

He read the engraving on the archway he was hovering under again.

Gwyneth Cooper
01/09/2008

The boxes were piled in neat rows, heavy items at the bottom and clothes, jewellery etc in the higher boxes. Looking at the row from the long ago dates to the recent dates side, this room was the final one to be arranged neatly. Colour coordination and heaviness/lightness had gone out of the window after Gwen's room. Not even Tosh could ever beat the former tea boy's organisation skills.

The first thing that he took was a box – no more than 20cm long, covered with expensive looking blue velvet and with a fancy golden clasp (fading to bronze now) holding it together. The second thing he took was a book. It was A3 sized, with the words – Gwen's Scrapbook – emblazoned on the front in silver swirly writing. As he picked it up a newspaper clipping floated out from the pages and sunk slowly to the floor in a graceful sweeping motion. Jack paused to pick it up, slide it back into the book and place the book and box by his feet.

He moved deeper into the room. He surveyed each of the boxes individually as though they each revealed a fraction of Gwen to him. However, it was nothing new. He'd known much about Gwen before she left, mainly from their late night conversations in his office or playful banter as they hunted down weevils and she unknowingly let slip a snippet of information that he memorised, ready to laugh or sympathise about at the first uprising opportunity.

Jack spun around on the spot as he heard a clatter outside. It was probably just a cat but he made the decision waiting for him to stop his investigation and check what it was. Just in case.

Clutching the scrapbook and velvet box to his chest, he moved out of the room and retraced his steps to the door again. He only had to press one button to get out into fresh air again so the old man who was stooping from the industrial sized bins jumped as he appeared without warning.

"Wharr're you doin' 'ere?" the tramp stuttered, hunching his back and staring at the ground.

"I work here mate. And this is my property so I suggest that you give this scrounging site a miss and try the one next door. They deal with food imports." He winked at the silent man and moved in the direction of the SUV.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no … yes."

"Are you taking the mickey?" Jack paused. "Actually, I had a friend called Mickey once. Like the mouse. Used to drive him crazy. Mick Mick Mickety Boy." The old man fell silent again. "Bye then."

Jack climbed into the SUV and carefully placed the scrapbook on the passenger seat, with the box resting on top of it. The engine made a terrific revving noise that penetrated the witching hour effortlessly. Suddenly, in a much improved mood, he waved at the beggar cheerfully and pointed towards the warehouse next door that dealt with Sainsbury's packaging.

"Try round the back!" He called from the window.

R&R PLEASE! :D