(Originally posted 11/04/14)
-OOO-
Jack Harkness hummed quietly to himself. He was in a surprisingly good mood. Since his return, Ianto and he had slipped into a comfortable mode of unspoken coupledom. More often than not, he now stayed over at Ianto's place three to four nights a week.
He brought with him a toothbrush and a few other creature comforts. The occasional must-have and trinket.
His wardrobe was now split between two houses. His hearts had already relocated.
Every time he entered the townhouse, a little bit of life slipped in too.
The walls sighed with relief.
The foundations offered up thanks.
Jack was now using said toothbrush to freshen his mouth, which had been given a vigorous work-out the night before. He smiled through the foam, he was finding out there were certain acts Ianto just couldn't say no to.
As Jack re-entered the bedroom he was captivated by an awesome sight. Ianto was lying naked across the bed, distracted by something on the floor beside it. Striking while the iron was hot, Jack slapped the upturned arse presented to him.
The thwack was resounding. A startling and satisfying targeted gesture.
"Heeeey!"
"What are you doing hun?"
"Nothing." The nothing came with a rustling soundtrack.
"Lemmee see."
"It's nothing really."
Jack reached around Ianto; a brief tussle ensued before he grabbed the paper Ianto was desperately trying to keep from him.
"What is this? Is this a list?"
"No of course not." All Ianto's cheeks were bare-faced and they all lied.
Jack started to peruse the paper.
"I know you said you were going to keep one of these things, but I thought you were kidding me."
"It's not what it looks like."
"There are ticks on this thing and its three pages long!"
Ianto sat up and started to squirm.
"I like to keep track. I'm a notary after all."
Jack was agog.
"Surely we've done everything?"
"No, not yet."
"What's missing, let's see." Jack started to view the list more thoroughly. Ianto was now blushing furiously into his ribcage.
Midway down page three Jack eyes widened in shock.
"You want to do this?! Really Yan?" Ianto peered over Jack's shoulder and then nodded quietly at his bright-red toes.
"Me to you or you to me?"
"Both" came the sheepish response.
Jack took a moment to compose himself. Ripples of surprise were still travelling through him.
"You know there's a name for this right?"
"Yes I Googled it." Ianto replied.
"Of course. Of course you did."
"It's called Felching."
"Yes Ianto I remember," Jack commented with a half smirk. If he had been wearing them, the shock would have met his socks. He had to try hard not to laugh out loud. Who knew Ianto was partial to a bit of kink after all? He chuckled however as he drew his wicked Welshman towards him.
"This was not how I thought my morning would pan out - trust me on this."
-OOO-
Toshiko Sato could never in a million years be called a fashionista. Smart -yes. Appropriately attired -yes. Owning a suit for all seasons- yes, yes, yes; but being on trend? It was harder to say yes to that particular question.
However now, she was longing to wear a different look. Wearing top-to-toe black may be the get-out-of-jail-free card for the glitterati, but Tosh was sick of it. Every time she had to engage with a certain Captain Jack Harkness, her doom-laden outfit had to be worn.
She wanted choice.
She'd have to want.
This second-time around, the second time that Tosh had volunteered, to gain a vital DNA sample from the aforementioned Captain; this time she was much more serious.
She was organised.
She was vigilant.
This time Tosh had had Jack's house under surveillance. She had already made note of the fact that these days, he was rarely home. Something or someone was occupying a great deal of his time. Co-incidental or not, this worked in her favour.
She was free to break in.
Whenever she wanted.
Or so she thought.
The best laid plans of mice and men can turn to poop in your hands, if you're not careful.
Tosh chose a Thursday. Not quite the weekend; but people were already beginning to wind down as though it was.
It would be a piece of cake.
Jack's house was large and rambling and perched on the top of a hill. Perched wasn't quite the right word. It rather clung precariously to the steep incline of the manicured street. All the surrounding houses had a calm, regal look about them; as though they were surveying all those, unfortunate enough to be built beneath them. Jack's abode however looked pained. It looked as though it was on its last legs. It gave the impression that at any moment, it was going to give up the fight and just collapse into the heap of rumble it was longing to be.
Tosh was nervous.
Being the connoisseur of many cop movies, Tosh knew that she needed to break into the back of the house. Neighbourhood Watch schemes weren't necessary, if you were going to be stupid enough to break in via the front door.
She sidled down the side of the house. She met the garden. Correction - she met the space that the garden should have occupied, if it had been lovingly tended to well enough, to have earnt that label. In truth she was staring at a junior jungle. All tall grass and even taller weeds. Captain Jack Harkness had yet to locate his green fingers.
Tosh felt sorry for the neglected landscape. She loved gardening. She made a mental note to accidentally drop 'round one day. With her tools. To lend her boss a hand. That wouldn't look suspicious at all, would it?
The left side of her brain wasn't so sure.
Walking up to the blue back door, (whose paint had blistered in several places) Tosh hoped that her American line manager, was enough of an Anglophile, to leave a spare key under the mat.
She looked.
She discovered,
he wasn't.
Breathing a sigh of mild exasperation, Tosh tried the door anyway.
Unsurprisingly it was locked. She then tried the windows, hoping that one could be rattled loose.
One couldn't.
Fighting the urge to turn around and come back another day with a proper plan, Tosh noticed some steps leading away from the back door. She followed their lead. She had to be careful as the bottom three were covered in a thin slimy moss. The door now in front of her, easily gave way to her light touch. She entered what could have been described as a scullery, in days of yore. The dim room with the low ceiling was filled with old broken discarded furniture. Chairs and footstalls mainly. Trying not to trip, Tosh made her way towards the interior door, at the far end. No locks were in use on this door either. Tosh felt her day was looking up.
-O-
Taking a deep if somewhat dusty breath, Tosh made her way up the stairs. The relatively short flight led her to the kitchen.
First impressions count.
Obviously no-one had told Jack Harkness this.
If one was being polite, the term shabby chic could have been used to describe the mild mess that gently assaulted Tosh's eyes. Plates were piled up on the drainer, but not washed. Papers covered the tables (Jack had two). Cupboards appeared to be well stocked, glimpsed through half-opened doors. Tosh sighed heavily, it was such a shame.
As she raised a hand to absentmindedly close the nearest cupboard, she heard a sound behind her. A clink.
She turned, the plates which she could've sworn were on the drainer, were now nestling in warm water in the sink. The papers on both tables were now arranged in neat piles. The cupboards had found their locks; even the floor looked brighter.
Tosh frowned. She knew she was probably a bit sleep-deprived; but this was strange - no?
Making her way through to the lounge, Tosh couldn't help but notice that Jack favoured the two sofas approach, rather than the one sofa, two armchairs combo.
She noted the sofas were leather.
Leather Chesterfields.
Just like Ianto had.
Great minds or just plain creepy, she wasn't sure.
Tosh couldn't resist having a quick nose around Jack's cd collection. It was bound to be insightful.
However it wasn't Jack's choice of artists that caught Tosh's attention, it was the sheer range of musical formats she saw before her. There were cds, vinyl LPs at 33rpm. SPs at 45 and 78rpms. He even had a Berliner Gramophone and a Phonograph Cylinder. Who has that?
Weird.
Not wholly impressed with the rest of the lounge, Tosh thought that she would find better bounty upstairs.
As she started to climb, the first thing Tosh noticed was that Jack's stair carpet was a brilliant blue. No prizes for guessing which colour was a favourite of his.
With each passing step however, the hue of the carpet became darker, almost green-like in shade. Tosh was reminded of grass. The life-like lawn beneath her feet started to sprout flowers too. By the time she had reached the top, Tosh felt as though she had brought the outside in. She swore she could smell lavender.
Shaking her head whilst moving briskly along the landing, Tosh spied lots of picture frames. Singularly, in pairs and in little family groups. Jack Harkness seemed keen to display his friends and family, to all and sundry…except that most of the frames appeared to be empty.
Why would you display what you lacked?
Perplexed, Tosh moved closer to a trio of portraits. Her peripheral vision caught rapid movement. It was as though the sitters had made a hasty exit, vacating the frame for another. Moving her head to the right, Tosh could see a much smaller frame, bursting at the seams with occupants. All of which were hanging out of the picture, trying to get a look at her.
Tosh dashed forward to try to get more than a glimpse of them, but they were one frame ahead of her, shifting back to the original grouping of three.
This was.
Very odd.
Indeed.
Toshiko Sato wisely felt the need to hurry things along. It wasn't that she was scared as such. It was more that she hadn't told her nearest and dearest, exactly where she was.
She entered the bedroom at speed, but then stopped abruptly. There in front of her was a jewel that couldn't be bypassed. There on the bedside table was Captain Jack Harkness' passport.
It was black rather than burgundy, but Tosh reasoned the colour palette, was left up to the individual these days. Gingerly opening the lithe document, Tosh's eyebrows knitted together in incomprehension.
There was Jack, facing the camera full on with his trademark grin intact, looking fresh and full of vigour, just above the date stamp of 1943.
ONE NINE FOUR THREE.
How was that possible?
More to the point, how was it he hadn't aged a day?
This had to be a hoax surely?
A prop from a play?
Feeling her blood sugars lowering by the second, Tosh stashed the flat Rubix cube in her mini rucksack and continued to look for her nugget of gold.
She spied a wardrobe. Always a good place to start.
Prying open the heavy door, Tosh was surprised to see that all of the Captain's clothes were stored beautifully.
Every shirt was ironed. Every trouser pressed. There was even his Aviator's greatcoat taking up pride of place. Tosh couldn't resist running her hand over the fresh-smelling wool. As she stroked the seams, she slipped her and inside a pocket to discover a comb there.
A recently used comb.
A comb that answered all her prayers.
Offering up a silent benediction, Tosh went to place the comb inside her rucksack too. Only it was slapped from her hands.
At least she thought it was slapped.
Bending down Tosh retrieved the comb and reached for her bag again. This time she was not mistaken. The greatcoat and a shirt both out-stretched a sleeve each, to thwart her plans. They both hit the hand that held the comb. The slaps didn't hurt, but they were disconcerting.
Shaking the incredulity out of her head, Tosh moved to regain possession of the hair accessory again. All sleeves and hands met at the same time.
Twice bitten, thrice shy, Tosh's grip was firmer this time. She couldn't believe it; she was actually having a tug-of-war with two items of clothing; and only just holding her own.
She may be only slightly built but Tosh was full of strength. Planting her feet solidly on the wardrobe floor and putting her back into it, Tosh managed to overcome her brush-cottoned bullies.
Pelting along the landing, Tosh heard the echo of Go, go, go, coming from the traitorous portraits. She had no friends amongst this family.
Tripping over a daisy on the top stair, Tosh free-fell down what was now a sheer bank of summer-time blooms. She tumbled straight out of the conveniently-opened front door, onto the scruffy shrubbery in the front yard. Brushing the dust off, Tosh tried to regain her barings.
Shaken and more than a little stirred up, Tosh reached for her battered phone inside her bag.
She dialled the only number she knew by heart.
Pick up, pick up, pick up, darling please pick up.
END OF PART 1
-OOO-
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