im_torchwood

Jack was on hiatus and enjoying his vacation. He'd hit Broadway and the West End, and now he had tickets to Hamilton in LA Friday night so he'd come home. Itching for a show, Jack couldn't find a musical on stage except a few local school productions. Now that Urban Legend was in the second season, high school was probably a bad look. He'd been scolded enough to know when to dial it down.

He'd found a diner, though. A diner he'd never heard of and immediately got in the car to enjoy his night.

He walked in wearing a blazer over a tshirt and shiny black trousers.

"One?" the hostess asked, then led him to a seat without waiting for an answer.

"Thanks," he smiled, taking the menu...but surveying the place.

It was a miserable night. Rain pissed down but the pavement was so hot you could almost watch it turn to steam. Jack hated this kind of rain. It never got this hot in Cardiff. But here he was, just because Torchwood had a vested interest in this superhero thing. Rumour had it that one man knew something and Jack simply took the dossier and set out to this city, this awful night.

He'd attached the tracker to the car of one Billy Butcher and had followed him around for a couple days. They'd been dry days, but just as humid.

"I'm not standing out here in the fucking rain. Let's just get this over with," he sighed to himself. His wool coat handled the rain well. How Jack handled the coat in this heat was a mystery.

He Went to Billy's door. From what he knew about the man, he was sure he'd appreciate the lack of subtlety.

Jack knocked and waited, half expecting a gun shot to come straight through the door.

Jack had been out and about, following a signature that generally predicted a mist, but he could never pinpoint it. Deciding to wait a bit, he popped into a coffee shop to get a cup to go. He paused at the sugar bar to doctor it up and he looked over at the man at the table.

"Nice day, huh?" he said, warm and cheerful and obviously just polite conversation, from an American, no less.

One thing Jack was punctual about was bringing Klaus cash. Even when there were weeks he had nothing to tell him, Jack made sure he had the money to get him through.

"It's Thursday," he announced as he walked into Klaus's shop. "What's the what this week?"

Jack had lived a long time and had gotten hurt...and dead...many times. The worst part about it was when other people noticed.

Which was how he found himself escorted into the urgent clinic by an absolute giant of a security guard. He had a bloody rag wrapped around his hand and he looked infinitely annoyed.

They took him back and he kept the towel on it, knowing that the wound was already healed. All that was left was a shitload of blood.

He was about to sneak out of the exam room himself when the door opened.

In walked a man, slightly greying, tell tale limp. Phenomenal blue eyes.

Jack's heart may as well have stopped.

"Greg," he said under his breath.

"He's off base. Getting a drink, it looks, like," Moira said. "This is our chance."

John peered over her shoulder and looked at the monitor. They'd been tracking the American for a while now. It may have flown under the radar of British Military Intelligence, but Torchwood was above that. Beyond it. And their job was, as Jack had told them more than once, anything weird.

The American base was doing research into something about Mist. London got fog, of course, but there were times the fog was...more than that. Things appeared. People came through. Buildings just manifested. Torchwood had been tracking it, too.

"Let's go get him," Moira said. "You, me...bring Ioan and Shaun. W'ell bring him back so Jack can talk to him."

"Put it together fast, I'll call the boys," John said.

---

One would think it would be harder to capture an American officer, but it really hadn't been. Moira got him to come outside to smoke with her and the boys ambushed him, bagged his head and ziptied his hands and they all piled into the Torchwood van. A bit of sedative had the officer mild and calm. Sort of. He still had some fight in him.

They got him to Canary Wharf to Torchwood One. Down in the garage they unloaded him and took him to an interrogation room. Moira called Jack and told him he needed to come down right away. They'd gotten a lead.

---

Jack entered the room, all coat and swagger, and spun the chair around to straddle it. He reached across the table to pull the hood off and when he saw a familiar face he froze. Logan Echolls. From the island all those many centuries ago. He'd never forgotten. Jack never forgot anyone he loved, and Logan was someone he'd loved beyond reason or measure.

He cleared his throat.

"You alert? The sedative should be wearing off," he said.

There had been a flurry of activity on the solstice, but everything had died down. Jack had stopped monitoring and turned off the alerts. It was a beautiful day. Too beutiful to think about work.

"Hey," he said to Val, smacking the door jamb to get the man's attention. "It's too good outside to be cooped up down here. Fancy getting some lunch with me?"

He already had his coat on, ready to go. He reached in the pocket and pulled out his keys, jingling them.

"Come on, you know you want to."

Jack raced after the blowfish and caught him in an aley behind, of all places, a fish and chip place.

"Give it up," Jack said.

"Pay me, fucker," the fish said clearly in English.

Jack reached into his pocket as if for a gun, but pulled out a thick stack of notes.

"Alright," he shrugged.

The blowfish came closer and took the money, then handed Jack a wrinkled paper sack. Then he ran off, keeping out of sight until he got his hood up.

Jack opened the bag, looked inside, and smiled.

"Well , hello beautiful."

Then he heard a scuff just down the way and he looked to see who it was.

"Oh. Hi there," he said.

It had been days and Jack had been keeping track of Logan. The young man had no money, no access to his accounts, no key card to the penthouse, no car, no resources, and he didn't even know how to use his phone. But Jack knew and while he gave Logan time he watched him on CCTV to make sure he was safe. Relatively.

But days had passed and he knew Logan had to be hungry, had to be exhausted trying to be homeless on the streets of London, and when he saw a dispatch for police to Logan's location Jack bolted to the SUV and he got there just as the police arrived.

"Torchwood," he said, flashing his ID. "I'll handle it."

The work was never done. Jack had chased down a blowfish and had arrested him. He hated the Torchwood policy of kill first and question later that they had in London. Unfortunately he had taken the creature back to One and he'd been killed there "trying to escape". Jack was sick with it and he withdrew.

He didn't usually drink but today...today he had good reason. So he sat in the bar at the end of the street with a glass of brandy he'd already drained four times.

What he wouldn't give to be able to get drunk.