The bay stretched out before his gaze like some desolate tract, completely devoid of all human life as dawn broke out across the sky, fighting desperately to pierce the thickening clouds of grey and deep cobalt; the promise of snow to come before the day was done.
A gull’s harsh cry turned his head to the sky and he smiled wryly, watching as Myfanwy appeared as if from nowhere to swoop down upon the unsuspecting bird. She snared it easily with one swift snap of her beak before turning with a cry louder and harsher than any gull could make to head back off into the overcast heavens.
She’d have to be taken back in soon, he knew, for though there wasn’t likely to be all that much activity along the quay on today of all days, it wasn’t worth it to test their luck. All Torchwood needed was for sightings of a Pterodactyl around Cardiff Bay to reach the news and he’d be personally lynched for ruining everyone’s holidays by calling them in to help with a cover-up.
Jack stomped his feet, feeling the chill of the morning as it seeped through the thick layers he wore to permeate deep into his bones. He’d let his team have today off, it being Christmas and all. He’d said they should spend it with their families, or whomever else they chose to celebrate the occasion with.
He’d enjoyed their initial incredulous looks, choosing to ignore the clench of his gut as they’d all brightened at the prospect and started discussing their festive plans with undisguised excitement. No one however, not even Gwen in all her humanness, had though to ask Jack what he’d be doing for Christmas.
Not that he’d had any plans, of course, but it would have been nice to be asked. He had been wholly prepared to create some tall tale of a date with Santa and his elves, winking obscenely and grinning that grin of his that made them all wonder whether or not to believe him.
In truth, he was to spend today feeling every bit the Scrooge as he spent yet another Christmas day alone, alone and brooding with a bottle of scotch and Glen Miller playing softly in the background, fond reminiscences of the past (or the far distant future), his ghosts, to accompany him and to remind him that all Captain Jack Harkness had left in all the world was the name of a man he never was, age old memories that hurt too much to remember, and a hand in a jar, that, after so many years of waiting, the very sight of which was beginning to leech the very hope from his soul.
Jack rubbed his hands together in a bid to warm them, smiling despite himself as he let himself be distracted by the sight of Myfanwy dive-bombing another unsuspecting gull, before disappearing once more into the thickening clouds. Mist was beginning to roll in and a cold speck of liquid touched his cheek. His smile became wry as he turned and began a slow trek back towards the Information Centre and the main entrance to the Torchwood Hub, his shoulders hunched and his head down as the expected snow came in the form of chilly rain instead.
It was always rain.
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To Be Continued...
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