Night was starting to fall over New York City. In spite of the jokes they made about having to share, the rooms were nice, posh even. Jack had divided them along gender lines, which left him sharing a room with Owen, much to the other man's disgust. But they were too tired to even joke much. The emergency call out from UNIT and the subsequent transatlantic flight arranged in less time than it took to have a swift half at the pub, the adrenaline charged trip, only to find a false alarm left them glassy eyed and bone weary. The rest of the team headed out to find dinner and what passed for a pub but he had bowed out. Jack didn't feel like explaining, not that he ever did. He looked out at the city for a long time, deciding. It had been a long time, but he knew the number hadn't changed; it wouldn't, not without letting him know. Tired, and achingly alone, he dialed.
Kenneth Irons knew who it was when he picked up the phone. He always did, though he wasn't entirely certain how or why it was. "Jack." There was no tone to give away what he was thinking, but after so long they could read everything in nothing, the need, the ache that mirrored his own. It made his heart race, that connection and the ever present loneliness loosened just a little. It was always the same, the same pattern. The phone call, the meeting, then later, much later, there would be talk, and the other gone before dawn. It wasn't a relationship particularly, they saw each other rarely, perhaps once or twice in a decade, certainly sometime they didn't even like each other. But they had a bond of sorts…forged of age, loneliness, and a kind of shared past that no one else would understand and neither changed, nor died. Sometimes it was just enough to keep the despair at bay for a little while, not always, but some times.
"I'm in New York." It seemed a stupid thing to say, there would be no other reason for the call. He rarely contacted Kenneth otherwise. Neither of them was known to call just to socialize, that would change everything and neither of them wanted to.
"Come to the house." The phone closed with a click, and Jack picked up his greatcoat and started for the door.
"Captain Harkness is coming," he said without looking at the figure standing in the shadows radiating disapproval, "show him straight here."
"Sir, I don't…" he said, going rigid as if at a threat, though none was apparent. Something about the man made Ian uncomfortable. Not that it mattered to him who kept company with his father, not really. Or so he tried to tell himself. But this…relationship or whatever it was made him deeply unhappy. While they saw each other only occasionally still there was a connection very different from his. He could count the number of times he had heard the man mentioned in his life on the fingers of one hand and he was unaware of any other communication between them. Ian had tried once to ask, but his father would say nothing except that they were two of a kind, and that it was none of his business. He didn't particularly want to know but whatever it was, it was wrong, very wrong. The last time there were bruises, a swollen lip, and the ghost of something wild and predatory about his father's eyes, hints of a loss of control that frightened him in a way that nothing else could. And unlike any of his fathers other lovers, past or present, he wouldn't just die.
"We will not discuss this again," Irons said dismissively. "Go see to your Wielder." Ian looked for a moment as if he might rebel. "Leave." He knew the boy would go, he was too well trained, and there was nothing he could do anyway. Turning his thoughts away from the present, he allowed himself to return to the past.
