Chapter Text
Jack let the other man swing him up against the wall. The alley smelled of piss and puke and other things he'd rather not think about, but the mouth that claimed his was warm and the hands on his shoulders felt good. He shoved his hands in the other man's pockets, yanking a pelvis forward into his own so their erections rubbed together through their trousers. It got him a gasp and a murmur, and those hands ran down the front of his trousers to unbutton and unzip.
It seemed to him he'd heard the man's name, once, at the beginning of the night. He couldn't think of it now as he returned the favor, and it didn't particularly matter. This wasn't even important enough to find a room--a bit of tricky business in 1947, anyway. Just a quick grapple in the alley behind the pub with a pretty stranger so uncomfortable with himself he'd probably shy away from anything more than the hand Jack put down the front of his pants. He wrapped his fingers around the other man's cock and stroked as a less expert, but heartfelt, grip enclosed his own.
Moans and panting and not enough minutes later, the younger man came, silently. Jack thrust into the other man's hand, a strangled cry marking his release. He smothered it in a mouth that was already pulling away from his.
He let the poor, shy kid button his own trousers and go. Maybe it'd be a good enough experience he'd take more time with the next man he had. Jack shrugged and wiped his hand on his pants before buttoning his trousers. He zipped them up and looked at the wall behind him, wondering what he'd just leaned in.
As he turned around, a pair of dark eyes caught his own. A dark-haired little girl, maybe ten years old, was sitting on the doorstep of a building that backed onto the alley. She had her arms wrapped around her knees and a thoughtful expression on her face. Jack wished that, if this was the first time she'd seen people having sex, it had at least been better sex. "Hello," he said in Welsh, since that's what they'd been using in the pub.
She answered in the same language. "Hello. No one really comes back here."
He shrugged. "That was the idea. You're out awfully late."
She shrugged back. "Mum's got a man in the flat. Sounds like they're doing something a lot like what you were just doing. Alice is asleep and the library's closed--and they don't let me check out the books I really want. So if it's the flat or out here, I'd rather be out here." She looked up at the sky. "The stars are nice."
Jack walked a little closer and looked up at the sky. "Nice, but so far away," he agreed. He looked back at her. "I'm Jack."
She smiled. "My name's Amelia Pool. Did you know that each star is a sun? And they might all have their own planets."
He grinned--he couldn't help himself. "And some of those planets have people," he said. "Some of them that look a lot like us, and some of them so different, I can't even describe them."
Her smile became a grin and an eager look. She said, "Tell me about them."
So he did. Eventually, he sat on the doorstep, beside her. It did no harm to fill her head with wonders she'd never believe or see. Maybe it would inspire her to greater wonders than this alley and the flats around it held. She asked questions, too--better questions than he sometimes got from the Torchwood Three team.
When a light went on, upstairs, Amelia grimaced. "That'll be Mum. I'd better get inside."
Jack nodded. "What kind of books won't they let you check out of the library?"
She grinned. "Anything interesting. Astronomy, electricity, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Mum doesn't care enough to sign for me to have an adult's library card."
Jack felt a tightness in his throat. Some days he was fond of this crazy, backward planet, but the ludicrous rules they bound themselves up with never broke his heart more than when they applied to kids. He forced himself to grin back. "Would astronomy keep you out of the alley when your Mum's got someone upstairs?"
Amelia nodded. "If astronomy didn't, Sherlock Holmes would."
Jack reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through it by the light from the window till he found what he wanted. "Here," he said, offering it to her.
She looked at the library card. "You said your name's Jack."
He shrugged. "It is."
She looked back up at him. "The name on the card is Michael Smith."
Jack chuckled and got to his feet. "Then you'll have to learn which librarians don't care that you're checking out books on a card with a boy's name. Goodnight, Amelia."
She got to her feet. "Goodnight, Jack. Thank you."
Jack watched while she opened the door and stepped back into the building. In a week or two, he'd have forgotten the quick grope in the alley, but he knew he'd remember the conversation with Amelia for a long time.
Time and motion
Wind and sun and rain
Days connect like boxcars in a train
Fill them up with precious cargo
Squeeze in all that you can find
Spontaneous elation
And the long-enduring kind
Jack didn't object to tents, as a rule, but after three months, he was looking forward to hot showers on a regular basis again. Starting ten minutes from now, in fact. He stepped through the cog door and called out, "Honey, I'm home!"
"Torchwood: Providing gainful employment for the freaks and misfits of Wales for over fifty years. And here's their king."
The voice was Cynthia's, and so was the attitude. A lighter, feminine voice responded to her. "What makes him king of the misfits?"
Jack headed toward the voices, finding the pair tucked away in an office. "Sorry, you have to figure that one out for yourself, kiddo," Cynthia said. She looked up at Jack. "New recruit. Jack, meet Amelia Pool."
Jack did a double-take. Dark eyes, long dark hair, and a face that almost looked familiar. Which was, he thought, not bad for having seen it years ago in a dark alley. He smiled, broadly. "Captain Jack Harkness," he said, offering his hand.
Cynthia said, "Enough of that, Jack--she's sixteen."
Amelia laughed. "I don't mind--I think he's harmless." Jack bowed over her hand. "Do you want your library card back?"
Jack couldn't help reveling in Cynthia's reaction. "Nah, I've got others. Must've done you some good, then, and I'll want to hear all about how you ended up here. But not before I've had a shower and a meal that wasn't all one color."
Cynthia leaned back in her chair. "Do what you need to, Jack. She's been waiting on combat training for two months--she can wait a little longer."
Cynthia caught up with him in the kitchen. "It's good luck we still check their test scores, you know. After the war took so many promising young men, we had to look harder for talent. Amelia had just left school. No other means of support and a little sister to take care of."
Jack drank from a cup of tolerable coffee. "Her mum passed, then. Or just left. Never met the woman, but the circumstances didn't impress me."
Cynthia eyed him. "How do you know her?"
He laughed. "Spent a night discussing aliens while she was a kid."
"After I caught him shagging a bloke in an alley," Amelia said, helpfully. Jack startled and almost spat a mouthful of coffee before she came around where he could see her. "If you're a poof, why'd Cyn just warn you off from me?"
Jack wiped a few drops of coffee off his lips with the back of his mind. She had same bright eyes and inquisitive questions, in the package of an attractive young woman, now. She must startle the hell out of the boys her age. "Keep your labels to yourself, kiddo," he told her. "I'm not as easy as astronomy."
"He's easier," Cynthia said.
"Hey!" Jack complained. Amelia giggled. He rolled his eyes. "So they want you combat trained, huh?" He frowned at Cynthia. "Please tell me she's not going into the field."
Amelia said, "I keep hoping," in the same moment Cynthia said, "Not yet, but it's better to know it and not need it than round about." Amelia frowned. Cynthia let the frown slide right past her and went on. "Amelia, right now, your job is to be brilliant for us. We want you to have your full growth before you go getting into it with aliens. If we can manage it."
If only that weren't such a big if, working for Torchwood. Jack said, "Good."
Amelia gave him a dirty look. "So I'm old enough to take care of my sister, but not old enough to do an adult's work?"
Cynthia hesitated. Cynthia at a loss for words was almost too good an opportunity to pass up, but a sixteen-year-old who didn't want to be protected was a far more urgent problem. Jack looked into Amelia's eyes, finding the quick wit he remembered there and meeting it with the memories of far too many dead boys in trenches. "We don't send fifteen-year-old boys to war anymore, either," he said.
She flinched, just a little. "But I get to learn how to shoot a gun?"
Cynthia nodded. Jack said, "I'll teach you what to do, with and without a gun. Like Cyn says--it's better to know it before you need it."