for pi_sparrow: When a hobby is not a hobby
Even Jack Harkness needed a hobby.
Okay, no, he didn't. He was actually quite busy. Too busy for a hobby, but he wanted one. Torchwood was all consuming, and it was important sometimes to have the odd thing to relax the mind. Of course Jack didn't relax his mind like most people, he relaxed his mind by reading a series of very interesting police reports from a D.I. Shipton about an old house in London and a series of events the year before.
Just a hobby, of course.
A hobby, that was, until Jack found the house in question had been purchased and was to be renovated and made into a museum of all things. It rang alarm bells, and though he couldn't quite pinpoint why, he wanted to take a look for himself.
So the very busy man did as all very busy men do. He delegated. Delegated and of course disappeared without much explanation to his team other than he'd 'be back in a couple of days'.
And there he was, back in London and breaking every rule in the highway code in his oversized SUV, careering far too fast and far too dangerously along roads that were never built for it. Wester Drumlins was his goal; the building in question. He was almost there but then there was a distraction (there's always a distraction). A little blip on one of the scanners. Something that shouldn't have been there. Probably nothing, but, well, Jack was certainly nothing if not curious.
He could make a slight detour.
The blip, though, seemed to move. Move and it was something of a wild goose chase. Until it stopped, and Jack followed it until he was parking outside an unassuming little shop.
He climbed from the car, glancing just briefly at the sign above the door, and he headed in.
Inside, he glanced from side to side; headed forward and poked at a few packs of envelopes on a shelf. He glanced towards the till and nodded over at the girl there.
Interesting.
Okay, no, he didn't. He was actually quite busy. Too busy for a hobby, but he wanted one. Torchwood was all consuming, and it was important sometimes to have the odd thing to relax the mind. Of course Jack didn't relax his mind like most people, he relaxed his mind by reading a series of very interesting police reports from a D.I. Shipton about an old house in London and a series of events the year before.
Just a hobby, of course.
A hobby, that was, until Jack found the house in question had been purchased and was to be renovated and made into a museum of all things. It rang alarm bells, and though he couldn't quite pinpoint why, he wanted to take a look for himself.
So the very busy man did as all very busy men do. He delegated. Delegated and of course disappeared without much explanation to his team other than he'd 'be back in a couple of days'.
And there he was, back in London and breaking every rule in the highway code in his oversized SUV, careering far too fast and far too dangerously along roads that were never built for it. Wester Drumlins was his goal; the building in question. He was almost there but then there was a distraction (there's always a distraction). A little blip on one of the scanners. Something that shouldn't have been there. Probably nothing, but, well, Jack was certainly nothing if not curious.
He could make a slight detour.
The blip, though, seemed to move. Move and it was something of a wild goose chase. Until it stopped, and Jack followed it until he was parking outside an unassuming little shop.
He climbed from the car, glancing just briefly at the sign above the door, and he headed in.
Inside, he glanced from side to side; headed forward and poked at a few packs of envelopes on a shelf. He glanced towards the till and nodded over at the girl there.
Interesting.