69 Memory Lane - Early Sunday Morning
It was late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, depending upon how you wanted to look at it.
Jack had sent Ianto up to bed long ago and he hoped the younger Welshman had gotten to sleep. Jack didn't have that luxury himself.
Sitting at the kitchen table, alone in the dark he cradled a mug of lukewarm coffee in between his hands and replayed the events earlier that evening with Sam Anders. Calmer now, Jack wasn't overly impressed with his own reactions to the young man's announcement that he'd regained his memories. It had been a response not entirely driven by fear.
Fear of discovery.
The retcon had always worked and Jack realized that perhaps he'd gotten too complacent in trusting it to do the job of keeping things neat. "Keep your hands clean and everything." That's what Sam had said and Jack recognized that he liked it that way. He didn't want to go back to some of the methods he'd employed in the past.
This Torchwood was supposed to be founded in the Doctor's honor. Not the cold blooded methods of Torchwood One.
Unfortunately, Milieux and her quirky, wonderful population weren't exactly making it easy and part of Jack smiled at the thought. These people were probably more equipped to handle what was out there than most of the field ops from UNIT.
The smile died on his face. They might be better equipped but that didn't change Torchwood's basic mission statement, the foundation orders that Jack had pledged himself to obey.
Sighing softly, he folded his hands together and rested his lips against his knuckles. He knew that problems always seemed larger in the dark but he couldn't summon the strength to get up and turn on the light.
Jack had sent Ianto up to bed long ago and he hoped the younger Welshman had gotten to sleep. Jack didn't have that luxury himself.
Sitting at the kitchen table, alone in the dark he cradled a mug of lukewarm coffee in between his hands and replayed the events earlier that evening with Sam Anders. Calmer now, Jack wasn't overly impressed with his own reactions to the young man's announcement that he'd regained his memories. It had been a response not entirely driven by fear.
Fear of discovery.
The retcon had always worked and Jack realized that perhaps he'd gotten too complacent in trusting it to do the job of keeping things neat. "Keep your hands clean and everything." That's what Sam had said and Jack recognized that he liked it that way. He didn't want to go back to some of the methods he'd employed in the past.
This Torchwood was supposed to be founded in the Doctor's honor. Not the cold blooded methods of Torchwood One.
Unfortunately, Milieux and her quirky, wonderful population weren't exactly making it easy and part of Jack smiled at the thought. These people were probably more equipped to handle what was out there than most of the field ops from UNIT.
The smile died on his face. They might be better equipped but that didn't change Torchwood's basic mission statement, the foundation orders that Jack had pledged himself to obey.
Sighing softly, he folded his hands together and rested his lips against his knuckles. He knew that problems always seemed larger in the dark but he couldn't summon the strength to get up and turn on the light.