Chapter Text
“Is that everything?” Abe asked, as he finished wrapping the last item.
The customer in front of him grinned, glancing at the pile of gift-wrapped antiques on the counter. “I think that’ll be enough for today,” he chuckled, reaching for his wallet. “Now, how much do I owe you?”
When Abe told him the price, the customer raised his eyebrows, but began to count out the money anyway. He was placing the final note on the counter when the antique shop door opened and closed behind him, the bell above jangling away.
Abe glanced over the customer’s shoulder to see who it was, and smiled. “Henry,” he said by way of greeting. “Come and meet the man who’s going to feed us for the next month.”
Henry walked over to the counter, unravelling his scarf and patting off the snow as he did so. He surveyed the customer’s sizable pile of purchases, then raised an eyebrow at Abe, who grinned in response.
The customer was putting his wallet back in his coat pocket when Abe said, “This is my business partner, Henry. Henry, this is…I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
The customer turned to Henry, grinning. He locked eyes with Henry, and his smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he caught himself. “Harkness,” he said, holding out a hand for Henry to shake. “Jack Harkness.”
Henry had frozen for a moment, but recovered after a moment. He held out his hand also, only to realise that he was still holding his scarf. “Sorry,” he apologised, quickly switching it to the other hand. “I’m Henry,” he said, taking Jack’s hand. He had a firm grip, Henry noticed. “Henry Morgan.”
“Nice to meet you.” Jack’s smile was almost blindingly bright.
“Likewise.”
Jack turned back to Abe. “Do you know when the other items I ordered will arrive?”
Abe had been frowning at the exchange between Jack and Henry, but his face quickly cleared. “Some time in the next week,” he told him. “I’ll give you a call when they arrive, so you know when to pick them up. We’re open all day long, Sunday to Monday.”
“Great.” Jack turned to his pile of purchases, and sighed. “You know,” he remarked, “when I bought these, I may not have exactly been thinking of how to transport them to my car.”
“We’ll help you,” Henry volunteered, stepping forwards.
It took a few minutes, but eventually Henry and Abe managed between them to pile all the antiques into Jack’s arms, in such a way that nothing would fall off. “Thank you,” Jack said, making his careful way towards the shop door, which Henry jumped forward to open for him.
Jack stepped out onto the sidewalk, then turned back to the shop, barely visible over a porcelain doll. “Christmas shopping, huh?” he said with a chuckle, before staggering off to his car a few yards away.
As soon as he was gone, Abe closed the door and turned to Henry. “What was that about?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Henry said, wrapping his now-dry scarf loosely around his neck and heading towards the back of the shop.
Abe quickly followed him, darting in front of Henry just before he reached the stairs. “Nuh-uh. I saw you, Henry. You froze, and you had that look in your eye.”
“For the last time, I do not have a look, Abraham,” Henry said dismissively, walking around Abe and up the stairs.
“You do so have a look,” Abe argued, following his father up to their flat. “That far-away one you get when you’re remembering something. Go on, what was it?”
Henry sighed, taking off his heavy coat and hanging it on the coat-stand. “Nothing.” A pause, then he continued: “It’s just that…I thought I recognised that customer, from a long time ago. And his name was familiar. Very familiar.”
“Harkness,” the man had said, with an outstretched hand and a twinkle in his eye. “Captain Jack Harkness.”
“Doctor Henry Morgan,” Henry had replied, with a courteous smile.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Jack had said, his words accompanied by a wink. “Sure is busy tonight,” he said, glancing around at their surroundings.
They were in a small club, filled with soldiers about to leave to do their duty for their country. Most were on the dance floor, dancing by themselves, or with their wives and girlfriends for the last time. Some men were sitting at the tables against the walls, either watching the dancers, to staring into their drinks and contemplating their imminent departure. Slow jazz music floated through the air from the string quarter, to where Henry and Jack stood off to one side, mostly concealed from view by a pillar. A vase sat upon an ornamental plinth beside them, holding brightly-coloured flowers and fern leaves, one of which was leaning drunkenly onto Henry’s head.
Henry looked around also, and nodded. “This is the busiest this place has been since I have been in London,” he agreed.
“You’re a doctor, right?” Jack asked, looking Henry’s uniform up and down.
“Correct,” Henry told him. “And you are in the RAF?”
“Correct,” Jack said, mimicking Henry’s clipped British tones. He grinned, then in his normal voice asked, “So how long’ve you been here for?”
“Not long,” Henry told him. “Barely more than a week. And yourself?”
“About the same,” Jack said. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before now, although I’m sure I’d remember a face like yours.”
Henry smiled. “And I yours,” he agreed. “Are you here with anyone tonight, Captain Harkness?”
He shook his head. “Just me tonight. How about you? You got a dame here somewhere?”
“I’m afraid not,” Henry said. He glanced around to make sure nobody was listening, then cautiously said, “I haven’t in quite a while, actually.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, a grin slowly growing on his face. “Really?” He had just opened his mouth to say something else when he spotted someone behind Henry, and abruptly fell silent.
Henry felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around quickly, unsettling the fern atop his head in the process.
“Morgan!” said the owner of the hand loudly, another surgeon from Henry’s unit. “Why are you hiding back here, man? Come and enjoy the-” He stopped abruptly, noticing something. “Henry,” he said, slurring his words only slightly, “you appear to have a plant on your face.”
Henry raised a hand and brushed the fern away. “I was aware,” he said. “I was introducing myself to this gentleman here. Captain Jack Harkness, this is a…friend of mine, Doctor Stephen Gates.”
Jack noticed the pause in Henry’s sentence, and raised an eyebrow. “Nice to meet you, Doctor,” he said, nodding towards the newcomer.
“I will be there in a moment,” Henry told William, who nodded and headed unsteadily off towards the dance floor once again. “I do apologise,” Henry said, turning back towards Jack. “He is an excellent surgeon, although I’m afraid he has a tendency to drink rather more than he should, especially being a medical man. He is no friend of mine.”
“Yeah, I got that impression,” Jack said. “Well, I suppose you will have to go soon, right?”
“I believe so,” Henry said regretfully, glancing over to where William was standing on the dance floor. He seemed to be arguing with the band, although Henry couldn’t hear what was being said. He turned his attention back to Jack. “Well, Captain,” he said, extending his hand once again, “it has been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Believe me,” Jack said, taking Henry’s hand in a firm handshake, “the pleasure was all mine.”
Henry was about to pull away when suddenly Jack’s grip tightened. Henry glanced down at their hands, then quizzically up at Jack’s face. He raised an eyebrow.
Jack leaned in. “I’m going to be going outside for a smoke in about quarter of an hour,” he muttered, his face inches away from Henry’s. “There’s an alley out back that’s nice and quiet, if you know what I mean. Perfect for people who don’t want to be disturbed.”
Henry blinked, staring at Jack. His eyes were very blue, Henry noticed, more so than he had previously recognised; and the hand holding his was very warm. He swallowed, nodded, and said, “I see.”
“Great,” Jack said, releasing Henry’s hand and stepping backward. He nodded towards the dance floor. “I think your friend is calling you.”
Henry looked over to see that sure enough, William was waving his arms in Henry’s general direction, shouting something that could not be heard over the loud music. “He is not my-” he began to say, turning back around, but there was no one there.
Confused, Henry looked around the room. It was difficult to recognise anyone in the room, filled as it was with people; but when he looked closely, Henry could just see a long blue coat disappearing around a pillar across the room.
Henry shook his head, chuckling to himself. He glanced at the clock above the large fireplace, making a mental note of the time before walking across to where William was arguing with the string quartet.
In the end, despite Henry’s best efforts to calm him down, William threw a punch in the vague direction of the violin player, which led to a brief scuffle before he was escorted out by the security guards. Henry quietly stood back and watched, managing to refrain from applauding with the rest of the dancers as William was dragged away from the dance floor, spluttering and punching wildly at the air.
The band started up their music once again, and Henry looked to the clock above the fireplace, noticing to his consternation that eighteen minutes had passed since Jack had disappeared. Looking around to make sure nobody was watching him, Henry quietly stepped back behind a pillar and melted into the shadows around the edges of the room, making his careful way around the perimeter until he reached the place he had last seen Jack’s coat. A nondescript door was set into the wall, which Henry approached, glancing behind him once more before turning the handle.
To his pleasant surprise, the door was unlocked. Henry stepped through into the cool air outside, and quickly closed it behind him before anybody could notice the draught.
Henry looked up and down the alley, but could see nobody. He frowned. Had Jack really left after only three minutes? Or had Henry completely misread the situation?
After a moment, though, a figure stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the alley, several feet down. “I thought you’d changed your mind,” Jack drawled, flicking a cigarette onto the ground and squashing it under his shoe. His voice was quiet, but the words carried easily through the crisp night air.
Henry let out a relieved sigh. “I was waylaid,” he said apologetically, walking down the steel steps onto the cobbled lane below. “My friend got into a fight.”
“I thought he wasn’t your friend,” Jack said, walking towards Henry.
“He isn’t.”
“I told you.” Jack stopped walking barely a foot from Henry. He looked Henry’s uniform up and down again, although, Henry realised, it wasn’t the clothes he was focusing on. “So, Doctor Morgan,” he said, looking back up into Henry’s eyes.
Henry swallowed, staring back into Jack’s shining blue eyes, and taking an unconscious step towards him. “Yes?”
Jack took a step towards Henry, so their faces were barely two inches from each other. “It’s getting awfully crowded in here,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the shape of Henry’s jawline.
“There’s only two of us here,” Henry pointed out quietly, his gaze coming to rest on Jack’s mouth.
“Yes, but all the same, don’t you think we should go somewhere more private?”
Henry moved his gaze back up to Jack’s eyes. “Absolutely,” he said softly.
Abe held up a hand. “That’s enough,” he said quickly. “I think I can guess the rest.”
Henry blinked, abruptly pulled out of his reverie. He noticed that he was still standing at the top of the stairs, holding his scarf in his hands. After a moment, Henry realised that Abe was standing in front of him, staring at Henry bemusedly.
He frowned. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes,” Abe told him. “All of it.”
“Oh dear,” Henry said. “I do apologise. I’m afraid I got a little…carried away.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Abe said. He was standing on the second-to-last stair, not wanting to leave the shop completely unattended. He shook his head, trying to clear the images from his mind. “The man you saw today, could he be a son, maybe?”
Henry shook his head. “Far too young. This was seventy years ago, remember.”
“Grandson?”
“Perhaps,” Henry said, “although it is unlikely that he would look so similar. They might as well have been identical!”
At that very moment, unbeknownst to Henry or Abe, those same words were being repeated by the man in question, at a small bar not two blocks away from Abe’s Antiques. “They may as well have been identical,” Jack Harkness said, taking the drink the bartender held out to him.
The bartender leaned on the bar, wiping up a small spillage with his towel. “Who may as well have been identical?” he asked, feigning interest. He knew from experience that if he kept guys talking, then they kept paying.
“Just a man I saw today.” Jack took a large drink, and shuddered as it burned its way down his throat. “He looked exactly like someone I used to know.”
“Maybe it’s the same person,” the bartender suggested.
Jack shook his head, downing the rest of the glass and setting it heavily down on the bar. “Not a chance,” he said glumly, signalling to the bartender to get him another drink. “This guy was too young.”
“Couldn’t your memory have gotten a little skewed?” Abe asked Henry, leaning on the banister with interest. “I mean, no offence, but it has been a long time since you met him. I can’t remember things that happened that long ago. Thankfully,” he added after a moment’s pause.
Henry raised an eyebrow at his son. “There is no reason why you would be able to remember that far back, Abraham,” he reminded him. “People do not usually retain memories before the age of…”
“Four or five, yeah, I know,” Abe interjected. “You’ve told me enough times before. But it was seventy years ago, Henry! I’m just saying that it’s possible that you met some tall, dark, handsome stranger a long time ago, then you saw someone else who looked similar today, and got them confused. That’s all.”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said, in response to the bartender’s same comment. “I have a very good memory. And he had the same name.”
“So let me get this straight,” the bartender said. “You met someone who looks like a person you know seventy years ago?”
Jack nodded, staring gloomily into his drink.
The bartender sighed, and raised an eyebrow at the only other person in the bar, a regular by the name of Dave who spent most of his waking moments in the establishment. Dave nodded, knowing what that eyebrow meant. They were used to crazy drunks in the bar, but often not this early in the day, and they weren’t usually this crazy.
The bartender sighed, watching as Jack signalled for another drink. “Well, if you met him that long ago, and they have the same name,” he said logically, filling Jack’s glass two-thirds of the way full, “perhaps the guy you met today is a relative? Son, grandson, something like that.”
Jack sighed. “Perhaps,” he said glumly, “although it’s unlikely. The guy I met didn’t exactly seem to be looking for female company, if you know what I mean.”
There were a few moments of silence, then Jack sighed. “I’ve gotta go back and see him,” he said suddenly. “Find out who he is.”
The other two men watched as Jack downed his third drink in one go, then dug into his pocket to pay the bartender before standing up and walking out. He seemed to be walking steadily, which was unusual for someone who had had so much alcohol in such a short space of time.
“Well, that was weird,” Dave commented, turning his attention back to the drink he was nursing.
“Yeah,” the bartender muttered, still staring after Jack. “Very weird.”
Henry sat on the sofa, holding his favourite novel in his hands, although his mind was far from the story. Instead, he was staring into the fire, crackling cosily in the grate. There was something hypnotic about watching the flames, and Henry found his mind relaxing, casting itself back to the time seventy years earlier, the night before his unit was moved out of London.
A sudden clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen made Henry jump, and brought him back to the present.
Abe poked his head through the doorway. “Sorry,” he said, “they just jumped out of the cupboard onto the floor.”
Henry was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He and Abe looked at the doorway, then at each other.
“I would go,” Abe said, “but I’m cooking.” He held up an oven-mitt-encased hand as evidence.
“Are you sure?” Henry asked, standing up and heading for the stairs. “It sounded more like you were dropping things.”
“It’s all part of the preparation, Henry,” Abe said seriously. “I have to get into the zone. And that zone includes dropping the pans.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.
Henry made his way down the stairs, chuckling to himself. He was halfway through the dark shop downstairs when he realised who was standing at the door. His stride faltered for merely a moment before he caught himself, and continued his journey to the door. He unlocked it and pulled it open, revealing the full figure of Jack Harkness, standing on the pavement outside. “Mr Harkness,” he said by way of greeting, trying to appear only mildly surprised.
“Hi,” Jack said apologetically. “It’s Doctor Morgan, isn’t it?”
“Please, call me Henry.” He noticed that it was drizzling outside, and that Jack was getting wet. “Won’t you come inside?” he offered, standing to the side and opening to the door wider.
“Thanks, that’s very kind,” Jack said, walking inside and looking around at the empty shop, half-lit through the windows by the dull evening light. He shook his wet hair away from his face, smiled awkwardly, and said, “I’m so sorry, but I think I left my cell phone in this shop when I was here earlier. You haven’t seen it anywhere, have you?”
“I don’t recall seeing a mobile phone,” Henry said, “but I cannot be certain. We could take a look around if you like?”
“It’s kind of you to offer,” Jack said, “but now I think about it, I probably left my phone in my car.”
“Well, I hope you find it,” Henry said politely.
“Me too,” Jack grinned. He turned towards the door to leave, but stopped, looking back at Henry. He frowned. “Say, have I met you before somewhere?” he asked casually. “You seem kind of…familiar.”
“I don’t think so,” Henry lied smoothly. “I’m sure I’d remember a face like yours.”
Jack barked out a laugh. “Well, thanks for your help.” He turned to go.
Henry watched him walk towards the door and open it, about to step outside. “Mr Harkness,” he said suddenly.
“Jack,” he said, turning around, one hand holding the door open. “Call me Jack.”
“Certainly,” Henry said. “Jack, what if I were to give you my telephone number, so that if and when you find your mobile phone, I will know to stop looking? That is to say,” he added, suddenly nervous, “if you do not mind.”
A smile slowly grew on Jack’s face. “Sure thing,” he said. “I’ll let you know when I find it.”
Henry let out a silent sigh of relief. “Excellent.” He walked the few steps to the counter and grabbed a pen and notepad, quickly writing out the ten digits of his telephone number and signing his name with a flourish. He walked back over to the door where Jack was still standing, and proffered the small piece of paper.
Jack took it and glanced at it, raising his eyebrows. “You have nice handwriting,” he commented, glancing back up at Henry. “Well, I’ll let you know,” he said, folding the paper carefully and placing it in his pocket. “I’ll talk to you later sometime.”
“I look forward to it.” Henry watched as Jack closed the door behind him and made his way back down the street, shoulders hunched against the light rain. Henry smiled to himself and turned away, making his way back upstairs.
“Who was it?” Abe called from the kitchen when he heard Henry at the top of the stairs.
“Nobody,” Henry said, walking through into the living room and sitting down again. “Wrong number.”
“That’s for phone calls,” Abe pointed out; but Henry did not hear him, once again staring at the page of his book but taking nothing in, instead thinking once more about the mystery of Captain Jack Harkness.
Receiving no response, Abe sighed, and went back to clattering around with the pans. It wasn’t unlike Henry to lose himself in thought: he could frequently be found with his eyes glazed over, remembering some event far in the past. Usually it stayed in his head, although occasionally he would talk out loud, like her had earlier that evening. Well, Abe thought, Henry had better be in the here and now for dinner, or Abe was never going to make his famous chicken soup again.
By this time, Jack was almost two blocks away from Abe’s Antiques. He glanced around out of habit, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He went into his contacts and quickly plugged Henry’s number into his phone, then opened up the Internet and went to a search website. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed in three words: ‘Doctor Henry Morgan’.