Slumped at Tosh’s workstation, Jack wallowed in the unfairness of life.
Christmas Day. The one day a year he could guarantee he’d be spending alone. His team were off with loved ones, or willing strangers, just as every team through the years always was on December 25th.
Not that he begrudged them the time with their families and friends, but even when he’d had a family to spend time with he’d been expected to work over Christmas. Torchwood’s indentured servant, obliged to do as he was told or suffer the consequences. Lucia had never understood that it wasn’t his choice.
His maudlin thoughts were interrupted by the cog door opening. Looking up, he saw an overburdened figure struggling through. Pretty much all Jack could see was a pair of long, jeans-clad legs and sturdy boots.
“Jack, if you’re there, I could use a hand with this lot.”
There was no mistaking those delicious Welsh vowels. Jack hastened to unload his partner.
“Ianto? What’re you doing here? I thought you’d be spending Christmas with your sister.”
“Where’d you get that idea?”
“You said Christmas was for spending with family.”
“It is. You’re my family too, Jack. Happy Christmas.”
And it was.