Title: Man of mystery
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,146 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 453 - Amnesty, using Challenge 23 - Secrets
Summary: Jack is something of an enigma to those that work with him.


‘I'm heading out,’ Jack declared, creating a small breeze as he strode past Tosh and Owen’s desks.

‘Where?’ Owen asked, when Jack didn’t immediately follow up the statement with a further explanation which would inevitably make them jealous enough to wish he’d asked them to come along with him.

‘Doesn't matter’ came the nonchalant reply, not even breaking stride.

Owen frowned at the inadequate response. ‘Okay, then why?’

‘I'll be back later,’ he replied, continuing to jog out the cogwheel door, coattails snapping at his heels as they chased after him.

‘Hmph,’ Owen muttered, sagging back in his chair. ‘Buggering off again without any explanation. Why does he always do that?’

Tosh shrugged, not taking terribly much notice as the four computer screens glowed in front of her. ‘He just always has,’ she explained.

‘Always?’ Owen hadn't been here long, but long enough to wonder why their boss was so secretive about where he went and why. There was something about Jack that he just couldn’t put his finger on that made him curious. Tosh gave another heave of her shoulders. ‘Haven't you ever wondered?’ Owen said, pressing her for why she never questioned their enigmatic leader.

‘It's just Jack.’

‘Yeah, but…’ It wasn’t like Tosh to lack any kind of curiosity.

Tosh paused from the analytical programs on screen and turned in her swivel chair, a conspiratorial look washing across her face. ‘Okay, so I have done a bit of digging, but it was ages ago.’ That was more like the Tosh Owen knew. She chewed her lip. ‘I was worried he might find out about it, but I guess he would have said something by now if he knew.’

Owen leaned forward, eager to hear what Tosh had to say, not caring that Suzie wasn't around to join them. She was off tinkering with something or other. Owen swore she cared more about her projects than she did other people. Tosh was perfectly extroverted by comparison. ‘So?’

Tosh pushed her glasses up on her nose, making sure they wouldn't slide off as he leaned forward to close the gap between their desks, lowering her voice at the same time. ‘He doesn't exist,’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘There’s no one by the name of Captain Jack Harkness that’s been born in the last fifty years. No Jack Harkness, John Harkness, Jonathan Harkness… There was a James Harkness but he's only four and attending preschool in Kettering so I don’t think that’s him.’

‘So, he changed his name?’ Strangely that didn’t surprise Owen as much as he thought it might. Everything about Jack felt a little bit put on, right down to the outrageous stories he purported as being factual.

Tosh seemed ready for his conclusion. ‘I've done photo recognition and age regression analysis, trying to trace back his history. There's nothing. No high school pictures, no family holiday snaps, no random feature in some obscure town newspaper. I don't even know if he has any family. He's never mentioned them if he does.’

Owen knew enough about Tosh’s skills with a computer to know that if she couldn’t find any trace of Jack’s past, no one could. ‘You reckon maybe he didn't voluntarily change his name? Like a witness protection thing?’ Jack didn't strike Owen as the kind of guy that would need protection. More like someone might need protection from him if they ever crossed him.

‘Maybe. I don't know.’

‘Doesn't really make sense though, does it? Working for a secret organisation reporting to the government but meant to have your identity suppressed? Way he gets around he's the most bloody obvious bloke in Cardiff. The American accent stands out like the proverbial. Not to mention the World War Two get-up.’

Tosh gave him a thoughtful expression. ‘I wondered about that too. ‘Maybe it’s not his real accent. Maybe that's part of the cover. US military records came up empty.’

‘Intelligence then,’ Owen surmised. ‘Those spooks are good at covering their tracks.’

‘Or they put him here to keep his identity concealed.’

‘But not us?’

Tosh chewed her lip, considering it. ‘Fair point. Unless he’s working undercover for someone else at the same time.’

‘Okay, so when did he start working for Torchwood then? Maybe that's the answer as to who he really is.’

Tosh wheeled her chair a little closer to her desk. ‘Well, that's where things get even stranger.’ She tsurned back to her computer and tapped a few keys. ‘Check this out. Reports from 1999, which aren’t so strange, but look at these.’ She pulled images onto the screen, some computerised, some typed with an old fashioned mechanical typewriter, some handwritten. ‘Reports from across the last century but all with his name on them. I can't tell if these are genuine or whether they've been planted in our system.’

‘Couldn't you, I don’t know, test the paper or the ink or something? Get it dated?’

Tosh looked at him in askance. ‘Have you tried finding anything in the archives? That's assuming they're even filed down there. These could be the only copies that exist now. The original s could be lone gone, and there’s only so much you can do to verify a document. It’s not like carbon dating some ancient artefact.’

Pwen eased back in his chair and folded his arms, considering everything Tosh had shown him. ‘Okay, well, that is a bit weird.’ What did anyone have to gain from scattering their name through reports spanning the last hundred years unless you were trying to obfuscate the real facts? It wasn’t like he’d been around all that time. He was late thirties, probably, if Owen had to guess. He couldn't even remember if he’d looked up when Jack’s birthday was.

‘I mean, it’s not like we could just ask him, is it?’ Tosh said, picking at a fingernail. ‘I don’t know about you but I don't fancy risking being sent back to some UNIT prison cell for the rest of my life.’

Okay, that was fair, Owen thought. He’d only learned that about Tosh a few weeks ago, and only because she’d gotten a little bit drunk and confessed the whole thing to him. ‘Right, so we just carry on working for a bloke we basically know nothing about?’

‘He’s never not looked out for us, has he?’ Tosh replied. ‘We’re just assuming something sinister. He could be just off picking up his dry cleaning.’

‘Or off for a sneaky afternoon pint,’ Owen offered.

‘Or getting his teeth whitened. Have you noticed how perfect they always look? I’m not sure I'd ever admit getting work done like that.’

Owen pondered the idea. They could probably spend all afternoon dreaming up creative ways Jack might be spending his time and still be none the wiser. ‘How likely is that, though?’

‘Probably not very.’

Owen nodded. ‘That’s what I thought as well.’