Fandomweekly 59 - Dressed for the occasion

[m_findlow]

Title: Dressed for the occasion
Fandom: Torchwood
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG. Spoilers for audioplay "Department X" by James Goss.
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 59 - Camouflage at fandomweekly
Summary: Jack is giving this particular mystery one last try to solve before the doors close on it for good.

When Jack had seen the article in his morning newspaper, stating that G. R. Owens had been suffering from a slump in sales and was to be put into voluntary administration, he knew time was running out. The best administrators in the world couldn't save a struggling, dilapidated excuse for a high street icon.

The perfume counter was stocked full of fragrances that sold at Boots for a third of the price. The clothing department had not kept up with any fashion trend in the past thirty years. The fact that it still had someone on hand to custom tailor hems and seams spoke volumes of its ability to meet general demand. It had a whole department dedicated to haberdashery, and no one cared about haberdashery anymore. And as for the furniture department... Well let's just say he and Ianto had been furniture shopping there when Ianto had bought his new house and the two words that sprung to mind were "never again".

But Jack could forgive a store for failing to keep pace with the modern world. He knew all too well what it was like to watch the world keep moving on at the speed of light, whilst it felt like you were standing still, getting left behind in a time that no longer existed. That wasn't why the place interested him. For years the department store known as G. R. Owens had held a mystery Jack couldn't unravel. Not for a lack of trying.

He'd given the task to Gwen and Ianto to sort out, since all his efforts over the years had come to nought. If he'd assumed that putting them in there undercover as the newest employees of G. R. Owens, he'd been sorely disappointed with their progress in the last week. If Ianto's grumblings when he arrived home each night were anything to go by, his team were likely to die of boredom before they died of anything else. Most nights Ianto had fallen asleep on the sofa when they were meant to be watching telly. Jack's instructions had been clear. Stick at it and don't call in until you find something. So far, they'd done just that - found nothing. It was vexing. It was time to step in and take over handling the case personally. One last crack at the one department that had never sold a single item: the Department of Curiosities.

Of course, he couldn't just waltz in there. The place knew him. That was why he'd never been able to nut this case out. It saw him coming a mile away and always retreated back into the shadows. It was as if the shop sensed the kind of people who wandered its floors, finding their skin tight jeans, ankle boots and cropped leather jackets distasteful. Not that there were many of those anymore. They haunted the glass and steel monolith of St Mary Street's new retail emporium, where cheap costume jewelry collided with all things polyester and bargain basement electrical goods. G. R. Owens, just across the street, was more like a museum with its mahogany doors and brass fittings. People gave its doors a curious glance, half expecting to be charged admission, before turning away from the sad timepiece that showcased a bygone era. Harrods, it most definitely wasn't. For a hundred years it had clung on, like a barnacle to a pier, but no more.

Jack came to realise that Gwen and Ianto, for all their modern ways and dress sense, stood no chance. It was waiting for someone to deal with it on its own terms. Perhaps the store sensed its own impending demise. Perhaps now it was ready to unveil its last secrets to the right person. If Jack planned on going back there though, he was going to need a disguise.

He hadn't been through this old wardrobe in ages. He couldn't believe the gems that were still here, mostly in good condition, if a little bit tinged with the scent of mothballs.

Ianto was going to hate it. It was everything he abhorred. It had once been navy, but was now more of a faded blue, the red pinstripe clashing in a way that had felt inspired at the time he'd bought it. All the buttons from the double-breasted tailoring were still present, and the sleeves didn't need pressing, even if they were a little worn at the elbows. It had been perfect for VE day, but now it was as dated and out of step as the store that would have considered it high fashion. His war medals would have sat over the left breast, but he could always replace them with a pocket square. He had a dozen of those tucked in here somewhere.

He dug a little deeper into the old wardrobe, getting a heady nose full of dust and mildew. Somewhere... yes, there it was. He tugged out the old fedora hat, batting off a layer of dust that this time made him sneeze. It was a little crumpled as he bent it back into shape and tried it on, checking himself out in the narrow mirror glued to the inside of the door. Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all. With a fresh white shirt and his old leather brogues, he'd be every inch the kind of customer G. R. Owens had been waiting decades to serve.