A hundred years. Time passed so slowly when you weren't a part of it. It crawled by. And everyday he would go out with his team. Defeat an alien invasion. Stop the evil spreading. But at what cost. The cost of life. He was alright. He would die and come back. But the people around him. The people he would have classed as friends if he had any were the ones in danger. They could and would die. Look at Suzie. And Ben and Sam and Chloe and Rachel and Camille. The other five occupied coffins down in the depths of Torchwood. What about their families, who could never know what, had happened to their child? Who were told a lie? Who wouldn't get their child's ashes for the grave? They were the ones that were in danger, not him.
He held the TARDIS key up to the light and examined it like he had done a billion times before. It was shining silver. Not gold. No pulsing energy. No call home. Just plain silver. Plain abandonment. Plain sadness.
He gripped it in his fist until it cut into his palm. He got up, pocketing the key. And walked out.
Every night Jack Harkness held the key up to the light.
Every night he dreamed of the life that could have been his.
Every night he almost throws that key away.
But only almost, because of the alien thing… hope.
