Author's Note: I was feeling particularly angst-y and listening to Placebo's "Running Up That Hill" when I wrote this and decided to take it out on Jack. ;)

This takes place before Jack arrives on Miracle Day during his self-banishment from Earth after the events of CoE.

I don't own Torchwood but Torchwood owns my soul so therefore no suing, please. And honestly if I did own Torchwood, Miracle Day would've been a hell of a lot different. I'm American by the way so that's saying something. ;)

Thanks goes to my best friend, Robin(a non Torchwood/Doctor Who fan) who read this with an open mind and is a grammar nazi. And thanks to my friend Cate for her support. ;)

"If I only could make a deal with God and get him to swap our places..."

It always starts the same way.

A long, dark corridor with his shoes snapping loudly against the tile floor. A thin bright glow from each passing door is the only source of light that illuminated his way. He had often wondered what was behind those closed doors every time he walked past but those thoughts were quickly dismissed as his attention drifted to the one door at the end of the dark hallway. He was drawn to it. That was the only way to describe it. He had tried to open one of the doors he so often walked past but deep down he knew that even if he did go through a door, it wouldn't have made a difference. No matter what choice he made or details he changed, he would always end up back in the same place.

His heart thudded loudly in his chest. He can feel it throbbing up to his throat. It was a heart that has kept on beating for so long, after a hundred some odd years. It had stopped so many times that he lost count, only to have it start up again. He felt a certain envy and sometimes irritation at people who take their own powerful organ for granted. Those who don't stop and wonder at their own heart beat. To hear its rhythm. To place a hand against their chest and feel that strong muscle thump loudly as fear or excitment rushed through them. The swift flow of adrenline that pumps their hearts, churning their blood throughout their bodies. To cherish that working machine every second of their lives because one day, it will stop. Unlike Jack, whose own heart reboot again and again, no matter the time or the death he goes through. He hardly notices his own rhythm anymore.

Jack's own hands felt cold and clammy. Blood rushed loudly in his ears as he stood in front of the door. He didn't want to open it. He didn't want to be there but he knew that he should. Every fiber of his immortal being told him to turn and run but he couldn't. He was Captain Jack Harkness. A man who stood his ground and faced whatever was put in front of him. He faced down daleks when he ran out of bullets. He fought through two world wars and endless horror throughout his lifetimes.

Without any will of his own, his hand reached for the brass door knob. It felt cold as ice in his palm as he slowly turned it. The metal groaned loudly. Bright white light flooded over him as the door swung open. His breath kicked up a notch and his heart was beating faster than he had ever felt. It was a first time in a long time that he had ever felt truly scared.

He didn't want to be there. He wanted to be anywhere but where he stood. He knew he had no choice. He deserved to be there. Jack's legs stepped shakily into the bright room, his eyes took their time adjust to the light until they fell upon the most horrific scene he had ever seen.

Rows upon rows of dead bodies, covered with that familiar red blanket. The dead of Thames House. He had been in that room so many times before in his mind and the sight always choked him with grief. He blinked back the burning, stinging feeling in the corner of his eyes. The room was eerily silent. There was no sound, no voices except for the sound of a ticking clock.

Jack swallowed loudly against the lump that formed in his throat. He looked up at the sound of the ticking clock, his eyes followed the second hand and watched it reached to the hour of midnight and stop.

He stood apprehensively. Something was different. Something he can't quite put his finger on. It was quiet. Too quiet. As if the place was devoid of any sound. His skin tingled, waiting for something, anything to happen.

His ears caught the sound of something soft. His head jerked to the right in the direction of the sudden noise. His eyes searched around the room. There was nothing. He heard the sound again. Rustling?

His blue eyes went wide with fear as the soft sound became quite clear of what it was. It was the sound of the red blankets falling as one by one each of the bodies of Thames House sat up ram rod straight. Their red blankets pooled around their laps.

They all sat staring dully ahead at Jack who could only recoil away from the scene in front of him, his heart beating faster and faster. He looked at each of the dead, pale faces and nearly jumped in shock at the familiar ones in the front row. The faces of Owen, Tosh, Susie, and his own family. Gray and Steven stared back at him. They looked the same as the day they died. They didn't say a word but they eyes spoke with such volume, it was deafening. Such sadness and regret reflected in their eyes. Jack's own vision blurred with unshed tears. He couldn't take it anymore. He backed away slowly in fear that if he should turn his back at the bodies, they would attack. "They have every reason to," Jack thought to himself.

He quickly stopped. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled with such intensity. Someone stood behind him. And he knows who. He knew even before he walked into the room, before he even smelt that specific aftershave and roasted coffee. His stomach flipped over twice as he turned around. His eyes took in piece by piece of the person in front of him. The dark pinstripe trousers, the matching vest, the light shirt underneath and finally, those blue eyes as he came face to face with Ianto Jones.

Jack's heart lept up to his throat and let out a ragged breath. Not this. Anything but this.

Ianto stood calmly with a wistful smile. He looked so pale. Pale as on the day he died in Thames House. He said nothing. Jack could feel the eyes of the dead behind him bore into the back of his head. He startled as Ianto all at once spoke.

"Glad you're here."

In the past, the sound of those beautiful welsh vowels from Ianto's lips would send wonderful shivers down Jack's spine. Now, it only gave him the chills.

Ianto began to walk towards Jack with a peaceful look on his face. It felt wrong. Something was not right.

"We've been waiting." Ianto smiled gently.

"Ianto, I-" Jack began to talk.

"Don't worry," Ianto interrupted. "We found a place just for you."

Jack's eyes crinkled in confusion. Ianto merely smiled.

It took Jack a second to realize that he was falling and that the stinging cold pressure on his chest was the dead hands of Ianto Jones pushing him. He stumbled, falling back. He expected the feel of the cold hard linoleum floor but he fell with his back onto hard wood as the smell of dirt hit his nostrils. His eyes stared up at a starry filled sky. The cold wind bit through his body. He laid there trembling at the sight of dark walls of graveyard dirt and Ianto standing over him above, holding a shovel.

"Perfect. You're right where you belong." He said, still wearing a smile on his face.

The coffin lid slammed shut, muffling Jack's screams. He pounded furiously, hearing the sounds of dirt landing on the coffin, some falling through the cracks. The shoveling didn't stop.

Jack screamed at the top of voice, his fingers coated with blood as he scratched at the coffin. He choked a mouthful of dirt and let out a hoarse cry.

"No! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, don't!"

The next shovelful of dirt covered the cracks of the coffin, blocking out the last source of light.

"Don't!" Jack reached out, his right hand outstretched as he suddenly sat forward in bed, gasping.

Sweat trickled down his face like tears. He slowly pulled himself out of the nightmare, his breathing shaky and sweat soaked body trembled. His heart thrummed beneath his naked chest. He placed a wobbly hand over it, feeling the speeding heartbeat. The eternal reminder of his immortal life. He dropped his hand onto his lap, his body shuddering. He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, almost startling him. A long slim, blue body lay asleep beside him, the bed sheet barely covering her bare smooth back. Jack sighed. He had forgotten he wasn't alone in bed. Sura was her name. He had met her in some asteroid bar where he was drowning his sorrows when she sensed his grief. Jack took the offer of a night with a Klabian alien in hopes of forgetting with some mind blowing sex(He had heard that Klabians were notoriously empathic creatures with the abilities to magnify and manipulate emotions ten fold especially during sex) at his room along with doses of the Comet Fire Whiskey. While the sex was good and the whiskey sat warm in his belly, it wasn't enough to keep the memories at bay. The nightmares still came every night for practically a month.

He tossed the covers away from him and stood up from the bed. He picked his white t-shirt and dark trousers from the floor and quickly shrugged them on. Jack stood before a large view window of the infinite space. There are still places he has yet seen but deep down, he knew he had to go back. There was an unsettling feeling within him and all around him. Like something was about to happened. Something bad. But something bad was always happening to the Earth. It was like that damn rock was magnet for every shit and every horrible piece of alien trash there is in the universe. It was almost as if it didn't wanted to be saved.

"I am sorry, Jack but you cannot just run away. You cannot run away."

Gwen's voice filtered through his head.

"Are you ever coming back, Jack?"

"What for?"

"Me."

He sighed loudly. Gwen and her growing family. He felt like a frustrated parent. A part of him wanted to just leave and let the people of Earth deal with their own mess and let him deal with his. Another part of him felt a love and responsibility to his adopted home world. He had spent far too long and known too many people to just simply walk away. He had told the Doctor that he sworn and converted Torchwood Three in his name, in his honor to protect the Earth. The Doctor wouldn't turn his back on the planet so Jack wouldn't either.

He stared at the direction of where the Earth was and crossed his arms in front of him. He was going back. He had been gone for so long but he knew he had no choice. Something was going to happen back at Earth and Gwen, Rhys and their baby will be there unprotected. A chill crept up his spine. He knew that if he goes back, his past would be waiting for him.

And it might end bloody.

The End.

Please leave a review! ;)