It was in my head and I knew I had to get rid of it before I was left going over and over it at three o'clock in the morning. I don't know where it came from. But it needed to be written. So I did.

A man stood opposite the house, watching it. He looks nonchalant, his hands dug deep into the pockets of the dark blue military coat he wears, gazing thoughtfully at the door.

But Captain Jack Harkness is anything but nonchalant. Although nothing about his stance says it, he is, for once, uncertain. Possibly more uncertain that he has ever been in all his lives, and he's had quite a few.

He's surprised she hadn't moved house; hadn't wanted to escape the memories. Maybe she's wiser than him, for all his years, and knows that there are some things you cannot escape. Even now the memories are rising again, unbidden, but Jack knows that before he can give into them there is something he must do. Something he has been meaning to do for a long long time.

He knocked on the door and waited. There was no surprise on her face as she opened it. Perhaps she had always known, deep down, that he would come back. Back to the scene of the crime. She let him in, wordlessly.

They stand in the kitchen, both still silent. All Jack's carefully prepared words have slipped away. Instead he looks at the grey hairs now streaking her head, wondering if they are from age or worry. How long has he been gone? He knows she is looking for exactly the same thing, scrutinising him for any sign of change just as she does every time they meet, looking for something which will never be there.

The sound that breaks their silence is a child's laugh.

How long has he been gone?

He moved tentatively across to the window, looking back at her for permission. She didn't do anything, so he looked out, into the garden. He could feel her eyes on his back. Emotionless, expressionless.

There's a girl in the garden. She can't be more than three or four years old. A smile comes to Jack's lips in the first time in a long while as he watches her stumble round the garden on chubby legs, arms stretched out to grab at empty air, black curls flying behind her. But it's a painful smile too, watching all that innocence. The girl in the garden reminds him of what he's done, and the woman behind him knows.

"She's got your hair." He says, more to drive away the memories assailing him than anything else.

"She's not my child."

"You adopted?"

"She needed a mother. I needed a child."

Jack bowed his head, remembering the last time he had stood in this kitchen. Alice looking at him worriedly, wanting more than empty platitudes, desperate to know what was really going on so she could protect her son; Stephen, as innocent as that girl in the garden, wanting his Uncle Jack to take him out… Alice was right. He'd only ever come to see them when he wanted something. And now he wanted forgiveness. And he could tell from his daughter's gaze that that was the one thing she would never, ever give him, even after all these years.

But he hasn't forgotten, so why would she? He still blames himself just as much for… for everything. That's what the other thought is trying to tell him, whispering in his ear: last time you stood here Ianto was still alive.

I'll lay that ghost to rest later. Jack tells himself. Me and Gwen, we'll go together. And Stephen's grave too, if Alice will let me.

The child runs into the kitchen, but stops short at the sight of Jack. Alice moves over, wrapping her arms around the girl. Jack isn't sure who she's comforting.

"This is my dad, Bronwen." It sounds as though she's saying it more for Jack's benefit than for the child's. He would be grateful that she can still find it in her to call him that, if it hadn't sounded so much like an accusation.

"I see you've taught her to be scared of me. Probably a good plan." Jack tried to dredge up a laugh.

"She doesn't like people."

Jack looks again at the small black head buried in Alice's arms and thinks he knows why. He can just catch a glimpse of burn marks down one side of her face. Not so innocent after all. Perhaps she's fallen through the Rift. He smiles to himself. That would be just like Gwen - an adopt-an-alien scheme.

Alice is still looking at him. Jack sighs softly to himself. They don't need him here. All he brings is pain. "It's time I went. Before I…" He gestures helplessly at the girl.

"Before you ruin her life too?" Alice waits long enough for him to nod shortly. "You already have done."

"How? I haven't even met her."

"You have done, I think. But she hasn't met you."

Jack tries to make sense of this, but failing he decides to change he topic.

"How come you talk about her as if she wasn't there?" She'd always shooed Stephen out of sight as soon as any 'adult' conversations came along, he remembered. And it was that innocence that condemned him to die. Maybe that's why.

"She can't hear me. She's deaf."

Jack looks at the tangled hair again, avoiding his daughter's eyes. Burnt and deaf… maybe the poor kid had been a victim of the bombs, back when… Yeah. Back then. But he's sure that he's been away longer than that.

The girl peeks up at him, wide dark eyes brimming with curiosity as well as fear. The look and the laugh and the name link together in his mind.

"I thought I'd go for something traditional if it's a girl – alright, alright we'd go, though it was your idea to call it bloody Edward, of all things… anyway, I thought maybe Bronwen or Cary or something nice. But I don't want anything too old. What do you think, Jack?"

Alice's look tells him all he needs to know.

He sinks onto a chair. "When?" He can't take his eyes off the girl now.

"Nearly a year ago. While you were gone."

"Both of them?"

Alice nods.

"But how?"

"A mother will do anything to save her children. You should know that."

Jack takes his eyes off his feet and looks up at her. "Are you going to tell me the rest?" His voice is hoarse and he's got that feeling again in his chest: the one that's worse than being killed.

Alice shakes her head, leaving Jack to guess.

I wrecked her life. As soon as she walked in with those pizza boxes she was as good as dead. The first time I ever let her catch sight of me. Her and Rhys and their kid too. I signed their death warrants, just like I signed Ianto's and Stephen's and Tosh's and Owen's and Suzie's and Alex's… Because that's all I ever bring anyone. Hurt and pain and worry and finally death. And what good has it ever done in the long run?

"Where are you going?"

Jack looks back at the pair of them, still huddled together. Just once. "Somewhere where there's no-one else I can possibly hurt."

But he won't stay there long, he knows. It'll only be so long before he's back, looking for comfort, looking for new memories to drive away the old, and the whole process will just be back where it started.

He's going to spend the rest of eternity watching everyone he's ever loved die. Over and over again.