Not Everyone Lives

He had told Gwen, once, that it never got any easier. He had also told her that he never felt more alive than when he thought there might be a chance he could die.

Now, one of those things was a lie.

He didn't want it to get easier, of course. Each death was harder and harder, and he liked it that way; if he couldn't stay dead then at least he was suffering. But his blood no longer thrilled within him at each potential death; the nearly-orgasmic excitement he used to feel in the seconds before he stepped off that building, jumped in front of that train, picked that fight, that was entirely gone, dead with him.

That was the crux of it, really. How could so much of him be dead, and still keep moving, walking through this world, fucking things up as he went along? Even his continual attempts to escape caused other people distress; no one dies alone, not in the 21st century. There were people walking the sidewalk under that building; people riding that train. Even the drunken asshole whom he'd taunted into beating him to death was another person in the world, another soul that Jack had dumped a burden onto and then walked away, still alive.

In the end there was nothing for it but to leave, and continue his search out there in the Universe. He had called Gwen to meet him, far above Cardiff where he could pretend the city was a model, a toy (best not to think too much of children). And still he cannot escape his guilt, for here is Gwen, heavy with child, bantering with solid, dependable Rhys. It hurts nearly as much as dying – no, as much as coming back – to see them so happy together, and he knows he's made the right decision.

"You ok?" Gwen asks.

"Yeah," he lies, and she knows it for what it is. She has to ask, though, has to make the effort. She wouldn't be Gwen otherwise.

"Did it work?" she asks, lightly, hoping to bring a smile. It doesn't work, of course.

"Traveled all sorts of places - this planet is too small. The whole world is like a graveyard."

"Are you ever coming back, Jack?"

"What for?" Tears are coming, now, from them both.

"Me." And here's another life - no, three lives - he could destroy with a word. "It wasn't your fault," Gwen continues.

"I think it was," and his voice breaks over the litany of the dead, "all of them, because of me."

"You saved us didn't you?" She is as desperate to keep him here as he is desperate to go.

"I began to like it, and look what I became." He is so ready to die. "I have lived so many lives, it's time to find another one." He can't bring himself to tell her it's not life he seeks, but he's pretty sure she knows just the same.

"You cannot just run away."

"Oh yes I can - just watch me."

And he was gone - but not dead.