This is a short bit of introspection set while Jack was buried below Cardiff. I apologize if it's a bit jumpy, I wrote and then let it sit for a few weeks, then remembered it, and did some editing. So it's not exactly even. And the paragraphs are thought by Jack at different times, also. Read and review, or don't. Also, I got the name from the Elliott Smith song 'Junk Bond Trader', as it was stuck in my head at the time. It wasn't till later that I realized it fit perfectly. Life can be funny that way... ~ Linaritara
Jack Harkness was tired, so tired. He felt old, and decrepit, and not eager to die again, then come back to life. He wanted death permanently, wanted to join the ranks of Ianto and Rose and all of his friends who would die in thousands of years, but before he would. Would there never be an end? Jack just wanted some love.
Jack hoped that there was some form of heaven up there, one he might go to despite the con-man stuff, because he really had tried to be a decent guy. Sometimes it was so hard, especially where Torchwood was concerned. That particular organization had been his life's work, years of time and effort and love had gone into the damn thing, and precious little had come out of it. Still, he had to get points for trying, right?
He found, over time, that it was the Doctor he missed most of all. Hadn't seen him in years, and considering how fast the man tended to go through his regenerations, he was probably dust by now. Or being dissected in a UNIT lab. Whichever one, it involved death, and Jack was jealous of that. But he dearly missed the madcap adventures he and Rose and the Doctor had had. And later Martha, although that wasn't half the fun, what with the Year that Never Was.
It was more the feeling of being useful he missed, rather than the Doctor, Jack later decided. Of being needed and helpful, going along with the group effort. That had been there, in the TARDIS. There Jack could do things without having the Time Agency cracking a whip over him or assigning him mad partners, or him having to worry about his latest con, because he had friends that would be there to help him out.
Rose, unfortunately, never became more than a friend. Jack often regretted that, especially during the year on the Valiant, during which he somehow got the notion that if she had trusted Jack more then the Doctor then she would never have had to become the Bad Wolf, and Jack wouldn't have become immortal. Because they would have been holed up in a 30th century alien hotel room, not on Earth once again.
And the old Doctor had said they weren't a couple...honestly, those two had oozed couplery. And the Doctor had been so defensive after they had saved Jack from the blowing up of his spacecraft, warning him every few minutes that Tyler's were one man women, and it was clear Jack couldn't offer that. He had had a point though, Jack admitted to himself.
Ianto was sort of a need, a vague, hungry need. During all these years, it had become clear to Jack that it wasn't love. Oh, he liked Ianto, and it was nice, even special in some ways, but it wasn't a forever sort of thing. And Gwen? Well...she had Rhys, and something told him that Gwen would be happy with that, eventually.
Jack took a shallow breath, and drew a little more dirt into his lungs before beginning to suffocate again. Yeah, he had a long time to think.