Epilogue 1

Jack sat at his desk, wearing his greatcoat simply because he could. It was warm and comfortable and grounded him after the events of the last several days. He was both physically and emotionally exhausted, and retreating into the coat and all that it represented to him reminded him that he was alive. That after being shot and betrayed and literally having the life sucked out of him, he was alive and back where he belonged.

The thought made him sit up straighter and sigh. Did he really belong there? He'd always considered his time at Torchwood as little more than something he did to remain in Cardiff, near the Rift, waiting for the Doctor. For decades he'd come and gone, until the mantle of leadership had fallen to him by default, when his curse had left him the only one alive after Alex Hopkins had killed the rest of his team and then himself. Jack had reluctantly taken over, vowing to make Torchwood better, to make it something the Doctor would be proud of when he finally came back.

Only Jack wasn't doing a very good job, was he? So much had gone wrong in the last year, from Suzie's death to Ianto's secret, to losing innocents, facing cannibals, and watching Tosh and Owen stumble yet again. He was trying so hard, and yet he felt like he was failing every time. Even Gwen, the one person he'd thought would never betray him because he'd sensed her interest and awe from the day he hired her; even Gwen had turned on him. Yes, she'd sat by his side in the morgue, but that was after she'd betrayed him behind to open the Rift. To save Rhys.

They'd all betrayed him, the entire team. Yes, they'd been manipulated by visions, just as he'd been manipulated by his time in 1941, but that didn't discount the fact that they had lost faith and turned on him. Killed him. Perhaps he didn't belong there, didn't deserve their loyalty; he felt like he was only playacting at being a leader, waiting for the Doctor to arrive and take him back to the stars.

He meant what he'd said to Ianto, though. He would miss the Welshman. He would miss them all, even Cardiff and Wales. In spite of all the pain and heartbreak, he felt like he'd finally found something he'd been missing for so long in this team, these people: companionship, friendship, even a feeling of family. Yes, they'd shot him, but they'd been tricked into it, forced into seeing and believing things that weren't really there, were never going to be true. He also meant what he'd said to Owen: he'd forgiven him, had forgiven all of them.

But did he still belong with them? He'd told Ianto he'd leave when the Doctor returned, but was he still looking for answers, or running away from his failures? Or both? All he knew was that he had to go, no matter how attached he was to this time and place now. It was why he accepted Ianto's need to leave Torchwood. The Welshman might be running away from all the heartbreak he'd experienced at Torchwood, but he too was looking for something—a normal life that wouldn't destroy him even more. Jack couldn't fault Ianto for leaving because he knew what Torchwood did to a person; he had experienced it for over a century, and he didn't want to see Ianto broken any more than he already was.

He would miss Ianto, though. A lot more than he thought, for as casual as they'd been. It was one thing to watch Ianto walk away from Torchwood, knowing he was safe and happy; it was another to leave the planet behind and never see the Welshman again.

With a sigh, Jack rubbed his face. He glanced out of his office, wondering when the others would be back. Gwen had already been in his office to check on him too many times, and he desperately needed coffee if she was going to keep coming in to make sure he was still alive. Which she did again when she saw him glance up from the files he was reading over from his time in the morgue.

As usual, she badgered him for answers he was not prepared to give her. He thought about what Ianto had said, about telling her that one day he would leave with the Doctor, but he was too tired to get into an argument with her. And she would argue, he had little doubt. Ianto had claimed to understand, and for the most part, Jack believed him. Ianto might have been disappointed, but he understood because he knew about Jack's past now, and because he too felt the need to leave, to find more, to move on. But Gwen…Gwen saw absolutes. She might say she understood why Jack needed answers from the Doctor, but she would not accept him leaving Torchwood forever to do so. She believed in it too much now. She would feel betrayed and abandoned, and perhaps rightfully so, but Jack didn't need that kind of pressure. For once in his long life, he needed to do the right thing for him, not for someone else, not for the planet. Because he was the one cursed to an undying life, and he needed to know why.

Standing up, Jack left his office, ignoring Gwen's continued questions and huff of frustration behind him. He needed some space. "Where are they with those coffees?" he called out into the Hub. No one answered … but then he noticed the hand nearby, the hand of the Doctor from Torchwood One. He'd fashioned a way for it to show him when the Doctor was near, and it was working. The hand was glowing, the water bubbling—and then he heard it.

The sound of the TARDIS.

It was glorious.

A million things raced through his mind. He had to go, before the Doctor left. The right version had finally arrived, likely to refuel on the Rift right above them. It didn't take long, and then the Doctor would leave again, and who knew how long Jack would have to wait for that same incarnation. He had to go, and he had to leave immediately.

But Ianto was out with the others, and even though he'd talked with him earlier, Jack wanted to say goodbye. It was the worst possible timing, that he was leaving so abruptly. He wanted to make sure the Welshman knew why Jack was going so soon, knew that he mattered, and knew he was still free to leave Torchwood behind. To be honest, Jack wanted one last kiss, because he didn't know if he'd return.

No, he'd come back. He would, someday. The TARDIS was a time machine, after all. He could convince the Doctor to bring him back so he could see his team, explain his sudden disappearance. He might not stay, but he would come back. He owed it to them. And Ianto knew why he was leaving, so he could tell the others not to worry until then. Jack only wished he could say goodbye and reassure Ianto that he would be back.

But there was no time. He grabbed a rucksack and stuffed the glass capsule with the Doctor's hand inside. He glanced back at his office; Gwen was pacing back and forth on her phone, probably talking to Rhys. As she should be, given that she'd hardly seen him since Abaddon, and he was the reason she'd opened the Rift. Jack knew he should say something, at least say goodbye, but he didn't want to interrupt, and he didn't want her to stop him. Ianto was right in that Gwen was there because of him, and Jack owed her an explanation, so he smiled, tipped his head, and promised he'd come back.

Running as fast as he could through the cog door, up the stairs, and through the tourist office, Jack burst outside and started running toward the blue police box on the Plass. He shouted for the Doctor, hoping he'd see him, hear him, stop and wait, but the box started to fade, blinking out of existence as it returned to the vortex. Without even thinking, Jack threw himself at the TARDIS.

As the Plass faded around him, he told himself once more that he would return. To Cardiff, to his team, to Ianto. Someday.


Author's Note:

I apologize for the lateness of this chapter and hope that you will stick around for a second epilogue to wrap up this story. Thank you for reading!