Jack Harkness ran. He ran and he ran and he ran. His pace not at all steady and already making his body scream in protest. He had done a lot of running in his time, he should have been used to it, but not once had he run like this.
He'd ran when those nightmarish invaders had stepped into the Boeshane Peninsula intent on killing or torturing everyone. He ran with little Grey's hand in his, dragging his brother away until his grip was lost and Jack ran in search of safety and later ran to look for Grey.
Jack had ran from his home. Sighed up as the first Time Agent and ran. His mother despised him and he ran to seek out his brother.
He'd ran a lot during his time as an Agent, running from place to place, target to target, lover to lover. Lots of running and mostly with John Hart the bastard. That man had a knack for getting them into shit.
Then, like his home, he had ran away and hidden.
This running had let to scamming and conning various people and places for cash, sex, and amazing food. After which, he'd run to the next one. Jack only ever had one target, he wanted the Time Agency to give back the 24 months they stole from him, that's why he ran and why he continued to run from planet and time to other planets and different times. Ran so far he could steal a Air Force Captain's identity and nobody questioned it. And that is his how he met the Doctor and Rose his two first and real friends since he left Boe. And boy did that entail a lot more running than he would have assumed, maybe he would have said no to joining. Maybe not.
Rose was amazing. The Doctor was amazing. But then they'd been the ones to run the next time.
Jack had ran from the GameStation, ran from everything in search for his Doctor and his Rose. Ran to Earth and its twenty first century however ended up in the nineteenth. Not his favourite place, not very liberal but very repressed.. He'd ran some more, ran from the bitchy lesbians down at Torchwood, ran from the pub brawlers, ran from angry husbands and wives. Until he was forced to run for them.
Non-contracted Torchwood Operative, Ex-Conman, Ex-Time Agent Captain Jack Harkness from the Boeshane Peninsula in the fifty first century running for Queen and country.
Jack had run for two centuries before it all went to proper shit. Alex and his murder suicide. Jack had wanted to run then. Desperate to run, to run from the planet or just Cardiff. Either way he wanted to run but he didn't because he'd grown to love the rugged planet like a second home.
Jack hadn't run that time and instead built up a team. That itself had included running. Running to catch weevils, running to save the day. He felt good, almost like he was back with the Doctor doing the good things. Yet, even that had its dark days that almost goaded Jack into running.
He hadn't. At least not too far, not to some other continent or planet. Not packed up and ran from the team with a promise he was just getting milk or smokes. That wouldn't work. He didn't smoke. Jack would run to his rooftops and stare up at the stars, telling himself he could see the TARDIS flinging by and that running would keep him from his Doctor.
Over time, Jack had found another reason not to run. Ianto Jones. But then the time traveller had shown up, different face, different clothes, different attitude, and different companion. So, as the Girl with the Tarot cards had promised, he'd ran.
Jack was a fool for that.
A year-that-never-happened later, Jack was running back home. Running from the Doctor. Running to his team. Running towards a cold shoulder and four glares, many questions and so many more unanswered ones. He ran back for them. For him. After that, things were rocky but slowly shaping up, back to the running of course. Running to catch weevils, running to save the day. And running to catch himself a certain Welshman.
Now, that running wasn't so bad and the pay off was heavenly.
Unfortunately, some high power had it in for him. Hated him or something. Because one minute he's spending blissful time with Ianto, post a little fun in the freezing warehouse, then the next he's cradling the limp body of his lover and not telling him he loves him.
Someone must really hate him.
So Jack spend more decades running. Running and running. Running to and from, running to the rescue or away from laws, running after short skirts and fleeting smiles then running away when the flashes of a suit or Welsh vowels hit.
He had ran from Earth, never to return until the mention of Torchwood popped up and the conscience inside him urged him to run back. It wasn't home anymore but he came running anyway.
Things happened, running occured and once it was over, Jack was ready to run again. Run out on Gwen, leave her with Rhys. Leave her alone and to get on with a life he couldn't have. She wasn't at all happy with that but what did he have left other than running?
He now found himself running, like he said he would. Although, not running away like Jack meant. Something had shown up, standing in the distance. Jack was running towards someone, running at them. Running like a cheetah, bursts of speed, breathing heavily and frantic, strides as wide as they could be and arms moving in time. His coat billowed behind him, threatening to get caught around his ankles and send him crashing over but Jack didn't notice. He was too busy running. His mind swapping from thought to thought faster than he moved. He couldn't make sense of it, of any of it. Jack just kept running.
And something was running back. Someone was running towards him.
Jack found he liked running for the first time, especially with his destination.
Ianto Jones.