PLAGUE
TWENTY
Like most people of action, Jack didn't look back and never second-guessed himself.
He made the best decisions he could under the circumstances presented to him.
Still, he couldn't help but contemplate his recent activities and wonder if he might've done things differently in order to avoid the current dire situation.
He could've declined to go up to the space station in the first place. But eventually either the Americans or Russians, or even the Chinese, would've gone up there and more than likely recovered the bodies, brought them back and the end result would've been the same.
No… that wouldn't have changed anything.
He could've left the Frenchman behind, but that would have been out of the question, even if he'd been there alone without Wil as his guiding conscience. He fully acknowledged that he was often heartless – that was his job, his role – but not even he would have been capable of leaving the man behind.
But even if he had, he suspected that the nanotech would've followed him back anyway.
And although hindsight is always twenty-twenty, no one could have ever predicted their existence. The existence of the scourge, the reality of it, still shocked him.
He'd screwed up, but there's nothing different he could've, would've, or should've done.
Jack forgave himself, just as The Doctor would have forgiven him, and moved on.