Title: Just A Day
By: el_evergreen
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: *sigh* They all belong to someone else. I just borrow them.
Author's Notes: I'm not sure where this came from… I was just rambling on Word one day and thought perhaps I'd try to capture Jack on one of his low days.
Summary: How Jack deals after a hard day at work and what he does when he can't take anymore.

***

Cold. Emotionless. Empty.

Wicked.

Those words and so many more can describe him, describe the man that he's learned to be, and is he ashamed of the description? Absolutely not. It's all he wants to be. All he can ever be… it's all he knows.

Jack Harkness, the head of the mysterious Torchwood team, who think they own the universe. Jack Harkness, the man in the heavy blue coat who can make jokes about death and laugh as thought they're old friends. Jack Harkness. A lie.

He's learned to hide his flaws from the world, from himself, but more importantly from his team. They tease him, badger him with questions about his dark past, make jokes about his obvious lack of sexual preference… but he doesn't mind. It's better for them to take wild guesses than know he truth, he's decided, and he’ll keep it that way. He'll keep it that way because he has no choice — any time he let's someone in, gives them just a tiny peek of who he really is, they disappear. They fade away, like graphite over years' time.

Perhaps a life like his is too much for the average person. Perhaps it's too much for him. A better person might embrace his gift — his curse — and use it for the greater good. A better person might thank whatever force that allows him to cheat death. A better person…

Instead, he sits here, in the same pub he sat in the night before and the night before, miserable. He struggles, looking for some way to cheat his immortal life. Just the other day, as he lie dying from several fatal wounds, he had closed his eyes and thought, "Maybe this time it's over; maybe this time I won't wake up."

God help him, he didn't want to wake up. There was a time when he feared Death, like every young man at war. Now, he welcomes it — or tries to — with open arms, but every time it's oh-so-close… and then, list mist, slips through his fingers.

Oh, he's tried to bring it on himself. Plenty of times, though he won't admit it. Recklessly jumping into a situation is his way of showing that he doesn't appreciate it, and hopes that perhaps whatever gave it to him will take it away.

But it never does. He always wakes up and, damn it, he always gets better. He can't even take the flu properly.

So, he deals with it the only way he knows how. Anything to numb the pain that gnaws constantly at him; it's different every night. Sometimes, he stays in the Hub, surrounded by his alien gadgets, and drinks until he can't feel anymore, though he never really gets drunk… his precious gift won't let him.

Sometimes he takes an alternative to the alcohol, though that path is rarely chosen; he can only pass the needle marks off as medical shots for so long. Tosh, dear Toshiko, saw right through him the first time, though she never said anything. Ianto almost always notices when the whiskey bottle is more than half empty and, bless him, always asks in the privacy of Jack's office if there's anything he'd like to talk about.

He scoffs. Isn't that his job, to play therapy to his employees? Instead, it's just the opposite. He's the mad boss spiralling out of control, and his team does all they can to give him help — help he merely pushes away.

His safest alternative is to stay away from the Hub, and it's what he chooses tonight. He's lost count as to how many drinks he's had, but the bartender, at his request, keeps the glass full. He's not sure what he'll do when the pub closes, but he's scanned the place more than a couple of times and there are a few choice people he'd like to see if he could get to take him home…

Oh, he won't stay long. After all, when he agrees to go anywhere with a complete stranger it's only for one reason. He's always gone before the sun even thinks of rising. Gone before they realise they've been used by some sad, pathetic fiend.

A fiend? Is that how he's describing himself now? He could wallow in self-pity all night long if permitted to do so. And he would have, if he hadn't spotted a pair of familiar, brown, and far too innocent eyes heading rather determinedly in his direction.

"Okay, Jack?"

He stares at her, not sure if he even wants to speak. Tosh never struck him as the type to be wandering around pubs at four in the morning. "What are you doin' here?"

"I was heading home from work. Saw you dart in here…decided I'd be nosey and follow."

He grumbles something that sounds like "go figure," and empties his glass once more.

Tosh frowns, "I've lost count of how many glasses you've had, you know."

"Me, too. Isn't that the point?" He pauses, his mouth turning down at the corners. "Exactly how long have you been stalking me?"

"Not stalking you, just checking on you. If I were stalking you, I wouldn't have come over here."

Jack grumbles again, waving away the bartender as he comes over to fill his glass once more. He's decided Tosh is right; he's had enough. Best to save some for the other customers.

"Ianto's worried about you."

"Ianto worries about everything."

She sighes, irritated. He doesn't blame her. He'd be irritated with him, too. "Sorry," he says shortly.

"That's okay. I know you can't help being a jerk sometimes."

He frowns and wonders if she's really calling him a jerk, or just trying to be funny. "You going home?" he asks as she draps her bag over her shoulder and stands.

She pauses for a moment. "Yes, why?"

He shrugs, poking at his empty glass. He asked for a reason, they both know, but he won't admit to it. Just the fact that the thought even crossed his mind makes him nauseous, and for the first time in a while he feels ashamed of himself.

Tosh has sat down again, and reaches out for his hand. "Talk to me, Jack. You've been so quiet the past few days, only speaking to us when you're giving out orders…"

His fingers twitch beneath hers and he tries to pull away, but she's determined to keep his attention now that she's got it. "I don't wanna talk, Tosh," he says simply.

"Why? You never talk to us.I-I'll go back to the Hub with you. We can talk there, if you like."

He chuckles. These people can be so naïve. Go back to the Hub and talk, sure, and then wake up the next morning to Tosh wondering why exactly she never left. Not that he's accusing her of anything; he knows what he's capable of.

"We're not going anywhere," he insists. He won't use her like that; even Jack Harkness has his limits. No, he'll send her home and go find some unsuspecting street walker. "Go home, Tosh. Get some rest."

She protests more than once, but he eventually shakes her off and follows her a few blocks just to make sure she's really gone. When he turns back, he spots his prey; a lonely-looking young man in his early twenties, just begging for attention.

He puts that mask back on, the one he wears around his team. Jack Harkness — calm, suave, collected. Jack Harkness… just another in an earth-sized web of lies.

***