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It was kind of ironic really, watching flames consume the pile of wood that held the body of the man who'd burnt so much of the world. The man who had held unquestionable power over the world, and those on the Valiant who weren't lucky enough to forget that power, was now an empty husk of burning flesh, and soon he wouldn't even be that. Ashes to ashes, Time Lords to dust. Pathetic empty dust that no longer held any power over anyone.
But that wasn't quite true was it? Jack might be free, no longer chained up at that bastard's mercy, but the same couldn't be said for the man standing next to him, gazing into the flames, no tears left to cry, but every bit of the grief and despair still alive in his eyes. In a sense the Master now had more power over him, over his hearts, than he ever had when he was alive and the Doctor had been his prisoner. Well that had been the point, hadn't it? His final victory. If that was all it took to make the Doctor care for you then Jack would have done it years ago, if only that wasn't the one thing he couldn't do.
No that was a lie too. Jack couldn't have done any of the things that made the Doctor feel such love and grief for such a terrible man. He couldn't have two hearts, he couldn't share the precious memories of the Time Lord's golden youth, on the beautiful red grass of Gallifrey. He could be smart, but not a genius, never close to the incomprehensible knowledge and wisdom that the Master and the Doctor had shared, no matter how wicked that wisdom was. He couldn't understand time in all its intricacies and all its magnificent ever-moving ever-changing beauty. Not the way those two could. He couldn't save it or twist it to suit his desires, burn it to the ground or put out the flames. He’d never be able to play the game those two had been playing for so many centuries, the fearsome dance between hero and villain, with entire civilisations as chess pieces to be trodden on with each step.
An alien-fighting organisation built in his honour? Over a century of dedicated waiting for his return? A year of dying again and again going through torture that the most cursed prisoners of war would never have to suffer through? None of that mattered, none of that could compare to what the Master was to the Doctor simply by being alive. No matter how long he lived (and oh he was going to live so long) no matter what he did for him, Jack could never be more than a human. And a wrong one at that.
In all the years Jack had waited for the Doctor, he had prepared himself for hate and disgust from him. He was ready for that, he must have earned the Doctor's hate somehow, what else could have possibly prompted him to abandon him like that, to leave him alone on an empty game station with only corpses and Dalek dust for company? In his fantasies (well his more appropriate but generally less pleasant ones) Jack had come up with a thousand reasons for why he had inspired such hate, a thousand ways the Doctor would explain it to him with fury and disappointment and disgust, and a thousand ways Jack could make it up to him. Over a hundred years was a long time to scrutinise your every word and action, and he'd had more dreams of redemption over those years than he'd had deaths, and god that was saying something. He could do it, he could change whatever it was that he'd done wrong, he could better himself and become someone worthy of the Doctor. Maybe not of his love, and only in his most hopeful dreams could he expect the kind of.... dancing he'd longed for from the first time he'd met him all those years ago. But he could manage admiration, respect, to be someone the Doctor valued as a companion. He could be by his side as an equal for as long as he wanted, which if Jack was honest with himself was a really long time. That was all that Jack wanted, what he'd strived for for so long, what he'd do anything for.
Which was why it had hurt just as much as anything the Master had done to him over that last year to learn that there was nothing he could do. He couldn't make up for his wrong doings because they weren't wrong doings, it was his existence that was wrong. His life, his being, his every breath, every movement he made every time he dared enter the Doctor's vision. All wrong.
The fact that it would be disrespectful to laugh at a funeral (not that he gave a shit about respecting that particular corpse, just the man mourning it) was the only thing that kept Jack from giving out a bitter laugh. After everything he'd done to the world, to the Doctor, to Martha's family to Jack (if that mattered at all) the Master was still what the Doctor needed purely by existing, and Jack was still everything the Doctor needed gone from his life and his universe purely by doing the same. And worst of all there was no way for the Doctor to get the Master back, and no way for him to get rid of Jack. Fate couldn't have been so cruel if the Master had constructed it himself as some intricate torture. Jack had often wondered what he'd done to piss Lady Luck off so bad, maybe he'd screwed her sister one time.
Beside him the Doctor continued to stare at at the smoke rising from the woodpile, breathing in the scent of burning wood and something else, staring through it at some distant memory, some emotion Jack could never touch. Watching the way the man shook Jack hated himself for feeling such sympathy and compassion for him when all he wanted was to despise him.
How could he love that bastard?! How could he grieve him? Did it not matter that he'd killed a tenth of humanity, enslaved the rest, torched whole cities to the ground, killed and tortured and killed and killed, created the planet wide war zone that poor Martha had had to trek through, watching every unspeakable horror, keeping every horrific memory even after the world returned to safety? Did it not matter that he'd kept Tish and Francine and Clive as slaves on the Valiant for a year, every day full of abuse, every day in fear that they'd do something wrong that would earn them a fraction of what Jack was going through. Did that matter? Did anything that had happened to Jack matter? Could the Doctor have forgiven the Master if he'd done that to him? To another Time Lord? To Martha? ...To Rose? How could he look at the remains of a man who had done all that with anything other than relief and brutal satisfaction that he was finally gone from the world.
"You don't have to stay you know." The Doctor's voice was hoarse from tears, but betrayed no emotion other than emptiness, which Jack knew well was it's own kind of emotion. "You can wait in the Tardis, it won't be long until he's... Until the fire's done."
When Jack finally willed himself to respond, avoiding eye contact, he could hear how tight and strained his voice was "Yeah but I will anyway."
The two stood in silence for a minute longer, the crackling of wood the only sound. A cold wind made Jack shiver despite the heat from the funeral pyre.
"I know it's not fair... For me to feel this way... I don't expect you to understand."
This time Jack let out a bark of a laugh, funeral etiquette be damned. "I'm not THAT stupid Doctor. I've had people I love die before you know, I'm not incapable of understanding grief." The Doctor nodded but didn't say anything. Whether out of lack of ideas of anything useful to say, or out of a kind attempt to let Jack blow off steam, as if all the shouting in the world could possibly let out all the anger locked up in his undying body, Jack didn't know. "Because that's what it is isn't it Doc? You loved him. Love him."
There was more to say, more rage, more bitterness more despair, but it really wouldn't do either of them any good for Jack to voice it, and those three sentences already made it perfectly clear to the Time Lord.
"Yes." was all the Doctor said. All he needed to say. The Doctor loved the man who had tortured Jack, what more was there to it.
"So what do I do with that Doc? Where do I go from here?" he tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, he really tried, but it was there unmistakable, unmissable.
"Well I can't decide that for you... But my advice would be that you go home."
'And where is that?' he wanted to ask, but he wouldn't because the Doctor's meaning was clear. No matter how much he wanted it to be, the Tardis wasn't his home, it could have been once, but it never would be now. He'd have to make do with what he had back at Torchwood, because that was all he was being offered by anyone.
He supposed it wasn't so bad. Maybe they'd betrayed him once but they at least they'd doubted him based on his actions, not on his existence alone. Maybe Ianto had kept a Cyberwoman hidden in the base but at least the woman he'd been mourning was the woman she'd been before, not the monster she was now. Maybe Owen had shot him in the head but really, getting shot was the least of his problems after what he'd just been through. Home was too cuddly of a term, there was a coldness and grittiness to Torchwood's missions that the adventures in the Tardis had never had, but it was a place to be. A place he was somewhat welcome.
"Yeah. I guess you're right." He glanced at the funeral pyre one more time. He was pretty sure the Master's body was completely burnt up by now, but the Doctor didn't look like he was planning to move until every last flame had burnt out. Jack however was tired, and really didn't want to be near the Master's body ever again, even if it was just ashes now. Stretching in the best that he could fake of nonchalance, he turned and walked away towards the Tardis.
"Jack..." the Doctor called after him, and when Jack heard the emotion in his voice, the most emotion he'd heard in it since before the funeral had begun, for just a second Jack let himself hope for something else, some glimpse of affection from the man he'd loved for so long. But only for a second.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry... for all of it."
Jack didn't have anything to say to that so he walked inside the spaceship without another word. It was all he could do not to violently slam the door shut behind him.
The tension between Jack and the Doctor was hidden from sight as he said his goodbyes to him and Martha, wonderful Martha, who deserved so much more, more than Jack could ever pretend he deserved. They'd been all charming smiles, all good natured laughs, all wistful philosophy about the nature of responsibility, all playful banter as they both avoided talking about the real reason Jack would not continue his travels with the Doctor like he'd dreamed of doing for so long.
And when he ran back towards the Hub listening to the echoes of the Tardis's engines taking off, his enthusiasm was only part faked. He really did look forward to seeing his team, he really had longed to be with them again over the last year, to see their smiling (or actually more often glaring now that he thought of it) faces, and see them safe and sound (well as safe as you could ever be working for Torchwood) untouched by the Toflacane.
He had no intention of confronting them honestly about what had happened, about the year that never was, about the bitter truth of how his reunion with ‘the right kinda doctor’ had gone. He'd kept enough from them before, and what was the point in all the damage to the world being reversed if they found out what had happened anyway? He bore no physical scars and neither did the world, this burden was his, Martha's and the people on the Valiant's alone to carry. Why bother them with the uncomfortable reality?
No he'd just shrug it off, a half hearted apology and bullshitted excuse about being away for a week, his best charming smile to make them all forget any grudges they still had, then some crisis would inevitably happen and they'd all be too busy chasing weevils and mysterious aliens from the rift to ask any questions, back to business as usual.
Maybe he'd get laid by Ianto later that night if he was feeling forgiving. Maybe they'd have fun picking on Owen for something annoying he'd said. Maybe Tosh would seek approval on some incredible discovery she'd made over the last week, some breakthrough in her calculations. Gwen would probably find something else to be pissed off about, she was pretty good at that and he'd missed how cute she looked when she was mad.
He'd missed it all, their every day adventures, even the horrible ones, being able to fight for their lives and the fate of Cardiff and the world, instead of watching helplessly as it was all destroyed. The banter, their endearing Welsh accents, their courage, their futile attempts to hold the wreck that was their personal lives together, so normal despite the abnormal bizarre danger they dealt with in their jobs every day. So human. God he'd missed their humanity. Those sweet wonderful humans shouldn't have to know about the inhuman monster who had caused Jack so much pain.
So plastering on his best grin he walked through the tourist information shop, whistling an old Broadway tune to himself as he opened the secret door and strolled as casually as he could into the hub.
Four stunned faces froze as he walked in. Tosh was at her computer, Ianto was hovering by the coffee machine, and Gwen was helping clean a white substance that looked suspiciously like Myfanwy's shit off a scowling Owen.
He'd expected a barrage of angry questions but instead they just stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Speaking was a talent of his, well he had many talents but he'd always been good at charming people with his words, into people's beds and out of guarded prison cells. But right now he couldn't think of a single thing to say.
"You'll never guess the week I just had. Met an old friend who took me on the most amazing ride, and he introduced me to the cutest girl and she had a sister! Gorgeous women. I even spent some time tied up, what a week!" He cursed himself for how forced his voice sounded, how much it wavered. He'd thought he was ready for this, but seeing them all here alive and okay and looking at him not with anger, but with worry (well maybe not Owen but since he was the type who'd rather be seen buck naked than showing any emotion that wasn't irritation or scorn, the slight frown on his face was more than Jack was expecting) filled him with emotions that he was struggling to contain.
Why weren't they pissed off at him? He'd run off without a word of explanation or warning and left them trekking through the Himalayas. They were ready to shoot him just for expecting them to follow orders a few weeks ago, now they weren't even a little bit pissed? Was he really so obvious? He was really trying to keep it together, keep smiling, but their fucking concern was getting to him. He'd had enough of sympathy and useless self serving apologies, he just wanted them to get mad at him and bicker and act like nothing had changed, nothing was wrong.
"I know, it's been a while. Anything happen other than the Himalayas business -don't ask how I know about that- have the weevils been alright? The rift hasn't been acting up has it?" God he must've spent too much time around Time Lords this last year, he was babbling enough to put the Doctor to shame. This wasn't like him. Was he really such a nervous wreck after this? Was he really so anxious talking to his own team? Was he really-
"What's wrong Jack?" It was a simple question. It was a pretty obvious one to ask, something was clearly wrong with him. He was doing as good a job at hiding that as the Doctor had done of hiding his apparent contempt and sickening pity for Jack, but for some reason it shook him. Hearing Tosh ask him what had happened, no guilt or desire to make up for something she knew was her fault but had no intention to change with a useless, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry", just a pure desire to understand, to help...
That's what his team was, they weren't wild eccentric geniuses with the power to burn galaxies or rescue them. They were simple, troubled humans who just wanted to do something with the limited human abilities they had at their disposal, to do something to help.
Tosh's eyes were widening now, so were Gwen's, Ianto looked like he was about to drop the mug he had in his hands. What had them so spooked?
Oh. He was crying. Fuck. He was crying.
Get it together Jack! What happened to keeping it casual and not burdening them? No one was dead, he wasn't in pain anymore, what damn reason did he have to be crying? If they'd looked shocked by his sudden return it was nothing compared to their expressions now, frozen like a deer in headlights, like he'd just turned into some bizarre alien.
It was Ianto who made the first move. Decisively placing the coffee mug down, he walked across the hub and slowly reached his arms out and pulled Jack into an embrace. His sturdy arms held him close as Jack felt his chest shake with pathetic sobs.
"It's ok sir, you don't have to say anything." Ianto may not have understood what was causing this, but he must have understood the emotions Jack was going through right now. His own distinct form of grief, maybe of a dream not a person, but grief nonetheless, something he understood well. He understood that there was nothing he could do to help other than be there, and that even that was more than Jack would ever ask of him.
Jack's eyes were so blurred with tears that he couldn't see the next person to join Ianto, but he could feel from the leather coat and gentle movements that it was Tosh. Her arms wrapped around his waist, soft hair tickling his neck as she pressed her forehead into his shoulder from behind. It wasn't long until a person who must have been Gwen joined them, her hug a little messier than Ianto's focused placement of arms and Tosh's delicate hold, instead enveloping all three of them in a somewhat crude, but genuinely loving bear hug.
"Oh you are fucking kidding me."
"Owen!" Gwen hissed.
"Well if you want to be all sappy and cosy be my guest but I-"
"Quit being a twat and get over here!"
Jack could almost hear the gape in his voice "Are you serious?!"
"Owen..." Gwen said his name with a voice that promised that he'd be locked in a cage with a Weevil if he didn't do what she said right this moment.
"...Don't blame me when you get pterodactyl shit on you."
"Wait no don-"
"I take it back you don't have to get over here!"
"Gwen what have you done-"
But it was too late and a fourth pair of arms was around him and Jack hadn't realised how much Pterodactyl shit smelled but couldn't bring himself to care right now. His team apparently had other ideas.
"Owen!! That's mank!"
"Well you asked for it!"
"And here I thought your personality was the stinkiest thing about you!"
"Hey I'm not the one who decided keeping a bloody Pterodactyl as a pet was a good idea!"
"The rest of us manage to dodge her crap why can't you?"
"I signed up to fight aliens not play dodgeball with dinosaur crap!"
"Aren't we getting off topic here?"
"It's hard to not get off topic when you're covered in shit!"
"Oh now you think having dinosaur crap on you is a horrible experience! You weren't so sympathetic 20 minutes ago, you were busting a gut laughing."
"I was laughing at your reaction not the shit!"
"You've got to admit it was pretty funny..."
"If it's so funny why don't you take over the next weevil toilet duty!"
"What does that have to do with anything?!"
"Shit is shit!"
"Weevil crap is worse than pterodactyl crap and you know it!"
"I don't know, why don't you try getting covered with it, then you can judge for yourself!"
"I have been! And it was your fault!"
"That was months ago! You said you'd forgotten about it!"
"Who'd forget getting covered in Weevil crap because some idiot took his eye off the one we were chasing?!"
"Water under the bridge you said!"
"Well it was shit under the bridge and it was on my head so yes I lied when I said I forgave you."
"You weren't the only one! Tosh got shat on too!"
"I haven't forgiven you either."
"Sod all of you! I hope the weevil barfs on you next time!"
"What difference does it make? They eat shit anyway!"
"Actually I'm pretty sure it was vomit. The consistency and scent did seem human only more broken down... I think I smelt bile too."
"Well I hope it does it again!"
"And I hope Myfanwy shits in your coffee every day."
"With your coffee I'd barely notice the difference!"
"My coffee is excellent and you know it."
Listening to the sweet sound of their bickering, and feeling the comforting warmth of their, admittedly shit covered, arms around him, Jack managed to swallow his tears and compose himself enough to smile weakly and be able to speak.
"Well when I dreamed of being between you guys I never imagined pterodactyl shit would be part of the equation. Not the kind of yelling I had in mind either..."
Gwen whacked him on the head for that, but didn't withdraw from the group hug. "I see a week away didn't change your dirty mind!"
"No," he laughed, "a year away couldn't change my dirty mind, especially when I have four very attractive people holding onto me."
Ianto turned towards Owen. "Define attractive..."
"Oi! I'm gonna shoot you next if you keep that up!"
"Anyway welcome back sir. We were wondering for a second with that 'public enemy number 3' thing..."
"Wait I was only number 3? That bastard!"
"That bastard?"
"Like I said, long story, crazy week... I wasn't kidding about that cute girl and her sister though..."
"You're never kidding about a cute girl."
"Why would I ever kid about such a thing?" He gave Tosh and Gwen a soft kiss on the cheek, gave up any chances of giving Owen one when he leaned back out of range, and honestly didn't especially want to since he still had shit on his face, then gave Ianto a somewhat more intimate one, this time on the lips. It was far from his best kiss, he was still shaken, he was pretty sure his nose was running, and his red eyes couldn't have been a pretty sight either, but Ianto didn't seem to mind.
He supposed he was wrong when he'd said Torchwood wasn't a cuddly place, as reluctant as Owen seemed, there was no other word to describe the slightly tacky but greatly appreciated group hug they were giving right now. They never failed to surprise him, and he had to say he was much happier with this surprise than getting shot in the head by them. It'd been a long time since he'd last been so pleased to be proven wrong.
That being said, as he would find out later that night, he was right about one thing... As it turned out, much to his delight, he was going to get laid by Ianto.