-1Author's note: Hey, I had some inspiration and absolutely had to type this up. It's a little…contemporary. I tried out a new kind of writing style and instead of angsting over whether or not the style was a good idea, I thought I'd get everyone's opinion. So please, please send feedback my way. I want to know if anyone likes the style I've tried out. Thanks guys!! And thanks for telling me about the underlining deal, I think I fixed it.

Disclaimer: no money. Seriously. Nada.

Jack sat alone in the hub at Torchwood. Running those same words through his head. Again.

"I miss them too" Ianto had said, and "Doesn't that count for anything with you?' Ianto had asked.

Jack had had no response at the time. So Ianto had left. And in his wake, Jack was reminded of a current American slang word. A word that, strangely enough, just seemed to fit the situation. And Jack realized why he'd had no answer for Ianto. Because how do you tell somebody that the reason you are being a douche is to protect yourself? How do you tell yourself for that matter? Jack feared many things, getting to close, living alone, knowing others died alone, being responsible for someone's death, being responsible for millions of deaths, being unforgivable, but what he feared most is that it was all unnecessary, that all the guards had no reason. The Doctor didn't have guards. The Doctor wasn't really immortal, though. Nigh immortal, but he had the comfort that one day he would day, could die. The Doctor also had a Tardis and the ability to leave people behind. Jack had no such luxury. He must watch everyone who walked into Torchwood either walk out sans their memories of the place and him or be stashed away in the morgue. One way or another, he had three choices. One, watch them enter eagerly and die eagerly and he would only be able to take solace in the fact that they died a good and brave death-albeit a little foolish. Two, watch them come in, break under the weight, and watch them walk out completely ret conned and oblivious, and Third, and he couldn't decided whether or not this was the worst one, he could watch them come in young and die old, wasting away in a bed, looking at him with resentment.

And the worst part? Comfort was impossible. He could talk it out, use Ianto as a rubbish bin for his angst and pain and anger, but everyone on this planet secretly spent so much time trying not to die, how could anyone understand yearning for death? TV and movies were also no help. He couldn't even escape in fiction. Any immortal characters were never alone. Even the vampires had friends that would be immortal with them.

There was only the Doctor. He was the only one who could understand. And they weren't a likely pair. At one point in time, Jack was very loyal to the doctor, cared very much about him. The Doctor made him a better person. But that time had passed. The Doctor would always remain a dear friend, an inspiration mostly, but the Doctor had also abandoned him, and well, Jack figured he'd be over that in about fifty more years.

Well, maybe he had already forgiven him. Jack thought of himself as partially responsible for Rose's fate. While he never meant to hurt Rose like that, and never, even in his angriest most resentful moments would have wished that fate for the Doctor, it was punishment enough. The Doctor left Jack stranded for over one hundred years, and Jack couldn't stop Torchwood London from taking Rose. That was fair enough. His time was penance for Rose's exile into another world.

But Jack was still immortal. And he couldn't hate Rose for that. She'd done it so purely out of love. And again, he was partly responsible for her exile, so while he never had wanted to punish her when he found out what she'd done, he had.

None of this, however, changed the fact that Jack was immortal. None of this changed the fact that Jack had become a douche in order to deal with it. Well, not a complete one. Eighty percent of one. 5 percent asshole, and 15 percent nice and decent guy. He knew it too. Oh, on some level, Jack knew it. He'd chosen it. What other choice did he really have? He was immortal. He had to become this to deal with the world.

But Ianto. He'd let him in. He'd let Ianto hear about his problems. Jack talked and Ianto listened. Jack was too afraid to let Ianto talk. Jack was only willing to go so far. He'd share his problems with the man, his bed-amongst other places- but not his sympathy, not his empathy, not his compassion. That was Jack's. And he couldn't afford to give it away. It wasn't worth it. To go around feeling compassion for a dying man. He daren't let Ianto confide in him. That didn't mean Jack was completely cold. He took it upon himself to care for all the members of his staff, make sure they were all getting along OK. Making sure they had healthy lives out of this hell hole. A warm hand on the shoulder here, a hug there, a kiss on the forehead or two-and where Ianto was concerned, there were other physical comforts that Jack could offer. But he couldn't offer true sympathy or true consul. He could only offer the advice of a very old man and a warm bed. That was all.

It's why he liked Gwen. Everything about her was giving. She gave compassion, and she never asked Jack to show her any. She demanded he show it to others. To strangers. He could give compassion to strangers-when he had to. They never asked for anything else. They asked only for one or two compassionate acts. And then he never had to worry about them again. And if they demanded more, he could delegate, set up some kind of system so he could move on. They never asked him to stay the night or to see him the next day. Just a bit of help here and there. And really, what else was he going to do with his immortal life? He might as well hand out the compassion to strangers.

But never to anyone he dared to get to know. To offer them that kind of help was unthinkable. And dangerous. He'd have to watch them die, and he couldn't do that knowing they were afraid and feeling compassion for that fear. He could he sit there, watching them die, feeling sympathy, feeling empathy for the fear of the lucky bastard that got to die was feeling. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Unless he had it all wrong. Which brought him to his original train of thought. What if all this was unnecessary? The Doctor did not find any of this necessary. Look where that got him, the Doctor had lost Rose. Of course, that was his fault, so as long as he didn't run into himself-which he couldn't now that it was past 2005-he'd be fine. The Doctor said he was fine. Well, Jack didn't really believe that for a second.

But that moment, that moment he'd had with Ianto just before he had walked into this room. What Ianto had said before he left. Two days after Tosh and Owen's death, and Ianto had stated a simple fact, and it had turned Jack's perspective upside down. "I miss them too, you know. " And then he'd asked "doesn't that count for anything with you?" Ianto had been trying to empathize. He never did that. He let Jack rant, rave, yell, scream, cry, "distract" him until Jack couldn't feel the pain anymore, but he never, ever in the history of Ianto tried to understand what Jack was going through. Ever. And now, now he tries. Tries to get Jack through the biggest douzy he'd faced since 1999 by empathizing. Empathy. What made Ianto think he could possibly miss them like Jack did? Why try to make Jack remember that they had anything emotional in common. Ianto was young, would never have the kind of problems Jack did, would never live long enough to have them. So what made Ianto think he understood what Jack was going through right now?

Unless Ianto actually did understand. In which case. Well. Then Jack was wrong. And if Jack was wrong, then his entire treatment of Ianto-hell of every person he'd come into contact with in the last 80 -100 years or so was wrong. It wasn't just mean or impolite, it was unnecessary. And behavior like that that lacks necessity is uncalled for. It made him 100 percent douche. And an unnecessary one at that. He could have been kind, gentle, helpful, loving, made their short lives easier. But he hadn't been, and that made him a douche, a terrible person, uncaring, an ecoule as his mother would've said. He did not want that. It meant he had caused them pain, suffering. It meant that he had not truly cared or loved. It meant he let others go on silently, alone, in their grief. It meant he hadn't let them share their happy moments with him. He hadn't celebrated the fleeting moments of joy. It meant Jack was a worse person then he thought. He didn't just kill evil aliens, he'd killed hope, he'd killed prayers. And if Jack was wrong, it meant he'd killed love.

So Ianto couldn't understand. It meant too much if he did.