Written For: Challenge 544: Age at tw100.
Summary: Jack has no way of knowing his true age, but maybe it doesn’t matter.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Jack has no idea how old he is anymore; zapping about through time and space will do that.
Spending getting on for two thousand years buried alive beneath Cardiff doesn’t help either. How much of that time was he actually alive and how much was he either dead or in a kind of limbo somewhere in between? There’s no way of knowing.
Then again, he’s going to live forever if what the Doctor told him is true. He’ll die and come back to life time and time again, until the end of the universe and maybe even beyond that. In a few million years, his age will be immaterial, just a meaninglessly immense number, too great for the human mind, even that of the universe’s oldest man, to comprehend.
Maybe he should give up bothering about things like birthdays and getting older, pick an age and stick to it. Thirty-five maybe; that’s not too young to be the head of a secret organisation, or too old for his vanity to handle. It’s not as if he’s ever going to look his real age, whatever that might be. In fact, he could probably pass for younger.
Immortality has rendered him ageless.