Working for Torchwood was dangerous. Everyone knew that. Few Torchwood agents lived into their thirties; living long enough to draw their pensions was a distant dream.
Each mission could be their last; it was something they’d learned to live with. The only one who could count on being alive tomorrow was Jack, yet despite the danger they all knew they were right where they wanted to be, doing a job that mattered, and that made it okay.
Jack understood how they felt, but at the end of each day he thanked the gods that his team hadn’t joined the fallen.