Jack gazed down from the roof of the building he stood on, watching people coming and going, busy with their lives, unaware of how close they’d come to losing everything.
The latest alien threat had been stopped, but just barely in time.
Aliens were like weeds. You dealt with one lot and more popped up, some worse than others.
Jack chuckled to himself. That made Torchwood the gardeners, dealing with the weeds so that the less robust plants, humanity, could flourish. He’d have to remember to tell Ianto that; he had a feeling the analogy would appeal to his lover.