**The Weight of Responsibility**

Prompt: Jack harkness wakes up sick but with owen, tosh, gwen and ianto being mad at him for having been away for a wilhe, he does not want to bother them. So he pushes through. The team calls jack lazy and get mad at him for not being as sharp as normal, and it makes jack feel even more misarable. Eventualy he can’t hide his sickness eny longer. He is in a team meating when a wave of nausea overcomes him. He just about managed to grap the bin in time for him to puke. The team realises he is sick and cares for him.

Jack Harkness awoke to a harsh light piercing through the curtains of his room, his head throbbing like a forgotten prodigy at a Renaissance fair. The remnants of sleep clung to him indecisively, but that sinking feeling in his stomach told him something was amiss. It wasn’t just the haze of waking up; he felt unwell. He lay in bed a moment longer, contemplating whether to face the day. But he could already hear the distant sound of his team arguing in the hub, voices overlapping in familiar rhythms of banter and frustration. With a heavy sigh, he rolled out of bed, every muscle protesting in silent mutiny, and dressed, forcing himself to look presentable. After all, he had a team to support—even if he didn’t feel up to it. The team had been handling Torchwood’s myriad crises without him for longer than he expected. Jack had had to take a break—though his absence had stretched longer than he’d planned. He didn’t want them worrying about him, so he’d just need to push through the day, he reasoned with himself. When he finally stepped into the main hub, he caught sight of them seated across the long table, the usual spread of files and technological devices littered across its surface. Owen was the first to notice him, his brows furrowing as he crossed his arms defensively. “Look who decided to finally show up,” Owen muttered, the snark barely concealing his genuine annoyance. Tosh, usually the peacemaker, was unusually sharp too, her gaze assessing him as she adjusted her glasses. “Jack, you’ve been gone for weeks. You can’t just vanish and reappear as if nothing happened.” “Right, because having a life is against the office rules,” Jack shot back playfully, but the effort made him feel faint, so he dropped into a chair, keeping his smile steady despite a bitter taste at the back of his throat. Gwen chimed in, her tone more serious. “We had to deal with the last rift incident without you. You don’t just get to disappear because you feel like it.” “Yeah, you’re not as sharp as you usually are,” Owen added, brow raised. “You need to keep on top of things if you want to be our fearless leader. Can’t have you slacking now, can we?” Jack felt his insides twist uncomfortably—a nagging breathlessness laced with self-doubt swept through him like an unseen wave. He swallowed hard but kept his expression neutral, hiding the ache spreading through his body. “I’m here now, are you all right? What’s on the agenda today?” But the team was relentless. They huddled around him, and Owen continued, “First of all, you need to stop pretending you’re not sick. It’s obvious.” Jack scoffed, though the laugh turned into a small cough that caught him off guard. “I’m fine.” It was a lie, and deep inside, he despised the tension building between him and them, unsure if it was from their frustration or his stubbornness. They dove into the tasks ahead, and Jack tried to listen, he really did. But the longer he sat there, the more tired he felt, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. His vision blurred slightly, making it harder to focus on the screens before him. Time passed slowly, each second dragging endlessly by, with Owen throwing in jabs about Jack’s laziness and Tosh reminding them all how much they relied on him. The room buzzed with their conversation, but Jack’s sense of disconnection deepened. He took a sip from his coffee—strong, black—to pull himself together. Eventually, though, the nausea that had been simmering in the background surged. He felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and the cold chill slithered down his spine. It began as an irritable flutter, escalating rapidly until he felt as if he might snap in half. “Are you even listening?” Gwen’s voice broke into his swirling thoughts, bringing him back into focus. “Of course!” Jack managed to retort, forcing his voice to sound lively. “I’ve just been…” Before he could finish, another wave of dizziness took hold, leaving him unsteady. He barely had time to register the words tumbling from his lips before he was overtaken. The nausea hit like a freight train, fierce and unforgiving. With an instinctual move, he grabbed the nearest bin – one that had previously housed snacks and the occasional paperwork – and retched violently into it, feeling the contents of his stomach come up in forced succession. The room fell silent. For a moment, the only sound was Jack’s shallow breathing, punctuated by the rustle of paper as Owen and Tosh jumped up, Gwen’s eyes wide as she rushed to his side. “Jack!” Tosh gasped, her voice tinged with concern. “I’m fine,” he croaked again, but the defiance faded into a whimper, drowned out by the reality of his situation. “No, you’re not,” Owen said, urgency replacing the irritation in his tone. “You need to rest. Let us take care of you.” It was sweet in a way, hearing their concern despite their earlier anger. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to be cared for. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, a flicker of warmth igniting within him. “I’m—” “No,” Gwen interrupted softly, resting a comforting hand on his back. “You don’t have to pretend to be okay. We're a team, remember?” Jack realized, in that very moment, that even the weight of responsibility could be shared. And as he finally let the fear of vulnerability fade, the warmth of camaraderie settled in around him, infusing his aching spirit with a much-needed strength. Perhaps he could let them take care of him just this once.