If there was anything that Jack Harkness had always been, it was proud. Proud of the way he looked and the way in which he presented himself. Though he might pretend otherwise he put a great deal of stock in what people thought of him. He had lived a considerable portion of his life trading on the way he looked and using it as a device much as anything else. His appearance was his most well constructed wall, one that could never truly be knocked down. The one he relied on the most.

Yet here it was crumbled at his feet

And he had nothing in him to conceal what was plan to see. He didn't even try.

So he allowed Reinette to finish her task, cleaning him and readying him. His hair cut away, barely any left but a tuft.

And then again came pain. Pain as he was taken from the bath to the bed and again cleaned. His body ached but there was something amazing about lying on a bed, even if the sheets were sore against his skin.

"You know they used to have posters up of me," he said, "where I lived. They called me the face of Boe. If only they could see me now."