It's all AU.

Koschei looked up from his book with caution. "Did we meet when I first got here?" he asked the Doctor in a black leather jacket.

Well, there had been talk of poisoning tea. He'd assumed that was a joke. Now he wasn't so sure.

Doors. Always before it had been doors. This time there'd been no door. There was no door, no hope of escape. One moment the weight of earth pressing down on his body, filling nose and mouth, gritty against dry eyes, breaking ribs, crushing his lungs, the desperate pain of dehydration and starvation before he died, again, and returned, again, to the same desperation, the same hopelessness, the same certainty of returning death - and the next moment, air. Blessed air, night air, dampness dragged into his lungs, grass and soil under his hands instead of against his face and surrounding his body.

Air.

Still dehydrated, still starved. Back out of place, out of time.

Jack drew one blissful, grateful breath, and died again.