It's all AU.

Jamie offered his extra cup of coffee to the other man, stepping into pace with him. He'd gotten two cups in hopes of sharing one and lo and behold. He steps out of the cafe and there's someone to share his coffee with. "Hey!"

Jack strode along the street, fuming, bewildered, frightened and generally upset as hell. His hands were fisted in his jacket pockets, his jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes were wild.

The Doctor had come home eventually and they'd talked. Well. Shouted. A lot. Eventually, the Doctor's self-righteous justifications had just got too much for Jack and for once he'd been the one to leave. Stumbled out of the TARDIS and into the street, wandering randomly while his head tried to deal with everything he'd discovered the last few days.

Jack turned suddenly and thumped his fist against the wall of a building, then leaned his head against his forearm and... slumped.

It was late.

It was always late, but this was a late Jack spent alone. A late night he couldn't look Ianto in the face, because he wouldn't understand. No one could understand. No one he could contact from 21st century Cardiff.

He'd been back in the 1940s, again, World War Two for the fifth time, and it was still beautiful. Still somewhere he wouldn't mind getting trapped, except for the responsibilities to his team and...to his namesake. If that was the right word for a man whose name he'd stolen without ever knowing the true worth of the man.

Well, now he knew. Now he'd seen, danced, kissed, loved and lost, all in one night, and better to have loved and lost, right? He'd believe that again soon.

Draining the last of the brandy from his tumbler, he set the glass down on his desk, pushed his chair back, and ran his fingers over the photograph one final time before adding it to the pile in the tin box and locking it away in the drawer. Reports of disturbances were already coming through, but with any luck, there were purely after effects of Owen tearing the rift open to retrieve them.

An urgent beep from the direction of Tosh's desk called to him, and Jack sighed, pocketed the key to his cabinet, and went out of his office to check on it. Intended to check on it.

Ended up in a familiar looking bar that he recognised within heartbeats, along with a slew of memories that...shit. Shit. Brant.

Jack and Brant and Ianto.

Now he really needed a drink. He crooked a finger at the android behind the bar, ordered a New Canaan brandy, knocked it back in one swallow, regretted it, and ordered another, turning to survey the inhabitants of the bar while waiting for a refill.

Spike was trapped in an empty warehouse. He'd been out for a stroll and, his sense of time being as off as everyone else's in this place, dawn had caught him unawares. His skin had been smoking by the time he'd ducked into the warehouse, and his disgust when he discovered it was completely empty and he had all day to kill had been immense. He'd slept for a bit, but he wasn't that tired, so he'd taken to stomping round and round the interior, pausing occasionally to take out his frustration on a wall or a bit of debris.