It's all AU.

Jamie had talked to his dad.

Jamie had been drafted (without resistance) to bring food and diapers to the Jack and baby holed up in a hotel room. He also brought a knife and gun for the other man as well as fresh clothes for both the baby and adult.

He knocked on the door with his elbow, "Hey, it's Jamie."

Not that he would necessarily remember Jamie but well. Jamie's not John or the Doctor or someone he knows is nutty.

( Cut for blood, babies, and (un)believability )

He'd walked into the bathroom one morning and found himself back in the dingy flat he'd been living in for the past five years. He didn't remember a damn thing. He went back to worry and panic and defensive anger, easy as could be. He stayed there for two and a half weeks. Give or take a day.

Then he woke up, nauseated beyond anything he'd experienced in the past few months. He bolted for the bathroom, stumbled through the door and found himself - back in the hotel, fortunately in a bathroom.

He came out of the room a few minutes later, into the hall. He was greenish white, jaw set and hurting and sick and pissed the mother fucking hell off.

"So, this is awkward," Jack sat down at the bar, staring at the other man a little curiously.

Worried by the other Doctor's muttering about this place killing his TARDIS, he'd gone back to his own to check up on her. She seemed fine. Stable, not losing energy. But no matter how many times he tried, and what coordinates he punched in, she couldn't complete dematerialisation.

That was far too reminiscent of the years he'd spent trapped on Earth by his own people. He seethed a bit, stomping around the console room, but patted the TARDIS apologetically when he was done to let her know it wasn't her fault.

It was a bit of comfort to know, like most that time in the 1970s, that the Master was trapped here with him. Two actually - the disturbingly crazy version, and the disturbingly human one.

Upon reflection, that wasn't very comforting.

Oh, well. Puttering around the TARDIS probably wasn't going to get him home any faster. Maybe he should investigate some of the little shops around. He liked a little shop. If he was lucky he'd run into someone new and interesting to talk to. Which would be a wonderful distraction from the fact that he was not at all where he'd wanted to be.

Ooh, hardware.

It was going to have to happen sooner or later, Jack supposed.

Only so many roofs available to stand on, only so many places to get perspective, and too many of his analogues to be able not to coincide with them. After all, he'd already met his later self, his earlier pregnant self, and ...one that wasn't quite himself and he wasn't going to think too hard about that one.

Sooner or later, they'd end up on the same roof. At least it was flat and spacious, but his preferred gazing spot was occupied.

Moving forwards, he stood next to the man, mirroring his position, hands clasped loosely behind his back. "Nice coat for stargazing in."

"So, I'm the worst liar ever," Jamie said conversationally at the bar, "It's kind of sad, actually. I really should have better skills. Maybe it's this mouth. Nothing but truth and justice and that rot. What do you think? Is this a non-lying face? Or do I just need practice?"

"I just want to go home," Rose groaned, not even looking at who she was sitting down next to as she frankly flopped down.

He wanted a burger.

With chili, cheese, onion, pickles, tomato, ketchup and extra mayo. That wasn't the surprising part. What was surprising was that he'd been able to find it - one of the little side streets. Jack didn't know what the place usually served, but today they were serving what he wanted. He wasn't even going to question what it was doing there, where the farm was or what his food was actually made of - or if it was going to kill him.

He'd probably been better off throwing up. He was almost certainly going to regret it, later.

For the moment he was outside on the grass, managing to eat a sandwich the size of his head without making a mess, and thinking that food was better than sex.

He hoped.

When someone on their way past slowed to a stop Jack looked up, sucked chili off his thumb and said, "Shut up."

He was too blissed out on B-12 to sound like he meant it, though.

He was walking away from the dining room and out of the hotel. He had a cup of tea in one hand and was humming softly under his breath. When he spotted someone headed the same direction as him he pulled the door open for them, and held it. It got him out of the way, and kept the door between him and them. He did not, however, turn instantly into an asshole. "Nice night."

A dark haired boy with a Welsh accent had found him and told him to look for the crankiest Jack he could find. That was. Vague and disturbing enough that the Doctor actually started looking, combing the town.

After he'd finished eating, he'd gone to claim a room.

He walked around the hotel for a bit before he took a room, getting a feel for the layout of the place and looking out all the windows. In the end he'd settled on a room at the very end of the hall, on the top floor. He locked the windows and door, and content that he was as secure as he was going to make himself, took a shower and a nap.

He woke up stiff, groggy and nauseated. He took a leak, another shower, and a moment to appreciate the water's heat (and pressure).

Clean and more awake, Jack went back downstairs. A quick trip through the kitchen to grab a package of crackers, and he headed out of the hotel and into the town. He stopped to open the crackers and glance at the sky. He snorted softly, and started walking again. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew when he'd found it.

The library.

He finished eating his crackers just as he found it. He dropped the generic cellophane wrapper into the rubbish bin, pushed the door open and walked in. Ten minutes later he was in a chair, stack of books at his side and another open in front of him and thinking he'd kill for a decent computer.

Five minutes after that he glanced up and looked into his own face.

"Shit, this just keeps getting better."

Ianto was actually relaxed after putting up his bulletin board and a good night's sleep, wandering around the hotel with a cup of coffee, sleeves rolled up and tie loose. He caught sight of Jack, grabbed another cup of coffee and jogged a bit to catch up with him, offering it, "Morning, Jack."

He got up in the middle of the night because he had to piss.

He walked out of his bedroom, opened his bathroom door, stepped in and stepped out into a god damn hallway, with the ugliest fucking carpet he had ever seen, and not a toilet in sight.

At least he was dressed, right down to his great-coat and boots. Handy thing, being paranoid as shit.

"What the fuck is going on here, and who the hell is responsible for it?" he asked no one in particular.