Disclaimer: Let's see, who don't I own in this chapter? The Chulan computer, Jack (obviously), the Ninth Doctor, Rose, Mrs McGinty's Dead, Harry Potter, the TARDIS, the Daleks, Charles Dickens, Solomon, Ellis Island... Wait, I don't own Torchwood either.... Or it's best known anagram.
Who do I own? Drunk dude, 21st Century Britain: The Lingo and the Signs, the Rock That Trips Up Jack, and the mentioned "May"
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to a disgruntled Tiva4evaxxx (who claims that the last chapter of one of my other fics should have been dedicated to her-better Emily?- and she needs to UD cause she's only UDed her fantastic writing once in the past two weeks) and moonchild94 (whose brilliant writing and rambling have been keeping me sane).
"I think we better initiate security protocol 147." A full glass materialised Jack took it and began rambling at the Chulan computer.
Shocked he watched as a blue box warped in, "Now that is retro."
He jumped into it.
Jack put a set of reading glasses out of his pocket, kicking his feet onto a chair. He was feeling left out, Rose was sleeping, the seventh Harry Potter, The Deathly Hallows, lying open on her chest, the Doctor also with his feet kicked up sat reading Mrs McGinty's Dead, he let out a sudden cackle of laughter, "Agatha Christie is a genius, Jack. Have you read this?" he returned to his book without an answer. Jack opened up his book, 21st Century Britain: The Lingo and the Signs.
He was finally at home.
The execution squad arrived, plungers and whisks sliding towards him, in futile Jack fired at them, "Doctor, You've got twenty seconds maximum." He continued firing, backing away, his main gun ran out of ammo, from his waist he removed a handgun, he knew it was useless but he might as well keep it up, they would not find his body with working weaponry upon it.
When he finally had no arsenal left, Jack threw down the gun, he straightened his head, looking into the cold blue stalk, he saw his death coming, clearer than ever before. He grimaced.
"I kinda figured that." He opened his arms, Bring it on, he thought. A flash of white light burst across his vision.
Jack woke with a painful intake of breath. Every part of his body, inside and out ached. In front of him, the dusty remains of the Daleks lay. Suddenly, Jack heard an all too familiar sound, the TARDIS, and it was leaving without him.
Jack stood watching in disbelief and anger as yet another home left him behind. "That is not fair." He looked at his wrist. "... Cardiff.... I need to get to Cardiff."
Jack ran into a man on a snow ridden street in Cardiff. He had been yelling out maniacally, only a few seconds after Jack had heard a familiar sound ring through the air. Putting two and one together, Jack assumed the answer was....
"Merry Christmas." The man shouted in his face, drowning any thought Jack might have been capable of.
"Hi, hello, um, can you tell me....? Did you see a... a blue box?" Jack was slightly breathless. "A blue box?"
"Yes, a splendid sight." The man smiled clapping him on the shoulder, "Have a good Christmas."
As the man staggered off, drunk on pleasure, Jack cursed. "Doctor you better not have been my Doctor. If you were..." Jack wasn't sure what he would do.
Two months later...
Some lager, Jack could no longer remember what it was, he had been drinking almost non-stop for a month now, dribbled down his chin. He was in the middle of a two sided conversation with another man at the bar. The man leered... And when I shee him, I'm going to take shis bottle and stab him through..." It was the twentieth time he had slurred it that night, "... they shay he's dead, but I shaw him yesterday..."
The man's head drooped down, Jack oblivious to this replied, "The Doctor. He'll be able to fix me...When the Doctor.... it'll all be put right... He'll need to fuel at some point..."
The man drooled, "... Gently, May, we don't want to shquash the potatoes..."
"... you wait 'til I see the Doctor. First I'm going to kiss him," Jack smashed his glass, ignoring the wounds on his hand, "and then I'm going to kill him."
"... I need more carrot-shh.... May, you bum, where are my shprouts..?"
"I'm in New York?" Jack asked, confused. A small boy leaned over him.
"Yes sir. Ellis Island. You was shot, and chucked into this gutter."
"Right. So I was." Jack still appeared puzzled. He touched the skin over his heart, where he had felt the bullet enter and the blood still lay, red on his shirt. "Why was I on Ellis Island?"
"You are on Ellis Island."
"I know... Look, kid, what's your name?"
"Solomon, I live in New York City, but my da has business here."
"Right. Solomon, I need to know where the nearest place is where I can make a transatlantic telegraph from. Can you do that?" Jack removed a dollar coin from his pocket, Solomon's dark eyes widened. "Yes, sir. Follow me."
"Yessir." Jack grinned, coming back to himself steadily.
Jack stood, his toes wrapped over the limestone cliff's edge. It was a calm night, the sea lapped gently against the impressive silhouette that Jack stood upon. "Easy, Jack. This is probably not a good idea. Maybe it was just a fluke.... I'll do it some other time." He turned away from the cliff intending to walk back to Cardiff, and return to the bottle. Jack abruptly tripped, a rock slid out under him, the next thing he knew he was falling down the side of a cliff. His life did not flash before his eyes.
"Well, that's sh-" He splattered onto the rocks below.
Vomit erupted from Jack's mouth as he came around.
"Right... yuck... I can't even commit suicide. Perfect."
He stood up unsteadily, straightening his sodden shirt.