Author's Note: I do now own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or any of Russell T Davis' characters.

*~*~*~*

"I don't see why I have to play guitar," the Ninth Doctor said with a bit of a sniffle. "I am perfectly capable of playing the drums. Or singing."

"If you sang, we'll be thrown out of the bar before we ever get started," Jack replied. He wasn't sure what this was – depression, being incredibly drunk, hallucinating – but he didn't care. He was having the best time in a long while due to three Doctors. He wasn't sure why there was three, but he didn't know the third one. The Ninth and Tenth complained that he was too young while the Tenth thought he was a bit too manic. Ninth argued it was Tenth's fault but he just raspberries that off.

"No, I am going to be singing," the youngest looking member of them all said. He was the one to get them all together. They knew that this wasn't the safest thing to do, but Jack thought that the rift in Cardiff would hold them together for at least one song or two. That was during the fact that he had a lot of stiff drinks, but could always use one more. "Jack is going to be backup vocals and all is right. Besides, I need money to fix the TARDIS now that Torchwood is dead."

"Always a good thing," Ten let slip out before he meant it to. "Sorry."

"No you're not," Jack replied as he tested out the drums. "Shall we draw up the curtain and see if anybody likes us?"

"It wouldn't hurt to say the least," the new one said as he made a motion to someone on the right side. The new one heard Ten beating the drums as Nine started the guitar. He waited for a small bit, hearing Jack do the small bit of backup vocal that needed to be done before he started singing "Walk Like a Maaaaaan" as Jack started to be-bop the backup vocals.

As Jack woke up in the warm bed, he looked around, wondering how he got there really. He was in a nice apartment and his head felt fuzzy. The fuzzy that he would get after some of the martinis he would order back in the 51st Century. He looked around again and blinked, letting his world sense come back into view. He figured out where he was – his apartment. He was back in the 51st Century and he felt – well, he felt good. He tried to figure out how he got there and saw a note on the side table. He picked it up and grinned as he noticed the Tenth Doctor's handwriting.

Jack – enjoy being back where you should be. And Happy Birthday – enjoy your present. Love, the Doctor.

P.S. ~ You have an appointment with Torchwood tomorrow at 3pm. You're welcome.

He wasn't completely sure about the love part, but he'll take it for now. He laid back on his bed, sighing contently. He looked at his wrist strap, which for the most part, was blinking like it would when he was working for the Time Agency. He sighed as he thought about being back at – wait, what?!

He grabbed the note again, reading over the post script. He sighed and put it aside, getting the cup of coffee that was there. He lifted himself up gently – didn't do well to have oneself spill coffee on his naked self and sipped at it. He looked oddly down at the coffee and sipped again. "Only one man knows how to make coffee that good," he said to himself and heard the noise for the shower. He put the coffee aside, picked up his gun and got out of bed. He made his way down to the bathroom and opened the door quietly. He stepped in and drew back the curtain.

"Oi, there's a draft!" The person said as he turned around. "Oh good, you're awake. Did you have a good sleep? I hope I didn't wake you – you did say it was alright to use it before I left."

Jack just stared at the man. The man in his shower was a dead ringer for a man he knew to be dead. Mostly due to the fact that he had seen and been the cause of the man's death. "Ianto?" was all he whispered before his knees buckled and he fell into a faint.