Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I wouldn't mind owning Jack Harkness, though . . . (leer)

Captain Jack Harkness studied the big, square box in front of him with interest. On the outside was writing, carved into the . . . stone? Well, the alien artifact, anyway.

He glanced at the jar on the pedestal nearby. It held a hand, which was bubbling. It seemed to be reacting to the black box.

He'd meant to do something with it, maybe throw it out, but he hadn't quite known how to go about it. He didn't really need it anymore after the Year That Never Was, but it had seemed kind of disrespectful to just toss it in the garbage or something.

He thought wistfully of the stars. No one seemed to remember them now. Only him.

Perhaps it was because he was now a permanent fixed point in time, but he remembered.

He snickered to think of what the Doctor's reaction would be to his hand put on display in the museum.

"You did say you liked museums, Doctor," he'd say to him innocently.

Oh, but if only the Doctor were here. Surely he'd fix this. Except, perhaps there was no Doctor anymore.

Something had happened, something that appeared to have wiped out all living alien species. It was because of that that there was no Torchwood. No UNIT. No Gwen with her gap-toothed smile, her compassion, no Owen with his grumbling, frequent curses, and gruff manner. No bedside manner whatsoever, that man. No Tosh with her brilliant mind and good heart. No Ianto, with his tea tray and his stopwatch, and those beautiful Welsh vowels of his.

No team.

Jack sighed deeply. God, he was getting more and more depressing lately, wasn't he? He turned away from the box, the Pandorica, a sign proclaimed it, and was about to walk away when he spotted a little red-haired girl frowning at the exhibit.

"There should be stars," she announced.

"What are stars?" a little boy asked.

She pointed upwards. "They're in the sky. Or at least, they should be. They're like . . . lights. And they only come out at night."

"I haven't seen any."

"Me neither." She didn't sound disappointed or sad, but a little angry, as if she got a pervading sense of wrongness from it.

"I want to see them," the boy said.

She looked at him. "Me, too."

A woman, presumably the boy's mother, dragged the protesting child away. The girl crossed her arms over her chest, her foot tapping, her brow furrowed in thought. Then she glanced around and ducked into the crowd. Jack lost her for a moment, but he caught her again when she ducked into a display of tall, yellow grass that hid her well.

Curious, he followed and slid down beside her. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

She looked at him. "Waiting."

"For what?"

"For the museum to close."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I have to."

"Why?"

"I just do."

"Won't your parents be worried?" he commented.

"I have to do this," she repeated.

They stared at each other. Finally, Jack shrugged and leaned back, crossing his hands behind his neck. "Then I'll wait with you."

"Why?" she asked curiously.

"Because I want to," he answered.

Hours later, they waited a few minutes after the lights dimmed, then crept out. The girl, who'd identified herself as Amelia, stood staring at the Pandorica for a moment, tilting her head this way and that. Then she looked around the room. Her gaze stopped on the Doctor's hand (which Jack had privately nicknamed Handy). "This," she declared. "Can you get that out for me?"

"Why this one?"

She shrugged again. "Because."

Because he wanted to see what would happened and this was surely no coincidence (the Doctor's hand!) and because, just maybe, he was starting to feel a spark of hope, he did as she asked.

She held the jar up, studying it. Then, giving a smile of victory to show that she'd figured it out, she opened it. Jack nearly said something, could feel words welling in his throat, but for some reason he stayed silent.

Amelia, showing no squeamishness whatsoever except for a wrinkled nose, took out the hand. She ducked inside the exhibit, and, after glancing from the box to the hand and back, placed it to the Pandorica.

Immediately, the carvings on the black alien thing began to glow green. Amelia, eyes widening, bended under the red rope around the display and hurried over to Jack, huddling into him and wrapping her arms around his leg. Then she turned and watched as the Pandorica began to open.

White light spilled from the cube. Jack shaded his eyes while Amelia buried her face in his side.

Then it was done. And what sat in the center of the Pandorica, supposedly the holding prison for a being so powerful, so fierce and formidable and unstoppable that all the beings of creation were frightened by it, was a man in a tweed suit and a red bowtie. His brown hair flopped into his thin face. His eyes were deep-set and his eyebrows were nearly nonexistent. Needless to say, this was not what Jack had been expecting.

Then the man's eyes fell on the two before him, and a wide smile split his face. "Well," he said cheerfully, "if it isn't Amelia Pond, The Girl Who Waited. Hello, Pond. Fancy seeing you again. Had you done something with your face? You seem much younger than the last time I saw you." He peered down at her. "Hmm, you seem a big shorter, too. Let me tell you something, Amy. Don't ever change your name to Williams. Listen to it. Amelia Williams. Amelia Pond. See? Clearly much better." His eyes shifted to Jack. "And Jack Harkness! The man forever set on rinse, wash and repeat. Or is that wash, rinse and repeat? I can never remember. Hello, Jack. How's the team? Doing well, I hope? Good. And you yourself? Good, good. I could really use a hand here, Jack." He tugged at his wrists, which were held to the chair he sat in by metal cuffs. "In fact, why don't we go for two? It's a good number, two. Two hands, two feet, two eyes, two hearts, two noses . . . wait, I've only got one nose, haven't I? Hmm." He frowned thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, Jack was staring at him in shock. He could feel his heart sink. "Doctor?"

The man looked at him again, his face splitting in a bright grin. A little too bright. "Jack?"

"How long have you been in there?" Jack whispered.

"How long? Depends. What year is it? What decade? What century? In fact," He leaned forward, his green eyes glittering, and how could that possibly be a smile? "what millennium?"

Jack stared at him, swallowing. "It's 2008, Doctor," he said softly.

The Doctor stared at him for a moment, then he leaned back, his (not-)smile fading. "That long, eh?" he said softly. Suddenly, he looked tired, much too tired.

"How long, Doc?"

The Doctor's eyes moved to little Amelia, who was looking up at him curiously from her place by Jack's side. "Two thousand years too long." His voice was quiet.

Dear God. "Doctor." Jack looked pained.

"Who are you?" Amelia demanded.

The Doctor gave her a surprisingly gentle smile. "Hello. I'm the Doctor."

The little red-headed girl appraised him. "You are very raggedy," she observed.

The Doctor stared at her, then suddenly laughed. "Yes, I am, Amelia!" he gasped. "I am very, very raggedy!" Abruptly, he leaned forward intently. "Tell me, Amelia. What do you think of fish fingers and custard?"

Jack stared at the man. Good Lord, he'd finally lost it.

Amelia wrinkled her nose. "I don't know. Is it good?"

"Very good, Amelia." He sighed, slumping back in his chair. "Very good. Much better than beans or bacon or toast." His eyes softened. "Though, I suppose apples aren't too bad. Especially ones with smiley faces."

Annnd, past the cliff and over the edge of insanity. Goodbye, mental stability. Goodbye.

"That's what my mom used to do," Amelia spoke up. "She used to cut faces into apples so that they wouldn't scare me."

The Doctor smiled at her. "And it worked, didn't it?"

She nodded her head.

Jack looked between them. It was obvious the Doctor knew her. Perhaps he wasn't quite as mad as he'd thought him to be. "How did you get stuck in there?" asked the Captain.

The Doctor gave a small laugh. "An alliance, Jack. For the first time in the history of what ever was and what ever will be, there was an alliance between the aliens of war. The Daleks and the Cybermen and the Sontarans, the Zygons, the Moxx of Balboon . . . you remember the Balboon, don't you, Jack? You were there, after all . . . when the planet disintegrated . . ." His brow furrowed. "Weren't you? No . . . yes . . . no . . . when Rose first traveled with me? After the Nestene consciousness? I went too far . . . twelve whole months, Jack . . . why does that seem like so little time to me? So little . . ."

Or not.

"Let's get you out of there, Doc," Jack said gently.

"Oh, would you?" the Doctor asked gratefully.

"Would your screwdriver work? Where is it, anyway?"

"Left shirt pocket. It's a little different from when you last saw it, when it was blue. Was it blue? It was blue at some point . . ."

"I got it, Doctor." Jack pressed the button and it made a high-pitched whining noise. The cuffs on the Doctor's wrists sprang open.

The Doctor pulled them out, rubbing his slender wrists, which seemed far too fragile at the moment. He tried to stand, and it seemed as if it took far too much effort to do so. Jack stepped forward and caught him as he wavered on his feet. "No worries, Doc. I got you."

"Yes. You do, don't you?" To his utter and complete shock, the Doctor's face began to crumple, and he placed his head on his shoulder and buried his face in his coat, digging his fingers into the fabric and clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping him upright, which wouldn't be so worrying if it hadn't seemed as if he was.

Amelia felt inordinately worried for this raggedy man, this Doctor, and she placed her arms around him. Small though they were, they gave him a strength she could not have imagined she could provide.

After a while that was probably only minutes but seemed like far longer, he pulled back. "Right." He took in and let out a shuddering breath. "Let's do this. Jack, do you have your vortex manipulator?"

"Right here." Jack loosened it from his wrist and held it over, somehow sensing what he was about to do.

The Doctor strapped it to his arm and took a moment to look at his dearest, precious, beautiful friends. "Right, then." He offered an uncertain smile. "Wish me luck."

Jack saluted him, though he knew how he disliked those kinds of gestured. "Good luck, Doctor."

"Wait!"

They both looked down at Amelia, who looked around and quickly snatched a red fez from a nearby display, then grabbed a mop and placed it in one of the Doctor's hands. "For protection," she said solemnly.

The Doctor gave her the softest smile in all of creation. "Amelia Pond. Thank you." He bent down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "You are absolutely brilliant, Pond."

He looked at Jack, who gave him an encouraging smile that said, "You can do it." And the Raggedy Doctor placed his hand on his head, pulled him to him, leaned forward, and set a kiss on his forehead, also. Then he leaned back, smiled brightly and announced, just before pressing the button on the vortex manipulator and zapping away, "Geronimo."

("Hello, Rory!")