Jack stalked down the street rubbing his forearm vengefully. 'We don't need to draw blood,' they say, 'We're not going to do a full blood work-up,' she promises, 'We've no need to x-ray every inch of you'… last time I go into a hospital after this sort of thing. Next time I'll flat out say 'No way'… doesn't matter how cute the medic is, my answer will be 'No way, no how'… He kicked the concrete beneath his feet as he made his way to the flat he was renting at the Powell Estate, just four doors down from the Tyler residence.
Guilt welled up again, weighing down every step he took up the stairs to his floor. He couldn't bear his own existence, much less the existence of the rest of the world-- the whole universe, really. It all reminded him of traveling with the Doctor and Rose. The heaviest bit of memorabilia he had was the piece of the Doctor that he took with him everywhere. I've got his hand… Jack allowed himself a slight smile at the thought.
He approached his flat and dug into his pocket for the key. Out came the bit of shiny metal, which was then thrust into the keyhole, jiggled about and turned, unlocking the front door to the one-bedroom apartment in which he led his empty existence. The door swung open lazily, allowing out the thick scent of Irish Spring, coconut styling gel, and RSVP cologne. He took a deep breath and stepped in, slamming the door behind him.
The dark enveloped him, giving Jack a sense of nonexistence, which was a feeling he pined for constantly. His kitchenette beckoned him forward, telling him to make himself a cup of tea and grab a few biscuits before he slumped into his bedroom for some much-needed sleep, even though his clock was only just chiming six o'clock
He flipped on a solitary light and put a pot of water on to boil while he retrieved a tin of biscuits from the cabinet above the counter. There was a flashing red light somewhere in the black of the sitting room that called his attention away from the cookie which was half-way to his mouth. Jack identified the light source as his telephone, which was registering four missed calls. He put the confection down on the counter and stumbled over his equipment into the sitting room where he switched on a reading lamp that stood watch over his single chair which was in front of a 32 inch HiDef telly from the year 2008.
"Four missed calls, eh?" he sighed and ran a hand through his hair then reached down to listen to the voicemail record.
"'Allo, Jack. It's Andrew. I was just calling to see if you wanted to watch the match this weekend here at my flat. Gimme a call back later if you're interested."
Jack rolled his eyes and made a mental note to call Andrew back. He deleted the message and moved onto the next.
"Jackie-boy! Patrick here. Listen, mate, you wanta come over to my flat for the match this weekend? Call me."
"Apparently I'm popular," Jack smiled as he deleted Patrick's message as well.
"Oi, captain, my captain! Your presence is requested this weekend for the match. Two words: My. Flat. Ring me back."
"Darren," he chuckled. He could always tell the computer-programmer's messages apart from the rest. He pressed the button to hear the final message.
"Miste-erm… Jack, this is Jane Hart. I resuscitated you earlier this afternoon and I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tonight. I've got a few things to ask you of the utmost importance. If you'd be so kind as to call me back-- I believe you managed to get my phone number during the ambulance ride. Thank you for your time; I hope to hear back from you real soon."