A/N: Okay, I KNOW this had droaned on a little, but the next chapter's DEFINATELY the last chapter, I TOTALLY promise that. So just gotta hang on for a lil bit longer...

And there is a possiblity to how Jack's Torchwood got up and running in this chapter - but no spoilers.

Chapter 34 – Liver Transplants

The Doctor arrived at the second kitchen five minutes late, much to Jackie's annoyance. He stood in the doorway rubbing his wet hair rather erratically with a white towel, making it all stand on end as he drew it away.

"Glad you could join us," Jackie said, "there's some left for you."

Throwing the towel carelessly across the room to the kitchen worktop, he slid quietly into the vacant seat and took up his cutlery, quick ruffling his half-dried hair into even more of a mess, before staring blankly at the plate of Spaghetti Bolognese infront of him.

"…Spaghetti," he breathed, watching the plate with wide searching eyes as he picked up his fork, and stared at it. Rose watched him closely, observing him as everyone else was whilst he clutched the fork in his fist, like a young child learning how to eat with a knife and fork for the first time. He stabbed it into the spaghetti with a fair amount of force, brought it back up and stared at what he had managed to get – which was absolutely nothing.

Rose sighed pitifully as she watched him attempt the same task again, only to end up nearly stabbing himself through the eye with his fork. She got up from her seat beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder to take the fork from his fist, but he declined with his hand as he moved it out of her way.

"No, s'ok, I can do it," he insisted, dropping the useless fork back to the side of the placemat as he got onto his feet. He walked over to a kitchen cupboard and pulled it open, withdrawing a large plastic measuring jug from within.

He walked back over to the dinner table and sat the jug next to his plate, which he picked up and slowly tipped sideways to let all the spaghetti, meat and juices flow freely into the jug. Everyone was now staring at him in mild perplexity, and he dropped the now clear plate back onto the mat to take the jug, and lifted it in a toast.

"Cheers," he said with a wink at Rose, and raised the jug to his lips.

"And then the Doctor goes, 'I'm sorry, I thought it was a kiwi'!"

There was an almighty burst of the thunderous roar of drunken laughter as Rose completed her anecdote, everyone gathered around the table either slightly tipsy or crazy hyper. The Doctor was just sitting with his drink of water in one hand, watching them all as they progressively got worse and worse.

"D'you wanna drink Doctor?" Mickey asked casually, hand poised over the nearly drained bottle of pure vodka.

"Nah Mickey," Rose suddenly piped up before the Doctor had a chance to answer. "My Doctor doesn't drink right now 'cause he hit his poor head, and drinkin' after you hit your noggin is bad for you." She snuggled up close to the Doctor, clutching his almost fully healed broken arm between her own as she giggled insanely at him.

He looked down at her with a contented sigh; truly glad he wasn't drunk, as he'd probably choke to death on his own laughter.

"Doctor," Rose started in a drunken voice, giggling helplessly again. "D'you know what turns me on about you?"

The Doctor smiled slightly, draining his glass in one go and swallowing before answering, "my unconventional good looks?"

"No…well, yeah, but I wasn't saying that…" She traced her thumb over his lip and beamed happily at him. "I think you're really smart," she smiled seductively as he set the empty glass onto the table and put both his arms protectively around her. "So smart you're the smartest smart guy I've ever known in the whole history of smart guys."

"Rose," Jackie started in an incredibly drunken voice – something which the Doctor had never actually seen before. "No more grandchildren!"

"I agree," Mickey declared loudly, waving the vodka bottle about in the air before knocking it back in one shot, burping loudly, and then collapsing unconscious onto the table. Rose raised an unbalanced hand and pointed at him, giggling loudly.

"Haha! He's dead!" She laughed like it was the most hysterical occurrence in the world. She looked up at the Doctor again; her giggling ceasing as she stared at his almost cut and bruise free face. Suddenly Rose leant forward towards his ear and whispered loudly into the core, "what d'you say we leave these party poopers and go have some fun, tiger?"

"Rose…" the Doctor started uncertainly, looking down at her to meet her eyes; however instead, he met them closed, coupled with the sound of gentle snoring. She was asleep.

Looking up at the drunken party around the dining table, he was astonished to find they were all asleep, the empty Vodka bottle hanging loosely from Mickey's fingers like it was his last penance.

The Doctor leant back in his chair again, making a mental note with himself to get Rose in to Alcoholics Anonymous. Frankly, he wasn't surprised he had ended up doing what he had done with her last time – she was very flirtatious when drunk, and the Doctor, as far as Jackie had described him, had developed an 'if it moves – or even if it doesn't – shag it' attitude whilst inebriated; it was a match made in heaven.

Lifting the intoxicated Rose up into his arms, he made his way back with her sleeping form to the Infirmary. He'd figured he'd need to give her a stomach pump and some meds to relieve the worst of her hangover, still feeling positively delighted that he was sober to do this.

After she was comfortable, he made his way back to the sleeping company. Re-entering the kitchen was like entering some sort of student party in the early hours of the New Year. It was 'avoid the dead bodies strewn across the floor' as he made his way back over to Jackie, casually tossing a blanket over her and slipping a pillow under her head whilst she slept. It was the least he could do for everything she'd helped him and Rose with over the past two weeks or so.

Taking a glance at Mickey and Howard, he regretfully decided he needed sleep more than he needed to move them, so he slowly dragged himself back into the Infirmary and collapsed down into the seat next to Rose's bed. He pillowed his head on his hands and closed his eyes, dozing off into dreamland for the night with a silent whisper of gratitude to the TARDIS for putting up with this.

"Ugh, at this rate I think I'm gonna need a liver transplant," was the first thing Rose murmured as she began to stir from her alcohol induced sleep, head pounding like a bass drum as she turned onto her stomach and threw the pillow over her aching head.

"Y'know, I never used to drink till I met you," the Doctor's voice suddenly came, sounding muffled and distant from the pillow currently covering her ears. "Now I feel like it should become routine. Isn't that so human of me?"

"You could never be a human," Rose insisted, pulling back the pillow and looking out the gap at him through a mess of blonde hair. He beamed back at her from where he stood across the room, holding a tray of what looked like a cup of coffee and a giant refill jug.

"Gimme!" Rose produced a small hand out from underneath the heap of covers, waving it about in an undead-like manner towards the Doctor as he walked over to her and sat on the chair by her bed.

"Jack would be proud of you, y'know," the Doctor said offhandedly as he set down the tray on the side table and leant forward over her, pulling her up to sitting position. "Pity he isn't here – where did he disappear to, by the way?"

Captain Jack Harkness was smiling his usual charming smile, swaggering into the Boss' office like a man who knew his place. The truth was – he was probably going to be fired. Fired, memory wipe, left abandoned on the street as a homeless. It was an exciting prospect.

Earlier he'd erased all records of the Doctor's appearance from the Torchwood archive, and he was sure they'd caught him hacking. It had been risky enough trying to appear like Howard, Rose and the Doctor had just gotten away from him that night, knowing full well the idea of him not being able to catch a pregnant woman, a well fed man and an unconscious alien was a little demeaning for a man of his muscled and trimmed figure.

"Captain Jack Harkness reportin', ma'am," Jack said to the boss with a formal salute. "You wanted to see me?"

Yvonne Hartman looked up from studying various pictures spread out over her desk, smiling at him in reply.

"Please Jack, call me Yvonne."

Jack nodded with his charismatic smile, looking down at her desk to examine the polaroids from where he stood - managing to catch a glimpse of the Doctor's escape party taken from CCTV footage, and a couple of lone photos of just the Doctor to catalogue his injuries. Jack hoped he was a lot better now.

Yvonne noticed the smile Jack had previously worn now hardened, his face in a serious expression as he stared at the grouped photos on her desk.

"It was Him," Yvonne said, pushing some of the photos towards Jack and gesturing pointedly to the chair the other side of her desk. "Description fits."

Jack stared down at the photos, feeling slightly irritated at the prospect of people taking photos of you whilst you're unconscious. "Him?"

"The Doctor," she said, as if it should have been obvious. "We could have used Him for so much…"

Trying not to wonder what that 'much' might be, he leant back in his chair again and tried to reassert his smile. "What's all this got to do with me, Yvonne?" he asked politely, fearing the worst.

Her next word came as something of a shock to him. "Promotion."

Jack's smile didn't falter. Infact, he just blinked in surprise, unable to believe his own two ears.

"…I'm sorry?"

"Promotion," Yvonne repeated, staring him straight in the eyes with a firm, yet contented look, a small pitiful smile crossing her features.

"And what in this promotion?" he asked, realising this conversation was now turning into the battle of who had the most attractive smile.

"I liked the way you handled the last intake, Jack. I'm offering you a chance. There's an open branch in Cardiff, Torchwood Three. I can offer you staff, funds and intelligence up to a point. You'll be working on your own, but we'll overlook. So. You want the job?"

Jack became hesitant. If he didn't take the job, he'd never be able to get out of this place. If he did however, he'd have a whole new set of problems to address, involving staff and battling on his own.

But, what did he really want?

He wanted to get out there again. Fight the fight. Make life not a chore, but a fun thing to have. Maybe…maybe he could even find the Doctor again. He was already regretting the decision he'd taken that night now – the Doctor had offered him salvation but like an idiot he had declined, thinking he had a chance in this old dump.

Aware Yvonne was looking at him for an answer, he raised his head, and gave one short, affirmative nod.

"Consider it taken, boss."