The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
- W.H. Auden, "Funeral Blues"

"The problem I see is that the unions don't do no good; they can bargain 'til they're blue in the face but do the big dogs listen? Naw."

Jack took another swig from his tankard, but there was nothing left. He blearily signaled the bartender for another one. The robot looked at him skeptically. Jack hadn't known robots could look skeptical.

"I'm good for it," he said gruffly.

"And my ex-wife," said the man beside him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Jack was ignoring him. "My ex-wife, she still expects me to pay her bills each month when I'm barely paid enough to cover my own expenses."

"I see," said Jack, toying with one of the many bottle caps scattered across the bar. He couldn't even remember the name of the planet he was on and he'd been there four days. All he knew was the food was cheap and the drink was cheaper. "I'm sorry to hear that." He wondered vaguely if "my own expenses" meant drinking on a weeknight. Or, at least, he thought it was a weeknight.

"My kid's a bum," the man continued. "Never does any work. I keep threatening to cut him off but she keeps insisting–"

Jack began to tune him out. He couldn't stand to hear people talk that way about their own flesh and blood, the people important to them.

The bartender set another tankard of whatever he'd been drinking in front of him and he took a swig. It went down the wrong way and burned. He relished it. By his calculations, he was almost at alcohol poisoning.

"What do you think I should do, hm?"

Jack looked up at the man. "About what?"

"My son."

"Oh." Jack leaned back on his barstool and ran a hand through his overlong hair, pushing it out of his eyes. "Give him another chance," he said finally, looking the other man in the eye. "Give him... another chance."

He took another swig of his drink and wiped his mouth. "'Cause you never know when you won't be able to."

The man regarded him warily.

"Trust me," said Jack. "Anything can happen. You never know."

"That'll be eighty-four credits, sir," said the bartender.

"Eighty-four?" Jack stared.

The robot's eyes flashed, recalculating Jack's tab. "You've had eleven."

Cursing, Jack dug in the pocket of his coat for his wallet. When he opened the well-worn leather, one crumpled bill fell out, followed by a large gold coin. He picked them up, examining them.

"That's not enough," he finally concluded.

"Yeah, it is." The man beside him picked up another coin, which was sitting right next to Jack's wallet. "Didn't see it, did you?"

"Right," muttered Jack, taking it from him. "Thanks... for finding it."

"My pleasure," said the man. "And give him another round–you'll see there's enough."

The bartender scanned the money to be sure it was real and locked it in the cash register. Then, it set another tankard in front of Jack.

"So. Twelve." The man looked at Jack appreciatively.

"I have a high tolerance." Jack took a swig. He could barely taste it anymore, but he felt the burn a few seconds later.

"I'll say." The man looked impressed. His eyes fell on Jack's now-empty wallet. "Fallen on hard times, have you?"

"You could say that." He hadn't really intended to talk to the guy, but he figured it was only polite since he'd helped him out.

"No friends?" The man tapped a corner of the crumpled photograph protruding from the wallet. "Who's he, then?"

Jack shoved Ianto's picture back in the wallet and crammed it into his pocket again. "Just a friend."

"He can't, you know, give you bit of a loaner?"

Jack looked down into his tankard, at his face distorted in the maroon liquid. "He's gone," he said quietly.

"Oh." The man glanced away. "I'm sorry."

Jack grunted. "It's okay. You didn't know."

"Is that what you meant by..." The man looked down at his own drink. "By what you said?"

"Yeah."

The man looked solemn. "I'm really sorry," he said.

Jack shrugged and took another swig. He could feel his breath starting to slow. "'S okay," he muttered. He had to squint to avoid seeing triple.

"Come home with me."

"You don't have to do that." He was pretty sure he'd slurred some words there.

"Yeah, I do." The man stood up. "You remind me of Alex. That's my son."

"Okay." Jack ignored the way "Alex" slurred into "Alice."

He didn't have much longer anyway. Jack swallowed the dregs of his last and stood, gripping the bar for support. The empty mug clattered to the floor.

"Come on," said the man, guiding him to the door. "You can sleep on my couch."

Jack groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was sleep. If he slept, he'd dream. Once outside, he lurched into the alley and threw up.

"It's okay," said the man quietly. "We'll get you home, sleep it off, see what we can do in the morning. Maybe I'll give you a little something to tide you over."

"Thanks," muttered Jack.

"Don't mention it."

They walked for several streets and out of the town. It suddenly occurred to Jack that this probably wasn't the best decision, but then again, what was the worst that could happen? He didn't mind being murdered.

Jack realized he'd gone a whole minute without taking a breath. His personal record was fourteen, but that was sober. He also realized he was beginning to feel very cold. He fumbled with the buttons on his coat and decided tying the belt was easier, given his loss of fine motor skills.

The man was still talking, going on and on about how he planned to get his son a job at the same factory he worked in. He was wondering if Jack wanted a job there, too. Jack briefly considered it. It might be nice to settle down for a little while. But, no. He'd make friends and then, sooner or later, he'd lose them. That's the way it always happened. That's the way it always would happen.

Jack was holding his breath on purpose now. Six minutes. He didn't want to throw up again. He needed the alcohol in his system if he was going to do it properly. His vision was starting to go black. Involuntarily, he took a breath.

"You okay?" the man asked.

"Yeah," said Jack. He stumbled. "I'm fine." He went down on one knee.

"Oi!" The man grabbed Jack's shoulders and he dropped dizzily to the ground.

He fell backward, deliberately avoiding the man's attempts to catch him. He'd never really studied the stars on this planet–he'd even forgotten its name. He didn't even know this guy's name.

"Hold on," said the man hurriedly. "I'll get help, I'll find a doctor."

Jack snorted as he listened to the man's rapidly retreating footsteps and began to laugh, as he felt the life seeping out of him. "Doctor can't help me now."

**

"Martha, where exactly are you taking me?" The Doctor fidgeted in the passenger seat of Martha's car. The seat belt was very uncomfortable for someone who was used to hurtling around the interior of the TARDIS.

"To see someone," she said evenly.

The Doctor peered out the window, watching the traffic fly by on the M4. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he knew what this was about. He deeply regretted not being to help during the incident with the 456; he'd spent a day trapped in collapsed building on Halreytia and had returned to the TARDIS to find literally thousands of missed calls from Martha. He closed his eyes against the wave of guilt. He was never letting that cell phone out of his sight again.

"You've already met Gwen," said Martha conversationally. "But you haven't met her husband. He's called Rhys."

"Oh," said the Doctor. "Is that it, then?"

Martha flicked her eyes to him and changed lanes flawlessly. "Is that what, then?"

"You called me and said to meet you in London," he said slowly. "Then you said we were going for a drive."

Martha shifted uncomfortably and pulled off onto the exit. "We are going for a drive."

"To see Gwen Cooper." The Doctor watched as the buildings around them became more residential. He ran a hand through his hair. "And she's going to ask me to do something I can't do."

"Just talk to her," said Martha. "Please. For me."

"Martha, Martha, Martha." The Doctor rubbed his face.

"Can I take that as a yes?"

"Fine." The Doctor reached out for the buttons on the radio.

"Don't touch the presets," said Martha. "I don't want you getting some bloody Welsh station stuck on there."

**

Gwen heard the car pull up outside. All of a sudden, she began to feel nerves she hadn't felt before. What if he didn't want to help? What could she do then? She rested a hand on her stomach; the baby seemed to sense her anxiety. He–or she–was moving about restlessly.

"It's okay," she said quietly. "Martha knows him; she wouldn't bring him if he was going to say no."

"You think so?" said Rhys, looking up from the newspaper. "I think he's going to say no."

"You haven't met him, Rhys. You don't know what he's capable of."

"You haven't met him either." The doorbell rang and Rhys tossed his paper aside and stood. "You only saw him because Jack went to him." The doorbell rang again and Rhys scowled. "I'm coming!"

Gwen took a deep breath as she listened to the door open and the hushed introductions from the entryway. She was going to do this. It was going to work.

"Gwen Cooper, I presume." She glanced up. He looked somehow less impressive in person. He was just a skinny man in a long coat. He didn't look capable of saving the world.

"You two," said Rhys, "how do you take your tea?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Martha.

"Cream, two sugars," said the Doctor. He was studying the photographs on the mantel, his eyes lingering on the sole photograph she had of the three of them, before. "Nice place you got here," he said politely. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Looks like a lovely place to raise a family." He glanced at her stomach.

"Must be getting on any day now," said Martha. "You look great."

Gwen laughed. "I feel terrible. I just want it out!"

The Doctor grinned. "Boy or girl? No, let me guess..." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Boy."

"We don't know," said Rhys, bringing in the tea and setting it down on the coffee table. "We don't want to know."

"Ah, yes," said the Doctor happily. "Surprises are great, I love surprises. Good surprises, mind you, but this is a good surprise."

"Sit down," said Gwen, gesturing to the chairs in front of her. "Rhys, take his coat."

"So," said the Doctor, when he had settled into the armchair and taken a few sips of tea, which he had proclaimed fantastic.

Gwen took a deep breath and steepled her fingers. "Are you... doing anything important these days?"

"Everything I do is important."

She laughed nervously. "Right. Sorry. What I mean to say is..." She brushed her hair back from her face. "Will you look for Jack?"

The Doctor paused. He was looking somewhere over her shoulder, but he certainly wasn't seeing the bookcase against the wall. He was seeing something else, thousands of miles away.

"Why?"

Gwen's heart skipped a beat. She'd honestly expected him to say no. "What?"

"Why? Why do you want me to look for him?" He set his teacup back down on the table and picked up a biscuit. He looked incongruously domestic.

"It's been three months," she said desperately. "I thought for sure he'd come back. I thought... I thought he liked it here on Earth, I thought he'd want to see the baby, I thought..." She felt tears begin to form in her eyes. "I thought he'd want..."

Rhys sat down beside her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "It's okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. "It's okay, sweetheart."

"You think Jack wants to come home," said the Doctor.

"He should want to," said Gwen.

"I've known Jack a long time," said the Doctor, examining the biscuit crumbs on his fingers. "And he's not generally the type of person to do what he should do."

"I know that," she said, wiping her eyes. "I just... we need him. Earth needs him. I just don't know what we'll do without him. Every day, I get up and I hope the world doesn't end just because he's not here, Torchwood's not here, and there's nothing I can do if something happens."

"You've got me," said the Doctor.

"Where were you, then, hm?" said Rhys suddenly. "When Ianto was dying, when Jack's grandson was dying, when the Earth was almost destroyed? Where the hell were you?"

The Doctor looked taken aback as if he hadn't expected anyone to bring that up. "I'm sorry about that–truly sorry. I'd have come if I'd been able to, you've got to believe that."

"If you want to help, then, please, just find him." Gwen looked up at him. "I honestly just don't know what to do."

The Doctor considered this. "Do you have any idea where he's gone?" he asked.

Gwen shook her head. "He was hitching a lift on a spaceship at the edge of the solar system, something about a cold-fusion cruiser?"

"That was probably temporary," the Doctor cautioned. "I honestly don't see Jack crewing on a ship like that. It's just not his style." He glanced down apologetically.

There were a few moments of silence before Gwen finally said, "So will you do it? Will you look for him?"

"I'm sorry," said the Doctor quietly. "I'll certainly keep an eye out, but he's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"That's the problem," said Gwen, wiping her eyes. "He just doesn't know when he can't afford to be alone."

The Doctor nodded, but did not meet her eyes.