Thirteen months.

That's how long it had been. How long since Jack was last free, since he'd spent that memorable day with Reinette. It seemed like lifetimes ago to him now. It was all he could do to remember, but he did. That's how he filled his time by sinking back into his own mind. He remembered. He remembered the times, small, he remembered the people that were gone. The thought of the Doctor, of his team, of Ianto. He thought of all the people he'd loved, all gone now.

And he thought of Reinette. He hoped she was well, hoped she didn't resent him for disappearing as he did.

He hoped.

But hope waned, because it became harder to see through, harder to have any clarity at all.

He was ill again. He had been for a long time, but it was consuming him now. He didn't move, not from the place against the corner. Should food or water be delivered he barely had the energy to retrieve it. His body began to shut down. He'd have died already if not for some inbuilt ability to stay alive a little longer. The universe taunting him that little bit more.

But it could only go so far, and 8 months after he'd last died, he was dying again. Slowly, slowly, he started to give up.