Jack stalled in the doorway, just before leaving, and again, in that moment, entirely without realising it, he was Jack Harkness.

"Want you to be?" he asked, one eyebrow raise. "Reinette, you would be." He shot her a wink, all too knowing, and moved from the room.

He went then to the sofa, sat himself down while he waited. He clasped his hands together and then parted them again before again clasping them; fidgeting away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his coat. It was sitting there, abandoned and discarded at the other end of the sofa. He couldn't seem to stop looking at it.

He looked off in other directions, around the room and at spaces on the wall. But it just seemed to demand his attention, and he found himself looking back to it.

Looking back in fact until the urge became so strong that he stood and walked over to pick it up. He held it in his hands as if he were remembering the fabric, just as he was remembering himself.

He lifted it up a little, opened it slightly, but then the door opened, and like a little boy that might be caught doing something he ought not, he dropped it down and put his hands to his hips.

And he cleared his throat.