[for Greg]

He'd done breakfast and after Logan, Ianto, and Owen, after a shower and new clothes, after finally deciding he wouldn't quit thinking about it, Jack went to the hut and dug out a joint. And a second. And a couple more, just in case the first two didn't do it.

He sat on the porch with the dog laying at his feet and he was stoned. Really stoned. Brilliantly, fantastically, paralytically stoned. He had a fleeting thought that at least if anyone came by to spill their innermost thoughts, he could just blink glassy blue eyes at them and not remember when he woke up. Oh, right. Stoned and a nap with the dog. He'd do that in a minute. Jack slipped another joint between his lips but before he could figure out that he hadn't actually lit it, he let his head drop back against the wall of the hut and closed his eyes. He sang softly, keeping the joint between his lips, humming when he forgot the words.

"Them that's got shall get. Them tha'ts not shall lose...mmmm, mmmm...God bless the child that's got his own. He just worry bout nothin', 'cause he's got his own...mmmm, mmmm...God bless the...."