Lately, he slept longer and deeper than he used to. His old lifestyle meant he always had to be ready, and many nights he'd sleep for a few short hours, if at all, and often times it would be days between getting to touch his head to a pillow. Now being Jack Harkness and being who (and perhaps what) he was, that was fine, he needed less; he managed. But now? Now things had changed. That wasn't to say they couldn't change back, of course. But things took time. Just like everything.
Through the night he woke. The Doctor was there at first, and then not. Dreams were not unusual to Jack, but here with the events of the last day or so they had almost slipped. It used to be he'd dream he was with the Doctor, and now he dreamt he wasn't. Worrying that the reality had been the dream. But then he'd wake and he saw the truth, and it was easier to drift off once again.
It wasn't a short sleep by any standards. And a good seven hours later he was waking up with his required rest under his belt. He was still settled against the couch with his head against his coat. Though the place that had held the Doctor beside him now was just more of his own body sprawled out and hugging part of the sofa itself. And over him, he was now covered with the Doctor's own outstretched coat.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking them tiredly as he sat himself up. He looked around the room, again remembering where he was, and looked up, seeing the Doctor sitting not too far away.
"Hey," he said with a smile. He was still there. "Morning." He squinted. "I think?"