Jack didn't want to rest. He didn't want to rest and he most certainly didn't want to sleep.

But it was there. It was there in the words and in the lack of them, and Jack wondered if what he'd done had worked at all. He hadn't stopped the Doctor from dying. He might have brought him back, but he hadn't saved him.

He'd failed. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. He'd failed.

For a long moment, he just looked at him, and then he nodded, sighed, and turned on his side, away from him, staring at the wall. He couldn't rest.