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Nobody on board the TARDIS has ever seen Jack's room. There's a room Jack takes guests into for fun or otherwise, but that isn't Jack's room, it isn't the room Jack sleeps in.
Jack's room appears only to him when he needs to rest, and it has been crafted by the TARDIS herself to suit Jack's needs specifically. As soon as he steps inside, weary with aching bones, he can instantly forget where he is and lose himself in the comfort of his room.
The wallpaper is baby blue, with little white doves dotted in a repeating pattern. The carpet is white and fluffy, and Jack wiggles his toes between the fibers after he has kicked off his shoes and pried his feet from his socks. He discards them somewhere to the side, and the TARDIS politely reminds him of the mahogany wardrobe that stands facing the bed.
When Jack pulls open the wardrobe doors, there is a single shelf with the only clothes waiting for him being a plain white pyjama top and navy blue pyjama shorts. He doesn't hesitate to change into them, replacing them with his old clothes and gently shutting the doors.
Turning to his bed, Jack sighs with contentment. This is his favourite part. After everything that may or may not have happened during the past forty hours, he can just let go . Clambering onto the king-size bed, crawling under the duvet and blankets and wrapping himself up as tightly as possible, knowing the TARDIS will dim the lights and keep him safe.
Sometimes, Jack can't manage to fall asleep with this comfort alone. So, sometimes , the TARDIS will hum and Jack will roll over to face a stuffed animal staring right back at him. He grabs it with both hands, clutching it to his chest. Its form is instantly recognizable to him - a kind of fifty-first century frog that would roam the Boeshane Peninsula in search of bugs and insects. Jack holds it tightly, trembling slightly and pressing his face into his pillow. Soon he'll settle, soon Javic will soothe and he will fall asleep.
Except for when he doesn't. Jack can't stop shaking, and he doesn't realize he's crying until the TARDIS hums again and there is a soft click of a door opening and closing. Jack sits up suddenly, staring at the figure by the door with suspicion. Jack doesn't recognize him at all.
"Hello. I'm just a projection of the TARDIS, don't worry." The figure speaks. "I can see you need more comfort."
Jack just blinks in response. It's hard for him to find the words like this.
The figure continues; "I've taken the form of somebody you love, I think, but timelines are complicated and I may be from your future."
Jack clutches his frog to his chest as the projection slowly approaches him, and he can make out more of its features. It appears to be a young man, no one that Jack is particularly familiar with, but his eyes are full of warmth and his Welsh tones are incredibly soothing. He wears a red shirt, and Jack distantly thinks the color suits him well.
"Would you like some tea, or perhaps a coffee? Both entirely decaffeinated, of course." The projection asks. Jack shakes his head, visibly relaxing, and the TARDIS sneaks a little peek into Jack's mind for the answer. "Ah, warm milk. Not a problem."
When the TARDIS hands him a bottle of warm milk, Jack frowns and looks up at the projection. "Bottle?"
"This is exactly as you pictured it, sir." The TARDIS says, and Jack can't exactly argue with that. Jack drinks from the bottle sleepily until there is nothing left and slowly he lies back down, still hugging the toy to his chest and falling into a deep slumber.
All the while, the TARDIS hums lullabies.
***
Many galaxies later, and many lifetimes lived, Captain Jack Harkness stares into an endless abyss of paperwork. Reports to finalize, missing persons to clean up, entire busloads of innocent people to retcon. It was a mess, and a distant memory in the back of Jack's mind reminded him of the comfort of his room. The room the TARDIS had once grown for him, around him, to cater to everything he needed. She would never do that again since Rose had looked into her heart, so it only serves to conjure bitter feelings for Jack now.
A faint tip-tap of footsteps gradually gets louder until Ianto is standing awkwardly at Jack's office door. He allows himself in at Jack's silent approval, and hands his boss a steaming mug.
"Hot milk." Ianto announces confidently, before wavering at Jack's puzzled look. "Something inexplicably just told me it's what you wanted, which seems ridiculous now actually, so I'll just--"
"No it's… it's exactly what I want." Jack takes a careful sip and sighs. "Thank you."
"It's funny really, in my mind I pictured a baby bottle but that really does seem ridiculous, doesn't it sir?" Ianto adds. When Jack doesn't respond, Ianto nods and begins to back away out of the office, only to be called back by Jack.
"Stay." Jack begs, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Please, just… stay."
Ianto doesn't question the fluffy green toy by Jack's feet that he notices while seating himself opposite. He figures there's a lot to his boss that he just doesn't know about, particularly within the realm of psychic messaging. Instead of questions, Ianto settles for soothing Welsh lullabies and a reassuring hand, that Jack takes and squeezes gently.
Later, Jack will make Ianto swear not to tell anyone - about the hands, or the tears, or the milk, (and Ianto assumes also the frog) - but right now is the most peaceful Jack has felt in decades, for which he assumes he has the TARDIS to thank.