In the week leading up to the party, Jack finally got himself out of New York and, reluctantly, back to the version of 2012 London he'd called home before the whole recent mess started. He'd found a place to live, was most of the way to a job. And now: Time to hop universes again for a few hours.

Not that he was remotely tempted to miss it. He smiled on the doorstep, if a bit tentatively, and carried the bottle of 1902 Russian vodka he'd saved for a a housewarming gift.

"Hello!"