Just a weird little fan fic I sort of had a dream about! Anyway, enjoy, and let me know what you think! =]

Captain Jack Harkness couldn't remember a thing. He had no recollection of the past few hours, and it worried him. The last thing he remembered was sitting in a club, drinking too much, with someone whose face he couldn't recall, never mind put a name to. Had he passed out again? Was that why he was lying on his office floor, wrapped uncomfortable in his greatcoat, with the worst hangover he could ever possibly remember?

He straightened himself up and assessed the situation. His head ached, dull and whining, and felt as though someone had pounded him with a baseball bat coated in velvet. Not good. His throat tasted of smoke and nausea… he couldn't remember drinking that much.

"Guys!" He shouted as loudly as his pounding headache would allow, before he realised that the Hub's empty sounds meant that he was alone. No one was here to hear his painful pleas, make him soothing coffee, give him gentle smiles.

He briefly remembered sending them home before he'd ended up in the bar with both arms around a pair of faceless, nameless drunks. He couldn't even say what gender they'd been - now he came to think of it, he couldn't really say what species they'd been. Just that there had been alcohol involved, in unusually large quantities.

Chuckling fondly at his stupidity, Jack staggered unsteadily to his feet and stretched, peering through the window at the rest of the deserted Hub, subconsciously performing the mental check on his team and their work that had become his habit lately. A pile of folders had spilled off one desk onto the floor; the other was covered with a coating of empty Greggs wrappers and take-out hot chocolate cartons. He laughed fondly again, this time at his team's unique take on work, and slowly made his way towards the coffee machine in an instinctive attempt to numb the headache before attempting anything strenuous.

Odd… the machine was broken. It looked as though it hadn't been used for quite a while, crusting coffee beans littered the bottom. Jack remembered the machine giving in to the popular demand of Torchwood a few days ago, but someone had promised to fix it. He couldn't quite remember who, as if it had been some distant dream of someone loved he had known well a long time ago… So, why was it still in this rejected, sad state?

"Torchwood needs coffee," Jack croaked aloud, "Cranky Captain Jack needs coffee." He scowled to the empty space, wishing that someone was here to take pity on him. Tell him that it was his own fault, tut their tongue in disapproval, pat his arm softly. He hated being alone, after the centuries of wandering the lonely earth, he exalted in having his wonderful team at his side, loyal and honest to the end.

He pulled the mobile phone from his pocket and considered calling one of them. No, they'd only be smug towards his hangover, mocking towards his misery.

He settled the phone onto a nearby desk and sank into one of the swivelling chairs, the rocking motion somewhat softening the thudding in his head. He closed his eyes and yawned heavily, stretching his arms out above his head and, with a great effort, heaved his feet up onto the desk, knocking away a plastic folder in the process.

"Oh look what the cat dragged in," came a welcoming voice from the Cog door, and Jack stirred slowly. He'd been so close to grateful sleep that he hadn't even heard the whir of the door as it admitted Torchwood's newest recruit. "You're not immortal from hangovers Jack," she joked, "coffee doing any good?"

"No coffee," Jack grunted, "machine broke. Speak quieter. Headache."

"Oooh," she whispered playfully, elaborating her footsteps theatrically as she walked towards him, "that bad, huh?" She leaned against the back of his chair and draped her arms over his shoulders, massaging his temples gently. "That better?"

Jack opened one lazy eye, "if I say 'no' will you keep doing it?"

"Only if you promise to pay me overtime."

"Deal."

"So, how'd it happen? Vodka? Or the cocktails?"

Jack was pleased that she kept her comforting hands on his temples and muttered, "A combo of both, I think. And something that definitely shouldn't have been in a club in twenty-first century Cardiff. Didn't stop me drinking it though."

She tilted his head back with her hands so that he was looking blearily into her dark blue eyes, "Harkness," she frowned teasingly, "you're a disgrace."

"I know, I know," he laughed carefully, not wanting to disturb his now-quiet headache, "it's happened before and it'll happen again."

"Tut tut," she grinned, planting a kiss on his forehead and rubbing his shoulders before backing away towards a computer, pulling the keyboard into her arms. "Ooh look - while you were…busy… there was a Rift energy spike. Some warehouse on George Street. Weevil, I reckon."

"Poison, you speak poison!" Jack hissed amidst his grinning, clapping his hands over his ears. "Y'know, somehow I don't feel up to going Weevil hunting. Or doing anything except lazing around here for a few hours, maybe call for a pizza."

"Want me to call the others?" She'd already reached for her mobile and her finger had extended to speed dial number four.

"You're a star, did I ever tell you that?"

"Once or twice, but it's nice to hear it," she flashed him with a bright smile before turning her attention to the person on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, guess who turned up - hung-over! Well yeah, impending spot of bother with a Weevil unless we get on the case pretty quick... Ok, ok, I'll meet you outside in five minutes… Yes, I'll bring the SUV… Fine! You can drive!" She shot Jack an exasperated scowl but he was preoccupied with a strange cut that he'd discovered on his left wrist, with the beginnings of a scab as his body began to heal. Strange… it almost looked as if he'd been bitten. But that was impossible - wasn't it? The club hadn't been that rough…

By the time he looked up again she was already halfway towards the door, her bag swinging frantically from her shoulder. She threw him one last over-the-shoulder beaming smile that practically swallowed up his hangover in one sweep before saluting him with a pitying look in her warm eyes.

He saluted back and called hoarsely, "Thanks Erin, Torchwood's lucky to have you."

"Cheers Jack," Erin Thomas replied as she pulled the lever to open the door, swinging her light brown hair over her shoulder and gracefully striding forwards with the keys to the SUV held firmly in her hand.

Jack watched her go with a touch of sadness. Torchwood was lucky to have her. He couldn't image how they'd ever cope without her, or how they'd ever replace her if… well, Jack preferred not to think about that. All that he knew was that Erin was the heart of Torchwood: without her Torchwood was meaningless… Jack was meaningless.

Meanwhile, Gwen Cooper and Ianto Jones were doing their best to remain above the ever-increasing water level, but in a ten-foot-long metal canister only three feet wide bobbing up and down in the swift currents of the bay, it was a task easier said than done. Slowly but surely, they were drowning, their wild cries for help unheard by a boss who had never known them, never loved or seen them.

Like it? Huh? Reviews = happy fan fic writer = more chapters! =D