Thank you, Russell, John, Eve, Gareth, and BBC for bringing my imagination back to life. Torchwood Rocks and is a great ride. Please bring us more. In the meantime, you may keep your Captain and his crew if you promise to give us more stories and until then, we can play with them as we will.

To my new friends: Here I go, taking the leap. Hope you enjoy!

Captain Jack Harkness leaned against the rail along the quay, breathing deeply of the ocean air that came in strongly across Cardiff Bay. He needed these few moments to just breathe. Those humans inside the Hub were getting on his nerves again. He knew it would pass. He loved each one of them more than any of them could know, for their faults as well as their strengths. And for their very human determination that rose and fell like the tides, through fear and bravado, losing some battles and fighting to win the wars.

He was shocked out of his reverie when he looked up at the cotton-ball clouds and saw something dark that wasn't a bird. It came closer at an alarming speed. His Webley was in his hand at the ready without his even planning it. The speck became a person, then a woman then he realized an unconscious woman, maybe even dead, was plummeting towards either him or the bay, whichever way the wind took her.

All he could do was throw his coat off and tuck his Webley under it. He regretted leaving his shoes on as he jumped for the frigid water just as she plunged into it. They both went deep and for a while he lost sight of her. He finally grabbed her by her coat and pulled her close enough to wrap his arms around her. They were more than 30 ft down by now, and his breath was completely gone. He could feel his arms and legs going weak as he desperately tried to kick for the surface, but with her weight, he couldn't move. They rose slowly, both expelling the air from their lungs just before reaching the surface.

A crowd had gathered and the bay patrol was already there pulling them out. "He's dead, " one of them pronounced, "but she has a pulse. Barry – do your CPR thing." Barry, who didn't look like he could blow up a balloon much less bring a drowned woman back to life, set to it and soon she coughed up a lungful of water and gasped for breath on her own. She opened her eyes, took one look at the man who'd given his life to save her, and that was about all she had strength for. She fell to the deck and the EMTs got to work getting her onto a gurney and under some blankets.

They were busy with her so they didn't quite notice the desperate gasp as her savior sat bolt upright behind them, reviving and realizing he needed to disappear at once. He slid silently over the side and grasped the ladder on the back of the boat. He had to wrap his legs around it to avoid the propellers as they motored to the landing used for hospital emergencies. Once they were gone with the woman, he dragged himself to the quay – on the side of the bay opposite Torchwood, his coat, his Webley and his people, whom he desperately needed. He dragged himself under some shrubbery so he could curl up in a fetal position for a while and try and regain his strength. And come up with a plan.

Some time before this, the story really began...

Her name was Fern, a name shared with two other generations. She sat on the glider on the front porch of her grandmother's house. Well it had been her house when she was alive, but she had just passed away a week ago. "Young" Fern, a successful businesswoman of 42, could afford to take the time to spend as long as she needed to settle things. As executrix she worked on packing up clothes, dishes, photos and books, and labeled the furniture and made inventories on her laptop of what to send to each of her family, according to their requests.

This was the way it was supposed to be, anyway. In fact, the family was at war with each other within 24 hours of Lily Fern Matthews' death. Her granddaughter sat on the glider hoping to calm her nerves after her most recent shouting match with her uncle. Her own sister had already stopped speaking with her and her mother (Fern Lorene), who was nearing a nervous breakdown as she tried to find a new place to live. Even though she was the only one who had cared for her mother for the last months of her life, the uncle insisted on getting the house sold out from under her immediately. The proceeds were to be split between the children and grandchildren of the woman who had been the rock, the matriarch, the soft hug and kiss goodnight to generations. The home that held matching memories shared by dozens, and peeling plaster walls and worn rugs that hosted feet as they grew into their lives, while providing countless holiday meals with every inch of space taken up by all the mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and cousins that, until a week ago, adored each other, each in their own way - the hub of her family was for sale. This home could no longer make those memories into the glue that had held them all together through all the dramas of their lives.

In one week, the love of decades seemed to vaporize as if it had never been. She didn't know it now, but she would spend the rest of her life wondering why, but she never would be able to figure out how this had happened. But How was a pauper here now. Get It Done was in charge. Get It Over With was his consort.

She'd give anything to just get out of here for a while, just as much as she'd give anything to stay here forever, breathing in the mixed scents of boxwood hedges and Paul Scarlett roses. She couldn't fight off the constant feeling of being dragged into her memories. Each one was a joy that ended in racking sobs. This was getting old fast. She had to do something.

Standing up and wiping her cheeks dry, and then trying to dry them again, she moved down the small front steps of the tiny house that had seemed so big so many years ago. Her rented Jeep Liberty sat waiting for her and she tilted her head to look a little closer. In the passenger side rear view mirror she could see what looked like cotton balls. They didn't move, and there was nothing to orient her vision with them. She felt a strangely familiar vertigo as the image that didn't make sense captured her attention completely. She stared at it until it became the only thing she could see, ringed with a sparkling haze and indistinct shadows of her surroundings. Then the world went black.

She didn't return to consciousness all at once. A long time was spent in a dreamlike state, visions of someone else's past drift in and out, and words like 'listen' and 'follow' drifting with them. She saw stars and realized they were coming closer and she was seeing one of the myriad moons of a distant planet and she was landing, then that scene changed and she was in an undefinable space. It was interior, full of machinery and, well, portholes, so it seemed, since she could see what was outside: darkness and more stars. Here there were sounds, mechanical, whirring, rhythmic, and soothing as if they made up a song that was telling her something… then darkness overcame her before the next vision. Now she was in a dark, musty place with the sound of water and a sudden, frightening shriek high overhead. She couldn't move or even look in that direction – she wasn't seeing all this, she was just experiencing it. Until at last something real seemed to approach her. A man. A very tall man with a commanding presence stood stock still with his hands in his pockets, looking down at her. Down at her? Yes, as she had begun to guess she was in a hospital, or something smaller, maybe just a medical bay in some other place (hospitals wouldn't smell like bird doo and old pizza, would they?)

"Hello".

Hello? She thought he spoke and that might be what he said, but it echoed and was muffled to her ears. The timbre of his voice also encased her in an inexplicable aura of excitement, adventure, and derring-do. How that could happen from one word, she had no idea. She decided to try it herself, see if she could get a word out of her mouth, which so far felt like it had little sweaters on her teeth.

"Mmroow?"

Nice try. How embarrassing. The more her vision focused, the more she wanted to close her eyes. This man was beautiful. By the standards of Michelangelo, DaVinci and her best friend Marcia, he was a god. He had piercing eyes that went pale when he moved and the light struck them. His full lips were curved in a welcoming grin, and –flash-! A smile and she was blinded. She shut her eyes finally, going into sensory overload. But deep inside she was having a great time. What a way to get away from….

At last she remembered where she'd been when she blacked out. She sat up with a jerk, then fell in a limp heap and the room spun mercilessly.

"Whoa there, spacegirl, you aren't quite ready to fly again yet." His voice was musical even when he spoke – oh, stop it, she admonished herself. Get a grip!

That's about all I can do tonight…just a teaser, but wordy, eh? Think beach novel, and you've got a description of my writing. And procrastination. Only one thing will cure that, and you know what it is…. So if you want to keep the pulse going, let me know, otherwise, "Young Fern" will have to spend her time with lovely Jack, and without you!

NB: Um, that means I really need reviews – I know I'm wordy and I want to know if that's causing problems, helping cure your insomnia, or whatever. Not begging, but I know you're out there…could you help me out and give me some feedback?