Jack stretched, arching his back into the sheets and running his toes along the far edge of the mattress. He could almost hear his stiff muscles creaking, but it felt good. He rolled over onto his side, propping his head up on one hand. He grinned, pondering his sleeping bedmate. She was all pale skin and padded curves and dark, dark hair, and she was the newest professor of history at Cardiff University. It added up to the deadly combination of brains and beauty that Jack was never able to ignore.

He had been to her department looking for information about the area for a project he was working on, and they'd foisted him off on their most junior colleague. Jack figured that was a stroke of luck on his part- not only had she gotten him the information he needed, but she'd consented to let him buy her dinner as thanks. Et cetera, et cetera. He smiled, letting out a very contented sigh, and rolled over onto his back.

Her place was about what he'd've expected from a historian's flat- tasteful, full of books, papers and odd little knicknacks. Wood paneling. Nice, big bed. Nice, big, soft bed, with lots of pillows, and a surprisingly comprehensive selection of toys in a nearby (tasteful, wood-paneled) cupboard. Jack folded his hands under his head, grinning. Just then, his eyes fell on his headset, on a table next to the bed. It was blinking, and vibrating.

Jack sighed, again- not with contentment this time. He stood up, picked up the headset, and padded into the bathroom, closing the door quietly. "What is it?" said Jack, a bit more snappishly than he probably should have.

"Where the hell have you been, Jack?" It was Gwen, with a note of panic in her voice. "This is my third time trying to get you on the headset. We were about to send Owen out after you."

"I'm fine, Gwen," Jack said. "I was just asleep- no need to send in the cavalry. Now, what is it?"

"Tosh tracked something that just crashed outside Cardiff. She says that, given the trajectory, it has to have been artificial, making a crash landing. She says it's 'something with engines, that could queer the descent patterns'."

Jack swore. "Get out there and get it out of the hands of the police, ASAP. Have Tosh uplink the data to me, and I'll meet you there with the SUV."

"Right," Gwen answered, and signed off.

Gwen, Tosh and Owen were piled into Gwen's car- somehow, despite it being Gwen's actual car, Owen had appropriated the driver's seat. "Where do you think he was?" she asked the assembled crew. "He said he was asleep, but I thought he lived in the Hub."

"The SUV was in a residential area, according to the GPS tracker," Tosh put in, absently.

"Who cares?" said Owen. "Maybe he just went home with some bird he met at the pub. Or some bloke. You never know, with good old Jack."

Gwen bit her lip. "I was just wondering, because... it's not like him not to answer his phone."

"He is allowed to have some life outside of Torchwood," Tosh said, still messing with her laptop.

"Whatever," said Owen, rolling his eyes. "We're here."

Jack showered quickly. He'd long ago mastered the three-minute shower- it was one of the multitude of reasons he kept his hair so short. When he poked his head out of the bathroom, he saw that Lily (his delectable historian) was still sleeping. He hung his towel carefully on the rack, and walked softly back over to the bed, hunting around for the various bits of clothing that belonged to him.

Finally dressed, he borrowed a pen and some paper. Sorry I couldn't stay to make you breakfast, it said. Work calls. Next time, I promise waffles. He signed it simply "Jack" and laid it on the pillow next to her. He hoped she wouldn't take offense at him leaving- women could be strange about that sometimes.

Jack was thoroughly enjoying being in a decade where he could (finally!) more or less bed who he wanted, without worrying about committing some unforgivable social error in the process. There was no longer a woman's honor to worry about sullying. He got chased by far fewer angry fathers and brothers- and he stood a much better chance of getting the fathers or the brothers in bed with him, instead of having them after his head. He'd always had a soft spot for the forties, but he liked this decade pretty good, too.

Seven and a half minutes after Gwen's call, he was headed out the door, whistling to himself as he checked the coordinates on his wrist computer.

Jack arrived on the scene, striding through the cordon like he owned the place. He found that acting like you're in charge was the most important part of actually being in charge. The regular police hated his guts, of course. Jack regretted it, but he'd spent too many years establishing Torchwood's authority over local matters to give an inch on it now. Besides- they might hate him, but ultimately he was protecting them. They didn't actually want to face the sort of things Jack had to deal with. Not really.

Like this, for example. Jack ducked as he walked into the large tent that'd been erected over the crash site. The ship was small, for a spaceship- a bit longer than an RV, but taller. Jack didn't recognize the make. He circled around it, noting the obvious damage from the crash. If there was any damage before the crash, it wasn't obvious. No burn marks, or laser scars. The passenger compartment was tiny, compared to the rest of the ship. Inefficient engines, Jack thought. "What do you have for me, Tosh?" Jack said aloud.

"Not much," she answered. She was standing off to the side, sweeping various devices over the ship, and making notes on her laptop. Gwen and Owen were standing to the side. "No response from inside. It looks like the interior's been breached, but we were waiting for you before opening it. The atmosphere inside seems to be basically compatible, so there might be survivors."

"And you did take your sweet time," Owen put in, snarkily. "So, where was our fearless leader? Off having a bit of a bang, were we?"

Jack shot Owen a look, and Owen subsided. "Gwen, you're with me," Jack said. "We're going to get the ship open. Owen, be prepared to treat any passengers inside. And try to keep the remarks to a minimum, please? Whoever's inside is lost, and probably hurt and scared. Let's not make it worse."

Owen muttered under his breath, but set to preparing his medical equipment.

It took Jack and Gwen a few minutes to get the door of the ship open. The mechanism was clearly damaged, and Jack'd had to fiddle with it to get it to respond. The air inside smelled strange. There was ozone, and burnt metal, and a heavy, organic scent that Jack did not find promising.

"Hello?" he called out, in a clear, even voice. "This is Captain Jack Harkness, representing the Torchwood Institute. We're here to help you." He moved cautiously into the cabin, Gwen at his back.

The space inside was as small as he'd thought it would be. He had to duck going in. There were spaces for four passengers, and precious little else. Two of the spaces were filled. The passengers were curiously insectiform. Six limbs, bodies slim to the point of ridiculousness. Their faces were reminiscent of nothing on Earth, though, and their small, clawed hands looked nothing like a bug's.

"Owen!" Jack called. "We've got patients for you!" Jack didn't hold out much hope for them, though. They looked to have been hurt pretty badly in the crash, and neither of them were responsive. Dead, Jack guessed, but you never knew.

"What, ah- what are they?" Gwen asked, unnerved.

"They're people, Gwen." Jack said, shortly. He tapped a few keys on his wrist computer. "Or were."

"I mean, what- ah- species?" she continued.

Jack looked up at her. "Don't know," he said. "I'll have Tosh match them against our databases, but I don't recognize them.

He frowned suddenly, and shook his head. "What is it?" Gwen asked, concerned.

"I thought I saw something move, but- never mind. It was probably nothing."