A/N: Chapter two, hooray. A message to all reviewers - I need you help coming up with places the TARDIS Team can visit. Please leave a suggestion!

Disclaimer: Do not own Torchwood or Doctor Who. But the idea for this story was mine, I tell ya, ALL MINE! (insert appropriate evil laugh here)


CHAPTER TWO: "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"

The Doctor woke, coughing and spluttering as water was poured all over his face.

Brittany smiled down at him. "Wakey wakey sunshine! Was the floor comfortable?" she jested, making sure that to shake the last few drops of water from her red bucket into his eye.

The Time Lord only groaned in response, sitting up very slowly. Dear Rassilon, his head was hurting almost as much as that time Captain Jack had dropped him off a building head first onto an old tatty mattress. Speaking of the charming Captain, what had happened last night? He had gone clubbing with Jack, hadn't he? That had obviously been a bad move. And what was that strange feeling in his stomach?

He rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily. The change from horizontal to vertical really hadn't helped with his headache, and in fact seemed to be exacerbating that strangely familiar feeling in his stomach.

Brittany whistled, and the Doctor clapped his hands over his ears. "How much did you drink last night?"

"Not much," the alien said, not certain of whether that was true or not. He was sure he'd had only one alcoholic drink last night, but why was his head hurting so much? And by all the Time Lords of Gallifrey, what in the seven systems was wrong with his voice?

"Sure, but it looks like you have one hell of a hangover."

Oh, the Doctor thought to himself as he raced for the nearest bathroom, hangover. That's what the feeling in his stomach was. Been a while since he'd done this…

After emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet, the Doctor washed the horrible taste out of his mouth using water from the sink. Then he made the mistake of looking in the mirror. "You have got to be kidding me!" he screeched with an all-too-familiar American twang.

Jack rolled onto his side, water dripping off his face and onto the floor. "That must have been one hell of a night," he muttered to himself, surprised at the strangeness of his voice. It was … different. Not bad, just different. For one, the vowels sounded all wrong. What had he been drinking last night? Furniture polish?

He dragged himself up onto the console room's lone chair with considerable ease, considering just how much he had drunk during the night. Actually, he didn't have much of a hangover either. Well, that had to be a first. If he had known that was going to happen, he would have drunk himself to stupefaction, and gotten the Doctor to carry him back home.

It seemed like whoever had chucked water all over him had buggered off, though Jack wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not. What if they came back? What would he do then? Hang on, he was in the TARDIS. He couldn't see the Doctor upending a bucket above his face, but Brittany was another matter. When he got his hands on her…

"Jack?"

The Captain turned at the sound of his name, and found himself face to face with, well, himself. The other man was like an exact copy, right down to the clothing, distribution of freckles and knock-your-socks-off good looks. It was at that moment that Jack caught sight of his own hand.

It wasn't really the hand that interested him, but rather the sleeve. It was brown. With pinstripes. Blue pinstripes.

"No way," Jack breathed, standing up and looking down at his suit. "What the hell were we drinking last night?" Then a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Although, I do look rather handsome."

"Jack, can you take your mind off flirting for just one moment? Or is that physically impossible?"

"I'm going to have to go with the second option."

The Doctor rolled his blue eyes and stalked around to the other side of the console, and Jack tailed him, whistling appreciatively.

"Nice bottom!" The Captain grinned flirtatiously, and the Doctor just looked at him in disgust.

"You do know that's your own body you're talking about?"

Jack's grin widened. "Yes. And it's true. I do have a nice ass."

The Doctor ran his hands through his noticeably shorter hair. "Jack," he said in a blank monotone, "don't you think we should work out what has happened first, before we think about dumb, stupid things like flirting?"

Before Jack could reply to that, the scanner on the console buzzed with static. The normal display of spinning Gallifreyan symbols morphed into a warped fish-eye view of one of the TARDIS rooms. It looked like the kitchen, furnished with cupboards and cookers as it was. Brittany grinned at them from her position at the dining table.

"If you two have recovered sufficiently, maybe you would care for breakfast. By the way, it's good to see you, Captain."

The Doctor offered her a general 'yeah', then rounded on the real Jack after the video link-up had cut out. "We can't tell her," he hissed through his new teeth, the very image of anger. "We can't let her know."

Jack nodded in agreement, losing his hands in his dimensionally transcendental pockets. "Amen to that Doctor. Or should I say… Captain Harkness?" He grinned mischievously for a few seconds, before frowning at his pockets. "Is that a piece of old chewing gum? That's disgusting!"

The Doctor just rolled his eyes and marched off with a shake of his head.