Author's Note:

A series of four drabbles to go with the episode 'Fragments', featuring each of the team's first drinks with Jack. I included Suzie because we know nothing about how she joined Torchwood, and left out Gwen because we see her have a drink with Jack in 'Everything Changes.'

i. Godfather

Suzie sat at the bar, angrily fingering a cocktail napkin as she sipped her drink. It was her second, and yet she was still too agitated to think straight. Her job was crap, her boss a complete imbecile. She had half a mind to tender her resignation by certified mail and never set foot in the damn place again, yet she also wanted to deliver the blistering exit speech she was composing in her head.

Either way, she was done. She was not going back and nothing would stop her. She could do better than some dead-end lab position; she needed to be somewhere where she could do something that mattered, that made a difference. Someplace where people weren't looking over her shoulder, where she was allowed the freedom to do what she was capable of doing.

The problem was that Suzie had no idea what that was or where it might be. And that was terrifying—the thought of being without a job, without an income, without a home. Without a life. She wasn't close enough to her family to ask them for help, and she didn't have any friends she could go to either. She was alone, and sick and tired of her job. She needed a change.

Someone slid onto the stool next to her; she ignored him. Finishing her drink, she set it down and was about to motion for another when the man spoke. He had a jarring American accent.

"What're you drinking?" he asked, far too cheerful for the late-night crowd at The Lantern's Edge. She didn't even bother looking at him.

"None of your business," she replied.

"Oh, is that a new one?" he asked. She could almost hear him grinning. "Let me guess— heavy on the bitters."

She turned to look at him and found herself facing an exceptionally attractive middle-aged man. Gorgeous brown hair, bright blue eyes, classic air with the old-fashioned clothes and coat. She narrowed her eyes at him, immediately suspicious. He looked like a two-bit player, charismatic but swarmy.

"Scotch and amaretto," she replied, turning away. She tried not to sigh in frustration; she wanted another drink and wasn't about to let some prat run her off from her favorite barstool.

"Ah, a godfather," the man said, nodding. He waved at the barman; he was wearing a leather wrist strap that she hoped wasn't some sort of kinky fetish wear. Being hit on was bad enough; leather was not one of her interests.

The man ordered two, and that's when Suzie decided she needed to put him off, and put him off fast. "Look," she started, and he held up a hand to stop her.

"I know," he said. "You're not interested, because you've had a bad day and you want to be alone."

"Exactly," she said. "I'm glad you understand." He continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"Drinking alone is not as fun, though," he said. "And you should be interested. I mean, look at this jawline." He ran a hand across his jaw and wagged his eyebrows. Susie didn't even glance at him. He leaned closer.

"But the bad day I understand. You've got a crap job. You're underused there, they don't appreciate you, and your boss is a prick." She turned to look at him in surprise. "Am I right, Suzie?"

"How do you know my name?" she hissed, tempted to grab him by the collar and shove him away.

"Because I've been watching you, Suzie Costello," he said, the flirtatious innuendo gone and replaced by an almost deadly seriousness. "Captain Jack Harkness, and I want to offer you a new job."

She snorted as the barman set down their drinks. Taking it up, the stranger raised his glass with a raised eyebrow. "Interested?"

She should say no. She should leave, run away, forget it ever happened. But Suzie wanted more, and if there was any chance this man could offer it, she would follow him.

"Nice to meet you, Captain," she replied. "Tell me more."

ii. Sidecar

Tosh sat back with a sigh, running a hand across her face as she tried to bring her scattered thoughts into order. It had been the most insane week of her life, and that day in particular had been more intense than any other leading up to it.

She'd first walked into the Hub five days ago, instantly overwhelmed yet also filled with a desperate hope that this was where she was meant to be, what she was supposed to be doing. Captain Harkness—he had insisted she call him Jack, but she still didn't feel quite comfortable—had somehow negotiated her freedom from UNIT, and she couldn't be more grateful to be out of that hell hole. At the same time, she was now contracted to Torchwood for five years, and she worried that those five years might feel like forever if she didn't fit in and enjoy the work.

After the first week on the job, she was glad she had accepted the offer. The things she'd seen and done in such a short amount of time had been amazing. Most of it had been research, getting to know the Hub systems and equipment, learning alien technology. She'd started firearms training with Captain Harkness—and wasn't that interesting and probably very unorthodox—and had learned about Weevils and how to restrain and capture them. She'd not encountered one until that morning, however, when two had been spotted in a local park and all three of them had gone out on the call.

It had been her first opportunity to put her training to practice…and she'd frozen. Oh, she'd recovered quick enough, and they'd got rid of the Weevils, and no one had been hurt even if there had been a lot of blood on the captain's shirt (from the Weevil, he'd said, though she suspected he was keeping secrets, since she was fairly certain Weevil blood wasn't the same bright red as human blood.) She was disappointed in herself, though, and if she were honest, she doubted whether she was cut out to be a field agent. She could run the technology in the Hub with one hand behind her back, but actually fighting monsters? She wasn't sure she would ever learn to embrace the danger, and she wondered if she should talk to the captain about it.

Tosh glanced around the Hub, looking for her coworkers. As usual, Suzie was completely engaged in whatever piece of tech she was working with. She was even more intense than Tosh when it came to studying the new artifacts they retrieved from the mysterious Rift, or plucked out of the disorganized Archives on slow days. Suzie only seemed to work with weaponry, though; Tosh was glad she was able to work with the computer systems and other technologies on her own.

It was past lunch, and Tosh was hungry, but the captain wasn't in his office, and she still wasn't quite sure of their schedule and procedures. With another sigh, she turned back to her computer, completely forgetting what she had been working on. Blinking a few times to focus, she thought about seeing if there were any snacks around, then jumped when a hand touched her on the shoulder.

"You look tired," said Captain Harkness, smiling down at her. At times like these, when he was friendly and open and supportive, Tosh liked him dearly; other times he was dark and mysterious and frightening.

"A bit," she admitted. "But mostly hungry."

He glanced at his watch and nodded. "Then it's time for lunch. Come on, my treat."

He headed to his office and came back out wearing his greatcoat. Though it enhanced the image of him as a mysterious hero, it was somewhat old-fashioned and odd. Still, she was growing to like it, as it fit his style and personality. He raised an eyebrow. "Coming?"

She scrambled for her coat and purse as he turned to Suzie. "We're going out for lunch, can we get you anything?"

Suzie looked up, eyes glancing back and forth between them. "My usual, thanks." Then she went right back to her work, apparently not bothered by the lack of an invitation to join them.

As they stepped into the lift, Tosh said something. "Shouldn't we ask her to join us? I hate leaving her behind."

"I prefer someone remain in the Hub during the day," the captain said. He tapped the leather band on his wrist. "Unless, of course, you can think of a way to hook up the alert system with this?"

She glanced at him in surprise. "I'm sure I could," she said. "If you give me some time to study it."

He grinned at her. "Absolutely. You can work on it this afternoon." They exited the lift into the abandoned tourist office. "Also, I told Suzie I wanted to check in on you after the Weevil chase this morning, so she's fine with us going out alone. I think she prefers the quiet."

"She does seem very focused," Tosh offered. Anti-social as well, but she didn't say anything. She sensed Suzie was as introverted as she was, and given the other woman's obvious intelligence, Tosh hoped they might become friends once they grew to know one another.

"That's a very polite way of putting it," the captain laughed. They left the tourist office and started to walk across the quay. Jack talked about the area and the renovations over the last several years. Tosh wondered how long he had been living in Cardiff, as he seemed to know more about the city than anyone, then listened with interest as the stories began to veer into Torchwood territory, with tales of aliens and ships and rifts in time.

They eventually came to a small pub, The Lantern's Edge, tucked away between two other shops, and he led her toward a table in the back. "Fish and chips sound good? They've got the best on the bay."

"Sounds perfect," she said. He walked up to the bar to place their order, and returned after a few minutes with two drinks. To Tosh's surprise, it was alcoholic.

"Drinking on the job?" she asked lightly. Maybe it would help her relax.

The captain laughed. "Just the one. You look like you could use it."

She smiled and took another sip. It was quite good. "Thank you. What is it?"

"Sidecar," he replied. A nostalgic look crossed his face as he leaned back. "Popular during the war."

"The one that goes with your coat?" she asked, surprised at her boldness. If there was one thing she'd learned since meeting Captain Harkness, it was that he didn't give up personal information lightly.

"The very same," he laughed. "I'm a big history fan." Before she could ask him more, he leaned forward. "So how has your first week been? Honestly?"

Tosh took another sip of her drink. "Nothing like what I expected."

He nodded. "In a good way or a bad way?"

She grinned and met his eyes. "In a good way. It's…it's amazing. Thank you for the chance to see all this, to know there's more out there."

He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Don't thank me yet," he murmured. "It can be as dark and difficult as it is amazing."

"I understand," she said. "I think I experienced some of that this morning."

"You did good out there, you know," Jack said. "With the Weevils. You may not think so, but you did."

She shook her head. "I don't know if I'm cut out for chasing aliens, but everything else…it's incredible. I feel like I'm doing something important, and that's what matters."

"I knew I picked you for a reason," he said. Their food arrived then. "Tuck in and drink up!" he said. "Because you're just getting started, Toshiko Sato!"

Tosh knew that he was right, and that her life would never be the same. And yet, it was better than she could have hoped. She did not dread her five years with Torchwood, but looked forward to exploring the universe with Captain Harkness.

iii. Whiskey Sour

Owen didn't like losing—losing money, losing games, and especially losing people. He was a doctor, and he was supposed to save people, not watch them die. That's why he was there, to try and make sense of his own loss, to ensure that others didn't suffer the way Katie had suffered. But this time he had failed, and he had lost.

He'd followed Jack Harkness to Torchwood a fortnight ago, and he hadn't looked back once. He'd known from the moment he'd walked into the cavernous workspace called the Hub that Torchwood was dark and dangerous and incredibly damaged. Three people running the place, trying to protect Cardiff from rampaging aliens and rifts in time? That was messed up, which was why he fit in perfectly.

He was damaged too, and the darkness of Torchwood called to him. Yet it also motivated him: he would not let it claim anyone else. So when it had taken an older couple out walking their dog in the wrong place at the wrong time, Owen reacted poorly. He swore and he raged and he kicked his chair, until Jack came down to the medical bay and motioned him out.

Owen assumed he'd be called to the carpet in Jack's office for his tantrum, maybe even sent packing with one of the little white pills they called Retcon. Only Jack had tossed Owen his jacket, grabbed his own, and led him to the invisible lift. They were silent the entire time. Owen wondered when the other shoe was going to drop.

The SUV was still parked on the Plass. Jack took the ticket from the windshield and pocketed it with a roll of his eyes. He pointed to the passenger side and Owen got in as Jack started the car, still silent. When they pulled away, Owen had to ask what was going on.

"Where're we going?" he asked. Jack grinned at him in that infuriating way he had. Two weeks on the job, and Owen knew it would only be a matter of time before he punched that grin off the man's face.

"Dinner and drinks," Jack replied.

Owen snorted. "Didn't fancy you the type," he replied. Jack laughed out loud. "And you're not mine."

"You don't know me very well then," he replied. "Because I am everyone's type."

Owen rolled his eyes. "Seriously, where are we going?"

Jack shrugged. "I was serious. You need a break. Dinner and drinks."

"There better not be any dancing," Owen grumbled.

Jack drove to the other side of the Quay and parked. They walked to a small pub, The Lantern's Edge, where they settled at the bar. "Tab's on me," Jack said. "Whatever you want, though the fish and chips are good."

"Liquor too?" Owen asked.

"As much as you can handle," Jack said. Owen laughed.

"I can handle a lot," he said. He called the barman over and ordered a whiskey sour. If Harkness was paying, he may as well take advantage of it. "Make it a double," he added.

Jack ordered tonic water and some food, and Owen followed suit. They drank in silence for a long moment, until Jack spoke.

"It's hard losing people," he started. Owen immediately waved him off.

"Spare me the pep talk," he snapped. "I'm a doctor, I know what I got myself into."

"It's different," Jack pointed out. "With Torchwood."

"It's messier," Owen agreed. "Although I saw some crazy shit in the A&E back in London, so you'd think I'd be used to it."

"I don't think you ever get used to violent death," said Jack. "Especially by alien."

Owen laughed bitterly and took a long sip of his drink. "Death by alien. Christ, I never thought I'd have to put that on a death certificate."

Jack ran his finger around the edge of his glass. "There will be worse," he said. "Watching someone get ripped apart by a Hoix is only a part of what you'll see if you stay."

Owen turned to him in surprise. "If I stay?" he asked. "So you really are thinking of Retconning me out of service already?"

"No, but I'm offering," said Jack. "If you want to forget what happened today and go back to London, I can make it happen. I can get you a good job in a good practice someplace where you'll never have to deal with aliens again. Because it will get worse."

"Forget it," Owen snapped. "I'm staying. Don't patronize me, Harkness. My fiancé died because of a fucking alien parasite, so I'm going to damn well do my best to stop other people from going through the same."

Jack glanced down into his glass and smiled. "I thought you'd say that, but I also thought I'd offer anyway."

"Fuck you," Owen replied half-heartedly. "And don't threaten me again."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Who's the boss here?"

"You are," said Owen. "But I'm the doctor, so I'll evaluate the mental health of the staff, thank you very much."

"Including yourself?"

"Including myself," said Owen. "I'm doing this, Jack. I'm not quitting because I saw a man get disemboweled today. I'll have a few drinks, get up in the morning, and go back to work to try and stop it from happening again."

There was a strong hand on his shoulder. "Good man," said Jack. "Have another drink." He motioned the barman over and ordered another whiskey sour for Owen. Their food arrived and they tucked in, talking casually about some of the other cases they'd had that week before Jack started telling stories. Owen had noticed that Jack's storied tended toward more bluster than substance, but then again, he also seemed to know what he was talking about when it came to Torchwood. Owen had another drink, and then a third. When Jack started going on about banging a triple-breasted alien bounty hunter, he decided that even if the man was lying, maybe Jack Harkness wasn't quite so bad.

Torchwood, however, would probably be the death of him.

iv. Vesper Martini

Pulling the door shut behind him, Ianto turned and locked it, letting his head rest against the cool metal for a moment. He was so tired. He should try to sleep, either in Lisa's room or back at the dingy, unpacked flat he called home, but he knew he wouldn't. He was running on caffeine and adrenaline, and felt the constant, incessant drive to be doing something, anything.

At first it was getting Lisa in, getting her situated in the life support unit and comfortable. Sometimes it was research, and trying to stay hidden as he desperately searched for something in the archives to help her. Yet most of the time it was simply the need to stay busy, to do something, anything, to bring order to the chaos that was his life before he succumbed to despair. And given that Torchwood Three was nothing but chaos and disorder, Ianto found there was always sometime to do. Something to file, to find, to clean, to repair.

The sad thing was, he enjoyed the work. In another time, another place, he could have been happy there, running Torchwood Three behind the scenes. He missed some of his old duties from London, but found he was good at what Torchwood Three needed: a strong and competent general administrator. Despite recent trauma (or perhaps because of it), he was focused and organized. He knew what needed to be done, and he knew how to get it done on time. Plus, he made damn good coffee. After a few missteps, he'd settled into the job and found it suited him. The nature of the work allowed him to frequently disappear downstairs to check on Lisa, and the sheer amount of work kept him distracted when he couldn't.

Turning to head back upstairs, he checked his watch only to realize it was well past nine o'clock. The others would have certainly gone home, but it was likely Jack was still around as Ianto hadn't heard otherwise on the coms, and he always tried to be aware of Jack's comings and goings.

He told himself it was so he could better monitor Lisa in secret, but Ianto had to admit he was fascinated by the enigmatic leader of Torchwood Three. Jack Harkness was both everything he'd heard at Torchwood One, and nothing like the man Yvonne Hartmann had hated with a passion. He could be charismatic but cruel, flippant yet serious at the same time, shallow with hidden depths. Ianto wanted to hate him, but he also wanted to trust him; instead he felt trapped in limbo, flirting with the older man and enjoying it even as he wanted to rail at the captain for everything that had gone wrong since Canary Wharf and punch the smile off Harkness's too handsome face.

When he saw that Jack's office was empty, Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. He could either get some work done in silence, or go home for the night and wallow in the misery of his life. He decided to go for the latter and was shutting down his computer when he heard footsteps on the walkway above him.

"Ianto!" called Jack, flirtatious cheerfulness filling his voice even at the late hour. "I thought you'd left with the others!"

"It would appear that I remained," Ianto replied dryly. He didn't bother turning, since he knew he'd find Jack and that thousand-watt grin staring back, or perhaps even worse. He was fairly sure he'd caught the captain leering at him more than once, but wasn't sure whether it was part of the game Jack played in projecting the playboy image, or if he was truly that lecherous. Or actually interested. Either way, Ianto didn't want to deal with it and continued to shut down his station. "I am, however, on my way home now, sir."

"It's long after hours," Jack said. "Why not drop the 'sir' and have a drink with me?"

Ianto glanced up to see Jack leaning on the railing. He was not leering, but looked genuinely interested.

"What?" Ianto asked, thinking he had misunderstood.

"Before you dash out only to dash back in far too early for any rational employee," Jack articulated slowly, "come have a drink in my office. Or we could walk to The Lantern's Edge."

"Oh." Ianto tucked his hands into his pockets. He wanted to leave, and leave fast. He did not want to drink with Jack Harkness. He suspected it was even more dangerous than chasing Weevils. "Is that an—"

He was going to say "invitation?" but Jack interrupted him. "An order? No, but I'd like to sit down and touch base about a few things. If you don't have a hot date or anything, that is," he added.

Ianto ducked his head so Jack didn't see the anguished look on his face. Of course he didn't have a date. She was strapped into a life support unit downstairs, sedated unconscious to keep the pain at bay. He pushed the thought away, that he might never go on another date again, and looked up with a blank look on his face. "No, sir, no date. I could stay for a few minutes. What did you wish to discuss?"

Jack smiled as if he meant it and made his way toward his office. "I won't take up too much of your time—unless you want me to," he added with one of those damn winks.

Ianto affected a long-suffering sigh. "I don't usually offer my free time up for unpaid harassment, no," he replied.

"Too bad," Jack laughed as Ianto followed him into his office. He felt like a mouse following a lion into its cave. "I'm quite good at harassment."

"I imagine you are, sir," Ianto murmured. Jack grinned again, motioning at Ianto to sit down, and began to pour them both a drink. To Ianto's surprise, it was more than a sip of scotch, which tended to be Jack's usual evening drink after a difficult case. Then again, Ianto had only been working in the Hub for three weeks, and had never had a drink with the other man; it seemed inevitable that Jack drank more than scotch, just as Ianto drank more than whiskey and beer.

Jack handed him a glass Ianto half suspected had been prepared ahead of time, then sat down behind his desk. He raised his own glass in a toast and grinned. "And yet you're still not interested," Jack replied.

Ianto took a sip of his drink, unable to contain his surprise. "Vesper martini," he said with a pleased nod. He decided to play along. It seemed to keep Jack satisfied, and Ianto had to admit he enjoyed it as well. "I never said I wasn't. What were you interested in talking about, sir?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You want the real answer or the bullshit answer?"

"I can guess the latter, so the former, please." He took another sip of the drink: vodka, gin, with a touch of lillet blanc and a splash of lemon. He wondered why Jack had chosen that particular drink. "This is quite good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And the real answer is Torchwood." At Ianto's questioning look, he continued. "More specifically, you and Torchwood." He paused, tapped his desk a few times, and leaned forward. "How are you settling in here, Ianto?"

Ianto set down his glass in surprise, his heart racing. Had Jack found out his secret? "I thought I was settling in well, sir. Has my performance left something to be desired?"

Jack sighed and sat back. "I knew you were going to say that." He took a sip of his martini and shook his head. "Ianto, this place is running better than it has in years. It looks amazing, you're making brilliant progress on the archives, and your coffee keeps us alive most days."

"Oh." Once again Ianto was speechless. "Was there another problem, then?"

"I never said there was a problem," Jack replied. "Unless you have any concerns. I wanted to check in, see how you're doing after what happened in London…"

He trailed off, clearing putting the ball in Ianto's court. He took a deep sip of the martini, relishing the delicious burn of the liquor down his throat. Then he set down his glass and glanced up, meeting Jack's eyes. They were filled with nothing but concern, and Ianto felt his heart leap into his throat. It would be so easy to say something, to tell Jack everything—to confess his sins and beg for help.

Something held him back. He was scared, for one: Jack could be harsh when he needed to be, and Ianto knew Jack might execute Lisa as quickly as he might try to help her. And though Ianto wanted to trust Jack, he did not trust himself. Did he want to tell Jack to garner help and support, or so that Jack could end it for him, one way or the other? Or did he want to tell Jack because he was attracted to him? He hated lying to Jack and often felt the urge to tell him everything, but Ianto couldn't condemn Lisa to death because he felt the urge to get it off with his exceptionally attractive boss.

So he didn't say anything about his dying girlfriend and locked her away in his heart where only he could see her, touch her, feel her.

"I'm fine," he said, then held up a hand when Jack looked skeptical. "I'm…dealing. It's been challenging, I admit. But that's why I'm here, sir. To move on with my life. To continue, no matter how hard it gets." He felt like he was trying to convince himself as much as Jack.

Jack sighed and nodded. "I understand. Look, you're doing good work here…great work…but don't overwork yourself, okay? You don't have to stay late every night, be the first here every morning. And if you ever need a day off, those are available."

"And what would I do with a day off?" Ianto asked, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. The thought terrified him. It felt like being banished from the Hub, from Lisa. It wasn't as if he'd go out, spend a day at the park, or take in a film. He had a job to do, and that was take care of Lisa. Taking care of the rest of Torchwood Three was secondary, as much as it was needed and necessary.

"You've been back in Cardiff for what? A month? Six weeks since Canary Wharf?" Jack asked. Ianto nodded, avoiding looking at the captain. "Do you have family in the area? Friends?"

Ianto abruptly slammed back the rest of his drink and stood up. How could he answer Jack's question without incriminating himself in some way? Yes, he had family, but he wasn't close to them. No, he didn't have any friends, because they'd all died in London. Except his girlfriend, who was barely recognizable and still in desperate pain as she waited for him to save her. Only he was too busy running Torchwood, saving the world instead, and enjoying it. Hell, he even liked being in Jack's office, sitting across from him, having a drink as if they were friends, enjoying the attention, thinking about more until his heart once again reigned in his traitorous libido.

Jack looked startled and stood with him. "I should go, sir," Ianto replied, his voice stiff. "Thank you for the drink." He turned to leave and heard Jack sigh behind him. As he came to the doorway, a hand on his shoulder stopped him, turned him around, rubbed comforting circles into tense muscles. At that moment, it was all Ianto could do to not break down.

"I'm sorry if I hit a nerve," Jack said quietly. "But I meant what I said: don't work too hard, take the time if you want it, and if you need anything…" He trailed off with a conspicuous lack of innuendo. Jack was serious in his concern, and it almost unmanned Ianto.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and he meant it. He'd never take Jack up on the offer, but somehow it helped, the smallest bit, to think that maybe Jack was concerned, that he really did care about his team. Ianto could never go to the captain, though; he'd save Lisa himself and take her far away to recover in peace. And if he missed Torchwood Three and the Hub and its enigmatic captain, then it was his own fault for growing too attached.

Jack nodded, his eyes slipping down to Ianto's lips. Ianto couldn't help but glance at Jack's mouth as well, then shook his head to distract himself from the sight and the thoughts accompanying it. He offered what he knew was a wan smile. "Good night, sir." And he turned to leave. It felt so much like the night Jack had offered him the job, when it would have been so easy to reach up and brush his lips against Jack's, but Ianto kept his shoulders straight and refused to shed any more tears as he once again walked away.

Jack followed him from the office, then stood on the steps and watched him leave. "Someday I will convince you to call me Jack!" he called out as Ianto hurried toward the exit, determined to get home and quite possibly drink himself to sleep.

"Perhaps," Ianto said. He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned around to offer Jack a small private smile. "See you tomorrow, Jack."

Jack pumped a fist in the air and laughed. Ianto rolled his eyes and left the scene behind him. He refused to think about Jack and his laugh and his vesper martini, or Lisa and her pain and her suffering. He refused to think about anything. Sometimes it was too much. Sometimes he wanted it all to end and didn't give a damn whether he got his happily ever after as long as the nightmare was over.

He hated the thought of losing Lisa, but other times he hated the thought of leaving Torchwood, and Jack, even more.

And so, split in two, Ianto went home to his dark flat, haunted by dreams of metal breasts and chocolate skin, and by leather braces and blue eyes. He didn't sleep, and in the morning the nightmare simply started over.