Rifts Are Strange Things
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood. I am not that mean, to leave us the way he did.
A/N: Need I say where the inspiration for this came from? Actually, I don't know how this popped into my head, but probably because I was exhausted.
Chapter 4: Sleep (100 words)
"Do you need to sleep?" Jack looked up from the miniscule bit of paperwork he did to see the teenager standing in front of his desk.
"What do you think?" he answered.
"That's the thing; I don't know," she answered. "You eat and drink, so you're not like semi-dead Owen. Then again, the Doctor eats and drinks but we practically never see him sleep. It's practically become accepted as canon that he doesn't need to, at least not as much as humans. But you're human, or you were. But you can't die. So do you not sleep?"
"Not alone."
A/N: Heh, the ending makes me smile. I wanted to make some sort of reference to that in what I was saying, but it didn't work. So I let Jack do it instead.