Ianto’s eyes slowly dragged themselves open for all of the splittest of split seconds, and then he was groaning, turning his face into the pillow, internally pleading for the world to go away and not disturb him until at least, ooh…2010?

“Ianto,” Jack sang softly as he knelt beside the bed.  “Iaaaaaanto.”

“He’s not in,” Ianto mumbled, and attempted to ignore the blinding flash of irritation that Jack should wake him so ridiculously early.

“Hey, c’mon, I need you to get up.”

“No.”

“Please, humour me.”

“I’ll cry,” Ianto threatened as he was encouraged to Make An Effort, flailing out with one hand to grasp and retrieve the covers that were magically removing themselves from his aching form.

He felt Jack’s mouth on his bare shoulder, light kisses that, despite their tenderness, felt like sandpaper dragging over his skin.

“Ianto…  What do you remember about yesterday?”

Ianto thought.  With his brain.  It hurt.

“Did I die and go to hell?”

Jack’s breath ghosted over Ianto’s skin as he quietly laughed.

“Not quite.”

Slowly moving his head, Ianto was able to fix a bleary eye on his increasingly significant other.  Jack’s smile was affectionately sympathetic; it inspired cooperation.  Ianto almost moved.

“Did I get drunk?  My entire body is hungover.”

“I bet it is,” Jack acknowledged as he bestowed more kisses.

“So…?”

“You need to get up; Owen has to take a look at you.”

“I have to see Owen for a hangover?”

“Do it for me?”

Ianto allowed himself to be rearranged, grumbling and moaning as he went, soon finding himself sitting beside Jack on the bed, and propped at a peculiar angle because of the apparent lack of bones in his body.

“I’ve never felt this bad.  What was I drinking?”

“You weren’t drunk, just a little…hyped.”

“Hyped,” Ianto repeated with flat foreboding.

“You really don’t remember anything?”

“No,” Ianto said, but cautiously, as vague yet hugely embarrassing images were fleetingly glimpsed through the fog enshrouding his memories of the previous day.  Exploding heads and electric chairs and…tin cans with bits of string?  What the…?  A corpse, the mortuary, and…singing?  Singing.  Something to do with the body?  Something…  A hymn, he desperately hoped, respectfully rendered after some suitably sombre words.  Yes, that would be it.  We commit this body to the non-ground, ashes to ashes…  Ashes to ashes…  Ianto emitted a soul-rending groan.  Ashes to…

‘…ashes, funk to funky…’

No, absolutely not, impossible; there had been no Bowie moment over the poor woman’s remains.

‘We know Captain Jack’s a hunkie…’

The pathetic whimper was an absolute giveaway:

“Starting to remember,” Jack observed.

Ianto snuggled into Jack’s comforting embrace and that was nice.  Very nice.  He tentatively tried that whole thinking thing again.  Something about the body, yes, got that.  Something…body…something…body…some… body…some—  Oh, no.  No, no, no, he’d have to be more than drunk, he’d have to be insane.  Thinking: overrated.  He’d just switch off what was left of his brain, have a bit of a snuggle and—

‘Ohhhhh, I wanna dance with somebody…’

Dear.  God.  No.

‘I wanna feel the heat with somebody…’

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse.

‘Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody…”

Whitney Houston?  Whitney frigging Houston?

‘With somebody who loves me.’

“Arrrrrghh!”

“Definitely remembering,” Jack smiled.

Insane it was then.  Suddenly, a new fear rippled through Ianto’s battered system with the chill of a thousand winters.

“I didn’t…  Jack, tell me the truth.  I didn’t…dance, did I?”

Jack…creaked.

“You may have danced.”

“With…some…body?”

“Let’s just say you gave Beth a nice, energetic send-off.”

“I—  I—  I want to die.”  Ianto turned beseeching, bloodshot eyes on his partner.  “Really.  I want to die.”  A consoling cuddle ensued, and Jack may have been pressing an affectionate kiss to his scalp, or possibly using the gesture to smother the hysterical laughter that was fighting to escape.  “And you say I wasn’t drunk?”

“Not drunk, no.”

“If this isn’t about alcohol, what happened to me?” Ianto pleaded.

“Well…  You know that plant that came through the Rift, the turquoise one with the feathery flowers you liked so much?”

“Turquoise…feathery…yes.”

“Its pollen apparently contains a kind of…cosmic amphetamine.”

“I think…I remember…  So you’re saying…”

“That’s right.  In future, never let alien plants sneeze on you.”