DISCLAIMER: I don't own Torchwood or any of the characters. I can but dream!

NOTE: This is set during episode 1x03, 'Ghost Machine'. Contains very mild sexual content. The first short scene contains dialogue from the episode.

"That was a joint effort"

- Captain Jack Harkness, 'Ghost Machine'

'When do you get to go home?' Gwen leaned forward over the table as she took off her protective glasses, still a little high on adrenaline from the training. 'You seem to live here!'

Jack shook his head noncommittally and realisation dawned on Gwen. 'You don't, do you?' she asked, her curiosity getting in the way of tact.

Jack shrugged. 'Gotta be ready. The twenty first century's when it all changes.' He attempted a light-hearted grin. 'And I hate the commute.'

Gwen giggled. 'Where do you sleep?'

'I don't.' Jack's voice was a little heavier, a little more serious.

'Doesn't it get lonely at night?' The words were out of Gwen's mouth before she realised it. Jack stared at her steadily, not willing to admit it, not able to refute it. For a second Gwen got lost in his eyes. It was an effort to shake herself free.

'I better get back, Rhys'll be wondering where I am', she said, thickly, and her smile was quick and strained.

Jack nodded, wishing she would stay, knowing she should leave. 'Goodnight', he said quietly.

'Goodnight'.

Gwen paused outside the door to her flat. Not for the first time since starting work at Torchwood, her emotions about coming home were mixed. Relief, to be returning to normality, to safety. Anxiety, about what level of annoyance Rhys would have reached over the last couple of hours as she failed to show up on time. And guilt. That she'd lost track of time. That she'd forgotten she had a loyal, handsome man waiting for her. And guilt about the fact that, if she was completely honest with herself, she resented having to feel guilty.

Still, tonight she pushed all that aside. Tonight there was one overriding feeling that had been rolling around in her stomach since she left the Hub, had put an unusual jitteriness in her step and had made her walk extra quickly to and from her car. She wasn't sure why, but she hadn't felt the need this strongly for a long time.

She took a deep breath, smoothed her slightly shaky, slightly sweaty hands over her jeans, then slipped into the lounge. Rhys looked up from the sofa, his left eyebrow raised in a half questioning, half condemning manner.

'I made spag bol. It's cold.'

Gwen dumped her bag on the floor and shrugged out of her jacket, determined not to get into an argument over ruined dinner. She smiled coyly at Rhys. 'I'm really sorry sweetheart… but food's not really what's on my mind right now.'

Rhys' pout disappeared instantly, his wasted spaghetti bolognaise receding rapidly to the back of his mind as he watched Gwen kick her boots off.

'Oh… so what is on your mind?'

Gwen grinned, pulled off her printed t-shirt and threw it at him, then turned and ran towards the bedroom. Rhys could move surprisingly quickly for a man of his bulk and they hit the bed at the same time, Gwen pulling him down on top of her.

Gwen's hands were in Rhys' hair, on the back of his neck, pulling at his t-shirt, unbuckling his belt. Demanding, restless, impatient. This couldn't come fast enough, she thought, closing her eyes for a second as her head hit the pillow.

Images flashed into her mind. Jack, showing her how to hold the guns. The muscles and sinew in his forearms flexing and contracting as he loaded weapon after weapon, steadied one hand in his other, demonstrated the shooting technique as the bullets landed right on target time after time.

Gwen blinked her eyes open, cursing herself. Why was she thinking of Jack's arms? She had Rhys, right here, helping her out of her jeans. Concentrate on Rhys, Gwen, she told herself. She lifted her hips to help him and then fell back on the bed as he kissed his way up her bare legs, stroking her calves lightly.

Jack's fingers, lifting her hair off her shoulder, grazing her neck, slipping down her arms towards her own fingers. Moving slowly, steadily, determinedly.

Gwen bit her lip. Stop it, woman, she snapped internally.

Rhys breathed her name, told her she was beautiful.

Jack's breath, hot in her ear, telling her to focus, to breathe. His breathing rising and falling with hers, steadying her, drawing her in, making her one with him.

Rhys was doing everything right. Everything she liked. Thinking about Jack was wrong, but…

Jack holding her shoulders from behind, centring her, his musky scent surrounding her. His chest and shoulders hard and sculpted against her back.

Gwen closed her eyes again. Screw it.

Jack pulling her closer against him, his hand wrapped around the front of her hip, gentle but strong.

'Ohhh, Rhys!' she gasped.

That very first shot. Jack's hands on hers. Squeezing the trigger softly but firmly. The gun exploding and kicking back into her, the blast echoing out. Her breath leaving her in a sudden release, her body rocking backwards into his at the climax. Hearing her own panting echoing around the cavernous room.

'Rhys…' she whispered.

Jack.

Gwen lay in bed, her back to Rhys as he snored quietly. She was still, quiet, her adrenaline spent.

'Doesn't it get lonely at night?' she'd asked. She wondered what the answer was to her question. Wondered what Jack would be thinking if he closed his eyes tonight.

She wondered why she felt so lonely at night.

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