Author's Notes: So I'm going to do a multi-chapter fic. I'm not sure how many chapters it will be yet but I don't give it more than ten. It starts after House of the Dead and onwards, and it takes place in the present, which means about six years from Jack's point of view (and Jack will arrive sooner rather than later, fear not). The rating might change to M at some point. This is currently the prologue which is why it's so short, so feel free to let me know what you think of it!
The rain was drumming on the windows as Gwen stared outside, but it didn't bother her in the slightest. She could still see the silhouette of the man on the beach as he wandered about, clearly in search for something. He'd been there for hours now and it was keeping her up, the never ceasing paranoia after Torchwood still following her. Rhys had told her to go to bed – it was one in the morning already – but she'd refused, so he'd huffed, turned his back to her and fell asleep.
It was maddening not to know why he was there. It was clear that the house was his final destination, because there was nothing else for miles around here and the middle of the night during a thunderstorm wasn't the best time for a walk, but he hadn't made a move towards them yet.
Not until now.
The man neared the fence and then the gate to the garden. There was something familiar about his wide, brisk strides, but she couldn't quite decide what it was, even as he swiftly landed on the ground over the locked door and into her front yard. He looked strangely purposeful and determined for someone who'd seemed so lost only minutes ago, but he also didn't seem scared of being seen which, even with Gwen's experience in the police, was rather unusual.
She could see him more clearly now. He was wearing a knee-length coat that billowed behind him from the wind as he walked, his long dark hair plastered on his face from the rain. He paced around for a bit, as if unsure, and then headed for the front door with the same confidence as before.
That was it. She couldn't wait a second longer, and she had to make sure that her family was safe. As quietly as she could, Gwen took her gun out of the desk drawer and, tiptoeing past Anwen's room made for the first floor and the door.
She opened it just before he'd had the chance to ring the bell.
Up close, he was even stranger than before. Tall and lean, wearing heavy boots and dark jeans, with his coat half-unbuttoned, he was wet all over and his skin was almost shining on the moonlight. He was carrying a small trunk that she hadn't seen from her window, but it looked battered and almost ancient. His hair wasn't as long as she'd first thought – it barely touched his neck – but still, a pale hand reached up to hold it away from his eyes and that was when Gwen forgot to breathe.
"Gwen," Ianto said, the terrifyingly familiar blue eyes sparkling in the darkness. "Gwen, thanks God it's you. I've been looking for you for hours."