Author's Note: This is my first fanfic so I know it's not perfect, but any constructive criticism would be greatly welcomed. Enjoy.
Discloser: I do not own Torchwood but if anyone wants to buy it from RTD and give it to me as a birthday present, I'd be very happy.
Chapter 1
Love is an unbreakable bond between two people. At least, that's what Gwen Cooper had been led to believe, until now. Love exists in many forms: family, the type Gwen had with her parents; romantic, the type she had with her husband Rhys, and friendship, the type she had with her old classmates. But for Gwen, another kind of love existed. It was difficult to understand, and even more difficult to explain. There were four people she had ever felt this type of love for: her four colleagues at Torchwood Three, in Cardiff. However, four was now two, after the death of Toshiko and Owen. Gwen had initially refused to carry on. She was unable to imagine working with Jack and Ianto, as the only female, although she felt both her surviving colleagues were women at heart, anyway. Ianto, with his coffee that was able to brighten up even the darkest of mornings. And Jack. There was no easy way of describing Jack. He was simply Jack. No words could explain who, or what, he was. It was Jack's brother, Gray, that had put Gwen into the situation she was in now. She didn't hold Jack responsible, however. She blamed herself, her nosy nature that had brought Torchwood to her attention, and ultimately, into her life. There was no escape now, she reminded herself as she rolled out of the double bed. No escape except death.
TWTWTW
Tunde Devyn hated Monday mornings. Parents on the school run cluttering up the narrow roads, irate businessmen honking their horns, as if nobody else was aware of their plight. Tunde himself knew of the anger that being stuck in traffic brings to a person. It was his job, as the senior police officer in the transport department, to try and stop it. More recently, someone had been letting down car tyres. It wasn't a simple open-the-hole-and-let-it-all-out attack, nor was it a major puncture. Each time, the air was gone, but there was no obvious trace. It was a mystery that had puzzled Tunde, and his team, for weeks.
Tunde rose slowly from his desk and headed away from the computer, and towards the water machine. As he crouched for the plastic cup, he felt something wet on his head. Staring up, he saw a suited and booted young man deliberately spilling water, one drop at a time, onto Tunde's head.
"You could have said hello," Tunde grumbled.
"That's not my way," the man responded in an American drawl.
"I can see that," Tunde muttered.
"Captain Jack Harkness," the man held out a hand. "I believe you're Inspector Tunde Devyn?"
Tunde grumbled. The man certainly had a cheek. "It's Devyn, as in mine, not Devyn as in sing," he told Jack monotonously. The amount of times Tunde had corrected the pronunciation of his surname had forced him to consider recording his usual response onto a voice recorder and play it back whenever he needed to. The annoying journalist – Tunde assumed that was who he was – joined a long list of people who frustrated Tunde with their lack of knowledge about foreign words.
"Inspector Devyn, what do you know about the tyre attacks?"
"Who are you working for, Mr Harkness?" Tunde sighed. "We've told the press all we know. Now if you'd kindly leave, I've work to be getting on with." The man was laughing. Tunde tried to remain patient. "Mr Harkness, please leave before I force you out."
"It's Captain Harkness, and I'm Torchwood." Jack showed his identity card to Tunde, who was astonished. "I need copies of all your data, now. Normally we'd hack your security system, but we've recently been unable to do that."
"Follow me." Tunde lead Jack into his office and closed the door. He opened a folder on the computer and pointed. "Here's all we've got."
"Send it all in an email." Jack demanded. Tunde obeyed. Attaching the files took a few minutes, which passed in silence. Eventually Jack leant across and typed in an email address. "Don't send anything else on this email, it's a hotmail account I set up specifically for today. Once I'm back at the Hub, and with these files, I won't use it again. Anything you send will be lost. But if you have any more information come in, ring me." Jack scribbled a number on the top of a pile of pink post-it notes sitting on Tunde's desk, and walked out without bothering to shut the door.
TWTWTW
Ianto Jones leant against the computer screen, mug in hand. Sipping from it, he stared at the clutter around him. Owen Harper's old work area still hadn't been fully sorted. The job of organising the paper and other various possessions fell, as usual, to Ianto. The jobs nobody else wanted always fell to him. Most of the time, he didn't care. It was different to Torchwood One, back in London, but Ianto enjoyed the intimate environment. It made him feel part of the team.
"Is there really any point in this?" Ianto's voice echoed back to him. "Jack's never going to replace Tosh and Owen. This desk will remain empty forever. Why am I bothering to sort it?"
"Because Jack will find new members," Jack's voice replied. "He just hasn't found them yet."
Ianto looked up to see Jack's dominating stature blocking the main doorway. "I didn't hear you come in."
"You were too busy talking to yourself," Jack cut back. "Now, make yourself useful. Gwen's not in yet, so I need you to check on the rift activity."
"How-" Ianto began.
"Computer." Jack pointed to where Toshiko used to work. "I've got other stuff to sort out."
"Time for a bit of fun later?" Ianto asked, winking as he set his coffee down and headed across the Hub.
Jack scowled. "Not likely. I'm not running out to fight weevils in the nude for anyone." He pushed open the door to the room most often used for the team meetings, and sat down. Head in hands, he stared at the empty chairs that surrounded the table. An unusual silence filled the room as Jack wept. He rarely showed emotion: even when Suzie Costello had died, Jack hadn't cried. He could imagine Toshiko and Owen being in the room, bickering like an old married couple. He missed them, not that he wanted to admit it. Jack didn't admit anything he didn't have to.