Grey light in the sky. Open back door. Pull secret handle. Pull secret handle closed. Use strange alien technology to brew coffee. Feed Myfanwy. Chuck Myfanwy under the chin. That takes a while. Do the filing. They save the universe but they don't think about the mess. Start Tosh's decaf. She taps while I fix things. Sometimes I can go half an hour pulling things apart, wiring, soldering, before I get the warning of Owen coming in. Strong coffee, often aspirin. It's easy to tell from the walk. Gwen's tea, then Jack strolls in and puts his hand out for coffee. They get in within ten minutes of each other unless Jack wants something. In which case he gets in twenty minutes before Tosh. I often have some idea which mornings it will be and I'm never surprised. Not with our systems.

'Morning!' His greatcoat is hung up with a swish, his braces are down. I've already taken off my jacket. His hands are up around my nipples, then one of them is pulling eagerly at my tie, at my belt. I love the feel of him on my arse, his hands sculpting it, his cock reaching for me and the burst of pleasure as he enters me. He pumps energetically, but I know he'll settle into a rhythm soon.

And then he sags before he should, gives a couple of experimental thrusts and says 'Noooo,' like he can't believe it.

As I start to say, 'What? Are you ok? Did I do something wrong?', he touches me lightly on the shoulders and says, 'It's not you.' Big pause. 'It's me.' Taking the piss now would be a very, very bad idea and, in truth, I'm bewildered. This has never happened to me. Not ever. Jack kisses me frantically, squirming his body against mine. It has no effect. He turns me round and looks at me. Owen bursts in and for just a second – I thought I'd imagined it – Jack looks at me with liquid, pleading eyes before going back to his usual grin.

I wish my workmates were surprised by me and the boss with our trousers down, but no one even looks any more. Surprise went out the window sometime last year.

'Tosh's dragged a girl in off the rift,' says Owen. 'She's – Just come look.' The girl is pale, unnaturally pale, completely blonde, wearing a white shift and unconscious. Tosh is struggling under her weight, though she looks like she weighs nothing.

'What happened?'

'I was stood in the Plas when there was a huge rift shift.'

'Nothing down here,' says Owen.

'And she – she formed right in front of me.'

'On the slab,' says Jack, 'Owen!'

Owen goes into his scanning routine, while Tosh, still shaking ever so slightly, mans the computer.

'She has human blood,' says Tosh, 'with – some extras. But –'

'Run her against the species database.'

'Doing that!' says Tosh. 'Uh, nothing.'

Owen starts scanning the brain. If there's trouble it's usually now. The autopsy slab shoots flame, a perfect outline of her body.

'Holy shit!' says Owen, who's dived over the rail and is now lying awkwardly on one shoulder on the floor.

'No rise in temperature,' says Tosh, as we stare at a metal bed on fire. 'In fact, a slight drop.'

I grab the fire extinguisher and let rip. It doesn't put out the fire but it does wake her up. She stands up, blinks once, twice. Her eyes are just pupils, no iris at all. It's like looking at a black hole. I imagine.

I've just realised that I've made myself a target. I'm facing an on-fire alien with a spent fire extinguisher and she's staring at me. I think about hefting the extinguisher at her, but I bet it wouldn't do any good.

'We mean you no harm,' says Gwen, as convincing as always. 'Fire –' she gestures, 'is very dangerous on our world.'

'Fire?' she says, and it's as if it comes from a long way away, a thousand dissonant chords crashing against each other.

Gwen gestures again.

'Oh,' and she switches it off.

Owen lets out the breath he's been holding and shoots the collar of his jacket. He looks around impatiently. It means 'where's my coffee?' so I place the fire extinguisher down gently, make a note in the supplies book and bring his coffee. 'And for you, miss?' I say. She's sniffing his coffee, I mean has her nose right in it while Owen wants to, but doesn't dare, fob her off.

'Coffea arabica, Peruvian, from the Cinco do Mayo plantation, Nor Oriente region,' she says. They all look at me for confirmation. I don't deliberately buy single-estate stuff for Owen, but she's got everything else right.

'You two are made for each other,' Owen jokes, still trying to protect his coffee without annoying her.

'Made for?' she says, and takes a step towards me. Her hands are up at my temples before I can move. The skin is white, with no ridges. They're freezing and, suddenly, my brain is cold between them. It's like she's flicking through a Filofax in my head, events, information, memories go past with dizzying speed. Anything I try to hide is pulled up, looked at and discarded. I get impressions of a place I've never been; two suns, a rainbow of stars across the sky.

'Not made for,' she says and drops me. From the floor – fast turning into the Torchwood staff-friendly option – I see her approach Jack, who says, 'Oh no you don't missy,' and grabs her wrists.