Always. Always there is pain.
The first time was an unknown, full of bluster and innuendo. Filled with the recklessness of new love, without the trappings of actual love to confine them. They were sloppy, and they were careless. Everyone knew, or at least everyone who mattered in their little world. Tosh for certain, Jack and Ianto because they weren't complete morons. No one knew on the outside, at least she didn't think they did. The two simply didn't meet, and Rhys was pacified easily enough with excuses of late shifts and out-of-town assignments.
When it stopped, it was messy and painful. Whether they had intended or not, emotion had crept in, and it would not go quietly. All of the deferred guilt which had been so easily dismissed was called back into being in the space of a heartbeat. There was Diane, and there had always been Rhys. Where once there had been comfort, now hovered frustration and disappointment. Hidden confessions and tactless refusals culminated in withdrawal from the familiar on the basest levels. Common sense drowned in a well of regret, and the world kept turning.
The second time was silent, a desperate seeking of familiarity and connection in a world gone to Hell. She'd sworn that she wouldn't cheat again. He never goes back to an old shag. It didn't matter. All they wanted was to escape, just for a few minutes. It helped, and it happened again. Things settled, and evened, and still it continued to happen. This time, no one knew. There was no laughing, no joking, no flirting. There was bitching, and sniping, and the occasional lingering touch. She kept her hands off of his too-sweet coffee, and he kept his eyes to himself on the clock. It wasn't quite living, but it was a step above simply surviving, and that was something.
And then Jack was back. Suddenly there was a world outside of Torchwood again, and it was like ducking out of a planetarium and finding oneself in the sunlight. The transition was sharp and brutal, lacking even the satisfaction of a good fight. The pain was unexpected, and came in the form of an unrelenting loneliness. They never spoke about it; after all, there was nothing to discuss. It hadn't existed, that was the understanding, and it was better for both of them that way. Things slipped into routine, and she returned to Rhys, promising to cut back on her hours. To put more time and energy into their relationship. And if shame and unvoiced longing mingled with insomnia during the long nights, if she answered her phone just a little too quickly when it rang at half-three in the morning, well, that was her problem and no one else's.
Gwen knows all of this. She knows it with a degree of clarity she could never have claimed before signing on with Torchwood. Even with all of this experience, all of the knowledge and built up pain and shame and guilt, she cannot help herself as she presses the buzzer for Owen's flat. Because knowledge is one thing, but wisdom is quite another.
Finis