Torchwood has fallen. The Hub is gone. Cardiff is at risk of alien attack. Weevils are running rampant. Gwen is adjusted to normal life. Jack is missing, wracked with grief and guilt over the death of Ianto.

But life always goes on.

And more importantly, Torchwood always goes on.

When Dr. Owen Harper opened the Rift, one of the widespread effects was to rip another hole in time and space on the East Coast of the United States, in the rather small Chesapeake Bay. This Sub-Rift is nothing as major as the one in Cardiff, but enough to draw UNIT there like flies to a light.

They started their own group, monitoring the Sub Rift, with a team of UNIT experts staffing it.

Torchwood 3 has fallen, but UNIT hasn't been idle. After months of negotiating and reconstruction, a new Torchwood base has risen in the middle of Cardiff.

And at its head, an enigmatic American.

-.-.-CARDIFF-.-.-

"Who the hell are you?" Rhys said harshly, keeping the door only opened a crack.

An American woman was standing on his doorstep, having just requested to speak to Gwen Cooper Williams. Her long hair was a dark blonde, her eyes grey, and she was wearing a military jacket, hands in her pockets, a gun at her hip.

The young woman rolled her eyes, unperturbed. "Pleasure to meet you too, Rhys Williams."

"She's nine months pregnant—I'm not letting a strange American into our flat!"

"Rhys, relax, I'm not made of glass," Gwen said, appearing in the doorway behind her husband. She rested a hand on his arm, and he opened the door further so Gwen could see the visitor.

"Good thing, too," The woman said seriously. "You inevitably punching me would hurt a lot more if you were made of glass."

"Why would I punch you?" Gwen's voice was puzzled.

"I'm Professor Rosabel Stalon—the new head of Torchwood 4."

Gwen lunged for her throat.

X-x-X-x-X

"I thought you'd punch me, not try to throttle me." Rosabel said, rubbing her throat ruefully. "You're fast, especially for a pregnant woman."

Gwen bit her lip. "Yeah, um, sorry about that. Pregnancy hormones are hell."

"I sort of deserved it. I probably should've sent an email, broke it to you carefully, but we need to start putting things back together, and I had a feeling I wouldn't even get to speak to you if I didn't use the element of surprise."

"That's manipulation, right there." Rhys hissed.

"Yep."

"Look, I'm pregnant, I'm not coming back to Torchwood."

"Oh, God, no. I wouldn't ask you to. I just need you to log into the Torchwood software so we can update it. After that, we won't bother you again. Maybe send a basket on the holidays."

"You don't have to help them," Rhys urged.

"Yes, I do." Gwen said. She looked up at Rosabel. "I'll do it."

"Much obliged," Rosabel said seriously.

X-x-X-x-X

The new Torchwood 4 facility was a huge warehouse, 2000 square metres.

The main room was neat, neater than the Hub had ever been, but the walls were lined with screens and dry erase boards and cork boards, giving it a jumbled look, and there was a huge black desk covered in papers and laptops.

"Um, just grab a laptop." Rosabel said, clearing off the table quickly.

A harassed looking young woman with brown hair thrown into a messy bun swept in. She glanced at Gwen. "Oh, old Torchwood op? Hi, I'm Marissa, no time to chat." She turned to Rosabel. "Rose, weevils have been sighted on a farm northeast of here."

"Did you intercept the police?" Rosabel asked briskly.

"Yeah, they're not happy, but they're safe. I have Hunter on his way over with Anne."

"Where's Annabel?"

"Archives—I assigned her to the project you asked me about."

"Does she know why?"

"She thinks she does."

Rosabel nodded her thanks. "Good. How's the Rift?"

Gwen cleared her throat. "I've logged in." She spun the laptop around.

"Thank you. Marissa?"

Marissa was already putting on a pair of reading glasses and dragging the computer towards her.

"I'm accessing it presently."

"So, what's with you guys? Are all five of you Americans?"

"Yes. Marissa and I worked together in UNIT—they're much more recent additions. We'll be hiring more. Locals, I expect."

"Really? More than five?" Gwen said.

"Ideally, we'd have sixteen, with twelve people working at all times." Rosabel shrugged. "Harder than it sounds."

"Will UNIT have control over Torchwood?"

Rosabel laughed at that. "No, Gwen. UNIT remembers the part it played in the almost-end-of-the-world. They're not so cocky now. Torchwood is all mine."

"Mwahaha." Marissa said drily. Then she pressed the return key and sat back. "And I'm in!"

There was a quiet humming, and then a blue light washed over the room, radiating from the huge Rift Machine in the centre of the room, a brand new shiny contraption.

"Well, Gwen, say hello to Torchwood 4."