-1Page woke early the next morning after owen shook her. When she woke she realized there was a blanket covering her that had not been when she fell asleep. She looked up at Owen and flashed him a smile. "I guess you don't hate me that much."

"You were screaming. I thought it would shut you up." Owen smirked and walked passed her into his room. "Get up, we're already late."

"I was screaming?" Page sat up slowly, running her thin fingers through her red hair. "What was I screaming about?" It had been years since Page had unsettling dreams like that. Why was she having them now?

"Something about a Richie," he answered from his bedroom. "Are you getting dressed? Come on Page!"

The girl sighed and finally got up to get dressed. Richie. Memories. They were still so fresh in her mind. It was only a few days previous that Richie died. She got dressed quietly and was ready in a matter of minutes. Page prided herself in being rather low maintenance. She was ready before Owen and when he walked out of his room Page was smiling. "Hurry up Princess."

Owen rolled his eyes and glared at her before he grabbed his keys and they left. As soon as Page entered the Hub she smelled it. It called to her and made her smile more than she had in the past few days. "Where is it Harkness," she shouted.

Jack simply pointed towards the pot of coffee and Page went running. She grabbed a mug and poured her a cup of coffee. The redhead brought the mug to her lips and took a slow savoring sip. She opened her mouth to speak but Jack interrupted her. "Don't thank me, thank Ianto."

Just as Jack said that Ianto walked in front of her. He was not listening and had not heard Jack. He had no idea anyone was talking about him until Page all but tackled him and he froze. "Good morning Page."

After a moment she let go of him and smiled. Page picked up the coffee mug once again and relaxed. "You're a miracle worker Ianto Jones." Ianto smiled shyly, blushing just slightly, and shrugged. "Seriously, you've got a magic touch."

"I'll say," Jack chimed in with a smirk that caused the younger man to blush and Page to laugh. He was more reserved than anyone Page had ever seen jack with in the past.

Page turned her blue eyes to meet Jack's when she felt his hand on her back. She followed him into his office and she sat down on his desk, crossing her blue jean clad legs "Indian style" as Jack sat down in his chair. "Yes?"

"Page, what's going on?" She looked away from him. The concern in Jack's voice reminded Page just how close the two really were. "What happened? Did something happen to MacLeod?"

"Jack…" It was the last thing Page wanted to talk about. The wounds were still fresh. "It's nothing, really."

"Page, I've known you for over a hundred years and I have never once seen you cry. Its not nothing. What's wrong?" Jack sighed and leaned forward, brushing Page's fiery red hair out of her face. He let his thumb gently touch her cheek as he tucked her hair behind her ear. Ever since he first met Page, Jack had been protective of the girl.

London, 1874:

"Back off!" Paige swung her fists at the larger brunette man. He grabbed Paige's wrist and pulled it back behind her and slammed her face first into on of the brick walls that created this small alley. She pushed back and kicked away from the wall. Paige had never been one for dresses and only wore them if her life was dependent on it. Therefore, this night, though it was unorthodox for a woman to wear men's clothing it was not dangerous, Paige wore black pants that clung tightly to her legs and a white shirt. Hidden in her wardrobe, very well concealed was a small arsenal of weaponry. Paige was a bit of a collector by that time. As she kicked backward the man fell, but his grip around her wrist and her waist caused Paige to fall with her. She heard a snap and felt her wrist break, forcing a loud scream from her throat. The man rolled so he was on top of her, her back to him. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her head back.

"I think she said back off." The voice was one that Paige did not recognize she could tell he was an American though. She felt the weight of the man pulled off her and rolled out of the way just in time to see this strange man's fist collide with her attacker's face. A few more well placed punches and the drunk was on his knees, then he was out cold. The American turned towards Paige and helped her up. She glared at him, though the smile he flashed her made her heart skip for a moment. "I could have handled that."

"Clearly." The sarcasm drenched his voice and he smirked at her causing her to roll her eyes. She noticed him pause for a moment when he looked at her, almost as if he were looking at a ghost. Just as quickly as the look came it was gone and that charming smile of his was back on his face. "You were doing so well. What was I thinking." He walked around her and made his way out of the alley. "You're welcome by the way."

Paige turned with him, her back now to her attacker on the ground. "For what? Saving my -" A shot rang out and Paige stopped speaking. Jack turned around only to see blood begin to pour from a wound in the center of her chest. She fell forward, dropping to her knees. Jack looked behind her and saw the man with his gun raised and a look of horror on his face. He had been aiming for Jack, but the girl got in his way. It was clear he had never taken a life before, let alone the life of a woman. Jack let him get up and run without going after him. He would find the guy later. Right now he was more concerned with the redhead on the ground.

Jack dropped to his knees beside her and picked up her lifeless body. He looked down at the girl as she took her last breath. The rain that had gone unnoticed pelted Jack's face. He sat there for what seemed to him to be an eternity. The lifeless girl in his arms looked so familiar, but it was impossible. He had seen her in Rome, in the second century… B.C.. There was no way this was the same girl, but she bore a striking resemblance. Now he was left with her body and he had no idea what to do with it. Finally he stood, picking up her limp body and was heading out of the alley. Just as he stood she took in a sharp breath. Jack jumped when he heard her and dropped her. "What the hell? You were dead. I… I watched you die."

Present Day, Torchwood Hub

Page sighed and caught Jack's gaze. "Jack, please, just drop it all right?" She watched him nod reluctantly. He did not want to let it go that easily but Jack knew if Page did not want to talk about it A) it was something very painful and B) she never would. He knew he would have to wait for her to come to him with the information and Jack was equally aware of the rarity of that possibility. Page was never one to open up to anyone, that was not about to change now. Or was it?

She fit in well with the group, inside and outside of the Hub. She was closest to Owen though, for obviously reasons. At the Hub they were at each other's throats, constantly bickering, picking on each other. Even at home they fought quite often. However, both had sleeping issues from time to time and it was those late night house on Owen's couch when they became close. They would talk for hours about everything and nothing. Page often ended up falling asleep on Owen's shoulder. Owen latched onto her in a way he had not with others. She was something constant in his life. The way she smiled, laughed, yelled. It never changed. It was a constant Owen could rely on, something he needed after what happened with Diane. She was that speck of light in the dark world of Torchwood.

Page saw a lot of herself in Owen. He was more complicated than most gave him credit for. Owen had been through a lot. Suffered greatly, though Page never knew the details. She saw it in his eyes. Page had been around for over two thousand years, she knew that kind of look. Because of his suffering, he pushed people away. He hid behind the mask of cynicism. Page could relate. Two thousand years of watching those around you die and knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it. She stopped getting close to people, pushed people away and hid behind a persona that was not her own.

Both of them hated the thought of being close to people. Emotional ties made you weak and they only lead to painful endings. The only exception seemed to be each other, though they did not seem to notice. Page did not even see what was happening. She was getting attached to him, to all of them just as she had with Richie. She realized it with Richie though and tried her best to distance herself. It had not worked but at least she was conscious of the attachment she formed. Here, at Torchwood, Page was completely oblivious to the connections she was making with these people. They were like a family that had adopted her, all held together by one man, Jack Harkness.

Page brought a sort of controlled insanity to the group. She was a tiny ball of energy. Jack called her Torchwood's Energizer Bunny. She was always going, constantly thinking. Jack was certain one day her brain would just explode. "Page!" Jack snapped, placing both hands on her shoulders. It had been a month since Owen Harper nearly ran her down with the Torchwood SUV. One months since Page had joined Torchwood. "Go talk to Owen or something… okay?"

Page simply shook her head and laughed as she walked out of Jack's office. She found Owen in the autopsy room. He was working, in the middle of an autopsy on a creature they found the night before. It had attacked and unfortunately did not survive. She sat down at the top of the stairs, her feet swung freely and she leaned forward on the rail. She knew exactly why Jack told her to go talk to Owen. It was no secret that Page enjoyed watching Dr. Owen Harper while he was working. When he was at the autopsy table he was so focused, he was in his element and Page was able to see how truly brilliant he was, though she would never inflate his ego by telling him. After a few moments of watching Owen paused and glanced up at her. Jack stood behind Page, but she had no idea he was there. Owen barely even registered it as he looked up at Page, flashing her a smile that was almost sweet.

For the first time that month Jack realized he may have made a mistake in bringing Page in. He finally saw how she was getting attached to the team, to Owen in particular, and how attached Owen was getting to her. Memories of the past year flashed in his mind, of Owen and Diane, of Owen when she left. He knew the way they would react. If something happened to either of them the other would be devastated and Jack never wanted Page to live through that, or Owen to suffer like that again. For Owen that would have been the third time in less than ten years. Jack sighed and turned around, walking away and leaving the two alone. It was too late to fix what had been done.

2 A.M. They were still awake, albeit barely. Page was having trouble sleeping, nightmares again. Owen said he would stay up with her. She got to see as side of Owen that no one else did. Owen sat on his couch, which acted as Page's bed for the moment and Page sat next to him. Her knees hugged closer to her chest as she sat there in a pair of shorts and a blue tank top. Her head rested on his shoulder and Owen absently played with her red hair. She had been silent for almost ten minutes now and Owen wondered if she was still awake. "Zep," he whispered softly. Jack first introduced her as Zeppie, but Owen had no idea how much of a Zeppelin fan she really was until one day two weeks ago when he walked into the autopsy room and saw her in there, scalpel in hand. She was using it as a microphone while listening to Led Zeppelin's "Houses of the Holy". Since then Owen started calling her Zeppie, or just Zep.

She slowly looked up at him when he said her nickname and smiled. She caught his eyes for a moment and froze. He had just wanted to see if she was awake, but looking down at her blue eyes he could not look away. He was acting before thinking, before he even realized what he was doing. His hand moved up to cup her face as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. While his touch may have been timid, his kiss was far from. For a moment Page was surprised, but she knew the last thing Owen Harper was, was shy. Her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned into his kiss. His left hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, lacing into her short fiery hair. A month of dancing around each other and living in such close quarters finally came to fruition. Page moved over so she sat on the couch, straddling Owen. His hands slid down her back and slipped under her tank top. Page laced her fingers in Owen's short brown hair, pulling him closer to her as he stood. He picked her up and carried her into his bedroom. That was the last night Page spent on the couch, and the only time the two ever had sex.