No excuse for the delay with this one. It's been ready for days and I've been finding any reason not to post it– because there's been a fairly inevitable event in this story that I've been avoiding and I've finally gritted my teeth and tackled it.

And Gwen. I've been dodging her too. Let us not consider the number of rewrites this chapter has suffered – paralysis by analysis about covers it.

Enough waffle. Here goes….

Owen swore loudly as the clamor of his phone disturbed his sleep for the second time that night. It was Jack this time, though, so he roused himself enough to answer, but not quite enough for courtesy. That took caffeine.

But Owen was wide awake and cursing before Jack finished his first sentence. He was still swearing as his car engine roared into life, shattering the pre-dawn peace, rousing the birds into a premature dawn chorus. Owen smiled for the first time since Jack's call. He'd never liked his neighbors much, anyway.

He'd liked Suzie though. What sort of man – what sort of doctor – was he? Suzie must have been falling to pieces right in front of him and he'd done nothing about it beyond kicking her out of his bed.

Jack's voice still spoke urgently into his Bluetooth as Owen powered along the quiet streets with scant regard for road rules. Anger and guilt flitted through Owen in counterpoint to the speed cameras which flashed in his wake. The cameras Teaboy would deal with – and he'd better have coffee waiting, this early in the morning. The anger he could offload onto Jack. The guilt, however, was his own, and it would sit with all the rest of his unresolved emotional baggage until it found an outlet. Owen shook his head at himself at the thought. Was it healthy to be aware of the amount of crap he was repressing? He supposed the alternative was denial, or actually finding that outlet. Jack's voice intruded into his musings so Owen shrugged it all into the background again. Torchwood supplied the baggage; no doubt it would come up with an outlet, too. It was probably a Universal Imperative, or Karma, some shit like that.

"We'll have to fence off some of the Plass until after the cleanup," Jack said. "I'm sure we left some roadwork barriers in the garage. You can bring them up with you."

Owen snorted. "That's Teaboy's job. And the clean-up, too." The cleanup. Cleaning up after Suzie. Owen's throat felt thick. From what Jack said, Suzie had bled out on the Plass. Owen was a doctor, he should be used to blood, yet the thought of cleaning away hers turned his stomach.

"But you're here," Jack said sweetly, "and he's not. Bring them up with you."

"Where is he then?" Owen demanded. There was something off in Jack's attitude, and Owen was determined to pin it down, if only for the distraction. And the pleasure of making Jack squirm, of course. A rare pleasure, that.

"I haven't called him yet," Jack answered evasively.

"Why not?" Owen demanded. The sun was rising, leaving him squinting through the windscreen. Owen hated squinting, it would give him wrinkles, but who'd think of grabbing sunglasses before sunrise, for Gods sake. "If you're gonna drag me in at this ungodly hour, the least you can do is make sure I've got a decent caffeine supply."

On the other end of the phone, Jack twitched with irritation. "Gwen could wake up any moment," he explained, hanging on to his façade of calm with effort. "I need you to tell me whether she can handle another dose of Retcon and if she can, well, the less she's exposed to the better. So I've not called anyone except you. You OK with that?"

Owen was comfortable with the sarcasm but it didn't stop him wondering what Jack was hiding.

"Not particularly," he answered. He swore again as the light ahead turned red, contemplated leaving the red-light camera to Teaboy as well, then slammed on the brakes because there actually were cars approaching the intersection from the other direction. Hadn't seen them properly, what with the sun rising in his eyes like that. People going to work already. Poor sods. Not unlike himself, though. And there'd be no bloody coffee. Sod that.

"If she's broken the Retcon," Owen argued, "She'll probably remember seeing all of us anyway. We can't manage this just with you and me, Jack. The cover-up alone is gonna be massive."

"I've worked that out for myself," Jack said, his patience finally wearing thin. "Which is why I'm having Ianto work with Tosh on it." They'll like that, Jack thought resentfully. Later, he would blame that momentary lapse into emotion for what he said next. "And they'll both work better if they've had a decent night's sleep."

The lights finally changed. Owen's irritation eased as the Plass came into sight and he finally realised exactly what was bothering him about Jack's attitude. Only a small thing, but ringing false nonetheless. Jack had never before hesitated to order any one of them in, regardless of where they'd been or what they were doing. In bed, in the shower, in the middle of cutting their own birthday cake, nothing took precedence if Jack decided Torchwood needed them. It sat wrong, this reluctance to call Teaboy in, especially when up until now Jack had seized on any excuse to have the bloke nearby.

Owen contemplated the chink in Jack's armor as he approached the Plass, sifted through likely causes, and allowed his mind to draw the conclusion it preferred. The one which left Tosh in need of consolation.

-XXX-

The sound of screams roused Ianto from the uneasy sleep offered by the lumpy mattress beneath him. There was no sense of panic as his mind prodded him unwillingly back to consciousness. Waking to screams was nothing new. It had happened countless times in the days before Tosh assured Lisa a steady supply of painkillers. Accordingly, he wasted several half-conscious moments groping for the converter controls before shaking off the disorientation and following the screams into Tosh's room.

-XXX-

"I can't help wondering," Owen mused. "Why is Teaboy so in need of sleep? Not to mention how exactly you'd know that, Jack?"

"It seems a reasonable assumption, given that you haven't stopped bitching about your own lack of sleep since I called you," Jack snapped back, biting his lip at how easily Owen could break his composure. And at how flimsy his excuses were. It was a sad thing when an experienced conman like himself couldn't come up with better.

"That's be reasonable," Owen conceded, "Not that you usually are. But yeah, it's be reasonable except that you'd already decided not to call him before you dragged me out, hadn't you?" Jack didn't seem to have a snappy comeback for that. Owen grinned. He was enjoying this. It was almost worth being woken up for.

Jack swore silently. He didn't want Owen to know he'd used the GPS to find out how long Ianto's car had been parked under Tosh's building. Owen had been the most resistant of the team to having the device installed. An invitation to invade our privacy, he'd called it. It was bad enough for Jack to know he'd proven the medic right; he didn't want to have to confess it, too. And while Jack's usually agile mind sought in vain for a convincing comeback, Owen drew his own conclusions.

"You dirty dog," Owen said finally, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. "You got him into your bed again, didn't you?" A slow, twisted grin spread across Owen's face as he listened to Jack's breathing hitch on the other end of the phone. Direct hit.

"Leave it, Owen," Jack growled. It was laughable, really. He should just agree. It'd soothe his ragged ego beautifully to let Owen think he'd lured the recalcitrant Welshman back into his bed. And it was obviously what Owen wanted to hear, much as he claimed to be over his attraction to Tosh.

"Wore him out and sent him home, I suppose," Owen continued inexorably. This was a rare joy. He had Harkness squirming and it calmed the uneasy emotions roiling inside him since Jack told him about Suzie. Maybe Jack didn't deserve this, maybe Owen was just spitting his bile out through his mouth, but better that than giving him ulcers. The best thing about this particular tack was how it had equal squirm value regardless of whether Jack had to deny it or admit it. Suitable recompense for being hauled out of bed to face a workmate's corpse without the benefit of caffeine.

Jack swallowed against the knot of anger in his throat which had begun to grow the second he'd realized the extent of Suzie's betrayal. Anger, guilt, frustration, grief and anger again, simmering in his chest, rising up in the attempt to escape. Owen wasn't the target it sought, but he was making himself a very tempting alternative.

"Or is the lie-in a reward for services rendered?" Owen finished brightly. "Tacky, Harkness, Tacky."

Actually, Owen had been painting a bull's-eye on his forehead from the time he'd answered his phone.

"He might well be worn out," Jack hissed. "But it wasn't me that did it."

"Oh yeah?" Owen asked, with a certain amount of interest. This was new. "And how could you know that, Jack? Unless you've put CCTV in his flat, I mean. Stalker, much?"

Owen felt something like a stalker himself. Or a hunter, closing in for the kill. Images floated on the edge of his vision, soap-bubble bright and shining, tempting him with pictures of how he'd be consoling Tosh by the end of the day. And all he needed to turn them from dream to reality was an admission from Jack.

"I checked on all of you," Jack said defensively. "Had to find out who was nearest, didn't I?"

Jack was so close to cracking. One more push ought to do it.

"And yet," Owen said, "You've just been telling me what a bad idea it would be to have anyone except me around when Gwen wakes up." He paused, long enough to savor the approaching victory, as a hunter watches a deer through the scope before pulling the trigger. "What is it you're not telling me this time, Jack? 'Cause you're doing a shite job of hiding it."

"He's at Tosh's," Jack spat, finally goaded past the point of caring. "Been there all night, for all I know." Which was true. He'd been faintly disgusted to find himself scrolling back through the timestamps. He hadn't gone back any further than an hour. Or two. Long enough.

Owen could almost hear the bubbles pop as each shiny daydream exploded. Tosh didn't need him. She had the one she needed. And he was fine with that, or he would be if Jack would just stop involving him in this stalker crap.

"I'm just pulling into the garage," Owen said, after a frosty silence. "You can come and meet me. I'm not carrying all that ironmongery by myself."

-XXX-

Tosh shrank against the damp wall of the Hub, watching Jack saunter around oblivious to the bright red bullet wound in the middle of his forehead. Suzie wielded a blowtorch in one hand, while the other clutched the back of her head, holding the edges of her wound together. Owen stood behind Suzie, trying to stitch the wound closed with blood pouring over his hands. The floor split open and Lisa climbed out, declaring that she didn't have to hide anymore, because maybe her brain was wired, but at least she still had one. She reached back into the gaping hole in the floor and helped Ianto out. Tosh saw his glowing smile and heard his whispered thanks as the metal crept from Lisa's fingers to wreathe along his own.

"Hush, Cariad," a voice murmured soothingly, over and over again, weaving through the nightmare, unraveling it and drawing her safely out. Tosh shuddered awake with her own screams still echoing in her ears as the voice continued soothing. "It was just a dream, Cariad. You're OK. You're safe."

The voice was soft. The hands stroking her hair were soft, too, and warm. Flesh, not metal. Tosh buried her head somewhere between Mickey Mouse's ears, where the last of her nightmare-induced tears vanished into the cotton.

"Ianto?" she mumbled sleepily. "You didn't go with her, then?"

Ianto swallowed against the lump in his throat and stroked the dark hair. "Sleep, Cariad. I'm here. I'm here now."

He'd only meant to hold her until she fell asleep, but he was exhausted, too, and Tosh's bed was much more comfortable than the one in her spare room.

-XXX-

Owen parked his car with a testosterone fuelled roar completely ruined by his coughing fit as he stepped out into the cloud of exhaust fumes. Jack laughed a hoarse, gravelly laugh that was certainly laughing 'at' rather than 'with'.

They didn't speak as they hefted the awkward metal barriers from the garage to the Plass, but they didn't continue to tear strips off each other, either. Perhaps the physical effort absorbed the remains of their animosity. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Ianto would have found a trolley and saved them half the effort, but Ianto was probably still curled up in bed with Toshiko, and both men were too close to the edge to contemplate that just now.

They'd been here long enough for their eyes to show what their minds insisted wasn't there, so they could both see the stone that marked the lift. Jack had sent it back up in response to the echo of Gwen's voice in his head, asking why no-one ever fell through the gap. No one ever had fallen through, which seemed enough in itself. Jack didn't need to know why. If the universe wanted him to know, it would see that he found out.

Still, with the risk brought to his attention, sending the stone back up seemed the right thing to do. So there it was, blackened and stained and reproaching them with their neglect. Maybe Ianto would get it clean or maybe he wouldn't and it would be Suzie's monument for as long as the stones of the Plass lasted. What they'd do about the trail that led to it was anyone's guess.

So, swearing and grunting as they hefted the awkward metal barriers, the two men cordoned off Suzie's deathbed. The stones were slippery underfoot. Owen had to call on every ounce of his medical detachment to keep his stomach where it belonged. Blood, yeah, he could handle blood, but there was a reason doctors weren't supposed to treat their own relatives. This blood belonged to someone he knew, someone he used to like, and it should be decently hidden beneath her skin, not sliding beneath his feet.

"What a bloody mess," Owen sighed, surveying their work. And for once his favorite adjective was perfectly apt.

Jack's hand fell on Owen's shoulder, squeezed briefly before returning to rub across his own eyes. There was still so much to do, but at least he didn't have to do it alone any more. "Let's go back inside," he suggested.

"I'm not going back down on that," Owen declared.

Jack couldn't help but agree with him. They entered the Hub via the tourism office.

-XXX-

Tosh moved reluctantly towards wakefulness, feeling inexplicably safe. Senses awoke slowly, in response to the unaccustomed sense of security. Her cheek rested against something warmer and harder than her pillow. There was another something under her head that wasn't a pillow, too. Something against her face, something beneath her neck, both smelling the same, both smelling as safe as they felt. Eyes still didn't want to open, didn't want to wake into a world that would take the safety away. This, Tosh thought fuzzily, is how children feel when they cuddle up with a security blanket. If this was a dream, it was better than the kind she usually had.

Something moved along her back, something that felt like a hand, her mother's hand, or maybe her first boyfriend's, which seemed more appropriate somehow, and Tosh sank into soft memories while a voice murmured in her ear. A voice as heavy with sleep as Tosh's eyes were.

"Cariad," it said, a deep, comfortable, safe voice, resounding with longing that surely couldn't be directed at her, but this was her dream, so she'd believe it if she wanted.

In the spirit of which Tosh pressed her face closer against the surface that logic suggested had to be a chest. A flat one, therefore male. Tosh waited for the panic to shatter to the comfort, but it didn't. Which settled it, she was definitely dreaming, otherwise she'd be scared, surely? Though, given that she'd recently had that tentative fantasy about taking over from Ianto in the task of 'distracting Jack', maybe she had progressed past the terror which ruined that Christmas kiss with Owen.

Or it really was a dream, in which case, she might as well enjoy it. Tosh's sleep-muddled mind agreed wholeheartedly, but that stubborn conscious self wouldn't stop yelling at her to wake up. Tosh twitched within the arms that encircled her.

"Cariad," the voice repeated. The hand moved along her back, stroking, soothing away tension that shouldn't have still been there while she was asleep.

It would have been so nice if Tosh's mind wasn't determined to wake her up and make sense of it all.

"Lisa," the voice concluded, so full of longing Tosh's heart might have broken all over again, because it wasn't a dream, and the longing wasn't for her.

Fighting an inexplicable wave of reluctance, Tosh drew her head back and dragged her eyelids open. It was Ianto, of course, which explained why she hadn't woken screaming and fighting. He was firmly asleep, and dreaming of Lisa, no doubt. Dreaming of the past; or a future where the woman he loved was whole and warm in his arms. Which explained the rest of it. The smile on his face, the longing in his voice, not to mention the pressure against her leg which Tosh was only now becoming aware of and would continue to pretend she hadn't noticed.

"Ianto," Tosh said firmly, gripping a shoulder and shaking gently. "Ianto, wake up."

Ianto's eyelids fluttered. "Lisa?" He was nearly awake. The pleading note in his voice brought tears to Tosh's eyes.

"It's me, Ianto. It's Toshiko," she said softly, almost unwillingly. Her hand reached across to stroke his face, in an instinctive and probably pointless effort to soothe the pain which would come with full consciousness.

"Tosh," he mumbled, but instead of drawing away, Ianto cuddled closer and buried his face in her hair. "Had such a nice dream, Tosh."

It was a very inappropriate time to giggle. "I can tell," Tosh said pertly.

Ianto's eyes flew open and he jerked his lower body away as his face flamed. "God, Tosh, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Ianto." And awkward, and embarrassing, but still a perfectly natural response given that they'd been snuggled up as though they were each other's favorite teddy bear.

Ianto rolled onto his back and threw an arm across his face. His free arm, given that Tosh's head was still lying across the other. Somehow neither of them had rectified that yet.

"I thought you were Lisa," Ianto explained from beneath his forearm.

"So I gathered," Tosh assured him, "It could have been worse. You might." She paused to take a breath and stifle a giggle. "You might have thought I was Jack."

She hadn't consciously gone for humor to defuse the tension, but it was working, regardless. Ianto's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Tosh's giggles grew into strangled, breathless laughter as Ianto used the arm beneath her to drag Tosh close enough for a punitive tickling session.

So yeah, maybe they'd woken up entwined like lovers, but they'd ended up like teenagers at a pyjama party, so everything was going to be just fine. Wasn't it?

-XXX-

"Please tell me this isn't the same table you cut up alien bodies on?"

Owen regarded the woman sitting warily on the autopsy table. "It isn't the table I cut up alien bodies on," he repeated dutifully.

From the rails above, Jack snickered. "He's lying."

Owen looked up. "I only did what she asked," he said virtuously. "And she didn't ask for the truth."

Gwen's hand shot out and grasped Owen by the collar of his white coat. "She is Gwen, and she's right here. Stop talking around me as if I don't exist."

Owen detached the hand. "Wishful thinking," he explained. "We wish you'd never been here at all, to tell the truth."

Gwen glowered. The stairs creaked as Jack jogged down them.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said cheerfully.

Gwen gazed up at him accusingly. "You drugged me! Again!"

"Yep," Jack agreed. "Had work to do and I didn't want you in the way." He raised a hand as Gwen's mouth opened to protest. "Would you have preferred a cell?"

Gwen returned to glowering. Jack turned to Owen. "Well?"

Owen rubbed the back of his neck. "She's already broken through Retcon once," he commented.

"I didn't drag you in to tell me something I already knew," Jack said impatiently. "The question is, can we dose her again?"

"Still here!" Gwen snapped.

Owen sighed. "At least autopsies don't nag."

Gwen returned fire. Jack found the insults quite amusing, so he let them go at it for a minute or two. Gwen probably needed an outlet for the stress, anyway.

"This is all very amusing, but, moving on," Jack said eventually. "Owen, can we give Gwen another dose of Retcon, or not?"

Owen frowned. "I'll have to check her out. It's not been that long since the last dose. Have to make sure her system can stand it."

Gwen shrank back on the table. "I don't want it," she said.

"What you want isn't the main consideration here, I'm afraid," Jack said. The regret in his tone wasn't faked. He'd rather not have to Retcon Gwen again. He agreed with Owen, so far as wishing Gwen had never uncovered Torchwood's secrets, but since she had, his mind abounded with possibilities. The police were getting far too inquisitive lately. A bit aggressive. Territorial, maybe. It'd settle them nicely to have one of their own to liaise with. Suzie had planned to try, Jack thought wistfully, but now they'd never know how that might have worked out.

Jack dragged his mind firmly back. "You know too much," he told Gwen, firmly disregarding the sympathy welling in him at the sudden fear in her eyes. "We can't have you spouting what you've heard and seen to the general public."

Gwen flushed. "I can keep a secret," she asserted.

Owen snorted. "Oh yeah, you've been terribly discreet so far, haven't you? Blundering into the middle of a Weevil capture and getting your mates to run identity checks and stumbling around the Plass tonight and….and…" He wasn't being fair, he knew, but maybe if Gwen hadn't been on the Plass, snooping, then Suzie wouldn't have….

Owen felt a hand drop onto his shoulder. Jack's hand, squeezing, unexpectedly steadying. "Whatever," Owen mumbled.

"You did already threaten to take the knowledge of the glove to the police," Jack pointed out. "Just before your last dose of Retcon, as I recall."

Gwen's eyes dropped. She'd remembered that, too.

"We were still testing it," Jack continued, "and because it was just us, we'll be able to contain the damage. If you'd had your way, what do you think would have happened?" Jack paused to contemplate it himself, and an involuntary shudder ran through him. "A whole troop of DI's using the glove, becoming like…." And here Jack's voice faltered, too, because why hadn't he seen it? It was Owen's turn to provide the steadying contact, a hand on his arm, more punch than pat.

Gwen sighed. She couldn't deny the truth of that. The idea of some of her superiors controlling that glove was truly shudder-worthy. Maybe Torchwood's wonders were best kept out of reach. But still, Gwen didn't want to forget what she'd seen, didn't want her world to shrink back to the confines of yesterday. She could help, if they let her. They needed someone like her. Look at these men before her, so cold, so clinical, lost souls, both of them. They hadn't even noticed their poor colleague sinking into the grip of that glove. Gwen was sure she'd have noticed. And she'd have helped.

Gwen looked searchingly at Jack, saw his gaze turn blank as their eyes met. The table beneath her was only just beginning to warm from her body heat. No sign that Jack had occupied it before her. And surely, as his doctor, Owen would have insisted on checking Jack over if he'd known Jack was shot tonight, for all that he looked completely undamaged. She'd bet a weeks wages that Owen didn't know Jack could cheat death. How lonely, to have a secret like that.

Jack's gaze hadn't warmed, and Gwen felt a chill which had nothing to do with the cold metal table. She remembered the other woman – Toshiko – blithely describing how they'd covered up the murder of the hospital porter. If they could do that to him, they could do it to her.

Then Gwen thought of Rhys and something clamped around her heart. If Gwen was a danger to Torchwood, Torchwood was a danger to Rhys. She couldn't put her memories before his safety.

"Do what you have to," Gwen said finally. "I won't fight it."

Jack nodded his approval. Owen stretched his hands until the knuckles cracked. "I'll need blood," he announced.

-XXX-

Tosh shrank away from the tickling fingers, breathless from laughter. "Stop," she squeaked. Ianto's hand immediately stilled on her ribs, but it didn't move away.

Early morning sunlight leaked through the gaps in the blind, outlining the form looming above her. It wasn't like a pyjama party any more. Tosh remembered vaguely that her mother had never approved of that sort of party and she suddenly understood why.

But she'd never felt less threatened in her life.

"There's no way I'd have mistaken you for Jack," Ianto murmured. Something about his voice dried her throat. The hands on her ribs moved, trailing fireworks in their wake. A hundred years from now, she'd know where those fingers touched, where they'd missed.

The pressure on her leg hadn't gone away. Or it was back.

Tosh felt the blood rush to her cheeks, pound against her temples. She looked up, into his eyes, and they were wide, and dark. Drinking her in, drowning her while his hands scorched her skin through the thin material of her pyjamas.

"Ianto," she whispered. It was odd how hotly blue eyes could burn. Tosh felt as though she was melting beneath that gaze, and was almost surprised that her hand looked normal as she lifted it to rest against his cheek, her touch drawing its own fire to the surface of his skin. This is how a chocolate bar feels in the sun, Tosh thought, with her last scrap of whimsy. The wrapper outside looks perfectly normal, but inside it's just a puddle.

The rational part of her brain told Tosh that all of this was just reaction to the trauma of the past night. That in the midst of death, it was very human to reach for life. That if she followed where this led, it didn't have to mean anything beyond two friends comforting each other.

She didn't want to listen to her brain, just this once.

Tosh watched her hand as it floated along Ianto's cheek. Saw and felt the muscles twitch beneath her fingertips, watched his eyes flutter closed. Her hand drifted, tracing a path along his along his jaw-line, and her mind drifted along with it. Wondering whether she should stop this, knowing that she could. And that knowledge made all the difference in the world.

"We shouldn't," Ianto said. He didn't sound very convinced, or convincing, with his voice shaking like that. He was just offering her an out, an escape. Tosh knew she ought to take it, for both their sakes. Only she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Her mind swung dizzily, like a pendulum, from one extreme to the other. From Do to Don't, from Yes to No, from Right to Wrong. Ianto was her friend, her best friend, only a friend. She loved him, but he wasn't her lover. He wasn't the one she wanted, but she'd run in fear from the man she wanted. She'd been so scared, but she wasn't scared now. She wasn't scared, and that was such a huge step forward, maybe it was enough. Maybe she could make it be enough.

Tosh let her own eyelids drop, surrendering to a shining moment torn out of chaos, letting her mind play this out as it would. But her closed eyes saw Owen's face above her own, just as she'd expected, and the moment shattered into a thousand shards of crystal, beautiful and painful all at once.

Tosh opened her eyes. "We shouldn't," she agreed, her voice as uncertain as his. That would never do. Her hand felt cold as she let it fall back to her side and her heart felt heavy as she watched his head move in an effort to follow.

"We can't, Ianto," Tosh said, more firmly, and the words hurt her throat.

Ianto's eyes opened, blinked, cleared. He pulled away, murmuring broken apologies; and the bed was empty and the fire was gone and Tosh was cold, so cold, and the pendulum in her head began to swing again. Relief chased regret. Had she escaped or had she embraced her prison? Because right at this moment, Tosh didn't knew whether she was glad she'd spoken, or if she'd regret it for the rest of her life.

I suppose you either loved that or hated it. Of course I'd love to know which, but I'm flammable, so please keep any flames on low heat.