Watching the others, the way they 'deal' with the situation, the way they deal with Owen… it makes me feel almost sorrier for him than I did when he was dead. Well, to be fair, he is apparently still dead… so shall we say when he was dead and not still moving around? Is he even dead? The heart isn't beating and he isn't breathing, but he is still thinking. He is still feeling. God, I hate to think what he must be feeling. Still, he is trying. So hard, he is trying. But what of the rest of us? Gwen, who shared his bed not so long ago, keeps flinching away from him. Tosh, who had made such progress, looks so inhibited around him again. (Or is it shame? I think it might well have something to do with what she whispered to him, before.) Then there's Jack, Jack is in his commander-in-chief mode, all decisive and confident. But I can see the worry and the fear in his eyes… and maybe a little regret. And then Martha, she goes between telling him he's a victim and a subject for study to asking him to describe what it was like to be dead. Callous? Maybe, but she really didn't know him that well. So then, what's my excuse? Why am I trying to act like nothing has changed? I had already made him the coffee before I realised that he probably couldn't drink it. I'd already shot him the standard glare as I moved the paper he'd put in the plastics recycle bin. I guess I still don't know what to say to Owen, now that… well, now.

So now, as if this all weren't enough, apparently whatever's happening to Owen isn't done happening yet. Owen collapsed. He said he'd been pulled into the darkness again. Why can't it just leave him alone? Martha said that Owen is changing, that he's 40% 'something else.' Is that a posh medical term, 'something else'? What the fuck good is that? Why doesn't she do something to stop it? To reverse it? To bloody save Owen? I want to yell at her. Scream at her to do 'something else' to help him, but I don't. I didn't say anything at all to her in the team meeting because my own research in the archives has failed to find anything useful either. I'm glad Jack didn't ask me if I'd found anything. For a minute it looked as if he would, but I think he could see it in my eyes. I couldn't stand the thought of Owen turning to look at me expectantly, hopefully, only for me to have to say that I'd failed to find anything to help him. I'll look again, but this all seems more occult than alien. I just don't know.

Jack's pretty determined to find a reasonable explanation for all this. Science. Science is good, and it's our job, but it can't explain everything. We've had this debate before and I don't think Jack and I will ever agree completely. Still, I'm running the sensors for dimensional anomalies as he ordered. I just don't think it's going to help. This isn't science.

No anomalies. Unfortunately also no Owen. He's gone. Can't say as I blame him. The way everyone's reacting, I can see him wanting to get away from it all. Anyway, Jack's gone to look for him. As I held Jack's coat for him I couldn't help but think about what he said last week, that there are times when he doesn't realise that he needs to leave the Hub until he sees me holding his coat for him. This wasn't one of those times. This time he knew. He had to find Owen before anything bad… before anything worse can happen to him. Martha keeps implying that he's a threat. I don't know if he is or not, but I wish she'd stop bringing it up. Threat or not, he's still Owen.

Owen's out there, somewhere, alone. The way Martha kept on about that damn glove… why didn't Jack tell UNIT about it? Hmmmm, let me see, could it just possibly maybe be because Jack doesn't work for bloody UNIT? Okay Jones, breathe and let Jack handle it. Okay, but as it was, Jack was too busy handling it to leave any orders for the rest of us. I'm just worried that Martha's going to go around him and call in some troops. Should I block her mobile? Maybe I'll just keep an eye on her for now. I just hope it doesn't take Jack long to find Owen. After he'd gone, I texted him a list of Owen's favourite night-spots and pubs. Don't know if threat-to-all-mankind Owen is out sacrificing virgins or gathering weevil followers or something, but if I know our Owen at all, he'll at least stop for a pint or two first. Martha just came and asked me to make her a cappuccino. I told her we were all out of coffee. Am I being petty? Do I care?

Owen is safe. He's with Jack. In jail. (When they called to check authorization, was it wrong to request that they email copies of the mug-shots?) In any case, they're on their way back now.

Tosh has found some rather disturbing CCTV footage (No, not that footage, although right now I'd almost rather that it was.) It would appear that maybe Martha was right. Maybe there is something evil in Owen. (There's a joke there, but I can't quite bring myself to make it.)

Martha and Tosh were fighting. Tosh had told her about that translation device we have. Tosh was fine with the idea until Martha started insisting we use it because, 'We have to stop Owen.' Now they're in a rather intense shouting match. (If it comes to blows, my money's on Tosh.) Gwen had come up to me and said that it didn't matter until Jack got back anyway. If Martha is right about Owen's rate of conversion we might not have time to wait for Jack. I told Gwen that I know where the translator is stored and I know the codes. Gwen looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. I'd almost say she seemed jealous that I knew and she didn't, but that couldn't be it, not at a time like this. I pointed out that as second-in-command the decision was hers. She wanted to give Jack five minutes more and if he isn't back, to go ahead and proceed. I've got a bad feeling about this.

'I shall walk the Earth and my hunger shall know no bounds.' Not really the clue I was hoping for, but unlike James Bond super villains, we never seem to get adversaries who actually declare their evil plots with any real clarity. There is something to do with weevils, however. I don't know if it has anything to do with Owen's prior weevil connections, or the glove, or something else entirely, but apparently the weevils have taken to the new Owen. Janet is reacting fairly strangely and from what Jack says, there were dozens of weevils treating Owen with rather more respect than one usually receives from them (or than Owen usually receives from anyone, for that matter.)

Gwen and I had discussed splitting the research on this one. Well, I say discussed… probably shouldn't have mentioned the whole second-in-command thingy to her earlier. She fairly assigned me to research the possible alien side and has decided to take the religious aspect herself. I started to protest, to suggest that maybe it should be the other way 'round. Gwen interrupted my dissent and said that she always thought I had 'a strong spiritual side' and that's why she wanted me to take the alien invasion/ tech research instead. Gwen thought she could show more 'detachment' from religious beliefs.

Well, as I said, doesn't seem to be anything alien in this at all. My time researching was rather wasted, I'd have to say. In the meeting, as I listened to what Gwen had found, I had to wonder if 'detachment' is all it's cracked-up to be. I was familiar with a lot of what she was reporting. Gwen announced that Cardiff used to be the Parish of St. James with a sort of smug informativeness. As if we didn't already know that… Well, as if I didn't already know… keep forgetting I'm the only one who actually grew-up here. Still, Gwen did do a good job on the research, I just can't help but feel I could have done it faster… and maybe better, if I wasn't occupied chasing down a non-existent alien angle. I did find it amusing that Tosh kept trying to defend my position as Torchwood 3's research department by attacking Gwen's technique. She even told Jack outright that Gwen just wasn't good enough at research. I found it sweet and while I appreciate Tosh's loyalty I had to eventually tell her that I was fine with it, and didn't mind.

Owen asked what happens when we turn out to be the monsters. I wanted to tell him he wasn't a monster, just a grumpy bastard, but I couldn't quite seem to get my mouth to work properly. Jack. Jack seemed to know where Owen was going with that question, but he wasn't ready to give-up yet. Owen. Maybe Owen already had given up. I think, more than anything, Owen was worried about getting worse, getting to a point beyond bad. I was thinking, likening it to how he was back when we had opened the Rift… But I don't know what he's feeling, what it's like, what he's thinking.

Jack's always the one with the toughest decisions. This time, however, Owen took that from his shoulders. Switched roles, in a manner of speaking. Owen has made the choice and it's Jack who is down in the Med Bay prepping the procedure. Fuck. Prepping the procedure. Like it's some kind of standard flu jab. Like it's nothing at all. Owen's sacrificing himself, letting himself die to maybe protect the world from Death. We're loosing him. Again.

What's the point of protecting the world if we can't protect our friends? Is this sacrifice, or suicide? I can't bring myself to blame him either way, but still… there's a part of me that wants to just scream NO. I want to lock him in the vaults, hold him back, stop him. Stop this. There has to be another way, if we can only go about finding it. But we aren't even looking. We all seem set on automatic. Owen says this is what has to be done, and I respect that… still… I hate it. A part of me, I think, hates him for giving up. Another part, however, understands maybe just a little.

Owen has asked me to be the one to clear his flat. I promised him I would. He asked me to make sure no one else ever saw the contents of the green box in his bedroom closet. I really couldn't help the raised eyebrow (it was up before I even realised) but I promised him that I'd take care of that as well. I made a stupid quip about burying the skeletons in his closet and immediately regretted it. But Owen laughed and said I could also bury the case of beer he'd just got in the fridge the other day. I teased that if it was that German shit he usually bought, it should be buried. Apparently it's Brains SA Gold. Guess Owen's taste in beer has finally improved… There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence then, broken finally when Owen said that he could always count on me to take care of… things. I didn't reply. I couldn't. It was taking all I had not to cry. It was awkward for him as well, I could see that, but I still couldn't think of the right thing to say. In the end, Owen just clapped me on the shoulder and announced, 'The proud tradition of Torchwood sarcasm is all up to you now, Teaboy. Do it proud… do me proud.' With a small frowning smile Owen left to go get dressed for… for… well, Gwen's with Owen now. I hope she's being supportive and not whining too much. I hope she knows what to say to help him in this. Or, at the very least, that she listens.


Soooooo, after all that, it would seem that we're stuck with our grumpy bastard of a doctor, after all. Miserable misanthropic midge that is Owen Harper, MD. I should have known we wouldn't be able to get rid of him after all. Oh, God, thank you. Thank you so much. I thought, well, I don't know what I was thinking for most of last night. All of a bit of a blur, really. Jack'll be wanting my report, so I should try to get it all straight in my head first, before trying to compose anything official.

What happened? Good question. Owen came into the Hub from changing clothes. I remember thinking how he looked around at everything like it was the first time he'd ever actually seen any of it. The first time, the last time. He made his way across and up the Rift pool steps where I was standing. We still didn't have any final words (which looking back now appears to have been a fortunate turn, after all.) Still, for final words nothing seemed fitting. Nothing seemed enough. Owen's hand slid along the railing to where mine rested and our fingers touched for the slimmest of instants before he continued on towards the Med Bay. It wasn't much (and probably much more detail than Jack'll be wanting in that report) but not that long ago, one of us would have moved away before even the smallest touch. I wanted to grab him, hug him goodbye… but that isn't us.

Everyone was brave, or in shock. Hard to tell the difference really, except maybe for the respiration and heart rates and the like. Anyway, there was an awkward moment when Jack actually asked Owen if he was ready for the first injection. Really, Jack? I'd put a sticky note on my report that this was one of those inappropriate-and-not-funny comments we were discussing just last week, but I know that Jack would just retaliate with a series of inappropriate-and-only-slightly-funny comments on sticky notes left all over the Hub for me. If my time with Jack has taught me nothing else, it has taught me to pick my battles. In any case, the awkwardness created by Jack's inquiry was short lived due to the sudden liveliness that was exhibited by the glove #2. Yes, new and improved Risen Mitten, now with life-like mobility and kung-fu grip. Jack ordered a lockdown at that point, but fortunately everyone was a little too occupied with the deadly alien accessory to comply. Really didn't like the idea of being sealed in with that… thing skittering around.

I was the only one with the presence of mind to bother actually grabbing a weapon, yet Jack gives me that look. What? Hockey stick's better than nothing, isn't it? Anyway, the glove really seemed to have it in for Martha. Looking back, I have to wonder if it somehow realised (thought… felt… perceived?) that Martha was the one spearheading the 'stop Owen' campaign. Why else would it go after her so determinedly? The glove seemed resolute to kill her single-handedly. (Ianto David Jones, after all this, you did not just make that joke!) Okay, sorry. Lack of sleep. Anyway… The idea that the glove seemed to be some kind of life battery may actually be correct. It drew years from Martha and left her looking, well, old. Owen managed to destroy the glove, but Martha didn't just snap back like Gwen had before.

We didn't actually get a chance to analyse the situation, come up with a plan, or anything. We did, however, get the answer to the earlier question, 'What happens when Owen reaches 100%?' It would seem the answer is, 'Oh, the usual. He'll spout black smoke (that'll kill Jack) and then he'll collapse.' Should have guessed. So, while Jack was busy being dead, Gwen took command and declared that we needed to get Martha to hospital. Tosh suggested that Owen could probably do more for her than St. Helens A&E. But, as Owen was having difficulties just standing up at that particular point in time, it was decided that A&E would have to do.

Gwen was in a rush to get Martha to the SUV, but I insisted on bringing Jack along as well. As much as Gwen tried, I refused to argue the point with her and just hauled his arse along to the garage with us. (Either I need to take to lifting weights or Jack could really do with loosing a stone or two.) In any case, once he came back, I reckoned we were going to need him. While I was driving, I think I spent more time watching Jack than I did the road. (As it was, I narrowly missed a weevil stood in the middle of the road. Stupid sod.) Anyway, it must have been a bad death for Jack, he was gone the entire trip and I was starting to worry. When we arrived, and he still wasn't back, I relented and left him in the parking lot while we got Martha inside.

I'm thankful that we didn't leave Jack at the Hub. Tight fit as it was in the SUV, I was so… relieved to have him there, in command again. Even if the situation was 'end of the world' dire, I have to admit to the thrill I felt when Jack turned to me, 'Ianto, we need answers.' Adrenaline-fueled or not, the look in Jack's eyes held a level of confidence in me that made my heart race all the more… and made my trousers feel just a bit tight (Okay, cringing now. I'm putting that comment own to the lack of sleep as well.) Moving on… suffice it to say I was determined to please Jack. I was determined not to fail.

Hacking into the hospital mainframe only took a minute or two. That wasn't the problem. Nope, the problem was a big city hospital… with dial-up internet. Really? New definitions for the word 'slow' have been achieved. Then, of course every page is full of high resolution pictures and absurd little animations, and anything else that takes until the end of time to load. So the rest of the team was out running about fighting off Death himself, and I kept getting redirected to the Weight Watchers website, slowly. Brilliant. So much for Jack's confidence in me.

Well, it did help a bit, that when Jack called and asked me to break into the hospital's communication system, I'd already done it (while waiting for a particularly graphics-laden page to load in another window.) The news wasn't good. We seemed to be loosing, and quickly. Once I found the reference sources we needed it didn't get any easier. Page after page of information, but nothing new, nothing helpful. Plus every noise in the corridor outside made me tense. Rather hard to concentrate, what with Death right outside your door, literally.

I think I wasn't the only one a bit distracted. I could hear Jack and Gwen on the comms and Jack actually seemed… flustered. No, not flustered. Flighty? Forgetful? Well, probably something starting with an f, and definitely something out of character. In any case, he actually needed it explaining, again, the whole thirteen deaths thingy. As I said, I think that the whole, death by Death earlier, had hit Jack harder than anyone might have suspected.

So, anyway, later Tosh told me, 'See, Ianto… that's why the rest of us should leave the historical research to the professional archivists. You saved the day!' But it wasn't me. It was Owen. Yes, I found the original Latin inscription that said Faith. Yes, I sussed out that it was Faith and not faith, but Owen took it from there. And despite what he says, Owen had faith, not just 'nothing to loose.' Facing Death, all on his own, Owen saved us all. When Tosh was telling me about it, she said that the only reason Owen kissed her was as a distraction to grab her scanner. Sure it was a distraction, but I think it was also his way of reminding himself that he did have something worth fighting for. Torchwood doesn't seem to draw people who believe. Or maybe it draws those who have lost their belief. I didn't know Owen before Torchwood, but back in Nepal we talked enough that I think I can see how that might have happened, what he's been through. I think Owen would like to believe in God, in hope and love… but right now, maybe he just needed something that he could see and touch… a cause… in any case maybe in the end facing Death (instead of just death) was exactly what Owen needed. A physical presence to fight. Or is it something for him to fight against, instead of something to fight for?

Owen Harper fought Death and won. In fact, by my reckoning that stands at Doctor Harper: 2, Death: 0. This, this is Owen. Alive or undead (or some other term yet to be coined) Owen is a fighter. He'll never go gentle into that good night. No, the Owen Harper I know (or think I know, at least a little) will always rage, rage against the dying of the light. I'm still not convinced that he expected to survive the encounter, or even that he hoped that he would, but I'm really glad that he did. The thoughts that raced through my mind at the silence over the comms… For a moment I thought that I was the only one left. The idea that they were all gone, that I was alone… again, I have to admit, that tested my own faith… just a bit.

I'm glad Martha's back… and in more ways than one. Whether it was being pulled closer to death herself, with the whole pre-mature aging thingy, or just having some time to herself to think... Or maybe it was getting a better look at just who Owen really is… in any case, I think Martha's got a new perspective, and she isn't looking down, quite so much. This is the Martha I like. She's back.

Jack looks so drained. He's worrying again, I can tell. It was late then, well, early. I sent the others home, which raised quite a few eyebrows, but no arguments. That's good, because Jack needed some quiet time alone. Well, alone with me, that is. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he needs to talk.

Yep, I was right. Jack needed to talk. Coffee, wonder that it is, wasn't going to be enough, not this time. So when I entered his office I had that silver tray Jack likes so much (I swear, that man and his fetishes.) On my tray I had the usual coffee, but also those little mini-marshmallows that Jack adores, as well as a bowl of melted chocolate. It took a minute for Jack to look up, but I waited by the door until he did. His smile alone would have been worth a lifetime of waiting. As I walked towards him Jack closed his eyes and inhaled, 'Hmmm, my absolute favourite.' I placed the tray on his desk and smiled, "Yep. Coffee and chocolate." Jack opened his eyes and gazed straight into mine, 'Nope. Second and third favourite, respectively. A distant second and third, at that.' I moved to sit, leaning back against Jack's desk, before asking, "So your favourite's the marshmallow then? I'll make sure to keep some in for you." Jack glanced down at the tray, then back at me, 'Oh, I like the marshmallows, alright. But they're definitely not my favourite thing.' Jack stood up and took a small step towards me, placing his feet on either side of my own and his hands on my hips. I raised an eyebrow and Jack continued, 'You are, IantoJones.' Yep, I knew that Jack needed to talk, but I also knew that it could wait until this morning.