Gwen Cooper wasn't enjoying pregnancy. No matter what her husband said, there was no denying she was huge. Not beautiful, not radiant, not drop-dead-bloody-gorgeous (whatever the hell that was supposed to mean), but huge. At 28 weeks pregnant, she wasn't too sure of how much more of this she could take. Surely, she was bigger than she had been on the day of her wedding, impregnated by a carnivorous alien that wanted her dead. That had been bad enough.

And where the hell was this supposed 'pregnancy glow'? At least the puffiness in her face had reduced, as had the number of spots. God, she'd felt like a teenager all over again. Her feet and ankles were continuing to swell, though. The only thing she could possibly be was stunning, as in 'wow, are you sure you're only *insert number of weeks here* many weeks pregnant?' or 'are you sure you're not expecting twins?' which were questions asked various strangers whenever she ventured out or the occasional visit from friends. Not that she saw her friends that often. That was the problem of being a former agent for a secret organisation: it destroyed your social life.

These last six months, she'd barely been in Cardiff anyway. After the 456 had left in a blaze of fire and she was convinced that the soldiers hunting them down weren't going to take the kids Ianto had died to protect, she and Rhys had returned to London. But before the late September sun had turned to a cold and cloudy October, they discovered that they were only marginally safer than they had been when the children were still pointing to the sky and talking in unison.

She and Rhys might not have been officially wanted dead by the British Government anymore, but that didn't mean they were safe. The government were busy covering their tracks and looking for someone to blame. On top of that, they were also desperate to stop anything like this from happening again. Now, there was talk of a mysterious Department that still had the idea to hunt the remaining Torchwood team down.

Former UNIT Commander, Colonel Emily Chaudhary, had been the one to tip Gwen off. She told her that it wasn't UNIT that guarding the bombsite that had once been the Hub, rather a new Department of the government. With the recent events having resulted in major upheaval within the secret organisation and their own conduct coming into question, UNIT simply didn't have the resources to cover everything that was going on. Torchwood was once outside the government and beyond the police, but it seemed those days were over.

Luckily, whilst UNIT was waging a civil war between those who wanted to become more defensive and militarised over those who thought that science was the best approach for understanding alien life, some were still favourable towards Torchwood. Colonel Chaudhary was one of them. She'd been the Commanding Officer for the British Division of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce from 2005 to 2008. Gwen hadn't known much about her back then, but she did remember the investigation that had occurred over Christmas 2008 when an alien spider had tried to destroy the planet using a former Torchwood One base. Back then, some UNIT personnel had accused Jack and Torchwood of being involved, however, after a lengthy investigation, Torchwood Three were cleared of all charges.

And although the Colonel had stepped down from the CO position after three years, she still had a lot of power and information about the organisation. She'd also been a companion to the Doctor, just as Jack had been. Her warning about what was coming had possibly saved Gwen and Rhys, not that they'd let their guard down since the whole thing kicked off.

They knew they had to be careful.

Torchwood was gone.

She was the last one standing. Or sitting, she thought bleakly, sitting alone on a lumpy sofa in a bedsit at half-past nine at night. It made the old, battered sofa in the Hub feel like the world's most luxury comfiest mattress in comparison. Bloody temporary accommodation.

They were hidden away, but that didn't mean they were safe. Gwen doubted that she'd ever feel safe again. Alien threats were one thing, but having to fight to survive against other humans that could just as easily kill you and your family was completely different.

She could never escape them.

Even if the Department were willing to let them go, they wouldn't be safe forever. Somewhere forgotten in someone's desk or stuck down the back of a filing cabinet would be a piece of paper with her name on it. Torchwood may be on its way to being erased and forgotten, but for as long as she lived there was always the risk that someone would come looking for her again, whether it be this mysterious Department or someone else just as deadly. And if they found her, then Rhys and their child would be at risk too.

She longed for the days when she had felt safe in her own home, despite the constant danger she'd faced. Well, not exactly safe, but safe enough. It was Cardiff and she was Torchwood. But she'd learnt to leave it all at the door and find comfort in Rhys's arms, forgetting everything else that was going on, at least for the time being.

Before all of this, she'd sit on that old sofa at the Hub with a bottle of beer and a slice of meat feast pizza from Jubilee, laughing with her friends. They all knew what it was like, knowing that the Rift ran straight through Cardiff, spewing out dangerous technology and volatile aliens. It had been a bit like being in the Police, knowing that the dark streets weren't as safe as you'd once believed, only this time the muggers weren't shady individuals in tracksuits rather vicious creatures in boilersuits. Later, it would just be her and Ianto sharing the pizza as they gossiped away the long nights. He'd be all practical and say she was lucky to still have Rhys to go home to. He was right, as he always was. But she couldn't do that anymore.

Ianto was gone.

Ianto was dead. Tosh was dead. Owen was dead for a second time, but this time there was no way to save him from the darkness. Jack may as well have been classed as dead too.

It had been months since she'd last heard from him, even longer since that day in London when she'd sat between the bodies of her two best friends. One stayed dead, the other sent her back home to Wales and hadn't been seen since. Instead, two weeks after the week from hell, she got a letter in the post.

He never said goodbye, but as soon as she saw the envelope addressed to her in his familiar spidery scrawl, she knew he was already gone.

The Government and UNIT had already been in contact with her. They'd let Jack go after he'd stopped the 456, all charges cleared and erased. He'd walked away from Ashton Down and disappeared into the low evening sun. If Gwen hadn't still got his Vortex Manipulator hidden in the lining of her emergency backpack, she would think that he'd disappeared off the face of the Earth. But he hadn't. His letter just said that Torchwood was over and that she and her family would be safe now. He wouldn't be coming back for a while, but he wished her and Rhys every happiness for the future.

Three other almost identical letters were delivered that morning, all to the Jones family. One to their friend Martha Jones, another to Martha's parents, and the final to her older sister, Tish. The four letters were identical, except for the last paragraph.

He'd condensed their entire relationship and stuffed it into eight measly lines. It was an insult. Gwen wanted to hate him. But she couldn't.

The letters weren't the only thing they were sent over the last six months. Gwen had been sent a soft mint green baby blanket on the day after she'd announced her pregnancy to their families. A small handwritten card inside that simply said 'Congratulations xxx'. There'd been no other note or a return address and despite Mickey's best efforts, there'd been no way to trace where it had come from either.

It was the same for the large bouquet that had been delivered without a name on Francene's birthday, the stylish personalised leather portfolio that Tish received a week after she accepted a new job, and the decadent Housewarming hamper containing bread, salt, sugar, and wine among other things when Martha and Mickey purchased a flat together. Only Jack would send something like that.

It didn't matter where they were either. Everything turned up at their current address. The first three weeks back, Gwen and Rhys stayed in a hotel whist their flat was fixed, since it had been completely trashed by the antiterrorism squad, but as soon as they'd moved back in, they'd both found that they could never feel safe here again.

Within a month, they'd put the flat up on the market, and packed up their belongings, moving from hotel to bedsit to B&B, changing their address each month or so. They jumped between London and Cardiff, depending on where Gwen was needed. And once they learnt the truth about what a branch of the government was up to, well, it just made sense to keep moving.

Barely anyone knew their new address anymore – even she was having trouble remembering her own postcode these days. She tried to avoid telling people. She couldn't trust anyone anymore. Even their parents didn't always know when they'd moved. She thought it was safer that way. Sometimes, like now, Andy Davidson knew where they were, but he'd never tell a soul. Martha was the only other person whom she would occasionally tell, but only when she was coming to visit.

The two women had grown close after the last few months. Martha was brilliant. Her phone calls were the only constant thing in her life other than Rhys and the need to pee all the time. Whenever Gwen thought of something else that could have affected the baby, Martha and her calm words or assurance were only a phone call away. After all, most pregnancy books didn't come with a chapter entitled 'what to expect when you've spent the last three years of your life surrounded by alien tech and other things that want to kill you'.

Martha assured her that their child was healthy and showed no signs of growing a second head or being born glowing green. But that still didn't stop Gwen or Rhys from worrying.

As soon as Martha made it back from her honeymoon (the borders had been closed, flights suspended as suspicion mounted), she and Mickey had joined her in London, but by then it had been all over. The 456 had gone back to wherever they came from, Ianto was dead, and Jack was gone.

Torchwood was over.