Now, six months later, Torchwood was all but forgotten. As of a month ago, Roald Dahl Plass now looked exactly as it had before. The citizens of Cardiff were quick to forget the supposed terrorist attack in the bay, just as they forgot every other strange occurrence in their city.

The gaping crater had drawn crowds for a month or two, something Gwen had been immensely grateful for. She had been forced to watch from afar as the Department oversaw the clean-up operation. She never found out what had happened at the Hub during those first two months – Andy had later told her about the string of strange murders, suicides, disappearances, and the subsequent explosion – but she instinctively knew that she'd made the right choice in staying away from them. But it had been hard watching the soldiers and scientists shift through the bombsite that had once been her home away from home.

After the Department left, presumably having found whatever they were looking for, UNIT was brought in to replace them and Gwen finally got the chance to revisit the site. With the help of the team sent from UNIT Base Five in Snowden, Gwen had been brought in undercover. Together, they worked to evacuate the area, making sure any technology or artefacts that had miraculously survived were carefully noted and stored away. Most of it hadn't been salvageable. The bomb had taken out almost everything. It was impossible to know what the Department had taken.

But after two long months, it was decided that they could do no more. UNIT had brought in a team of builders who'd put in supports and rebuilt the roof. Although a sizable budget had been allocated to restore the Plass to its former glory, gleaming silver water tower and all, unfortunately, the budget didn't extend to the Hub below. It was left to lay in structurally secure ruins.

And above it, Cardiff moved on, just as it always had.

Gwen had been planning her next move when she received the phone call. Torchwood was to be disbanded. The Rift would be sealed (no mention of how, just that it would) and so Torchwood was no longer required. Effective immediately. The official confirmation would be sent later today and should be with her tomorrow. The Queen and Her Majesty's Government thanked her for her service.

Of course, Gwen had turned up at the Hub anyway, only to find UNIT packing up. A skeleton team, sent down by UNIT HQ, would remain in the area for the purpose of monitoring - monitoring what exactly Gwen wasn't sure – but in time they too would be disbanded. Funding had been cut, they told her. God knows whose stupid idea that was considering barely six months had passed since the 456 had demanded their children, but it seemed no matter whom Gwen argued with, yelled at, or downright threatened, Torchwood was finished.

Two days ago, the official letter was left at the reception desk of the Hostel they had been staying at. Gwen had packed their bags, phoned Andy, and checked out.

Torchwood was over.

Neatly packed up and shipped away to be forgotten.

But Gwen wouldn't forget.

Nobody left Torchwood and Torchwood never left you.

But life was different now. That week in September had been the last of her late-night callouts and long chases and battling impossible odds. No longer would there be midnight pizza feasts to celebrate surviving by the skin of their teeth or lazy Wednesdays when they were all caught up on paperwork and instead lounged on the sofa swapping tales and drinking beer.

That life was gone forever.

She wouldn't be joining UNIT Base Five, despite their offers of protection, or Martha and Mickey, who'd offered her a job once she'd given birth. She wasn't a soldier, or scientist, or medic, or even that good at paperwork. She was Gwen Cooper of Torchwood. She missed the life she'd lived, and probably would for the rest of her now much-extended lifetime, but she wouldn't find what she was missing by joining another secret organisation. She missed Jack, and Ianto, and Tosh, and Owen. She missed Myfanwy and Janet. She missed the invisible lift and their secret underground base.

She missed Torchwood.

If anything, joining something else would just make her miss Torchwood even more. Nothing would ever replace the life she'd lead for those two amazing years.

It had been wonderful and exciting and frightening and painful – not to mention bloody difficult. She just had to accept that it was gone forever.

It was times like these, when a melancholy mood hit her, that she wondered how Ianto had coped. At the age of just 23, he'd lost everything at the Battle of Torchwood. Over 800 Torchwood employees had turned up for work that day, unknowing of the horrors that were about to unfold. Thousands had died across the world as the Cybermen invaded Earth. In London, the Daleks were unleashed, too. The Doctor had come to the rescue in the end, but Torchwood One was destroyed that day. Ianto was left with nothing except the shell of his half-converted girlfriend and the hope that one day they could be together again.

In a single day, he lost everything. Within a month, he'd been forced to leave the life he'd created in London and move back to Wales. He had hoped that Torchwood Three would be his answer, so he'd flirted with Captain Jack Harkness and caught a Pterodactyl in a bid to be hired. Unsurprisingly, the Pterodactyl worked (because who didn't want a pet dinosaur when they were a kid? Gwen was pretty sure that even kids born on another planet in the far-flung future would still be impressed by a flying dinosaur), and Ianto smuggled Lisa into Torchwood's lower levels. He continued the ruse for another three months, much to the later shame to the whole team. Three long months of hiding and pretending that nothing was wrong, and in all that time none of them ever noticed.

God, she barely could manage three sodding days without breaking down.

'Yeah, but you're full of hormones,' the voice of Ianto in her head would tease in that droll tone of his. She could picture one corner of his mouth upturned slightly as he tried to hide his smirk. He would tilt his head away from her whilst he tried to compose himself, but this would only brighten the spark of mischief in his eyes. He'd catch her smile and roll his eyes disparagingly as he looked back at her with a little huff of amusement. 'I think that's a good excuse. I don't think I'm worth that many tears.'

Even in her head, Ianto's insecurity remained, as it now would forever. Her best friend had never gotten the chance to grow into the confident young man she knew he would have become if only he'd been given more time. He was worth those tears, and so much more.

Gwen wasn't sure what was worse, the moments when Ianto was locked away deep inside her mind in that box labelled 'dead friends', or the times when she forgot, if only for a moment, that he was gone.

When Tosh and Owen had died, she'd taken Rhys and run. They'd spent two weeks in an all-inclusive spa, and she'd tried to chase her memories away by drinking the place dry. It hadn't worked. Eventually, she'd been forced to make the box in her mind to lock away all her grief. That had been more successful, apart from the times when it opened, and Gwen found herself once again consumed by grief and guilt.

Seven months later, she had to place Ianto in that box too. This time she couldn't turn to alcohol to drown everything out. It had been hard before, but this time it was excruciating. Ianto had died and she'd been glad it wasn't her. She was the one who survived, who got to walk away, who got to go back to Rhys and start a family, and Ianto didn't. And those thoughts alone were worse than anything she'd felt the last time her friends died.

And then sometimes, she just forgot. Ianto Jones was locked away in that box, and she was happy. Those quiet times with Rhys, a rare sunny morning on a crisp winter's day, whenever she felt the baby kick. And then she hated herself even more because she could still experience all those things and Ianto couldn't. She would never hear Ianto moaning about how Jack had followed him around his flat like a lost puppy at the weekend. They'd never complain together about their other half's bad habits, like leaving the toilet seat up or toast crumbs in the butter. Ianto would never appear next to her and casually talk about the weather outside as a not-so-subtle hint that she'd spent far too long underground. It didn't matter how often she wanted to call for a cup of coffee, he would never reply.

She couldn't even have a bloody cup, anyway.

Six months on and she still didn't know how to continue. No wonder Jack had run.

A few days after Jack's letter had been delivered, she and Rhys had their first fight. Not their first fight – there'd been plenty of disagreements over the last decade – but the first fight since it had happened. Before then, they'd both been too busy grieving and trying to survive in this new world. It had started as all their usual arguments had started the last year or so, only now the baby wasn't fictional, but real and slowly growing inside of her. A real human baby that would depend on her and Rhys for the rest of their lives. She could tell that Rhys had been secretly pleased that she wouldn't be returning to Torchwood pregnant, now it no longer existed, even if he hadn't said so directly. But she couldn't understand how she could live her life without out it.

The argument had ended when she burst into tears when Rhys had told her that this should be a new start for them, that Torchwood had ended, and she could begin her new life. She couldn't stop the floods of tears as huge sobs racked her body that left her feeling weak as she sank to the floor. Rhys had just held her, not knowing what to do other than apologise. How could he know that he had inadvertently used Jack's words of comfort to her and Ianto when Tosh and Owen died? 'The end is where we start from'. Only this time Jack wasn't here. Neither was Ianto. In two days, she had lost her two best friends in the whole world.

Torchwood was gone, yet she still felt like she was drowning in it. Rhys was barely enough to keep her afloat anymore.

She once had liked to think that Torchwood hadn't destroyed her like it had the others. She was better than them. It hurt to admit that, but it was true. Owen used his cold uncaring attitude to hide the deep sense of loss he felt for all those he couldn't save. Tosh felt safer with data and computers than people and the unpredictable instability Torchwood gave her, but it was those same things that stopped her from leaving. And Ianto, who'd run from one Torchwood to another, blinded by his loyalty and love, was willing to die for it. What made it worse was that Ianto had long ago accepted that Torchwood would kill him. Suzie's downfall had been similar, unable to live without Torchwood in her life.

And finally, there was Jack. Unable to die, he was forced to live with the choices he'd had to make, the choices Torchwood had forced him to make. When she'd first joined, she'd been unable to comprehend Jack's choice to sacrifice a little girl, Jasmine, to the Faeries. But now he'd been forced to sacrifice a little boy, his grandson, to save millions of other children across the world. It made her feel sick, but she finally understood why he was the way he was. Torchwood had forced him to make sacrifices like that over and over again. He had no escape.

So, he'd done the only thing he could to survive. He ran. He ran as fast and as far away as he could. Away from Torchwood and away from her.

But no one ever left Torchwood. Death or retcon – those had been the old rules. But even if you forgot it, it didn't matter. Torchwood corrupted your soul. It dug its claws in deep and held on until it finally killed you. It would kill her too one day.

But maybe Jack would be the first to survive it. If anyone could, it'd be him: 'The Man Who Could Survive Anything'. After all, it wasn't like he had a choice but to endure eternally. But would he ever get the chance to live again if all he was doing was running for his survival? Perhaps not.

Gwen knew that one day Jack would come back, but she was beginning to doubt that it would be anytime soon. If she were lucky, she might still be alive when he came, albeit weathered and grey whilst he would look exactly the same if you refused to meet his eyes. Someone once said that your eyes were windows to your soul – she didn't know who, but Ianto would have known – but she'd never really understood what that meant until she met Jack. All those long years of pain and suffering could be seen if just for a second when you looked into his eyes.

So, until that day when Captain Jack returned, she was the last living member of Torchwood. For now, it was a Torchwood that only existed in her memories.

Unlike Jack, she couldn't run. She wouldn't run. She wouldn't subject Rhys or their child to that. They would hide, but she refused to run.

But sometimes she wished that she had run. At least then, she might have gotten a head start Now, she had no chance. The sudden ringing of her mobile reminded her of that.

Unknown number.

She stared at it as if that would make the caller hang up. If she was lucky, it was only a scam caller whose computer had spat out her number. But she was never that lucky.

She quickly googled the number, no longer able to access the Torchwood Mainframe in fear that someone was watching and waiting, but it came up blank. The phone tracing websites didn't list the mobile number. She could only hope that some old lady was trying to ring her grandchildren on her mobile but had misdialled by a digit or two. She dreaded the alternative. The baby kicked her recently emptied bladder and she ran a hand over her bump, trying to soothe them.

Nobody should have her number; it was new to her as of yesterday. She used several pay-as-you-go phones now to try to stop anyone from tracking her.

The ringing stopped and Gwen breathed a sigh of relief, hoping it wouldn't ring again.

It did.

It was the same unknown private number. Whoever was calling her – and she was fully aware how easy it was for someone to piggyback off another call – in all likelihood knew she was there. They knew she was home alone. Perhaps they'd traced Rhys and seen him leave. She'd been the one to encourage him to go out tonight and tie up any loose ends they still had before they left Cardiff forever. He'd quit his job at Harwoods already, a job that he loved and was so proud of. But he had said he loved her, and their baby, more. He was willing to do whatever it took to make sure they were safe. But unlike Gwen, Rhys still had a life in Cardiff. He'd gone to Banana Boat's with a group of his mates to say goodbye.

They both knew that this was it, the end of their life together here. Neither of them wanted to leave, albeit for vastly different reasons, but they knew they must.

But she couldn't go into hiding without knowing who was hunting them down this time.

Gwen held her breath and answered the call.