Just under forty-five minutes later, Gwen pulled into a car park just off the main road. Her Satnav told her that she was at a pub called 'The House of the Dead', but all that seemed to be left of it was a cobbled path leading to a large crater, fifty or so meters wide.

On the other side of the crater stood a woman leaning against the bonnet of a dark blue car that had been parked on the grass. She was probably a few years older than she was, in her late thirties. Long strands of dyed blond hair had fallen free from her once elegant updo and framed her pale face. She had her arms wrapped around herself in an effort to protect herself from the cold night air.

Lit by the car's headlights was the silhouette of a familiar figure. He was sat on what looked like a large chunk of stone, perhaps the old brickwork of the pub, hunched with his back facing her, but Gwen would recognise those red braces paired with that light blue shirt anywhere. And if that wasn't enough, draped over his lap to the side was his beloved long grey greatcoat. Military-inspired clothing such as trench coats may be coming into fashion, but she only knew of one person who had the confidence to wear military surplus outfits from the 1940s, no matter the occasion.

Captain Jack Harkness.

The woman looked over at Gwen as she pulled in. She presumably said something to Jack, bending down slightly to his height and pointing in the direction of Gwen's car but he didn't turn around and look in her direction.

As Gwen struggled out of the car, the woman gave a little wave before saying something else to him, then rushed over. She hurried to meet her, not bothering to turn the engine off or close the car door behind her.

"I assume you're Bethan, yeah?" Gwen said with a forced smile as they met halfway across the car park.

The woman, Bethan, hastily nodded. "Yeah. Bethan Morgan. Beth."

She'd been the one to call her here. Gwen had almost put the phone down on her the first time, believing it to be a prank call. The young woman on the end of the line had been rambling on about ghosts and traffic jams and an accident. It sounded as if she needed to speak to a Crisis Line, but the shaken sounding woman had insisted she had the right number. And how did she know that? Gwen had asked her. She'd only been given the number by one Captain Jack Harkness. The bloody bastard.

But whether or not this was a trap, Gwen had rushed to the location Beth had given her regardless. Just as Jack's name had made her angry and nervous, her mention of an Ianto Jones made her highly suspicious.

Ianto was dead. He'd been dead and gone for six long months, almost to the day. She'd visited his grave only last week.

"Gwen Cooper," she introduced herself. "We spoke earlier on the phone. I'm with… Torchwood."

"What's that?" Beth asked. Her accent was local, but they were over thirty miles away from Cardiff. It wasn't surprising she'd never heard of them.

"Special Ops," Gwen said dismissively, in a tone she'd learnt years ago.

"Oh. Like Jack?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," she confirmed. "Can you-"

She broke off and froze in place. As they'd talked, they'd been making their way towards the figure huddled among the rubble. As they got closer, Gwen had noticed that it wasn't just Jack who was perched on a large chunk of the debris, using it as a bench. Two bodies were huddled together in the greatcoat, one practically sat on the other's lap. And though Jack didn't turn to look at them as they approached, a familiar face was peered out from Jack's protective embrace. "Is that…?"

Gwen didn't wait for any confirmation from Beth. She broke into a run as she crossed the short distance between them. It probably came out as more of a fast waddle, but for once she couldn't have cared less. Just before she reached them, she stumbled to a stop on the damp grass, once again frozen in place by the unexpected scene before her.

"Ianto?" she breathed, still unable to believe what she was seeing. Ianto had Jack's greatcoat over his shoulders. One arm snaked out between its folds to grip tightly onto Jack's arm that was wrapped around him just as tightly. His legs were slung over Jack's lap; they were almost on top of one another. Jack finally looked up from where he had buried his face in the crook of Ianto's neck as he heard her speak. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his cheeks were stained with tears.

"God, you're huge!" Ianto exclaimed, eyes wide as he stared at her stomach. Gwen automatically put a protective arm around her stomach and watched with surprise as his pale cheeks flamed red in embarrassment. He adverted his gaze, frantically glancing around as even the tips of his ears turned pink. "Sorry, I shouldn't have- I mean-"

But Gwen didn't let him finish his stumbled apology. She lurched the last few paces between them and dropped as gracefully as she could to her knees before falling forward and embracing her two friends.

"Oh god, Ianto," she cried, tears blurring her vision.

With a surprised yelp from both men, unprepared for the sudden assault, they toppled off the chunk of stonework they were sat on and fell to the ground. Gwen landed on top of the two men, leaving Jack at the bottom and Ianto squished between them. She didn't care how uncomfortable she felt, stomach protruding into the little gap between Jack and Ianto's bodies, and back aching. All she cared about was her best friend was back from the dead. Not like Owen had been – stuck in a perpetual death – but truly alive. The heat of the blush in his cheeks and warm breath in her ear as he gave a self-conscious chuckle were proof of that.

"Ianto, Ianto, Ianto," she continued to chant as she cried into his shoulder.

Over her own ragged breathing, she could hear another hitch of breath and knew that Jack was crying too. She never thought she'd see either man again, but now she was here, lying half on top of them both in a shabby car park on the outskirts of Abergavenny in the dark. It was almost like old times.

She gave a half-laugh that caught in her throat and felt one of Jack's thumbs brush against her wrist. He obviously wasn't relinquishing his grip on Ianto any time soon.

But she couldn't stay there much longer. There was only so long that she could ignore the pain in her lower back. Slowly, she forced herself to sit up, shuffling backwards to ensure she didn't crush Ianto more than she had to. She saw him wince as her elbow pressed down slightly too hard on his stomach - another sign that he was here.

"Sorry," she said with a sniff as she ineffectively wiped her tears away with the cuff of her coat.

"'s okay," Ianto replied with a shrug of his shoulder, still laying on top of Jack. His other shoulder was still hidden by Jack's embrace. She could just about make out the small smile Jack's tear-stained face before he tucked it back into Ianto's neck like a shy child.

"Oh god, Ianto!" It was then that it hit her. She shuffled backwards faster, slipping on the wet grass and feet launching smaller bits of rubble as she scrambled away from her best friends. Ianto sat up a little as she moved, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

No. It wasn't Ianto. Ianto Jones was dead. Her Ianto had stood up to the 456, refusing to give up a single child of Earth. He had died in Jack's arms six months ago whilst she had helplessly watched from a warehouse, miles away and unable to do anything to help. He had been cremated and buried in a cemetery in Newport. Ianto Jones was dead. Whatever this was – shapeshifter, perception filter, clone – it wasn't Ianto.

And Jack would never see that.

He had already lost him once before. She'd seen how Jack had been affected by his death when she had to almost drag him away from Ianto's side, laid out on red blankets in a school gymnasium that had become the temporary morgue. Jack had barely been able to stand, legs buckling as he stumbled away as if by him falling, at least Jack could be lying next to his lover once more. Jack would never be able to walk away from him again. Later, he'd sacrificed his grandson to stop the 456, but he'd been willing to let them win so long as they didn't kill Ianto.

Before the 456, before Ianto had died in Jack's arms, Gwen had believed that Jack would sacrifice each member of the Torchwood team if it would save so many more. It would be the last resort and he'd morn them for years to come, but Gwen knew he would do it. She knew he hated it whenever those situations arose, but within a month of signing up for Torchwood, they were each prepared to die for their Captain. Perhaps it was better that Jack believed it was the institute they were willing to die for, rather than him.

Yet, when Ianto and Jack stood side by side before the 456, Jack had promised anything in return for the safety of his lover. And Gwen had believed him. Captain Jack Harkness would have given anything to save Ianto Jones. He'd have sacrificed the entire world just to save him.

And she knew that he would do it again in a heartbeat.

That made this situation dangerous.

That made him dangerous.

Jack would do anything for Ianto. He had to be stopped.

Ianto's eyes widened – no, the thing that looked like Ianto widened its eyes – as he saw the gun that Gwen had pulled from the holster beneath her jacket but made no move to alert Jack who still had his face buried in the crook of Ianto's – the being that looked like Ianto – neck. It was a wise move, but the silence didn't last for long.

"Bloody hell!" Beth cried.

In all honesty, she had completely forgotten about the person who had called her here.

"It's okay," Gwen said, hastening to reassure her. "Special Ops, remember? It's just a routine procedure. I just need you to stand back now. Everything's going to be okay."

"But-"

Gwen cut her off before she could continue. Jack still hadn't looked up and she'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible. Ianto – not Ianto, she reminded herself – may be eyeing her warily, but at least he was calm for the moment. She had no such hopes of Jack reacting the same. "I've got my ID in my pocket, let me just…"

She tried to find the card that allowed her to carry weapons – another fake that had been perfected by Tosh – until she remembered it was in the back pocket of her jeans. She cursed under her breath and sighed in defeat. She was sat on the wet grass pointing a gun at her best friend. There was no way she'd survive this with her dignity intact.

"God, this is embarrassing. It's in my back pocket. You wouldn't be able to give me a hand up, would you?"

Beth stuttered a reply, not looking away at the gun that Gwen never lowered.

And that was when her luck ran out.