"It wasn't like that," Jack said, voice thick with grief. "I didn't think I could find a way to bring Ianto back."

"Bullshit." Gwen stood up from the bed, pushing Rhys's arms away from her as he tried to calm her. She paced the short length of the sofa to the bed and back again, exhaustion forgotten and replaced by furious indignation. "Bullshit. You don't suddenly find your dead boyfriend! I had to formally identify his body. I told his sister he was dead. I had to clear out his flat before I gave Rhiannon the key. Fuck, I had to explain why I, a woman she didn't even know the name of until that week, had a key that fit the locks when his own sister didn't because Ianto had never gotten round to giving her a new key. I had to do all that alone! It's been six months – six fucking months – so you, Mister Jack Harkness better start talking!"

If the man in front of her had been the person she once knew, he would have that hard look in his eyes, stood to attention with his hands across his chest gripping his biceps, jutted his chin out and spoke back with a firm voice that demanded respect. Instead, the man who sat on her bed was slumped down, shoulders slouched, and head bowed. She couldn't see his face, but she doubted that his mouth was set in a firm line, or his brow furrowed in repressed anger.

"I can't," he said in a voice so quiet she would have missed it if she were not highly attuned to her surroundings, fear and suspicion still pumping adrenalin through her veins.

"He didn't think he could bring me back." Ianto spoke in a low but firm tone. His blue eyes had that same hard look that stared straight into her exactly as Jack's had. She suppressed a shiver. One arm was around Jack's shoulders, the other clasped in between Jack's two hands. "He thought he could kill himself. Permanently."

Gwen looked away. "I still need to know," she said weakly.

"Maybe tomorrow?" Rhys suggested. "After everyone's had a good sleep, yeah? It's been a long day."

Ianto nodded. Jack didn't move.

"We'll take the sofa," Ianto said.

"Okay. Tomorrow." Gwen sighed, but moved back to the sofa, picking up the abandoned duvet and throw. "You still cold?"

Ianto shivered but shook his head. "You take the duvet; we'll have the blanket. Put the dressing gowns on top and we'll be all right. If I get cold, I can always nick Jack's coat back."

Gwen gave a forced smile. "Do you want to wash up first? I can see if I can find some extra toothbrushes in the bathroom?"

Ianto shook his head, pulling an unresponsive Jack to his feet. "It's fine, I think we'll cope for one night."

The four of them shuffled awkwardly around each other in the small room. Rhys left to go to the bathroom and Gwen was alone with the two men for the first time.

"All right if I leave the light on?" she asked, indicating to the bedside light, once again a shade of brown.

Ianto nodded.

"You're not planning on sleeping, are you?" Jack asked lowly.

"No," she admitted.

He looked over at her. "Me neither," he said with a dangerous grin. "You're not the only one who'll be keeping watch tonight."

"I'm not planning on going anywhere, you know," Ianto grumbled. "Couldn't even if I wanted to, not with that death grip."

Jack apologised, not sounding the least bit sorry or loosening his grip on Ianto's hand. "You should get some sleep, Gwen Copper."

"You know I can't," she sighed. She was tired, though. Too tired to continue fighting a pointless battle. Coming up to four hours after that first phone call, she was shattered. Something was wrong with Jack, other than his sudden appearance with Ianto, but even she knew when to stop pushing. She just had to hope that Martha would come soon. At least then she could feel safe turning her back. Ianto, or the thing that looked like Ianto, had been perfectly well behaved so far. She could almost believe it was him. But she knew it couldn't be. And with Jack refusing to tell her where he'd found him, it only heightened her suspicions.

They sat in silence until Rhys returned. Gwen laid down with her husband until he fell asleep a short time later. He had always been the first of them to fall asleep. Sometimes Gwen hated him for that ability as she lay awake plagued by memories of the past and fears for the future, far worse than any nightmare she'd ever had. She carefully eased herself out of his arms and sat back up against the headboard, picking up the book from the bedside table. She flicked through the well-thumbed pages, a recommendation from Martha's doctor friends, and kept an eye on her best friends.

Ianto was curled on the too-short two-seater sofa with his head pillowed on Jack's lap, snuggled in Rhys's oversized dressing gown with the blanket and her dressing gown on top. Jack stroked his hair, bare legs stretched out in front of him, almost reaching the cabinets on the wall opposite. He didn't seem cold, but at least he had finally accepted a shirt to wear.

Ianto shifted and groaned as Rhys started to snore. "Does he always make that noise?"

Jack giggled.

"After a night drinking with his mates? Yeah, pretty much," Gwen replied. Rhys turned onto his back and his snores increased in volume. "God, I'd forgotten how loud he could be."

"He's worse than you," Jack whispered loud enough to make sure Gwen heard. "Ouch," he muttered when Ianto squirmed and obviously got his revenge. "Not fair."

"I do not snore."

Gwen rolled her eyes at them. She gently pushed him until he rolled over onto his side again.

"Nah, not like that. Yours is much softer, a bit snuffle-er. Kinda cute."

"I'm not cute, either," Ianto mumbled.

"Oh yes you are," Jack replied in a soft sing-song voice. Although Gwen could still hear him, it once again sounded like she was intruding on a private moment between the two lovers. "You're so cute and adorable and I've missed you so much. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Gwen's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes filled with tears. Jack and Ianto's relationship had always been shaky. Jack had lived in the past for far longer than he'd lived in the future, but he was still a 51st-century man at heart and Ianto, god bless him, was not. He could joke about his love of Jack to her, but never to him. He'd never been confident in his own feelings or Jack's. Any idiot could see that Jack loved him, but Ianto seemed to be blind to it, dismissing everything to Jack's eccentric personality. But now, here they were curled up on the couch, admitting their love and accepting being loved in return like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But then the tender moment was broken by another of Rhys's loud snores.

Jack gave a broken laugh. "No wonder you were always late for work and so grumpy in the mornings."

"Oh, shut up," she hissed playfully back at him. "I know for a fact that you snore too and don't get me started on your manners in bed!"

Ianto chuckled and in the dim light, she could see the pout on Jack's face.

"Ianto…" he whined.

"Nope, you're on your own for that one."

They settled down into silence again, much more comfortable than the first.

Gwen tried to force herself to stay awake. Her eyes were heavy and gritty. But she couldn't sleep yet.

If they were still Torchwood, if they still had the Hub, maybe things would have been different. For starters, it wouldn't just be her monitoring Jack and Ianto. Ianto would have been locked in a secure cell that was constantly analysing and watching him. Owen would have taken scans and samples to determine what he was, to see if he really was Ianto Jones. She would have talked to him about her fears that this imposter, whilst a very good copy, was somehow affecting Jack's behaviour. Owen would have rambled on about hormones and pheromones and Jack's unwillingness to comply with any medical procedure until he realised that she had no idea what she was talking about and pushed her away in favour of Tosh. She would have calibrated a scanner to check Chronon particles and different energy levels and be able to tell if this was Ianto Jones, where he had come from or been created. If Gwen were still Torchwood, proper Torchwood, she would have sat Jack down and demanded to know what exactly had happened and how exactly he'd found/created a man who was dead and what was he doing at an old derelict pub on the outskirts of Abergavenny. He would have shouted at her, and she would have shouted right back.

But together, they would have dealt with it. The ending would either be a reunion filled with joy or a bitter fight to the end. Whatever would have happened, they would have been brought closer together. They were a team.

But that life was gone. She was no longer that person. She was alone.