Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.

I'm walloping the alarm bell before I know what I'm doing. I'm not armed, and that's starting to make me twitchy. I turn round and about, peering into corners, still calling 'Gwawr,' as if she's a cat that's slipped under the furniture.

Jack flies in, pistol raised, and skids on the eggs I didn't realise I'd dropped. He slams against the end wall, his greatcoat giving one big flap before he stops. 'What the…?!' he yells, then realises he needs to stop fussing about the eggs because we have an empty cell.

'She formed in front of Tosh!' he says. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' And run backs upstairs.

'A cellbreak?' says Owen, who's not had time to take his coat off. 'Again? I don't know why we bother.'

'She's some kind of shapechanger, some kind of elemental force. The dawn, the light, the fire!' yells Jack, running towards the door.

'It's not going to be good when she finds what she wants, is it?' says Gwen.

As we run out, Owen grabs the rest of the bacon.

'I'm guessing, I'm just guessing, something along the lines of the entire city catching fire,' says Jack. 'Been there, done that, not a lot of fun.' And he guns the car.

'Owen,' I say. 'Don't eat bacon in the car.' Owen rips the fat off his – my – bacon and drops it out the window, before shoving the rest of it in his gob.

Gwen leans forward and says 'I think Ianto will kill you if you wipe your fingers on the upholstery.' She's right. 'Okay, what does she want?' adds Gwen.

'A man,' says Owen. Tosh and Gwen have a half-hearted joke about that, but Tosh's fingers are busy. Short of thinking our way into the mind of what – at best guess – is some kind of elemental lifeform, tracking her's our best bet.

'If you wanted to find a man in a hurry…' says Gwen.

'I wait for them to come to me,' says Jack.

'If you wanted to find a lot of men,' says Owen.

Jack turns his head to grin at him.

'JACK!' yells Gwen as we hurtle towards some shoppers. Jack flicks the wheel one way then the other, flinging us against each other in the back. Gwen is bracing herself against the window. 'J-ack, the rest of us aren't immortal.'

'We're fine, we're fine,' he says, 'Come on Tosh, where am I going?'

'Take a right here,' says Tosh. Jack never seems to tire of handbrake turns. Tosh continues to direct Jack through an ordinary looking housing estate, until we turndown a bumpy two-track lane.

'What is this?' I ask, unsuccessfully craning my head to see the painted sign mounted on the wall. That we've just flown past.

Tosh touches the map. 'Rugby club.'

'Lots of men,' says Jack, gleefully. I don't think filling him in on rugby, masculinity and their often not being keen on people like me and him is going to do any good.

Somehow I know I'm going to ruin my shoes. Lucky I'm sleeping with the man who signs my expenses.

'Ok, no guns unless we have to,' says Jack.

He skids to a stop and we all jump out. Jack hurdles the rope around the pitch and starts to run. We all follow. It's a rugby pitch, and it's late February. It's like treacle. I eventually get some purchase and set off after him.

There's a match on the far pitch. The referee is blowing his whistle frantically and shouting 'Get that woman off the pitch! Get that woman off the pitch!' More than half the backs from the team nearest us are lying on the floor in various stages of confusion. The fullback, who must've been first, shows signs of getting up, but as we watch, she goes for the no10 and does the hands-to-temples thing. The no9 reckons that he's next and starts to peg it up the pitch. The ref comes running over to her, puts his arm up, blows his whistle in her face and says 'Off the pitch, MADAM!' Her hands go up. He looks puzzled, then pleased, then puzzled again, then crumbles to the floor, the whistle trailing away from his mouth.

I fling him not very gently into the recovery position and then run after Jack, who's running after Gwawr, who's running after the no9, who is, I think its safe to say, shit-scared.

Jack takes her down with a fine tackle, but she bursts into flame. The shock of it again is enough to confuse him and she slips out of it, catching the no9, who wriggles desperately. She just pulls him off the ground and scans him as his feet flap against her shins.

Something happens. His body goes rigid, then she tucks him under her arm and runs for the clubhouse. We follow; on a look from Jack, guns drawn. We'll worry about witnesses later.

She slams the door on us. Jack is about to kick it in when a light as strong and as steady as an acetylene flare shines around it. Everything else goes dark.

A/N: This review stuff's addictive isn't it? Let me know what you think.