Disclaimer: Don't own Torchwood

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.

We're too busy for a shag, though I'm sure Jack would say there's no such thing.

Tosh is trying everything she can think of track Gwawr down, alternatively grabbing at her hair and stabbing at her keyboard. I'm frantically cross-referencing everything we have on elementals, periodically breaking off to pass around the elixir of life. Or coffee, as it's sometimes known.

The phone rings. We all stop. It's the landline, the one that never rings. I pick it up and say 'Torchwood, Ianto Jones speaking.'

'Phillips!' the voice cuts across me. UNIT. 'What the bloody hell are you lot playing at?' At 'hell', Jack's mobile goes, then Gwen's, then Gwen's other mobile. Gwen fumbles the second one to Owen and answers the first, 'Yes detective Swanson, yes, we have the matter in hand.' She looks at Jack and pulls a face. He makes a worse one back at her, because he's busy saying, 'Yes, Prime Minister, yes I quite understand, Prime Minister'. Owen is talking into Gwen's phone, 'Yes, Mrs Cooper, yes, Gwen is fine, it's just an abnormal power surge, um, yeah, she's in the loo right now'.

Phillips, a Valleys boy, is shouting in my left ear: 'There is a fucking big light over Cardiff. And I want it sorted. NOW. People are noticing!'

I say, 'Yes, sir,' and put the phone down.

Gwen puts her hand over her phone and asks, 'Did you calm my mam down?' Owen shrugs.

We're all already moving towards the door, guns cocked. For all the good that'll do, because we have no plan. I look at Jack, but I don't think he has one either.

As we step outside, Cardiff is bathed in that eerie light of a full, bright moon. But the moon is a fingernail hanging over the bay, and the light comes from the heart of the city.

We jump into the SUV.

'My – bloody! – tracker is on the fritz,' says Tosh, slapping the side of her screen.

Gwen says, 'We'll do it by eye,' and rolls down her window. So I'm half out of the window keeping my eye on the light in the sky as the car skids around Cardiff's streets shouting 'Left! Right! No, straight!' Of all the apocalypses I've nearly been a part of, this is the weirdest.

'Over the Wales & West Insurance building!' shouts Gwen, 'Jesus, that's bright!'

We screech up to the twenty-story tower in the centre of town. We all try to look up, but recoil because it's just so bright. I shut my eyes as fast as I can but it glows like a red globe through my eyelids. When we talk, it's at each other's chins, except Tosh, who has to talk to everyone's chests.

Owen takes out his sunglasses and snaps them on.

'Bloody poser,' says Gwen.

'Hope there's no afterbirth,' he says, ignoring her. 'Could be a bit messy.'

'One thing at a time, Owen,' says Gwen.

'Why is it always the fucking roof?' asks Owen.

'She probably needs to be near the sky,' says Jack. 'Let's get up there.'

Owen runs in and starts jabbing at the lift button.

'Hang on,' says Gwen. 'There's no lights. I think she's fried the electrics.'

'Bollocks bollocks bollocks!' mutters Owen and doesn't let up for three flights.

It's pitch dark, my heart's pounding in my ears every time I slow down and I jar my leg on to every landing because I'm expecting an extra step.

A particularly loud 'Bollocks!' tells me Owen's just done the same thing.

It begins to get light. I look up, now that I can, and there's four floors left. My guess is light's coming round the door at the top. A lot of light.

When we get to three floors to go, there's a huge flare. We run faster even though I don't think it's possible and I draw on all the reserves of energy I have. Jack bangs through the door. We follow in formation. I'm shaking so hard my gun sights jump and sway as I try to sight. I suck air in – warm air – and try to hold it in to steady myself, like I've been taught. It doesn't work.

Gwawr's hovering, her body engorged on light. The heat on our faces is like standing next to a bonfire. Owen looses off a shot. The bullet seems to disappear when it hits Gwawr's body, and she doesn't flinch. Another flare, then I'm trying to look at her as my vision strobes with colour.

'Thought it might work,' shrugs Owen, as we all glare at him.

'Doesn't bode well for being able to shoot the babies,' says Gwen. Another flare, then another and another. We're on the floor, desperately shading our eyes, feeling the roof start to go sticky in the heat, as my back begins to burn. The flares come faster and stronger, then an almighty scream. Then nothing. We wait, convinced there's another flare coming. I'm waiting for my body to give up, to refuse to go on, to lose its grip on life in the heat. Then there's a buzzing noise, a very faint buzzing noise, getting closer and closer. I have to look up. There's a sphere of orange light over me, a tiny doll-like humanoid inside. I look into its black eyes and it blinks.