Big BIG thanks to all of my reviewers, you mean so much to me, I hope you continue to like what I write! Sorry for taking it up/down/sideways/back down again so many times, seems to be a little tempermental.

Alice Smyth hadn't planned on dying like this, in such a normal way. This happened all the time, people forgot after a while, when the burnt wood was carted away and a new, shinier model was placed over the destroyed concrete. Some heroic feat would have been better, like everyone else probably imagined for themselves – dying in an act of heroism, in greatness. Anything was better than being found as an unidentifiable mass on the floor of a tacky restaurant. The smoke had slithered up her nose, gripped her nostrils and pulled all the life from her brain. Why wasn't she fighting it?

Two days ago.

Nathaniel was laughing, that dirty, throaty laugh, suggesting too much alcohol and not enough food. The fresh are should have dampened his spirits, a bitter wind cutting at their cheeks, but the adrenaline from their last job had sent him racing and suddenly his arms were around Alice's middle, swinging her into the air. It wasn't a love filled gesture, and the touch was a little rougher, the hold too tight; he held her like she was his trophy, his winnings for completing a difficult task. Spinning her, he ignored her protests and continued to laugh, a sound she was getting tired of hearing. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was genuine, if it made his eyes light up with happiness, but a sickness stirred in the pit of her stomach when she saw the malice flash across his handsome features. Nathaniel Miller was the kind of man that could drown a puppy and find pleasure in its yelps.

'Get off –'

'That was so fucking good –'

Bored of her fighting, Nathaniel practically chucked Alice away from him.

Straightening her top, she smoothed the edges down, only to then lunge at him. The punch was pathetic, to his chest, hardly enough to wind him, but all the same he tried to snag her wrist, something threatening crossing his face. She didn't fight him – nobody did, not if you wanted your bones and brains intact. She wasn't afraid, it was just easier, and right now Alice was tired. Tired of all his bullshit.

'You asshole!'

'Woah, Princess, what's your problem?'

'Princess?' she breathed, incredulous. 'You never said you were going to kill anyone! You didn't have to do that – she had a kid! She was fucking nineteen!'

The little boy had stared up at her from the hallway, where his mother had obviously left him when she'd gone to answer the door. He couldn't have been more than three, but a slash of blood tarnished his beautiful, innocent face where the bullet had ripped straight through his mother and out the other side. It would have been easier if he'd cried, bawled his green eyes out, tortured her with the painful sound, but instead he sat and watched Alice with interest.

'You're right.'

For a moment Alice thought he'd seen sense, but lack of sleep had deprived her of reality and that cruel smirk was back on his face again.

'I should have done the kid too; wonder how many years of therapy that will cost him?'

There was that laugh again, when suddenly his head snapped sideways and it wasn't until he felt the sting that Nathaniel realised Alice had slapped him. They stared at one another, the only sound around them their heavy breathing. The apartment was warm and it had started to make Alice a little sleepy and agitated, wanting nothing more than to go to bed. Gawain was probably in the kitchen, staying away from what he knew would become a fight. It always happened, because Nathaniel always did what he shouldn't, and she was foolish enough to push him, as though it would take back the wrong.

'Nathaniel –'

His hand was around her throat in an instant, her body slamming against the back wall. A picture beside her head shook and slanted onto its side, making the running waterfall look more like a lake. Pressing hard against her throat, Nathaniel felt the bones of her collar beneath the pads of his fingers and forced enough pressure to break. A breath of air left her lips and he let go, though not enough to release the pain. A simple warning.

He was used to this, the power, the rush it gave him, the satisfaction as they bowed to him. You could make anyone do anything you wanted as long as you tried hard enough, pressed the blade hard enough, pulled the trigger fast enough and washed the blood quick enough.

Something in him couldn't quite defeat her – didn't want to – because he lived for this, and as long as Alice was by his side he'd forever be fulfilled, the animal inside him would calm for at least a while. She kept him in line, to an extent, brought him back from the edge. Alice was the one there to bring the man off the ledge when Nathaniel pushed him, to take the explosive from the bank, to wipe the blood from the handle as they left a massacred family.

They weren't hit-men, murderers, con-men, warriors. They never pretended to be what they weren't, although Alice was beginning to wonder who she even was anymore. They just lived, supported one another because it was what they were good at.

Her hand slid down the small of his back, her eyes flickering up towards his. He had looked almost excited, like she'd finally come to her senses after all. Then Alice's hand settled on the out-dated firearm tucked in the waistband of his jeans and he tensed. He could snap her neck in an instant, and she knew that.

'Let go, or God have mercy I'll shoot you in the ass.'

Sliding her finger against the trigger, she prepared to cock it back. The hand around her throat tightened, bringing her off the floor a little. Shifting, Nathaniel pressed his hips against hers, forcing her to arch against him. The pulse in her neck quickened and he relished in the feeling when something beside him moved and a thick, welsh accent spoke with firm authority.

'That's enough, Nathaniel.'

Gawain Isaacs stood in the doorway, and although he'd been inside for most of the morning he was still wearing his coat, the collar turned up against his neck. Aged almost majestically, he stood strong with faded brown hair combed to one side and could easily pass for a man ten-years younger than his own fifty-three. A business man through and through, retired with enough money in the bank to last him until he was a hundred, Gawain's was a man of refinement. Native masks decked the walls of his penthouse apartment, and numerous tanks brimmed with the kind of tropical fish you'd find in dark, undiscovered caves rather than those the aquarium might deem fit to showcase.

A dull click sounded around them and Nathaniel dropped Alice. She'd pulled the trigger but the last magazine had been emptied earlier that day.

She'd actually shot him, would have, too. How dare she.

'Leave us.' Gawain rumbled, an underlying demand that Nathaniel couldn't disobey. Once Nathaniel had reluctantly left, Gawain moved towards Alice but she hung her head.

'Dont –'

'You don't have to do this, Alice. Nathaniel, he – he lives for it, but it's not in you, its not in your blood.'

Straightening her shoulders, she tried to ignore the feeling that stirred in her stomach as she realised she agreed. 'I can handle myself.'

Present Day

'Why won't you tell us who it is exactly that we're going to save?' Owen asked dejectedly, slipping a fresh magazine into his gun. 'If we're going to risk our asses in some fire, I'd like to know who I'm dying for –'

'You're not going anywhere.' Jack muttered turning a corner, groaning to see there was hardly anywhere to stop the car. Bloody tourists, he sighed inaudibly. 'Just stay in the SUV with Tosh, and keep the engine running, I won't be long.'

Once again they were left out of his business, untrusted and confided in. Glancing behind him, Owen raised an eyebrow at Toshiko in a what's-the-bloody-point way and she simply shrugged sympathetically back. What had they expected? This was Jack they were talking about.

They soon reached the Bay and they could see the fire engine parked outside the restaurant, a crowd of people around it trying to peer in, one or two of them with smoke-smeared faces. A static police car with its door ajar waited beside it, a blonde haired girl wrapped in a red ambulance blanket in the passenger's seat.

As Jack got out of the SUV, Owen waited a couple of minutes before following suit, ignoring Toshiko who called weakly after him. Looking back at the computer on the little pull out table before her, she glanced back at the rift chart and a fresh peak which had sparked in the centre of Cardiff. Zooming in on the map, she searched for closer coordinates after a glimpse out of the window to see Jack and Owen bending under the police restriction tape.

'I told you to stay in the car.' Jack's tone was almost threatening, but he didn't register the doctor besides him, instead continuing ahead.

Andy Davidson, one of Gwen's old friends from the police force stopped him before he could go any closer. The strong smell of smoke wrapped its way around his nostrils and burnt at his eyes, ash floating in the air caught on the shoulders of his jacket.

'Torchwood: let us through.' Jack flashed a badge at Andy but the officer was determined not to let him pass.

'The Police can handle this – it was a freak accident, none of that hokey-pokey you lot look for.'

The animosity he held for all things Torchwood hung very apparent in his tone. Gwen had been a great partner – possibly something else once upon a time, if she hadn't gone off with that flipping Rhys and self-opinionated Jack Harkness. Suddenly she felt she was above everything, just like Torchwood thought they were above the bloody law! What good was the law if anybody could walk in, flash a badge and do as they wished to the crime scenes? Did anyone even know where Torchwood was situated or what they did? Aliens and sewer creatures they could have, but this, this was a normal accident – maybe a tax scan – but it was something the police could handle alone. Did years of practise mean nothing anymore?

Moving forward, Owen gave Andy a sideways look and both knew the man would have to crumble and let them past. 'Come on, mate. We're just doing our job.'

'Yeah? And I'm just doing mine –' Just as Andy had discovered a bout of gusto, Jack and Owen had grown bored and pushed past.

Leaving Jack, Owen moved towards the police car and the blonde, who shrunk back into herself as he advanced.

'Alright, love?' He offered a small smile, moving around her and to the other side where he clambered into the driver's seat. Taking ID out of his pocket he showed it to her, but she didn't seem in the slightest bit interested. Shifting in her seat, she stuck her legs under the dashboard and flicked the heater on. 'Mind if I ask you a few questions?'

His voice was tentative, practical for the case. She'd had a great shock – he could see a cut across her face, and tears kept welling in her eyes. It was like being back at the Hospital again and treating a trauma victim who wouldn't let themselves be examined. They were frozen, paralysed with emptiness, confusion.

'What's your name, darling?' Owen didn't have any paper, but the little PDA in his hand could quickly send information back to Toshiko in the SUV.

The blonde turned to look at him and sighed, exhaling slowly. 'Rosie Harwin. You're not with the police are you?' smiling slightly, she shrugged her shoulders. 'It's alright, I don't mind. I'd rather be here than back home, Mam's gonna have a right paddy. I'm not supposed to be out tonight.'

'Oh yeah?' Owen grinned at her, sorry that she'd had to be caught up in all this. He'd rather have been out on the town than at a crime scene, too. 'Date, was it?' he took in her sleek black dress and smartly coiffured blonde bob. Catching his wandering eye, she shrugged again, meekly.

'My friend, Casey, wanted me to find someone. Actually…' stopping herself, Rosie shook her head furiously, instantly starting to stutter.

Owen knew she was about to say something she shouldn't, and he needed her to tell him what that was. This wasn't just about a random bloke at the bar, he could tell it was something worse than that. Young and somewhat innocent, she'd gone out to have a great time and somehow found herself at the mercy of… of whoever it was that had lit up the screens back at the hub. Such piercing eyes, so... unnatural.

'Do you know how the fire started, Rosie?'

As she looked back up at him and caught his eyes, her own said it all. Nodding slowly, she ran a shaky hand through her hair and began to tell him everything about the Armani stranger.