Miranda had spent the rest of the day working on the bodies with Jack who had banished Gwen and Ianto from the Hub as a precaution, the two mortals only being allowed back once her and Jack had incinerated the bodies. She had left the Jane Doe's blood samples running upstairs along with tests from the other four victims. It would take all night to process. Though the rift predictor showed nothing for tonight, Jack was on duty and she was trying to settle down.

She'd privately viewed the CCTV footage of her delirious episode before deleting it from the video archive with Jack's permission. She'd been so shaken she'd cancelled her movie night with Ianto, feigning exhaustion. She was restless and sitting on the sofa examining and polishing the blade of her sword for the sixth time. As she laid her sword onto the coffee table, there was a soft knock at the door.

When she opened it, Ianto Jones stood in her doorway. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket or his tie. The top buttons of his deep pink shirt were undone and the sleeves were rolled up. Any other time, Miranda would have taken in the sight with appreciation but not tonight. "Ifan? I'm sorry I was turning in early…"

"You're full of it, Mandy. You're my friend. I know you're upset." He leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms over his chest. He softened his tone and said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to go through it again. She didn't want to remember how the drug had taken her on a tour of some of the people she'd known and loved in her life, had made her feel all that joy and happiness again… only to have it make her relive the loss. But she realised that she did want her friend here with her. She hadn't realised how much until he'd show up at her door. She stepped backwards and gestured for him to come inside.

He walked into the room and sat down on the sofa. Miranda got out a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, twisted the top off and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said taking a long pull.

As he drank, she went about putting away her sword maintenance kit. She rolled up the kit in the soft leather wrapping and then wound the cord around the bundle, securing it around the copper fastening. He watched her closely, curiosity getting the better of him. He picked up the bundle of leather, running his hands over the softness and admiring the embossed design. "What is this, Mandy? It's very old."

"Just my maintenance kit for my sword… whetstone, oil, rustproofer that sort of thing. Only the leather case is old. I picked it up in Rome back when it was still a republic. They had some wonderful tanners and leatherworkers."

She picked up her sword from the coffee table, put it into its scabbard then leaned it against the side table next to her. She sighed and turned her back to Ianto. She tapped his leg and then the sofa. After they'd both shifted, Miranda was seated next to him with her legs curled under her. The scent of his aftershave drifted across to her… along with another faint smell that Miranda recognised as Jack. Where to begin… she wondered and her eyes settled on the leather bundle.

"I was telling you the truth, Ifan," she said delicately. "I've lived a long time."

"Four thousand years." It was a statement not a question. His tone surprised her. The reaction to her great age was always shock or awe or both. Ianto's voice was tinged with sadness and pity. She rarely told anyone how old she truly was. She evaded the question whenever asked and Ianto, ever the polite gentleman, had never asked. Now, she wasn't sure which response was worse, the shock and awe, or the pity.

"Give or take a few centuries. There weren't any calendars when I was born." She nervously picked a piece of lint off his trouser leg.

"Does Jack know?"

She shook her head. "No. He doesn't need to know. The Watchers… the others… they all think I'm someone else. I'm one of the oldest of us. My head is valuable. It's dangerous."

"I won't tell Jack, Mandy."

She twisted herself, hugging her legs into her chest, resting her chin on her knees. "I know you wouldn't, Ifan. I meant what I said… about you. You're extraordinary."

"Because I don't have any ghosts?" he asked slightly bemused.

She could tell he was misinterpreting. "You meet a lot of people in four thousand years. It's… rare… for me to meet someone that doesn't remind me of someone else I've known, in one way or another."

"Who does Jack remind you of?" Ianto snorted, not believing he could be so unique as to not remind her of anyone in her long life and not bothering to hide his disbelief that the fifty first century time traveller could remind her of anyone.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "I knew this promagistrate in the Roman Republic, Septimus something or other I can't remember."

"How does Jack remind you of him?" He still couldn't believe Jack could remind her of anyone, let alone someone from Ancient Rome.

"Have you seen the way Jack shovels food into his mouth?" she said with a laugh. "Septimus did the same thing."

When the laughter had quieted, they drifted into silence.

"Who was Isabetta?" he asked so softly she almost didn't hear him.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she bit back a sob. She closed her eyes and Isabetta's face was all she could see… round with strawberry blonde curls… the freckles dusting her cheeks… the bright green eyes… She pushed the image from her mind and inhaled quickly. As she slowly exhaled, she felt calm return. Her voice still wasn't steady when she spoke. "My second wife." Despite her best efforts, silent tears escaped and ran down her cheeks. She quickly swiped them away.

"Tell me about her," came the simple request. She could tell he wasn't asking out of curiosity but as someone who had suffered loss and knew that talking about those who were gone kept them alive. He had told her about Lisa.

"Isabetta de Arriecci," she said, her voice broke on the name. She continued with an unsteady voice. "Her father was a distant cousin to the Grand Duke of Tuscany. I met her in 1568. I was a scullery maid in her father's kitchen. I loved her from the moment I saw her. She brought me a cup of water every day."

Miranda remembered the day she first saw Isabetta. She was sitting in the courtyard, scrubbing the household chamber pots. Isabetta's younger brothers were throwing stones at her as she worked. Isabetta had bolted from the house yelling and waving her fists at the boys. Miranda hadn't looked up, keeping her eyes on her work. Isabetta had tapped her on the shoulder to hand her a cup of water. When she looked up, Miranda had forgotten how to breathe.

"I'd been brought to England against my will. I didn't want to stay in Europe so I was slowly working my way back to China," Miranda said. "The money I had earned in Turin was gone so I found work in Tuscany at the de Arriecci house. My plan was to earn enough to travel to Rome where I could get passage on a ship to Syria and then continue east."

"Did it take you long?" Ianto couldn't imagine the salary of a scullery maid was very much.

"I slept in the scullery room and received table scraps. My own expenses were minimal. I was going to walk but I needed money for food. It only took me just under a year to save what I needed." Her voice lowered and Ianto saw her swallow hard. "I stayed for Isabetta… so I could keep seeing her."

The alien drug in the Jane Doe's system had brought her back to that time. She had felt it all again… the way her heart had raced in her chest and how dry her throat had become when she had first seen Isabetta's face. She'd practically relived everything sitting on the Hub sofa. Every day for over a year, Isabetta had brought her water when she was scrubbing the pots. The drug had made her feel every single jolt that she'd felt each time the cup had passed between them, their fingers lingering on each others' a second or two longer than necessary. Taking that cup from Isabetta's hands had been something she'd looked forward to every single day.

Ianto knew there was far more to the story than Miranda was telling him. He dealt with the stares and the occasional insult hurled at him and Jack in public. He couldn't imagine two women having a relationship in the 16th century. "How did you two manage?"

"Her father had been too picky finding her a husband. She was outside of the age girls usually married. Her father decided to send her to a convent. She stole some of her mother's jewelry and we ran away together."

The drug had induced the sleepy haze she'd been in when Isabetta had come into the scullery room and woken her to tell her she was running away and wanted Miranda to come with her. Until that moment, the two of them had touched only to pass a cup between them, the rest had been shy smiles and stolen glances. She had relived the stunned awe and surge of ecstasy when Isabetta had professed her love and kissed her passionately. She'd felt the same giddy joy she had felt then as they'd fled across the countryside to an abandoned and forgotten hunting cottage in the mountains. How Isabetta had known about it she'd had no idea. Every stab of fear she'd felt that they'd be discovered, every wave of pleasure at Isabetta's touch, each spread of warmth at her laughter she'd experienced over the ten years they'd had together had been relived.

"What happened to her?" Ianto asked softly, fearing the worst, that the two women had been caught and tortured or executed.

Miranda's voice was unsteady again as she felt more tears forming in her eyes. "Tuberculosis. She died in 1589. I had her with me for ten years."

Over four hundred years had passed and Ianto could tell Isabetta's death still pained the immortal woman greatly. He suppressed a shudder thinking about how his own death would effect Jack after he was gone.

To Miranda's utter despair, the drug had made her relive every moment of Isabetta's death as well. She had felt it all again, the panic when Isabetta had started coughing, the gut wrenching despair when the cough had begun to produce blood, the heartbreak when Isabetta had been on her death bed, professing her undying love and telling her how it had all been worth damning her soul. She could even feel the hoarseness in her throat from the hours of wailing over her body as it had grown cold.

"I'm so sorry," he said quiety, reaching out and pulling his friend into a tight hug. She was quiet and still for so long, Ianto thought maybe she'd fallen asleep. But she was awake and listening to his heart beating beneath her ear. Ianto's hands were on her back rubbing slow circles. Her mind turned back to Isabetta. The drug's effects had been a torture and a blessing. It had been four hundred years since she had buried the woman she thought of as her wife, and she had already started struggling to remember her laugh and smile. Miranda had broken down crying last year when she realised she couldn't remember what Isabetta's hair had smelled like. In reliving their brief time together under its influences, Miranda could now clearly recall every detail of the woman, even remembering the small freckle on the point of her hip she liked to kiss when they made love.

Ianto glanced over to the clock on the microwave. It was just gone ten and still early but Ianto knew his friend needed sleep. He patted her shoulder. "Mandy? C'mon, let's get you into bed."

She got up and walked into her kitchen. She pulled a small pill bottle from the cabinet, swallowing the sedative with water. He wondered why she wasn't using the valerian extract. He had no way of knowing that tonight, she wanted Isabetta in the only way she could have her now… in her dreams.

He led her into the bedroom and tucked her into the bed, hanging her dressing gown on the hook behind the door. Kissing her forehead, he murmured against her skin, "Jack and I will be upstairs if you need anything. Get some sleep."