Bundles of thank you's to DeMarcos. Helped greatly and put up with all my teasing and evil IM plotting! (I swear, it is so worth it.)

Enjoy.

Trick me Twice.

Shame on You.

Red letters, thick, steady. Mocking. Lying on the face of the wall, sniggering at Gwen and her foolishness. She emitted a shrill laugh, almost a shriek. She turned to Jack, gesticulating at the words with little noises of incredulity. Then, in the span of time it takes to dial a well-known phone number, she was laughing hysterically, hands visibly shaking. Whether it be from terror or the manic giggling, Jack could not tell; he realized she had finally digressed to shock.

"Do you see that, Jack? Ha! 'Trick me twice!' That's great! Just perfect! What was the first one, huh? What did I do wrong?!" She dropped to her knees, holding the photo of Rhys in trembling hands. She started sobbing, drawing ragged gasps of chilly air. Clear, globular tears marched down her dirty cheeks, reintroducing the skin beneath to the quiet halls.

Jack tasted blood in his mouth and dragged a hand across the stinging lacerations, wiping the ensanguined palm on the side of his ripped coat. His head really hurt now. The cut from the barbed wire, the whack to the head, and now this! At least his nose hadn't broken.

He wanted to comfort her, but knew she would only shun him, yelling accusations that were painfully true. He would have to acknowledge the one thing: this endeavor was entirely his fault. Someone he had pissed off, someone he had encountered, someone he had known. That could be the only reason for their subjection to this torture. It was because of Jack that Ianto had possibly irreparable damage to his leg, Jack's fault Tosh snapped, Jack's fault Rhys was bound and gagged, and by likely happenstance dead.

Everything, his fault. It could all have been prevented if he was simply...less of a problem. Maybe he should just leave Gwen to her uncertain lamentations, go get himself tangled in that razor wire. Let the rest of them move on without him, stop hindering them with his wrong existence.

But he'd still be a burden, no matter what he did.

At this point, the most effective thing he could do was walk away. Gwen wouldn't want to be alone in this foreign environment. Abandonment equaled being alone, and any solitary person in this place schlepped a risky existence. Jack almost loathed to do it, but their lack of escape stretched far beyond irksome at this point. They all needed to get out, Owen and Ianto especially, the former of which had done a remarkable job of hiding how painful those rat bites actually were. Jack would have to thank him, somehow, for everything he had done so far.

Assuming any of them lived.

Jack's eyes lingered on Gwen's trembling shoulders for a fraction of a moment before he turned and walked back the way they had come.

Ignoring Gwen and striding off proved to be difficult. Guilt pranced around his navel, fierce in its renewed strength. Jack straightened his back and buried his hands in his pockets, determined not to return to the softly crying Gwen. This would work, she would not stay on the floor, and he did have a legitimate reason for doing this. It in no way was cruel, it was being responsible. Nothing else he could do would make her come, except something this devastating.

Was it devastating? Did that make it base, too? Perhaps deserting her was cowardly, an easy thing to do. Had he really fallen so far that he could honestly walk away from one of his teammates without so much as a backward glance? No. Drastic situations called for brash actions. Gwen wanted to run off without thinking of the consequences, then he could stroll onward in a ploy for her movement.

Besides, this was a no-rules game, wasn't it?

Jack sighed and shook his head, passing a hand wearily across his face. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Gwen had followed him, but she remained stationary, looking at the photograph in her lap. Jack shook his head and faced forward once more.

And walked into something very cold and very solid. He stumbled back, hands flailing from his pockets as he strove for balance. He managed to catch himself on the left wall. He rubbed at the side of his head that had come into contact with the wall...that...had...not been there a moment ago.

"What?"

x X x

"Where did Jack go?" Ianto's voice barely pitched above a whisper. Exhaustion laced the feeble question, parading Ianto's state of consciousness, or lack thereof. This, unfortunately, hampered what little progress they could make.

"I wish I knew." Owen sighed and worked Ianto a bit higher so that his right leg remained free from contact with the ground. The slightest jarring risked shifting the metal rod, and the last thing Owen wanted was to have Ianto bleeding all over the place. Obnoxious mess that would be. Blood wasn't the easiest thing to get out of clothes.

Owen shook his head, annoyed more than anything else. What made Jack think dashing off after questionable noise was logical? And Gwen, the noob puppy, had to follow him. Completely idiotic, rash, and unfair. Just abandoning him to heft Ianto all by his lonesome, with only a vague idea of where nearly half the team had gone. And leaving him with Toshiko and her disturbing, silent presence. Utterly inappropriate for the situation. They were all together; separating now, so close to a finish, seemed totally illogical.

Yet, it happened. Owen knew he could do nothing to amend the situation.

So, with animosity towards the newbie and the captain, Owen started forward. Ianto, groaned and shifted minutely, weakly. Owen pulled the tea boy's left arm around his shoulder, supporting most of Ianto's sagging weight. Even with his normal annoyance towards the other man, the itty-bittiest granule of concern poked between Owen's ears. An injury like this did not heal quickly, or easily for that matter; Owen's rough calculation pegged recovery time at four months, in the least. Ianto would —undoubtedly— require major surgery, and need to spend approximately seven weeks in the hospital, having his bone slowly readjusted with a rack... Not an inexpensive process, either. It almost hurt Owen's head to think about all the paperwork and bills that would need sorting through, seeing as Ianto wasn't going to be able to do it any time soon.

Ahead of him, Toshiko walked mutely, spike gleaming dully in the grungy lights. One hand still snaked around her laptop, pinning the incorrigible computer against her chest. Her rigid back hinted she harbored more awareness of the situation than her previous actions suggested. In reality, she had been cognizant of everything from the start. She was merely unable to properly act upon her knowledge; she seemed driven by something invisible and unstoppable.

Toshiko had very poor control of her actions.

And that frightened her.

Fear made people do stupid things, such as bludgeoning a weevil and heedlessly walking through a web of razor wire. Fear conquered logic and shared throne with compulsion, bred with instinct. Rationality fled with reason to be replaced by the asinine and the improbable. Control of any intelligent functions became the responsibility of the amygdalae: actions fuled by emotion, resulting in rash decisions, leading to delicately precarious situations. Fear put people in danger. And by putting people in danger, they became nervous, and eventually panicy. Then the whole destructive cycle started anew, and one more person was completely fucked.

Tosh wished she could have prevented it, wished she could force herself to stop advancing, longed desperately to regain control. Lobus frontalis, however, had skipped off on a nice holiday to Cancun and left corpus amygdaloideum the keys to the flat. And the lizard brain was notorious for throwing the most outrageous parties with guest lists ranging anywhere from Misery and Recklessness to Levity and Aphrodisia. The ensuing emotional mess gave decade-old axle grease a run for its grime. The whole ordeal made for many used Kleenex, canceled therapy appointments, general self-pity and abundant cursing of existence.

Somewhere, in a few deep, miraculously unscathed synapses, the instruction for Toshiko to look left rode out, turned her head. By that action, she saw the fallen weevil and the torn-up human corpse, carpeted with blood and bone fragments. How odd the weevil looked: no blood anywhere except where it had clawed into the chest of that poor bloke, no sign of physical injury damaging enough to kill it.

But its neck did have an absurd cant to it. Which obviously meant it had been snapped...Was this where Jack had gone?

Toshiko scoffed. Of course it was. No one else could be down here to make the noise he had followed. Or to kill the weevil, and she doubted Gwen would do this. Most likely the former copper wasn't even capable of something that required such strength.

Well, she could at least rule out Jack or Gwen being dead: the eviscerated corpse before her was evidently male, and far too lanky to be Jack. She also could conclude that down this hall was the only possible direction in which Gwen and Jack had traveled.

Tosh released an unsteady breath and started forward.

Back down the main corridor, Owen grumbled obscenities and resisted the urge to simply drag Ianto along behind him. Would have been so much simpler. But since he couldn't quite bring himself to be that inhumane, Owen reaffirmed his hold on Ianto and limped forward. His own feet, however, were increasingly difficult to ignore: the numbness from the disinfectant had worn off long ago to be replaced by a thin, hot pulsating throb. Petulance danced in tandem with the acidic licks of pain.

Owen looked up, saw Tosh disappear into what seemed to be a branching passage.

"Toshiko!" he called in vexation. Carrying Ianto was becoming increasingly irritating. The hell if he would be responsible for the tea boy the entire time.

Toshiko neither responded nor reemerged from the diverging hall.

"C'mon, Tosh! Gimme a hand with Ianto!"

Still no response and no appearance. Owen scoffed, shook his head, and started forward once more.

"Bollocks, all of it."

"And you're not the one with a piece of metal through your femur."

Owen chuckled dryly at Ianto's pathetically feeble attempt at humor.

"Where'd Tosh go?"

"Just up ahead, mate. Looking for bloody Harkess. I swear, if that man didn't sign my paychecks..." Less-than-playful contempt embroidered Owen's tone. Ianto smiled to himself and attempted to shift his focus away from his leg.

The pain of it was...indescribable. Enervation pressed heavily upon him, raping his strength and debilitating him. At least the femoral artery remained intact: it allowed him to marginally escape death for a while longer. And, with hope, he could rely on three fifths of the team to deal with whatever happened.

Owen's thoughts were much the same as he came to the gap in the wall.

"Toshiko, you better have a good reason...for..." Owen trailed off when he saw the dead weevil and massacred corpse.

Had Tosh done this?

Again?

No, she couldn't have...the weevil still had its head.

"What?" Owen sounded disbelieving. Toshiko didn't look as if she would answer him.

Not really wanting to test Toshiko's patience, Owen backed off to the wall at his back, setting Ianto against it. Then he walked cautiously forward again, stopping on the opposite side of the mangled human.

"It's Burey Harris," Tosh deadpanned.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Toshiko nodded at the body between them.

"That, dead at your feet, is Burney Harris."

Owen sent her an uncertain look before glancing southwards.

It indeed was Burney, sans most of his chest.

So this was what those sounds were...

"Any sign of Harkness?"

"No."

Toshiko abruptly turned her back to him and started walking down the hall. Owen sighed and doubled back to retrieve Ianto. This entire situation had become unbelievably irksome. Not only had Jack just dashed off, but Toshiko was being a complete, unresponsive, impassive stick in the mud. And he was stuck carrying Ianto. Jack better have a damn good reason for not doing it. It seemed unlike the captain to not be the first to offer his services. Well, Owen reasoned, he had nearly collapsed when he picked Ianto up that first time...

The bites on Owen's feet twinged.

Ianto (unsurprisingly) had not even made an attempt to shift during Owen's brief absence. If anything, he appeared paler and more unaware than any previous time. His pasty complexion made flagrant incompatibility with the grey of the wall behind him; his eyes hovered, barely closed, shallow breathing nearly inaudible. Owen debated whether to move him again, or tell Tosh to go look for Jack and bring him back here. Ianto could probably remain conscious for a while longer; Owen was more worried about pressure building from a blood clot. The potential of Ianto's leg being ruined steadily grew the longer they stayed here. Owen wouldn't be comfortable until they were out.

He would never be comfortable again. Not after this.

Owen stood still for a moment, biting his tongue. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath of faintly cold air. When he released it, he opened his eyes to see Ianto pointing behind him.

"What?"

"The wall is moving."

x X x

Toshiko stared at the wall as it swung silently across the hall, effectively separating her from Ianto and Owen.

For a moment, uncertainty skipped across the nape of her neck. This made even less sense than everything else thus far. Moving, noiseless walls. How were they doing that? Why? What was the purpose of separating them? Why do that so late in the game, after they had all been herded together? It seemed illogical, not at all following the vague form the whole rest of this thing had.

She abandoned that line of thought when she saw the black square the wall revealed. The velvety color belied solidity; the cold air spoke otherwise. Chilled, it gave the impression of diffusing from a large, open area. It felt much like the air garnered from a night of leaving open the bedroom window. Toshiko shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had a blanket.

No, she only possessed her ruined computer and a growing dislike toward weevils.

She stepped forward, and overhead lights buzzed on. They revealed a short passageway, or what appeared to be so; the space ten yards ahead of her was only partially visible. However, from the looks of it, the one thing it could be was a room.

Toshiko walked forward tentatively. She held the metal rod aloft, ready for anything that may jump out at her. Her laptop remained firm against her chest, a crippled shield to defend rising consternation. Anything could lie beyond the lights. More god damned weevils, death. A surprise, no doubt, whatever it would end up being. But what Tosh feared the most was another challenge, another test. The way she saw it, they had all had enough, and anything after this point was unnecessary. It fell only a lamb shy of torture. She didn't think she could do it alone.

Breathing deeply, licking her bottom lip with a dry tongue, Toshiko stopped at the boundary of light. She did not particularly want to discover what lay in the dim chamber before her, but knew there would be no avoiding the situation. She had the feeling that hers wasn't the only wall that moved.

Trapped.

Tosh hesitated, lingering on comfortable uncertainty.

She lifted one foot and put it gingerly down a few inches before her. She thought it promising when nothing immediately severed her foot.

Toshiko flinched as a large central light burst on above her. She noticed the snarling then. Her focus was drawn to the floor, where grid work spread to the opposite end of the room. On the three-foot-by-three-foot squares were various human body parts: fingers, tongues, whole hands, eyes, ears, teeth, toes. Hearts. And some large chunks of a grey color. Toshiko tried not to look at them.

A small, dull silver cassette player lounged at the fringe of the grid floor.

"You see before you my own version of Sudoku. However, mine has a few exceptions. It has been filled in for you. All you need to do is figure out which row is incorrect."

"I hope one of you knows this game well, lest the innocent suffer."

Toshiko looked down with wide eyes at the center of the grid: someone hung from the bottom, hands and feet tied to the holey underbelly. He was just out of reach of the angered weevils. Toshiko could see him shaking, even from where she stood. The back of her mind wondered who it could be, while the front worried about how she could get across and keep herself and this random man alive.

Did it really matter if he lived?

No.

Toshiko didn't think about it twice as she flung her computer to the ground and sprinted forward.

She expected any and every square to topple her to the awaiting weevils. Hell, She wouldn't be surprised if a whole row gave out. It didn't matter to her anymore. She only wanted out, and she did not care if she almost died doing so. Or if someone else did, too. What difference did it make if she died now or in seventy years?

It made no difference.

Better to die almost free than live an eternity imprisoned.

Or insane.

It didn't matter in the slightest, because Toshiko heard an agonized howl as the anonymous man fell, and the grid beneath her feet ceased to be solid.

She landed on her feet. Pinching vibrations traveled up her legs, and she fell on to her backside. Her elbows hit the ground painfully, and she ended up flat on her back. From behind her came noises of ripping flesh and quarrelling weevils.

Toshiko rolled over and sat up, pushing quickly to her feet. She readied herself for attack, held the metal spike as if it were a dagger. For the situation, it could change its identity. No longer was it an elongated dart spit from a wall bordering a razor maze: it was a life-saving tool, an instrument of rationally sanctioned death for members of an alien race. It wrought her passage to survival.

Something grabbed at her ankle and she instinctively kicked out, shouting as she did so. The weevil made a garbled sound of pain as her foot connected with its nose. Toshiko flipped onto her back before another could touch her.

Well, she had almost made it to the other side of the room; she was barely eight feet from the wall. And there weren't as many weevils as she had first estimated. There couldn't be more than eight, three of which were still fighting over the poor bloke. The poor bloke that was in that position solely because of her.

But that didn't make her a murderer. Just insensitive. Desperate to survive.

Indifferent. Uncaring. Impassive.

This man dying had no affect on her.

Toshiko glanced behind her, and, seeing nothing lethally hindering her path, backed into the wall. Perhaps she could evade them long enough to figure a way to get back up through the fallen grid square nine feet above her.

However, even she could not fool herself that completely. The weevils would come to her eventually.

And it was, unfortunately, sooner than later. Two of the weevils not occupied with feasting advanced towards her, twisting their heads as they walked. Their lips pulled back, exposing the vicious teeth. Toshiko had the suspicion they were smelling her, determining how scared she was. She didn't know if she was scared or not. She didn't know much of anything at that point. Toshiko lingered no more: a carnal human now existed. Where Toshiko had been logical, she was now bestial.

Thoughtless.

Toshiko snorted through flared nostrils and charged.

She saw red. Whether it was from the blood flying every which way or the uncontrollable rage, she could not tell, and most likely never would. Killing to live was the only thing in her awareness, her only focus. She could be murdering primary school children for all she knew. So blind were her actions, that she only stopped when she heard a noise above her: a human voice.

Toshiko looked upwards, panting. The air stank of blood; the freshly dead weevil corpses still steamed with dying heat.

"Congratulations."

The man knelt on the edge of the missing grid work and extended a rope down to her. Toshiko took it tentatively, still clutching at her stained silver rod.

When she stood on solid ground once more, the man smiled at her.

"I want to play a game."

x X x

Jack glared at the grey slab before him. That wall had most definitely not existed when they came down here. And there were no turns of deviating passages he could have stepped in to; he could still see Gwen. It was entirely impossible that there should be a wall here, in the middle of the path...

"Jack? What...that wall wasn't there earlier."

"I know."

Gwen stood, hiccupping, and came to stand beside him. She put her hand on the wall. She pressed it a few times, hard enough to rock her back on her feet the slightest bit. A frown drew upon her features. She turned away from the immovable wall and walked slowly, in a gradual circle. The whole time, looking at the picture of Rhys.

"What's the point of separating us all at this point? I thought we were all supposed to be together."

"Maybe that's what he wanted us to think."

"Maybe he never wanted us to escape."

She looked up at him. Jack turned his head away before she could make eye contact.

"So, what can we do?"

Jack shrugged. "Any ideas?"

"We could try that door over there."

Jack raised an eyebrow in question; Gwen pointed at the new wall. To the right of it was a door, also not there previously.

"The door it is. After you," he said the last with a little half-bow. Gwen smiled wryly.

"How 'bout not."

It caught him off guard. "Alright."

He stepped up to the door knob and turned it. The door resisted being opened, and Jack had to give it a little kick with the side of his foot before it sprang inwards.

Gwen turn away, shielding her eyes as two incandescent lights burst on, illuminating the large room. They forced focus to the thing in the middle of the cement floor: a glass tank resembling a small above-ground pool. The water filling it was just below clear; if you squinted you could make out the faint curve of the other side.

Ten yards to the left of the tub was a platform much like the one from their previous tasks. This one had a set of four stairs leading to a much more stable-looking landing. At the end opposite the stairs, a padlocked door ranked sentinel. The space on the right if the tank lay barren, an expanse of sullen grey floor not unlike the inside of a fresh crypt.

An unbidden whip of dread spiked through Jack's heart, compacting his chest in an uncomfortable way. Uncertainty bled in to cold dread. There had to be some cruel logic to this; something would prevent him from stepping in, doing every task himself to protect his team. But, Jack thought, they weren't children. They themselves willingly chose to endanger themselves every day they came to work.

Fear reigned king, doubt its spawn. Here there was no Captain Jack Harkness, there was no Torchwood. It was only five humans trapped by their inabilities and inhibited by their loyalty to life. All their petty titles and trivial doings meant absolutely nothing. They had no control. He had no control. He was...helpless.

They would have to fight for escape. But in doing so, they needed to stay within the manipulated boundaries their psychotic host erected. It would be pointless to rebel against the person who knew what would come next; shooting a cancer patient will not change the way he died.

"Jack."

Gwen held a small cassette player. Jack growled at it.

"Play it."

"Hello Torchwood, and welcome to your final test. To your left is the door leading to the safe, outside world, the world you work so hard to protect. You, however, know this world is not the only one. You alone handle the filth and scum of outside planets and times. Your little quintet is the only thing keeping the greater majority of the populace learning about the outside universe and its vast influence here. You, Captain Harkness, are a lie in and of yourself. Your name is a fallacy, your very existence the opposite of honesty."

"Torchwood is corrupt. You are aliens of the earth. It is time you...reconnect with your humanity."

Gwen's grip slackened on the tape player; Jack gently took it from her shaking hands.

"Before you is a tank of water. At the bottom is the key to unlock the one door remaining between you and the civil world. It seems simple. But only one member of your team can participate in this. If the water is displaced by two people, both inside the tank will receive a lethal shock, as will any subsequent bodies. You have fifteen minutes to retrieve the key. By that time, things may be a little...steamy."

Jack clicked the tape off. He smiled at Gwen.

"Well, this shouldn't be too har—"

"You're not going in there."

"What? Gwen, you can't be serious—"

"You've done enough. Besides, if it isn't too difficult, that means I should be able to do it, right?"

"Gwen, you can't expect me to—"

"I don't, and that's why I'm just going to get in there."

She walked to the tank, ignoring Jack's hand on her shoulder.

"I can't let you do this."

"Yes you can."

"Fifteen minutes and things will get steamy. That means either the water will heat up, or the room will catch fire."

"I can get out before then."

Jack sighed, frustrated. "Gwen, we both know that I can survive it no matter what."

"And we both know that you blame yourself for this happening, Jack. I know you think you're the reason why Rhys is probably dead. So just shut the hell up and back off. Unless you want to electrocute me?" Gwen's voice remained dangerously quiet, inviting him to argue.

That indeed was a swift, ruthless blow. Jack didn't know what to make of Gwen's insightfulness. Was he really being that obvious? No, he couldn't be. Gwen had not even known him a year, how could she guess the way he thought?

When Jack stayed silent, Gwen smiled. It was a chip-of-glass smile. She jumped, catching onto the edge of the tank. Jack surprised her when he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her upwards. Gwen slipped easily over the side, huffing a little at the unexpected warmth of the water. It made her think of a hot tub with a temperature that was just a tad too high. Uncomfortably warm, skin-reddening after prolonged exposure. Lightheadedness due to heat would be inescapable.

Gwen looked right at Jack. Hesitancy inhabited that stare; Jack nodded, solemn. He wasn't about to deny the truth. Gwen returned the nod, and released her grip on the side of the glass tank, treading water for a moment before diving.

"...chose wisely. I doubt the women will be strong enough to lift the lid once it's closed."

The sound cut out just as husky snickering started.

Jack's eyes snapped back to the tank. Gwen was surfacing, but a rusty screeching sounded from above the tub.

"Gwen! No!"

A few hollow bangs came from the tank: Gwen was pounding on the glass. Jack came forward, put his hands up to hers.

"I'll go see if I can lift it!"

Gwen pointed at her ear and shook her head, indicating she couldn't hear him. He gestured "never mind" at her and loped to the back of the tank. She followed his movements, swimming alongside and hitting the glass occasionally.

"Stop moving!" he shouted, making heavy emphasis in his lip movements, hoping she would understand. She did, halting her movements and floating in place.

Upon coming to the back of the tank, Jack hauled himself onto the top. There were huge hinges where the lid moved. He walked over the part that had sealed Gwen off from her exit, all the time conscious that she could boil to death.

Once at the front edge, he realized there would be no way he could get the right leverage to lift the lid. Not without being inside, or having a second person to aid from without. He looked over the edge, searching for anything that could help. Anything like a stick...

Like Gwen's pipe. Gwen's lead pipe that he could use to break the glass.

Jack gave the idea the amount of thought one gives to leaping in front of traffic to save a child, then jump down, scooping up the pipe. He motioned Gwen to swim back from the side; she was barely a yard from the transparent border when he rushed at it, yelling as he swung the pipe. The hell if he was going to let Gwen die in a vat of hot water.

The pipe connected with a deep thunk, and a long crack appeared. Jack whacked the side again: more cracks spread from the first, spider-webbing in every direction. The glass encasing the water-trap uttered a deep, reluctant groan. Jack stood back, panting slightly. Without waiting to see if it would give on its own, the fervent captain drove the dented pipe into the wounded side, concentrating all the force he possessed into that blow.

Water spurted in a steady stream from the center of cracks. But it did not remain singular long: soon the clear liquid gushed from every long fissure.

Jack threw the pipe into the center of the white, bleeding nest and stepped aside as it exploded outward. He waited, tense, for Gwen to be reachable. The instant she came near the hole, Jack leapt forward, catching her around one arm and swinging her away from the glass-littered floor. When she was completely free, he gathered her into his arms and walked quickly towards the platform.

Once he set her down, he knelt at her side, feeling for a pulse.

Not breathing. No heartbeat. No bloodflow.

He held Gwen against his chest, one arm around her back, bracing her by her shoulders.

Then he lowered his lips to hers.

Jack finished when Gwen's eyes shot open. He pulled away with only slightly less-than-obvious reluctance. Gwen's breathing was rapid, shallow, her eyes wide.

Jack smiled at her. "Welcome back."

Gwen returned the smile and held out her closed palm to him. Centered in the red, steaming flesh was a silvery key. Jack pulled Gwen into a tight hug.

"You did good, Gwen. You did good."

x X x

"Why the fuck did that wall move?!" Owen shouted as he pounded said wall. Ianto sighed tiredly from behind him.

Owen snarled at the solid rectangle, punched it. The pain in his hand drew attention away from their hopeless situation. He wanted it to bleed. He wanted something to smear on this obstacle, something lingering to mark his presence there. Something to show he had suffered. Anything to show what he had unwillingly sacrificed, what he would leave here. What he would take away.

"We need to keep moving."

Owen scoffed. "Fat lot of good that'll do us."

"It's better than sitting here and waiting for someone to come along and kill us."

The tea boy had a point.

"Fine." Owen came back to Ianto, pulled him off the ground.

Ianto was being reasonable. The sooner they got out, the better, for both of them. It would do neither of them any good, sitting around. They couldn't know if Jack, Gwen, and/or Toshiko were still alive, separated, or out already. Owen's main concern should be keeping Ianto conscious and further uninjured. Keeping them both alive should be given higher priority than worrying about teammates he may never see again.

Owen sincerely hoped that wouldn't happen. He disliked admitting it, but he'd miss all of them. He'd even miss Ianto, were he not to survive his injury. Torchwood...was his family. They all shared experiences, they could all talk about alien existence, hypothesize, and not be called lunatics. Even if they never did. The option was still present.

You couldn't just work for Torchwood. You became ingrained in its dealings. All things alien centralized this mini-community. Danger catalyzed their relationships.

But now was not the time to dwell upon the intricacies. Breathing and living. Focus.

Owen glanced behind them. No sense going that way. They both knew the only thing there was the wire passage. Definitely not something they needed to do again. The only remaining option was traveling forward.

The hall before them had no remarkable differences from prior ones. It went on at a distance of roughly thirty yards, before the lights dimmed and it became difficult to tell whether or not it curved. Owen didn't think it mattered if it curved, split, or dead-ended. He didn't put much stock in the chance that they would ever leave this place. It seemed ongoing: turning, walking, task. Dark, hole in the floor, challenge, more walking, more turning, more dark. Another task.

God, he dreaded another task.

"Owen, slow down."

"Sorry," he replied automatically. Probably only the second apology he ever gave Ianto. The only sincere one.

"Don't worry about it."

"Jack would worry." Why had he said that?

Ianto snorted. "Jack isn't here."

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed."

"That's the Owen Harper I'm used to."

Owen scoffed and didn't reply. He kept his focus forward, wanting and despising to reach that shadowy end. He told himself not to expect anything. Well, not to expect an exit. Anticipate another attempt on his life, another trap, another step closer to death. An inch closer to that fine line between sanity and insanity. A line he doubted he wouldn't cross.

When they came closer, Owen nearly shouted in irritation. The corridor curved left. But...it slanted upwards? Like...a...ramp? The kind that, when going up, meant higher ground. Which meant above ground. Outside. Where people and hospitals and planes and dogs and bananas and orange-mint flavored bubblegum was? As in, not here, but in the sane world were men could almost marry each other and Harold Saxon was running for Prime Minister?

No, it couldn't be. Not that simple. Just a bloody ramp?

Maybe...

No. He would just have to keep forward and see what lurked around the corner.

His smothered eagerness got the better of him and he sped up. Ianto feebly protested; Owen ignored him. By the time they reached the corner, Owen more carried than supported Ianto. Ianto closed his eyes, almost certain Owen would drop him in his haste. When they rounded the corner and Owen's ramp theory was confirmed, he let out a strangled noise of triumph. The unchecked sound of a man inexpressibly relieved of death.

A door stood at the top of the gentle incline. A door with no apparent locks, chains, or questionable equipment surrounding it. Ianto glanced up at the ceiling: nothing but a stripe of perishing fluorescents.

Happiness lightened him. They really would make it out.

Owen halted at the door, looking at it with his head cocked to one side.

"Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation from the Queen?" Ianto said with impatience.

Owen shook himself, pushed on the metal bar running horizontally. It bent down with squealing ease. But the door did not move.

"Oh come on!"

Owen kicked the door; it sounded caught on something.

"Locked, from the outside."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

He kicked it again, put his foot down, breathed deeply. Gathered more force and slammed into the metal. Still no give. Ianto slid his arm off Owen's shoulder and stood, swaying precariously. Owen wasted no time in running at the door and bashing it with his shoulder.

After three more tries and a noticeable dent, the door popped open. Owen stumbled, bringing his hands up to his eyes. Daylight. Daylight!

Hastily, he gathered up Ianto. Together, they emerged into a cramped alleyway lined with garbage.

Ianto thought it beautiful.

x X x

Gwen chuckled. "Can we please just get out of here?"

Jack grinned down at her. "Of course."

He stood, bringing Gwen with him, in his arms. She pushed at his chest, indicating to be set down.

"I want to walk away from this."

Jack, complying, set her down. He walked before her, slid the key into the padlock. Removed the lock and unwound the chain. Pushed open the door and was nearly knocked over as Gwen bolted past him. Light. Sunlight. Daylight shadowed by tall buildings; an alley.

As a person walked by on the sidewalk, Gwen fell to her knees and wept at how gorgeous this narrow stretch of pavement was. Sandwiched between two boarded-up buildings, perfectly normal. A part of a city. A part of civilization.

Jack lurched out, blinking against the brilliant, natural light. He watched as fresh tears streamed down Gwen's cheeks; her eyes were to the clouded sky. A smile danced across her lips. Jack smiled too, freshly uncertain of what the hell to do. They were out. Nothing else life threatening was required of them. Safe.

A metallic bang startled him so thoroughly, he fell against the cold wall of one of the buildings.

"What was that?"

Jack shook his head. "Sounds like it came from the next alley over."

Gwen's eyes widened. "Owen! Ianto!" she cried as she leapt to her feet, stumbling as she up to speed. She sprinted to the mouth of the alley and disappeared to the right.

Jack sighed and ran after her.

By the time he made it to the entrance of their alley, Gwen was already jogging around the corner of the other building into the neighboring alleyway. He quickened his pace, lengthened his stride. For all he knew, that bang could be their tormentor coming out to actually kill them.

But when he came around the corner, the only thing he saw was Gwen embracing first Owen, then Ianto. It was almost more than he could take. It seemed too...unreal. Too normal. This...this couldn't be the end. Just letting them walk away? He tilted his head upwards, closed his eyes. A few drops of rain landed on his face.

He tried not to flinch.