Chapter 10

There was an odor of steak pie wafting throughout the Hub. There was even a soft sound of light music as well. There was, still and constant, the sound of the breathing apparatus that maintained Gwen's vitality.

Jack was feeding her. Pureed chicken, mixed with pureed carrots.

Rhys had been washing his wife, two weeks ago. He had stopped his task to softly caress her cheek. At that moment, Simon had walked in and noticed the movement in her throat. It had been easy for the experienced doctor to diagnostic the reflex she had. She could swallow her own food, home made, if feed by spoon, slowly.

Jack had taken over the job of feeding Gwen; he sang to her, he feed her. He never touched her, he never spoke to her. But four times a day, if the rift didn't ring an alarm, he was by her side, feeding her Rhys' homemade pureed food.

Tosh had tried once but Jack had gently shushed her away. Feeding Gwen took some of his anxiety away; he felt like he was somehow useful to her, as nothing was happening in term of finding a cure.

Rhys had understood Jack. His jealousy was long gone. Jack had Ianto after all. Rhys' job was to take care of Tosh and Jack other concerns – so the smaller team could fight aliens, manage the rift, supervise Ianto from afar and go through each day with hope. Rhys had turn out to be more than helpful. He had taken a leave of absence, nothing matter more that having what was left of Torchwood functioning and functioning well.

Tosh and Jack managed any intrusion from the Rift in timely and professional manner. Weevils' attacks were dealt swiftly. Daily routines at the Hub went on. Tosh had added pushing Jack into finishing and archiving his own paperwork. She supplied him with thrice daily update of Ianto's movements.

Twice since the signal had come, Jack had gone to observe Ianto – and Ianto's safety. He was hanging around the Red Dragon Inn daily. CCTV had shown him to be cleaned and well dressed again. He was never alone and Tosh worked hard at identifying every single person he came in contact with. Their very private Torchwood database was still safe; Tosh had tracked two different intrusions in the supposedly official one, created by her and Ianto.

Tourists from another galaxy had been sent on their merry ways. Smoke make of peculiar inertia particles had been isolated into a lock-down safety box and buried deep under the oldest ruins in Cardiff.

There had been plenty of work to keep Tosh and Jack busy; they had established a regular daily routine and Tosh was sleeping at home every night when the Rift's alarm allowed it.

Ianto was doing his undercover work; they were covering him from a distance.

/*/*/**\*\*\*\

Ianto and Rupert were eating together, some half-decent fish and chips. The chips were the better part of the decent actually.

"The boss Ed, well, he's not around too much, is he?"

"You know you shouldn't ask too many questions; it's got Bert to fidget around you. No one can't forget you're Torchwood mate."

"Was Torchwood. Twice I left this organization. I want Harkness; we're doing nothing about it. I still file papers all days long and "

Bert glared at him. Ianto stopped talking and went back to his chips.

After a long sip of his dark ale, he got up and took the stairs that hide behind the men's bathroom. Knowing Rupert would follow him shortly; he went down quietly and opened the basement door. The installation below was state of the art, better than the one he had had in London, Torchwood One. . Architects and engineers worked hands in hands, studying artifacts, testing, calibrating. He had been told his experience at Torchwood Three would be required, but so far, he was just removing files from the network set by Tosh – archiving everything in the specific folders created by a matronly woman. He had spent four days and nights in a small dark cell, he couldn't stand, couldn't sit properly, more like a large dog cell, a wild large dog. A single light bulb was flashing intermittently. Regular interviews methods from an organization that wouldn't use physical torture but didn't shy from other known methods.

Ianto had been left exhausted, physically, emotionally – afterwards. His hate for Jack Harkness had come forth as his first and only reason for wanting out of Torchwood. His awareness of the captain's immortality was known and his willingness to have him suffer and experience a thousand deaths was almost believed by all. Except perhaps the elusive Edward Brian Frazer aka Guillaume Bélanger. Meet once. And heard often as a real hardcore collector of anything alien.

Rupert had been put in charge of his comfort; so he had found him a small apartment, right next door to his. Ianto didn't believe in coincidence. He knew he was not trusted yet. What could he do to prove his worth?