Life As We Knew It

by kendermouse (LJ | e-mail | comment)

Chapter Fourteen

Ianto looked up from the Tourist Office desk at the sound of the front door, his good morning smile turning to a concerned frown when he noticed the sack of bread she carried. "Poor weekend?" he asked cautiously.

Gwen blinked at him, confused until he gestured to the bag. She smiled. "Oh no. Getting cooler at night, makes him want to bake. That, and the grocer upset him again," she added conspiratorially.

Ianto chuckled. "So another week of 'never setting foot in there again'?"

She laughed. "Hopefully not *that* long." She dug in the bag and pulled out a small loaf of cranberry bread, handing it to Ianto. "For you and John. And you *know* Rhys will ask so yes you have to share," she teased with a wink. Ianto pretended to be wounded by the comment, only to ruin the effect by quickly hiding the loaf under the counter. She shook her finger at him and he shrugged unrepentantly, hitting the button to open the door down into the Hub. She waved her thanks and headed down the stairs.

She placed the breads and biscuits out on the conference room table, adding the small 'fair game' sign that Rhys had included, as if the rest of the team needed the prompting. Tosh glanced around the corner, looking at her, concerned. She raised a hand, forestalling the questions. "Yes, we're fine. He just wanted to bake. He does do that on occasion," she reassured her friend.

"Long as you're sure," Tosh said, not completely convinced but still sneaking in and grabbing two chocolate chip biscuits. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I *love* his cooking."

"I'm sure," she reassured, grinning at Tosh. "And you're not the only one," she confided. "I nearly starved to death on my own before he took pity on me."

The girls spent several minutes sharing stories before Tosh, reassured, grabbed a bit of sweetbread and headed back to her workstation. Gwen took a steadying breath and headed down into the Hub proper. She proceeded into the autopsy bay where Owen was busy cataloging his stores for the monthly inventory order. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps, offering her an uncertain smile. She smiled back, holding up the bag of biscuits Rhys had put together specifically for the thin physician.

The thin lips broke into a wide, pleased smile. "This mean I'm forgiven then?" he asked hesitantly.

"This time," she said levelly. "And, it'll keep you from nipping off with the whole lot again."

He shrugged unrepentantly as he opened the bag and inhaled the cinnamon-sugar scent greedily.

Gwen laughed at the display and headed back toward the ramp out of the bay. Half-way up, she stopped and turned back to the man, giggling as she caught him nibbling almost daintily at one of the biscuits. "Owen? Rhys was talking about making Shepherd's Pie for dinner on Friday. There's always way more than we can eat. I mean, should you want to stop by."

He blinked at her. "Okay?" he answered, confused. He studied her face for a long moment. "If I don't have any better offers," he hedged.

"Fair enough," she said lightly. "I'll let Rhys know you enjoyed the biscuits," she teased.

Owen scowled at her, tightening his grip on the bag.

Her laughter echoed in the sterile confines of the bay long after she'd returned to her desk.

Chapter Fifteen

"Michael, Lucy," John called from the conference room. "Could you join us for a moment?"

Michael Davies looked at his wife, sighing resignedly as he shouted his affirmative up to their commander. He took her hand, squeezing it gently. "We'll get it straightened out, and I'll still take you for that breakfast I promised."

Lucy kissed his cheek softly. "Still think breakfast in bed sounds better," she teased with a saucy wink.

"Woman," he growled. She shrugged unrepentantly and headed up the stairs with him to see what was needed before they headed home.

They both stopped in the doorway, stunned by the sight before them. All of their coworkers, both Beta and Alpha teams, were gathered around the conference table. In the center of the table sat a good-sized cake proclaiming, "Happy Anniversary, Mike and Lucy." Along with cake were two packages wrapped in bright paper and an assortment of breakfast 'nibbles' which had to have come from Rhys, who stood quietly at the back wall smiling at them, his arms around Gwen.

"How did you..." Lucy trailed off as she caught the secret smile on Ianto's boyish face. "You, my boy, are a menace," she said with a shake of her head, walking into the conference room and tightly hugging the young man. "Thank you."

John moved in beside the blushing young man, placing a hand on his shoulder. "In his defense, I asked him to check on it." He graciously accepted his own hug and a handshake from Michael. "The cake and such are from Gwen and Rhys. The presents are from both teams and," he pulled an envelope from his back pocket, "this is from me."

Michael took the envelope and opened it, eyes widening at the reservation listings for an exclusive bed and breakfast in London and two tickets to the theater for the following weekend. "I... Sir, I don't know what to say, but our shifts?"

"Are being covered," Owen answered from his seat by the doorway. "You and Lucy are free and clear for the whole trip. Figured we managed before, we could spare you lot for a weekend." He saluted them with his coffee cup, hiding behind it as Ianto rolled his eyes. Gwen and Rhys smiled at him though, Rhys nodding his approval and sending a quiet thrill through Owen that he refused to look at too closely. "So, you gonna cut the cake or what?"

His comment had the desired effect and soon the cake was cut, sandwiches were being devoured and the team members were mingling about, sharing stories of marriage and dating and all manner of things that Owen did his best to tune out as he savored his piece of sweet, moist cake. His eyes wandered the room lazily.

Bajee was standing near the happy couple, sharing stories of their early experiences with UNIT, making Lucy blush and Michael splutter while Andy and Eirlys hung on his every word. Tosh and Seannan were quietly chatting in the far corner, the tall redhead curled around Tosh's back, her chin on the other woman's shoulder as they spoke with John. Gwen was leaning back in Rhys's arms, smiling contentedly, her head on her fiancé's shoulder as he and Ianto chatted over their coffees. Owen watched them with greedy eyes, wondering when he'd come to see the couple as... well, friends, he guessed.

'Probably about the time you started ending up at their flat every weekend.' his stubbornly realistic brain supplied. Memories of the previous Saturday night, spent sharing lazy and unexpected kisses with the pair on their couch after watching some chick flick movie Gwen had chosen, filled his head. Who knew Rhys was that open-minded? Accepting that aliens exist was one thing, sharing kisses with one of your girl's male co-workers while she watches was something else entirely. But then, they were an unusually devoted pair. Mr. Domestic was probably just seeing what all the fuss was about and why Gwen and the others were willing to put up with him. Besides, not like it was gonna happen again. He blinked, swearing he could feel Rhys's eyes on him.

He risked another glance at the pair, but they only had eyes for each other. He smirked at his own foolishness, dropping his eyes before anyone noticed him staring. Cake finished, he dropped the paper plate in the bin and stepped forward to offer his congrats to the married pair.

Lucy surprised him, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a loud, wet kiss on his cheek. "Knew there was a decent human being under there somewhere," she teased with a smile.

Owen smirked at the familiar banter. "Yeah, well. Don't let that rumor get about," he cautioned. "Got a reputation to uphold." He hugged the slight woman. "Have fun, okay? I expect gory details when you lot get back."

"Sure you do," she teased. "You just want a chance to rearrange all the supplies while I'm gone."

"My fault you're too short for the bay?"

"Only when you put the everyday stuff on the top shelves," she pressed against him with a grin, "where even *you* can't reach them, shorty."

"Taller than you," he countered with a smirk. He hugged her again, whispering, "Little something extra in your kit bag, too. Just... enjoy, okay?"

She squeezed him tight, letting him go before he got too uncomfortable. She patted his cheek. "Will do. You be safe while we're gone."

"Yes, mum," he grumbled with a half-smile before escaping to the quiet safety of his lab. He wasn't surprised when no one followed.

Gwen caught Rhys's hand as he watched Owen leave, keeping him from going after the retreating doctor. "I'll take him extra cake later," she promised. "Just give him time."

Rhys nodded, eyes continuing to linger on the empty doorway.

Chapter Sixteen

Seanny downloaded the pictures from her cell phone to her desktop, flipping through the casual shots of the team at Michael and Lucy's party earlier that day. She'd managed some good ones this time, pleased to see that her skill at "sneaky photography" as Deidre had called it, still worked. She had some lovely shots of Michael and Lucy, both alone and together. She filed them and jotted a quick note on her "to do list" to talk with Eirlys about making a momento piece for them using the images.

Bajee had managed to thwart her all but *once*... she swore the man had a second sense about when he was being photo-stalked. But the once was *excellent* if she did say so herself. There were some sweet pictures of Ianto watching John and vice versa, and a cute picture of Andy holding out a piece of fruit to Eirlys, waiting anxiously for her to accept it. She flipped through the album, deleting the blurred or missed shots, chuckling at some of the others as she categorized them carefully for later. Then she came across the picture of Owen.

She sighed, concerned for the snarky bastard. "Got it bad, don't ya, love?" she muttered sympathetically.

"Who's got what?" Tosh asked, curious.

Seanny shifted in her chair, reaching out and pulling the smaller woman into her lap, curling her into her arms and showing her the picture in question.

"Oh," Tosh breathed, her fingers almost ghosting over the familiar face on the screen. "There was a time I would have sold my soul to have him look at me like that."

Seanny hugged her tight, glad the capricious doctor had never seen the jewel that Tosh really was. "Question is," she asked, flipping to the next picture, the one she'd caught of what he was staring at. It was a beautiful picture of Gwen and Rhys, the dark haired woman smiling up at her obviously smitten beau while he brushed the hair away from her face. He'd kissed her after that, and Owen had left shortly thereafter, retreating to the med bay and organizing the new supplies that had come in. "Is it Gwen or Rhys that's caught his attention?"

Tosh studied the picture of Gwen and Rhys, then flipped back to the one of Owen. "Could be either, really."

Seanny's brow furrowed as she turned her lover to face her. How the blazes had she missed *that* little fact?

Tosh laughed, kissing her partner gently. "Yeah. Could be either," she looked critically at the picture, her eyes serious. "Or... both."

Seanny settled Toshy against her chest, enjoying the weight of her lover's body in her arms. She studied the picture, the longing so painfully evident on the man's face, the want in his light brown eyes. She couldn't help but wonder if they knew.

Chapter Seventeen

John entered the front door, inhaling the delicious scents coming from the kitchen and smiling at the soft sounds of Glen Miller coming from the stereo. He left his shoes by the door and headed into the kitchen, looking for his lover. Ianto stood at the stove, swaying in time to the soft strains of the music as he stirred whatever was in the large pot on the stove. John stood in the doorway, watching the younger man's graceful movements and enjoying the ease and relaxation so evident in the young man's body as he moved.

He padded across the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Ianto, smiling when the lithe body pressed back into his. "Smells good." He peered over the other man's shoulder into the pot of happily bubbling red sauce. He was rewarded with a playful peck on the cheek.

"Needs to simmer for another twenty minutes to be *really* ready," Ianto murmured, setting the electronic timer on the stove.

John turned the young man in his arms, stealing a soft, slow kiss. "Good. Enough time for you to dance with me." He took Ianto's hand, not giving his lover time to protest or find excuses, and led him into the living room. He kept hold of the younger man's hand as he turned up the volume on the stereo then drew Ianto into his arms. "Just relax and follow my lead."

Ianto's smile was gentle as he curled into John's embrace and did just that.

The music was slow and tender as they swayed to its spell. John was transported to another time, another place. The feel of another strong, masculine body under his hands, pressing so lightly against his own. Ianto was a touch shorter, his movements less certain than Jam... Jack's had been. But he fit no less comfortably in John's arms. He tilted Ianto's face upward, kissing him deeply, loving the way the Welshman's body melted into his. He gentled the kiss, letting the music dictate the slow sway of their bodies as they kissed again and again, unhurried, passionate, but not out of control, a careful banking of the fire that burned between them... at least for now.

He tightened his grip on the young man as the song came to an end. "Thank you," he whispered against Ianto's temple.

Ianto shifted, resting his head against John's shoulder. "(Thank *you*, my love.)"

John chuckled, nuzzling the dark curls. "I'm going to have to learn Welsh *soon* aren't I?" he teased, his fingers running up and down Ianto's spine, savoring the feel of the sleek form in his arms.

"No."

John smiled impishly, drawing back from his lover and once again lifting Ianto's chin so the young man was looking at him. "(I love you, Ianto Jones,)" he whispered uncertainly. Blue eyes blinked at him in surprise, the slender form still in his arms. "Ianto? Please tell me I wasn't wrong," he asked anxiously as the unnatural stillness continued.

"(You weren't wrong,)" Ianto answered with a soft smile.

"That was a positive response," John asked reluctantly. "Wasn't it?"

Ianto laughed, leaning in to kiss the uncertain older man. "You mean you don't know?" he teased.

It was John's turn to laugh, his tanned cheeks darkened with embarrassment. "Nope." He shrugged sheepishly. "Just learned enough to recognize certain words and to say certain phrases." He stole a quick kiss as he started them swaying to the music once more. "Toshiko helped me," he confessed quietly. "Seemed like a good idea to be prepared... just in case."

Ianto stopped again, blinking as he thought through the behavior of certain members of the team in the past few weeks. He pinned the older man with an unamused glare. "Gwen and Owen knew as well, didn't they?"

John nodded reluctantly, his eyes dropping to the floor, worried at what he'd see in his lover's expression.

"I'll have to compliment Alpha team on the improvement of their dissembling skills," he said, amused despite himself. He lifted John's face, looking in the worried blue eyes. "(I love you, too, John Harker formerly Jack Harkness,)" he confessed solemnly in Welsh. He sealed the declaration with a heated kiss, his arms circling John's neck and holding him close.

John's arms tightened around Ianto's waist, holding him close. They stood, embracing as their bodies absently swayed to the music, lost in the sounds and each other.

"I should go check on the sauce," Ianto whispered, hesitant to break the moment. "Make sure it doesn't burn."

"Yeah, you probably should," John agreed just as quietly.

Neither man moved from the comfortable circle of the other's arms

"Owen was right," John teased as one song ended and the next began, but neither of them moved. "We're hopeless."

"He's one to talk," Ianto countered with a smirk. "Considering how he's been watching Gwen *and* Rhys this past week when he thinks they aren't watching him. Luckily it appears that both Gwen and Rhys are aware and comfortable with the situation."

John chuckled, there were times the 21st century simply amazed him. "So I'm not the only one who noticed?"

"No, Sir." Ianto kissed John softly, his fingers carding through the light brown hair. "I'm pretty sure all of the Alpha team has noticed, though Owen appears not to realize this. In fact, I believe Seanny even managed to capture a candid photo or two."

"Really?" John's expression became contemplative. "Do you think she'd mind sharing?"

"I believe she's already shared one or two with Gwen," he answered. "Why?"

"Might make a good addition to the back pictures on the Hub computer screens," he said with a small smile. "Just in case he gets out of line, mind."

Ianto blinked at his lover, stunned. "You, Sir," he said slowly, "are wicked."

John's smile grew, a relaxed and boyish grin that spoke of childhood pranks in a more innocent time. "Nope," he said innocently, dropping a quick kiss on Ianto's cheek. "Just been taught the power of being prepared."

Ianto's husky laughter wrapped around them, mixing with the music as they shared knowing looks and delighted in the easy closeness growing between them. He kissed John again before reluctantly pulling away from the older man's warmth. "Dinner," he reminded his lover as John tried to keep him captive. "Come set the table and toss the salad," he directed, moving deliberately away from John and back into the kitchen.

He stirred the sauce, pleased it hadn't scorched. He smiled over at John. "So, what are your thoughts on the artifact that Tosh is working on?"

They talked as they worked, sharing theories and explanations of the new find as they seamlessly moved together in the small space, domesticity with a Glen Miller soundtrack. Dinner on the table, they both sat down to the meal and idly wondered when this had come to feel like home.

Owen stood outside the familiar door like he had the last eight weekends, only this time was different.

"One day, you'll come to us stone cold sober, Owen Harper, and we'll talk about whatever this is then."

He'd been hung over at the time, puking in Gwen's and Rhys's toilet when Rhys had said it. And honestly, his first thought had been "well there's a threat", but he figured he could be forgiven that, considering. Yeah, he did tend to end up on their doorstep, but then, free food. Free *good* food after striking out at the bar. Who was Owen to question it too closely? Of course, he wasn't about to admit that it wasn't so much striking out at the bar as it was not finding anything that caught his attention in the first place. Wasn't his fault he was particular. And if he tied on a bit of a wobble before deciding to pack it in, could anyone blame him? Not like there was any harm in sticking around to make sure nothing caught his eye before falling back on good food and friends with benefits.

But tonight had been different, though he wasn't exactly sure why. But the thought of going to the bar didn't appeal. Being shoved around in a crush of strangers in a small bar that reeked of smoke, drinking watered down, overpriced booze while *hoping* something *might* catch his eye or sprawling out on a comfortable couch, eating a hot, home-cooked meal, watching telly and heading to bed with a surprisingly open-minded couple. Seemed like a pretty straightforward decision to him. But now that he was actually here, he couldn't bring himself to knock. What if they weren't home? What if this screwed things up between them, him coming in early and interrupting them? What if...

The door opened and he found himself face to face with a confused Gwen.

"Isn't it a bit early for you?" she asked. She waved over his shoulder. "Evening Ms. Turner," she called out to the old busybody and her loudly yipping mutt. She turned back to Owen after the old woman had dragged her yapping little menace around the corner. "Were you planning on knocking, or just standing there all night?" she asked playfully.

He shrugged, suddenly uncertain. "Decided to cut out the dull part and just come on over." When she didn't offer, he finally asked. "Can I come in?"

She startled, nodding and stepping back, ushering him in.

He shifted past her, ignoring the look on her face as he slouched out of his jacket. She latched the door behind him.

"Rhys?" she called as she followed Owen into the living room. "Will that stretch for three?"

The other man looked up, surprised by the question. Owen looked away from the expression that shifted to echo Gwen's and dropped himself into the center of their couch. He frowned at the two wine glasses and the lit candles on the coffee table. Before he could shrug back into his jacket, Gwen pulled at it. He let her take it. If she was okay with the interruption, who was he to argue?

"You want wine or a beer?" she asked with a soft smile. "It's a merlot." He made a face and she laughed. "Thought so. Beer it is. Be right back."

"Thanks," he offered, suddenly very uncertain why he'd come. Then, everything settled right. Two in the kitchen, whispering to each other like school kids, the smell of whatever Rhys was cooking filling the apartment, and him sitting in the middle of the couch staring at the ceiling. It was very, brilliantly *right*.

It was Rhys that brought him his beer, holding it just out of reach as he demanded that *talk* he'd threatened Owen with. "A few ground rules," he began. "No more sneaking out in the morning without a word. Breakfast is with us, not pinching the leftovers from the fridge on your way out. And for God's sake, put the seat down."

It took Owen a minute to realize that Rhys was serious. He looked at the other man, studying the soft but handsome face. He shrugged, lunging for the open bottle. "Why?" he quipped. "We out number her," he offered, only half teasing.

Rhys smirked. "Because there isn't room enough for *both* of us on this couch."

Owen tipped his beer in acknowledgment, sipping the flavorful ale that Rhys had gotten him hooked on and now always kept around the flat. "So, anything else?" he asked, trying to hide his trepidation.

"It's open," Rhys said quickly. "Just... just don't put us... *either* of us, at risk.

Owen nodded his understanding. Not like he would. He never played less than careful.

"So," Rhys asked. "You want a key, or should we just rely on Mr. Muffins?"

Owen blinked, taking a moment to figure out what the hell Rhys was talking about. He finally smirked, shaking his head. "Nah. I'll knock."

"Anything you want to add?"

He thought a moment before looking demurely up through his lashes at the other man. "My own towel hook?" he asked with a teasing smile that made Rhys laugh.

"We can probably do that. But if you want a drawer, you'll have to ask the woman of the house. She's space allocation," he said with a grin. "I'm just the cook."

There was a crash in the kitchen that drew both men's attention. "Well, you'd better get back at it, or we'll be having take away." He smirked as Rhys hot-footed it back to the kitchen and took over from Gwen, shooing her back into the front room with Owen.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she settled beside him on the couch, turning up the telly and cuddling into his side. Rhys brought dinner to them, placing a communal plate on Owen's lap and settling on his other side. They teased each other, feeding and stealing bites as the whimsy took them, and Owen felt himself relaxing even further. He didn't relinquish his center position; not for dinner, not for the sappy movie Gwen chose, though he did tease Rhys about who wore the pants in the flat, which cost him his. He did, however, try to give it up for what came after, but he was well and truly out maneuvered, not that he was complaining.

He knelt on the bed, head down as thick, masculine fingers slowly worked him open. He rocked back, growling in frustration when the fingers shifted back with him, keeping the penetration shallow, controlling the moment.

"Now, now," she crooned, her fingers caressing his face, drawing him in for a sweet, slow kiss. "We've got you. Relax and let us take care of you."

He shivered at the tone, the tender touches. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be hard and fast and mindless, a quick and powerful shag to keep things moving, to keep things fresh. But no. They seemed determined to make it something more, something that worried him, scared him. He fought their hold, fought to regain control, only to find himself held tight by two determined pairs of arms, sandwiched between two warm and tempting bodies.

The fingers withdrew, and strong, still slick hands urged him to the mattress, Rhys's heavy body settling behind him as Gwen's slight one settled before. She captured his face, making him face her, making him meet her concerned brown eyes. "Owen, breathe, sweetheart. It's okay."

Sharp teeth nipped at his shoulder, making him hiss and arch back into Rhys. "Yes..." He ground his arse against Rhys's cock, trying to entice the other man to move.

Instead, those strong hands caught his hips, stilling them. "My speed, Owen," he chided gently. The heavy form curled around him, leaning over his back to claim a kiss from Gwen, making sure to keep Owen firmly between them. Rhys leaned back, an arm curling around Owen's chest, the fingers pinching at Owen's nipples. "Ready to try again?" He shifted, drawing Owen up with him, settling him on his knees once more. "Relax," he urged, his hand soothing up and down Owen's sweat-damp back.

Once more the slow penetration began, one slick finger, sliding deep, caressing the nerve rich flesh with deliberate, tantalizing strokes. One quickly became two, corkscrewing in, spreading and twisting, driving him out of his mind with each minute movement. He held still, his body shaking, his head falling forward to hang between his arms as he cursed and cajoled, all but begged Rhys to 'bloody well get on with it' but the other man's pace never faltered. Two became three and Owen keened as he pushed back against the delicious burn. But once more the fingers shifted back with him. He panted through the frustration, the want, the need. He lost himself in Gwen's kiss, focusing on the familiar taste of her lips, the play of her tongue against his, using it as a counter point to the thrust of Rhys's hand.

Three became four, and he shook with the tender assault. Knuckles pressing against the tight pucker, rubbing at the thin, stretched skin, teasing at something he'd never even contemplated before now. He spread his legs like a cheap whore, sound stilled in his throat as his entire body relaxed into Rhys's keeping.

"That's it," his tormentor praised. "Let me take care of you."

He let himself be shifted, opened, caressed. The fingers withdrew, the hint of pain taken away, leaving him empty, bereft, wanting. Feminine hands caressed his arse, his back, his bowed shoulders, their tenderness almost his undoing. Rhys's hands joined Gwen's, a long sweep down his back, from the nape of his neck down his spine. His arse cheeks were parted and the familiar feel of slicked latex slid up and down his crack. Blunt pressure against his core, pressing inward, demanding entrance brought his head up, his eyes wide but unseeing as his body threatened to shake apart. They held him together, their arms cradling him as Rhys claimed him, branded him as theirs with a slow steady push of his hips.

Rhys didn't stop until his balls rested against Owen's ass, his length buried deep inside Owen's trembling form. He wrapped his arm around the slender chest, drawing the silent man towards him, shifting them both backward until Owen was settled firmly in his lap, his legs to the outside of Rhys's. "I've got you," Rhys whispered into Owen's ear. He nipped at the long neck, his hands soothing up and down the sweat slick chest, unsurprised by the frantic beating of Owen's heart under his hand. "Breathe, Owen," he murmured. He kissed the tense shoulders, holding and soothing, his hands firm as he caressed the slender chest.

He nodded at Gwen who moved closer. "Owen," she said softly, pleased when frantic brown eyes locked on her face. "It's all right." She caressed his face, leaning in and kissing him as she had before, letting him take what he needed from her to keep him centered. His kisses were deep, intense, and frighteningly quiet. She let her hands follow Rhys's, teasing at Owen's nipples, moving lightly over his chest, wrapping her small hand around his weeping cock.

He choked back a whimper, shifting to thrust up into the tight heat even as Rhys's hands held him still. He fought the maddening hold, growling and bracing his knees on the firm mattress, needing more, needing some control.

Rhys shifted his thighs wider, opening both men to Gwen's touch. His arm tightened around Owen as he leaned further back, pulling the other man with him. He could feel the pull in his muscles and silently praised Gwen for the new flexibility routine they'd begun when he'd thrown out his back going to one knee to propose. He supported them with one hand braced on the bed, the other locked around Owen's chest, their pelvises thrust out obscenely in a modified camel pose. "Yoga," he whispered in Owen's ear as he spread their thighs to balance the new position. "It's a wonderful thing."

The unexpected comment startled a laugh from Owen that quickly shifted into a full throated whine as Gwen's mouth enveloped his erect cock. In the new position, he couldn't get any leverage, not to thrust, not to touch. He struggled, reaching for Gwen, only to have her pull away. He scowled.

"Relax," Rhys urged, his hips moving in slow small thrusts that made Owen shake at their intensity. "We'll give you what you need," he promised. He kissed Owen's neck and began to thrust a touch faster, his hand moving lower on Owen's torso, coming to rest over the flat abdomen and holding Owen tight. The shift drove him even deeper into Owen's willing body, making the doctor whimper with each tiny rock of Rhys's hips.

Once more Gwen's hands held Owen's cock, stroking it carefully as she let him get used to the feel of Rhys' attention. She watched as the tense doctor finally relaxed back against Rhys's chest, sagging in Rhys's arms with a pained whimper. She looked up at Rhys and smiled before lowering herself once more to Owen's erection. Her hand caressed Owen's thighs as she licked and sucked at the hard flesh. She could feel the muscles shaking under her hand and knew it wouldn't take much more.

She reached between the spread thighs and teased at the two sets of balls, cupping and teasing them with firm, careful pulls and caresses. Both men groaned and she smiled up at them through her lashes. She flicked her tongue over the head of Owen's cock, tracing circles up and down the heated flesh as Owen's silence gave way to cursing once more. Cursing and begging and 'Oh God, please.' She savored the sounds of his coming undone, cherishing them even as she braced for the powerful orgasm she could feel building in both her men.

Owen's eyes locked on her face, brown eyes pleading and she rose up, drawing him into deep kisses once more, giving him a focus in the overwhelming sensation. She drew him back up, resting him against her kneeling body, their chests pressed tightly together, his arms wrapped around her body.

With a groan Rhys shoved deep, shifting back on both arms to give himself better leverage and all but lifting Owen from the bed.

Owen rode the powerful thrusts, his arousal spiraling higher with each one. Gwen's hands cupped his face, urging him to look at her. He opened his eyes, his lust fogged brain trying to make sense of her words. Then her hand closed over his cock as Rhys shoved deep and he couldn't hold back any more, coming with a scream that Rhys echoed.

Gwen's arms eased him through the aftershocks, her lips whispering words of praise and love into his ear as she held him close. Then they were moving him, carefully easing him to his side on the mattress, Rhys gently withdrawing from his sensitive body. He vaguely remembered the feeling of a warm, damp cloth, and of his boneless body being urged beneath the blankets and being cuddled between them. But mostly he remembered the unexpected feeling of... home.

Morning came in a wave of warmth and casual, tender touches. He shifted, stretching and sighing at the well used feel of his body. The arms around him tightened and Rhys's morning wood pressed enticingly against his arse. He wiggled against the other man, earning him a growl and a thrust of surprisingly powerful hips that pressed him forward into Gwen's warm body. The woman sighed, shifting closer, pressing an open mouthed kissed to Owen's chest as she curled into his heat. He chuckled, loving the sleepy contentment that permeated the bedroom. Teeth nipped at the back of his neck and he bowed his head, giving Rhys better access to the skin.

"Morning," Rhys whispered, thrusting slowly, teasingly against Owen's arse cheeks. "Didn't take you for a morning person," he confided as he continued his gentle caresses.

Owen shivered, causing Gwen to cuddle in closer, her breasts pressed hard against Owen's chest as she sleepily shifted again and draped a leg over both Owen's and Rhys's hips. Owen hissed as the move left him dangerously close to her tempting heat. His erection, never known for its *restraint*, throbbed in need. He pulled back, moaning as the move pressed him firmly back into Rhys.

Gwen blinked up at him at the sound, her brown eyes dark with need and slumber. She reached for him, her slender fingers capturing Owen's chin and drawing him close for a slow, good morning kiss. She shifted, tilting her hips, rubbing against his erection with slow, deliberate movements, letting him feel how wet she was.

Owen caught her, stilling the movements and kissing her savagely, restraint nearly gone at the rising scent of sex and arousal and need. Rhys thrust against his arse, nudging him nearer Gwen's sex and Owen growled into the kiss. With a quick twist of her hips, she drew him into her, her nether-lips parting for him easily as he slid into her damp heat. They both sighed at the intimate connection, Owen stilling, some small part of his brain screaming at him that this wasn't right, it wasn't safe, then Rhys ground against his ass, shoving him deeper into Gwen and the need overruled everything else.

It was fast, powerful. All the sleepy slowness of earlier replaced by driving need. They moved together almost frantically, all three striving for release. Rhys's hand snaked between Owen and Gwen, his strong fingers finding Gwen's clit and rubbing it deliberately, teasing Owen's cock as he did so. Gwen clung to Owen, kissing, nipping, gasping with each thrust and touch. She cried out her release, body tightening around Owen as her orgasm tore through her, her arms and legs tightening convulsively around her lovers, pulling Owen over the edge with her. Rhys pushed against Owen's back, roaring out his own release as his hot semen splashed against Owen's skin.

They lay there, a tumbled wreck, each trying to recapture breath and a touch of equilibrium. Gwen relaxed completely, drifting back into a sated doze after only a soft kiss from both men. Rhys fumbled with something on the bedside table behind him and soon a cold, barely damp cloth was rubbing over Owen's back, wiping up the remnants of their morning romp. A quick kiss to the back of his neck made Owen smile as he pulled gently out of the half-dozing Gwen. He kissed her forehead, smiling as she sighed contentedly before shifting to her other side and falling back to sleep. He chuckled and did his own shifting, coming 'round to face Rhys and finding the other man smiling at him, in turn. They shared a few lazy kisses before nature demanded its due and Owen reluctantly shifted out of his half-doze long enough to playfully climb over Rhys, groping the willing man on the way by, and head to the loo.

It wasn't until he felt the cooling slickness on his cock that the enormity of what he'd done hit him... and he fell to his knees and silently threw up the previous night's meal.

"Seannan?"

Seanny looked up from the dishes, wondering what she'd forgotten this time, as Tosh only used her full name when something was 'up'. "Kitchen!" she called reluctantly. Tosh came around the corner carrying a bundle of mail, and Seanny blanched. She'd been so good at remembering, but she'd forgotten last night, having gotten off shift early to come spend time with her girl: so much for their quiet morning.

"When did you start having mail sent here?" Tosh asked quietly, setting the mail in question down on the counter so Seanny could clearly see her name and Tosh's address.

Seanny couldn't read her lover's mood, the beautiful face a polite, professional mask. She tried to think of a way to salvage the situation, but found she couldn't. "Several weeks ago," she reluctantly admitted. "I didn't think it would be a problem."

"It's not, really," Tosh agreed. "But why didn't you just send it to *your* flat? I mean, I know you're usually over here, which I do enjoy," she reassured with a grin. "But it just seems... strange." The sheepish look on the redhead's face made Tosh stop. "You *do* still have a flat, don't you?"

Seanny shrugged, suddenly focused on the dishes in the sink.

"Seanny? What happened?" Tosh was concerned, coming to stand beside the quiet red-head. "You know I would have helped. And if it's because of the money, I'm sure John and Ianto could have worked out something to help." She hugged her lover. "And where have you kept your things? Are they in storage somewhere?"

"All my stuff's here," she confided, looking around at the miniscule scattering of her things around the apartment. "I kinda moved in... here," the other woman whispered. "I'd hoped that you'd just get used to me being around and not... well, not notice."

Tosh blinked. "Moved in here? Wouldn't notice?" She scowled, moving away from the other woman, pacing the kitchen. "Seannan O'Halleran how *COULD* you?" she demanded.

Seanny looked away, cringing slightly at the tone.

Tosh wrapped an arm around the taller woman. "I should be furious, you know," she said quietly. "And I might be, later." She grabbed a dish towel and held it out to Seannan, waiting until the woman rinsed and dried her hands. "But right now, you're going to come sit on the couch and talk to me about why you thought you needed to do this rather than just asking to move in with me. I mean, considering our relationship, I'd have thought you'd be able to do that."

Seanny shrugged, still not looking at the smaller woman directly. "Would now be a bad time to tell you I was thinking about how to ask you if you'd handfast with me at Yule?"

Tosh came to a stunned stop, looking back at the contrite woman. "Probably," she answered truthfully. "Ask me again next week, after we've had time to sort all this out."

Seanny glanced up, pleasantly surprised by the contemplative smile on Tosh's face. She nodded, her step lighter as she joined Tosh on the couch. It probably wasn't going to be an easy few days, but she had the distinct impression that it was going to be worth it in the end.

Ianto smiled into his morning coffee, doing his best not to laugh as his lover shifted in the well-padded chair. He shouldn't feel so damned smug, he really shouldn't, but knowing exactly *why* the older man was moving so tenderly this morning... He finished off his coffee and crossed the silent living room. He stood before John holding out his hand.

John looked up at him from where he sat attempting to get comfortable enough to read the morning newspaper.

"A hot bath will relax the muscles," Ianto offered. "And I have some bath oil that Tosh gave me that I think you'll like."

"Wouldn't need to relax if you hadn't insisted on me wearing this," he blushed hotly, "contraption this morning."

Ianto crouched down before his lover, looking into the beautiful blue eyes. "I won't have you hurt just because *you're* impatient," he countered. He kissed the pouting lips. "I want your first time to be as comfortable as possible, and that means some," he stroked at the older man's leg, "preparation work first." He caressed one pink cheek, his thumb smoothing over the full bottom lip. "Come have that bath, let me pamper you today. Please?"

John chuckled, shaking his head. "You know I can't say no to you when you turn those eyes on me," he teased, shifting forward only to moan and shiver as the small rubber plug made its presence known once more. He scowled at Ianto but gratefully accepted the hand off the couch. The plug shifted and he wrapped his arms around Ianto's surprisingly strong shoulders and shivered at the unfamiliar but not *completely* unpleasant sensations. "Want to feel you there, not some damned piece of rubber," he confided to the younger man.

"I know, (love)," Ianto soothed, his hand running up and down John's robe-clothed back. "And you will. Soon. I promise." He kissed the other man tenderly before moving back. "Now. Come let me draw you a bath and play bath slave for you," he lowered his eyes, offering the older man his coyest smile, "Sir."

John couldn't help but follow.

Owen was more than half dressed when Rhys wandered out of the bedroom, starkers, as usual, and headed for the kitchen. He smiled at Owen, winking at the silent man as he flipped on the coffee maker and began pulling down pots and pans to cook breakfast. "You want a fry up or pancakes this morning?" he asked over his shoulder. "And you know, you *can* turn on the coffee maker when you're up first. It won't bite you and I'm not as possessive as Ianto about the stupid thing."

He looked up when silence was the only response. He scowled as he watched Owen dig his socks out from under the couch and slide them on. This wasn't good. He moved determinedly towards the door, wondering just what the hell had brought this on. He was leaning casually against the door as a startled Owen moved to grab his jacket and leave. "Thought we had this straightened out last night. No more sneaking out in the morning without a word, Owen."

Owen leaned against the opposite wall, scowling at Rhys. "Yeah. So was 'no putting us at risk'," he countered with a dark growl. "Cocked that one right up too. Now move."

Rhys' brow furrowed at the other man's anger. "What are you going on about then?" he asked, confused.

"Just let me out," he whispered.

"Not until you talk to me about what's rattling around in that empty head o' yours, I won't." He crossed his arms over his bare chest, waiting. He wasn't about to let Owen leave like this, not after last night and this morning. "So get your skinny arse back in on the couch and we'll talk about this like adults."

"No."

"Don't make me force this, Owen," Rhys said sadly. "Please."

Owen's laugh was autumn leaves over dry cement, raspy and dead inside. "Like to see you try," he challenged. "Now move."

Rhys held his ground, green eyes locked with Owen's brown in a silent stare down.

Owen growled and shoved at the heavier man, his anger warring with his need not to hurt Rhys, but he had to leave, had to escape the too confining flat and its memories and recriminations.

Rhys wrestled him, keeping himself between Owen and the door and managing to get the other man pinned to the opposite wall. "What the *hell* is going on, Owen?" he asked, panting with exertion. "Talk to me, damn it!"

"Let me *go*, you damned ponce!" Owen snarled, twisting and thrashing in Rhys's restraining grasp.

Rhys laid full against Owen's back, making the other man growl and buck. He pinned the man's hips forcefully. "Enough, Owen!" He breathed against the man's neck, noting the frantic gasping and the hammering beat of the pulse under his lips. "Talk to me, luv. What's going on? Things were good last night and this morning. What happened?" Still silence. He shifted back and turned the other man around to face him, needing to see Owen's expressive eyes. "Talk to me," he pleaded.

"Why the *hell* should I, not like you lot listen," he hissed.

Rhys was shocked by the venom in the statement, stepping back as he studied the snarling face. "What do you mean we don't listen? We damned well *DO* listen to you."

"No." Owen shook his head in denial. "You talk and talk and take silence as agreement. 'No sneaking out. No leaving the seat up. No this, no that." He glared at Rhys, trapped and looking for a way out. "Assuming that since a body doesn't squawk, it's fine."

"Didn't hear you squawking about things last night," Rhys shot back, his own anger building as he struggled to make sense of their lover's words. "Was it before or *after* you started begging for harder and faster, Harper?"

Owen blushed but didn't falter. "You know," he said, voice dangerously even, "this whole 'sex machine' thing must be new. Otherwise your dear Gwennie wouldn't have started up with me at all. Guess some good came of it," he smirked at the other man. "She finally taught you how to make the world move."

Rhys sighed. "She took up with you because she couldn't talk to me, I wouldn't have understood."

Owen blinked, the barb not having the desired effect. "She... she told you?"

Rhys shrugged. "She told me. That and a lot more after I found out what you lot were really about." He reached out to stroke Owen's face, sighing when the other man jerked away from his touch. "I understand, Owen. I wasn't happy about it, but I understand! If that's what this is about..."

"She told you and you still," Owen let the comment trail off, stunned by the admission and the tenderness in Rhys's face. God, not now. Not after all this. He could feel the desire to stay tearing at his chest, the same need to hold on to this that he'd had with Dianne... only this was different, more *real*, more frightening. Don't make it less than it is. No. No he couldn't do it. He couldn't risk this again. Soft hands cupped his face and he did his best to steel himself to push them away, for their own good.

"Owen?"

He speared the man with his most condescending look. "Maybe I just wanted to know what she was running from. See how I compared. Now I know, what more is there to stick around for?"

Rhys laughed. Outright *laughed* at him. "Not buying it, Harper. Gonna have to do better then that to get through that door."

"Rhys? Owen?"

Rhys turned to look at the sleepy Gwen, coming out of their bedroom wrapped in Rhys's too large robe. Owen took the opportunity and shoved him, hard, sending the other man stumbling out of the way. He reached for the door even as Gwen moved towards them and Rhys grabbed his arm. Without consciously thinking about it, he lashed out, his fist connecting with Rhys' jaw, sending the other man sprawling. He tore open the door, fairly certain Rhys wouldn't come after him stark naked.

He dashed past a couple of kids and pounded down the stairs out into the bright morning. Checking he had his wallet, he whistled down a taxi and scrambled inside. He gave the address of a seedy eatery on the far side of town. It wasn't much, but they made a decent scramble and coffee... and it wasn't some place he'd normally go, so they'd have a harder time finding him. He slumped down into the back seat of the cab and forced himself not to look back.

Chapter Eighteen

"All and all the Rift was quiet and we got a good deal of cataloging and diagnostics done," Michael reported in their regular Monday morning debrief. He took a sip of his coffee and wondered again if he could convince the young Welshman to give Lucy his secret. Hers was good, but Ianto's was better. He savored the dark brew while he pondered how to broach the next subject.

"What else, Michael?" John asked patiently.

The head of Beta team chuckled. "You've been taking mind-reading lessons from Jones again, haven't you, boss?" he teased.

"Nope. Just getting used to reading my people when they've got something on their minds," John countered wryly. "So, what else do you need to *unofficially* tell me?"

Michael shook his head. "Got a call from an old friend from UNIT Saturday afternoon. Apparently the Minister of Defense is suddenly taking a pretty strong interest in the UNIT/Torchwood cooperative. He can't get at Torchwood 2 because it's the Queen's pet project and she guards it fiercely. Course, the fact the head man is completely nuts probably doesn't hurt either," he joked. "We, however, are fairer game because of our link to UNIT and the UN, so called 'outside influences'. He can't *officially* interfere with our operations because we are under the auspice of the Queen herself, but he *is* free to make life interesting for us if he wants to. And from what Benton says, looks like he's already planning, trying to plant seeds and suspicions in influential ears." He leaned back in the chair. "Don't know *how* this Saxon guy crawled up the ranks like he has, but I'm with Benton, he makes me nervous."

"Saxon?"

"Harold Saxon. Minister of Defense and current Downing Street Golden Boy." Michael took another drink of his coffee. He chuckled at the questioning look on John's face. "You really should try to watch the news once in a while, boss. Keep up on things," he added with a smile, saluting his superior with his coffee cup.

"That's what I have y'all for," John shot back with a matching grin. "So tell me about him. What makes you and your friend so cautious?"

"He gave Benton a headache, and that man can put up with a hell of a lot." He knew it sounded inconsequential, but he'd seen Lieutenant John Benton face down a gaggle of reporters *and* noisy aliens without batting an eye. For this guy to have rattled his old friend like he had said something, none of it good. He tried to find words to describe what it was about the man that bothered *him*, but found himself unable to.

"He just comes across as... someone not to turn your back on. However, that's a minority opinion where he's concerned. Most who've met him all but swear the sun shines out his arse and he's the next best thing to the second coming." He shrugged. "All I know is that he was asking questions about things he shouldn't have even *known* about, including the Doctor and how two organizations with such diametrically opposed views of such a 'troublesome alien', his words, could work so closely together. Benton gave him the standard line about working for the good of the world, using all available resources, all the standard answers. I mean, Benton served under the Brig when the Doctor was still an *on site* scientific advisor for UNIT, so he's used to fielding questions about what it was like. He said Saxon's questions went beyond the normal ones. It set off alarm bells for him, which is why he called me. Wanted to give us a heads up that Saxon may be coming looking, for scapegoats and a reason to shut us down."

"Then we'll just have to make sure he doesn't find a reason," John answered calmly. "I'll have Ianto see what he can find on Mr. Saxon, see what kind of things we might need to be on the look out for. Let him earn that 'Chief Intelligence Officer' title," he added with a smile.

Michael grinned. "He still think it was all your idea?"

John nodded with a wry grin.

"Doesn't bode well for his detection skills," Michael teased. "May have to rethink my recommendation." He sobered, meeting John's eyes easily. "If there's something to find, Jones'll find it. Wouldn't have suggested putting him in the position if he wasn't up to it."

John silently acknowledged the comment, sipping at his coffee and watching Michael do the same. Finally John sighed, pinning the other man with a knowing stare. "There's something else, isn't there?"

Michael nodded reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to cause problems for the young doctor, but he couldn't let it slide without comment. "Any idea what might be going on with Dr. Harper?" he asked bluntly. John shook his head, silently urging the other man to continue. "He showed up here about 4am, hung over and surly. He made a beeline for his lab, shot himself up with something, then headed straight for the medical store room and started the inventory he's been avoiding for the last two weeks." He sighed. "John, he looked like hell, and even Lucy couldn't get him to talk beyond snarls and curt orders. I'm worried. I've never seen him that way before."

John nodded. "Noted. We'll keep an eye on him, make sure it's not an ongoing problem."

"He's a good kid," Michael reassured. "Brash, but good. If we can get him settled down a bit, he'll be even better."

"I have a feeling that's being worked on," John said with a small, knowing smile.

"Noticed that, did you?" Michael asked with a smirk, remembering the looks that Gwen and her fiancé had been shooting the oblivious doctor the last time both teams had worked late.

"There's a reason I get the big office," John teased. "Get your wife and go home, Michael. We'll take it from here."

"With pleasure, Sir. With pleasure."

Owen flopped down on the couch, glaring at the envelope he'd found propped on his computer keyboard before he'd left the Hub. He took a long drink of his beer, contemplating what to do. He should have just shredded the damn thing and left it on Gwen's desk. But no, he just had to bring it home, continue the shite day by reading the 'Owen you're a stupid prat!' letter in the comfort of his empty, overpriced apartment. He finished off his beer, slamming the empty bottle on the coffee table and pushing off the couch to grab a second. Thinking about it, he grabbed the remainder of what he had in the kitchen and returned to the couch, sitting the unopened bottles in a neat row on the floor beside him.

Three more empty bottles joined the first on the table and Owen was well and truly on his way to being blissfully pissed. Only then did he pick up the envelope, hopefully numb enough that the contents wouldn't be too hard to stomach, or at least drunk enough that he wouldn't remember what it said in the morning. He tore open the envelope, shaking it to see if he could find out why the hell the damned thing was so heavy.

A single brass key on a simple key fob fell into his hand.

He blinked at it, trying to figure out why Gwen would be giving him a key. Wasn't his key, he was sure. He'd never given her one. He turned it over in his palm, his alcohol fuzzy brain trying to put together what it was he was missing. He placed the key on the table and pulled the letter out of the envelope with unsteady hands, unease burning away some of the pleasant alcohol haze. It took him several minutes to decipher Gwen's spider-like scrawl. He read it through. Then re-read it, sure he'd misread it the first time. The third time had him up off the couch and head down in the toilet, getting rid of the beer and what little food Lucy Davies had managed to guilt him into eating before she'd left that morning.

What had he done? What the bleeding hell had he done?

Chapter Nineteen

"Ms. Cooper? A moment?" John asked quietly, offering Gwen his hand.

She nodded, smiling at the old-fashioned and gallant gesture. She was surprised when he led them not towards his office, but towards the informal gathering area. He motioned for her to have a seat on the battered but strangely comfortable couch. She watched him expectantly, waiting to see what was on his mind.

"Would you happen to know why my CMO would be down in the archives banging his head against the wall?" he asked with a wry quirk of his lips. "And given his tone, I doubt my CIO was speaking metaphorically when he reported it."

Gwen blanched. She'd known Owen was avoiding her and had been for the last four days, but this... this wasn't what she'd expected at all. "I..." she paused, unsure exactly what to say. 'I'm sorry, Sir. It appears that my boyfriend and I broke him with mind blowing sex this past weekend.' That wasn't exactly something you said to your boss. Okay, maybe to *Jack*, but not to John with his sweet 1940's sensibilities. She sighed. She finally settled on, "I might."

The older man nodded. "Fix it," he said firmly. "You have three days, and then I'll be forced to intervene for his own safety." He took Gwen's hand in his own, offering her a shy smile. "For what it's worth, I think the two of you will be good for him. But for all your sakes, you need to get this straightened out." He squeezed her hand, a gesture of silent support before rising and leaving her to her own thoughts.

Gwen sat back, blowing out a short frustrated puff of air. They'd fix this. They had too. Even if it meant tranquilizing the stubborn idiot and tying him to the bed, they'd find a way to make him hear them out. Thoughts of the pale man spread across their bed in nothing but rope and a gag derailed her anger, and she savored the mental image. Dragging out her cell, she placed a call to Rhys. They'd need a plan if they had *any* hope of getting Owen back... or at least of keeping him in one piece.

Owen was well into his second drink when a familiar form settled onto the bar stool beside him. He tried scowling, but Rhys ignored him, nodding to the bartender.

"I'll have what he's havin'," he ordered. The bartender nodded, pouring him a whiskey, neat, and setting it on the bar in front of him.

Owen expected the other man to start talking then, but he was disappointed. Rhys sipped at the whiskey, his broad shoulders occasionally brushing against Owen's as he lifted the heavy tumbler to his lips. They drank in silence. Finally, Owen couldn't stand it any more. "So, she send you out like a good little lap dog to drag me back by the scruff of my neck?" he snarled coldly.

Rhys didn't even flinch. "Nope. Just here getting a drink."

Owen scowled. "And I'm the bleeding Queen," he muttered.

"Well, you're nearly right," Rhys countered with a smirk the glass didn't quite cover.

Owen blinked, glaring when the jibe sunk in. He turned back to his glass, growling when he found it empty. He snapped at the bartender who poured him another with some reluctance.

The older man looked between the two of them then pinned Rhys with a cautioning eye. "You boys planning on having a row, you take it outside. Don't need any trouble."

Rhys nodded his understanding, offering a smile. "Not planning a row. Just plan on convincing this idiot to get his too scrawny arse back where it belongs before the missus decides his robe looks better on the lawn then on its hook in the bath."

The bartender chuckled. "Good man." He turned to Owen. "Seems you might wanna listen to him, son. Three nights is a hella long time to keep a good woman waiting. Word of advice," he said leaning close and making sure Owen was paying attention. "Don't throw away a good thing being stubborn." He nodded to Rhys and left the men alone once more.

Owen took a deep swallow of his drink, savoring the burn and the dutch courage it gave him before turning blood-shot eyes on Rhys. "Why can't you two just leave well enough alone?" he hissed. "My 'too scrawny arse' was quite happy where it was before you two and will be quite happy after you two finally come to your senses and realize what a mistake this was. So bugger the hell off, Rhys. Go back to the missus and be grateful to be rid of me."

Rhys shot him a rueful smile. "Finally figured out why you did a runner, Owen," he confided quietly. "And I'm sorry. We're *both* sorry. We put you in a bad position and didn't give you any choice. In our defense, Gwen's not exactly a morning soul, so she didn't realize until we were in the middle of things and by then..." he shrugged, a blush staining his cheeks. "But we know you. We know you're beyond careful and that you make *sure* you're safe with tests from work." He looked up, meeting the other man's eyes. "We knew it was safe, Owen. But that doesn't excuse what we did. And we're sorry."

He was stunned; completely and totally speechless as he listened to Rhys's apology. They knew it was safe? How the hell did they know when *he* wasn't even sure anymore? "That's just it, Rhys," he answered, voice tight, "I'm not safe. I'm not safe or responsible or any of the other fairy tale views of me you've worked up between you. You know what I did when I left your bed? Do you?" He gave the other man his coldest smile. "Went out, got completely pissed and had some no-strings attached fun."

He hoped it was enough to make Rhys leave, enough to drive the other man back to Gwen where he belonged. Enough to get them to stop teasing him with something he'd just manage to ruin in the end. The green eyes darkened and Owen offered his most irritatingly smug smile. He turned from the angry man and focused once more on his whiskey, hoping it would erase the ash taste growing in his mouth.

"That what you're wantin' then?" Rhys asked quietly. "No strings? We can do that if it's what you want." He shrugged, coloring slightly under Owen's suddenly intent gaze. "Long as you keep yourself safe and let us look after you a bit, when you need."

The heavy tumbler slammed down onto the bar and Owen turned to fully face Rhys. "What part of bugger off are you not getting, Mr. Domestic?" he snarled. "Don't need you or her or your cozy little dream-world domesticity. Don't need it. Don't want it. Didn't *ask* for it. So, Bugger. Off. And leave me to it, yeah?"

"Gentlemen," the deep, gravely voice of the bartender sounded from in front of Owen. He looked at Rhys, his voice firm. "I think it might be time to take your friend here home before there's any trouble."

Owen turned his anger on the bartender, glaring at the calm man as he dug out his wallet and threw a few notes to the man to cover his drinks. "Leaving anyway," he snarled, sliding off the stool and stalking unsteadily towards the door. He was only vaguely aware of the old man asking Rhys if they needed to call a taxi, or the cops. He didn't wait to hear Rhys's answer, slamming out the door and into the night air, trying to remember the way to the nearest dive that Rhys wouldn't dare follow him into. He managed half a block before a strong and familiar hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. He rounded on Rhys, immediately going on the attack. "Damn it!" he swore, snarling at the too soft man with his too tender expression and too knowing gaze. "What's it gonna take to get you to leave off!?"

"The truth," he answered quietly.

Owen had the overwhelming urge to hit him again, but that's what had gotten him in this mess, wasn't it. So he settled for using his tongue, the only weapon left him. "Your truth or mine?" he hissed, his tone deceptively even. "I'm a slut, and not a particular one at that. I'll sleep with any warm body that offers to hold still long enough and some that I have to work to chase down." He moved closer to the still man, into his body space as he looked up into pained green eyes. "You and Gwen? Lovely distraction for a time, but I've had you both so now it's time to move on, which," he added with a hurtful smirk, "I've managed to do... several times with multiple lovely partners."

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't believe you, Owen."

"Want to see the used condom wrappers? Maybe the bruises on my hips, the brick burn on my chest and back?" He felt a painful pang of triumph as Rhys paled. "What's it going to take to convince you lot?"

"But even then, you were careful, luv," Rhys countered.

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!" he yelled, his own fears of the past week flooding through him. "*I* don't know that, not for certain." He shook as Rhys's strong arms wrapped around him, tugging him close. He buried his face in the man's neck, not giving a damn who saw them, needing the solidity of the larger man as he struggled to regain control of his wild emotions. "I don't know," he whispered into the slickness of Rhys's jacket. "I don't remember who or how many..." Regret burned at his throat, tightening it dangerously. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Rhys simply held him, keeping his peace and offering the other man silent support. He moved them out of the main path, drawing them into a darkened shop doorway and rocking the other man slowly. His large hands drifted over Owen's shaking back, soothing him, quieting him, reminding him of Rhys' continued presence and connection.

Finally Owen pulled away, composure nearly regained and a dark blush staining his cheeks. "Did you honestly put up a hook in the bath?" he asked incredulously.

Rhys smiled, nodding. "Sunday afternoon. And it's even got a towel and robe on it. Dark green so you'll know it's yours." He smirked. "Talked Gwen out of the pink one."

"Ta, mate," he answered absently, studying the other man in confusion. "But why?" he finally choked out, clearly uncertain as to Gwen and Rhys's motives as he thought of the new key added to his key ring that he'd never intended to use and the sentiments expressed in a tender letter five days before.

"Cause you'd look like shite in pink," he teased. Owen flipped him two fingers, scowling at the grinning man. Rhys grew serious, answering the actual question being asked. "Because we think you're worth it."

"I'm not," was the immediate answer.

Rhys gripped Owen's chin, lifting it until he could look into troubled brown eyes. "Why don't you let *us* decide that? *We* think you're worth it, and we're planning on keeping you." His voice was as firm as the passionate kiss he placed on the thin lips. "Now," he answered, silently crowing about the dazed look in the physician's eyes. "We've got just enough time to get back to the flat and rescue the roast before Gwen, gods love her, tries to *help* with dinner. So, unless you want take away, we should get moving."

Owen followed Rhys out of the doorway and back down the street to where one of the Torchwood unmarked cars waited. He blinked. "They let you take it? Does Ianto know?"

"Who do you think gave me the keys?" he shot back, opening the doors and ushering Owen inside. He waited until the other man was securely buckled in before starting the vehicle and pulling out into the light Friday night traffic.

"How did you find me, anyway?" Owen finally asked.

"Ianto."

"Excuse me?"

Rhys shrugged. "Apparently, Gwen was trying to see if Tosh and Seanny could track you on CCTV after she realized you'd pulled a runner. Ianto walked up, handed her a piece of paper with an address on it, told her to send me to fetch you home."

Owen was stunned. He was far off from his normal haunts and had made sure to avoid the CCTV as much as he could for exactly that reason, he *knew* Tosh would be able to find him. Granted he'd gone to that bar three nights in a row, but... "How did he...?"

Rhys glanced over at him, eyebrows raised in understanding. "How does he do anything? Sometimes I wonder if he isn't actually some alien artifact out of those Archives he's always buried in," he joked. "Not like we'd know, is it?"

Owen thought about it. He'd done Ianto's medicals, he was human. But it would explain a lot. He shook his head, amused by the line of his thoughts. "Nah."

Chapter Twenty

John moaned as Ianto's fingers dug into the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders. The shower and painkillers had helped, but the headache he'd had since meeting with Minister of Defense Saxon still lingered behind his eyes. The man had been exactly as Michael had warned, a bit too slick for comfort, what John's father would have called a snake-oil salesman. Fortunately, other than a lingering headache, John and his team had come through unscathed and Torchwood Three was given the Minister's approval; not that they actually needed it, but it would make life a bit easier. Michael had mentioned something about Saxon being favored for the Prime Minster position since Harriet Jones's deteriorating health had left the position... open. Better they be counted among the friends than the enemies.

"You're thinking too much," Ianto chided, fingers finding a particularly stubborn knot and working it loose with gentle attention. "The meeting in London went much better than we feared it would. Michael and Andy did a fine job answering Mr. Saxon's questions, and Tosh was very much in her element showing off some of the more minor alien tech finds to him." He pressed a kiss to the back of John's neck. "And you were amazing."

John chuckled. "And you know this how? I distinctly remember you *not* being there," he teased.

"It's my job to know everything," Ianto answered deadpan.

Only several months of spending inordinate amounts of time with the younger man allowed John to catch the trace of amusement in the mild tone. "Is it now?" he teased back, arching into the knowing touch with a moan.

"Yep."

John chuckled, spreading his thighs wider, a silent invitation to his lover. Talented hands, slick with oil, worked down his legs, easing the residual pain that always seemed to plague him after a long journey in cramped quarters. John sighed. "You keep that up an' I'll fall asleep on ya," he warned.

The hands never faltered, finishing one leg and starting the same treatment back up the other.

John rumbled out his contentment in a low groan. Ianto's pleased chuckled made him smile. "I'm serious, darlin'," his accent thick as he relaxed under the knowing touch. "I'll be driftin' in dreamland before ya know it."

"I'll just have to seduce you in the morning then," Ianto countered. He leaned against John's back, pressing a soft kiss to the broad back.

John shivered at the idea. "Decisions, decisions." He pressed up into Ianto's careful touch. The maddening hands continued higher, burrowing under the towel to knead at John's buttocks and hip. He couldn't suppress a needy whimper as a slick thumb teased over the crease between his cheeks. He spread his thighs wider and pushed back into the touch.

"Patience," his demon of a lover purred.

He arched into the next deliberate graze to the same sensitive flesh. "Damn it, boy," he growled. "Either do it or stop teasing; waited long enough." Ianto's robe clad body draped over his back once more, a familiar, welcome weight. Soft lips ghosted over his jaw line, and he shifted restlessly beneath his young lover. "Please, Ianto."

Teeth nipped at his neck as Ianto's hips pressed him more firmly into the soft mattress, letting John feel his lover's own erection. He shivered at the thought of what was to come. One of Ianto's long legs carefully wedged between his, coming up to press against John's balls. He hissed and pressed back against the touch, legs falling open in a wanton sprawl.

"You're beautiful like this, (my own)," Ianto praised, his hands easing away the towel that separated them. "Relax for me?" he asked, his hands smoothing over the revealed flesh. "Let me make this special for you."

John nodded, twisting his upper body enough to claim an awkward but tender kiss. "It always is with you, Ianto," he reassured. He lay back down on his stomach, giving himself over completely to his more experienced lover. The robe went the way of the towel, and John reveled in the feel of skin against skin. Ianto stretched out, resting against John's back for a moment, pressing soft kisses to John's shoulders and neck.

John relaxed further, enjoying the comforting touch. He was nervous; he could admit that. This was new territory, something that was never even hinted at where he'd come from. At least not that he'd been aware of. But in the past few glorious months, he'd learned so much, so many wonderfully intense and passionate things, and he trusted his lover to show him this as well. He'd allowed the unfamiliar touches, uncomfortable and mildly embarrassing, but worth it for the tenderness that accompanied them. He'd been stretched, filled with cool plastic that made him shift and squirm as his body adjusted to the sensations. Ianto had never pushed, but John had asked after the first time Ianto had given him the gift of *his* body.

He'd never felt anything like the tight, overwhelming heat when Ianto had slid down onto him that first time. He'd lost himself in the intimate connection, the feeling of being held safe within his lover's body. He'd felt every shiver, every minute reaction as Ianto had opened himself to John's possession, and it had been unbelievably erotic. It had sent John over the edge faster than anything he'd ever experienced before, and now he was going to give that gift to his amazing lover.

"You're thinking too much," Ianto's passion husky voice purred in his ear.

He glanced over his shoulder, shooting Ianto his coyest look. "Maybe ya better do somethin' about that, darlin'," he teased, his own voice rough with need.

"Reckon I'd better."

He twisted under his lover, pinning the smirking young man with a scowl. "Now you're just makin' fun," he chided.

Ianto leaned in close, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to John's cheek. "Yep."

John couldn't stop the sharp bark of laughter the unrepentant response evoked. He felt the last of his reluctance and resistance melt away, as he was sure Ianto had intended. He shook his head. "Brat."

"Yep." He urged John back to down onto the mattress and resumed the slow, seductive touches. His hands slid down John's back, lower and lower, until he was once more teasing at the crease between the firm globes of John's ass.

John sighed, shifting backwards, opening himself for his lover. A long finger, still slicked with massage oil, eased past the relaxed ring of muscle, sliding inexorably forward until Ianto's knuckles pressed against the delicate tissue of John's perineum. This was familiar. The press and twist of fingers loosening reluctant muscle. The advance and retreat dance that Ianto used to keep John teetering on the edge. The maddening fingers grazing over the bundle of nerves that always made John moan and writhe. John gave himself over to Ianto's touch, relaxing into the careful ministrations as his body relaxed and opened for what was to come. He willingly lost track of everything beyond what Ianto was doing to his body. He shivered under the attention, letting the appreciative sounds fall as they would.

Ianto urged him to his knees and he went willingly. A soft kiss pressed to his back, just above the swell of his ass, was his reward, and he sighed at the tenderness of the gesture. The long fingers withdrew only to return, slickened with a heavier lubricant. John sighed, pressing back into the penetration, moaning as two fingers twisted deep, stretching him and spreading the slick within him. Ianto moved slowly, taking his time at driving John slowly out of his mind. Two fingers became three and John was soon thrusting back into the tormenting fingers, cursing as Ianto grazed his prostate at irregular intervals, keeping him off balance.

Then the fingers were gone, completely leaving John's body. He moaned at the loss, arching back and seeking Ianto's touch to fill the aching emptiness. The empty feeling was short lived. The silk-hard heat of Ianto's cock pressed against the loosened opening, teasing the fluttering orifice until John growled in frustration. Strong fingers closed around John's hips, thwarting his backward thrust.

"Told you. Not gonna hurt you, (love)," Ianto scolded, one hand smoothing over John's hip. "Relax."

John reluctantly stilled, whimpering as Ianto pressed close once more. He needed this, needed to gift his patient lover with the overwhelming sensations he himself had enjoyed more than once in Ianto's receptive embrace. "Please, Ianto."

Ianto's cock pressed close once more. John relaxed, willing his body to accept the beloved intruder, so much hotter and softer than the damned plugs Ianto had insisted on before. He exhaled, pushing out as Ianto had taught him, trying to keep his body loose and welcoming. The head of Ianto's cock rested against his slicked opening, and John resisted the urge just to shove back and get it over with, to force Ianto deep. The blunt head eased forward, parting John carefully, easing deeper and deeper until the slick head completely breached the guardian muscle.

It was as unlike the plugs as night was from day.

Ianto's cock was warm and yielding, pressing into John with careful ease. John could feel the flutter of Ianto's rapid heartbeat providing an unsettling counterpoint to his own stuttered pulse. The intimacy of that alone made John shiver and moan, wanting... more.

"Easy, (beloved)," Ianto soothed, his hands unsteady as they smoothed over John's back. "Breathe."

John panted.

Ianto's forehead pressed against John's back. "You feel so damned amazing, John. Hot and tight and GOD it's taking everything I have not to bugger you so hard and fast that you're raw tomorrow."

John shivered again, the images Ianto's words painted leaving him panting and wanting more. But it wasn't just the words. The feeling was indescribable. Being filled. Being stretched and vulnerable as his lover slid ever deeper. He'd never imagined...

Then Ianto began to thrust. Slow, easy movements of his hips that left John gasping and begging for more and harder and faster and please, oh God, Ianto, please.

Ianto, damn him, kept the pace as slow as before. Only the minute trembling John could feel as Ianto pressed close, filling John completely, let the displaced pilot know he wasn't the only one affected by their coupling. He whimpered as Ianto flexed, shifting the angle of his thrusts. He cried out as his lover's magnificent cock brushed over the tormenting bundle of nerves, earning a full body shiver that caused those long fingers to tighten on John's hips hard enough to leave bruises. "There. God, Ianto. There," he pleaded, thrusting back against his lover's hold, demanding more. Ianto rewarded him by thrusting slow and deep, nailing the sensitive prostate on each thrust until John was writhing mindlessly with need.

"Damn it, boy!" he growled, thrusting back hard, his ass colliding with Ianto's pelvis. "Won't break. Do it. Damn you, show me that you mean it!"

Ianto shook, growling back as his carefully manicured nails dug into John's flank, an erotic spark of pain that heightened the pleasure coursing through him. He began to thrust harder. Withdrawing until the head of his cock was stretching the tight muscle of John's opening from within then shoving back in hard and deep, rocking them both with the power of his thrust.

And John met him, thrust for thrust. The unmistakable sound of flesh colliding with flesh filled the quiet of the bedroom, an erotic fight where both won and neither came out unmarked. The powerful jolts shook the bed, the headboard a thumping counterpoint to their pleas and moans as they both strove for completion. Ianto's arm slid around John's sweat slicked body, wrapping around the other man's chest and shifting him backward. John went willingly, rising up to his knees and keening as the position forced Ianto deeper while allowing his beloved tormentor easier access to his rock hard cock.

Long fingers curled around his shaft and John thrust upward into the tight grip.

"That's it, (love)," Ianto encouraged. "Let go. Let me catch you."

John felt the tension build. He leaned his head back on Ianto's shoulder, giving himself completely over to his lover's care. He writhed and shook and thrust and whimpered as each sensation blasted through his hyperaware body. He hooked his arm around Ianto's neck, drawing the younger man close and claiming a sloppy, heated kiss.

Ianto's thrusts came faster and faster, losing their rhythm, his vaunted control slipping as he pushed toward his own release. His hand tightened on John's leaking shaft, roughly stroking the flesh. "Come for me, (beloved)," he urged, his voice deep and breathless. "Please, love. Please."

He was so *damned* close. His body shook, his muscles burning with exertion, his hair damp with sweat. He ground down onto Ianto's shaft, uncertain what he needed to send him over as he was buffeted with each overwhelming sensation. He felt Ianto's shaft swell, stretching him a fraction wider as Ianto buried his face in the crook of John's neck and bit at the tense muscle. Then he felt it, a flutter of sensation, a twitch of uncontrolled movement. The realization of *what* he was feeling slammed into him. Ianto's seed, spitting out of his lover's cock to bathe the insides of his body, marking John in a way no-one ever had.

John's own cock erupted, his body tightening around Ianto's still twitching shaft, as John screamed out his release and went lax in his lover's arms.

"(Love, please. Wake up for me, sweetheart.)"

The soft Welsh slowly filtered into his awareness and John sighed. "Gotta have Toshiko teach me more Welsh," he mumbled. Warm lips closed over his in a frantic, desperate kiss. He reached up, limbs uncoordinated but determined to hold and reassure his upset lover.

"Never do that again," Ianto breathed against his lips.

"All right," he promised sincerely. "What did I do?" he asked in a confused but relaxed whisper.

Ianto scowled at him. "Scared me," he answered. "You screamed and then collapsed. I thought you were just being good for my ego again," he teased gently. "But then you wouldn't come round. I thought I'd hurt you."

John took a slow stock of his body, the pleasant ache in his ass, the languid heaviness in his limbs. "Nope. Not hurt," he reassured gently, drawing Ianto back down for another slow kiss, sighing happily as the younger man settled against his body. "Didn't realize it'd feel so damned good though," he confided sleepily. "May hav'ta convince ya to do it again." He shifted, wincing as his abused backside protested. "After a bit," he conceded with a sheepish grin.

Ianto looked at his lover, studying the sleepy features. "Didn't realize... John?"

John felt his face heat under the intense scrutiny. He shrugged, tugging Ianto closer and trying to distract the younger man with slow, languid kisses. Ianto shifted to where he could look into John's eyes and the older man knew he was sunk. He sighed. "Thought it was more for the one... giving than for the one receivin'," he admitted quietly. "Didn't see how it could feel... good. Not that it would be... bad," he reassured quickly, seeing Ianto's troubled expression, "just not real... comfortable." He drew Ianto closer and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the swollen lips. "But I was wrong. Don't know that I can describe how it felt, Darlin'. But I sure as *hell* wanna do it again."

Ianto shook his head, his face a picture of bemused confusion. "Then why did you agree to it? You know I'd never pressure you." He stopped, his eyes widening in horror. "You didn't think..."

John stilled the erroneous assumption with a well timed kiss, continuing the tender assault until Ianto relaxed back into his arms. "Nope," he reassured. "Know better than to think that. Just wanted to give back some of the pleasure you've given me." He rested his cheek against Ianto's sweat-damp curls, inhaling the musky scent of their lovemaking. "(I love you, Ianto Jones)," he said solemnly. "Always." He yawned, the relaxation of his orgasm tugging him once more towards sleep.

Ianto's arms tightened around him in a gentle hug. "(I love you, too, my heart.)"

John smiled at the familiar words, words he'd never tire of hearing. He felt Ianto's lips brush his collarbone.

"Sleep, John. I'll be here," his lover reassured, his own voice catching on a wide yawn.

And John did just that.

Chapter Twenty-One

John hung up the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose as a "Saxon Headache" pounded behind his eyes. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't figure out exactly what it was. He pushed off from his chair, stumbling a bit and taking a moment to reach for his wooden cane. The Rift had been unusually active in the recent weeks, and both teams were exhausted. But after the just ended phone call, John knew they weren't finished yet. He moved out of the office, intending to call his team into the conference room, when voices below stopped him.

"I'm just saying the Party... hell, the *country* could do a lot worse than Harold Saxon."

John looked down at the scene, surprised by the adamant tone of Michael's voice. He stood on the stairs, quietly listening to the conversation, interested in the other man's change of heart.

"Come on, Tosh," Michael urged, looking between Owen and Toshiko. "You met him."

Toshiko didn't even bother looking up from what she was working on. "Yes, I did. Which is why I don't agree with you. He just seemed," she paused, her brow furrowing as she sought the correct words. "Juvenile. I just don't know that I'd be comfortable knowing he was the one with his hand on the button," she answered apologetically, finally looking at Michael.

"But, Tosh," Michael continued earnestly, "look at his record. He was instrumental in helping stop the December invasion in London. He's been active and concerned for the 'Common Man' since he took this new position. And... and he's a good man." He looked to Owen but the physician held up one long, thin hand.

"I only concern myself with Party," he answered. "Figure it's up to that lot to decide from there. Besides, last politician I actively *chose* to support, decided to hide some debilitating illness long enough that she had to step down." He shrugged. "So don't try converting me to the 'Our Man Saxon' camp. Besides, he's got enough support that he don't need mine too."

John could tell Michael wanted to argue, so he stepped in, a new course of action in mind. "Toshiko. Eirlys. Could I see you ladies in my office please?" Both women looked up, surprised by the summons but quick to obey. John was seated behind the desk when the two women came cautiously into the office.

Eirlys was the first to breach the silence, her voice surprisingly timid. "You wished to see us, Sir?"

"I did," he acknowledged, smiling reassuringly at them and motioning them into the chairs across from him. He looked at the two young women, wondering if he was overreacting. Deciding to trust his instincts he looked at Toshiko. "Toshiko, have there been any unusual reports coming from Tibet?"

She thought a moment, mentally going over the latest world reports. "No. I don't think so."

John sighed. He had hoped he was wrong. "No Rift activity, no unusual creature sightings?" he pressed, hoping for some out. "Nothing that would warrant Torchwood involvement?"

She studied John's intent face. "No. Nothing. Why, John? What's going on?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how much of his concerns he should voice. "I need the two of you to do some research for me. I'm seeing some things that don't... sit well, but I'm hoping it's just me." He looked at Eirlys. "I need you to see what you can find on Harold Saxon."

"It's pretty much all on his website, sir," she said hesitantly.

He smiled, nodding. "I know that side of it. But I want what isn't on his website, darlin'. I want to see what his opponents have to say, what his detractors say. I want you to find what he doesn't say on his website." He rubbed at his temples, the headache flaring to life once more behind his eyes. "I'm not asking for skeletons, just opposing views." He looked into the young woman's eyes. "And I'll completely understand if you say no."

The young archivist thought about the request seriously. Her lips pursed a moment. "Wouldn't Mr. Jones be better suited to this, Sir?"

"Normally I'd say yes," John answered gently. "Though only because of his higher clearance and his job description. But," he hesitated. "I think this is better handled by the two of you as you seem the least... biased of those here. Will you do it?"

She smiled brightly. "Of course, Sir. And I'll make sure to keep this quiet until you say otherwise," she added with a grin.

"Good girl." He turned to Toshiko. "And I'd like you to see if you can find *any* reason why our illustrious Minister of Defense would feel the need to send our entire team to Tibet to chase 'something odd' in the Himalayas."

Toshiko blinked, her eyes widening. "The entire *team*?"

He nodded tiredly. "The entire team. He's to have the file to me by tomorrow afternoon by special courier. While he didn't make it an *order*, it was strongly suggested that the entire team, in his opinion, would be best served investigating the situation and letting his people guard the Rift."

"Like hell," Toshiko snapped, then blushed. "Sorry."

John laughed, coming around the desk to stand in front of the two women. "Understandable and," he blushed, "pretty much my own reaction to the idea, darlin'. I'm hoping that I'm wrong and that he simply turns out to be a damned skilled politician." He leaned against the solidity of desk, weary for more reasons than just the busy Rift. "But somethin' in my gut is tellin' me that he's not what he seems."

John stood at the head of the conference table, looking at the stunned and disbelieving expressions on the faces of his teams. Toshiko and Eirlys sat to either side of him, their frightening findings spread across the table where their teammates could examine them closely.

Owen was the first to speak, laying down the thick packet of computer printouts and schematics and turning to face John. "Okay, so the guy's a complete tosser whose whole life is fiction. Wouldn't be the first politician to win on looks and lies. What's that got to do with us? If it's as easy to find as Eirlys says, the public'll find out, there'll be a couple of weeks of scandal and lies, then he'll be out on his arse. What's to worry?"

"That's just it. It should have been found out already," Eirlys said confidently. "I didn't even have to dig that deeply. I contacted the University, then the unit he supposedly served in before he was made Minister of Defense, and there was no record of Harold Saxon at *all*. He didn't even *exist* before that, no matter *what* his PR site says." She looked at Ianto. "A first level hacker or one of the small time conspiracy sites should have been all over this within seconds. Instead, it's like everyone is studiously ignoring it."

"But why would he do this?" Michael asked. "I don't understand why he'd go to such lengths. Are you certain that this *proof* isn't the fiction, made up to smear a good man?" His fingers tapped nervously on the tabletop until his wife's hand covered them, stilling their rhythmic movement.

"All right," Lucy said calmly, her eyes still on her own copy of Tosh's and Eirlys's paperwork. "Let's say that the information before us is correct. Why does this matter to us?"

"Because Mr. Saxon, as Minister of Defense, has ordered all personnel from Torchwood Three on what appears to be a wild goose chase into a remote section of the world," John answered. "And I want to know why."

"Everyone, Sir?" Ianto asked skeptically.

John nodded. "Everyone."

"But that makes no sense. The Rift has been too active to risk leaving it unmonitored, and we've enough personnel now to split the team and remain effective. Why would he send all of us away?" Ianto's voice trailed off as the young Welshman shifted quickly through the papers. He looked up at Eirlys and Tosh. "What information do we have on the sighting that he wishes us to investigate? Have we determined what the threat is and how severe it is? Perhaps..."

"There isn't anything there, Ianto," Tosh countered apologetically. "The region in the Himalayas he wants to send us to is completely devoid of *any* activity and has been for generations. It would, however, leave us completely cut off from any contact with the Hub and the Rift monitors should anything happen." She met the young man's eyes, seeing the conflict in them. "Why would he do that if it wasn't just to get us out of the way for some reason?" She watched as Ianto digested the information, noticing that his fingers also began to tap against the table as Michael's had, only she *knew* Ianto wasn't given to such nervous movements.

"But why? It doesn't make sense." The tapping took on a repetitive rhythm that set Tosh's teeth on edge.

"Dusty's right," Seanny concurred. "Why would he send us anywhere we weren't needed? Maybe there's something he's privy to that we don't know about. Have we asked him about it?"

Tosh's eyes narrowed at the uncharacteristically aggressive tone. "He sent his report, but it's completely fabricated," she challenged back, her eyes locking with those of her lover. "There's nothing even remotely like the readings he's claiming. I've checked our sensors, UNIT's sensors, and even some independent researchers' scans of the area. There's nothing *there*. The *only* sensors that are apparently getting these anomalous readings are the ones *he's* provided coming from information being sent and received through the Archangel networks."

"Then maybe the Archangel transmissions are the only ones sophisticated enough to pick it up."

Tosh watched, stunned, as Seanny's long fingers restlessly shifted against the papers, unconsciously matching the rhythm Ianto had been tapping only seconds before. She narrowed her eyes. "Seannan. What are you hearing?" she asked softly.

The red-head looked at her in confusion. "A bunch of speculation and slander aimed at a good man by a group that apparently doesn't want to do its job." The tapping became more pronounced, her fingers moving mindlessly in the same, four-beat rhythm.

Tosh rose, moving to stand by her partner. She looked down at Seanny's hand pointedly. The fingers faltered for a moment before resuming the pattern. "What are you hearing?" she repeated gently, her own fingers capturing Seanny's, stilling them.

Green eyes widened, becoming wild as Seanny searched Tosh's face. "I... I don't know." She swallowed hard and stared down at their entwined fingers. "I don't know."

Tosh wrapped her arms around the shaking Seanny, watching as the others around the table blanched as they realized they too had taken up the same cadence. "What has he done, John?" she asked their leader, her own eyes dark with worry.

"I don't know, darlin'," he answered huskily. "But I damn sure intend to find out."

Chapter Twenty-Two

The uneasy discovery of the subtle 'control' being exerted over them seemed to break the others free from the "Our Man Saxon" Syndrome, as Owen had dubbed it. Once free, the entire team made it top priority to figure out just what game the Minister of Defense was playing. With help from Lieutenant John Benton of UNIT, the two primary teams, minus Andy and Eirlys, were seen leaving the Hub for a UNIT transport bound for Tibet. What wasn't seen was those same teams exiting the UNIT compound as a matching number of trustworthy UNIT personnel headed to Tibet to check out Minister Saxon's reports, just in case Torchwood Three was wrong.

Under the careful cover of darkness, twenty-four hours after the UNIT personnel transport took off, the Torchwood teams returned to the Hub. Eirlys and Andy, along with the unassuming Rhys, became the team's eyes and ears outside the Hub. It had taken some very fast talking on John's part to get Saxon to agree that *someone* should stay and monitor the Rift and that it seemed unwise to take an untrained filing clerk on a field mission. John had brought Eirlys flowers and expensive chocolate as apology for the comment, reassuring the young woman he *knew* she was more than just a clerk.

Rhys played the part of worried fiancé and 'familiar fixture'. Bringing "treats" for Andy and Eirlys, and the rest of the Hub bound team, so they'd not attract attention ordering in too much take away for just two people or have to risk going out for supplies. He also kept the team up to date on what was happening in the days leading up to the elections and the general atmosphere of the voting public.

Saxon support was growing.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Rhys hugged Erylis. "(They're being especially attentive today,)" he whispered in her ear. "(I think something's in the works. Keep an eye out if you or Andy go anywhere.)"

She smiled at him, concealing the uncertainty that settled in her bones at the warning. "(I'll keep that in mind. Remember to tell the others,)" she answered brightly, as if returning a casual greeting.

His arms tightened around her, giving her a chance to steady herself before pulling away. "Andy down below?" He gestured to the bag he carried. "Have a treat for the flying dog," he teased with a wink.

"She is *not* a flying dog, and you know it," Eirlys responded.

"She's been pouting since they left and keeps trying to steal the jacket Ianto left," he countered with a grin. "*Just* like a spoiled pup." He dug in the bag and lifted out a large bar of dark chocolate. "Is this the right kind?" He made a point of showing it to her, winking as he caught sight of one of his 'watchers' in the small mirror they'd installed behind the Tourist Center desk. He needed to make sure the team had enough time to catalog this one before he headed down into the main part of the Hub. This one was new and he was better than the others, but not perfect. Once they had a CCTV lock on him, they'd be able to see where *he* went as well. Rhys made a mental note to never, no matter how desperate, duck into an alley to take a piss ever again. There were just too damned many cameras for comfort, and now he *knew* about them... and the people who watched them. And he didn't care how much Owen like the 'thrill of danger' he would *never* shag him in the carpark of their building again, period.

They chatted quietly about inconsequential things until a small red light on Eirlys's computer flashed, letting them know Tosh was done with her lock. They wrapped up the conversation and Eirlys hit the button to allow Rhys into the main part of the Hub, as she'd done every day since this deception had begun. She watched the door roll closed and went back to her book until they signaled her that lunch was ready.

Rhys hugged his girl tight, inhaling her scent and feeling the tension slowly leech from his body. He'd be glad when this whole thing was over and his lovers were back where they belonged. The apartment was too quiet without them.

"I think Tosh is getting close to breaking the control. She's managed to trace it to the Archangel network. Specifically, the cell phone service," Gwen told him as she led him to the conference room where the team normally gathered for lunch. "Never thought I'd be glad you two are so stubborn about change," she teased, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

He rolled his eyes and continued to set out the meal he'd brought. "Go gather the others so we can eat," he said with an indulgent smile. "We'll talk after that." He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead then finished setting out the food. He hurried to the small kitchenette and gathered up plates and silverware. He rummaged in the small refrigerator and smiled as he found the large bowl of soup from dinner the night before and some leftover take away curry. He reheated both in the microwave and added it to the sandwiches and odds and ends he'd brought.

He stood back as the teams filled their plates, discussing their various research and what they'd found so far. He only understood about a third of what was being said, but then, all he had to do was make sure they had enough fuel to keep moving. They'd do the rest. He watched as Seanny dragged Tosh away from her computer and made her come eat while Andy filled a plate with Eirlys's favorites and excused himself to take them to her in the tourist office. The others looked tired, the forced confinement telling on them. even though they'd converted enough rooms for them to sleep comfortably in shifts, he knew it was nothing like sleeping in your own bed. Add to that the stress of what was going on outside the Hub, it was a wonder they'd not all gone round the bend.

Speaking of 'round the bend'. He realized he'd not seen Owen. He glanced over at Gwen, asking the silent question and following her frustrated gaze to where Owen sat pouring over some file on his computer. Rhys shook his head and put together a plate for the stubborn and too thin idiot. He startled as Ianto handed him a large bottle of water.

"Don't think he's left that position since this morning when Tosh isolated part of the signal the satellite is using. He's been trying to figure out why some are affected and others aren't," the young Welshman explained.

Rhys nodded his understanding and made a mental note to make sure Owen took at least a *short* break before he left. He also added cinnamon and more flour to his shopping list. He kept his eye on his stubborn lover, noting the tension in the hunched shoulders as Owen poured over whatever was on the screen. He stood behind the other man silently, waiting for an opportune moment to interrupt.

"Just set it down, I'll get to it," Owen snapped without looking up from his work.

Rhys set the plate and water bottle down beside Owen's elbow and leaned over the smaller man's shoulder. He quickly scanned what was on the screen, watching as Owen's eyes flickered over the information quickly, probably simply skimming the material to get through it quickly. Rhys wrapped his strong fingers in the back of Owen's hair and tugged, earning him a disgruntled yelp from the other man. He waited until scowling brown eyes met his. "You need to eat, Owen. You'll do no one any good if you fall over from hunger." He nudged the plate closer to Owen then pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the thin, wide mouth. "Eat," he breathed against the saliva damp smile.

"Yes, mum," Owen answered back, dutifully picking up the sandwich and unconsciously moaning in pleasure at the flavor that exploded across his tongue. He savored it.

Rhys smiled before leaning down and pressing a proprietary kiss to the broad forehead. It wasn't until he'd left Owen to his half working, half eating lunch that he realized what he'd done. While he and Gwen were fine with the others knowing they were together, Owen still asked to keep it between the three of them. Rhys thought about it a moment, then decided if Owen didn't like it, he could take it up with them later. Preferably when they were all back home, safe and sound... and naked.

With that lovely little image to keep him centered, Rhys went back to the conference room to see if anyone needed any more food.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Owen scowled at the screen. "He's in then."

Gwen shook her head. "Only if the party votes him in," she countered hopefully.

Owen looked up at her in disbelief. "Have you not been paying attention?"

She scowled back at him.

"All right, folks," John intoned, heading off a potential argument between the two. "There's little more we can do tonight. Alpha team, you have the first sleep shift." He looked over at Michael. "Come get us in five hours unless something new happens. We'll take over then."

The former UNIT soldier nodded his understanding. "We'll keep an eye on the news as well, just in case." He turned and looked at Seanny. "Go to bed with your girl," he ordered gently. "She's earned it." He laughed at the bright flush that colored the Asian specialist's face, then ducked the cuffing hand of his own wife. "Seriously. Go on, we'll come get you if we need you."

The tired members filtered out, heading to the various sleep rooms. Lucy wrapped her arms around her husband, watching as the others filed out. "We're gonna be okay, right?" she whispered in his ear.

Michael turned in her arms, tugging her close and kissing her tenderly. "We're gonna be better than okay, sweetheart. Promise." They held each other for a long time, watching as the final election results flickered by on the computer screens.

They were eyeballs deep in footage of Saxon's speeches, and Owen had a killer migraine. Tosh had been dissecting the speeches damn near line by line and it was driving him bats! The man was the worst type of slime, all smiles and insincerity, and he set Owen's teeth on edge. He did his best to tune out the inane chatter and shouted out questions in favor of his Mp3 player.

"Do you think he means *the* Doctor?" Tosh asked as she studied the frozen image.

Owen blinked. The idiot had been waxing on and on about how the country needed a *doctor*. He turned and looked at Tosh. "Might explain a lot. But why would he be looking for him? Not like we need him right now."

"The Doctor?" John asked, confused.

"Time traveler, alien and bogieman number one of Torchwood," Owen answered as he spun in his chair and called up the files for their leader. "Whole reason this place was even formed, to protect the kingdom from the threat of the Doctor of TARDIS."

"Which is *BOLLOCKS*!" Bajee called from the kitchenette. "The Doctor's done more good for humanity than Torchwood *ever* has." He made his way down the stairs and stood behind Tosh, looking at the frozen image over her shoulder. "Worked with the Doctor once, right after I joined UNIT. Older guy with white hair and a penchant for velvet," he said with a smirk. "But he wasn't a threat to anyone except those that threatened Earth."

"Tell it to the Queen," Owen countered. "All I know is that where the Doctor is, disaster follows."

"Ever think that maybe he simply showed up to keep the disaster from getting worse?" Bajee said with a smirk. "Something that looks like cause and effect, Harper, may turn out to simply be coincidence."

John shook his head and let the two men continue their good natured argument and turned to Toshiko. "Can we match Saxon to this Doctor?" he asked.

Tosh turned and looked up at him. "I think so. Put both Ianto and Eirlys on it, and if there's a connection, they'll find it."

John nodded and did just that.

"Oh my god," Gwen whispered as they watched the newest newscast by Prime Minister Harold Saxon. "He's actually saying he's been in touch with aliens?"

"What do we know about these Toclafane that he's talking about?" John asked, looking among the members of his teams. They were silent. "I want full searches. Our databases, UNIT, *anything* that might have even a hint of these creatures. I want to know everything we can on these creatures before that newscast tomorrow morning."

Owen shook his head as Ianto, Eirlys, Seanny and Tosh scurried off to dig through data. He turned back to his own studies on the damned Archangel network and whatever the *hell* Saxon'd done to the population of Great Britain. He was starting to see some neurological similarities between the members of UNIT and Torchwood Three who'd been able to resist the conditioning when his cell phone rang.

"What?" he snapped, not even bothering to check the caller ID.

"Turn on the news."

He blinked at Rhys's tone. "What the *hell* are you doing calling?" he hissed. "You know they're watching you. If we're going to keep you safe they have to believe you don't know what's going on."

"Turn on the damned news, Owen!" Rhys snapped. "Now."

"All right, all right!" He stalked over to Tosh's station and tapped her on the shoulder. "Call up the news. Any particular one, Rhys?" he asked treacle-sweet. He shook his head at Tosh's questioning look. She called up one of the 24-hour feeds in time to catch the end of what Rhys was referring to. Owen sat down heavily on the floor beside her. "Bloody hell."

"And to repeat: Prime Minister Saxon has declared an unprecedented nationwide manhunt for three suspected terrorists. Led by a man known only as The Doctor, the three are to be considered armed and extremely dangerous," the carefully serious, model-beautiful news anchor intoned as grainy pictures of Jack, a man with disheveled hair and a rumpled suit and a young Afro-European woman flashed beside her. "If you see these fugitives, you are asked to contact authorities immediately."

"If he's back, why the *HELL* didn't he try and contact us?" Owen snapped, stalking around the table until Rhys's arms grabbed him and pulled him down into a chair between himself and Gwen.

"He did," Tosh's distressed voice sounded from the doorway. "Only the communication system shunted it away from the boards so we never got it." She fought back tears of upset and frustration. "I should have *seen* it. It's a complex bypass but I should have *seen* it!"

John rose and wrapped an arm around the small woman, drawing her into the conference room. "It's all right, Toshiko," he reassured. "Can you disable the bypass without it being discovered so if they try and contact us again it comes through?"

She nodded, wiping at her eyes angrily.

"Then do it. Then I want you to go join Seannan in room three and get some sleep," he ordered gently. She looked like she was about to protest, but one look in John's own haunted eyes stopped her. She nodded meekly, hugging their leader before heading back to her work station. "That goes for the rest of you as well. I want us all rested and alert for Saxon's 8am conference and revelation of the Toclafane."

"John!"

He turned at Michael's call.

"We just received word that the American president-elect called a special session of the UN Alien Taskforce Team. He pitched a fit that Saxon's bypassed the established protocol for first contacts, and the UN backed him. He's coming in by UNIT transport this evening and will be taking over the first contact." Michael handed over several pages of printouts. "Benton wasn't sure who was going to be accompanying the President, but he said he'd keep us in the loop. He can't get us on board the Valiant, but he said he'd make sure at least some of the support troops were ones that were resistant to the subliminal signal."

"Good." John looked at the gathered team. "Okay, people. We need to be prepared for anything tomorrow. I want y'all to get some rest as it's going to be an early morning. The monitors will alert us if anything else happens tonight."

He watched as the teams trailed out. Michael drew Lucy from the autopsy bay where she'd been checking the lay-in of supplies. Owen was carefully maneuvered away from the table, held between Gwen and Rhys. Toshiko reluctantly logged off her primary system and headed towards the room where Seannan was already asleep. Andy, Bajee and Eirlys sat in the small informal sitting area, comparing notes and making plans for what they'd do should the monitors go off before the intended time. John had not asked them to keep watch, but he could tell they planned to.

A gentle hand to his shoulder pulled him from his musings. "John?"

He relaxed into the familiar touch. "He's alive," he said softly. "He's alive and here, somewhere."

Ianto pressed against John's back, his arms curling around the older man's waist. "He is." His voice was carefully neutral.

John turned, wrapping his own arms around the young man, holding him. "I'll understand if..." Ianto's lips sealed against his own, stilling his words. He relaxed into the kiss, savoring the feel of his lover in his arms.

"One thing at a time, (love)," he said gently, his arms tightening around John. "I'm not giving you up. I'm not abandoning what we have."

"I know ya love him, Ianto. I won't hold ya if ya want to go."

Ianto chuckled, resting his forehead against John's. "And I know you have feelings for him as well. But I'm a bit more selfish," he said with a smile. "I'm not about to give you up without a fight. But knowing Jack," he added, "it may not be an issue." He sobered. "Provided he actually stays and doesn't leave again with his Doctor." He kissed John, hard and passionate. "No matter what happens, don't *ever* think you're second choice, (my own). Never," he growled.

John closed his eyes, feeling a knot of tension unfurl that he hadn't even known was there until it was gone. "You either, darlin'," he assured. "We'll take this one thing at a time. Deal?"

"Deal." Ianto brushed his hand over John's cheek. "Now, I believe someone ordered us to sleep. Your old room is empty and the sheets are clean. Shall we?"

John nodded, exhaustion tugging at him. "Not gonna be up for anything, I'm afraid," he said apologetically.

"Just want to hold you," Ianto reassured. "That's all."

John smiled, shifting back and taking his lover's hand in his own. He admonished the three remaining Torchwood members to get some sleep themselves, then willingly followed his Welshman down to the familiar room. They stripped slowly, exchanging tender kisses before falling into bed and holding each other as sleep claimed them. Tomorrow would sort itself out soon enough. Until then, they enjoyed the comfort of each other's arms.

"What the *hell* just happened?" Owen asked as the screen blanked out completely. He shivered. "Besides someone walking over my grave."

"Michael, report," John snapped, his hand settling on Toshiko's shoulder as she struggled to tap back into the Valiant's video systems.

"Already on it, Sir," he called back. "Benton? What the hell just happened? We watched six little metal balls kill the president-elect of the US and then everything blanked. What's going on?" He listened, nodding and jotting down notes quickly. "Right," he finally said. "I'm sure Captain Harker wouldn't object to that. I'll run it past him and get back to you. Keep us up to date, though. Right. Be careful, my friend."

He turned to face the others. "Apparently, they've seen about as much as we have. The feed just went dead," he told them. "He says they're just now starting to get reports from the Valiant and most are requesting medical assistance. And he thinks he heard them say that Harold Saxon is dead along with the president elect." He looked to John. "He asked if Torchwood could assist with clean up and damage control. I didn't think it would be a problem."

"Of course," John answered quickly. "We'll help wherever they need."

"I've finally managed to tap into the Valiant's computer system," Tosh called. "It's a mess. The picture feed is limited, as if the cameras aren't even there anymore. But the system shows a massive energy spike shortly after the Toclafane came through and started asking for 'their master'."

"I think I may have found who Harold Saxon was," Eirlys interjected quietly. All eyes turned towards the young woman and she blushed brightly. "There's a mention in the Doctor's file about another time traveler called the Master. He was the Doctor's archenemy. There's not a lot more, other than he was the same race as the Doctor and could change his looks like the Doctor did. No pictures to compare, unfortunately, not that they'd necessarily match Saxon anyway."

"Well done," John praised. "Send your findings through to UNIT. If this Master can escape death by changing his face like the Doctor can, they'll need to be aware of it. Toshiko, coordinate with UNIT, send them the readings we have and offer them any assistance we can provide. Lucy and Owen, prep the medical bays in case they're needed. The Valiant had a full crew and we don't know what condition they're in. Michael, you're our liaison with UNIT. Find out what they need us to do. Andy, you're our contact with Cardiff police, help them coordinate with UNIT to keep the panic to a minimum. The Prime Minister is dead after only a few days in office and the public just witnessed aliens kill an international leader. It's going to be a while before this fades."

The Rift alarm chose that moment to blare to life, startling them all. Seannan scrambled to her station, pulling up the monitors and checking the readings. "Sir, the Rift is going insane. We've got energy spikes up and down the fault. Nothing's come through yet, but it's only a matter of time."

"Doesn't that just figure," Owen muttered under his breath.

"All right, people. We know our jobs," John rallied. "Let's get to 'em. Ianto, Gwen, Bajee, with me. Seannan, track the Rift activity and keep us up to date. The rest of you, follow through with UNIT. Keep in touch with the comms at all times." He turned to Rhys who was staying carefully out of the way. "Rhys, think you could manage to keep this crew fed and looked after in all this insanity?"

The man smiled. "Do my best, Sir," he answered with a grin. "Though I'll leave the coffee to Ianto. I swear that machine is smitten with him and sees working right for anyone else as being unfaithful."

Ianto smirked. "Simply job security," he answered as he headed up to the kitchenette to start coffee for the team.

Rhys turned to Owen. "You certain he's not an alien artifact?"

Chapter Twenty-Five

Owen collapsed onto the couch, one arm flung over his eyes. The last two days had been insane. Between dealing with the wounded from the Valiant, the multiple refugees and junk that had come spewing through the Rift, and helping UNIT and the government keep the peace, the two Torchwood Three teams had barely had time to *breathe*. He'd finally bribed Ianto into taking John home for a few hours sleep, the stubborn pilot having stayed at the Hub through it all. Seanny and Tosh were crashed out downstairs. Michael and Bajee were monitoring the blessedly silent computers, and Lucy was still playing doctor at the UNIT command post. He'd managed to send Andy, Eirlys and Gwen home several hours ago and he finally felt safe enough to close his eyes for just a moment.

An unusual grinding sound filtered into his dreams, quickly followed by the whine of a force field and the nerve jarring blare of an alarm. He was up and off the couch, gun hastily snatched from his desk drawer as he ran towards the unexpected sounds. "Michael! Protocol Jack 13. Authorization Harper A76. NOW!"

He skidded to the normally unassuming corner of the Hub just below Jack's office, a former blind-spot in the Hub camera security that Jack had disappeared into over a year earlier. It was no longer a blind-spot. And whatever had taken Jack was in for an unexpected surprise. They'd rigged a force field cage, triggered by the energy signature of whatever it was that had taken Jack. They hadn't really thought whatever it was would come back, but better to be safe than sorry. Owen had all but forgotten that little sensor array in the months that had passed. But it looked like playing it safe had just paid off.

The old fashioned blue Police Box, however, was not at *all* what Owen had expected.

Neither was the familiar face with messy brown hair and a rumpled, brown pinstriped suit. "Now I ask you," the Doctor began, voice unaccountably cheerful. "Is this any way to treat a visitor?"

Jack Harkness pressed his hand against the force field that separated him from the Hub, from *home*. How strange was it that it took a trip to the ends of the Universe and a year in the hands of a sadistic madman to make him realize that? In the end, home wasn't a temporal ship with its anachronistic exterior and slightly mad pilot. It was a damp underground bunker of a 'not so secret' secret agency with a pet pterodactyl and four rag-tag, unlikely teammates. A damp underground bunker that he was currently cut off from by a damned force field. The field was warm, tingling with temporal as well as spatial energies. It would even hold the TARDIS, for the short term anyway. He smiled. He knew his team was amazing; this simply reinforced that belief.

He glanced back to the still scowling Owen who'd come sliding around the corner only moments before, weapon drawn, shouting orders over his shoulder that finally silenced the alarm. It didn't, however, drop the field. He was about to comment on the fact when two gun wielding strangers moved from the perimeter and took up flanking positions to Owen. Instinctively, Jack placed himself between Martha and the strangers. Ignoring the Doctor's manic babble, Jack turned exhausted eyes on Owen.

"Care to tell me why the *hell* there are strangers in my Hub, Dr. Harper?" he asked, voice deceptively calm.

The sarcastic snort was painfully familiar. "Not *your* Hub any more, is it Harkness?" the slender physician growled back, eyes locking with Jack's. "*They* work here."

Jack flinched at the venom in the words, unconsciously pressing back into Martha's comforting touch. Her small hands rubbed careful circles on his back, grounding him as she'd done since the *reset* on the Valiant.

"Owen?" a familiar, feminine voice called out. "Was that the Jack Alarm?"

The sleepy tone, combined with the knowledge they'd set an alarm to detect *him*, startled a pleased, if short lived, laugh from him.

"Jack?" Tosh peered around the corner then squealed his name, her face breaking into a huge grin. "*JACK*!" She ran towards them, stopping just outside the force field. She turned and glared at Owen and the strangers before deliberately stepping between them and Jack. "I knew you'd come back," she said with a soft smile.

"How could I not," he teased, taking in the surprising change in the quiet technologies expert, "with legs like that to come back to?"

Tosh blinked, looking down at herself. The overlong tee shirt skimmed her subtle curves and ended just above the hem of the flannel boxers decorated with... were those penguins?

Owen watched the newcomers warily, still not happy that Tosh had lowered the force field and let them out into the Hub proper. He'd run preliminary scans on all three, much to Jack's protests that they were fine. "Standard Protocol, Jack," he'd countered with a smirk. "Per *your* orders."

He'd had Michael call the others back in once the three had been cleared. Martha Jones was a bit dehydrated but otherwise fine. The Doctor set all Owen's sensors into overload and he'd been unable to do more than confirm that he had nothing contagious that Owen could identify. Jack was, as always, the picture of health physically. But Owen wouldn't say the same for his mental health.

He rubbed at the bruise on his jaw, gained when he'd grabbed Jack's arm and pulled it tight to apply the tourniquet so he could draw blood. Jack had gone completely round the bend, fighting and swearing and putting the table between himself and the fallen Owen. Martha was the only one who could get close enough to calm him down, talking to him like a cornered wild animal until he'd shivered and blinked up at her like he was just waking up from a bad dream. He'd given them their privacy as Jack curled into the young woman's arms and the Doctor stood silent, troubled guard over them.

Now they were ensconced in the informal meeting area, Jack doing his best distraction techniques while Tosh and Martha watched him like a hawk. Owen had to admit, watching Seanny shoot down the Lothario of Torchwood Three had been worth a laugh. "Sorry, love," the redhead had responded to the famous Jack charm. "First off, your equipment's all wrong. Second, I've got all I need right here," she'd said, pulling an unsuspecting Tosh down into her lap for a brain melting kiss. Owen had made *sure* to screen capture that particular image off the CCTV, just for posterity.

The alarm sounded as the cog wheel door opened, admitting a sleepy eyed but smiling Gwen. Owen pounced on her the second she walked past his desk. "Gimmie," he growled.

She shot him a coy look. "Give you what, Owen?" she teased innocently.

"You *know* what." He ticked off the points on his fingers. "You smell like cinnamon and the *only* time you smell like cinnamon is when he's been baking. When he's been baking with cinnamon, it's biscuits. When it's biscuits, he *always* sends a batch just for me." He gestured impatiently. "So *gimmie*! I've earned 'em after being nice to Harkness even after he clocked me one."

Gwen's eyes widened as she finally noticed the bruise. She looked from Owen to Jack, who had trouble meeting her eyes, and back again. She nodded, reaching into her shoulder bag and drawing out a cellophane wrapped stack of snickerdoodles, still warm from the oven.

"*YES*!" Owen clutched the warmth greedily to his chest and made a hasty retreat back to his desk.

"I knew it," Gwen scolded with a grin. "You only want us for the biscuits."

Owen stopped, turning to look his lover up and down lasciviously. "Well, that and that wicked little thing you do with your tongue."

"*OWEN HARPER*!" Gwen squeaked as the other members of Torchwood burst into fits of giggles at the familiar banter, their laughter momentarily distracting them from the sound of the door rolling open once again.

"Do I need to find you something to do, Mister Harper?" John intoned from the doorway with a smile, pleased to be greeted by laughter after so many days of alarms.

Owen blinked, grinning boyishly as he shoved half a biscuit in his mouth. "Nope," he answered automatically to the familiar tease.

John smiled, his eyes taking in the scattered members of his teams before lighting on a figure he'd never expected to see again. The world weary eyes of a fallen angel captured his, and John wondered just how long until this particular angel disappeared once more.

Jack surreptitiously watched the exchange between Owen and Gwen from his place on the battered old couch, making a mental note to have a chat with their errant physician about overstepping established relationships. He wouldn't have Owen's devil-may-care attitude tearing apart Gwen's relationship with another affair. Rhys deserved better and so did Gwen. The sound of the cog door made him startle and only the feel of Martha's hand on his back kept him completely seated. He still shifted so he had an unobstructed view of the entrance, Martha carefully placed behind him, protected.

An unexpected American accent, lightly touched with a Southern drawl, skated over his nerve-endings, making him shiver. He looked over and locked eyes with a man he'd never dreamed of seeing again, a man who should be dead. Captain Jack Harkness looked as in charge and collected as he had the first time he'd set eyes on him at a 1940's dance. He was dressed in modern clothes, their style a bit old fashioned, but not as out of place as his own wool Greatcoat. His hair was a touch longer, curling around his face, softening his features. The 1940's Captain nodded his head in acknowledgement of the scrutiny.

Jack startled as a small hand closed over his own. "He goes by John now," Tosh whispered gently, taking a place beside him on the couch. Jack nodded curtly, wanting nothing more than to look away from those penetrating eyes. He just knew the other man could read every fear and hurt and terror lurking deep inside his head, and that scared him. Saxon... the Master... had been able to do the same thing, though Jack had been better at hiding the truth from the madman. The Master hadn't cared what was going through The Freak's head, unless it was a bullet, or a knife, or a laser scalpel or whatever he decided to try next. Jack could feel the panic attack building, the minute tremors that only Martha and Tish knew about, that only Martha had been able to still.

He grasped the hand covering his own, only belatedly realizing it was Tosh's hand, not Martha's that he was clinging to as he fought back the darkness. He wanted to run, to hide away until the terror passed. The year was over, had never *technically* happened. Only, it had. And Jack was still reliving it in his waking nightmares.

John watched as the blue eyes lost their focus, the vibrant face lost what little color it had. Then the tremors began. Tosh gasped as the hand holding hers tightened, but still she stayed, knelt beside Jame... Jack.

"Shell shock," he whispered, pained by the thought that the courageous man had been reduced to this. "Ianto, go to him. Bring him back," he urged. "But be careful." He urged his lover down the stairs, mind drawing up every little bit of anything he remembered about treating a soldier in this state. "Owen," he called as he followed Ianto down the stairs at a slower pace. "I need one of the thermal blankets, a large one. Now."

Owen hurried to obey, grabbing water as well and hurrying to Jack's side. He handed the blanket to Martha, remembering Jack's violent reaction last time. She carefully wrapped the blanket around the trembling man, her hands soothing over Jack's shoulders as she whispered softly in his ear that he was safe and it was over.

John watched as the Alpha team rallied around their former leader and smiled. He knew Jam... Jack would be the kind to inspire such confidence and loyalty. He watched as Ianto knelt in front of Jack, taking a slack hand in his own and rubbing it gently. "Talk to him, Ianto," he encouraged softly. "Remind him he's not alone. That he's safe here."

Ianto nodded, saying Jack's name, urging him back to them. John stood back with Owen and Gwen, letting the others care for the stricken man. He hated being helpless but knew there was very little he could do, no matter how much he wished there was. Slowly the tremors subsided, the blue eyes regaining a haunted but finally focused look. The large frame seemed to shrink in on itself just a bit, leaning on the young woman beside him as his hands curled around Toshiko and Ianto's like a lifeline. Jack tried to speak, but his voice caught.

Without a word, Owen handed over the room-temperature bottle of water, smiling encouragingly at the still pale man. Jack nodded his thanks, reluctantly letting go of Toshiko's hand to take the offered drink. "Sip it, Jack," the young woman urged. "Too much and you'll make yourself ill." Jack nodded and did as he was told, his eyes sliding shut as the water slid down his throat.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The realization that he'd been gone for over a year hit Jack extremely hard. He'd turned on the Doctor, eyes filled with hurt. "A year?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I got you back as close as I could, Jack," the normally energetic time lord reassured. "Powering the paradox machine took a lot out of her. And you know how temperamental she can be."

Jack nodded, a tired smile touching his lips. "Especially when an Impossible Thing is interfering with her," he muttered.

"Jack..."

He shook his head. "It's okay, Doc. I understand. Really." He looked around at his former team. "At least she got us back this close." Unfortunately, as Jack watched the teams, old and new, move so seamlessly together, he couldn't help but wonder if there was still a place for *him* here, as well.

A call from UNIT had the Doctor flitting off to London, leaving the TARDIS in the Hub so she could rest; that alone, proof the travelers had all come to feel safe in the unlikely haven provided by Torchwood Cardiff. Martha had remained behind, working with Lucy and Owen and reacquainting herself with medicine beyond field triage. Jack continued to be a large but silent ghost, flitting around the edges of the Hub and just... watching.

Some of the changes were a bit jarring, like Tosh in short skirts that showed off her legs as she walked confidently from one task to the next. Seannan was a breath of fresh air that was a bit too much like Jack for his own comfort. The Beta team members were skilled and meshed seamlessly with the others, filling niches he hadn't even realized had needed filling. They regarded him with a cautious acceptance, taking their cues from the others.

Ianto had blossomed. While he did still wear his sharp suits, he also wore more casual clothes, comfortably worn jeans that molded to his sleek figure and button down shirts causally open over tees that distracted Jack completely. He too moved with a confident stride, comfortable in more than just his new wardrobe. Jack had no illusions who had facilitated that change.

They didn't need him any more than the Doctor did.

The Rift alarm made them all jump, sending the team into a flurry of action. He sat back and watched as John took charge, pulling from each of their strengths, drawing them into the process and gaining their best in return. Jack watched as the images flickered past on the screen, a familiar face popping up. "Tosh, can you bring back that last image?" Jack asked.

She smiled, nodding as she did so.

He shook his head. "Dango. Dango. Dango," he muttered as he took in the alien face. "I told you this planet was off limits last time you came through."

"You know the alien?" John asked.

Jack nodded. "Oh yeah. Dango's a small time peddler who specializes in 'unique artifacts' from restricted contact worlds." He shook his head. "I warned him not to come back, looks like he decided it was worth the risk to try again." He smirked. "If I had a normal life span, he'd have been right."

John nodded. "All right. We follow your lead on this one then. What do you need from us?"

Jack didn't even hesitate. "Tosh, get me a lock on that ship. He'll choose someplace with cover but near a smallish town. And yes, Cardiff would be considered smallish by Dango." He winked at Tosh. "Tosh, you and Gwen are with me. Dango's got a weak spot for pretty ladies. Make sure you're armed," he said with a grin. "John, I'll want you and Owen nearby just in case he decides to get stupid. Ianto, you've got the com." He grabbed his Greatcoat and gun and strode out of the Hub expecting the others to follow.

The girls looked at John before grabbing their gear and heading out after Jack. Owen rolled his eyes at the highhanded attitude but grabbed his med-kit and followed. John looked at Ianto, eyebrow raised in question. Ianto nodded, dropping a quick kiss to John's lips before settling his comm unit in his ear and doing the first checks of the communication grid. John squeezed Ianto's shoulder then followed the others out, interested in seeing Jack in action.

Dango had been rousted relatively easily. He'd made the mistake of trying to leave with Tosh in tow, only to find out that while she was the smallest of the team, she was far from helpless. Jack had been surprised by the ease with which she'd subdued the larger alien, pleased but surprised. Dango had left quickly after that, the threat of more of the same should he *ever* return following his rapidly departing backside. The trip back to the Hub had been filled with laughter and reminiscing, the girls filling Jack in on some of the more... interesting things that had gone on while he was gone.

Jack's heart was several stones lighter when he pulled the SUV back into its spot in the underground garage. Maybe he had a place after all. "You girls go on in, I'll clean this up," he promised. He watched as they left the garage, chatting happily between themselves. He'd missed the sound of laughter. He put the gear away, still surprised to see gear for twice as many people. But, he could get use to it... if they'd have him.

Gear and SUV stowed; he headed for the Hub. Voices caught his attention: Gwen and Owen. He paused out of sight, determined to see just what exactly Owen was up to this time, the earlier exchanges between the two clear in Jack's mind.

He watched as Owen grabbed Gwen, pulling the dark haired woman into his arms and kissing her soundly. "You drive?" the physician asked with a grin. "Don't know that I'm safe to."

Gwen laughed, smacking the man's arm sharply. "You're impossible. If you'd actually sleep at night," she countered.

"Didn't hear *you* complaining about me not sleeping," he teased. "Besides. I have shift tomorrow morning while *you* get the day off with Rhys."

"Jealous?" she asked playfully, her arms wrapping around Owen's neck.

"Yeah," he answered honestly.

Gwen's expression softened, and she kissed the physician gently. "Grab your things and meet me at the car," she said, pressing one more kiss to his lips. "You've got five minutes."

Owen smiled, nodding as he reluctantly let her go. He was in the middle of putting his gear away when a familiar shadow fell over him. "What do you want, Harkness?" he asked tiredly.

"What do you think you're doing, Owen?" Jack asked, barely controlled anger coloring his voice.

"Putting things away so I can go home," he snapped back, not bothering to turn and look at Jack.

"I meant with Gwen," he clarified. "I thought we had this straightened out, Owen. You need to let her go. She's got a good life with a man who loves her. Don't screw that up for her simply because you can't keep it in your pants."

Owen's head dropped, chin coming to rest on his chest as he reigned back in his anger. "Think you've got it all figured out, don't you?" he said quietly. "Hypersexual Owen Harper out for a quick shag and damn the consequences."

Jack moved closer. "Pretty much," he answered evenly. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Owen turned and met Jack's eyes. "For either of us, I'm betting," he snapped back.

Jack acknowledged the barb. "No, not the first time for either of us. Still doesn't make it right or smart, and you know it as well as I do."

"You know, Jack, you've been gone for a *year*," Owen said quietly. "Lot of things can change in a year."

"She's still with Rhys," Jack said evenly. "With Rhys and happy. I don't want to see all three of you hurt by continuing this. You *all* deserve better."

"How do you know I deserve better?" Owen said in exasperation. "You know *nothing* about my life now, Harkness. You don't know about *any* of our lives, and you sit there passing judgment without even trying to take a moment to find out." He ran his hand through his hair, looking at Jack, anger draining out of him at the stunned and haunted look in the other man's eyes.

"Then tell me how it is, Owen," Jack said wearily.

"I have feminine hygiene products in my bathroom, Jack. There are things in there that scare me," he said with a mild smirk. "I go home every night to a home cooked meal and arguments over bad telly. I go to bed every night curled around a sweet girl who can't cook to save her life and who whistles through her teeth while she sleeps." He watched Jack's brow furrow. "I wake up every morning and fight for mirror and shower space with a man who sings showtunes and pubsongs, loudly and off-key, in the shower at *too* damned early in the morning. I've learned the best cuts of meat to buy and which laundry soap gives Gwen a rash, which, incidentally, makes her even harder to live with than when she's PMSing." He smiled a sappy smile that had been more and more evident in recent months.

"Things change, Jack. Sometimes for the better." He grabbed his coat and keys. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a girl waiting to drive us home. Rhys is making Shepherd's pie tonight and I, for one, am starved. Good night, Jack."

Jack watched, stunned, as Owen left the Hub, smiling like Jack hadn't ever seen him smile before. How had he been so wrong?

"He's right, Jack," Ianto's voice said softly from behind him. "A lot of things can change in a year."

"You have no idea," Jack said, his voice breaking. A strong hand settled on his shoulder, and he fought against the urge to flinch away even as he craved the contact. Ianto's hand never moved, simply resting on Jack's shoulder until the muscles slowly relaxed. Jack shivered at the contact. "I don't have a place here anymore," he whispered.

Ianto moved slowly closer. "I wouldn't say that."

Jack chuckled mirthlessly. "You've all come so far. I'm so damned proud of all of you." He remembered the Master's anger as the team eluded him again and again. Of their bravery when finally caught. Of their defiance when the Master brought them before Jack to kill them one by one until only Ianto was left. Ianto who helped Martha make it back to where they needed her to be without ever meeting her face to face. Ianto who died when the building he was in was destroyed by the Toclafane but who never once gave away the plan even though he knew more of it than many. "I shouldn't have come back," he whispered. "You're doing better without me than you ever did with me."

Ianto pressed against Jack's back, his arms slowly wrapping around the other man's trembling form. "Yes," he affirmed, "we've changed since you've been gone. We had to come together to fill the void you left." He tightened his arms around the strong body when Jack began to pull away. "We had to learn to live without you, Jack, not because we *wanted* to, but because we *had* to. We proved to ourselves that we *can* live without you, even if we don't want to."

He rested his chin on Jack's shoulder, nuzzling the older man's neck gently. "The question you now have to ask yourself, Jack," he said softly, his arms holding the other man carefully, urging him back to rest against Ianto's chest. "Is if you can learn to live *with* us as we are now. Yes, we're different than we were, but so are you, (love). That doesn't mean there isn't a place for you here, if you're willing to take it." He pressed a gentle kiss to Jack's temple. "Think about it, Jack," he urged. "We're here if and when you're ready." He hugged the still form once more, then released him. He ran his fingers through Jack's hair before reluctantly walking away.

Jack stood, heart pounding and limbs shaking. Could he learn to live with this new team? And more importantly, could they learn to live with the shattered man he'd become?

The Doctor leaned against the upper railing, sandwiched between Jack and Martha as they watched the lighthearted antics of the Torchwood Three Alpha team below. After fourteen days, the cleanup from the Saxon situation was finally finished. The Beta team had left with a UNIT contingent for drinks, while the Alpha team had volunteered to cover their shifts. It was a quiet night.

Big band music filled the echoing space, filtering out of computer speakers and mingling with laughter and playful teasing.

"Jack," Tosh called up to them. "You should come join us! All three of you should," she amended. "There's Rhys's chocolate cake."

"That explains the hyperactivity," Martha said sotto voice.

"No. Owen's generally like that," Jack contradicted with a grin.

She looked over at Jack, noting the wistful smile on the man's deceptively youthful face. "Wanna dance, Jack?" she asked, holding out a hand to him behind the Doctor's back.

"Now, just a minute," the Doctor protested. "I can dance just as well as he can."

Martha smiled at him, unmoved. "I'm sure," she agreed. "But I want to dance with him." She tugged Jack down the stairs with her, pleased by the shy smile she'd managed to gain from the too quiet man. She'd watched as the normally vivacious man had pulled into himself more and more after the cosmic reset. She missed the Jack she'd first met, the one who flirted as easily as breathing and whose smile lit up a room.

She wasn't sure exactly what the Master had done to Jack, only that it had broken something inside him. And the Doctor's reaction to the Master's death hadn't helped. She'd not missed the pain on Jack's face as the Doctor had cradled and wept over the body of the man who, according to Tish and her family, had made a game of seeing how many ways he could kill Jack.

Luckily, spending time with this wonderful team had brought a bit of the old sparkle back into Jack's eyes. She stopped at the edge of the open area the team was using as a makeshift dance floor. "So. End of the World Survivor's Club?" she asked, continuing their darkly fitting game of what name those who'd been at ground zero during the reset should go by.

He thought a moment before nodding. "Like it. It's catchy," he said, offering her a teasing smile. "Charter members of the End of the World Survivor's Club." He grew serious. "You know if you ever need anything, you *or* your family."

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist and urging him to dance with her. "Works both ways, Jack," she said firmly. "Been around the world, Cardiff's a walk in the park."

Jack chuckled at her matter of fact tone and wide smile. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and began to move them in time to the slow, achingly familiar music.

"You are staying in Cardiff, right?" she prodded. She glanced at the team watching them while trying not to look like they were watching. "Might be good for you." She swayed with the music, listening to Owen teasing Gwen into dancing. "Better than wasting your time on someone who doesn't deserve you."

He smiled sadly. "Could say the same about you."

"Oh, I already know," she confirmed. "In fact, I'm not going with him. I deserve better and so do you." She leaned back to look into Jack's eyes. "Especially when you've got better right here." She shifted them so Jack was facing the Torchwood team. "Don't let it slip away, Jack," she urged. "Life's too short."

He looked at her incredulously. "In case you haven't heard, I've got all the time in the universe," he said darkly. "That's part of the problem."

She scowled, smacking him hard on the shoulder and gaining the undivided attention of the other Torchwood members. "But they don't! And you never know, Jack. Something could come along tomorrow and turn out to be your Achilles heel. Is it worth passing up the chance?"

A warm hand settled on Martha's shoulder and she looked up into John's smiling blue eyes. "If you're gonna abuse my team members, darlin'," he said with a teasing smile. "I'm afraid I'll have to step in."

Martha stepped aside gracefully, ducking under Jack's arms so John could move into her place. She waggled her fingers at the stunned Jack as John drew him close and moved them further on to the dance floor. She smiled as she was claimed by the elegantly suited Ianto Jones, no relation.

She watched as Ianto's eyes followed Jack and John as they danced. "A girl could get a complex dancing with you," she teased. She'd worked with a version of this young man in the year that never was and she owed him her life several times over. If she could help him find happiness while helping Jack as well... "So are you okay with that?" she asked seriously.

"Yep," he said with a mischievous smile.

"You two better take good care of him, or you'll answer to me," she threatened.

"We'll take care of him if he'll let us," Ianto amended sadly. "Unfortunately, the final choice is his, and I don't know that he trusts us enough for that." He looked over her shoulder at the pair. "Yet."

"Don't give up on him, Ianto," she urged. "He needs you, both of you."

Ianto looked down at her speculatively. "Don't plan to," he promised. He stepped back as the music ended and shifted into a quicker number. "Will you be staying much longer?"

She looked up at the Doctor. "I'll catch a ride back to London," she said, making her decision. "I'll stay with my family for a while, reconnect with them, settle into things again." She smiled. "Maybe take UNIT up on their job offer."

"I think it would help him, knowing you're close by," Ianto confided. "You're always welcome."

She nodded, kissing the young Welshman's cheek. "Thank you." She crossed the floor and caught Jack's arm. "Walk with me to the TARDIS?" Jack nodded, excusing himself.

"You better come back this time," Owen called after him then yelped as both Gwen and Tosh's hands impacted with his shoulders. "What? We were all thinking it, makes sense to warn him we'd hunt him down this time." Jack's surprised laughter made him smile.

Jack watched as the TARDIS faded from view, the key against his own chest cooling as her temporal signature faded. He turned and walked back towards the music. Martha was right, life was too short to pass up the happiness he was being offered. He stood to the edge and watched for a moment, enjoying both the subtle and not so subtle shifts that had occurred in his absence. They were stronger now, more a family than simply distant co-workers. They'd done well.

He watched as Ianto and John moved effortlessly to the music. They were beautiful together.

"So," a strangely understanding voice sounded at his elbow. "Finally figured it out, did ya?" Owen asked with a knowing smirk. "About time."

Jack rolled his eyes at Owen's commentary, watching his soon to be lovers, partners, husbands? He never *was* sure what the correct term was for this century.

Owen motioned the girls over. "Hey, Gwen, think we should be worried it took him this long to finally figure out what they were offering?"

Gwen scowled at him and Tosh just raised one delicate eyebrow. "And how long," Tosh wondered aloud, "did it take *you* to finally figure it out with Gw... "

Owen's eyes widened comically. "Oi! Not my fault. Wasn't expecting Mr. Domestic Bliss to be so," he searched for the appropriate word, "unconventional."

Gwen smirked into her drink. "Should I tell him that, then?" she teased, carefully not looking at her now sputtering lover.

"Bloody Hell. *NO*!" he protested.

Gwen moved closer, her arm going around Owen's slender waist. "Then stop giving Jack such a hard time," she said matter of factly. "Or you'll find out just how comfortable your couch is."

Owen leered at Gwen. "Thought he enjoyed a hard time?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows until Jack chuckled.

"It's not too late for me to find something for you to do, Mister Harper," John called from the dance floor, he and Ianto continuing their slow movements. "Something that would keep you here until the middle of next week."

"Hey! What did *I* do?" Owen protested.

"Shall I bring down the list?" Ianto intoned dryly.

Owen glared at them both as Jack and the girls laughed. Once more the music changed and Gwen dragged Owen out onto the floor, leaving Tosh with Jack.

Tosh rested her hand on Jack's sleeve. "Would you like to dance, Jack?" she asked quietly. Jack nodded, his eyes locked on John and Ianto. "Then go on," she urged, pushing him towards the two men. "They're waiting."

Jack took a deep steadying breath then walked towards John and Ianto without a word. The other two stopped moving, turning to watch Jack's slow, hesitant approach, not moving towards or away from the approaching man, letting Jack decide how quickly to take things. He was grateful for their restraint. With a shaking palm he reached out and caressed John's face, relearning the feel of the strong jaw and stubbled cheek. He sighed as John turned his head and nuzzled into the touch. He shivered at the tender gesture. He closed his eyes, trying to calm the swirling mass of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"It's okay, darlin'," John reassured. "Only as much as ya want."

Jack opened his eyes, letting the two men see the depths of emotion he couldn't find the words to express. Both were stunned by what they saw in the unguarded depths. Jack turned away quickly, unable to face the condemnation of 'Freak' he was certain he would see in their eyes. Warm hands caught his face, turning him back to face them.

"Jack," Ianto's silken tones flowed over his frayed nerves. "It's okay. We're not going anywhere."

Soft lips pressed chastely against his own and Jack was shaken to his core. He deepened the kiss, wanting, *needing* more. He fought their gentle touches, needing to *feel*, needing *anything* to silence the screams, *his* screams.

He clung to John as tremors once more wracked his body: frustration, fear, darkness, all threatening to pull him away from the safety he'd finally found. Strong arms wrapped around him, curling him tighter into John's embrace as Ianto wrapped around his back, holding him safe between them. They simply stood there, neither demanding anything of him, both offering him everything. The tremors grew stronger and Jack pressed his face against John's shoulder, hiding his shame and tears.

"We should move this somewhere more private," Ianto suggested, his hands smoothing over Jack's arms and shoulders. "Your old room is clean," he told John. "The bed is comfortable and large enough for the three of us should we wish."

John nodded. "Jack?" He lifted Jack's face, his thumb wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape. "Shall we?"

Jack nodded, not trusting his voice. He let them lead him away from the others and down into a converted room he'd never seen. Once the door was closed behind them, he claimed kisses from them both. The first from Ianto, his brave, noble, loyal Ianto who'd waited and waited on someone who might never return. Who kissed him now as if he were something precious. The second kiss was for John, the man whose life he'd stolen so many lifetimes ago, who'd found another life in Jack's own time. Both men wrapped around him, cocooning him between them. Instead of feeling trapped, he felt secure, protected.

Ianto chuckled, reaching out and brushing Jack's hair from his eyes. "Guess this means you've come to a decision," he teased.

Jack blushed, shifting to rest his forehead against Ianto's own. "Guess so. If the offer's still open."

Ianto pulled back so he could look into Jack's eyes. "Don't be daft, Jack. Of course it's still open. It's open for as long as you need it to be."

Jack nodded and felt the last of the tension drain from his overtaxed body. Ianto and John tightened their arms around him, supporting him as they moved to the bedroom.

John turned Jack in his arms, giving Ianto better access to Jack's clothing. He urged Jack to relax against his chest and held the trembling man as Ianto slowly stripped the clothing from his body. Jack happily gave himself over to their care.

John slid his hands down Jack's arms, entwining their fingers. "Welcome home," John whispered into Jack's silken hair. Jack shuddered and drew them both closer once more, needing to feel their warmth against him, needing them to help fight off the chilled darkness. Both men felt the change in Jack, and urged him back onto the bed where they sandwiched him between them, holding him as he shook.

"We've got you, (love)," Ianto whispered. "You're safe now. I swear."

Owen smirked as they watched the three men walk away. "Think we can call it a night then?" he asked, more than half joking.

Tosh and Gwen both shook their heads at him before turning away.

"What?" he demanded. "Not like we're going to see either of them before morning, anyway." He winked knowingly at Tosh. "Besides, you can't tell me you wouldn't rather be home with your girl after watching that kiss."

Tosh rolled her eyes at him, neither confirming nor denying his claim.

Gwen raised her eyebrow and glanced significantly down at Owen's crotch, smirking at the obvious bulge there.

"What?!" he yelped, shifting to cover himself. "I'm a bloke. Supposed to get all hot and bothered by 'visual stimuli'," he countered.

The girls exchanged knowing looks before bursting into giggles. Tosh simply continued to shake her head at Owen's antics as she set the internal and remote sensors to report to her computer exclusively for the night. Things had been quiet enough that one person should be able to monitor things well enough. Give the boys a chance to reconnect without worrying about the alarms. That done, she left a quick text for Ianto, knowing he'd be the first of the three up in the morning, letting them know what they'd done and why. She'd monitor the hub situation and take care of anything that came up. "All right then," she finally said. "Better get him home before he gets himself into more trouble, Gwen," she teased.

Gwen linked arms with Owen and started purposely towards the door. Owen looked at one of the Hub cameras, his face lighting up with a wicked grin. He looked back over his shoulder at Tosh. "CCTV still work in that room?" he asked innocently.

"*NO*!" both women chorused, Gwen wrapping her arm tighter through his and all but pulling him towards the door.

"Just asking," he defended, laughing as Gwen scowled. "Just asking."

Tosh watched them go, the cog door cutting off Owen's laughter and Gwen's reply. She waited a moment before flipping on the very camera Owen had been hinting at. She could make out three figures wrapped in each other's arms. She watched a moment as clothing was slowly shed and Jack was curled safe between them. She flipped off the camera, wiping the footage and locking the feed down so no one could accidentally find it. If there was an emergency, she'd be able to access a small back up feed, but this gave them some privacy.

She traced a finger over the image of them tumbled together on the bed. "Good night," she whispered to them, before shutting down even that feed. She picked up her phone and dialed home, smiling at the sleep-husky voice that answered. "Hi there, sexy," she murmured into the phone. "Tell me what you were dreaming about before the phone rang."

Epilogue

Captain Jack Harkness, reinstated head of Torchwood Three, ran a finger over the newest photo on his desk. A casual shot of him and his partners taken at Seanny and Tosh's handfasting. John, his lover and second in command, stood behind Jack and Ianto, a hand on each of their shoulders as Ianto leaned into Jack's body space. All three of them were smiling, the shadows of loss and fear finally banished from Jack's eyes by their love and patience.

He settled the photo between the team photos that had been taken while he was gone. Beta team's photo was more formal, the group situated on the "Torchwood couch", staring professionally out at the camera. Alpha team's photo was a bit more... informal, rather like the team itself he thought with a grin: John was sat on the arm of the couch, his injured leg carefully supported as he leaned into Ianto. Ianto's lean was a bit more subtle, but still there if you knew what to look for. Seanny, technically part of Beta team but generally included in Alpha team, sat on the back of the couch, dead center, smiling out at the camera. Tosh was ensconced between Seanny's legs smiling just as wide. To the other side of Tosh sat Rhys, another unofficial member of Alpha team. Gwen lay sprawled across Rhys' lap, eyes shining with laughter. Apparently, she'd originally been seated on the arm of the sofa, as John was at the other end... until Rhys had toppled her across his lap at the last second. The final member of the team sat on the floor between Tosh and Rhys. Owen had one long arm curled unconsciously around Rhys's leg as Rhys's fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of the doctor's neck. Apparently the photo had been taken before the three had come together, but even then you could tell they were headed in that very direction. Jack would never have believed the unlikely match if he hadn't seen it himself. They were good for each other.

The Rift alarm sounded and John's voice called to him from the main part of the Hub. Jack grabbed his Greatcoat and slid his firearm into its holster. He spared one last glance at the collection of photos adorning his desk. Teams, past and present, a rare image of the ninth doctor and Rose, something the Doctor himself had found and given to Jack. A picture of a smiling Martha and her boyfriend; surrounded by her family as she showed off her engagement ring. A lone picture of Jack, Martha and Ten; taken last time Martha had visited. Ten had simply 'popped in' for a visit to congratulate Martha on her engagement.

So much life to celebrate, as it should be. Celebrations to remind them of what they were fighting for.

He smiled at how far they'd all come, himself included, they were more than just teammates now: they were family. And as long as they remembered that, no matter *what* changes came in the 21st century, Torchwood Three would be ready.

~ fini ~