Owen knew it was going to be a bad day about five minutes after he stepped into the Hub. Ianto was in a mood again and was refusing to feed his pet -- well, really, he claimed he was too busy pulling backup research for their last set of reports, and he was still sporting a nasty scratch from the last time he'd had to feed Myfanwy -- the bird didn't understand why Ianto didn't like her as much any more, just because she'd eaten his girlfriend, and her idea of playful nudging was like everyone else's idea of attempted manslaughter, so Ianto was doubly unappreciative of her affections.

All the same, it meant that Jack would be shouting and in a temper until lunch at least, and Ianto would be in a snit all day. Not a good time to ask for a coffee or anything else to clear his blinding headache, or do anything but slink quietly to his station in the Medlab.

"Owen!" He winced. So much for that idea. "You're here!" The 'at last' went blithely unstated, but heard nonetheless. Jack's smile was brilliantly plasticine and sharp, Owen could see that from across the Hub. "Briefing, now." Jack turned away, an obvious dismissal that had Owen bristling slightly. "All of you."

When they entered the briefing room, an object was already sitting on the table, its schematic flashing on the display. Ianto's raised eyebrows suggested that he hadn't pulled it from the archives himself, which left Jack, who was seated leaning back in his chair, one knee crooked, chin resting on his laced fingers.

"Owen, Tosh, you recognize this?" He nodded toward the artifact slightly.

"No, I --" Owen started to deny, then the designation on the file caught his eye, and he perked up, like Tosh. "What, so you finally got this thing together?"

Ianto's brow was furrowed. "What is it? I don't recognize it."

"We found it about two and a half years ago -- before you got here, Ianto." Owen ignored Jack's words. He couldn't take his eyes off the device. The last time he'd seen it, it had been in over a dozen pieces, on Suzie's workstation. "Someone really didn't want anyone getting their hands on it, since it was reduced to its component parts when we got our hands on its owner." Dead. "Putting it together hadn't been high priority, since no one was going to come shooting us after it, but now that it's back together, I think it's safe to say priorities have changed somewhat." Jack gestured at the device. "It's emitting some kind of field, presumably tracking. There was no evidence to suggest it would do that while I was still putting it together, so it's possible it might have been able to get a signal out before I was able to activate a dampening field." Jack sank back in his chair, visibly annoyed at his own carelessness.

"A tracking signal to who?" Gwen asked.

"Good question." New information appeared on the screens behind them. "Boys and girls, meet the not-so-good people of the planet Phlibb." Owen managed to suppress a snort. Daft looking buggers -- skin pink like bubblegum, with elongated eyestalks and backwards-jointed legs, they didn't half look like that ridiculous Jar Jar Binks from Star Wars. The noises from around the room suggested the others were following a similar line of thinking.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Don't let the look fool you, they're actually quite dangerous -- most of their weight is muscle mass, their planet is denser than ours." Damn, usually they could get in a few good jokes before Jack realized they were making pop culture references without him. "Also, they're slightly telepathic."

Christ, Owen hated telepaths. Tosh's face crumpled as well, and for a second he almost felt bad for her.

"And by slightly, I mean that their telepathy is mitigated by distance. But they don't need to touch you to try to pry into your mind, so you'll want to brush up on your mental training." Great, now he made it sound like they all were supposed to be Jedi masters. Owen wasn't about to admit to having had wookies on his pillow, though, so he kept his mouth shut. "They're in the habit of stealing memories, and selling them -- or the information in them -- on various black markets." Jack's lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked grim.

"This device is a memory storage device." He barked a short laugh. "In the literal sense. Now, if they're coming after this thing, they obviously don't know the condition it was found in -- they think there's something useful on here. And if we're going to trick them into getting close enough to capture them, that's got to be true," Jack said, his expression sobering. Owen felt his hackles rise as he realized what Jack was suggesting. They looked at each other, and Tosh crossed her arms, opening her mouth.

Jack held up a hand to forestall any words. "I'm not asking you to do anything I wouldn't do myself. In fact --" he pointed to the small amber light on the side. "I've already tested it on myself, and it's working correctly. You'll be able to copy a memory to the device, no worries about losing anything yourself." His shoulders retained their tension, however. "It doesn't have to be anything long, or complex. Pick something short, easy. Something that makes you happy -- it doesn't have to be a hardship, and, I promise," Jack placed a hand on the device, sitting up. "I'll wipe the memory when I'm done. Vaporise the device, even, if need be."

"It's all right, Jack," Gwen broke the silence. "I'll do it." She had a smile on her face, one Owen recognized as a front, her trying to pretend she was okay with the wild, incredible alien-ness of their day-to-day existence. But she genuinely was willing.

"What are you going to do with it?" Toshiko's tone was a bit more wary than Gwen's. Owen shifted in his seat. He didn't have a good track history with memory devices. Maybe he could get out of this one.

Jack smiled. "It's a simple con, really. I go out there, they track the device to me, and they'll either try to deal for the information, or try to shoot it from me. The Phlibb's psychic abilities can get you to turn over items for practically nothing. They won't be prepared for my own defenses. Then we either capture them and turn them over for processing, or, if I can get hold of them in time, they get turned over to -- higher powers." Owen didn't like the way Jack said that. But the equivalent to a drug bust was what they did with most of the non-combative aliens, so it seemed a solid plan.

Toshiko was nodding, reluctantly. Ianto was looking serious -- as usual, but resigned as well. Owen scowled, already twitchy at the thought of psychic whateverness -- he'd had the training, and been told he had a natural empathy for it, but that didn't mean he liked it, especially since he couldn't understand it, unlike the rest of the malarkey he had to deal with every day. There was no getting out of this one -- not that there ever was.

"Fine, fine, where do I sign up for the psychic joy parade?"

Jack grinned, lines creasing the corners of his eyes. "Just for that, Owen, I think you'll be first."

Owen sat, uncomfortable, on the autopsy table. Dammit, usually it was the other way around -- he was the one with the tools, and some other poor bloke was getting his head drilled. He was about two seconds from giving in and bolting.

"It's all right," Jack seemed to read his mind -- not a comforting thought. "The whole thing's quick and painless. The machine is set right now to act as a parley device, so we're looking for a good, quiet memory, one where you wouldn't mind meeting someone for a chat." Jack held up the device. Put together, it looked too much like the ghost box, and for a second Owen was trapped again, cold and wet, pressed against the stone of the bridge.

"Come on, Captain," he recovered, gripping the edge of the table so he couldn't tell if his hands were shaking. "You can't tell me they steal your memories to use as neutral meeting grounds." He snorted.

Jack shrugged. "No, you're right, they do tend to go with stealing them for more lucrative things, like building VR worlds, or sex suites --" Jack's eyebrows waggled "-- but this setting is as harmless as it's possible to get with this thing, though I tested it at a higher level myself. There's a backdoor built into it too -- plenty of safety." Jack stepped forward. "Now come on. Relax, and think happy thoughts." Jack grinned and waggled his eyebrows again. He looked like a complete and utter prat.

Owen grumbled, but lay back on the cold aluminum table and closed his eyes. He thought about a cold, rainy day, wet tarmac, and the open air.

"Really, and he talks like that the whole time?" Jack's voice over the headset sounded amused. Owen was around the corner, so he couldn't see the man, but he could imagine the big grin on his face. The last time they'd had a free evening, they'd tried to force Jack to sit down and watch the original trilogy, but Owen had had to leave partway through Jedi, too disgusted with Jack's continuous comments about the tightness of Han Solo's pants. He doubted anyone else had gotten much further. "You guys don't think we should put George Lucas under surveillance, do you?" Owen scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

"Because, I mean, Gene was nice enough and he was really just a normal -- heads up, everyone." Jack's tone changed quickly from playful banter to serious, and Owen knew their quarry had stepped into the alley at last.

"They're coming in from the north entrance," Tosh said, watching everything from the Hub. There, not only would she have the advantage of Cardiff's CCTV network, but her distance would hopefully help her identify any psychic interference. Ianto was there as well, while he and Gwen were the backup on this mission, hanging carefully just out of sightline, and, with any luck, not too close for the psychic aliens to pick up their true intentions. Owen thought it was stupid, trying to stalk psychic aliens, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice about it. He hung back, listening to Jack cheerfully blather his way through the exchange -- a bizarre mix of sexual innuendo, dark humor, and straightforwardness that was at once confusing and reassuring, so much so that it was too late before either Owen or Gwen realized that something was wrong.

The aliens were shouting -- apparently -- their language a shrill trilling that Owen couldn't understand, but their aggressive posture and waving guns made up for that -- and he and Gwen came running in from either end of the alley, their own weapons drawn. Gwen had a clearer shot, and was able to down one alien before the other brought up its own weapon, aiming it at Jack, who still held the device.

The Phlibb brought its weapon to bear on Jack, the whine of power building up audible from where Owen was positioned, trapped behind a dumpster, several meters away. Gwen was coming up fast behind Jack, gun braced in both hands, but it was a standoff. Unless your boss didn't care whether or not he got shot.

"Owen, catch!" Jack kept his eyes squarely on him as he lobbed the memory device at Owen, stepping forward as he did so. The alien let out an angry screech and pivoted, following the trajectory of the small device through the air. Jack continued forward in a tackle, but not before the Phlibb got off a single shot, enveloping the memory device in a brilliant glow for a brief second, and Owen caught it instinctively before it smacked him in the face. He tucked it quickly into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and ran to help Jack.

Jack had hauled the alien to its feet, and was shaking it. "What did you do?" he hissed. "What the hell was that?"

The alien hissed back, leaning its eyestalks forwards into Jack's face. Then a bright glow enveloped it as well, and Jack let go reflexively, swearing at the heat Owen could feel from several steps back. They could only watch as the alien disappeared.

"Jack? What's going on? I'm reading a massive energy burst, and I'm not tracking the Phlibb any more." Tosh's voice came through the earpiece, sounding tinny and unreal for a second.

"What the hell was that?" Gwen asked at the same time. She put a hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack was cradling one hand, and the skin looked reddened and burned.

"Hell if I know," Jack ground out. "It's not like any transporter I've ever seen before. If it's giving out all that excess heat energy, it must be pretty jury-rigged. We should be able to trace it."

"Jack, the energy signal's still in the alley with you," Tosh spoke again, at the same time that something vibrated against Owen's chest. He swore, and pulled the memory device out. It felt warm in his hands.

The device was on, small lights blinking up and down one side of it, in shades of amber and blue, winking on and off, in a complex, repetitive pattern. "It's on?" Owen exclaimed. "What the hell's it think it's doing?"

Jack swore as well. "We've got to get that thing back to Torchwood now, and under containment before it blows."

"Blows up?!" Owen yelped, looking at the now even more sinister-seeming object he was holding. "Christ, I'm not --"

"Owen, don't. Let. Go." Jack gripped his arm suddenly, grinding out the words in a low growl. "You've been the only one to touch it since the Phlibb activated it, and I don't want to risk altering any input that thing is receiving." Owen blinked, and gripped the device tighter, and Jack let go slowly.

With a slow exhale, Jack nodded and looked at both of them. "Let's get back to the Hub. Gwen, you're driving."

Ianto met them at the door to the Hub with the first aid kit already opened and ready, though he had to walk with Jack as he tried to treat him, since the Captain showed no sign of slowing down. Tosh continued giving them information readouts, not even stopping as she turned off the phone connection, killing the echo.

"The energy level's still climbing, level one containment's doing nothing to stop it. If it doesn't plateau soon, we're going to have to lock down the Hub." She looked up from her computers, face grave and pale in the glow from the screens.

Owen's heart raced. "Well what the hell am I supposed to do with this thing?" He was carrying around a ticking bomb.

"Don't worry, Owen," Gwen said from behind him, "we'll think of something." Bloody woman was not reassuring.

"Easy to say when you're not the one who can't let go of the thing," he snarled.

"Bring it here, Owen," Tosh said, sounding calm. "I can scan it better with this." Tosh waved him towards her station, and he hurried forwards.

"I did not sign up for this," he muttered. The lights kept flashing, and he couldn't tell if the device was getting warmer, or if it was just his sweaty palms.

"There." Triumph tinged Toshiko's voice for a moment. "It's accessing all the files in its databanks at once..." She frowned. "Some kind of overload, for protection perhaps?"

Jack's face was grim as he leaned over Tosh's shoulder to look at the readout. "It's an overload all right. But the networking interface is active, too." He pointed out a line in the code. "It's trying to access our minds through the input link we each created when we added our memories to the device. If we can't shut this thing down from the inside, it won't just overload the device. It'll overload all of our brains, taking us all out with it."

"Gwen, Toshiko, go ahead and start lockdown procedures. Secure and encrypt all the computers, just in case. We can stop this, but I don't want to leave Torchwood vulnerable while we do this. That other Phlibb is still out there." The two immediately set to work.

"Ianto --"

"I'll set up the lab, sir." Jack smiled at Ianto, and then turned to Owen.

"Come up to my office." Jack turned away without another word, and Owen followed him quietly. The device was still gripped in his hands, and his knuckles were beginning to ache.

Jack shut the door behind him, and slumped down in his chair. He gestured for Owen to sit as well. Silence reigned for a moment. Jack templed his fingers, and tapped them lightly against his chin.

"There are two ways we can do this, Owen. The overload has a killswitch built in, based on the backdoors each of you built into your memory files. You can go into each file, and you have to trigger each backdoor, or you can hand over control of the device to me." Jack held up a hand to forestall Owen from replying right away. "If you do that, your memory file might become corrupted, and there's a good chance you'll lose your actual memory of that event, if not more."

The thought chilled Owen. Besides, he could read between the lines as well as any other bloke, and he could see what Jack wasn't saying. Jack might be able to come back from the dead, but there was no guarantee what memories he would come back with. Jack stood to lose more -- and not just his vast knowledge of alien tech. Owen had all the medical files, he'd seen Jack's psychic profile -- even if he wasn't sure if Jack knew that he had. Jack probably didn't know the file existed. Or what it said about his mental stability -- Owen wondered what would happen to Jack after any more retconning.

"No, I'll do it." Frying pan and the fire, if ever there was such a situation. But Owen knew when he was expected to be noble and self-sacrificing, even if he didn't want to. There was no other choice.

Owen didn't listen to most of the briefing as Jack filled in the others on what was going to happen. The main power had been turned off, leaving just emergency lighting to illuminate the Hub, casting strange shadows against the walls and across their faces. Below Jack's voice Owen could make out the muffled rush of water from the main room. He had put down the memory device at last, and it sat on the table, cradled in a metallic frame. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room flitting between it, him, and Jack, and he crossed his arms, annoyed and unnerved by the attention.

He didn't need to be psychic to feel their discomfort. Owen knew most people didn't like him, or found him 'difficult.' He had no problem with that, normally. As long as people still trusted him to get the job done, he didn't care about what they thought about him as a person. But now it was just that that they were relying on -- his worth as a person, his humanity. He could see how screwed they all felt. Gwen looked the most openly nervous, chewing on her lip, while Jack at least managed to project the aura of a confident leader, but that didn't really matter in the long run.

They didn't exactly have a choice now, if they were going to get through this with their skulls intact. The active psychic network meant that when Owen went under, accessing their memories, they would go under too. If Owen failed, that was it.

Goodbye Torchwood.

Jack was the one who prepped him for the machine. Ironic, because Owen was highly protective of his gear, and Jack was usually one who was in there the least. In fact, Jack seemed to avoid the Medlab if he could, which suited Owen perfectly well. But Jack and Ianto were the only other ones who knew how the psi machines worked, Ianto mostly in an academic capacity. There were few machines that came through Torchwood that Jack didn't know something about.

They were alone in the lab. Everyone else was gathered together in a lower level, stretched out on the uncomfortable little camp beds they kept, like they were preparing for some sort of adolescent sleepover, or hibernation for the winter. Even Jack had a bed laid out down there for himself, eschewing his own bunk in order to watch over the team. Or possibly, Owen thought meanly, his bed wasn't quite big enough for all of them.

"Hey, I heard that." Jack shot him a glare, though it was more amused than admonishing. "It's not going to be that bad," he continued, quietly. "Like I said, it's basically set in diplomatic negotiation mode -- it's set up for peaceful communication, and none of the memories anyone's put in are at all emotionally chaotic. They're mostly going to serve as a backdrop for the mental connection between you and that person, no worse than those themed charity balls Torchwood used to hold. Except you actually have to make conversation."

"Why can't it be simpler, blowing aliens to bits, like usual?" Owen huffed. The sensor node attached near his temple was cold, and the LED, just visible from the corner of his eye, was distracting.

"We'll call it our teambuilding for the year and be done with it. And we'll do the wrap-up at the pub." Jack put a hand on Owen's shoulder. "You can do this Owen. Get in there, get to know your teammates a little better, and find those backdoors."

"Think of it," Jack said, as he injected Owen with a sedative, "as a giant scavenger hunt." Then everything slid to grey.

He heard music before he opened his eyes. Swing, or ballroom, he couldn't tell -- something old and tinny that sounded like one of his grandmother's records. That jarred, however, with the image before him when he finally opened his eyes.

"Welcome, Owen Harper." Jack said from the cockpit. "It's been a long time since I've had someone aboard this old ship." His smile was small, almost a smirk, but a little softer, almost wistful. "Have a martini." He picked one up from the tray, and beckoned Owen with it.

Owen picked his way forward carefully, cataloguing the incredible detail in the fantasy Jack had built up. Most of it was probably based on real tech he'd seen as part of Torchwood, but it was rare that Torchwood got a full, intact craft like this. Jack hadn't seen fit to create himself a new space-adventurer outfit, however, still relying on the same ridiculous period costume. He sat in the second chair, letting it swivel around to face Jack, and something caught the corner of his eye.

"Is that -- have you got a bomb in the backseat of this thing?" The thing looked absurdly out of place, like the captain himself, in the midst of all this futuristic crap.

Jack grinned, splitting his face from ear to ear. "Yeah." He laughed. "Watch this, though." As he spoke, the flashing red counter flicked from 18 to 17, to ... 45. "Can't get any closer than that, unfortunately."

Owen looked at his boss, both eyebrows raised. The man really was off his nut.

"So come on, let's chat."

"Chat?" I thought I just had to open a door or something." Owen waved his hands at the spaceship. "You couldn't have imagined a door into this thing?"

"Oh there's a door, all right, but it's not going to appear until that clock finishes counting down." Owen glanced at the counter again. 23 ... 22 ... 21. "So we're going to sit down at talk this out like proper diplomats."

"Oh hell."

Jack laughed, long and loud, startling Owen. "This should be easy, Owen. You're one of the bluntest, most honest people I know." His eyes were penetrating. "If you were a better liar, you'd probably still be working in hospital right now."

"Yeah, well, I never did want to be a doctor," he muttered in reply.

Jack tilted his head. "What did you want to be?"

Owen shrugged. It had been a long time since he'd given the matter thought -- the knowledge had been there for so long, laid down in stone, 'this is what you will become,' that it had been nearly two decades since he'd last thought of an open-ended future. "Doesn't matter what I wanted, what matters is what happened."

"Come on, Owen." Jack pursued another tack. "You couldn't have been that miserable, at least, having all that power over people. All that knowledge."

Owen regarded Jack. One minute, the man sounded like he'd just stepped off the shuttle from another planet, and the next he sounded as if he'd been there for a hundred years, watching him. "You sure it wasn't for the money?" He smirked.

Jack didn't fall for it. He raised an eyebrow, countering, "Owen, why did you join Torchwood?"

Owen pulled away, scowling. "I didn't have anything left." You took it from me, he thought. But Jack had never seen it that way.

The Captain leaned back in his chair. "Retcon works the second time, if not the first. But you pushed. You remembered. You chose to know."

"I cared too much," he said, bitterly. "I couldn't not know." Knowledge is power, he didn't say. "For all the good it did me."

"It's not the knowledge, Owen, it's what you choose to do with it. It's what you learn from it. Is there ever a perfectly safe con, no matter how many angles you've covered?" Jack waved his arms at the compartment around them. "Are you really saving lives if you were the one who endangered them in the first place? When you do a good deed, who are you trying to redeem? When what you know will kill hundreds to save millions, how do you sit back and let it happen?"

Jack's eyes were piercing, seeming to look into the very depths of his soul, and Owen couldn't make himself look away. This wasn't the Captain Jack he knew. His boss was either charming and witty, with a carefree grin and secret knowledge, or harsh and domineering, uncaring of the feelings of those around him. This -- this thing before him, seemed to know all his secrets, all his motivations and fears.

"I'm looking out for myself," he snapped, "because no one else will. And while you lot seem to think that makes me some kind of monster --"

Jack's laughter broke him off. "Owen, Owen," he chuckled, reaching out a hand and tapping Owen on the cheek. "It makes you human. Though you seem not to have noticed," now he tapped Owen in the center of his chest, "that Tosh always brings an extra sandwich for you when you work late, or Gwen --" another tap "--always makes sure someone is covering you in the field, and Ianto --" tap "--has taken on half of the morgue cataloguing duties, even though it technically falls in your purview, and I --" he stopped, hesitating.

"You?" Owen asked, trying to push down the riot of emotions Jack had stirred up. "What do you do, Jack?"

"Well," Jack said, tapping Owen's cheek again, and sitting back. "I keep you lot alive, don't I? I couldn't do this job with just anyone."

"You really think we're that important? Half the time I don't think I'm capable of doing this job, but you --"

"It had to be you. For so many reasons, it had to be you." Jack's smile seemed sad, but also proud. "I didn't pick the circumstances, but I did pick you, Owen Harper."

Three strident beeps split the air, and the timer on the bomb shot down from 17 to 0 in a rapid blur. A door appeared, open, in the wall behind the bomb. Owen couldn't make out what was beyond the threshold, he could only see a whitish-green glow.

"The world needs more doctors, Owen." Jack's voice was hard to hear, as the music swelled around him, growing in volume and clarity, the static dropping away, the brass filling out, until he could practically see the sound, coming up around him like smoke, and rich mahogany wood.

Owen blinked at the smooth, dim walls of the jazz club. The reddish lighting only provided the barest of illumination, but as he turned, it was enough for him to pick out Tosh, sitting at one of the smaller tables, an empty chair beside her. She was watching the couples dance around her, sipping from a glass. She turned to focus on him as he approached.

"Not the kind of place I'd expect to see inside your head," he said, sliding into the open chair. She blushed as she set down her drink, and shamefacedly showed him the PDA she had in one hand. She was still dressed in work clothes, though that was casual enough that she fit right in.

"You could imagine yourself all this, but you couldn't imagine yourself a bloke to dance with?" He snorted indelicately. "Come on then. If we're going to do this, we're going to do this proper." He stood, holding out his hand in front of him.

"Owen --" she protested.

"No, come on. I mean, I can't exactly cut a rug, but I don't have two left feet, either."

"I didn't know you danced," Tosh said, sliding into his arms reluctantly, keeping the points of contact between the two of them limited.

"Yeah, well, there's plenty you lot don't know about me." Owen thought rapidly about the end of his encounter with Jack. He didn't even know what he'd done to open the door, let alone how they'd come to any sort of diplomatic agreement.

Their dancing was slow, a shuffling waltz. Owen wasn't lying when he'd admitted he wasn't great. "Come on, then, tell me about this place."

Toshiko was silent for a moment. "I'm not like you and Gwen, Owen. I can't just turn off from the job and go out and do something completely different with my time. Most of the time I don't even want to. I love this job," she said, almost defensively. Owen thought that was a load of bullshit, but he said nothing. Tosh sighed, and he felt her small body lean into his for a moment. "Then sometimes I get so envious of you, and ashamed of myself at the same time. I'll sign up for watercolor lessons or an Arabic class, something to get me out of the Hub, but not in my flat -- by myself." She sounded almost bitter. "And sometimes, when I'm miserable, and I can't even unwrap myself from work long enough to try, I end up here." A small flush rose across her cheeks. "It's actually only a block or so away from the Millennium Centre. It's close enough that I don't even have to do much work to get a data connection to the Hub."

"You know, I think they've got a pill for that," he said, half-joking.

"Why does it have to be such a terrible thing to like this job? I know, you and Suzie and Jack would always make the jokes about Torchwood choosing you, or never really being able to quit the job, and I always thought you were just making jokes, but you're not, are you? Why do you think this job is so terrible?"

Owen just looked at her, and Toshiko had the good grace to duck her head. "I mean, I know, it does have its terrible moments. But doesn't what we're doing -- what we're discovering, make up for it?" Her face was determined.

"Is that how you live with it? By telling yourself that we're doing some good here?"

"I'm not doing it for the hours," she said. Owen stumbled a little as the music changed to a foxtrot, but Toshiko held his hands firmly, until he'd picked it up.

"Which you seem to enjoy extending. You know, I'm actually out the door at quitting time. Sometimes you're still there when I come back in the morning."

She blushed a little, chagrined. "That's what I mean, not being able to turn it off."

Owen laughed, a slight chuckle. "Toshiko, at least you're interested in your work -- you're dedicated. What I do, most days, it scares the hell out of me. Of course I want to get away. Forget, for a little bit, just without the Retcon pills."

She stared at him, surprise in her eyes, and Owen wondered what he was telling her -- why he was telling her.

"But you still come back. What's the point, if you're going to come right back to it the next day?"

He shrugged as best he could while still holding onto her. "It's worked so far. Maybe I just need to remind myself what it's like to be a normal person, not fighting monsters and aliens. Make sure I'm not one myself."

Tosh squeezed his hand. "You're not a monster." Her eyes flicked up to his, then quickly back over his shoulder, though they weren't in danger on bumping into any of the other couples on the floor.

"Doesn't feel like it, some days." He was surprised Tosh had taken him seriously. "It scares the crap out of me, sometimes, what we do." He thought about the massive alien they'd dealt with last week, trapped and tortured in a warehouse. He thought about Jack, on the floor of the Hub, a bullet in his brain. He thought about Diane.

She stared at him, surprise in her eyes, and Owen wondered what he was telling her -- why he was telling her.

"You always seem so -- cavalier. Like it's below you." Like we're below you, she didn't say.

"It's easier." Christ, did Tosh know nothing about psychology? "Harder to care when the details are a blur. No messy bits to get stuck on." Not that it always worked. "But I'll let you in on a secret," he said, pulling her flush against him and whispering in her ear.

"I couldn't run away from this job any more than you could." Tosh pulled away from him slowly, studying his face, curious. Her touch on his shoulders felt distant, almost ethereal, and her lips were hard to read as they moved, soundless. Then she was gone, a twist of the wind, leaving only granite and slate, sky and mountain, moving like a wisp in between.

"Where the hell is this?" Owen was disgusted. He hated the outdoors. And he'd thought Ianto did, too. But he was standing in a hill, a grassy plain that seemed to stretch for miles, sloping gently to meet the mountains marching across the horizon, with nothing in between but a small amount of scrub and some scattered trees. The wind whipped his hair a little, and mare's tails flowed across the sky.

"Oh. I thought it might take you a bit longer than this." Ianto was stretched out by his feet, looking disgustingly suburban, a blanket spread out, though there was a backpack instead of a picnic basket, and he was dressed in jeans and a hoodie. "I didn't figure I'd be very high on the priority list." He put down his book and sat up to make room for Owen.

Owen sat down with a grimace, resting his arms outstretched on his bent knees. "Yeah, well you're not. I've no idea how long it's been. Could be fifteen minutes, or we could all wake up and find out we've missed five months." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ianto check his watch reflexively. "I just have you and Gwen left, with any luck."

They sat there on the blanket, staring at each other. Owen broke first, casting his eyes away to look over the jagged peaks of the mountains. But it was Ianto who spoke first.

"So, what do you..."

"I don't know." Owen snapped. "It's not at all like I thought this would be, so far it's been nothing but sit here and talk about my feelings." He spat the last word out.

Ianto blinked. "Oh. Well then we won't get very far at all, will we." He looked impossibly young, even without the façade of child playing grownup in his father's suits. Owen remembered reading in Ianto's file how he'd been hired directly out of university.

The boy's quiet acceptance irritated him. "Oh, what?"

"You don't trust me."

It was Owen's turn to blink. "Yeah, I didn't think it was that obvious," he said, not denying the statement.

Ianto shrugged. "I don't expect anything else, really. Out of any of you. It's nothing more than I deserve." He smiled. "Jack's just... oddly forgiving."

Owen eyed him. "He forgives you because he fancies you."

"But he forgave you too. And he's forgiven Tosh. And Gwen. And --" Suzie. They avoided the name if they could, almost as if they were afraid the mere mention of her name was all it would take to bring her back at this point. But Ianto had a point. Jack was like that -- like he was playing the same game as the rest of them, but with an entirely different rulebook.

"Well if we're worth the forgiveness, what the hell does he want out of us?" Owen was frustrated. He hated Jack's aura of mystery. It made him seem like such a prat sometimes.

"I think..." Ianto tilted his head. "I think he wants us to do our jobs. I think he might try for more, but Jack's not all-powerful and all-knowing, no matter how much he seems so sometimes."

"Yeah, well, I'm not doing this job to please him," Owen muttered.

"I don't expect any of us are," Ianto said, the breeze ruffling his hair a little. He squinted up into the sun. "Fortunately, Jack isn't one for questioning motivation, as long as we do our jobs."

Owen regarded Ianto. "Are you saying he knew about your metal girlfriend?"

Ianto scowled. "No! Jack didn't know." He stopped, swallowed. "I wish he had." He sniffed. It had only been seven months, but Owen kept forgetting how good a liar the kid was. "I wish I'd had someone to tell me 'no,' while I was still capable of listening."

Owen couldn't really believe Ianto was actually talking to him about this. Jack hadn't even let him do an exam on Ianto after the whole ordeal, had instead shipped him off down to London, to some 'experts.' All Owen got to do was read the reports afterwards, talking about 'severe stress' and 'possible PTSD' and 'stable environments.'

"Yeah, well, next time, tell us you've got an evil plan, and we'll stop you all you like."

"I'd like to think I'm out of deep, dark secrets."

"What, you'd stop me being helpful?" Owen mock glared.

"I did the last time, didn't I?" Ianto smirked at him.

Owen scowled. "You only got so far, you know."

Ianto nodded, and it was quiet for a moment. Owen didn't understand the kid, that was the thing. And he doubted the program would take 'agree to disagree' as an acceptable answer.

"Ianto," he said, slowly, only realizing the question as it came to his lips, "why are you here?" Ianto looked at him. "I don't mean here, here," he clarified, waving at the setting around them, "and I know why you didn't want to leave Torchwood -- I can understand that," he admitted, looking out at the sky. "But I'm not talking about what you think you have to do. I'm talking about what you want to do. Excluding everything else, what is it you want?" If Ianto could be selfish enough to try and keep his dying girlfriend, he'd be selfish enough to still want something now.

"I wanted something normal," Ianto replied, with a laugh that indicated he knew how ridiculous that statement sounded. "I know, I know, but..." he sighed. "I can't go back -- I don't want to go back, and lose those memories. I'm good at what I do, and what I do is important. I'm just -- I'm trying to find a meaning in it again. I want to get something from this job, and I want to be able to see past just surviving the day-to-day." He stopped, looking at Owen. "That's normal, isn't it? Wanting a future?"

"Yeah," Owen said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, it is." And suddenly he realized that perhaps he and Ianto had a lot more in common than he thought. Ianto's face, bright and hoping, blurred in front of him, and the mountains melted away, like chalk drawings in a torrential downpour. The greys and blues mixed with the greens of the grass into a seamless blur, while Owen was left dry as a bone.

The rain poured down around him, soaking into his clothes and flattening his hair. Owen squinted, protecting his eyes against the sting of the rain as it landed on his face. It was warm out, so there was no chance of getting a chill -- even if he wasn't in a mental construct -- it was simply uncomfortable. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and looked around.

Gwen was seated behind him, on the bench of a bus stop. The thing was half-sheltered, ultra-modern urban landscaping that really meant it did little good if the rain wasn't falling straight down. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were soaked, and the satchel next to her had a broken handle, its contents spilling out onto the damp ground.

"This is your idea of a good memory?" Owen snorted, joining her under the meager shelter. But when she looked at him, she was smiling, happy.

"I just finished my police assessment. I'd wanted it for so long, and today I finally got it." She laughed. "I was walking on air all day, it was the most wonderful feeling..."

Owen felt a pang of jealousy. He'd never wanted a job, worked for something like that. Things just happened to him whether he wanted it or not, slotting his life into place.

Gwen laughed again, startling him. "I'm sorry, I guess I wasn't really thinking about having to share the memory when I picked it, or I'd have picked something a little dryer. I won't actually be taking the bus, so there's a café around the corner if you want." She pointed briefly with one hand, already gathering up the bag with the other. Owen shrugged and straightened out of his slouch against the plexiglass wall.

The street around them was empty, shops closed up, everyone tucked away indoors, hiding from the weather. Even the cars were few and far between. "So how far away is this café of yours?" he asked after a minute.

"Not too far," Gwen said. "Another minute or so." She smiled at him, wicked. "Why, afraid you're going to melt?"

"Nah, that's witches," he said. His mind raced, trying to think of something he could talk to Gwen about that wouldn't end with them fighting. And Gwen usually won most of their arguments, which made it worse.

Gwen stepped under the eaves of one of the brick buildings, hesitating in the doorway. "You can -- go through this, right? It's not going to --"

Owen laughed. "I wish." But he didn't go through the door, instead leaning against the brick, the niche deep enough that they were out of the way of the rain. Gwen settled against the wall opposite him.

"How's your life going, Gwen? Is it working out like you'd hoped? How's Rhys?"

Gwen crossed her arms. "Owen."

Owen shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Come on, Gwen. This is the perfect setting for getting it all out. Think of it as a free therapy session. Talk to the doctor. Unless you want to play --"

Gwen straightened. "No." Her tone was like ice.

"Rhys doesn't know, does he? He knows about Torchwood now, he knows about Captain Jack, but does he know about little old me? Human, normal, me?" Gwen was looking a little green around the gills. Owen pressed harder. "You seemed so glad to not have to keep secrets any more. Why didn't you tell him, then? Afraid he'd --" Gwen's hand clamped over his mouth. She'd moved quickly, a blur.

"I did." She was shaking. Her nails dug into his skin. "I told him, and then I drugged him." She let go of him, slumping back against the wall.

"Jesus." Owen scrubbed a hand over his face. "Just the once, though, right? You're not --"

"I wouldn't do that to him, Owen. I love Rhys." He believed that, he always had.

"Still, that's kind of fucked up."

"Christ, Owen, you're one to talk. Have you even had a normal relationship?"

"No, usually it's ones with whips." Gwen's eyebrows shot up. "Kidding," he muttered, and she scowled.

"Why do you always do that? You're such a prat, you can't be decent without having an ulterior motive, you're contrary just because you can be --" She huffed. "God, Tosh has it in her head you're actually a decent person somewhere deep down, but you sleep around like it's a game, you didn't help Suzie --"

"Suzie had her own problems." Owen cut her off.

"This job is such a terrible secret but you can't even talk to each other! It's not the job, it's you!"

"Oh, thanks much," Owen said sarcastically. "There's five of us, Gwen. Hard to get a little distance."

Gwen stopped, sighed. "Yeah." She ran a hand through her hair, which was starting to dry out. "Yeah." She looked up at him. "Why are you doing this, anyways? Aren't we supposed to be trying to agree on something?"

He shrugged. "When have you and I agreed on anything?" He liked arguing with her, most of the time. She was the only one who bit back. Well, her and Jack. But he didn't imagine arguments with his boss ending with them tearing each other's clothes off. "We already know each other's weak points. Best to skip straight to them, we'd wind up here anyway."

"It doesn't work like that, you can't just make us suddenly agree, just because the situation demands it."

"Well, I don't know what I'm doing!" Owen exploded, pushing away from the wall, getting in Gwen's face. Stupid, practical Gwen, always thinking she was right, always pushing. "This isn't my usual job, you realize. I liked having a job where my coworkers were too wrapped up in their own problems to bother me." He snorted, stepping back a little. "One of the few things I liked about medicine."

Gwen shook her head, pressing her lips together.

"So come on. Have another go at me." He stepped back further, opening his arms wide. "Actually ask me for something." For all she'd seemed disturbed that she couldn't talk to her boyfriend, she hadn't exactly talked to him either. And she knew it. He stared at her, challenging.

Gwen bit her lip, suddenly looking afraid. "I can't, Owen -- I can't." She shook her head. "It's not going to work. I --"

Owen sighed, and sagged back against the wall. Hell of a time for her to give up a fight. "Fine. Then I'll start." He kicked one leg up to brace against the wall, and put his hands back in his pockets. The lining was slightly damp.

"I knew about Suzie's father." Gwen's face was growing surprised, puzzled, and he pushed forwards before she could ask any questions, staring down at the dark corner behind her, cigarette butts littering the ground. "That's why Suzie stopped talking to me, I think, actually. He abused her, and her sister. I told her to do something about it. To get counseling, or something. And she stopped coming to me." He looked up. "So forgive me if I'm not exactly too forward with the advice any more."

"I thought Suzie didn't get on with any of you."

"Oh no, she got along with Jack fabulously, and she and I, well --" Owen twitched his hips a little. "Jack doesn't socialize much, if you hadn't noticed. Suzie and I would go out, sometimes Tosh would join us. Escapists, her and me, that was it. Though she was more ignore the problem, where I like to forget it even exists.

"You, you don't even like to admit you have a problem. If you want to pretend you have a normal life, you should actually do it, Gwen. Otherwise, shut up and be miserable like the rest of us."

"But there's no reason --"

"Of course there's a reason," he imitated her tone. "There's a reason for everything. Jack's miserable because he thinks he can't share his secrets. Ianto -- well, maybe Ianto is miserable because of Torchwood. Tosh thinks it's a bad thing to enjoy this job. I hate the fact that I'm not in control of my life. And you --" He threw an arm out, gesturing abruptly. "You're upset that you've actually gotten your way. You don't know where your next challenge is coming from."

"And I suppose you're going to provide it for me," she snapped harshly, and slid away from him, dashing out into the rain again.

Owen cursed, and followed after her. The rain was a little lighter, the clouds starting to thin out a bit, but the streets were just as empty. "Gwen!" he shouted, jogging reluctantly after her disappearing figure. He caught up with her quickly. "Hey," he tugged on her shoulder. She whipped around, pulling free, but stopping at last.

"Look, come on." He held up his hands placatingly. "What I meant was, none of us are miserable because of our jobs. At least, not directly. Yeah, it shapes it. But that's all." He rolled his eyes. "Don't make me pull out the big words, like 'avoidance,' and 'deflection.' You'd find a way to be miserable, even without this job. It's a fact of the human condition." He smirked. It wasn't something he liked to think much on himself. He'd forgotten how much fighting with Gwen was like fighting with himself.

"Owen. I actually like my life. There's nothing to fix," she insisted. The rain spattered down around her, a gust of wind making them hit hard, and he turned slightly.

"You know, there's nothing essentially wrong with my life, either," he said. He could hear the hiss of a bus pulling up behind him, searing its way through the puddles. "But that doesn't stop everyone from saying I could do better." The bus' wet brakes screeched, and with a dull thud, its doors opened, disgorging a sea of passengers around him and Gwen. They jostled and bumped him, tipping him forward into her. He yanked his hands out of his pockets, and Gwen put up a hand to balance him, but already the world was washing away into white, like a lens refracting or the heavy glare off of the dirty plexiglass of the bus stop wall. He closed his eyes, but it followed under his lids, chasing everything else away.

When the white faded away, into soft shades of grey, Owen expected to find himself back in Torchwood, with a hero's welcome and possibly some dinner or snogging, so he was rightfully upset when he found he wasn't in Torchwood at all.

"Nice up here."

Owen whirled. He wasn't alone on the rooftop. Jack stood, about five feet away from him, leaning casually against the waist-high cement lip of the building. His hands were clasped, making him look like a praying figure, poised against the darkness of the city at night, lights winking away softly in the distance. Jack stared out into the black, seeming to ignore Owen, despite his words.

"What the hell are you doing here? I'm done, aren't I? I got through everyone, I talked to them," he said, almost spitting the words out. "I should be finished."

Jack turned to face him. "No, Owen, I said you had to go through all the memories and find the backdoor. You still have to get through your own memory."

"Well that shouldn't be difficult, since it's my memory." He threw his hands up. "That still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

Jack smirked. "Well, you still have to have someone to talk to. And you did do it. With the others' backdoors open, they're no longer in danger of going down with the device." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Now we've just got to get you out."

Well, he was no better than Gwen, was he? He really hadn't thought about any of his teammates showing up in his memory. Well, it wasn't like Jack was asking for any explanation for it. "Fine then," he said at last. "What do you want to talk about this time? Why I'm such a brilliant fit for Torchwood? How this job might not be the thing making us miserable, but it makes it hard as hell to see a shrink? What?" He turned away, realizing he'd let slip more than he'd intended.

"Well," Jack said, more on the ball than Owen -- probably from not having to tromp through his entire team's psyches all night -- "I can probably find you a shrink through UNIT, if that's what you really want. But I thought we'd start with talking about why you forgot about yourself tonight." Jack's voice found his ears easily -- the night was clear and quiet, hardly any traffic. "That's not like you, Owen Harper. As you so strongly pointed out."

"I didn't forget about myself. I just didn't have a choice." He scowled. "That tends to happen a lot."

"You were the best choice to work the memory device, yeah, but you forgot about your own memory. Why was that?"

"I don't know. Maybe I just forgot about it. Maybe once I knew I didn't have a choice, it didn't matter any more." He turned around again, not liking having Jack to his back.

Jack smiled a little, and shook his head. "You've always got a choice, you know that. I think you were more concerned about your teammates than you want to let on."

Owen scowled. "Why are you doing this, Jack? You trying to put together some sort of 'reform Owen' program? This isn't a mental holiday. And this isn't supposed to be about me. If we're supposed to come to some sort of agreement, I want something out of you."

Jack's face shuttered a little, hiding whatever he might be feeling -- the most obvious sign being his smile, now a little wider. Owen snorted as Jack widened his stance. He seemed to be more open, but Owen knew it was also a more defensible position, for attack from multiple sides. "All right." Jack voice was slow and smooth, like honey. "What do you want to know? Why I left without saying anything? Why I didn't say anything about my 'little secret?'" The words came out in a sneer, disgusted, as if Owen should already know the answer. And he did, in a way. But that didn't mean he didn't want to hear Jack say it. "Why I didn't tell the team?" Jack put his arms down. "I did it to protect you."

Owen blinked. That wasn't what he'd been expecting.

"You know Torchwood's primary function -- what they really think they're protecting us against. And, you know, they're right, the Doctor is dangerous, but at least he's not stupid or arrogant enough to unleash a Cyber-army or the Danaerian plague, or --" Jack stopped suddenly. "So yeah, I was looking for him, but for reasons a little different than the rest of Torchwood. And I didn't want you guys to be responsible for that." Jack leaned back against the lip of the wall. He looked tired for a moment, but then it was gone. "Look how well that worked out."

Owen frowned. Nothing disastrous had happened while Jack was gone. It had just been bloody annoying.

Jack sighed. "Owen, I've had a year -- years of experience with what's right and what's wrong out there, and what you have to do to keep your loved ones safe. And it usually involves leaving them behind. Or taking them home." His mouth quirked up for a second, and when he looked up again, that spark of mischief had returned to his eyes. "And you've got to believe, this is home for me right now."

Owen grunted. "Right now?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Owen, I'm over 150 years old. And according to my 'physician,' I'm not even middle-aged."

"Oh god, you're a horny teenager," Owen blurted, not thinking.

Jack burst into a startled laugh. Owen couldn't remember the last time he'd heard that. It had been a while.

"Owen. Owen, Owen, Owen." Jack chuckled. "I'm just trying to protect you. And so far I'm doing a lousier job than I should." He shook his head.

"Well, I don't know how to judge your protecting skills, but I can say you're doing a fine job at being a right ass." Owen shifted a little. "And hey, considering what we're doing, maybe none of us want protecting, eh?"

Jack smiled, and it was sad. "You all say that. You -- funny little humans." He sighed, approaching Owen until he was only a foot away. "We never learn, do we?" Then, with a swift, economical motion, he thrust his hand out, catching Owen square in the chest, and knocking him over the ledge.

Owen could see Jack's lips moving, but he couldn't hear the words as the air rushed past him, filled with the sounds of his own screams. He fell, stories of buildings shooting past him, the city lights a blur, everything becoming one solid mass, streaking into the sky, until he landed, with a heart-stopping crash, in his own body.

Owen jerked half-off the gurney, taking in deep, heaving gasps of breath. He could hear voices around him, the others -- Gwen saying something reassuring, Tosh and Ianto on the rail above, their faces almost a blur, and Jack. Jack, standing behind him, rubbing slow, soothing circles onto his back, voice low like he was trying to calm a skittish horse. Owen hauled off and punched him.

Jack went down hard, having been leaning over and unprepared. His teammates were clattering down the stairs, and Gwen was scolding him, trying to pull him back down before Jack raised a hand, backing them all off, his other hand pressed gingerly to his jaw.

"No, it's all right, I deserved that." Jack smiled at him, half apology, half amusement. "Though it's a good thing you waited until after you got out of the diplomatic scenario to do that, Owen."

"I can't believe you tried to kill me," Owen growled, breaking free of Gwen's grasp as it loosened in surprise. "How's that a diplomatic agreement about anything?" A look from Jack, and the others slowly filed out of the room, though not before Ianto pressed an icepack into Jack's hand.

"Hey, it's your backdoor, not mine. And you wouldn't have died. Diplomatic setting, remember? Assassination-proof. You were in no danger from anything happening in the scenario. Your heart rate didn't even go up for a second." Jack stood in front of him, keeping his body open, deliberately unguarded. "And you did it. You got everyone to accord, and you got them through in record time."

Owen eyed him warily. "That was either the damned easiest diplomatic session I've ever seen, or there's something wrong with that device."

Jack grinned again. "Owen, Owen. Owen. You forget." He poked Owen in the shoulder with one finger. "These are your teammates. They're going to want a lot of the same things you want. We're all here at Torchwood because we're looking for the same types of things. Of course it's not going to be that difficult to get along." He raised an eyebrow. "No matter how hard you try to make it seem like a chore. It's yourself you've got the most trouble with."

Owen didn't respond. Jack was obviously waiting for him to say something, but he couldn't. Didn't want to.

After a minute, Jack gave in and continued. "Look, it's still early in the week. Go home, get some sleep. Get a hangover if you need to. Tomorrow's up to you. I'm letting the others go early too, so I can reboot the systems." Jack looked him over. "Just be back on Thursday, ready to work."

Owen slipped off the table.

"No one's expecting you to change, Owen," Jack said from behind him. "I think we've gotten used to you." He chuckled. "Now isn't that a scary thought?"

Owen's salary with Torchwood paid pretty well, between the top-secret aspect and the hazard pay. And while he usually enjoyed his apartment, open and modern, with a wide, panoramic view of the city, tonight it just felt cold and barren. He jittered around in it for an hour, thoughts chasing him from one end of the loft to the next, no way to escape them. He felt brimming over with adrenaline.

Maybe Jack's right, he thought, as he closed the door behind himself. He could already see the lights of clubs flashing behind his eyes, see the bodies moving through the smoky atmosphere, feel them pushing everything else away. Maybe I can't change.

As he neared the first nightclub, however, his footsteps slowed, and finally stopped. He could feet the bass from here, see the neon lights. People were milling down the street, in clusters of two, three, four, or scattered out alone. Someone brushed by him, but he didn't move out of the middle of the road. Suddenly, the bright lights didn't seem so inviting any more.

Another person bumped into him, this time with a curse, and Owen slowly moved off, not really paying any attention to where his feet were taking him. But if I can change, what am I changing into?