It's all AU.

It was late 'evening' according to both his biological clock and the slow return of the stars outside when he found Jack outside.

Even from behind, and even realizing that there was more than one version of him floating around, there was something more than the coat that told Brant that it was 'his' Jack. He resisted the urge to reach out mentally, and instead paced slowly toward him. "Hey," he said, calm and quiet and from a reasonable distance. "You planning on coming back inside tonight, or are we galaxy-gazing."

Him going away wasn't one of the options.

After finishing his conversation with the Ianto-not-Ianto, Owen had managed to work up enough strength to make it to one of the nearby buildings. A hotel of some sort, it looked like, and that was a relief. Though, the stairs that faced his climb to the rooms hadn't been. So, instead, he'd just dropped down on the sofa in the lobby and closed his eyes. Maybe in an hour or two, he'd have the strength to tackle the stairs. He hadn't realized just how weak he'd gotten since the Master's last visit. He'd been able to put up a fight then. Now, he doubted he'd be able to do much more than growl in the bastard's face and spit in before he was beaten to a bloody pulp.

"Pathetic sod," Owen muttered to himself, scrubbing his hands over his face before letting them fall to the side, eyes closed. "That's all you all now. A pathetic pile of useless flesh."

( Cut for length )

Folding the report carefully, he tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat. Now, all he had to do was find out the rest of the information. He chose a seat in the hotel lounge where he had a decent view of the lobby as well, and settled down to wait. He had an idea of who to look for - the Master, or the Doctor, or Jack - but he wasn't certain who he'd run across first.

He ignored the one Jack, noting peripherally that he was dealing with Owen, waiting for the next person whose face was familiar to cross his path.

Rowan doodled in boredom, half asleep with his other hand holding his head up. He was barely awake and it showed, head drooping and hair looking limp as the rest of him.

For almost two weeks, Ianto had been looking for any answers about this place, about the people, about how to get home.

Nothing gave him any clues and it was frustrating him beyond the telling of it. Useless. He felt useless and he couldn't tolerate that, couldn't stand it. He was dressed neatly, still, but he was frazzled, sitting on the ground in the park with posterboard and markers, making a bulletin board.