It's all AU.

Several days since Diane had been drinking with Jack Harkness, and she was very firmly determined never, ever to do so again.

Maybe never even drink again.

She'd done her best to keep to drinks she at least recognised, but as the evening had progressed and Jack's stories had got wilder, she'd lost track of what she was drinking. For once, not being careful, not needing to stay in control. And she'd paid for it, with a vengeance.

That morning, the hangover had finally retreated, and she'd ventured on some breakfast that, so far, seemed to be staying where it should be. It was time to try sunlight.

Shrugging on her jacket, she stepped out of the hotel lobby, paused for a moment, smiled when he head didn't immediately feel like splitting from the heat and light of the invisible sun (or whatever light source applied here) and started down the street in the direction of the field that Gipsy was still sitting in.

She didn't even see the man coming in the other direction until he'd almost passed her and she checked, stopped, and stared. Of course, it made sense, and Jack had said that he was here, but..."Owen?"

( Potential spoilers for TW 2.05. )

( Cut for length and irrelevence )

Slowly making his way down the hall, he peered into what looked like a dining room, scanning it for any sign of... well, he wasn't entirely certain what to expect here. Trouble, eventually. Of some sort. The Master wouldn't let him relax too long, just long enough to let his guard down, and then...

Jack shook his head, slipping into the room, keeping close to the wall, his back to it, so he could keep an eye out for anyone coming near him. He chose a table in a corner where the shadows were darkest, jumping a little when the server came up to hand him a menu, and set a glass of water on the table in front of him.

He took a long, grateful sip of it, watching the rest of the room. Not many people at the moment, and a few of them familiar. He caught the eyes of one of them as they looked in his direction, hesitating before smiling, a little hopeful, a little manic, and a lot broken.

Ianto wandered out of the archives of Torchwood Three. It was still disorganized, still mildewy and old, papers unorganized and not put into the computer files yet. He had a file folder with the field report of a 1903 agent open in his hands, so he could read the scratchy scrawl on the yellowed paper as he walked, head bobbing with his ipod. It was a Saturday so he was in jeans and a polo shirt; he didn't expect anyone else to be in, so he was more casual than his usual wont.

He only made it four steps off the concrete floor of the archives and onto the tiled floor of the hotel lobby before he felt the difference on his feet. He looked up from the file folder and took his head phones out of his ears. "...Again?"

Gwen had told Koschei that she'd think on his offer. Considering she had spent her first night in her hotel room, awake with her gun resting in her lap, she was pretty sure that it was time to accept the offer. She sighed softly as she laid out on her bed. She was pretty sure that it was a move that was frowned on but she was just so tired. Resting her hands under her cheek, she tucked her legs in close, mindful of her gun and that she had at least one escape route.

The soldiers were coming. She could hear the sounds of their boots on the pavement. "Tosh, we have to go," she urged as she lifted the little girl up on her hip "They're coming."

Tosh nodded as she finished up closing down the computer system. It was common practice for them to wipe out any CCTV records of what they were doing. "Coming. Go on, I'm right behind you"

Gwen had urged the people they were moving to run before turning back to see the Soldiers. Tosh was just exiting the building. "TOSH! RUN!" yelled Gwen. It would be a moment that she'd feel guilt over for weeks after.

She and Tosh had exchanged fire with the soldiers. Gunshots always brought the Toclafane. "Gwen! Run!" yelled Tosh as they closed in.

She ran. Turning only to watch the attack.

"TOSH!"

Gwen woke with a start, biting her lip to stifle the screams that rose to her lips. The sobs came next. The tears she had been keeping from Ianto and Owen. They weren't there to see it, she was alone. What did it matter now?

Brant had found a set of interconnecting blocks in the toy-store, and dragged the thing back to the hotel. At the moment he was at a table near the door, glass of water at his elbow, building what looked like some sort of multi-colored spaceship.

It was late. There wasn't a whole lot to do. He was making his own fun.

He felt more like himself. At least, physically. That helped. He didn't feel nearly as vulnerable now that he had most of his strength back, and there was still several heavy mental and emotional burdens weighing him down. And one of those burdens was currently resting within his link of sight. He'd frozen when he saw her, standing there like nothing had ever happened. And in all likelihood, nothing ever had. He'd been momentarily fixed in place, unable to think, unable to move, and it wasn't until his lungs started to burn that he realized that he'd forgotten to breath.

"Tosh?" Owen called, the name almost dying on his lips, falling off at the end. "Tosh!"

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."

Owen had awoken slowly, shifting carefully, but his hands and legs had still managed to bang against the railings on the bench. He'd shot up the second that had happened and smacked his forehead on the bottom of the bench and had rolled painfully to the side and out from under the unfamiliar wood and metal object. He'd been so sure that he was going to wake up back in his cell. But it seemed that they hadn't taken the time to move him during the night like they had apparently the night before. They wanted him to relax his guard. That had to be it. They wanted him to start to feel comfortable in this place before they decided to club him over the head and take him back to that cell that wreaked of death and decay.

The trouble was, he really wanted to indulge. It had been so long since he'd seen the sky, felt the grass, smelled air that wasn't recycled and stale. It had been too long since he'd seen the sun. He'd almost started to believe that these things had ceased to exist. But here they were, right in front of him.

Pushing himself up onto the bench (baby steps), Owen leaned back and surveyed the area around him. A small, nondescript town. They could have been anywhere. Raising his hand to pressed against his eyes, Owen leaned forward, elbows perching on his knees. Fresh air, sunlight, relative freedom. This game didn't make any sense.

A sudden burst of light often meant a visit from his Lord and Master. Owen hissed, hand flying up in front of his eyes as he tightened around himself, the ball that he was curled up tensing as his eyes adjusted to the light, and he realized that it was not just from the door to his prison opening as the Master entered. It was, instead, the constant flood of light that came from being outside.

Outside. In the open. Under the sun.

Owen trembled as his arm fell away from his eyes, his eyes going wide as they took in the surrounding area. It wasn't a town he recognized, but it was a town. He hadn't seen anything other than the four walls of his cell for...for...had it been a year yet? It felt like ten, but every time the Master came, he'd provide Owen with an update on how long he'd been there. Last time, it had been somewhere around 10 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days.

Shaking, his already lean frame having being emaciated over his captivity, Owen pushed himself to his feet and staggered forward, falling against a nearby tree as he looked up at the sky. The sky. The open sky! And he was holding onto a tree. A real tree.

If he hadn't been positive that all of this was just in his head, and that he would wake up any moment back inside his own cell, he would have cried.