It's all AU.

It wasn't often that Gwen had traveled far enough afield that she stayed in a hotel room. Still, if she'd had any sense, she'd have asked Jack for a double shot of Retcon and gone on about her life after nearly ending up dead.

So she showered, dressed, and tried not to think about how certain she was that she'd slept in her own bed last night as she went to the lobby for coffee.

Owen was sitting in his chair, feet up on the desk and the chair leaning back, hovering right around the angle that would cause him to topple from it if he was startled. Fortunately, it was late and as far as he knew, no one was in Torchwood at the moment. Which meant it was a great time to be enjoying his porn on the much wider screen in the autopsy lab. A pen dangled from his lips as Owen watched the two men on the screen, glancing up then looking back down at the magazine in his hands.

It might have seemed an incongruous picture as Owen shifted his attention from the new edition of Scientific American to the porn on the screen and back. But, again, no one was around to appreciate it. At least, that's what Owen thought.

The TARDIS had landed here without any actual intent on the Doctor's part. Still. Nice little town, ...somewhere. He poked the console; the readings were all strange, spinning and jumbled. Which meant he wasn't going anywhere until he fixed it.

"Oh for..." He groaned, stripping off his jacket, grabbing his screwdriver, and rolling up his jumper sleeves. He took off the outside panel and crawled under the console, feet poking out. The inside of the console was a mess of wires, jury rigged over hundreds of years. He had to be more careful. Before he couldn't get new parts. Now he couldn't get new parts. He closed his eyes for a moment; he'd spent a lot of time under here.

He worked for hours; the readings were still wonky and his eyes were burning from focusing for so long. He slid out, rubbing his eyes, mumbling, "Must be missing somethin'."

He rolled down his sleeves and grabbed his jacket, locking the TARDIS door behind him as he stepped out onto the street under the dim glow of the arch of the street-lamp. He rubbed the back of his neck and headed down the street. The weather was cool. The town looked like earth, twentieth century. Figured. TARDIS loved this time on this planet.

It was easy to love this time.

He headed into a bar, part of a hotel, and sat at the counter, ordering a coffee. "Nice night," he said absently to the person sitting next to him.