For a moment, Gwen had to wonder if Jack was lying to her the way she lied to Ianto: with the best of intentions and even an attempt at humour, but still. She was inclined to believe it and she was almost ready to protest, but that impression of Rhys was just a little too convincing. It was the first time in months that Gwen let herself linger on thoughts of her husband. Rhys had played a very significant role in her life for- what? About ten years now. Gwen had changed so much in the past several months; it was kind of a comforting notion to learn that Rhys hadn't. She laughed just for a moment in relief and she told Jack without words that she appreciated the reassurance, even if it didn't solve anything; She didn't protest the change of subject.
It would take no effort whatsoever to type and send out a public service announcement. Gwen was just worried about the resulting questions and criticism. She still hadn't gotten used to that. The police force in Wales and especially with Torchwood, they'd just been able to leave the press work and the cleanup to someone else. If there was one aspect of the job she didn't miss, it was the days she had to go knock on some poor mother's door and confirm a death. The disappearances were actually grieved in a similar way so she mentally crafted her best idea at helping, which, of course, had her mentally spaced out until she fully understood that sobering comment from Jack.
He was trusting her, apparently more than you'd expect from a teammate or even a best friend. It was a sort of connection that had to work both ways. Gwen's initial response wasn't much better than the 'oh' she'd said in response to her gun. "Right," she said, hating herself for sounding so numb about it. "I mean," Her words came out stronger after a beat. "I won't let you down." She considered for a long moment whether or not she should tack on an 'again' to end that statement. There was one more thing on her to-do list that she wasn't telling Jack about. It was risky but she didn't need him thinking she couldn't handle herself, not when it pertained to the one job she was still an expert on, and especially not when it was her fault this needed doing in the first place. She'd go looking for Hugo Oberstein that night. In the meantime, they still had the needs of a whole town to consider.
"It's at least partly on me," she said to the subject of Ianto. "I did lie." She wanted to tell Jack that Ianto loved him and would do absolutely anything he asked, and that any of his team could say the same, but she sort of needed to believe that Jack already knew it. "P-S-A," she summarized her understanding of their current tasks instead. "Then I'll phone Tosh and see if she's got anything worth trying and..." She trailed off because that was all she was going to admit planning. Rather than panicking over the near-mistake, she returned briefly to the point about John Hart. Assuming the other captain hadn't burned Cardiff to the ground yet, it was nice to think he was actively looking for Jack and, by extent, the Pocket itself. Maybe a way out could come from some help outside. "I know you better than he does, then," she shrugged one shoulder and pulled a chair up to her desk. "You always come back, right?" The question was rhetorical and it held a dual meaning that also said 'See you soon.'
The night went by faster than it rationally should have. By the time Gwen returned to her desk, half of its events were a blur. She had a particularly violent German prisoner in the cell upstairs and several cuts lining her arms. The worst of those were slashes above her right wrist from when she'd almost lost the gun in that struggle. They probably needed medical attention but, before she even thought to wake Martha Jones, there were a few things Gwen needed to do first. She wriggled out of the ruined white shirt of her uniform and replaced it with a jacket she took from one of her desk drawers. It was a dark and stylish piece that had once belonged to Meg. Gwen tried not to look as pathetic as she felt when she inhaled the scent of it and let out a barely-discernable sob.
She set her right forearm in bandaging from the small first aid kit and got to work on the new PSA she'd prioritized. After that, she had to make a phone call. Before she got that far, however, what could only be an explosion close by scared the life out of her. She jolted, grabbed her gun and ducked under her desk. By the time she processed what was actually happening, it was too late to do anything to stop it. She growled in livid frustration and pulled out her phone. She didn't have to speak. If Jack was anywhere near the Town Hall, he would have heard the chaos, probably even witnessed it.
Some debris tumbled down the stairs and there was a cloud of dust. At least the downstairs area was fine; Gwen just wasn't ready to look up. She waited numbly for an answer. If Jack spoke at all, she didn't process it, she didn't respond. She let the phone fall from her hand onto the floor and sat very still with her gun aimed at the stairway. Sadly, she had learned a few things since her first years working as a cop. She now knew enough to recognize when she was in over her head, and when pursuit would do more harm than good. Hating herself and pulling her jacket closer, she just waited.
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