"It's not the end of the world," he says softly, more softly than the other Doctor ever did. Rose rather appreciates the tone, despite the candor. "You know, we know a bit about that, right?" He pauses and his mouth presses against the back of Rose's head.

Out in the yard, her mum tackles dad and they roll about in the leaves, rakes forgotten.

"It feels like the end of something," she tells the window before turning away. Tony is at that androgynous age in which his belly laughs could be any child, any child in the world. In the universe.

Amongst the various spam messages that have managed to get through even Tosh’s super-filter (mostly for penis enlargements; and Jack really doesn’t need the encouragement), Suzie finds an interesting little email from a man called Ianto Jones. He seems somewhat desperate for a job, since he used to work for Torchwood One and his workplace is now basically rubble and therefore not really handing out salaries any more.

"There's a cat," Ianto said. "On my back." "Hello moggie!" Owen said. "Where'd you come from?" "IM IN UR BASE -- " "And it's talking." "SITTIN ON YANTOE."

"You let Ianto fall into the Rift," Jack said, with a level of strained calm that had Owen edging towards the door. "Alright." He took a deep breath. "But you should know that nobody sleeps until we find him. And I'm probably going to fire you all."

They're experts; they know what they're doing.

"Take her – or him – on a date," Gwen said, not realising that she'd started pointing a staple-gun (what was that doing in here?) at him, "or leave them alone, John."

One brush with cannibalistic villagers and everyone felt the sudden urge to confess.

One two and engine grease; one two three is the dance of Suzie Costello, in which three is the beat and two is her hand in Jack's hand and one could be the partridge in the fucking pear tree for all he knows. One is the mystery. One is the mask.