Authors Note: This was written for - and edited by - my wonderful beater cindergirlgrimm. She's been editing my fics for almost a year now and this is my way of saying thank you.

Jack's first anniversary was similar to a lot of other days in his Torchwood career.

For neither the first nor the last time, he was caught with his trousers around his ankles, having sex in the lower levels of the Hub. He suspected that this alone – again for neither the first nor the last time – wasn't the main reason why Alice Guppy felt the need to put a bullet through his head. Jack correctly deduced that it was more to do with the fact that it was her girlfriend lying underneath him, then his innovative use of Torchwood office equipment.

Suzie spent the night working; she had more interesting things to do than think about such trivial things as anniversaries.

She had weapons to study, the Hub's security system to upgrade and a cat at home that needed feeding. However, seeing as it was a special occasion after all, she did permit herself to write a letter to her father, describing in graphic detail all the things she would do to him if – when - she got the chance to meet him again. She burnt the letter using an alien matchbox that had fallen through the Rift several days prior.

Tosh's anniversary was spent at home, staring at a photograph.

It was the last one she'd had taken with her Mam. The rest of her family was laughing and smiling in the background during a birthday party, taken only a few days before those bastards had captured her mother. Tosh had only been at Torchwood three weeks when she'd died. 'You can send postcards,' Jack had said. She still had the first and only one she'd ever started. It was unfinished, lying in a drawer in her kitchen. Tosh stared at the picture until the dark and her tears left it invisible.

Owen got drunk on his anniversary; gate crashed a party, and drank and kissed his way around the room.

But it didn't matter how many people he pressed against a wall, how much alcohol he consumed, how much perfume stuck to his clothes- he was still haunted. Everywhere he turned a reminder; this one had her hair, that one her eyes, another one her laugh. So Owen did what he had been doing for over a year: he drank, he shagged, and he hurt people just so he knew that he wasn't the only person screaming on this cold, wet planet.

Ianto spent the night cleaning a tombstone atop an empty grave.

He removed the dirt and rubbish while asking for forgiveness. Forgiveness for betraying her memory, for feeling something other than the never ending pain, for not being able to separate his beautiful angel from the monster that had killed her. He ignored the rain that fell around him, dripping down the back of his neck and making his entire body convulse. When the sun rose over the trees and landed on a small white headstone, there was no sign of Ianto, except for a single red rose lying in the mud.

Gwen spent her anniversary alone with only a bottle of Vodka for company.

Rhys was sleeping at Banana's after another long day at work had ended in them screaming at each other. Jack had gone and nobody knew when – or if – he was coming back. Everybody else was too busy nursing their own bruised hearts and egos to worry about Gwen. Tomorrow might be different, but not tonight. Gwen drank another mouthful straight from the bottle. She looked back over the year, about everything that had changed – both good and bad – and wondered what had happened to the little girl from Swansea.