Anna was, in fact, extremely happy to hide herself in the vaults. She was still new to Torchwood, still learning the ropes and how to handle her colleagues (or in Owen's case, avoid him), so being left alone to do her job--giving the collection of alien artifacts a good scientific cataloging--had become her favorite way to spend the day. She didn't think she would be very good at field work. Not Torchwood's kind of field work, anyway.

That made her squirm a little as she filled out a fact sheet for the object sitting on the table in front of her. She was having to learn how to fire a gun. The weapon felt impossible large in her hands and she felt impossibly clumsy holding it. She'd tried to protest that she wouldn't need it--she was just a scientist--but her new boss had insisted. Firearms training or bust. Anna had wanted the job too badly, so she'd crumbled down and bucked up.

Then suddenly the comm blared to life and Anna's pencil went off the side of her paper in a smear of graphite.

"Oh! Oh--okay--um--I'll be right there," she stammered, jumping out of her seat, paused for a microsecond to wonder if she'd left her end of the comm open or not, and then ran upstairs anyway.