"I thought the Welshies were supposed to be better fighters," Mitchem said, walking slowly to one side. He popped his knuckles and took off his bowler hat. He dropped in his pocket watch and set it aside.
Bryant had already removed his hat, watch, and coat, and was walking to Ianto's other side. "Nah. That's a myth. Lookit this one. If he was such a fighter, he'd be fighting more."
Ianto wondered if it would even be worth turning over. It was shit like this that made him wonder why he had signed on at Torchwood. Sure, they had offered to expunge his record, but they had given him strict rules. Fighting back was against the rules. Mitchem and Bryant, the assholes, had learned to take advantage. He sighed. Which would he rather get beaten today? Face or back?
He felt someone's fist - Mitchem's, by the meatiness of it - hit his back. He grunted, but refused to fall farther. Didn't want to damage his suit. His back, then.
"If you do that again, it will be a most unwise decision."
Ianto looked to see who had spoken. A woman. Maybe in her later twenties, brown hair cut just past her shoulders. She wore a duster coat buttoned up to her neck. She looked younger than he was, but he had never seen such old eyes.
"Stay out of this, lady."
She looked at Bryant in distaste. "I would advise you not to advise me. I've been having a very bad day."
"Ooooooooooh," Bryant said, making a face of exaggerated fear at Mitchem. "She's been having a bad day! She might cry at me." He looked down at his side, and his expression changed to one of confusion and growing fear. "What did you do? What did you do to me?" His knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. Shortly thereafter, Bryant fell as well.
Ianto watched her carefully; she held something in her palm, and though she wasn't pointing it at him, she hadn't pointed it at the others, either.
She looked down at him. "You're Ianto Jones."
Even though she had stated it as a fact and not a question, he nodded.
She slipped the device into a coat of her pocket, staring behind him in thought. After a few moments, her eyes focused on his face again. "If you like, you may come with me. My companion, if you will."
"Where?" What, exactly, did she think he was? "What do you mean, companion?"
"Someone to travel with me. It isn't as you seem to think. You would merely keep me company."
He gave another slight nod. "I'm under contract."
"What could they do to you if they couldn't find you?"
He suspected they could do plenty. Torchwood was King Edward's personal military force, little more than glorified mobsters. "And where would we be going?"
She smiled. "Everywhere." She paused. "But I warn you, Ianto Jones. If you come with me, you'll never be able to return."
He stood and dusted himself off. It had just become much more tempting. "Why me?"
"Because you are important."
Well, that was certainly nice to hear. "And why am I important?"
"Come with me, and I'll tell you."
He glanced at London, at the streets choked with grime, and women displaying their wares. The smoke and dirt in the air darkened each gas lamp to only a shade of its brilliance. His family was dead, he had a job he hated, and there were worse things than traveling with a woman who was weird and possibly deranged.
He straightened his tie. "Since I'll be traveling with you, what am I supposed to call you?"
"Romana." She turned and began to walk away, indicating that he should walk beside her. "Prepare to see the universe in a whole new light, Ianto Jones."
