They don't count time on this colony world like they do on other planets whose orbits closely match that of Earth's. Instead of standard years, the colonists of the Boeshane Peninsula use milestones: he is old enough to walk and talk, old enough to swim, too young to know his letters. On market days, when he's allowed to play with the other children, he runs and stumbles and giggles with the little ones, no need for years or dates to know how to chase after a kicked ball.
The smells and tastes of the market intrigue his little nose with woodsmoke and spices, and when he's been good, a sweet. Mother buys him sweets almost every time, and she buys one more for herself though she says it's for the baby in her tummy. Sometimes the baby kicks after she eats her tangy treat, and he can feel the jump if he presses his cheek against her.
They are walking hand in hand through the market, while Father stays with his stall to sell his catch. Someday they will take turns, and Father and Mother can wander the market while he shouts proudly, "Buy them now!" as all the vendors do.
"Buy them now!" shouts a red-faced man close by, and at his stall are bulging balloons on sticks, their bulbous forms as vibrant a red as the vendor's merry jowls. They bobble and wave in the sharp, salt-laced breeze, and it is the most amazing thing in the world.
He pulls on Mother's hand, dragging her to the stall. If he is very good, if he is very very good, could he please please have one, and maybe the baby in her tummy would like it?
Mother laughs. When she pushes her hair from her face, she's beautiful, and she says yes.
In the cool evening, he runs ahead of his parents and the little cart they push to hold the stall after a long, good day. His red balloon waggles in the air, its colour fading with the light.
The noise when it bursts suddenly is the scariest, most awful sound he's ever heard, and he holds the deflated skin, wide-eyed and sorrowful. Father's arms swoop around him, but the tears have started and won't stop until he cries himself to sleep tonight.
twtwtwtw
Mam's sister lives in Swansea, and they time their holiday this year to the Pennard Carnival. Aunt Peg always enters her prize-winning preserves, which is why they are prize-winning. Aunt Peg is proud of them, proud of her ribbons, too proud by far, Mam says, but not when she thinks anyone is listening, least of all her children.
Rhiannon loves the carnival, and she begs Mam for spending money so she can ride the carousel and the ponies, and buy sticky sweets. Ianto wants to ride the same rides that the big boys do, racing in carts and spinning in hastily bolted-together contraptions, but he has to stay with Rhi and ride the dumb carousel. He doesn't like the same sweets she does but she holds the money so she picks the candyfloss and the caramel apples instead of the taffy he wants.
"Are you having fun?" asks Mam when they return to her, out of breath and out of coins.
"Loads," says Rhi. Ianto doesn't want to say yes, but he doesn't dare say no.
Mam wants her to come look at the flower arrangements. Ianto doesn't want to go, and Dad is an unexpected help when he says, "Jesus, you're going to turn him into a girl." He gives Ianto a few coins and tells him not to wander.
He seizes his chance. The big bowl spinner is close by. The first thirty seconds of the ride are exhilarating, full of wind and speed and excitement. Then the unwanted candyfloss and apple begin to complain, and he barely holds on for the end of the ride, stomach cramping. He is fine, he can do this, he'll be okay. Then he gets sick all over Dad's shoes.
After that, there are no more rides. Rhi takes what's left of his spending money and buys them each a balloon, supposedly to make him feel better but really because she likes dumb balloons. Ianto glares at his balloon the whole ride back to Aunt Peg's, and blames it for everything that went wrong today. When Dad starts yelling and Mam starts crying like what happens every time they visit, he blames the balloon for that, too.
Aunt Peg gets sick before their next holiday, and then Mam gets sick and stays sick, and they never go back.
twtwtwtw
Thanks to Toshiko, they've tracked down the fleeing Weevils, but unfortunately, they've run into the Halloween street fair. Halloween is never a pleasant time for Torchwood, what with too many damn people in masks, and too many damn aliens in general. Now they are surrounded with fancy dress and pride floats. The mingled smells of sweets and fried food in the air is enough to make even Jack sick.
Ah. There. He catches the foul whiff of something that eats sewer refuse, and like a shot, he's off, knowing without asking that Ianto is on his heels. They chase this one to a balloon vendor. The Weevil is hiding among the brightly coloured shapes, and Jack has had enough. He knows how to get rid of this particular obstacle.
"Shall we?" Ianto asks, stepping beside him with his firearm raised.
"I love how you get me." Together, they start shooting, filling the air with loud, satisfying pops.