Ianto watched the lazy drift of bubbles over the grass and hedges in the side garden of 13 Bannerman Road, Ealing, London. Someone (the girl's mother, he thought) had given the teenagers a few dozen little white bottles of bubble formula, leftovers from a wedding with a complicated flower arrangement. Rani was showing Luke how to make the bubbles huge and languorous, the very slow, very patient exhale required in order not to pop them outright. She held the rounded plastic wand up to her lips, curled in wry amusement at the concentration on Luke's face as he watched her technique. Ianto grinned in response, unseen, and Sarah Jane surprised him by setting down his cup of tea on the little white garden table with a soft clatter. He looked up at her, and she looked out across the garden at the kids, smiling.
"Luke's never played with bubbles," she said, sitting, her eyes still on the little scene, Clyde bending down next to Luke as he concentrated on Rani and blowing a stream of small bubbles against Luke's ear. "I sometimes forget that things like this can still be new to him. He's grown so much."
Ianto nodded, picking up his tea and taking a sip. "It's very good," he said, setting it down. "Thank you." His eyes traveled back to the kids.
Sarah Jane watched him with a small, amused smile. "You seem to have relaxed a bit."
Ianto looked back at her. "Pardon?"
She shrugged, sitting back in her chair, one elbow bent over the chairback. "Oh, I don't know," she said, airy. "When you first arrived this afternoon you were all business and stoicism. You're a very straight-laced young man, Mr. Jones."
"I was here on a mission," he said, mouth twitching with a smile. "Now I'm having tea." But it wasn't just that. That was part of it, but – this house, with its talking computer and its tin dog and the laughter of children playing in the garden as if they were much younger. It was sweet, and humble. It had softened him a little, unlatched him and let him fall open just a crack, enough to sit ajar and let a slant of the afternoon light in.
"Are you certain your team won't miss you?" Sarah Jane asked.
Ianto smirked. "I've learned over time to tell the direness of a situation by the tone of Jack hanging up on me. He and Gwen can handle it. Thank you again, by the way, for letting us use Mr. Smith. Mainframe will be annoyed with us when she's up and running again for using another computer."
"It's no bother," Sarah Jane said, waving a hand. "I'm happy to help." They fell to silence, both of their gazes drifting over to watch the teenagers again. It had by now become a bubble battle; they chased each other around the opposite side of the garden, plastic wands to lips, attempting to tag each other with jet streams of tiny bubbles. Clyde appeared to be winning, or perhaps he just liked to think he was.
"By the way," Ianto said, apropos of nothing, his eyes still on the kids, "Please call me Ianto."
Sarah Jane looked at him and smiled. "If you call me Sarah Jane." She picked up her tea and sipped from it, watching him over the rim of the cup as he followed the game. With her eyes she traced the curves of his face, his three-quarters profile unlined, cherubic, but pale. Her mouth pulled into a slow frown. His eyes had an age mismatched to his face, his clothes mismatched to his body, the careful way he held himself mismatched to the way any other person his age would do so. He was at once a picture of youth and a picture of age, and it broke her heart to see it, suddenly; the wear on him.
"You should be just out of school," she said, very quietly, setting down her cup.
He looked at her, surprised. He sat up slightly. "I joined Torchwood One rather than going to university."
"That isn't what I meant." She looked down at the little white table, at the pattern of her china teacup. "You're far too young for what you do."
Ianto watched her, frowning. He was quiet for a moment. Then, "When did you go off with the Doctor?"
Sarah Jane blushed. She sighed, beaten. "I was twenty-three."
Ianto smiled kindly across the table at her. "Well. There you are, then."
She shook her head, running a finger around the rim of her cup. "I suppose some people are made to experience these things at a fragile age, but I can't say that I like it. Jack takes you all on too young. You've hardly lived yet."
Ianto looked over at the children.
Sarah Jane followed his gaze. "I would never let them get hurt."
Ianto was silent, watching as a bubble floated toward the two of them, reflecting the heavy sunlight in the garden. The kids were laying down together in the grass, chests rising and falling, exhausted and amused, blowing bubbles straight up into the air, watching the wind carry them away.
Sarah Jane looked away. She closed her eyes and exhaled. "They've already been hurt," she said.
"I know," he said. He shook his head. "It has nothing to do with age or experience, Sarah Jane. You know that as well as I do. Thousands of people in the world see the kinds of things that we see every day, but they do their best to ignore it, or attribute it to something that they can believe in without the world changing around them. We are the sort of people who can't do that. We let the world change, and we run to keep up. We choose this life."
She watched him, her eyes wet. "It's still my fault that they've seen the world change at all. My selfishness lets me keep them here, following me into trouble." She looked over at three pairs of bent knees pointing at the sky. "I need them."
Ianto looked down into the milky surface of his now-cold tea. "I don't envy what you and Jack have done. But I admire it."
Sarah Jane was silent for a moment, then said, her voice quiet, "Jack and I are the leaders of a Children's Crusade."
Ianto smiled softly. "We're willing followers, I assure you." He let out a breath, pausing, try to find the right words. He shook his head. "Whatever the outcome is, the things that we see are a privilege. It's lonely, and dangerous, but-" He shrugged, looking at her. "Someone has to witness, Sarah Jane. Someone has to see."
Sarah Jane sighed and reached out to put her hand over Ianto's. "Jack can pick them, and that's the pity of it." Ianto laughed, and Sarah Jane smiled.
Ianto stood up and pulled his waistcoat straight. "I'd best be heading back," he said.
Sarah Jane stood, too. "Are you certain? You could stay for dinner. Clyde's cooking." She raised her voice. "Aren't you, Clyde?" The boy raised a hand in confirmation.
Ianto grinned. "I'm not certain that anything Clyde cooks will be edible."
There was an insulted shout from the other end of the garden, and something small hit Ianto's shoulder and bounced off. He looked down to see what it was. One of the little bottles of bubble formula sat in the grass at his feet, half in the shadow of the table and half in the sunlight. He bent down and picked it up, tracing the heart-shaped indent with his thumb. "I'm sorry, I have dinner plans. If Jack hasn't destroyed the restaurant."
"Does that happen often?"
"More often than I'd like."
Sarah Jane grinned. Then she surprised him by sweeping him into a tight, brief hug, before holding him at arm's length by his shoulders. "You be careful, Ianto Jones," she said, serious but smiling, and didn't that seem to be the way of everything here? "And come back whenever you like. You are always welcome."
Ianto smiled. "I appreciate that. Thank you."
Sarah shook her head. "Don't mention it. Go on, now. You don't want to keep the Captain waiting."
He nodded. "Have a good evening." He looked over to the kids, then called, "It was nice meeting you!"
Three hands lifted up and waved goodbye.
With one last nod at Sarah Jane, Ianto made his way to the front path and out onto the sidewalk on the other side of the red brick wall. Just before he reached his car, he stopped. He looked down at the little bottle of bubble formula in his hand, with its white plastic heart. There was a flash over his shoulder, and he looked up to see one last bubble, riding the wind over the wall. It hovered for a moment in the street before it was swept up high into the air, and Ianto watched as it disappeared from view. Smiling, he slipped the bottle into his jacket pocket.
There was a muffled beeping, and Ianto flipped open his mobile and pressed it to his ear. "I'm on my way now," he said. He started walking toward his car. "I stayed for a bit of a chat." He listened for a moment, reaching out for the car door handle. "You seem to have done fairly well without me." He opened the door.
Ianto looked up at the high attic window of 13 Bannerman Road, only half-listening to Jack's exaggerated account of the day. In awkward reverence, he nodded at the gentle brick house, his eyes tracing the lines of its peaks. Then he slipped into the car, humming agreement to whatever Jack had asked him, and closed the door.