Author's Notes: What a great response to chapter one! I'm extremely pleased with all the encouragement, so thank you to everybody who took the time to read/review/favourite. Special thanks as always to riftintimefor feedback and support. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

Having dismissed the old cliché of picking up flowers on the way home as abhorrent (besides which the only ones available would be Tesco's wilting evening blooms), Ianto hoped that a little physical affection would be appreciated far more, and pulled into his flat block's car park whilst firmly shoving the distractions of his career to the back of his mind.

"Lisa! You in?" he called as he slipped through the door, toeing off his shoes and already enjoying the release of being in his own space.

"In the living room, Ianto!" his girlfriend's melodic voice replied, prompting him to join her. Ianto surprised himself with his ability to smile a perfectly natural smile at the sound.

"Hey" he said softly, taking in her appearance on the sofa. She was wearing a tight mint-green vest with worn striped pyjama trousers, the pastel colours a beautiful contrast to her dark skin. Her beaming grin widened on sight of him, revealing white teeth and bright eyes which glittered in the low light.

"Hello gorgeous" she replied, leaning up to him for a quick kiss. Ianto immediately wrapped his arms around her and gently pulled her body upwards until she was kneeling in her seat, sinking into the embrace once the initial surprise had worn off.

"Wow..." Lisa exclaimed with a breathy little laugh. "What was that for?"

Ianto didn't reply with words, instead kissing her again and nudging her full lips apart with his tongue. He felt the familiar and comfortable sensation of arousal unfurl from deep in his stomach, relieved at least that there was nothing wrong with their relationship in that respect. His hands slid lower to the curve of her buttocks and she chuckled, breaking the tension and pulling back for a few deep breaths.

"Good evening to you, too" Lisa purred, her face glowing with reciprocal desire. She ran her hands up Ianto's chest and a breath caught in his throat as she pushed the jacket off his shoulders to pool on the floor.

"How was work, sweetheart? How's the case going?" she murmured in his ear, kissing the hinge of his jaw. Her voice was soft and husky, dark as molasses – the tone she always used to reduce Ianto to liquid – but the words themselves were as offensive to his libido as a bucket of icy water. His head dropped to her shoulder and he groaned.

"I don't want to talk about the case" he mumbled, barely suppressing a childish whine. Lisa's hands stopped moving and he silently begged her not to question him further, but when she pulled back with a frown – the seductive smile long gone – he knew with a flare of annoyance that the evening wasn't going to continue along the pleasurable vein he'd hoped for.

"What's happened? Are there new developments?" she asked in what was unmistakably her Inspector Hallet voice.

"No, just a few scant details about Parker, the latest disappearing act" Ianto sighed, removing his hands from his lover's body entirely. Suddenly, he didn't want to talk, and while he felt a twinge of shame for the fact that the removal of what had seemed like guaranteed stress-relieving sex had him in an immediately short-tempered mood, the rest of him was feeling stubbornly miserable. So much so that it was almost a relief when a poor-quality polyphonic version of the Bond theme emanated from his trouser pocket.

"I have to take this" he said by way of excuse, turning away from Lisa as she collapsed back onto the sofa with a resigned sigh.

"Jones."

"Sorry to disturb you, boss" came Rupesh's voice, "but there's a new disappearance and we finally managed to capture it as it happened. Jonah Bevan, fifteen, Jubilee Place in Canary Wharf less than an hour ago. He was on his way home from a comedy gig, just crossing the footbridge over the West India docks when there was a flare on the camera and he was just... well, gone. Same as the footage we recovered for Taufeeq, Green, Devlin, Hopkins, and Parker. They're heavy on CCTV along there, pissed youths near the water and that, and Bevan was easily identified. Still nobody around, though – the rest of the crowd was clever enough to pour into the tube station but the kid decided to walk, the numpty. Anyway, the lads monitoring those cameras called the case line as soon as they saw it, then Mickey rang me. I'm at the station now. What d'you want us to do?"

Ianto thought fast. "Get a copy of the footage secured. It needs to be examined for tampering like the others, as soon as possible. Get forensics in if you have to. I'm going to the scene."

"You sure that's a good idea, boss?"

"If there's anything that might give us a lead as to what the hell is going on at Canary Wharf, this is the time to look. We've never had the chance to examine a scene so close to the disappearance time before."

"Alright, mate. Be careful, yeah?"

"Yep. I'll pop into the station on the way back. Hopefully I'll have something to show for all this by then."

Ianto flicked his mobile closed and fixed on an apologetic smile as he stooped to pick up his now doubly wrinkled jacket.

"I have to run" he explained, guilt making him physically squirm when he realised that he was relieved to abandon the woman he loved in favour of work. The silence was too oppressive when he was this frustrated, and the last thing he wanted was an argument.

"Okay" Lisa responded, flashing him a weak smile. They never needed to question one another when it was obviously about a case. "Will you be back late?"

"I honestly don't know" Ianto replied, leaning over the back of the sofa to kiss Lisa's cheek. "Hopefully not."

Without another glance, Ianto spun on his heel and left the flat, throwing himself into his Audi and hurtling as quickly as possible to his destination. While it was a twenty minute journey by public standards, Ianto managed to shave off a good seven minutes by slamming the detachable lights onto the roof and pressing his foot down harder than he strictly should have when technically, there was no emergency. Sod it; there's got to be some perks to this job.

Ianto parked his car near to Heron Quays and strolled first around the clubs and restaurants of Jubilee Place, noting the distinct lack of patronage since the police went public with the pattern of disappearances all being linked by this part of London. He puffed out a frosty breath, wishing he knew what he was looking for, and headed towards the footbridge.

His smart shoes clicked dully beneath him, sending an echo out across the almost-silent wharf. The lights which lined the bridge glowed greenish and cast bizarre shadows over the blackened water, brightening the light drizzle that began to fall. Ianto flicked up his jacket collar and chose to ignore the icy droplets as they soaked his hair and dripped down his neck, instead reaching into his pocket for his car keys and clicking on the miniature torch he always kept attached.

He was thoroughly absorbed in his thus-far fruitless search for tracks when every light along the length of the bridge flickered off. Ianto stopped dead, swallowing hard against an intense wave of unease as he straightened up and flashed his own paltry source of light in front of him until a second later, that too was extinguished. For a moment, there was only blackness and the soft patter of rain, before a sudden blinding glow above him sent Ianto stumbling heavily to his knees.

Shielding his eyes he tilted his head upwards, raindrops falling onto his face and into his open mouth. Bewildered and almost blinded, he did all he could think to do – he reached into his pocket and held his ID aloft.

"Detective Inspector Ianto Jones, Metropolitan Police Ser-"

Still don't know what I was waiting for,

and my time was running wild,

a million dead-end streets and

every time I thought I'd got it made,

it seemed the taste was not so sweet.

So I turned myself to face me,

but I've never caught a glimpse,

of how others must see the faker,

I'm much too fast to take that test...

Ianto dared to open his eyes, finding not a cloudy December night sky above him but a pale, misty grey. Lying spread-eagled on his back, disorientation reigned, his single coherent thought being why can I hear David Bowie?

When a shadow fell across his face he adjusted the angle of his blurred gaze, and found himself staring up at an attractive brunette in her late twenties, wearing a sunny grin that lit up her large hazel eyes. Something immediately seemed odd about her, and for a long moment, Ianto couldn't work it out.

"How's he doing, WPC Cooper?" a deep voice rang out from an indeterminate direction, powerful and extremely American. That was it – the young woman was wearing a completely outdated police uniform, something specifically made for female officers decades ago. Calling a woman a WPC had been officially obsolete since just before the Millennium, and unofficially long before then. Ianto struggled to focus his thoughts, slowly becoming aware of a throbbing headache.

The woman glanced away from Ianto and nodded at something or someone he couldn't see.

"Coming around, sir" she replied in a thick Welsh accent, far more pronounced than his own. Ianto turned his head and tried to scan his surroundings with somewhat hazy eyesight. He could have been anywhere, but he certainly didn't recognise it; brown and grey architecture surrounded him, several buildings smothered with ugly scaffolding. The only vehicle to be seen was some kind of military-issue Land Rover, and the music he could hear appeared to be flowing from its open windows. It didn't escape his notice that the jeep was in exceptionally good condition, despite the fact that the model had to be ancient.

He experimentally twitched his fingers and, finding he could move them, balled both hands into fists. As he attempted to reawaken his muscles and mindfully ignored the concerned stare of his female overseer, a vast and faded banner caught his eye. It was wrong. Even more wrong than the WPC uniform.

'Centreplan 70', the banner screamed. His mind worked remarkably quickly to gather the necessary local knowledge; Centreplan 70 was a huge scheme to redevelop Cardiff city centre in the early 70's, but it fell through in 1973 thanks to the property crash. So why the hell is there a banner for it in whatever hideous part of the world I've woken up?

A pair of long, trouser-clad legs blocked his view, forcing Ianto to follow the length of them. Past a long greyish military coat, over a sky-blue shirt, and up past some gleaming epaulettes until his eyes settled on a Hollywood-handsome face – obnoxious grin included.

"Mr. Jones, so glad you could join us" the American drawled, tugging at the knees of his trousers before he crouched. The sudden movement made Ianto cross-eyed as he fought to follow it, and a fresh wave of light-headedness muddled his thoughts yet further. When had he closed his eyes? Were they even closed? He tried to flex his hands again, finding he'd swiftly lost all awareness of his limbs.

"We've been expecting you" that amused voice continued, but to Ianto it was little more than a murmur as he slipped back into blessed unconsciousness.