21

Ianto was exhausted from the day's work, most of the new bunks now set up for the next wave of refugees.

There was over thirty here now, various ages, powers and dispositions. Arguments had started, fractions splitting despite his attempts to keep them all happy. Jack had told him this would happen, the different powers making them clash but he had so hoped for peace.

The final straw was when it had happened at breakfast, a clash that upended chairs and was almost a bloody riot, all because one called the other a dirty rat. Gods preserve us, we are all fucking rats now. Rats in a maze of our own making…or rats deserting a sinking shit or….gods, this could do your head in thinking about all the derogatory things you can call yourself.

Maybe with rest will come clarity? The dreams were getting worse. Each new person he encountered, met and gleaned, not only joined the cause and family but also his dreams. For some reason the baby was influencing him, making it harder to shield from others so each touched hand or brush in the corridor was sparking in his brain, showing him random images of their lives. He had wept, raged and laughed when alone as their memories were shown to him but Gods, sleep would be nice.

Jack was still going strong and Ianto's gentle request to rest had been met with a soft smile and wave of the hand giving him a spike of annoyance at being shooed away like a dog at the dinner table. Jack felt it and swung to apologise but Ianto was already wraithing away, tired, hurt and hormonal. Did no one remember his own passenger?

He entered a room with soft lighting and a woman who was sitting on some cushions, the entire room looking like a cross between a bohemian bordello and an Arabian fairy tale but there was something about this woman that drew him near and she flicked her wrist to close the door behind him, raising her head to stare at him long and hard before pointing to a large pile of cushions.

Ianto sank into them and sighed softly with relief as his tired feet kicked off his boots. The woman moved nearer and started to caress his forehead, his mind sparking as she fed him her power. He was too tired to catalogue or respond. Letting her give what she wanted, take what she wanted.

"I have a baby" he slurred after drifting for a while, "Have a care mother dear. Don't harm the wee spark."

"Hush now, I would never harm that" she crooned, leaning down to kiss his forehead and he gasped as his back arched, the vortex swirling in his veins, burning like a cold glacier stream.

"Hush now" she released him and watched him settle into the cushions, his head lolling as he gave in and slipped into the void. "It's all going to be OK, let the brain box have an emptiness to it. You don't need to cram it so full of thoughts. It's OK. I'm here, you're here and the world turns below. I give you strength."

She waited until his breathing lengthened and he finally slept without the dreams that had plagued him. She rose to leave and opened the door to find Jack on the other side about to knock.

"Old mother?"

"Hello wee one" she replied happily, "Go. He sleeps now. Have a care, the little grub takes his strength. He must slow down and rest, the grub needs to as well. Gonna be bad times ahead, you remember the words, don't you."

"Yes" Jack swallowed convulsively as he looked at her, reaching out to stroke her cheek lovingly before leaning in to kiss her where his finger had lingered, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For the words" he whispered as he looked into her eyes, seeing the wolf looking back, "For those bits of the in between. Thank you old mother, for the story. I know what I must do, I know. I remember the words. I promise."

"Of course you do" she smiled, "You are a good boy, always were."

He smiled and released her, watching her step back around the corner and then he stepped around after her not surprised to find an empty space.

She still came and went as she pleased.

.

.

.

.

"Coz he be of here!" the girl with the pink hair said, "He sits here and hears the words, that's why you come back. Every year you tell us, you speak the words so one day he will be the one who hears them."

"Yes, here at the end of the story, it must one day begin" she nodded, "But the magic is not in this meeting. No, it is in the in-between."

"The magic is in the words" they agreed and she smiled as she looked at the little boy who leaned against her knee, hugging her skirts.

"The magic be here tonight, all around us" she finally said softly, "For I am the words written on the wall."

"I am the Bad Wolf."