48
Prim was sitting at the kitchen table watching her beloved Godfather as he moved about his kitchen with ease, his hands moving restlessly as he double checked the little muffins for the New Year's Celebrations.
Every now and then he would stop his work to stare at her, and then return to his task like he was about to ask something but thought better of it. Prim sat poking at the cucumber sandwich he had made her, perfectly of course. The only person who truly knew how she likes them.
Finally he sat and looked over at her and smiled "you know…they say the plumber's house is the one that will always have a leaky tap."
She blinked slowly "Huh?"
Ianto sat back and regarded her "I am a writer. Like… an artist and sometimes I can't find the word I want. It pisses me right off, of course now Imp is old enough, he fills in the gaps effortlessly for me but I do admit to brain farts in me old age."
Prim pushed back the plate and screwed her face up.
"Twenty years old… hard to think. You two are twenty now, you and your brother Ivy." Ianto snorted. So many Ifans in the village they have become clever with their nicknames and Primrose's brother had become Ivy after his love of the colour green became apparent.
"So. Your father… who was an elite police officer once… is totally unaware that you and Skidmark's boy Winston have been sniffing about one another eh?" Ianto said as he drummed his finger on the table "The real question here is… how serious are the two of you? Can you depend on him as the shitstorm descends on you both? You know Connor could go either way here… his little princess."
Ianto sighed as he regarded Bethy's little sister and he knew he was right as she morosely plucked at the tablecloth.
She had come for his help, not his scolding.
"Right. The real questions here are… what to do next. Keep? Get rid? Give away?"
She looked up at him and the first huge teardrop fell on his pristine cloth "I wanna keep it Uncle."
"Well of course you do, you are your mother's daughter after all. Well… first thing to do is go see Uncle Owen and get it confirmed, then talk with Stone and see if he wants to stand by you or run for the fucking hills… then we tackle your father and hope he doesn't get his gun" Ianto said as he rose "Come on love. It will not go away for the want of it. Let's go find Uncle Owen."
Time to find out if there is a bun in that sad little oven.
Well... time to make it real. Ianto was never wrong.