Summary: The 456 are Junkies. Highly intelligent Junkies, with lots of blissed out time in which to think up more ways to get their fix. Why would they gas a building full of people who may yet live to create more children? The gas is more than anyone knows, and it's reaction to one Ianto Jones is more than anyone, even the 456, could have thought
Ianto has live next door to the Rift since he was born, and has encountered so many different kinds of energy that it shouldn't be a surprise that an Alien drug would have an extreme effect on him, but it is anyway.
EACH CHAPTER IS (about)10K. Patience for the next chapter… or not.
Words words words…
My wordcount on my masterdoc. Is at a flat 6k…
It makes me happy :)
Chapter 6 – Wake Up by AWOLNATION
Hank McMasters sighed when another e-mail came in, quite possibly someone coming to him to again recheck their numbers, making him feel even more paranoid. He was good at math, at calculations, and it was because of this that he could… well.
He needed a break from work, but with his brother, and his children… well, he was tight on money. He hadn't had a vacation since he started three years ago, and even with the extra… well.
Well.
He needed to stop thinking of it.
Marsha had commented on his jumpiness just the other day, but he couldn't stop the twitchiness. He only just kept from flinching when budgets and paychecks came up in conversation.
He just needed to… relax.
Yeah, he took a deep breath; he just needed to relax.
In.
Out.
Repeat.
Phew, relaxing.
Really, it was, and he'd continue doing it like this if he didn't feel like he was imitating a pregnant woman before birthing and—
He really wasn't cut out for this secretive stuff.
The next deep breath he took got caught in his throat when he read the subject line of the e-mail, and he waved away Stacy when she peered into his cubicle without looking away from his screen.
I know is what it read.
I know?
Who knows? Knows what? It couldn't be what he was thinking of, because he wouldn't be getting a cute little e-mail about it, no, he'd be getting brought in for questioning, kicking and screaming like they never show you on the news, so who knows what?
There was no feeling in his arms when he opened the e-mail, and he nearly swallowed his tongue because oh fuck.
They know.
Shit.
Shitshitshitshitshit.
He continues reading (because yes he can multitask while having an internal breakdown), and gets all the way down to the innocuously signed Jones at the bottom (which, c'mon, is the most obvious fake name next to Smith) before deciding he must not be able to multitask after all.
He definitely read that wrong.
Because there was no blackmail in the message, there was no mention of words like "court case" or "Lawyer" or "You'll never work ever again, anywhere" or any of the staples of being found out as an embezzler.
(Well, he assumed they were staples…)
No, instead he seemed to have read a very politely worded message that boiled down to "Hello, I know what you're doing and why, and if you would please stop embezzling, that would be grand. Also I'm going to be forwarding way too much money into your account so you no longer feel the need. Ta for now, Jones."
Jones.
He has to read it again three more times, and he goes online to check his account and sees that yep, there's that ridiculous amount of money Jones promised, and holy shit this was actually happening.
He reread the message again, and tried to see past the ridiculously polite phrasing, but can't see a thing more.
Well, no—that's a lie.
He can see the underlying messages; feel them like a slap to the back of his wrists.
You were getting sloppy.
It was obvious.
Tsk, tsk, tsk…
Hank took in a deep breath and held it until he was dizzy.
Held it until he was dizzy from something other than shock.
He checks the return address, and feels his face slacken, and he has to check his bank account again to make sure he hadn't hallucinated some horrific joke.
jones .uk
Seriously?
He immediately sends a reply, and then rethinks things and sends another, and another, each more incredulous than the last, more and more questions piling up in his mind leading back to the one.
Who the hell is Jones?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto sighs when he's leaving the shop, the bundle of proper blankets in his arms crinkling in its protective garbage bag.
The apartment— The Apartment? The Hovel? The Lair? Lair was a bit evil, he thought… He was lagging in naming lately… —had most of the basics in terms of things he'd need in case he was there longer than he planned (which, honestly, had involved him being back with Gwen and Jack more than a week ago), but it was getting colder.
He'd cleaned out one of the rooms more, one of the larger ones, and managed to awkwardly move furniture around so that now he had an actual bedroom, away from the computer monitors, and now that room needed to be less empty.
It was depressingly barren, and the somewhat suspect mattress was not in the least bit comfortable.
Next after he dropped these off he was going to find his way to getting one of those foamy sleep-comfort things, and along with them a set of sheets that didn't smell like pot and mothballs.
He wasn't looking forward to it.
He had a lot of shopping to do, and that meant dealing with people.
He tossed the tied-off bag up ahead of him, thinking that while it was great that he was no longer an 8 year old for while he was doing this, being in this particular stage of teenager-hood did nothing for him.
Absolutely nothing.
He wasn't in the late stages of teenager, the stage that had people thinking either "you're a criminal, best to stay away," or else "A-Levels, huh? No time for lollygagging," no.
No, instead he was in the teenager stage where everything he does is looked at sideways, where concerned nannies ask him why he's getting groceries (and that's another thing, don't teens help their parents get groceries anymore? At all? Do their parents also not make them do chores?), and it has store clerks following him about to make sure he wasn't nicking anything while inquiring if he didn't have his mum around, and has employees at the cash register looking at him funny when he pays for anything.
(Ianto doesn't remember specifically if he had a bankcard when he was 15, but he's more than sure that most kids have one at 12 now)
He can just imagine how it's going to work out getting sheets and a mattress cover, though he can at least feel some confidence for when he goes to get more wiring and extension chords.
Because household chores? Decorating? No, those aren't things a kid his age should be dealing with, but wires and electrical stuff? Computers and all those other gadgets?
Well, at this age you look strange if you don't have headphones on.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto buys a pair before he goes clothes shopping.
The unused plug tucked into his pocket, the buds securely in his ears, Ianto's not bothered by anyone when he buys clothing in a variety of sizes. The girl at the cash hardly glances at him when he pays for it all without a wince at the price, and Ianto decides that his Bored, Unapproachable Teenager face would need practice.
He obviously wasn't very good at it if he needed props.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Eunice Bakely scowls after her supervisor, and shares a look with Gene.
Even wearing a turtleneck didn't keep Jackson from eyeing her bust, and she once again considers bringing him up on charges of sexual harassment.
And, once again, she ends up grimly getting back to work.
If she brought up charges, things in the workplace would be looked into, there would be more attention to what's been going on, and she couldn't afford to have a couple of weeks—hell, a couple of months!— without her 'extra work' helping to pay off her Idiot Father's debts.
She couldn't let the interest grow again, and as it was she was working overtime to make sure her mum was properly looked after.
She heard booming laughter from down the hall, Jackson wasting more time at the coffee machine, flirting with the interns, and she scowled at her screen before fixing some figures.
If only, if only, she thought to herself.
If if's and but's were candy and nuts, we'd all have a Happy Christmas… and if those could be exchanged for cash, she wouldn't be tempting a worse criminal charge than anyone might've expected from her.
Oh, there's Eunice Bakely, her Mum's always baked and sloshed, her Da's got lots of money lost, wouldn't be surprised to find her working the streets, wouldn't be surprised to see tucking sheets. She's definitely going to Juvie at some point.
Going to Jail.
It's where she would be going if she was caught out.
And here she was, daughter of failures, daughter of people who made horrible decisions.
If only her Da didn't have a gambling problem—If only any of his bets bore fruit.
If only her Mum didn't have a drinking problem—If only she only had a drinking problem.
Then, maybe, she wouldn't be paying off her Da's debts; perhaps she wouldn't be paying for her 50 year old Mum to be in a home… Maybe she wouldn't have to deal with pitying looks, because her Mum didn't know what to do with the sense she hadn't already drowned in liquor.
If only, if only…
Eunice, who she was certain was christened with such an old-lady name in the vain hope she'd live past her 60's, who'd had her math skills mocked, was probably the only one from her home town who had a steady, above-minimum-wage paying job.
Of all the people who mocked that the only reason she could do advanced calculations in her head was to keep track of how in-debt their family was, who needed to know how to do them in her head because she couldn't afford a calculator unless she dipped into her Mum's booze budget, she was probably the most successful as of right then.
She was horrible with Lit, she had an attitude problem at the best of times, and she was probably going to go to jail once someone was bright enough to figure things out.
Not likely, she thought, thinking of Macey, who couldn't get her head around the fact that 8x3 wasn't 26, and so had to have all her calculations checked… but was such a sweetheart.
Not bloody well likely, she thought, when Jackson let his knuckles brush her arse on his way past her getting more photocopy paper from storage.
But it was bloody happening, because she was about to have a fucking heart attack when a quick check of her e-mail had a message from an unknown sender, titled I know.
For fuck's sake…
Because while she worked directly with a mix of idiots with calculators and airheads just trying to do their very best (sometimes without calculators), why she thought that the actual brains behind the company wouldn't notice the steady drip from funding, she…
Well.
She was only hoping.
(She thought she knew better than to do something stupid like that…)
No.
She has a moment before opening the message where she wants to ignore it, start flinging paperwork about and screaming her head off, maybe tip over filing cabinets and just break things (because you can go fuck yourself if you think she's going down without causing a riot), but she reins in the crazy for until after she's read, because fuck, it's a slim chance but it might just be Danny from floor 3 bitching about her stealing his soup for the last week.
(That was fantastic soup, and she's not sorry in the least, so he can suck it)
She reads through the message, and then gets up to make herself some tea, because dammit, she thought she reigned in the crazy.
Obviously she'd already gone bonkers, maybe tried to tip over the shelving unit, and it tipped onto her, and now her head's cracked.
Her head's cracked, and she's just thinking up some situation where she read the damn e-mail instead, and doctors are probably poking at her body to get her ready for the court case she won't be able to afford.
She stares at the electric kettle as it boils, and takes the entire thing back to her desk, because if she was imagining things, she was going to do it with a steady stream of pomegranate green tea at the ready.
She rereads the e-mail, marks it as unread for later, and gets back to work.
There is a very mild chance that this isn't her going crazy, being crazy, being in a coma… a very mild chance, and she's stupid to hope, but at worst she's just imagined herself getting a shitload of work done, and there's worse things that could happen.
She's the last one on her floor at the end of the day, as usual, and she brings up the message again, snorting at the e-mailing address, and thinks.
She thinks, and thinks, and eventually thinks to call up Johnny, a nice bloke who is her usual go-between in regards to her Da's debts, and makes pleasant conversation with him after he congratulates her on finding a way to pay everything off.
"I still don't know how you got the money together, but it's fantastic! You keep in touch, yea?"
She makes vague noises of agreement, and listens to the dial tone after Johnny hangs up.
She rereads the e-mail, and closes her eyes for a moment.
Then, starts to reply.
Dear Fairy Godmother,
Thank you, if this is for real… If this is some sort of joke, know that I'm going to kill you when I find you, and know it won't be pretty or quick…
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
For a very long time, Ianto debates experimenting.
Weighs the pros and cons as he makes himself dinner, calculates the gains against the leap of fear in his throat, knows his answer even in the face of practicality…
Because even if he wouldn't be dead for long (though there's nothing saying that the next time he slips won't be permanent), he refuses to kill himself.
It's something he'd made a sort-of promise to himself when he was about 17, and even though circumstances have changed, suicide is not something he'll do.
Not even to figure out the ins and outs of his new sort-of maybe immortality.
(He kept thinking, repeating in his head "that they, unlike you… don't get back up after getting shot in the head." Because they don't get back up, they don't get back up, and what if next time you don't get back up?)
He was an archivist, and he liked having answers to sort into neat files, to have them accessible and organized.
But, if he didn't have information, he didn't decide to risk burning up the entire file to get it.
That was more than just inefficient.
That was wasteful.
So he didn't know if his clothes always regenerated to what he was thinking about, he didn't know if any particular sort of mindset affected his age-change, he didn't know what would happen if he died while connected to the Mini-Hub, he didn't know…
Well, he didn't know a lot of things, but he'd be able to figure out more if he knew how he got into this situation to begin with.
Jack had explained, somewhat, what situation had come about that made him immortal, and Ianto figured it might be something similar. Maybe.
Jack was so full of time energy from Rose Tyler (Ianto had a file on her, one part from Torchwood One, and the other entirely Torchwood Three), so full of life, that he couldn't stay dead.
At some point, once all the energy had been used up (because no energy was limitless, it would end at some point in time), Jack would die. Before that he'd probably start aging as there was less energy being put to making him youthful, and though the thought of Jack dying was a painful one, it also brought some comfort.
Jack wouldn't have to deal with this forever.
It was a relief.
It was a thought that brought him some consolation, because he didn't want to live forever himself.
But Ianto didn't know what was making him (possibly) immortal.
It wasn't the gas, though he thought that perhaps that was what had made him a child in the first place (and the more he thought about it, the 456 having a gas that turned it's victims into children of the right age made a horrifying amount of sense), but it certainly wasn't an overabundance of Time Energy keeping him alive either.
There was a large possibility that it had something to do with the Faeries (he'd seen them twice within the past month, and there weren't coincidences when you worked for Torchwood), and there was an equally large possibility that it had something to do with the Rift.
A much larger possibility, if one included the chance that it had to do with something the Rift brought to Cardiff, something Ianto had interacted with at some point.
He'd touched just about every piece of alien tech that's passed through Torchwood Three while organizing the Archives, and has put away plenty more at One.
There were just too many variables.
Ianto shakes his head and reminds himself that he had other problems to deal with as well.
He had to get in touch with Jack (the media wasn't any help whatsoever, which made no sense in this case) or Gwen (if he could risk being shot), he needed to figure out how he was going to respond to Boss Man, how he was going to get all copies of the recording, how he was going to do all this without being caught again, and he would eventually, after all this was done, deal with the public.
He didn't like the thought of Rhi thinking him dead… but.
Though, if the others from Thames House were reacting the way he figured they would, someone would notice that there was something amiss eventually.
So many children unaccounted for and claiming to have been in Thames house when it was gassed wouldn't go unnoticed.
When childhood photos were compared, Ianto was sure people would start paying attention.
Actually…
If Ianto waited until everyone was searching out the people who were gassed, he could slip in and get in contact with Jack and Gwen, because they'd be looking for him—
Ianto wasn't an 8-10 year old.
He'd have to die again (and again and again and again possibly) to get back to that age, otherwise…
He certainly looked more like himself at this age, but neither Jack nor Gwen would trust him, would trust what would look so much like a trap.
He could just imagine it, hanging about the Hub until he saw either of them, and trying to explain that yes, he was Ianto Jones, he was just affected by the gas differently, because he was killed repeatedly and each time came back at a different age, yes, he was serious, and no, please don't shoot—
(and again and again and again and again…)
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
His super secret Lair was looking more and more like an incarnation of his Uni apartment, blankets always in reach by being draped everywhere, kitchen scrubbed to a near hospital-like sterilization, a mismatch of styles and grunge and retro and new all blending together into his own special brand of organized chaos.
His own brand, because everything had it's obvious place, there wasn't piles of things waiting to be folded and neatened, but the sheer amount of organization that had been put into the main floor Ianto was using was almost entirely hidden by the clutter of styles.
With a number of shawls and beach cover-ups he'd been able to get for cheap (he may have money now, but he wasn't a big spender on principal) were nailed and tacked to the grungy walls, covering the bland cream and taupe walls with blues and greens and patterns with vibrant reds and oranges splashing through them.
He did reserve one wall for pin-ups of information, information on Jack, on Gwen, on Torchwood, on Boss Man, and it was steadily filling up with his neat handwriting as he figured things out.
He framed the wall with sticky notes with questions, and the entire wall probably looked like some sort of cultist shrine to anyone who wasn't familiar with shorthand, but that was well enough, he supposed.
The Cat, who he'd taken to calling Jack due to its increasingly affectionate attitude, rubbed against his ankles.
He picked him up, noticing that the little guy was getting rather fat, and wondered if he wasn't noticing the Cat eating his food.
He didn't think it was possible, but he had been distracted lately…
Cat Jack squirmed to be let down, and went off to hunt or lick himself until he was balding or whatever it was that cats did when they ran from a room like that, and Ianto decided not to take it as an act of a guilty party.
This time, at least.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Tyra Shaw was always moving, always busy, always on the right side of working herself to the bone, because there was always so much to do.
So much to make sure of, so much to hide, so much to fiddle with so that everything fits in a way that looks like it's the way it should…
Even when it's not.
There were just not enough hours in a day.
From anyone else, you might think them sick, and while Tyra knew she was a bit of a workaholic (and 'a bit' wasn't admitting even half), she knew how to get things done.
She was a model of efficiency, quick and to the point, blunt and sharp and deadly, she thought, and most would probably agree.
Many more would add on that she was a frigid bitch, but if they knew why she was always working so hard, they might bite their tongues.
Maybe.
She didn't dwell on it.
No, she didn't dwell on anything, except the work.
The work was important, because it kept others at a distance; it kept money in her pocket; it kept money in her Great Aunt's health care; it kept how she was paying for these expensive treatments secret…
It kept things working.
No one wanted to linger over her work, lest they see exactly how much she's done, because that would mean that they would have to see proof that they do maybe a quarter of the work she's done in a day during their entire week (and that was being generous).
She knew this, knew that even the people who headed the company didn't want to linger and know she could do all their jobs and still have time to build a rocket in her spare time.
Well, if she had the time.
So, when she gets the chime from her phone alerting her to a new message, and the header is 'I know'…
She doesn't panic.
When she reads through the message, she does panic, because whoever is going by Jones knows too much.
Knows what would make her entire life so much easier, knows how to make it look like she didn't have to worry any longer, so, for the first time since she started working here, she called in a family emergency, and left.
She got more than a couple of strange looks when she left, but she pays them no mind.
She gets in her car and makes the drive to her Aunt's hospital, and when she gets there she explains to her that an unknown has decided to fix all their problems, and no, Tyra didn't seek him out.
She checks with the hospital, and they confirm that things had already been paid for, and she checks her account on her way home, her Aunt giving her reassurances that this must be an Act of God…
She loves her Aunt, but while she'd learned many skills from the woman, she never gained the blind faith she had.
She could never let things be unquestioned.
So she sends a message in reply.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto frowns at the screen.
He was glad that the Archives had been dug out enough to have systems back up, but somehow Tosh and Owen's statuses had been reset to 'active'.
He debated a moment using his own still-active codes to change things back, but…
He couldn't handle the thought of Tosh's video coming up again.
It was tied into the code of her id, a land mine that you couldn't keep from setting off, and he couldn't only deactivate Owen's…
As much as he'd like to think that only Owen's account being deactivated would prompt Jack and Gwen to think to look for him, it was infinitely more likely that they would think it someone hacking into their servers, firewalls depleted as they were without Tosh to make them impossible to get past.
As good as Ianto was with programming, as much as Jack knew, they didn't have the skill Tosh had.
UNIT, too, was something to think about.
He knew that they were assisting in the reconstruction of Torchwood, and even with the progress of nearly 6 months of work, there was still so much to do, and he couldn't jeopardize the teetering partnership by casting UNIT into question.
As it was, it seemed like there was a bit of a kerfuffle earlier in the month, UNIT apparently having done something Jack and Gwen objected to…
It was obvious it was something extreme enough for it to be mentioned, but when Mainframe hacked into UNIT's research database (nowhere near as extensive as Torchwoods, but that's what you got when your organization focused on weapons and defense) there was no information on what they had been doing. There wasn't even the haziest of traces as to what information they'd hoped to get, and Ianto could see Jack's hand in this.
He must've used his Vortex Manipulator to get such a clean sweep.
He did find quite a bit of information that Torchwood had been sitting on in UNIT's database, and he unobtrusively took all the potentially dangerous information (especially anything that Jack had mentioned Earth wasn't ready for), and put it in an innocuously named file back in Torchwood's database.
RETRIEVED FROM UNIT wasn't too obvious, right?
He also copied the harmless information and put it in another file in the folder, WHAT THEY STILL HAVE, and hoped that what he'd left wouldn't hurt.
He also looked into if anyone at Torchwood (there was a possibility that Jack had hired on more people, and there might not have been enough time to get them in the system) had noticed the Thames House children.
He was relieved to see they had.
He'd used the CCTV and just about all of Mainframes recourses to find out where the… others were. There were police reports, there were write-ups in hospitals, there were complaints at orphanages, and Ianto could place more than 3/4ths of the people who'd died—been gassed at Thames House
He made it so that the information would be sent to Torchwood in a bundle…
He would love to just send out a message saying "Hey! Here I am!" especially since they were already looking into the adult-turn-children, but…
Again, he wasn't a child anymore.
They would be looking for a child, if he showed up now there would be too much suspicion…
And, even if the idea of showing up and enduring the suspicion, there was Boss Man to consider.
He had tapes that showed that he couldn't die, and if he let any of the footage leak, Torchwood would be under significantly more scrutiny (something very much so not needed right when they were regaining their footing). If he went to Torchwood, he wasn't so sure that Boss Man would take that kindly, and Ianto hadn't been able to find out exactly how far Boss Man's power ran, so the sooner he could deal with him, the sooner he could get back to Jack and Gwen.
He didn't believe that Boss Man would actually send the video out to the public, because that would shed more light on his own actions than Boss Man is likely comfortable with, as well as taking his main advantage against Ianto away…
(Well, if you didn't include his whole gang.)
So the best bet for him right then was to stay under the radar, stall Boss Man until Ianto could figure out how to get the hard copies he undoubtedly had (Mainframe could deal with anything digital), still help the rest of Torchwood stay afloat, figure out what was happening with Jack (because honestly, there was no activity from him. No trace of him at all in the past months), he had to work on figuring out what, exactly, had happened with him (please don't be actual immortality, please don't let him be immortal…), he needed to assist any way he could with the Thames House 'children', all while figuring out how to convince Jack and Gwen that he wasn't some sort of imposter…
He could, conceivably, send them the video Boss Man had sent him, but Ianto knew as well as Jack did how easy it was to doctor a video, and even with all that Ianto had said while being shot… well, anyone who wanted to know more about an organization to plant a spy had to be willing to expose even a little about how much they knew.
And Ianto certainly hadn't been forthcoming about his past before…
Falling on Rhiannon to confirm facts wouldn't mean anything, as she didn't have any training to keep personal facts from being read from her mind.
(He could kill himself until he was a child, but again, he was entirely unwilling to go that route)
So he was suck with making up a list of priorities, staying under the radar at the top of the list, and trying to do his best not to screw things up.
He also had to figure out how Steven had been brought back, as he had definitely not been gassed…
He wondered how Jack was doing with that, and if Alice had gotten in touch.
He wondered at that, too, because if she did get in contact, she must've mentioned Ianto.
He frowned.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Tosh frowned at the new information that had appeared in the database since last night, information she hadn't managed to get ahold of about the Thames Children neatly put together.
There was enough information there that they could go through the right channels to get everything set up to be believable…
They certainly wouldn't be able to hide something like this, but to go to the Queen and accompanying governments claiming that the people who 'died' in Thames House had simply been turned into children…
Well.
With this information all put together, it would be significantly easier.
It certainly wasn't helpful, she thought rather uncharitably, that there were still adult bodies left behind. They'd been able to pull Ianto's body from the Morgue, just to check, and it wasn't hard to have a couple of the other bodies checked on.
(even the buried ones)
But the information was… questionable.
Not in that they could be put in doubt, no, everything had at least three different sources it seemed, as well as accompanying pictures to compare with the victims childhood photos, but she did wonder where the information came from.
She reread through all the information twice more, and sent it on to Gwen and Owen to look through, because there was just something…
She gave an accompanying note that she didn't know where the information had come from, and during breaks between updating Torchwood's software and boosting their firewalls, she looked over the information.
She couldn't quite put her finger on what was familiar about the information, as it certainly wasn't that she'd seen any of it before.
While they knew about maybe a third of what was in the file, they didn't have most of the sources and proofs to back it up, and certainly nothing this thorough.
She wished she could put her finger on it, but whatever it was that niggled at her mind escaped her.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Hank had tried looking up Jones, and found pretty much what he'd expected.
There was so much information on their two celebrities from a couple of months ago, the late Ianto Jones and his bitch-slapping sister Rhiannon (and really, could you get any more Welsh with those names?), and there was quite a bit of gay-rights support sites that popped up because of the association, but whoever Jones was he (or she, he supposed) had chosen their code name well.
There were thousands of people with that as a last name, and just as many companies and corporations and brands with the name, and any sort of clue in forums was clogged up with Ianto Jones and his sister, again.
It was frustrating, but at the same time, invigorating.
He felt like he was trying to find the secret identity of a superhero, one that slunk through the web, hacking company records and finding those who were doing wrong for good, and playing Robin Hood while having a laugh at the heart attacks he was giving.
He didn't doubt for a second that Jones got a laugh sending these messages of his.
He tried looking up Jones's who'd have the money to be able to do something like this, looking for the Bruce Wayne to Jones's Batman, but a quick (and a bit slightly illegal) peek at their financial records showed that they hadn't had any dips worth mentioning.
It was possible that they had separate accounts, but looking into their lives he found it highly unlikely.
Most of the Jones's who had the money were more likely to be affronted at the gall of embezzlers to take cash from their peers' pockets than be willing to help. Especially if it meant dipping into their own pockets.
Jones had said to stop embezzling, but it wasn't in that sort of tone.
It was more of a…
Well, he couldn't help imagine some sort of Dumbledor-esque character looking on with sorrowful eyes and talking about how the risks he took for his family were also putting his family at risk.
Oh, that was good; he thought he should probably write that down…
That done, he continued looking, this time trying to think the way he thought Jones thought.
He got through several more forums that he thought might have mention of Jones, when it occurred to him that he couldn't be the only one Jones had helped.
Robin Hood didn't focus on only the one peasant—and there he was thinking of himself as a peasant, he was going back to the Batman analogies.
Batman helped all of Gotham, not just one neighborhood.
So he starts looking for discrepancies he might have made, in other companies.
He has work to do in between his sleuthing, and family things beside, so it probably takes much longer than it would have if he'd focused all his time on it (or else, he'd like to think that), and he has a moment to think he could probably make a pretty penny pointing out embezzlers before he notices two instances where the number discrepancies are petering out.
He's certain that his own company is probably showing the same, a strange little surge of income, but it's enough that he starts looking into things.
Again, he'd like to think it would take less time if he didn't have family and work and general human maintenance to take care of, but it means that it's more than a month and a half after he started looking into companies discrepancies before he has his names.
It's only the two, but it's enough that he can send a message out, as carefully worded as he can (no need to be giving out heart-attacks himself), to see if the mysterious Jones had contacted them as well.
Jones hadn't responded to any of his returning e-mails, but he kind of hadn't expected him to. He probably got thousands of them daily, anyway.
Hank would just have to find out about Jones himself.
(And if he gets an absurd amount of joy in feeling like Sherlock Holmes looking for his Moriarty, like Robin searching for his Batman, well that's none of your business)
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Thugs make a reappearance late one night when Ianto's heading out to the Co-Op to get AA and D batteries, and apparently the fact that Ianto's (kind of) immortal has been shared, because the first bullet clips his shoulder, and the next explodes the back of his head.
He'd like to know how long it takes between deaths—or would it be more accurate to say between bodies? Lives?— but he's jerking in the Thugs arms, elbow slamming into his jugular and heel clipping the other Thug's temple, and then he was running.
Apparently the message he sent Boss Man wasn't one he was accepting.
What a fucking surprise.
He was a bit shorter (damn it) so he played to his strengths, turning corners as much as he could, breaking the line of sight, and this time he doesn't make the mistake of not keeping an eye on the cars and vans in the area.
He turns left when he otherwise would have gone right when he sees a dark van ahead of him, and hears the curses behind him.
He's not going back to his Lair, his Flat (HA!) and he's got a dozen places he could go to lose them except that more than half would be closed at this time of night, and another quarter wouldn't be crowded enough to go through.
The last are inconvenient, but doable.
He's about to sprint across the street to go around another corner when he sees the alley he's just getting to has a fire escape, garbage bin just beyond, and he has half a moment to make his decision.
Half a moment to make his decision, and in the next he's making a running leap at the raised ladder to the fire escape.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
The relationship between UNIT and Torchwood gets tense and more than a little fearful after Tosh's temper tantrum. Especially when a very pregnant Gwen verbally crushes three Colonels and one of the head Commanding Officers when they try to get some sort of reparation and apology for Tosh deleting months of research and threatening their institution.
Owen was lucky enough to have been working near where the call had been made, and so had the entirety of UNIT's smack down committed to memory for later amusement.
Rhys would probably get a laugh out of it, too.
For all that Rhys couldn't handle all of Owen's snark, he was a pretty alright bloke.
(As 'alright' as a Civvie could be, anyway)
But the confrontation was more of a help, in the end.
Due to the vicious attitudes the rest of Torchwood were aiming at UNIT, things were getting done much quicker.
Because of the fear of Tosh and Gwen, UNIT wasn't even trying to get their alien tech, and this sped things up significantly as well…
This was all a funny thing to Owen, as he wasn't regarded as the one with the sharpest tongue right then what with Gwen being hormonal, and he could only scare the Interns away with the possibility of alien disease he keeps handy, but with Tosh showing that she could erase everyone in UNIT from even existing in the government…
Well, an alien disease that split your tongue and made your fingernails fall off wasn't too bad, was it?
But it also helped the general morale of the three Torchwood survivors.
Gwen had a target to let off steam, which helped her keep her temper around the rest of the team and Rhys, and allowed her to get through the paperwork as needed.
Tosh became the boogeyman of Cardiff to everyone in UNIT, including (especially) the ones in charge, and so any fear of them trying to take her back into solitary confinement; any residual fear of them at all was squashed by their not so masked apprehension at seeing her near anything electronic.
Owen was more relaxed at having a target of his own, and most of his anger was washed away with his amusement at UNIT walking on tippy toes around Tosh and Gwen.
You've never seen something as hilarious as a man in fatigues, a bulletproof vest, and with a rifle across his back creeping around a pregnant woman.
As it was, UNIT was still trying to pry into how Owen and Tosh had come back to life so long after their deaths, but fear of Gwen, Tosh, and the belief that Owen was the harbinger of trouble (the result of somehow always being there when shit was going down), kept UNIT acting the way Torchwood had originally expected them to act.
Had them doing what they said they were there to do.
The Hub was being rebuilt, Weevils were being dealt with, things that came through the rift were being collected (for Torchwood), and the two aliens who were caught up in the Rift were being treated like the lost tourists they were, rather than like the terrorists they could be if they were agitated.
Things weren't perfect. There were still quiet moments where no one could forget what had been lost; there were still reminders of Jack and Ianto about, as well as reminders of the 456, and you couldn't avoid the fact that any one of them could be lost again.
There were still questions to be answered, like what had brought Tosh and Owen back, what happened to Jack, and how could they get in contact with him, as well as the possibility of Ianto being alive along with everyone else from the Thames House gassing.
But they were Torchwood. They would be there in the nick of time; they'd find the solution before it's too late; the show would go on, all that rot.
And if they needed to terrorize UNIT troops to get through it…
Well, everyone needs a hobby.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
The Thugs run around the alleyway, and pause only a moment to take in the scene before swearing.
One has his phone out in seconds; the other starts climbing the fire escape, cussing when his foot slipped on eth wet metal.
"The guy's gone up the roof… yeah, we're up by Third and Dunlowe, circle around, Darwin's following him—yeah, yeah, I'm goin', I'm goin'…"
The voice faded to a murmur, and after a moment there was an exclamation of noise from the roof.
A shower of gravel fell, clanging against the metal lid of the dumpster, and a little while later the second Thug is stomping down the emergency exit.
"Yeah, he's gone, we're still looking for him… yeah… guy's like a squirrel climbing like—yeah, yeah, I know jeeze, we're just going…"
The voice trailed off, as did the sound of footsteps.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Hank isn't stupid, so he knows that his usage of a new e-mail (hm .uk for a lark) isn't enough to keep them off his trail.
He could see from their records they were smart, and thought that they must have some sort of familial obligation or other moral dilemma kind of thing that had them embezzling, but the .uk would at least keep them from deleting or disregarding the e-mail. Using his initials was pushing it, but he figured that if any of them had an ounce of imagination they'd figure out that he'd originally chosen H-M to stand for Hench Man…
Because he'd been researching this Jones guy long enough that he could admit to himself that yeah, he kind of wanted to work for this guy. Even if it was pointing out Embezzlers, or just making it easier to transfer funds (things Jones seems to have no problem with, but hey, he could hope to be part of Robin Hood's band of merry men), this guy was good.
He could see hints of what could be his work in charities and various neighborhoods being rebuilt to respectability, he was a modern day freedom fighter.
No, more like… he seemed to be fighting for people's livelihoods.
Hank felt like he was a kid again and discovered Iron Man and Mr. Fantastic and Bruce Banner and freaking Hank McCoy and how they were superheroes in the classic sense…
But they were also superheroes in using their minds, too.
It was fantastic!
Jones had all this money, and he's using it and his smarts to help people in a financial bind.
So yeah, he wouldn't mind being a henchman.
He also didn't mind so much if these other two found out who he was… because what were they going to do? Finger him as an embezzler?
He could easily return the favor, and he wouldn't even mind going to jail…
Well, he would, but he didn't think Jones would stop helping his family.
(Hell, he might even pay bail, but Hank didn't think it was terribly likely he'd go that far. Good to hope, though)
So he doesn't expect a response immediately from either of them, but the jones at least has them thinking.
He'd read through the message enough times before sending it to make sure it didn't sound like blackmail, but was also trying to make sure it didn't sound like he was fishing for a guilty target.
So he waited, and continued his search, and got together everything he knew in a hard copy.
None of it had proof or any sort of leader towards him or anyone else stealing money, but he had a suspicion that Jones had a way of finding and deleting anything kept digitally…
He so couldn't wait to get in contact with the guy.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto waits for a half hour.
In that half hour, he decides that in this particular instance the children's cartoons are significantly more accurate than any movie.
Still, he waited the full half hour, counting the seconds to distract himself from… this, and contents himself with the fact that he's apparently built up enough of an MO with these guys that they'd automatically assumed he'd gone up the fire escape and managed to disappear.
Because while it was severely inconvenient being hunted down, he couldn't say it wasn't flattering that the Thugs assumed he was an urban Houdini and didn't even think to check the dumpster or any farther down the alleyway for him.
Still, though he was lucky to land on what seemed to be someone's old carpeting, landing in rubbish was not comfortable, it wasn't glamorous, and he'd been afraid that he'd gag and give away his position.
If that had happened, he'd probably be more pissed about the fact that he jumped into a dumpster for naught than for anything else.
Gods, all he could smell was dumpster juice…
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
He showers immediately, and changes into thick flannel pajamas to curl up on the couch.
After his day, he deserved a bit of a mope, and it wasn't like there was anyone around to see it, so…
Ianto sighed.
He was feeling a little stir crazy… He went out almost every day, and ended up interacting with people regularly, and this was along with connecting with Mainframe via his Mini Hub daily, but he missed having… his own people.
It was childish to think that (and oh did he hate the thought of being childish now that he'd had to act it for so long), but he'd worked in Torchwood for a little over 6 years. You couldn't do that without getting the divider in your brain of Them and Us, of Civilians and Torchwood.
Torchwood was full of his people.
He wanted to be able to joke wit someone, he wanted to be able to talk to someone about the weirdness that was now his life (even more than before, even more than Torchwood standards), someone that wasn't Mainframe.
Mainframe wasn't people.
He piled on the blankets over himself hugging a pillow to his chest and squeezed himself as tightly as possible. Into as small a shape as possible.
He managed to delude himself momentarily into thinking that if he squished himself into a small enough space, maybe that would fill up the hollowness in his chest, the ache just below his ribs that was sort of like hunger, but more like a craving for human contact.
He wanted to cuddle with Jack, he wanted to have sex, he wanted things to go back to the way things were…
For more pointless wishes, he wished things could go back to before, before, when Tosh and Owen were alive (entirely so), and he wanted to comfort Tosh, be comforted in return… he wanted to have a Matrix Marathon and eat gross amounts of ice cream and alcoholic hot chocolate. He wanted to go on runs in the morning without worrying about if he ould them have to run from a bunch of Thugs who fully embrace the idea of 'Shoot First, Ask Questions Later'…
He heaved out a sigh and his stomach grumbled.
It wasn't bad enough that he was starved for affection; he also had the feeding habits of a teenager again.
He got up from under his overly warm nest of blankets, and set about to making some simple comfort food.
Wieners and beans sounded perfect.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
The next day Ianto stopped by a book store and got a new journal.
He was overly cautious and took an extra 20 minutes getting there than was needed, but he didn't fancy meeting up with Thugs in daylight.
It had been late when he'd met them last night, but he didn't delude himself into thinking they wouldn't hold fire just because there were people around.
He took an extra half hour getting back to his… what was he going to call it then? Maybe just The Flat? Whatever, he took a half hour extra getting there on the off chance he was being followed, and once inside he sat down and wrote.
He wrote down everything he remembered from before the 456, of the reports of missing bodies and how it turned out to be a hoax (hoax, not Hoix, a Hoix would have been even worse, mouthy buggers), the plant, Gwen's pregnancy, the bomb and how it was found out, running for his life, rescuing Jack… All of it, all the way to Thames House.
He used the second half of the page that was left to him to write in large, capital lettering
DIED (?)
4-5 MONTHS
LATER
Then he stopped for food and stretches (his joints were aching… he supposed it was because he was in his prime growth-spurt state, but he didn't remember it actually feeling like much), and took some time to clean up the building some more before sitting down again.
He wrote everything he could remember, and used spare bits of paper and stick glue he'd picked up on a "maybe I'll need it later" whim to add in things he remembered later.
He wanted to get it all written down, emotions and all, and by the end he felt marginally better.
Writing in his Diary was a normal thing. It was an old routine. A well-worn one. Comfortable.
He took another break from writing to do more stretches, more food, and went out to stand on the roof for a bit.
He enjoyed the wind in his face even when it turned biting, and looked to the taller buildings in the distance.
He'd never fully understood Jack's fascination with being up high, but he could understand this.
He took a deep breath of the chilling air, and for the moment, his mind was blank.
And that was enough.
For now.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Cat Jack was very close to being labeled 'chubby'.
The only good thing to come of this was that he was also weirdly cuddlier, and as Ianto was feeling starved for touch, he indulged relentlessly.
He thought perhaps it was Jack eating the same amount but not working off as much, what with living with a human, or rather living with something that guards the territory on it's own, or maybe the prey he was catching was getting fatter, because he'd checked his food stores.
Cat Jack wasn't eating his food.
(At least not anything Ianto hadn't given him)
Right then he could see how easy it was to become a crazy cat lady/man, and he could see why the archetype had the crazy persons being able to live like hermits in their own homes.
But Cat Jack has also been sleeping a lot more, the times he's followed Ianto around outside becoming fewer and farther between, and Ianto was worried that maybe Cat Jack was sick.
Ianto had never had a pet before (not to say Cat Jack was a pet, but Ianto'd gotten used to the feline being around), and hadn't ever had the idea that he would grow up to be a vet…
So he had Mainframe help him find out what was wrong.
Turns out that what he was experiencing was something common to a number of illnesses, so he thought that perhaps he should start feeding Cat Jack.
Not having much of an idea of what to feed cats, but knowing that they were more carnivorous than even dogs were, next time he went to the store he looked into pet foods.
He made a face at the ingredients.
Corn meal and dried beet products seemed to be in every ingredients list, and he didn't trust "by-products" included next to chicken and beef, so he sighed and picked up fish fillets and lean beef cuts, looking for less fatty meats as it would be closer to what Cat Jack would be getting on the streets… just a safer version. He had enough practice finding such things for Myfanwy (thank the gods he'd found the report about her being alive, and once again please make sure someone was feeding her properly), and kept away from chicken.
He had the thought that perhaps Cat Jack had eaten something plastic, or something heavily processed, and maybe that was slowing him down…
He almost made it to the counter when he remembered that cats ate bones as well, and that Cat Jack wouldn't be getting… what was it the site had said?
Ah, right, cats needed good calcium: phosphorus ratio. Bones equaled calcium, and Meat equaled phosphorus.
Maybe Jack wasn't getting enough calcium?
Supposedly it was a 2:1 ratio of calcium to phosphorus, and though there was a butcher within running distance, where he could get bones and blood, he could get the same effect through eggshells.
Significantly less messy, less suspicious looking during transport, and though Ianto wasn't much of a fan of eggs… well, he could make cake or something.
(Call him biased, but he no longer saw any problem with eating filling, fattening foods)
Or he could check if eggs were good for cats… He assumed so, but he'd stumbled across a site that said that dogs were allergic to grapes, so…
Anyway, Cat Jack would be eating well tonight.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Tyra starts her breathing exercises when she sees the e-mail.
Specifically, the address.
hm .uk… is this jones guy serious?
She already had misgivings about trusting this… charity, and then this comes up?
It was unacceptable.
It was ridiculous.
What kind of a message was this anyway?
She almost started to angrily reply, but stopped herself and pulled out her stress ball.
She would calm down and think on this. She wouldn't do anything rash.
She squeezed the ball hard between her hands and pretended it was Jones.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto feels a bit ridiculous making a weird… nest, sort of thing for Cat Jack, but he could change blankets much easier than changing the cushions on the couch.
And cats liked boxes, right?
Right.
It didn't take long to set up, and it took even less time to get Cat Jack settled into it.
Ianto sighed and looked around the flat, and wondered how he could get a vaccum cleaner in here.
The cat hair was getting everywhere.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto is, a week later, trying to move Cat Jack to change blankets when he feels it.
"Oh…" He has Cat Jack partially lifted and knows that if he wasn't behind Cat Jack right then, he'd probably be the recipient of a sleepy cat glare for the awkward position.
"Well at least I know you aren't sick anymore…
Ianto replaces Cat Jack in the little box-made-nest, and carefully runs his hand over the cats distended belly, and noticed for the first time that Cat Jack had nipples.
Ah, he thought, belatedly.
It's a girl cat.
He allowed this to sink in for a moment, and looked over Cat Jack (Or, well, Jackie now) with new eyes.
Ah, he thought again.
It's not fat.
It's pregnant.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: tyshaw .uk, eBake .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: Do You Know the Muffin Man?
Message:
Hello fellow deviants!
Don't worry, your secret's safe with me, I have just as much to lose (if not more) than you two. So I'm not here to blackmail or point fingers here. Nope. Not at all.
You may be wondering why I'm contacting you, or perhaps wonder how I found you.
Well, I found you through the mysterious figure called Jones.
I think it's safe to assume that recently you've had the panic-inducing pleasure of a vague e-mail from a character calling himself Jones (jones .uk sound familiar?), who also deposited a stupid amount of money towards your financial problem with the textual equivalent of a tap to the wrist.
Before you get angry, Jones didn't point me to you. I just looked for people who were doing the same thing I was, and who had stopped doing it.
So I could be wrong, but I don't think I am.
I hope I'm not the only one with a healthy amount of curiosity, as I really want to know all I can on this Jones guy.
So get back to me ASAP, or not, you know whatever if you're fine with leaving a good mystery, but if you are know this:
This stranger is disappointed in you.
Think on that.
HM
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
So, anyone have a good name for the Apartment? Because for now it's bouncing between a dozen cliché titles in my mind…
Also, my plan was originally for Ianto to come back to the Unnamed Apartment to kittens, but then I actually looked up cat pregnancy and was like "Oh… wait…"
.
Also, massive kudos to randompersonofdoom who, along with commenting the hell out of my story each chapter has also decided to make a podfic for the story.
There will be linkage happening when that's done.
GAH I'M SO EXCITED!
Also, the song this chapter is titled for was suggested by her, and it fits this story so well, I just…
Yeah, too much excitement.
~Doodled93~