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.
AAAH! Randompersonofdoom has gotten the first chapter in podfic up already and it's fantastic and it makes me so happy and AAAHHHHHHH!
So much happiness for this you have no idea. Should be linked up in the bottom (Works inspired by and all that jazz, but this is to Ao3-ers)…
Enjoy!
Chapter 7— The End by Anima Sound System
To: hm .uk
From: eBake .uk
Subject: RE: Do You Know The Muffin Man
Message:
Is this some sort of joke?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: eBake .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: RE: Do You Know The Muffin Man
Message:
NO! I'm serious! Don't try denying it; it's pretty obvious what you were doing… Well, after I started looking properly. So the only question is if you know of 'Jones' and if you want to know more.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: eBake .uk
Subject: RE: I'm going to Shank you
Message:
If this is some sort of joke… And what do you know about this guy anyway? He nearly gave me a heart attack! If you're with him if I ever meet you I'm going to clock you one. I've killed for less.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: eBake .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: RE: Please Don't
Message:
Let's just say I think he's some sort of mix between Robin Hood and Batman… we aren't the only ones he's helped, though I do think this is new for him… the helping specific people thing. I found a number of anonymous donations and behind-the-scenes Jedi mind tricks happening: people suddenly changing their actions, a sudden boost in a failing company's funds, that sort of thing.
Also, good to know that Jones is entirely unbiased in whom he helps.
Seriously though… for less?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: tyshaw .uk
Subject: RE: Do You Know The Muffin Man
Message:
Hello,
I'm unsure of what you hope to gain with such a preposterous message, but I assure you, you have the wrong person. I have no interest in your illicit affairs, and certainly no interest in joining you, so please do not try to contact me again.
T. Shaw.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: eBake .uk
Subject: RE: No guarantees
Message:
How old are you? What's with all the geek references?
And you also sent that bogus 'hello fellow deviants' message to one other, is that the other guy you found? Any word from him?
Also yes, for less.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: tyshaw .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: RE: You Totally Know The Muffin Man
Message:
ATTACHMENT(s): Your
Actually, you ARE the one I'm looking for; so don't try to brush me off again! Seriously, I'm not the Lex Luthor to your Superman, you can trust me, and we need to find our Joker here! Well, he's a bit more like Batman in my mind, but whatever.
I know what you've done, YOU know what you've done, and lets not pretend like I'm speaking Klingon here, ok?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: eBake .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: RE: Seriously I Have To Be Able To Trust You Here
Message:
Oh my god this woman tried to pretend like she didn't know what I was talking about!
Look at what she sent me!
Isn't that crazy? At least you didn't try pulling that sort of shit.
And don't try to deny that you're loving the nerd-talk.
Anyway, we should meet up to talk about this shit, yeah? I'll bring what information I have and we can all talk about where to go from here… what do you think?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: eBake .uk
Subject: RE: So have a little faith nerd
Message:
You're a little forward, aren't you? But we should probably all be in one place if we want to make any progress in finding this Jones guy… and I DO want to find this guy, if only to give him a smack and a hug. Not necessarily in that order.
And are you certain that you want this other girl coming if she thinks that is being covert?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: eBake .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: RE: I Do Have Faith I'm In A Faithful Relationship Stop Questioning Me Woman
Message:
I feel like I should tell you I'm happily married and have kids. Not to say meeting up with you in private wouldn't be enjoyable, but I'm thinking enjoyable in a Friendship is Magic kind of way.
And she should come, she's had contact with Jones and we should be piling together all that we know of the guy, and as I have only been able to find two people who have been contacted directly from jones .uk, this is what we've got.
Any idea where you want to meet?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: tyshaw .uk
Subject: RE: You Totally Know The Muffin Man
Message:
What? What's a Kryponite?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: eBake .uk
Subject: RE: I might still shank you wanker
Message:
Honestly! I was asking because a guy like Jones seems like he would keep an ear out for people looking for him! For fuck's sakes you cock.
And how about we continue with that ridiculous theme you started with and go to the bakers on Fifth and Crawford, it's called "Just Desserts".
Ha ha ha.
It's not quite on Drury Lane, but how's that for you Mr. Muffin Man?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: eBake .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: RE: I Knew You Had A Sense Of Humor
Message:
That's brilliant! Especially since we're getting together about stealing a lot of dough.
How's this Saturday sound? Tyra (the other Jones recipient) has a day off then and it looks like you do too. Is noon-ish good for you?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: eBake .uk
Subject: RE: Who's laughing?
Message:
You know it's creepy you know my schedule. Creepier that you hacked into it to book Saturday yourself. If you do that again I will shank you, kids or no kids.
Noon is good for me, as is Saturday.
I'll be in the back table by the window, orange handbag.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: eBake .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: RE: You Can Be The Joker To My Batman Any Day :D
Message:
It's cool, right? And I hacked your employee photo, so no need for the cloak and orange dagger :) I'll pass that onto Tyra though.
And is threatening bodily harm your way of showing affection? Because you know I'm serious when I say I'm in a relationship. Wedding vows and all that. Children, even.
I'll be in a Batman t-shirt ;)
See you Saturday then!
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: tyshaw .uk
From: hm .uk
Subject: RE: Don't Play Dumb With Me Woman!
Message:
Look, meet us at 'Just Desserts', here is a LINK to get there from your office, be there at noon this Saturday.
Seriously, be there.
Be the curious George I know you can be!
Back table, one woman with an orange handbag and on man wearing a Batman T-shirt.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: tyshaw .uk
Subject: RE: Do You Know The Muffin Man
Message:
What? I'll be there, but what?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
To: hm .uk
From: eBake .uk
Subject: RE: You're a cock
Message:
See you Saturday, nerd.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Hank linked his fingers behind his head and stretched, smiling.
This was fantastic, he felt like he was calling in the Justice League; he was DI Lestrade bringing a case to Holmes and Watson; he was Professor bloody X calling the X-Men! All of the above and more!
True, Tyra Shaw was playing dumb (and wouldn't play his Subject RE game like Eunice Bakely did), and he had more than just an inkling that it would be hard getting her into this… but he thought he had an ally in Eunice.
A very threatening ally, but an ally nonetheless.
He'd hacked their records and knew they were both smart (and oh was he thankful that he'd taken so many computer and programming courses and knew how to hide his trail while snooping: possibly the only thing that saved him from being searched for in return), and he knew it was a bit… impolite to hack their records, but hey, just because he imagined Jones as a good guy, that didn't mean he was.
He could help actual criminals!
In fact, the reason why he'd hacked into Eunice Bakely's account so much was because she'd mentioned shanking him, and, well, it's better to be safe than sorry.
There was a commotion outside of his door, and upon investigation he found his oldest barreling past in only his pants, two of Sherry's bras clutched in each of his hands and trailing after him like streamers.
"Charlie get back here!"
Hank Bent and quickly scooped his son up to twirl him around, dipping him upside down with a playful roar. Charlie dissolved into giggles and dropped the bras.
"Aha, what do we have here, hmmm? An Underling, obviously! And Underling who steals Underthings! Do you know what we do with those?" He asked his wife, now standing at the door, grin on his face.
She had their youngest in her arms, colorful socks rolled all the way up her legs and arms, and Erik was clutching the back of her legs with a huge grin on his face. He had superman panties on his head.
Sherry put on a wide-eyed look.
"Why no, I don't! What do we do with Underlings who steal Underthings?"
"Why, we hang them up by their toes! Grraaaaaaah!" He maneuvered Charlie so he could hold him upside down by his ankles and let him wiggle and shout.
"It wasn't me! It wasn't me! It was Erik!"
Hank righted him and gave him a considering look, shooting a glance to his brother and back to him like he was trying to see how he could have made such a mistake.
"I don't know," he waffled, "I don't see much of a resemblance…" Erik collapsed to the ground behind Sherry, overcome with giggles, so Hank threw Charlie over one shoulder and used his other arm to pick Erik up and settle him on his hip. He resettled Charlie on his hip, craning his head in either direction to exaggerate comparing the two. His two boys were as different as Day and Night in his eyes, but Charlie loved trying to use their twin status to get out of trouble, and he wondered if they were going to have problems with this when they were at school… their differences were obvious to Sherry and him, but
"I don't know hun, for all we know they could be partners in crime…" Sherry said, shifting Toni on her hip so she could pull back up her socks.
The socks were the most recent attempt at getting her to stop putting her fingers in her mouth to ease the ache in her gums.
Toni still scratched at them (because she ironically enough refused to use a dummy), but with the socks on her hands she was just drooling and rubbing the material against the gums rather than scratching them with her scarily sharp nails.
Really, if Sherry hadn't said they had to switch their fandom up, their daughter would probably be Vicki for Victor Creed instead of Toni for Tony Stark—or Tori, Tori would have been a good nickname for Victoria. But they'd decided Iron Man, Tony-themed name if she got her mummy's dark hair, Pepper-themed name if she got his red hair.
He thought they might move onto the Harry Potter fandom for their next one, whenever that happens.
A small hand planted itself on his cheek and pushed, Charlie twisting back so he could hang his head upside down and groan while Erik buried his face in the crease of his neck and laughed, blowing raspberries into his skin.
Devious child.
Well, he WAS going to tell Sherry about what he'd been glued to the computer for, but…
He hiked them both up in his arms until both were hanging over his shoulders, and moved past his wife with a put-upon sigh.
"You know, there's only one thing for it…"
Sherry nodded, lips pursed in an attempt to keep her face straight. "Yup. Only one thing."
Tiny fists pounded on his back, shrieks of "no!" and "Dad!" dragged out to several syllables as he made his way to the bathroom.
"Yes!" He called out with a grin, "You must be cleansed! It's Bath time!"
He could update Sherry on the Jones Situation later.
"The Power of L'Oreal compels you! Mwahaha!"
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
When Eunice made it home, she fed Siegfried his mouse and made a beeline for her Viola.
She needed to think.
After the e-mails she'd been dealing with today, both work and Jones related, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Well, with the Jones ones she didn't know if she should be laughing harder at this HM guy or herself, because seriously?
The guy was either a 12-year-old tech genius (because she knew exactly how hard it was to hack into her company) or else one of those basement-dwelling nerds…
Only he had a wife and kids.
Apparently.
(She really didn't know if she should believe him on that or not)
He had a wife and kids and probably lived with them in his parents basement.
Again, if he wasn't like 12 or something.
For fuck's sakes.
She let the sound of Vivaldi wash over her senses, her fingers moving automatically against the strings, her bow moving wit the tune, and her audience, as usual, Siegfried in his tank.
She liked to think it helped with his digestion.
So then. She was the one to set the place, having chosen the Bakery that she visited almost weekly for their sundried-tomato bread, and though she didn't know what HM looked like outside of his nerdy choice in shirts, knew even less about this other character, Tyra or whatever, aside from her poor deflection skills, and…
Well. She knew very little about Jones, but this meet up was all about finding out more.
She didn't know HM, but he'd already shown that he was creepily able to hack into company records, so she had no reason to doubt that he would have done his best to find out as much as possible on Jones…
All she really had to share on him was the e-mail he'd sent and her thoughts on his asshole personality.
Oh, and her sparkling personality.
Let's not forget about that.
She rolled her eyes, and moved onto Bach.
Bach wasn't complicated, not really.
Because Bach was Bach, and she needed a little of that right then.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Tyra debated sending another e-mail asking what, exactly HM meant, but feared that the only way to get answers would be to go to this meeting on Saturday.
She'd been weary when HM had gotten in contact with her at first, but the response to her deflection had been so full of… something that she'd been unable to think clearly.
She'd attempted looking up what he'd been talking about, but a search for 'Klingon' had her too frightened to continue to look up the other things he'd mentioned.
What was Klingon? At first she'd thought it was some sort of verb or adjective, perhaps a poorly named person, but in her search through Google it had shown an entirely foreign language and what she was certain was a cult.
She crossed herself, wishing for the first time in a long while that she could have the same solid belief in the gesture as her Aunt.
Now she was half certain that it was some sort of pagan god, or another name for Satan, and also worried that perhaps Klingon was an action.
How would one Klingon another person?
She didn't know, but it sounded violent.
An attempt to find what Klingon might look like, as an attack, had her more afraid of meeting with this HM than before.
Google Images showed that this Klingon either had something to do with self-mutilating black men, or else perhaps they were the victims of Klingon.
(it now occurred to her that Klingon might be a poison)
Should this actually be a cult, it was entirely possible that Klingon was the demonic god they worshipped.
(She had found reference to people known as 'Trekkies' but had feared for what she would find on them)
She felt fear clutch tight in her throat, and clenched her hands into fists.
No. No, she would work past her fear in this.
She would go, she would be prepared for the worst, and she would do her Aunt proud.
She would not let Klingon defeat her.
She'd said no to drugs, she could say no to Klingon.
Besides, she felt that in such a public setting HM would be unwilling to attack her outright.
Unless the bakery was a front for their cult, of course, but she refused to think on it.
(Much.)
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Tosh reread the mysterious file of information on the Thames House Kids (or Thames House Children, as Owen was insisting on calling them… she thought he was just looking for an excuse to talk about 'THC' in front of the UNIT Interns) almost daily trying to figure out what was so familiar about it.
She spent some time in the Archives (Oh Ianto) trying to figure it out, looking over old case files and thinking she was this close to figuring it out when, a week later, it hits her.
Ianto.
Elation swept her up even as she choked on tears; because of course it's Ianto.
He looked over everyone's reports and corrected them, had his particular way of writing in everything in the Archives, why hadn't she thought of it before?
Of course Ianto would find a way to get into the system, of course he would find everything they would need—she didn't know how he managed it all, but he'd always had a different way at looking at problems than she did—and he would give multiple sources.
She felt like smacking herself for not seeing it sooner.
She hurried to get Owen and Gwen on the coms, wondering how Ianto was doing, where he was, and, most importantly, why he hadn't found his way back to Torchwood yet.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto hacks into the CCTV and finds that, yes; there are a number of Thugs obviously patrolling the area, a small stack of papers in their hands.
Ianto assumed they were pictures from the way the Thugs checked them against a number of dark-haired males they come across, and goes to scream into a pillow with as much dignity as he can afford.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Hank doesn't manage to find time to talk to Sherry about the Jones Situation until the next night, what with Toni managing to cut her gums again and Charlie convincing Erik to help him stage a murder in the basement… it wasn't real, but it was real enough to a pair of 5 year olds who know how to get into a bucket of red paint.
"Someone's been murdered in the basement, and we can't find the body!" Charlie had said, red fingers hidden behind his back. Erik had nodded, his hands free of even a red tinge, but he had just as many paint smudges on his clothing…
Hank consoled himself with the thought that at least one of his kids thought to wash his hands of evidence before coming to him with claims of murder… It would have been convincing if not for the cherry red colour, the smell of paint, and the fact that none of the 'blood' splatters were far from the upended can of red paint.
Honestly, to think he would raise kids who would provide him with 'caught you red-handed' material.
It suddenly occurred to him that should he ever use that phrase with them they will think he's referring to this incident—anyone using that phrase will have his children looking at them with how-do-you-know-that distrust.
Brilliant, really, it was.
Hank grinned to himself and led Sherry to the office, and let her read through his messages with Eunice Bakely.
(He read over her shoulder and thought that he'd defended his honor fairly well)
"I also got in contact with Tyra Shaw, and she tried brushing me off but she's coming, too. I'm not too sure what kind of time I'll be making, so…"
Sherry was frowning.
"You'll have to take Toni with you. I have an extended toddler yoga class at 11, and a follow up play date with Amanda after lunch… Oh, and pick up some bread while you're at the bakery, and something small for the kids."
Hank was about to protest, only now remembering that oh yeah, my wife teaches Toddler Yoga weekends, when he catches the grin on her face.
"Yes hun, you really can't shank a man with a baby. Just don't use her as a shield, and be home in time for her nap. Oh, and use the extra thick socks, won't you? It's supposed to be chilly this weekend." She pats his cheek with fond exasperation and heads to get ready for bed.
Hank wonders why it surprises him so often how awesome his wife is.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
He can't find the energy to be annoyed or amused at Jack—Jackie who starts making chattering noises at him from her box, amused or curious or annoyed he didn't know, and he has half a mind (to learn to speak cat) to smother himself.
Just bury his face in pillows, tangle up in blankets and be smothered and have it all over with.
He enjoys thinking on the possibility for a long time before reality catches up to him.
The reality that he would just wake up afterwards, miserable and starved.
He remembers, once upon a time, where random thoughts to how he could potentially die were shaken with the reality that he has things to do, people he loved, and not with the futility of offing himself.
Of course, he thinks of Jack and Gwen and Rhiannon and knows this strange second chance is not to be wasted, but he wished he could lie convincingly to himself.
He wished he could stand to believe in the lie for longer than it takes him to figure it out.
(He remembers wishing for a convincing lie, ages and ages ago now, wishing to be able to believe despite knowing.)
Gods did he need a project to take his mind off things.
He did, technically, already have one on his mind, but there was only so many hours to devote to depressing himself in one day, contemplating how to find out where any hard copies of his repeated-deaths at The Shooting Range and how to get them without being caught and subjected to—to—to—
Ianto shook his head and got up to go to the kitchen.
Just thinking about it always made him feel a yawning hunger wake up inside of him, hardly a fraction of what it had actually been, but it still—still—
He intentionally dragged his feet, feeling the pull of the carpet against his toes and pulled out the cast iron pan—
Ouch!
Ianto shook his hand, his fingers tingling slightly from the shock.
He hated it when he accidentally shocked himself—
Oh.
Oh.
There's a project.
He grinned, and pulled out the ingredients to start making Beef Stroganoff.
Ianto didn't know why he hadn't thought of it earlier.
It's perfect.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto is stopped in a small alcove, trying his best to look like he's fiddling with his mobile, hoping that in this sort of a setting his Mini Hub would look like a mobile, and attempting to track the Thugs without looking like he is.
He'd managed to make it to the hardware store and get a good deal of what he needed to put everything together, though there was distressingly little there that would actually go into his project… he thought he could probably find at least the component parts at the gadgets shop near…
His thought trailed off when he noticed that a group of girls were clustered together.
This wasn't strange. Actually, from what he remembered from being a teen (though he was damnably one right now, even at 17), teenaged girls clustering together was more than normal; it was expected.
What caught him off guard, however, was that they were staring at him, manic grins on their faces.
He made the mistake of making eye contact, and as a group they burst into giggles and whispered conversation, all of them talking at once to each other while looking at him, and oh, right, this would be why he'd hated being a teenager.
It wasn't until college that he really got a clue about girls, or, as he preferred to think, girls had finally cottoned on that guys were uncomfortable when they did this group-giggling-whisper thing.
He darted his eyes to the Thugs, at the moment turned from him, and back to the girls to see them moving on from the whisper-giggle thing and onto the nodding-to-each-other-giggle thing. Gods that was another terrifying thing, and now they wer moving towards him, what were they even—
"Hey, d'you mind if we get a pic with you or something?"
He couldn't control it.
His eyebrow went up in disbelief, and that sent them all into another fit of giggling, and a flush crept up his cheeks and turned the tips of his ears red.
Gods, this was another thing—you couldn't control your bodily functions around groups like this.
They'd corner you and your face would be doing strange things, you'd be flushing and sweating like you'd run a marathon, unexpected boners popped up, and when you were leaving them you'd develop the strangest way of walking and probably trip with their giggles following all the way into your nightmares.
He thankfully didn't have sudden boners to worry about, and he was sweating a normal amount (he thought), but the lack of control over his facial queues was more than a little distressing. They were looking at him, expectant.
Oh, right, they asked him a question.
"…Pardon?"
They grinned those wild, manic grins again, shared a look, and their apparent spokesperson said
"You're just so Ianto!"
The other eyebrow went up.
"Pardon?"
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Several photos—and the Thugs making their way down another street, not noticing Ianto in the gaggle of girls he'd somehow attracted—later, and wished he could fully comprehend what had just happened.
He was bidding The Gaggle goodbye when Spokesperson asked what his name was.
Unsure of what to say (and wasn't it a strange time when one couldn't figure out how to answer such a simple question), he pursed his lips a moment.
"Just—just call me Jones."
That had resulted in a couple of giggles and squeals of delight, and he hurried away with his bags, thinking that perhaps running from Thugs would be the better option to being put into a situation like that again.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Of course, Ianto almost immediately gets shot after that, only having enough time to look at the spray of his brains on the walls and grab up his bags and run for it.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
They kill him another two times before he can lose them, both times with them coming too close to catching him for comfort, and Ianto is starved when he makes it back to his Base.
He's too hungry to properly get annoyed at himself for not coming up with a proper name yet, but he does spare a thought to how irritating it was getting open a can—abandons it to rip open a package of Hob Nobs and eat.
And eats and eats and eats, and then he has the patience to finish opening the can.
He makes himself peanut butter sandwiches while he waits for his water to boil, heats the kraft dinner, strains it, adds canned tuna, cream of mushroom soup, diced carrots and doesn't have the patience for real cheese to melt in it so he bites off pieces to go with his delicious mess.
When he can finally stop eating, he cleans, because there's cookie crumbs over the floor, carrot peel on the counters, tuna juice mixed in, and dishes always needed washing.
He thinks he needs to buy more groceries.
He thinks he should get a better can opener, looking at the ragged cut on his palm courtesy of the can's edge.
He thinks perhaps he should go take a nap, though, first.
Decides, in the end, to watch old Disney cartoons on the large screens in his Main Area.
It's enough.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Except that he encounters Thugs in his areas much more often.
And that's just shit.
He needs to deal with them.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Saturday doesn't rush, but it does seem to hurry to get here, so it doesn't seem like such a wait when Hank is getting Toni ready for the trip.
He has her baby bag handy—all the One Piece flags displayed on the dark fabric proudly—and she's freshly napped and dressed in the red Iron Man Onesie that Sherry had amazingly silk-screened into existence, long red and gold striped socks pulled up high on her arms and legs, and he coo's over her adorableness before putting on her Captain America Shield Hat.
(Why? Because Sherry was into that part of the fandom, and had somehow sucked him into it.)
Of course, their outfits don't match, Marvel vs DC, but who cared?
Besides, people who matched outfits were creepy outside of an Expo.
He can take the car because Sherry would need the van with their two X-Boys, and it's much easier to get a parking space than he figured on so when he goes in, 10 minutes early as he is, it's a surprise to see Eunice Bakely at one of the back tables, Naruto-Orange bag settled into the chair beside her.
Her eyes drift past him, then resettle on Toni in her Iron Man outfit, and to him in his Batman shirt, and he waves.
"Hi," he says, once he's close enough to the table to not be shouting, "You're Eunice Bakely. Old Lady name, by the way. Thought you should know. I'm Hank."
She's still looking at Toni, and he grins, knowing she's adorable. Who's his little crime fighter? Why yes she is.
"And you're crazy. You brought a kid?"
Hank makes an exaggerated frown face.
"Not a kid. My kid. This is Toni… isn't she adorable?" He jiggles Toni lightly, smiling at her gurgles of delight.
"And you can't shank a da-ad, no you can't shank a da-ddy," he sings lightly, giving Toni an Eskimo kiss. Na-na na bo-bo, you can't shank me.
She gave him a disbelieving look.
"You brought your kid because you can't shank a guy with a baby?"
He gives her a look.
"No, you shouldn't even try shanking a guy with a baby… you can shank a guy with a knife, but you shouldn't do it if he has a baby. That would just be wrong."
That startles a laugh out of her, and he pulls a seat out for himself because he thinks he just made a new friend.
That was usually how he made friends after all; startle them into it.
BOO!
AH! Oh, okay, we're friends.
That was how it worked.
He pulled the socks back up Toni's arms so she couldn't gnaw holes in the sagging fabric so easily, and checked his watch.
Nearly noon.
Now where was Tyra at?
"Is that the other girl? The one looking like she's trying to seem inconspicuous?"
He shifted to look at the door, and yes, there was Tyra Shaw, her hair covered with a shawl and dark sunglasses on her face… she had the flaps of her jacket pulled high to conceal her face, and Hank waved.
"Tyra! Over here!"
She startled, spinning, and awkwardly made her way over.
As soon as she was within arms length of the table, she darted one hand out, a spray in hand and brandished it threateningly.
"N-now listen here, I came because you asked me to. I, well I do not want any trouble, there's no need to threaten—"
"You threatened her?" Eunice hissed at him. He looked back at her, baffled, then back to Tyra.
"What—"
"Well," she seems to amend, "I didn't understand most of it—I mean, I don't know what Klingon is, or any of the other stuff—but it sounded threatening, and I just—"
She stopped, eyebrows going high over the dark sunglasses.
"Is that a baby?"
Hank squinted at the spray still held out threateningly, and responded with
"Is that mouthwash?"
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Hank managed to convince Tyra that he wasn't part of a cult ("Well, not really, it's actually called a 'fandom'…") with help from Eunice ("Shut up already! She's confused enough as it is!"), and that he wasn't going to attack her ("Certainly not with a baby—that's more Eunice's area—" "Shut up shut up shut up! I don't use babies as weapons! Now drop it already!" "What? I most certainly will not drop Toni!" "You know what I meant!"), and got her to sit down.
The waitress came over to refresh their drinks and take Tyra's order, and Hank jiggled Toni on his leg while Eunice explained in the most basic and ridiculously simplified way what Hank had been talking about. He made a face at Toni, not liking that he'd been shushed from the conversation and not allowed to contribute outside of saying what he'd written her.
Even less than that when Tyra showed Eunice the message on her phone.
She was still giving him an unsure look, but she'd lost the scarf on her head and the shades, and her collar wasn't popped, so that was at least a plus.
"Now that you know I wasn't going to flagellate you or try to induct you into a cult, can we get down to the matter at hand?"
"And what exactly is that?" Tyra looked at him like he was about to spew gibberish or else try chewing the table… honestly, and this was coming from a woman who thought Klingon was dangerous. Hah!
"The Jones Situation, of course! We need to figure out what we know and what needs finding out!"
"Oh boy…" Eunice sighed like she wasn't just as curious about Jones as he was.
He made a face at her.
(He was rather adept at faces, having three kids. He knew it was a good one, too, since Toni gurgled at it.)
"Why are you so set on finding him, anyway?" Tyra's mouth tightened in distaste. "Why should we even trust him?"
"Oh c'mon, he's like Bat—he's like Robin Hood! You do know who Robin Hood is, right?" He peered at her suspiciously.
She flushed beet red.
"Of course I do! I just don't trust him… Robin Hood was a thief, after all."
He was tempted to throw his hands in the air, but doing so would not only disturb Toni, but also leave her sock-clad hands free to make their way back into her mouth.
Eunice sighed again, loudly, and fiddled with the cutlery at the table.
"Look, how about this: why don't we figure out what we do know, and what we don't know, and then figure out what happens form there, alright?"
Hank heaved his own sigh, matched by a smaller one from Tyra, and agreed.
"Fine, I suppose I can deal with your lack of curiosity for now."
Tyra gave him an unhappy look, but agreed.
"Good," Eunice sat back, butter knife twirling in her fingers, "Now what do we have?"
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
The information the did have on Jones was very little compared to what they wanted to know—or rather, what Eunice and Hank wanted to know, because Tyra was being a spoil sport about everything.
Most of what they had was from Hank, too, and Eunice was quick to point out that a great deal of what he had was supposition, guesswork at best even though it was easy to see Jones's hand in things.
They also had a list—Tyra's suggestion, surprisingly enough—of things that they wanted to find out about Jones.
So far it went like this:
The Jones Situation
Who is he? ("Or she, for that matter, or even they" "Wow, you're really paranoid, aren't you?" "Leave her alone, she's contributing a valid point.")
Why he's doing shit? (Eunice's hand was in this one)
Why is he not more well known? ("Because he's a super spy Robin Hood!" "Shut up, that's not an answer.")
What else has he done? ("Shut up, we mean that we know for a fact that he's done, not your conspiracy theory list.")
Where is his Batcave base of operations? (Hank was no longer allowed to write)
Where does he get the money (Inherited? Stolen? Invested? Worked for?)
How to get in contact with him (because obviously his e-mail wasn't a reliable way)
And, upon Tyra's insistence
What does he get from this?
Hank wanted to say something on this, but knew that it was entirely likely that Jones might just turn around and blackmail them—in fact, if you put your Mob goggles on, the situation looked exactly like that.
He just didn't think that even Mob Goggles could turn the mild-mannered e-mail from Jones into a blackmailing situation.
His pocket buzzed, and he checked it only to curse.
"Fuzzbucket!"
(He does have a baby in his lap.)
"I'm going to be late getting home if I don't leave soon…"
Both Eunice and Tyra check the time, Eunice on her watch and Tyra her phone, and they looked as surprised as he was at the time. They'd been at this for a while now.
"Look, why don't we just meet up next week and give it another go? We could—"
The bell above the door jangled, and a young man in a waistcoat and tie came into the store, looking harried. He moved quickly to the back of the store—close to their table, but also close to the selection of bread displayed in cubbies—and Hank couldn't help falling silent.
He didn't think it was paranoid to stop talking about Jones in front of strangers (or at least strangers not involved with Jones), and actually thought it was common sense to avoid talking about Jones or embezzling (even when it was cleverly code-named 'stealing the dough'), and from the studied silence from the other two he thought they agreed.
The guy kept checking the window, then down to his… phone, yeah, that must be a phone, then back to the selection of bread.
Poor kid, probably sent out to get bread for the family, and didn't know what to choose.
"Hey, you've been here before, right? Help the kid out." He nudged Eunice.
She gave him an annoyed look, but turned to the kid anyway. Hank remembered that he needed to pickup bread and a couple of snacks for the kids before he left, too.
"Hey, you want a suggestion?"
The kid jumped, startled, and Hank saw that he must be one of the kids getting into that Thames House Look.
It was a trend going around since Ianto Jones and his Man died in Thames, kids either becoming impeccably dressed with suits and waistcoats, or else decking themselves out with Wartime regalia.
It wasn't just the kids, either; just the other day he saw a guy wandering about in a Hussar jacket. Hank had to admit it was cool, but all the same he couldn't help but see the creepiness of starting a fashion trend after two guys who died on tape.
The kid glanced outside again, and back to Eunice.
"Pardon? I just—oh, yes please, if you don't mind."
"Try the sundried tomato, it's amazing." She gestured to the cubicle, three loaves left, and the kid nodded his thanks, looking it over.
It must have passed the test, because he picked up one of the loaves, checked outside again, and seemed to relax. He turned to their table with a smile.
"Thank you for your assistance." His smile turned slightly flirtatious. "I'm sure I'll enjoy this immensely."
Hank nodded back, smirking, and Eunice waved him off, flushed. "Oh off with you, shoo! I don't need any of that from you!" Hank grinned at her blushing. Aww, tough girl could blush so prettily!
Blue eyes twinkled, and Hank thought that the Ianto Jones look suited the kid.
"All the same, you have my thanks anyway," he said deliberately misunderstanding, and turning away with a parting wink.
Hank grinned at Eunice until she smacked his arm.
"What?"
Hank fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Do you think you could suggest something for me?"
"Oh, get off it! You're married!" but she was grinning.
"I may have given the key to my heart away already, but the lock on my stomach has a ton of spares to hand out."
"You two are utterly mad, aren't you?"
Hank looked to Tyra, and she was looking at them with wide eyes.
"What?"
"You two are mad. You use insane references, bring babies to crazy meet-ups, and you're both—you're both bonkers!"
She stood and started gathering her things, pulling cash from her wallet and laying it out on the table.
"Look, I've told you all I know about Jones, now I want you to leave me out of it." Hank opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand.
"No. No, I want nothing to do with this. I want nothing to do with Jones. I want nothing to do with you," she looked at Eunice, "and I most certainly want nothing to do with you," she pointed at Hank, "so just leave me alone. Okay? Okay." She turned and stalked from the bakery café.
Hank blinked, and looked at Eunice.
She looked just as lost as he did.
"So… do you want to back out, too?"
She gave him an unimpressed look and sighed.
"…Look. I'm interested in finding this Jones guy, but finding him can't take over my life. You can't let it take over yours, either." She said, giving a significant look to a sleepy Toni. "So I'm in, but we work around our schedules, okay? We don't schedule around this… whatever it is."
Hank nods. "The Jones Situation. And I get it… I just really want to find this guy. And I don't think we should worry too much about Tyra… I mean, she'll come to her senses soon enough." He grins.
"Also, I was serious. Can you give me a few suggestions? What's a little snack to give to two 5-year-old boys and a good bread for the Missus?"
Eunice laughs, and directs him to the pastry cream puffs with a grin.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto comes back from getting groceries (which he shouldn't have to do so often if the Thugs didn't keep finding and killing him and if he didn't have to fuel a younger body so much more) and some… extra supplies to find that someone put new graffiti on his building.
Fantastic.
He looked it over, only a little annoyed, and sighed.
He pulled down the fire escape ladder, thinking that at least they only did it on the main level (another thing he needed to get: a proper lock for the roof door), and at least it looked interesting—none of that chicken scratch or bubble letters nonsense.
He did wonder briefly why 'Blaidd Drwg' seemed familiar to him, but when it wasn't immediately forthcoming he put it out of his mind.
Instead he focuses on putting together a rough replica of the Taser Gun he was used to from torchwood.
Jack had shown him way back when how to fix it should it ever get broken, and as a result Ianto had learned quite a bit more about electronics than he ever thought he would need to know, as well as knowing what parts would be needed to make an entirely new one.
It was something he was taking advantage of now.
He'd had to stop by a number of electronics stores, dodging through alleyways and across buildings rooftops to avoid any interaction with the Thugs still hanging about, even stopping in popular shops to lose them—ah.
With that thought he pulled the loaf of bread he'd gotten from the bakery and cut himself a slice.
Mmm, it was as good as it looked.
Cutting another two slices to carry, he moved to the far side of the room, to where he'd privately dubbed his Workbench, as it was where he'd been putting together the basic components of his Stun Gun.
He had the rest of what he needed, including a children's squirt gun to work out the covering.
He just needed to finish putting it together and he would…
Well, he wouldn't stop running from the Thugs, because they always came in groups of twos and threes, and Ianto had grown out of foolhardy cockiness ages ago (hah), but at least he would have more going for him should things get too close than his hand-to-hand combat training.
Good as it was, if they caught him with his bodyweight down, he needed some sort of backup, else it would be too easy to just pick him up and chuck him in the van.
Hell, Ianto was about 10 right then and he thought it would be pretty easy to take him down with one Thug, never mind the partnered team-up he usually had to deal with.
Ianto pulled his thoughts together and sat down to work. If he worked late, he would have a tester ready by tonight.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Tosh frowned, and gestured Gwen over.
"We won't be able to hold it off for much longer," she said.
"It isn't like when he went with the Doctor… it's been 4 months already, and we can't keep hoping that Jack will come back."
Gwen settled herself, hand on her now very pregnant belly, and read through the e-mail. Tosh thought she would have to go on bedrest soon, and wondered how quickly she could have a monitoring system set up in Gwen and Rhys' house… really, she should have had it up ages ago.
She saw what Tosh did; that the Crown was interested in getting answers from Jack Harkness, with the subtext that they suspected that Torchwood Three was hiding something and until they could talk with Jack, they were prepared to make things difficult.
Gwen reread the message and stared for a long time before nodding.
"Tell them what's happened."
"All of it?"
"… Tell them what they need to know. Tell them…. Tell them that Jack Harkness is out of reach." Tosh winced, knowing how true it was and not liking it. There was a lot about this situation she didn't like.
"Just let them know he's gone. I'll send a message myself that he's left me in charge and… Well. We'll just have to see how things go from there."
As Tosh wrote out the message, she couldn't help but feel that this was it. This was what would make Jack's absence permanent. There was no coming back from this.
She hesitated a moment before sending it off, lips pursed.
Clicked.
And he was gone.
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Ianto shifted his grip, aiming at an invisible target and thought, yes; this will do nicely.
He'd fixed the bugs (expected, really, what with him making it from scratch), made sure to have a box of spare parts on hand, and he'd sewn a holster of sorts into the inside of his jacket—something he felt particularly inspired in, as a regular holster would draw more attention.
There was a chime, and he grinned to himself.
That was Mini, with a list of likely places Boss Man would be keeping the hard copies of his time in the Shooting Range… as soon as he got rid of those, he would be able to focus entirely on getting back to Jack and Gwen.
Back to Torchwood.
He still felt a twinge of guilt for leaving the rebuilding of the Hub to them, but there were extenuating circumstances and…
It wasn't exactly a walk in the park on his end, either.
He had Mini (his name for Mainframe while working through his Mini-Hub) pull up the locations on a map, and made note to buy his own to put up on one wall—he couldn't always have it up on screen, and he could get the same visual with colored pins.
Hacking into the CCTV, he noted that all were guarded.
Some more than others, but that could be for any number of reasons… he would have to set Mini up to look for where Boss Man would most likely be; he didn't want to be within a ten block radius of him if he could help it.
Another chime had him frowning, confused, and turning his attention from the CCTV.
What could… ah!
He smiled, relieved. Mini had finally found information on what was happening with Jack!
"Now where have you been hiding, Jack…" he murmured, a weight off his chest.
He had to hand it to him; in the time he's been gone, he'd apparently gotten much better at hide-and-seek… He grinned, thoughts inevitably turning to naked hide-and-seek.
No doubt Jack fond a way to cheat this time, too.
The grin slowly faded as he read through the sequence of e-mails, heart suddenly loud in the silence of his Flat.
No.
No.
Jack couldn't be gone; he couldn't.
It just wasn't—
No.
No.
Ianto shook his head, face frozen into a mask, and again, and again, and again…
"No." He said it again.
"No. He can't be. H-he can't be gone. He just."
He went with the Doctor. That must be it.
That must be—
It felt like his brain stalled.
No.
Because if Jack was gone… what was Torchwood?
Gwen?
Gwen was Torchwood?
He just—
No.
Ianto pushed away from the monitors, needin to be moving—
Banged his shin on the low table he'd set up, and he kicked at it, cursing, because no.
No.
No.
No.
Jack couldn't be gone, he just—
Maybe he was—
Ianto's knees collapsed underneath him.
He felt like his strings had been cut.
Because if Jack was gone… what was Ianto going to do?
What was…
His mind stalled again.
Restarted, with difficulty, one question prevalent.
Now what?
.-~-~-~~-~-~.
Seriously, everyone go and give kudos to Randompersonofdoom, she's been fantastic and dealing with my e-mailing her a lot and my bugging her with things that are ENTIRELY off topic, and seriously she did a fantastic job with the Faery scene it makes me so happy and have I mentioned how much I love it?
Still so excited about it and THERE'S MORE TO COME!
(Gah, and sorry in advance, I have no clue how you're going to do the e-mails… I'm rooting for you!)
Sigh…
So, tell me what you think?
If I haven't mentioned before, this is a multi-part story. You won't be seeing Jack until the next story, and the only reason why I do this is because of the rating change that's going to be happening. I should probably change it already for the Ianto-being-shot-repeatedly thing (maybe)…
And, oh yeah, this story is done… Surprise!
Thank you everyone for all the encouragement so far!
Again, it's multi-part-ed, so if you don't feel like subscribing to the series (to Ao3-ers)… well, you can do the same thing that FFn dot net-ers are going to be able to do, and wait for me post the last (HAH!) chapter, 8/8, which will basically be "Hey, the next part is up, check it out!"
Thanks again to Randompersonofdoom, because along with being amazing and fantastic and all that jazz, she also helped me out with the title of the next part.
So look forward to "Too Tired to Wink" (or not, whatever you feel like, but you did just make it through 70k with me, so why don't you stay a little longer, hmm?), and send kudos to Randompersonofdoom, and love and happiness and unicorns doing the time warp on Rainbows and whatnot, and I'll see you in a bit :)
So yeah, this is the end of AIWU… Prepare for T3W or 3TW or TTTW or whatever ends up being the short form… it might just be called Ludo because that's the artist the title is from, so… :S
Any opinion as to the short form?
~Doodled93~
P.S. Link = archiveofourown dot org /works/750779 without spaces and with the appropriate change from dot to an actual dot for fanfiction dot net people to get to the amazing AIWU podfic for chapter 1… seriously, Randompersonofdoom is amazing and you should listen to it if only for the Faery part. She's awesome, have I mentioned? She's also pretty much my fandom-brain twin…Also, damn you fanfction dot net for screwing with my e-mails for Hank, Eunice, and Tyra! Go to archiveofourown dot org and find me (same username and story title) to see it in all its lory guys.