(Untitled)

[specialblend3]

Ianto Jones was lingering over tubs of fruit while vegetables leered from the parallel row of the aisle. He had his back to them, and stood in the centre, absently squeezing a banana between his thumb and index finger. His dilemma was a simple one. Would Owen, Gwen and S-... and Tosh Eat fruit and vegetables if he bought them? Secretly he has hoped

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[ninthly]

The Doctor assured himself that the young woman - who had somehow recognized his name - was harmless, and after stalking across London for an hour, returned to his still-sideways Tardis. He manuevered his way towards the console, his usual expression tinged with bewilderment. He grunted as he lost his footing and landed splayed against the console, a lever jabbing him in the stomach. Seemingly mimicking his actions, the Tardis lurched foward and began to dematerialize. "I'm getting too old for this," the Doctor grumbled, as he grasped at a screen. He was hurtling towards...Cardiff. "What, d'you vacation there now?" he spat at the Tardis. He hadn't been in the city for decades, and then, this year - well, this was his third visit.

"Right, girl, let's land right side up this time," he said, and thankfully, the Tardis cooperated.

"Good girl!"

He stepped out of the Tardis, mildly surprised that the Tardis hadn't landed near the rift (he was, in fact, a bit disappointed - he would have appreciated some extra energy, so he could locate the fellow Time Lords whose presence he could so vividly feel).

The Doctor leaned against the side of the Tardis as he watched people clambering in and out of vehicles (the Tardis had landed in the furthermost corner of the Tescos car park).

He must have not traveled very far time-wise, as, if anything, the awareness of fellow Gallifreyans had increased. He approached a man who had just left the building.

"Hello!" he shouted as he closed the gap between them, moving to walk alongside the other man. "D'you have the time?"

[specialblend3]

There are several advantages to wearing a suit in public. People tend to be more polite to you, they see a man in uniform before they see the man. Children often hide, or at the very least they act in a way that they expect is acceptable as soon as a suited man arrives on scene, no longer running or screaming at each other or pulling each other's hair, but cowering under his warm eyes and his kind smile, perhaps recalling businessmen and headmasters. Mothers smile politely and hurry on. You can walk by barriers that would stop a civilian in his tracks, you can enter buildings barred to the public. Most people expect that you have somewhere to go, and if you stride purposefully and avert your eyes, few people have the desire to stop you for any purpose.
So when Ianto Jones was addressed, 'hello!' he expected that old friends were meeting, that a barber and a football coach had bumped with some surprise into each other in the car park and were even now exchanging small talk concerning increased fuel-prices and the latest FA Cup results.
It was with some surprise then that Ianto saw a man approaching him, specifically. He turned his head and frowned, but it was not his intention to dissuade the stranger. Rather, the expression was a symptom of his surprise. Ianto lifted arm and slipped a hand into his inside blazer pocket - still walking - and drew out a silver pocket-watch with a button on the top.
"The time is one forty three exactly, and forty five, six, seven seconds."
He smiled and returned the watch to his pocket. "Pm, that is."

[ninthly]

"Thanks," he said, flashing the man a smile. He wasn't going to ask the date again, as the people in the car park were quite obviously displaying a rushedness that was trademark during the holidays. A glance over his shoulder, back towards the store and its sales announcements, confirmed that it was Christmas Eve. He assumed it was still 2009, as the Tardis hadn't had to enter the time vortex.

"Christmas Eve in Cardiff," he thought, "Well, that's original." This time around, one hundred forty years later, there was no Rose or even Charles Dickens, and, hopefully, no problems with the rift.

"Right. Sorry to be a bother, but d'you happen to know the way to Roald Dahl Plass?" the Doctor asked. He dare not fly the Tardis there just yet - she was entirely too testy at the present.

[specialblend3]

"The plaza? I'm going that way myself, as it happens."
Ianto was carrying two shopping bags in his left hand but his right was free. He extended this for the shaking. "A short distance away, I can give you the directions, or I can accompany you. What is your business there?" A pause. Ianto looked a little awkward for a moment, and fell silent.

[ninthly]

"Splendid!" the Doctor said, as he shook the man's hand. The last time he had asked someone for directions, he had ended up waist-deep in jelly. Last time he visited that planet.

"I don't want to be an inconvenience," he said, the smile slipping from his face, "But it's nice not to travel alone..." His mind flashed to Rose and Jack.

"I'm sort of a tourist - seeing the sights, and all that."

[specialblend3]

"The Millennium Centre. I had thought as much."
Ianto smiled at the enthusiasm of the tourist, somehow reluctant to end this hand-shake. "It really is a sight, you know, a stunning piece of architecture. Its exterior makes use of the rough weather conditions on the sea-front, that's the amazing thing. The older it gets, the more weathered, the more impressive it will be."
The suited man turned left out of the Tescos car-park and followed the road for a short while. Soon after leaving the supermarket boundaries he veered away from the road-side to seek a pedestrian walkway which avoided the noise of beeping horns and speeding motors, led down a gravel decline and into a pleasant path which sloped down toward sea-level.
"There are plenty of people around the building who will be able to go into much greater detail than I ever could, however."
Not that Ianto hadn't been on every tour several times. Not that he hadn't read every leaflet.

[ninthly]

The Doctor listened to the man talk about the Millenium Centre, nodding in agreement. He knew all about it, but didn't interrupt. He always enjoyed meeting people who were passionate about the life around them, fascinated by the details.

"Oh, I think you're doing just fine," he said, glancing at his companion and smiling softly.

[specialblend3]

"Good time to get your sight seeing in, I suppose." Ianto continued, sticking to the left hand side of the path. Trees hung overhead, blotting out what little illumination the sun had blessed them with this afternoon. Even so, patches of light twinkled on the ground and dazzled his eyes every five steps or so, unless in that instant a cloud was rolling overhead. Soon the sea would be coming into view ahead.
"The bay should be pretty clear. Sane people are spending today with their families."

[ninthly]

The Doctor walked with measured strides, glancing around every few steps, looking for something amiss (the Tardis was so adamant about getting him here, after all, something must be wrong). He, however, had managed to coax his mind away from the frustrating sense of other Time Lords long enough to follow the other man's words. They weren't of real importance, but, then again, who knows?

"Guess that makes me insane?" he asked, with a laugh. "Yep, sounds like me!"

[specialblend3]

For a long moment Ianto does not speak, but rather, watches the paranoid glances shot every which way by his tourist friend. The walkway is practically empty, though college students throw balls around on the green off to their left. There are no distant rumblings of thunder as far as the suited man can hear. No explosions, no car alarms. It doesn't take long for curiosity to overcome him, and manifest in a casual;
"Are we being followed, perhaps?"
Raised eyebrows suggest that he hopes to gather more from the question than a simple yes, or no.

[ninthly]

"Probably," the Doctor answered nonchalantly. "Big Brother, and all those pesky government operations."

Was he being that obvious? Oi, he had to tone it down a bit.

He caught the other man's eye and ventured, "I'm a bit of a celebrity - everyone wants ta have a piece of me." He chuckled, albeit a bit sadly.

[specialblend3]

(Past tense this time. I swear.)

Roald Dahl and George Orwell. Ianto couldn't help but smile, less at the man than at the mismatched authors, one by which they were apparently being stalked and the other into whose memorial they were headed. The answers to his questions did him little good, but they did beg further questions.
"Have I heard of you?"

[ninthly]

The Doctor squinted his eyes towards their destination; they were fairly close to reaching it. Thankfully, everything appeared normal - the rift hadn't reopened and spit out the other Time Lords.

Actually, that would be a welcome explanation. If the rift could do that, he could go back, and...No. No.

"I don't know, have you?" he asked. He was quite certain he hadn't.

[specialblend3]

"I don't recognise you." Ianto said, now somewhat coldly. His every attempt at striking up conversation was being blocked, his patience consiquently beginning to wear. The Torchwood hub, with its dark corners and repetitive tasks, was beckoning him away, but he had made a promise to escort this man. He would do it in silence, now picking up his pace a little, digging his hands into his pockets in an unconscious closing of his sociable attitude. The plastic Tesco bag rustled in the quiet, lightbulbs tinkling.

[ninthly]

Upon noticing the man's new demeanor, the Doctor insisted, "Oh, cheer up! Y'don't want to hear about me anyway. I'm boring. Now, you, are you sure I haven't heard of you before?"

He realized they had never introduced themselves, and he quickly lengthened his strides in order to catch up with his companion.

"C'mon, then."