VS3:04 -- "Half-Baked", Part Two
Half-Baked -- Part Two
"-so, Gwen, if you get this message, give me a holler. Not that I'm as helpless as a babe in the woods or anything! Far from it. But it's, uh, interesting. And you might be interested or uh, concerned or something."
Rhys hung up his mobile and frowned at the offending hunk of plastic, before throwing it onto the passenger seat. He was babbling. He needed to stop and get a grip. He eased on the brakes and stopped the van at a red light.
He had found an alien bakery. Right here in Cardiff. It made sense, he supposed. Gwen never talked about the good aliens she met, but surely there must be some. And why wouldn't they want pastries and cakes? He shuddered at the memory of the salt-soup. Unless their customers are humans unknowingly feasting on alien goo!
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Rhys shook his head. Some tosser was holding up traffic. He glanced at the light and flushed as he realised he was the tosser and the light was green.
On the next block he pulled over beside a small park and fished in the glove compartment for a clipboard and pen. He flipped over the Harwood's Haulage Customer Service Survey ("Were you sorry with your Harwood's lorry?") and began to scribble a list.
1. Customers = aliens (Y/N)
2. Fairy Cakes = alien goo (Y/N)
3. Ring Gwen again (J + I?)
4. Tesco run - need TP
5. Ring Mum back re: plumbing
That accomplished, he consulted his route once again. The first stop was a Ms. Melinda Myrtle on St. Agatha Road, near the university. He moved back out into traffic.
Twenty minutes later, he was in Ms. Myrtle's dancing potato-themed kitchen, being served tea from a slightly cracked china tea set, painted with strings of little pink flowers. Ms. Myrtle blinked owlishly up at him from behind outsized specs and smiled encouragingly as he gingerly took a sip of his scalding hot tea.
"It's good," he managed to choke out. "Mmmm, honey, my favourite!" It was by far the sweetest tea he had ever tasted, sweeter even than Gwen's Auntie Enid's tea, and he had felt the sugar in that tea drill a hole in his back tooth, he was certain.
Ms. Myrtle cackled appreciatively and squeezed his bicep. "Sweet tea will keep your strength up!" With some effort, Rhys withstood the temptation to argue that point, and Ms. Myrtle continued speaking. "Now, you really must have a little doughnut to go with the tea." She opened her Fairy Cakes Bakery box, placed a sugary doughnut on his tea saucer, and looked at him expectantly.
Rhys swallowed hard. He looked down at the doughnut. It was golden and liberally sprinkled with soft white powder that he fervently hoped was sugar. He looked up at Ms. Myrtle. She was a pinched, grey colour and her shoulders were liberally sprinkled with soft white powder that he reluctantly figured was dandruff.
"Go on, young man!" Ms. Myrtle cajoled, and reached out with one bony finger to poke him in the gut.
Rhys picked up the doughnut between his finger and thumb and brought it up to his face. It looked like any other sugar doughnut - actually better - but as he looked deep into its hole-y depth, he could see his life flash in front of his eyes. There were lots of pints and scenes of Gwen laughing. Emboldened, he opened his mouth wide and took a large bite.
The Hallelujah Chorus went off in his head. It tasted absolutely wonderful! Fried dough and sugar spun into a combination that would make even the deadest taste buds stand up and take notice. Rhys swallowed and took another bite. Even the little dancing potatoes stencilled onto each cabinet didn't look quite as odd. It was most certainly the best doughnut he had ever tasted. He had to refrain from licking his sticky fingers when he was done.
Before he could beg off to go make his other deliveries, Ms. Myrtle insisted on showing him her collection of potato salt-n-pepper shakers. Then she took both his hands in hers and pulled him down for a papery kiss on his cheek. "You come again, dearie. You remind me of the maris piper potato: good breeding!"
Rhys's eyes popped when she leaned over and whacked his arse on his way out the door. His ears were burning when he got back into the van and pulled out the clipboard. Myrtle - horny old bird. Good taste in sweets and men. Obsessed w/ potatoes.
He capped the pen. It wasn't much of a start, but she was just the first. He had twelve more left. He started the van and carefully checked for traffic before pulling out. A baker's dozen, they are. Lovely.
Bzzzzz.
Bzzzzz.
JJ tore his eyes from watching the antics of Trainee #1 and Trainee #2 inspecting an unknown piece of alien tech to reach for his mobile.
CJH.
"Yes, sir!" he half-shouted into the phone. There was a pause. Perhaps he had overdone his enthusiasm, but it couldn't have been worse than the vague wave he'd given to Ianto on his way out, riveted as he'd been by 'Signs You May Have Been Impregnated by an Alien'.
"Yeah, JJ, call me Jack. Listen, has Ianto called in at all?"
JJ glanced back at the TIC's small monitor. Trainee #2 was now holding the stump of his arm and fake blood was drenching Trainee #1. Shit, he'd missed something important. "Ah, he came by - too many entrances you've got here - but left again, said he had to deal with his flat?" JJ said, not entirely sure what Ianto had meant or how much detail Jack wanted.
"So he's not there? Good. I need you to look something up for me."
Trainee #1 was now clutching at his throat. JJ squinted at the screen. What had he done to get that reaction? "Of course... Jack. What do you need?"
"See if we have a pair of Hynerian Stasis Gloves in the Archives."
The unknown alien tech hovered above the inert bodies of Trainee #1 and Trainee #2, and then exploded. JJ minimised the screen, and pulled up the Archives Database (Version 16.29D). "How do I spell Hynerian?"
"Hell if I know."
JJ typed in a couple of guesses, and felt a small thrill when a message box came up. "I found them!"
"Great!"
"Oh. Um. They're signed out. To an Archie, Torchwood Two."
"Damn. Never getting those back."
"Hang on, then." JJ scowled at the screen. "There's a Torchwood Two? Where are they? I hope they've got more staff than us, and how come..."
"Whoa there, buddy! You're not a reporter anymore, remember?"
JJ said nothing in reply. His mind was running over the possibilities. He knew Torchwood One had been in London. Torchwood Three was in Wales. So then... "Do we ever go to Scotland, Jack? For exchange trips?"
Jack sighed. "You have a good morning, JJ. I'll check in with you later. You're watching the training videos, right?"
JJ minimised the database and pulled the video back up. The next chapter was entitled 'Friendly Alien Encounters' and Instructor Smith was shown shaking hands with a man in a badly sewn-together costume of a furry purple alien. "They're very instructive," he replied, beginning to wonder, not for the first time, if this was all some sort of horrible joke.
"Good man!"
Jack hung up on him, and JJ leaned forward and hit the 'play' button.
"Now, watch me closely, trainees. You may think this is very basic, but YOU MUST PROTECT YOURSELF!"
The pile of post behind the door was quite impressive, and it slowed Ianto down a bit as he tried to open it. Most of it was junk - takeaway menus and other fliers aimed at the recent student invasion - but there appeared to be a bill and a bank statement as well.
He scooped it up and took the whole pile with him to the kitchen, where he dumped it on the counter before tossing his coat down next to it. He pressed play on his answer machine, only half-listening as he sorted the mail into three piles, knowing that anything important would have come through to his mobile.
Rhiannon had called twice - he made a note on a pizza flier to call her back - about David's birthday plans and some matter of gossip he wasn't quite clear on. The next message was from his landlord, letting him know that he was aware of the insect problem in the building, and that he was arranging for fumigation. Ianto frowned and hit replay.
"Ianto, it's Simon Wright. I know about the bug problem; it seems to be a Cardiff-wide thing, if that makes you feel any better, not that it does me. Anyway, I'm trying to get exterminators in, but they're awfully booked up, so I don't know when it'll be happening yet. Just wanted to let you know that I'm working on it. Cheers!"
"Maybe it's like the bees, but the other way around," he muttered to himself, sorting through the last of the mail.
He straightened the three piles of post and took the "official" pile to his desk to file it, dumping the largest pile in a carrier bag by the door for recycling.
He walked through the flat to check that nothing else needed his attention. Reaching his bedroom, he packed three suits into a suit bag to take back to the Hub with him. He pushed his curtains out of the way to open the window, thinking the flat could use a good airing out from the scent of disuse.
Along the sill was a colony of beetle-type bugs with shiny exoskeletons and waving legs, each bug about the size of a Smartie. Ianto had no idea what they were, but at least they weren't roaches, and Simon's message now made sense.
"That's disgusting," he informed the bugs, before going to check the other windows for the same. "Really disgusting," he added as he found their friends. At least it was just around the windows. Probably nothing a bit of caulking wouldn't solve. If Simon had actually investigated the problem it could have been solved by now. Ianto shrugged. It didn't matter. He was hardly ever home, anyway.
His mobile rang again and he fumbled it out of his suit jacket. "Found it yet?" he asked without looking.
"No," Jack sighed. "This is hard."
"Want a hand?"
He sighed again, and that was always as bad of a sign as Jack failing to rise to innuendo when it was handed to him on a plate; both at once had Ianto contemplating getting seriously worried. "No, I'll catch it. It just stopped being fun," Jack said, and Ianto heard the weight of one of Jack's moods in his voice.
Ianto chuckled anyway. "Okay, if you're sure?"
"I'm sure, really. What are you up to, anyway?" Jack asked, wanting a distraction, Ianto supposed.
"I'm at my flat, doing housework, actually. I'm just about to head into town though, so if I see you or Sneaky Spider, I'll join the chase. Hey, speaking of, do you know anything about this insect invasion?"
"Hm?" Jack asked, clearly not really listening.
"I've been invaded," Ianto announced. "With creepy little buggers, because my landlord can't be arsed to fix the seals on the windows, so looks like it's time to do it myself."
Jack chuckled at Ianto's clear irritation. "I love it when you take control of the situation."
Ianto smiled, as ridiculous as it was. "I know you do," he replied, pulling his coat on and hoisting the suit bag. "But seriously, defending the world, sealing the windows, how hard can it be?" Jack was silent and Ianto rolled his eyes. "Okay, so now I've gone and cursed it, fine. Call me when you catch the thing."
JJ pulled out the next tape in the series, entitled 'The Torchwood Agent in the Home'. The intro featured a short dramatic re-enactment of a Torchwood Agent arriving at his home and glibly lying to his wife about his boring day selling insurance. The wife smiled vacuously and handed over a full martini. Instructor Smith strode onto the scene, and the re-enactors froze.
"This, too, can be you!"
JJ snorted. He'd prefer a bottle of Brains. And maybe a rare steak.
"Torchwood Agents must maintain their masks when around their loved ones. No exceptions!"
Instructor Smith stepped back, and Wife and Agent continued their play.
"Darling, I should take your jacket in for dry cleaning. Is that curry on it?"
"You know how I love curry, Muffin!"
JJ snickered. The words Actually a stain from the brain matter of an exploded Golgotharn. appeared at the bottom of the screen.
"Snoogles! Are you limping, Dear One?"
"Oh, it's nothing, Precious Flower! I stubbed my toe on a boring filing cabinet!"
Actually a limp due to dismembered, then reattached toe after run-in with unidentified alien technology.
Bzzzzzz.
Bzzzzzz.
JJ glanced down at his phone. Ianto. He flicked it open and muted the tape. "Hey, Ianto."
"JJ. Just wanted to check in. It's going to be longer until I'm back there than I thought. Anything I need to know about?"
JJ glanced at the screen. It looked like Wife was serenading Agent. "Everything's going quite peachy, yeah, thanks. And, uh, thanks for the tea. I forgot to say earlier. You know, the videos... they're sort of..."
Actually in quite a lot of pain, due to higher registers aggravating old wound received from alien termite.
"Oh, you got that, good. Anyway, I'm on my way to Tesco. Could you check the database for our supply of toilet paper? I think we should stock up soon."
Instructor Smith walked back onto the screen for a new segment. JJ hurriedly pulled up the supply database, slightly boggled by the degree to which Ianto kept up on seemingly everything.
"Ummm... we are low on toilet paper and there's a note on here to get more Gaviscon."
"Oh, right. Well, I'm also going to the chemist's. I'll be back after that, most likely. Ring me if anything comes up."
"Will do." JJ flipped the mobile shut and quickly turned up the volume on the tape. Wife had just screamed, fainted and come back around. Now she held a lamp and threatened to whack Agent with it. Inspector Smith came back onscreen.
"These reactions are why the Torchwood Agent must always wear a mask in the home! The general public cannot handle the truth about the cosmos!"
The Instructor took a step back as Wife let out an inarticulate cry and brought the lamp down on Agent's head. The lamp fell apart and all three people onscreen looked at each other. Instructor Smith turned away, muttering. "I'm surrounded by amateurs. Cut. Cut it now."
Lacking any useful and harm-free technology to solve his problem, Jack had lost any and all qualms about shooting his tiny robot friend. There was, however, one critical problem standing in the way. The thing had now attached itself to the underside of a silver Audi, the driver of which was now aware of the fact Jack was tailing it in the SUV (something he felt sure wouldn't have happened if everyone weren't so invested in being the star of their own action movie these days).
Jack thought about trying to pull the car over or even run it off the road, for that matter, but that would, he realised, result in just one more open space for the toy to escape into. Ideally, he'd stay on the Audi and it would eventually pull into a house or underground garage and the damn thing would be reasonably contained.
Of course, ideally required Jack to be tailing someone who wasn't both scared and incompetent, and Jack strongly suspected the idiot would keep driving until he ran out of gas. Which meant Jack had to box him in somewhere, or jar the robot off his car and onto the SUV, a plan he knew probably had all sorts of dire consequences, none that he cared about right now.
Throwing the SUV into a hard left that each and every member of the team would have scolded him for, he cursed as a van dashed through an amber light and caused him to lose sight of his quarry. Jack reversed somewhat clumsily and knocked bumpers with the car behind him (and that's what people got for riding his tail as an excuse to speed themselves), before spinning the wheel the other way and swerving around the now stopped van. Harwood's Haulage. He rolled his eyes - of course, when in doubt, count on Rhys, just not usually for what Jack was looking for - and gunned the engine again.
This, Jack thought, is what he got for indulging himself. Petty grief. At this rate he was going to enjoy shooting this thing and didn't care how bewildered Ianto would look when he proudly offered up the pieces of it later.
Absently, he wondered how his parents had ever tolerated the toys of his childhood. Really, as a general rule, he thought it was a wonder that full-time parents didn't kill their offspring.
Ianto roamed the aisles, tossing things into his basket automatically, not really needing a list to find what he knew was needed at both his flat and in the Hub.
He fished his wallet out of his pocket with one hand and was heading towards the counter when he spotted a familiar figure down one of the aisles. Gwen jumped and fumbled the boxes she was holding, clutching her chest and laughing when she saw who it was.
"Ianto! You keep doing that to me today. What are you doing here?"
He gestured with his purchases in answer. "Someone has to do the supply runs, you know," he said, finally registering what she was holding. "Pregnancy tests?" he asked.
"Oh, erm, yeah," she looked from them to the shelf, avoiding looking at him. "The other day, I was... thing is, Jack asked me to pick them up."
"Okay," he said slowly, his brain not entirely registering what she was saying. "Wait, Jack asked you... why did Jack want pregnancy tests?"
She wasn't a great liar and overreached. "Janet. He thinks Janet might be..."
"Janet, who has been in solitary confinement for over a year, Janet?" he checked.
Gwen nodded, smiling ruefully.
"Janet, who is a Weevil and whose gestation period is therefore six months?" Ianto continued.
"Okay, he didn't tell me what he needed them for," she told him. "Just, it looks less weird if I buy them than if one of you two buys them."
"That's very true," he conceded absently, his eyes seeking out the pregnancy tests involuntarily, frowning. "Just... save the receipts or you don't get reimbursed."
"Yeah. Of course."
"Right then," Ianto said. "I'll see you later?" he asked, not wanting to sort out whatever madness this was in the chemist's or without, apparently, Jack.
"Yeah, yeah," Gwen said, grabbing a couple more test boxes.
Ianto gave her a searching look and turned to hurry back down the aisle, nervously grabbing a box of condoms, just in case the STD chat wasn't the only sex history discussion Ianto should have had with Jack.
"Torchwood," he muttered to himself and shook his head.
Jack cursed under his breath as he watched the robot pick its way up a tree. Sure, he could be lulled into thinking he had it cornered, but after hours of this, he was starting to know better. The second he started to climb the tree, it would drop out, bounce away and disappear, either into a drainage ditch or by attaching itself to the underside of a car to go joyriding again. Either way, he'd lose track of it and that was just unacceptable. Compared to most of their quarry it wasn't really dangerous, but it still didn't belong in this time and place, and Jack had at least some of his dignity to maintain.
He sighed and dug in his pocket for his mobile, hitting redial for Ianto. Again.
"Hey. Um...?"
"You haven't caught it yet, have you?" Ianto asked, throwing the shopping bags into the boot of his car, relieved for a conversation he was fairly certain wasn't going to take any particularly unexpected turns.
"Yeah. No. I could probably use another set of hands here."
"Where are you?" Ianto asked and then dutifully ignored Jack's sigh of relief as he rattled off the address.
Gwen lined up all of her taken tests in a row along the bathroom counter. Positive, positive, positive, from every brand available, just to be sure.
"Okay," she said slowly to herself. "Okay."
Then she sat down suddenly on the edge of the bath. The only thought that seemed to want to run through her mind was that this was hugely, manifestly unfair. She'd been avoiding the kids question apart from a couple of abstract conversations with Rhys, and had avoided even thinking about it in any great depth, certainly, because Torchwood made everything so complicated.
But now she no longer had that luxury, the choice was right here, staring her in the face. Did she want a kid or didn't she?
She knew the answer to that question in the abstract: she wanted kids, and she wanted them with Rhys, but not right now. It seemed a ridiculous notion. She could barely fit a spouse into things, a grown adult, let alone a child who'd be dependent on her. But it was also hard for her to think that the time would ever be right as long as she worked for Torchwood.
Her phone buzzed and she suddenly remembered that she'd been ignoring it all day. It was Rhys, who'd left a few voicemails, by the looks of things. She ought to call; she knew he'd be annoyed that she was ignoring him, but she didn't think she could speak without giving herself away, and she didn't know if she was ready to talk to Rhys yet.
She gathered up all of the tests, wrapped them up in a bag and threw them away. She went into the bedroom and sat in the centre of the bed, hugging her knees to herself for a long time.
Rhys drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He had one more delivery to go, to a Mr. Bartholomew Mews. He glanced down at his sheet to confirm the name on that one and cursed as a car sideswiped him on the little road. "Wanker!" he yelled after it as it weaved in and out of traffic up ahead. Run-down car for such a posh driver.
He was still grumbling under his breath when he pulled up at Happy Hills' Retirement Community, an estate featuring a grouping of two-story high apartment buildings. Mr. Mews had a flat in the building called 'Sunlight on the Water'. Rhys peered around. There was a puddle on the path, and the sunlight was indeed glinting on it.
Half an hour later, he left Mr. Mews tucking into a cream pie. He'd been gifted with a biscuit. Rhys sniffed it experimentally. It was definitely a bit molasses-heavy. And maybe there were some raisins. He climbed back into the van, found a relatively clean takeaway bag and carefully folded the biscuit up in it. He pulled out his mobile and called Gwen yet again.
"Gwen! Listen, I have evidence! For experimenting, love. Call me back, yeah?" He snapped the mobile closed and fished out his notes. He'd filled up four copies of the Harwood's Haulage Customer Service Survey with his observations. Janice Smalls ordered cherry-flavoured digestives and liquorice cake. Surely that made her an alien. Dickie Rogers lived in a flat above a microbrewery, but did not drink. Matilda Xian had painted the inside of her house six different shades of yellow, from sunlight to chartreuse. Bob Smith had a vast collection of paper dolls on display in his house.
Rhys finished surveying his notes and sighed. All of the customers were distinctly on the batty side. It didn't really make them aliens, necessarily. He needed more definitive proof. Gwen, he knew, wouldn't give up until she was certain in such a case. He felt his resolve harden. He'd go back to the bakery. One way or another, he'd get to the bottom of this. He shifted the van from 'park' to 'drive' and headed back to Llanishen Street.
Rhys pulled up in front of Fairy Cakes Bakery for the second time that day, and wiped his suddenly clammy palms on his denims. Right. It was time to confront the alien bakers.
He carefully reviewed his mental Strategic Checklist, as cribbed from countless hours of playing "Call of Duty": ultimate objective - make sure the aliens weren't poisoning humans. His stomach lurched a bit at that, remembering the doughnut, and then there'd been a piece of cake and a couple of biscuits at a few of the other deliveries. FORCED! He'd been forced to eat them, yeah, that couldn't be a good sign. On the other hand, he wasn't dead or in pain.
Hmmm. Okay, then. New ultimate objective - make sure the aliens had friendly intentions towards Earth (and double-check about the ingredients). He reached into his wallet and fumbled for a particular ID, taking it out and sliding it over his license to smile out from the clear plastic window.
Strategy? Guns blazing, of course! Well, figurative-guns blazing, at any rate. He remembered this bloke he knew at uni, Marcus, who told him that the trick to getting the girls was to act like you knew what you were doing. Rhys paused, shrugged, and then slammed his car door shut. Marcus was now in prison for a little white collar crime.
He adopted a swagger as he approached the door, and then modified his footsteps. He didn't want to look too much like a certain Captain. He knocked peremptorily on the door and waited a few minutes for the two-headed alien to show up in his disguise. Finally the sound of shuffling footsteps approached the door. Rhys readied his badge and his best stern look.
"Yessssss? Harwood'sssss?" The little old man stared up at him, his nose twitching.
"Torchwood," Rhys said, and brandished his badge. Tosh had made it for him as a lark when he and Gwen had gone off on their honeymoon, and someone, Rhys wasn't sure who, had scribbled under his photo, "Agent 69. Codename: Undercover Lover." Rhys was reasonably sure the old man wouldn't be able to read such cramped handwriting.
"Torchwood?" The old man adjusted his glasses and sneezed. "Pardonssss."
"Bless you," Rhys replied automatically. "Hanky?" He proffered a ratty used kerchief and blushed, stuffing it back in his pocket. "Sorry ‘bout that."
He felt he was getting a mite off track, and rallied with, "As pursuant to Code 267, paragraph 58, I am here to conduct a full inspection of the premises, starting with the kitchens."
He wanted to march off to the kitchens forthwith, but he was hampered by the old man walking slowly in front of him. Stalling for time, Rhys realised. They moved at a crawl down the hall, the old man gesturing agitatedly with his hands as Rhys steered him by the left shoulder.
"Wait, wait, Agent 69, what issssss thissss about?"
Before Rhys could answer, they finally reached the kitchen and both men paused, mouths dropping. The kitchen had gone haywire. The ovens were shifting from side to side, creating a loud grinding noise, and every tea kettle was letting off steam, sending multi-coloured cloud puffs into the air. The other four bakers were huddled at the entrance; they turned to Rhys and their leader as they came in. One of them opened her mouth and started screeching.
"Enough, Five!" The old man wrenched his shoulder out of Rhys's grip and poked him in the hip. "What are you playing at, eh? What did you do to our kitchen?" He poked Rhys again. "We are up-to-date on the neccccesssssary documentssss. Code 542, paragraph 29, young man!"
Rhys stared at him, mind whirring, trying to think over the noise. Five squawked and gripped his coat sleeve.
"Er," Rhys began, but was brought up short by the tremendous smashing of the kitchen window. Abruptly, a Roomba with legs landed on the long kitchen counter in the middle of the room, and then all hell really broke loose. The kitchen gadgets redoubled their efforts to come undone from the floors and walls and were joined in their cacophony by the electric mixers, choppers and processors switching on and whirring along.
Into the midst of the noise explosion, which left Rhys standing there slack-jawed, a large, blue-coated man leapt through the broken window and made a heroic attempt to pounce on top of the Roomba, but missed and belly-flopped across the table instead, knocking over a barrel of flour or some other alien baking component in the process.
Rhys stared, agog, as another figure ran from behind him into the kitchen.
Ianto did a tremendous double-take upon seeing him there and, as such, missed the sight of a waterfall of melted chocolate dripping down the first oven and spilling across the floor. He skidded several feet before Jack stopped him, accidentally with a knee to the chest.
"Rhys! Stop that toy!" Jack called, pointing wildly at the initial intruder, which Rhys would have thought was a lot less threatening than a bakery full of aliens.
The robot leapt off one end of the table as Jack's hand slipped in cake batter and he fell unceremoniously off of the table and onto his arse, pulling Ianto down with him.
Rhys, glad to have some sort of clear purpose, eyed the Roomba and attempted to feint left and dodge right to catch the thing, but was slowed by Five, still clutching his sleeve and warbling at the top of her lungs.
He managed to make a grab for it nonetheless, but wound up kicking it instead. It sailed through the air until it was smacked down by a tin of cupcakes wielded by one of the ovens. It landed on its back and Jack shot to his feet. Ianto fell back onto the floor as Jack once again leapt for the toy, this time landing squarely on top of it. Rhys, Ianto and the alien bakers all gasped as one and leaned forward. Jack sat back on his heels, gripping the toy to his chest.
"Phil," Jack said congenially, as if he still had dignity, despite being on the floor, covered in flour and who knew what other alien pastry ingredients, clutching a child's toy as if his life depended on it.
"Captain Harknesssssss," replied the old man, and Rhys blinked at him.
"Khgklghslkghshjriugth!" shrieked Five.
"What's got into Gladys?" Jack asked, voice strained as he tried to find the off switch on the troublesome toy, not wanting it to slip out of his grasp again, literally.
"Transsssssmitter malfunction."
"Do you need help?" Ianto asked, struggling to his feet and looking down at Jack. He turned to look at Rhys. "And what are you doing here?"
"Umm," Rhys hedged. "Deliveries?"
"Ah! Got you," Jack said to the robot. "Ianto, catch," he said, and made to toss the thing to the other man.
"Hang on now, Harkness!" Rhys interjected. "That thing just-" he gestured around the room, taking in the now-quiet appliances and batter dripping off every surface, not to mention the glass fragments from the broken window. "And it's covered in-"
"It's fine now. See?" Jack waggled the robot in his hand before tossing it to Ianto. "Don't hit that switch between the legs."
Ianto smirked none too kindly at Jack as flour and batter dripped off the robot and onto his already filthy suit.
Rhys tried again. "And the alien bakery..."
Jack licked his hand. "Mmmm. Caramel. Relax, Rhys. Do you think I'd be this blasé if they were toxic alien ingredients? Ianto's covered in the stuff!"
Rhys looked at Ianto. Or more accurately, a mostly chocolate Ianto with a dusting of flour, and had to concede the point to Jack. He might not be a member of the Captain Jack Harkness Fan Club, membership of two, but he knew Jack wouldn't let his boyfriend get infected by dangerous alien goop.
"Now, let's see what we can do about Gladys," Jack said, climbing off the floor.
Ianto sidled up to him as Jack and Phil set to work on Gladys's transmitter, a small box hanging from a cord around her neck. Gladys's shrieks turned into an Italian opera as they fiddled with buttons. "So, Rhys," Ianto murmured. "What are you really doing here?"
Rhys told him about Mike and the baby accident, and seeing Phil's two heads, and tasting alien baked goods ("For the greater good!" he added hastily, as Ianto smiled), and all his notes.
"Well, that certainly shows initiative," Ianto remarked with some officiousness, as if that could distract from his current food-covered state.
Rhys frowned as the Italian opera switched to gangsta' rap. "I tried calling Gwen, several times. Do you know what she was up to today?"
Ianto scraped a smudge of dried chocolate off his cheek. "She was... well, I think she was getting caught up on paperwork. She should be home at a normal hour," he said, not wanting to examine the strange interactions with her that had punctuated his day.
"Good," Rhys began, but was interrupted as Gladys's transmitter switched to the voice of a kindly old lady.
"-and really, Phil, we need to get Captain Harkness to pay for this window! My beautiful window! And all the clean-up, oh my, Phil, the mind shudders, absolutely shudders-"
She continued on and Ianto clasped Rhys on the forearm. "Why don't you make your break while you can?"
"Right, mate," Rhys agreed. The other three aliens bade him squeaky goodbyes as he turned to go. His last view of the Fairy Cakes Bakery that night was of Jack and Ianto, and Phil and Gladys, standing amidst the destruction, as Jack and Gladys's voices rose steadily higher while Ianto and Phil figured out the solution.
JJ was just shrugging into his coat to go home when the little bell over the door dinged. His first customers of the day! At 19:30. He arranged a smile on his face. "Welcome to Cardiff! May I help you find something?"
The man shrugged and wandered over to the display of plastic red dragon key chains. The woman beamed at him and slapped a 'Lonely Planet' guide on the counter. "We're looking for a beach!" she exclaimed. She had an American accent, something western.
"Er, what kind of beach?" JJ asked, not bothering to inquire as to why they wanted a beach at this hour.
"A romantic one!" she laughed. "With rocks and driftwood."
"Well, if you leave Cardiff and go past Penarth..." JJ glanced at the CCTV feed as the woman flipped through pages of her book. Jack and Ianto were in the garage, covered in powder and what looked like unidentified alien goop. JJ angled his body around to block the image. "There's a nice beach at Sully. It's rocky, at any rate. And seaweed-y."
"Sully, Sully..." she muttered. "That doesn't sound very Welsh. I was thinking something with lots of 'y's and such." She looked at him expectantly.
There was a muffled crash from behind the opposite wall, which JJ covered with a cough. "You could go up north, instead," he said loudly.
A Welsh accent swore, rather distinctly, and JJ closed his eyes.
"Are there more of you?" the woman asked, peering at the bead curtain as if, logically, it must contain the rest of the Welsh tourism industry.
Jack chose that moment to step out of the secret entrance, Ianto on his heels. "JJ! We have-" He stopped abruptly, noting the tourists.
"Guests," Ianto finished smoothly for him, trying to pull Jack with him around the tourists at the counter and behind the curtain, considering the state of their clothes. When that failed, Ianto plastered on a polite smile and said, "Welcome!"
JJ could see, out of the corner of his eye, Jack hide something in the folds of his coat.
"Oh, now, you have a lovely accent! Don't you think so?" the woman asked, turning to her companion.
"Er, um... well," JJ said, thinking that the tourists seeing more of Jack and Ianto right now was probably not the best plan.
Apparently Ianto disagreed, stepping forward to take over. For no logical reason JJ could think of, Jack followed him.
JJ began to sweat as he found himself pressed back into a corner. Neither Jack nor Ianto were petite men, and they rather crowded the small space. Also, the alien goop was at least moderately concerning, even if Ianto distinctly smelt of chocolate.
The man knew it, too, JJ realised, as Ianto made excuses to the tourists about some sort of bakery festival in town while Jack smiled and nodded.
The tourists couldn't have cared less; they leaned over the counter and jabbed at their map, still wanting a beach. Jack was leaning almost into him, and JJ stepped back, trying to avoid the cloud of white powder around the other man. He struggled to focus on what Ianto was saying now, providing the tourists with directions to rocky beaches around Cardiff. Finally, the woman stuffed her book back into her rucksack and they took their leave.
Jack immediately rounded on JJ the moment the door was closed. "Wanna see something cool?"
JJ frowned, his eyes traveling to the tattered box of videos he'd stuffed back under the counter. "Um, yes. Of course I do."
Ianto raised a brow, but Jack pulled a gadget out from his coat - the same one he'd hidden earlier. "Look closely at this, JJ." All three men leaned a bit closer to the device. "This little puppy could bring about the end of civilisation as we know it."
Ianto snorted, but JJ frowned. "It looks like a Roomba," he said.
Ianto laughed outright and swept a hand over one of his be-powdered arms. "That's you told, Jack."
"Appearances can be deceiving," Jack warned darkly. "That's Torchwood for you. It's very lucky I- we found this."
JJ looked back at the Roomba. Suddenly, the little creature hiccupped, a light flashing on, then off again.
Ianto sighed. Was the thing trying to turn itself on now? "No. That's Torchwood for you."
Gwen lit the candles and then blew them out. Maybe the candles were a bit much. She hooked her finger under the lid from the ready meal container and inhaled deeply. Fresh basil, oh my God. If Rhys doesn't get here soon... She froze, half-bent over the pan of bubbly lasagne. Had that been her first craving? She blinked wetness from her eyes. No, of course not. All sane people would have the same reaction to a pan of piping hot baked cheesy pasta.
The key turned in the lock, and she straightened. Her fingers hurriedly combed through her hair before she dropped her hands. She could hear Rhys in the hallway, calling her name, and her stomach did several back flips. Her hands fluttered uselessly around her middle, not wanting to emphasise it, but not wanting to cover it.
Rhys bounded into the room. "Gwen! Ha ha! Do I have a story for you, love!" He threw his keys in the air, caught them with a triumphant grin and struck a heroic pose. "First, I am bloody brilliant!" He crossed the floor to her, skidding slightly, and seized her shoulders to pull her into an exuberant kiss.
"I should make Detective Inspector, yes, I should," he started as soon as he drew air. Gwen watched him, half listening, as he launched into a story about Jack falling on his arse. And there were aliens that he ("Rhys Williams, esquire!" and he puffed out his chest, beaming) had found himself, only they were cuddly aliens. He slid a breadstick out of the takeout bag and bit off one end. Gwen watched his face, the way his eyes sparkled, the way his grin split his face. He had such a friendly, open face. He gestured at her with the half-eaten breadstick. "And Jack fell on his arse. Did I mention that? Ianto got his suit all messy, don't think he was too happy about that."
He went on describing what sounded like a complicated military campaign against the kitchen appliances belonging to the cuddly aliens. Gwen nodded absently. She needed to sit down, her knees were getting weak. Rhys's voice washed over her and she watched, dazed, as he moved around the table, painting a picture with his words, overflowing with life.
She couldn't say anything. She knew Rhys would be thrilled, that his elation would only grow, but she couldn't share in his celebration, not yet. She swallowed her words down and tried to tune back into what Rhys was saying. Which, aliens, what? She'd have to get a full report from Jack tomorrow; God only knew what he'd got himself involved with this time.
Rhys paused for breath. "So, how come you didn't return my calls?" he asked, sniffing interestedly at the lasagne. "Ooooh, my favourite!"
"I'm sorry, time got away from me today," she said, her voice cracking a bit. He turned back to her and kissed her forehead.
"Everything okay, love?"
She nodded frantically and blinked the dampness away. "Yes. Yes, I just like to see you so happy."
He threw his head back and laughed. "Jack fell on his arse. It was brilliant!"
She smiled as he sat down across from her, and began dishing out the lasagne. It was perfect, what they had, right now. And a baby... She wanted to believe that a baby could be perfect, too. Rhys grinned at her, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes, his hand snaking across the table to pat hers. She would tell him. Soon.
Ianto accepted the bottle from Jack without raising his head from where it rested on the back of the sofa. He didn't even look up until he felt Jack sink into the seat next to him and heard him sigh heavily. "Hell of a day," he commented.
"Yeah," Jack agreed, holding his bottle at an angle to clink it with Ianto's. "Next time, I'll give you an actual day off."
He laughed sharply and took a long swig from the bottle. "Next time I take a day off, you're coming with me."
Jack laughed and dropped his head back and his hand onto Ianto's leg. He rubbed it absently, and Ianto covered the hand to stop him.
"Why is it always the easy days that are the hardest?" Jack asked eventually.
Ianto shrugged and squeezed his hand, then released it and reached up to loosen his tie. "Because we're not used to them, I guess. And we get over-confident."
For a moment, Jack seemed like he was about to concede a point there and Ianto thought he looked more tired than he could ever recall seeing him after what was, in the end, a perfectly normal day.
Abruptly he sat up straighter and pointed at Ianto. "Speaking of which, how's the bug thing?" And the illusion of exhaustion was gone, except minutely around his eyes.
"It'll get sorted," Ianto told him with a smirk. "Well, in my flat at least. The rest of the building, probably not so much."
"Hmm, well, this sort of thing wouldn't happen at all if you went home more often," Jack pointed out, sinking back against the couch again.
Ianto looked up sharply and searched Jack's face for any clue about what he meant, but Jack was inscrutable. "I don't usually have any reason to go home, though," he said slowly.
“Huh." Jack picked at the label on the beer bottle. "Does that bother you?" he asked.
Ianto snorted. "Bit late for that, Jack," he said and was almost surprised with himself when it came out without an edge.
"Spending more time somewhere with windows wouldn't kill you."
Ianto shrugged minutely, annoyed with how used he was to Jack either deflecting or being obtuse; he'd almost given up trying to decide which. But Jack still had a hand on his leg, so maybe it didn't really matter after all. He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled.
END