Ferals (4/6)
Title: Ferals (4/6)
Author: nancybrown
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Steven, Alice, Gwen, Martha, Mickey, OCs
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Martha/Mickey, past Jack/others, past Ianto/OMC
Rating: for adults only
Words: 31,800 (3200 this part)
Warnings: suicide, character death including child death, gore and violence
Spoilers: plot spoilers through CoE, (very) brief mention of characters and events from MD, some parts based on early spoilers from the current season of DW, but finished before the season premiere aired
Beta: Eldar and fide_et_spe both kicked this into shape, and have my deepest thanks.
Summary: Ianto and Steven have returned home, but as Ianto tries to solve an alien's murder, he learns home isn't ready to take them back.
A/N: Sequel to Strays and Rescues. eldarwannabe did a lot of heavy lifting in breaking this fic, and without her, it would not exist. If you like it, tell her thank you.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
***
Chapter Four
***
He starts the day with an early visit to what used to be Sharky's office. The last time he came here, Ianto had a child with him, and very little money, and the last of his dignity abandoned behind them because he couldn't carry that and Steven both. The dingy little shopfront advertises holiday packages to Bristol and Surrey and Manchester, with dusty off-white fliers on the windows and walls. The still visible bluish traces of cleaned-up blood are new. The man behind the counter, who probably isn't as human as he looks, is also new.
"My condolences," he says to the alien. He's given a curt nod. "I have some questions."
"All loans are still due repayment under the same terms."
"I repaid mine. Lloyd Fellowes. You can check the records if you want."
"We will." The tone is flat, severe, and dismissive. If Ianto isn't going to give him money, the tone says, Ianto is no longer interesting.
He takes out his mobile, and the copy of Alisha's picture. "Sharky was looking into the murder of this little girl. I want to know what he found out before he died."
At last he has the man's interest. "We're being targeted."
"I know that. But by whom?"
The outside door opens, and a pair of badly-disguised Yovers hurry in furtively, taking in Ianto with one glance before they fix the man behind the counter with a stare. "We'd like to book a holiday," one says formally.
The man dismisses Ianto without another glance. Paying customers always come first. "New to the area, are you?"
"Getting out whilst we can."
Ianto breaks into the conversation. "Have there been more killings?"
They turn their heads at an inhuman angle to watch Ianto standing to one side. "Last night."
"Where?"
"Lewisham." They turn from him and begin negotiations with Sharky's successor for a relocation plan to Leeds, effective later today. Money changes hands, and the promise of much more money. The three of them give Ianto lengthy looks as if to tell him to go away.
"Here's my number," he says finally, writing down the false name with his mobile. "I want to know if you hear more."
"I'll put it with the rest, shall I?"
"The rest?"
"They've all been here asking questions. You're the first to ask about the Forbani child."
"They who?"
He makes a gesture with his arm, revealing an extra two joints in the shrug. "I'm sure you don't want anyone else asking about you."
Ianto's not the only one investigating. That could be a blessing, or it could mean whoever's behind this is collecting their information with one hand and doling it out with one of the others. "Where in Lewisham?" he asks the Yovers, and to get rid of him, they tell him.
***
Lewisham doesn't cater to just one species. Ianto sees half a dozen different kinds of aliens just walking down the street. They're easy to spot, he admits, from the too-conspicuous means they use to hide, and the thick air of worry hanging over everything in this area of the city. He texted Sarah Jane on his way over, asking if she's heard anything about deaths near here. She hasn't responded yet, perhaps taking the opportunity to investigate using her own extensive means.
His inquiries turn up nothing but brush-offs until he finds the right pub. The sign says "Joe's" but when his eyes adjust to the low light, he picks out details suggesting the clientèle isn't human. The chalked menu says they have Brains on special; he's definitely not ordering. As Ianto leans on the counter, the landlord ignores him.
"What's a bloke got to do for a drink?" Ianto asks, his voice a bit loud for the small room.
"We're closed," the landlord says, in defiance of observation. His back is to Ianto, but his species is obvious.
"Out of respect for the dead?"
The Raxacoricofallapatorian turns his head. He's frightened. "Has there been another one?"
"Last night, I heard."
"That's the latest, then," he says, sighing with muddled relief. He puts on a false jolly face. "What can I get you, sir?"
"If you've got the location where last night's murder took place, that'd do." He drops a few pounds in the tip jar.
"That's all? Everyone knows that." He rattles off the address before Ianto has his pencil ready.
"Thanks. I hadn't heard. Wanted to pay my respects."
The Raxacoricofallapatorian fixes him with a stare. "That's not funny, friend."
Ianto has stepped into something again. "Sorry. Is there something I ought to know about the deceased? I only heard someone was killed."
"Panton Koris." The name is spoken with a hush, as if saying the words too loudly might summon the dead man back.
Koris. Ianto's heard the name somewhere before. "Wait. Not the gangster?"
"I don't know anything about that," says the landlord in a hurried voice. "If you're not going to order, you're taking up valuable space. I'm going to ask you to loiter elsewhere."
"Right. Thanks for your help." Ianto strolls back outside into the bright day, dazzling after the dim pub.
Shit. Panton Koris. Sharky was one of the little fish, so to speak, but Koris runs Greentown, or whatever the hell Jack wants him to call this loose affiliation of scared aliens. Ran. With a well-greased claw, firm and unfair but unfair to everyone, a small stake in every business, and plenty of connections to human crime. Even Torchwood London hadn't been able to touch him.
Plenty of Koris's hirelings surround the murder scene, hugely apparent in broad daylight, but no humans will get close today, and that includes Ianto.
A few more careful questions yield an important development: the second in command of Koris's operation will be speaking tonight at a large gathering at what passes for the local school. Attendance isn't mandatory but it's encouraged.
"We're going to talk about what happened," says his source, a steely-gazed Arcturan. "And maybe talk about what we're doing next. The humans are coming after us, we'll go after them. No more hiding."
"And those of us who look human?" No-one's questioned his story on that, at least.
"Stay home. Lock your door." The Arcturan brandishes a pseudopod like a fist.
"Thanks for the advice."
***
Ianto's certain the meeting is a terrible idea. If the killer is going after aliens, a large gathering will be too tempting to pass up. As he sits at a human-leaning café, he texts Jack a hello and wonders what on Earth he's going to do next.
That's not entirely true. He's going to the meeting. He's going to keep watch in case the murderer with an old Torchwood artefact shows up. He's not precisely certain what he'll do after that, as he has no weapons, no backup, and no plan.
The mobile rings with Jack's number. "Hello."
"Hey, I miss you." It's the sweetest thing Jack's ever said on the phone, and Ianto is momentarily nonplussed.
"Oh. I was going to open with 'How's the weather?'"
"Rain. How's the meeting with your friends going?"
"Splendid."
"Really?"
"No. I'm remembering why I didn't spend time with them."
Jack laughs. "Then why don't you take a train back tonight instead? I'm tied up with a case, but I could ask Rhys to pick you up from the station. I'll bring you breakfast in bed tomorrow morning."
"I wish. I promised them we'd take in a show tonight. One last stab at trying to have fun."
"You kids and your fun," Jack chides, but there's no meanness in the teasing. "What show?"
"I'm not choosing it, so I don't know for sure."
"Go West End. I used to know a lot of actors from the area." Jack's tone has wandered into his 'remembering shags of yore' zone.
"Consider it suggested. Jack," he starts, and hesitates. If he's right, if the killer is coming tonight, there's a very real chance he's going to die, and he wants things to be right with Jack this time, but he doesn't know how. There's a depth of emotion he's unable to express in the same conversation where he's pretending to like musicals. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll drive up and get you, you know. If I have to."
"Promise me a repeat of what happened the last time you drove to fetch me in London, and we have a deal."
"I don't do repeats. I do innovative transformations of previous concepts."
As a come-on, it's curiously formal, and also just intriguing enough that Ianto wants to know what he's got in mind. "Tomorrow, then."
He hears Gwen's voice in the background, and if Jack was anywhere near an endearment, the window is now closed. There's a soft click as he rings off.
Ianto dials Mickey next. "I can afford you," he starts. "I need your help. I think I know where Sharky's killer is going to strike next, but I don't have a gun."
"You've been spending too much time with Jack. Most people start with, 'Hello.'"
"I'll call your wife next." It's not much of a threat, and one that's quickly flattened.
"My wife has informed me in sleeping-on-the-couch-until-I'm-forty terms that I'm not to give you any more help."
"Did she say why?"
"Leave off. We're on the case now, and we're the professionals. We'll let you know what we find out. Stay clear of it."
"Is that what she said or is that what you're saying?"
"Same applies either way, mate. I'm not getting in trouble at home over you, and if you want me to return the favour, drop it." Mickey rings off abruptly.
Return the favour? The last thing he needs is Martha or Mickey phoning Jack to let him know what Ianto's really been up to. And they would, Martha especially. She is his friend, and she wants him to rest and recover and all those boring things, and she's Jack's friend, and knows Jack will be happy to wrap Ianto up with warm towels and keep him safe for the rest of his days.
There will be no help from them. He's still waiting to hear back from Sarah Jane, but what if she's privy to Jack's current insistence as well?
He makes one more call.
"Hello," Alice says, a worried note in her voice.
"Hi, Alice. It's Ianto." He clears his throat. "May I talk to Steven, please?"
"Why?"
"I'm going to be busy tonight with friends. We're going to a show. I wanted to say hello and let him know, because I won't have my mobile on if he calls." They haven't spoken in a few days, the longest time they've spent without contact in over a year.
"He won't be calling tonight."
"Oh. Have the nightmares finally stopped?"
"We're dealing with them. He'll be fine."
"All right. Is he still seeing the same therapist? He didn't like her very much."
She pauses for long enough he thinks the call has dropped. "Ianto, why are you calling?"
"I wanted to say hello."
"I think it's best if you don't. Steven needs to readjust to his life here. Every time he talks to you, he gets upset."
Steven calls when he's already upset, but Ianto isn't going to point that out. "He's been through a lot."
"Yes, he has." Her voice is breaking. Her heart is breaking. But she shouted at them and sent them away. "He needs to understand that his dad and I are the ones to talk to when he's sad. He has to tell us what's going on in his head if we're going to help him get better, not a stranger."
The word stings with the old fears drilled into his own head as a child. Strangers are bad men who lurk in cars and take away kids who aren't careful. Strangers will touch you and hurt you.
Steven never talks about what happened before he reached Amy's door.
"I'm not a stranger." Ianto was his dad for a while, but that's not something easily explained, and it's over now. Not like Joe. Joe may have walked out of Steven's life, but he can have visits and call when he likes, no objections, no insinuations. No questions why he spends time alone with a little boy.
Ianto tries another approach. "We're friends."
"You are far too old to be his friend. Look, I'm not saying you can't ever see him again. I'm just asking you to leave us be for a while. Let him try to get back to a normal life."
He won't get anywhere arguing with her. Jack's indicated that enough times. And isn't this what he always wanted for Steven? A normal life back with his real family?
"I'm sorry for bothering you. Call me when you think he can. I don't ... I don't want to cause you trouble."
"Thank you. We'll call. Give us some time."
It's the third bad ending to a phone call in the last twenty minutes. He's not going to risk another.
***
The meeting is scheduled for eight o'clock, but the streets outside bustle with scared aliens well before. Everyone's on edge, startling at noises. Ianto has added a hat and he draws his coat around himself to look more like someone trying to blend in. He's human in a place where humans aren't welcome tonight. He sticks to the sidelines, watching the shadows. He has plenty from which to choose, and more than once, he spies movement that could be trouble, but it's gone before he can investigate. Cloaked and hooded figures are many tonight, though so are plenty of aliens who dress like humans. As he watches, two adolescent Parmerians walk by in matching Whyteleafe supporter shirts, and they're more concerned with giving dirty looks to blokes in Rochester United colours than with scanning the gathering for murderers. Ianto is only one face in the crowd. So's the killer.
This is a bad idea. Without help, without a gun of his own, he's as vulnerable as the rest of the people here. More, he notes, discerning badly-camouflaged weapons. He rests with his back against a convenient wall as the school's doors open.
Hired muscle, late of Panton Koris and now in the employ of his successor, guard the doors and smack the heads of anyone armed. "Not here, you dumb E.T.!" bellows the bigger one. He himself is armed as are his companions, but no-one else is being allowed inside with any guns.
It's worth a thought that Koris's successor arranged this whole thing in order to take out the competition.
Ianto makes his way in with the crowd, even managing (he's proud of this) to fart on cue when he gets a too-curious question why he's here. Thank God the skinsuit technology has been improving because he's not heavy enough to get away with the counterfeit otherwise. They wave him through, with a mild cuff to the back of his head for good measure.
He breaks off as soon as he can to find a high vantage point to watch the auditorium. The gathering is huge, and noisy, and noisome as well. Farts aside, many alien species have a distinct odour, and they all jostle in his olfactory sense like there's a circus with extra elephants going on below. Shouting elephants, he muses, as most of the hullabaloo surrounds demands for what's going on, and what's being done.
"Why should we pay you protection money when it didn't even protect Koris?"
"My spawn isn't safe here! How can we keep our families from being killed in the street?"
Only one Forbani couple is in the crowd with the rest, not shouting, but edging next to the stage in order to hear the new boss's replies.
Koris's successor looks nearly human, except for the mandibles. He wears a crisp suit that Ianto can tell cost four figures, and the sleek lines only accentuate the alien's sharp edges. This one has been a second-tier mobster longing for the top for years, hungry and ready to snap up the opportunity to lead. Ianto suspects him more and more even as he tries to calm the crowd and get order.
There.
Across the way on a catwalk, a humanoid figure crouches in the same shadows Ianto's using for concealment. It's hidden in a deep, hooded jacket, scanning the crowd with a sharp turn of head.
When the shadow shifts, he sees a gun in its grip.
Ianto slithers out of his own hiding place, trying to map out the fastest route over without being seen. His feet nearly tangle beneath him in his hurry. Fear pounds in his mouth, but there's no-one else unless he calls the burly guards. By the time they could climb up here, the killer will have vanished, perhaps will have killed again.
A bloody memory of the Parmerian's death comes back to him as Ianto dashes through the empty corridor towards the other side of the auditorium: burned from inside, the body exploding outward like an egg left in a microwave.
The murderer slaughtered a little girl that way. He manages to run faster.
The door leading out to the catwalk is unlocked. He turns the knob silently, hoping to sneak up on the killer, take him down without himself getting shot. The door opens onto more goose-grey shadows, and one is exiting out the other end.
"Shit."
If he chases across the catwalk, he'll make too much noise. Ianto spins and heads down the corridor at a run, tearing around the corner in the direction he saw the shadow go. He didn't fire. Why didn't he fire? Was he looking for a better place to hide?
The form is turned away from him, heading towards the side where Ianto stood minutes ago, from his own perfect vantage point. He could line up the speaker, who is below them launching into prepared notes: their community must pull together in their time of need; they must not talk of going to war with the humans; they must as a group reach out to their human friends and allies now. The voice booms and echoes from the loudspeakers placed around the ceiling, hurting Ianto's ears and covering his steps as he runs at the killer.
Ianto tackles him, smashing both bodies to the ground hard. He reaches for the gun, but there's a sharp elbow out of nowhere into his side followed by a hard punch to the face that stuns his vision and shoves him off.
Desperate, he kicks out, connecting with a knee and dropping the man again to the ground. Ianto gets in another punch, but the killer rolls away, so it doesn't connect hard, and he's on his feet faster than Ianto.
The hood has come loose, and the weapon is raised. Ianto manages to get his head up, blinking in pain and confusion. He stares down the barrel, and sees Albert's sharp face.
***
Chapter Five
Author: nancybrown
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Steven, Alice, Gwen, Martha, Mickey, OCs
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Martha/Mickey, past Jack/others, past Ianto/OMC
Rating: for adults only
Words: 31,800 (3200 this part)
Warnings: suicide, character death including child death, gore and violence
Spoilers: plot spoilers through CoE, (very) brief mention of characters and events from MD, some parts based on early spoilers from the current season of DW, but finished before the season premiere aired
Beta: Eldar and fide_et_spe both kicked this into shape, and have my deepest thanks.
Summary: Ianto and Steven have returned home, but as Ianto tries to solve an alien's murder, he learns home isn't ready to take them back.
A/N: Sequel to Strays and Rescues. eldarwannabe did a lot of heavy lifting in breaking this fic, and without her, it would not exist. If you like it, tell her thank you.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
***
Chapter Four
***
He starts the day with an early visit to what used to be Sharky's office. The last time he came here, Ianto had a child with him, and very little money, and the last of his dignity abandoned behind them because he couldn't carry that and Steven both. The dingy little shopfront advertises holiday packages to Bristol and Surrey and Manchester, with dusty off-white fliers on the windows and walls. The still visible bluish traces of cleaned-up blood are new. The man behind the counter, who probably isn't as human as he looks, is also new.
"My condolences," he says to the alien. He's given a curt nod. "I have some questions."
"All loans are still due repayment under the same terms."
"I repaid mine. Lloyd Fellowes. You can check the records if you want."
"We will." The tone is flat, severe, and dismissive. If Ianto isn't going to give him money, the tone says, Ianto is no longer interesting.
He takes out his mobile, and the copy of Alisha's picture. "Sharky was looking into the murder of this little girl. I want to know what he found out before he died."
At last he has the man's interest. "We're being targeted."
"I know that. But by whom?"
The outside door opens, and a pair of badly-disguised Yovers hurry in furtively, taking in Ianto with one glance before they fix the man behind the counter with a stare. "We'd like to book a holiday," one says formally.
The man dismisses Ianto without another glance. Paying customers always come first. "New to the area, are you?"
"Getting out whilst we can."
Ianto breaks into the conversation. "Have there been more killings?"
They turn their heads at an inhuman angle to watch Ianto standing to one side. "Last night."
"Where?"
"Lewisham." They turn from him and begin negotiations with Sharky's successor for a relocation plan to Leeds, effective later today. Money changes hands, and the promise of much more money. The three of them give Ianto lengthy looks as if to tell him to go away.
"Here's my number," he says finally, writing down the false name with his mobile. "I want to know if you hear more."
"I'll put it with the rest, shall I?"
"The rest?"
"They've all been here asking questions. You're the first to ask about the Forbani child."
"They who?"
He makes a gesture with his arm, revealing an extra two joints in the shrug. "I'm sure you don't want anyone else asking about you."
Ianto's not the only one investigating. That could be a blessing, or it could mean whoever's behind this is collecting their information with one hand and doling it out with one of the others. "Where in Lewisham?" he asks the Yovers, and to get rid of him, they tell him.
***
Lewisham doesn't cater to just one species. Ianto sees half a dozen different kinds of aliens just walking down the street. They're easy to spot, he admits, from the too-conspicuous means they use to hide, and the thick air of worry hanging over everything in this area of the city. He texted Sarah Jane on his way over, asking if she's heard anything about deaths near here. She hasn't responded yet, perhaps taking the opportunity to investigate using her own extensive means.
His inquiries turn up nothing but brush-offs until he finds the right pub. The sign says "Joe's" but when his eyes adjust to the low light, he picks out details suggesting the clientèle isn't human. The chalked menu says they have Brains on special; he's definitely not ordering. As Ianto leans on the counter, the landlord ignores him.
"What's a bloke got to do for a drink?" Ianto asks, his voice a bit loud for the small room.
"We're closed," the landlord says, in defiance of observation. His back is to Ianto, but his species is obvious.
"Out of respect for the dead?"
The Raxacoricofallapatorian turns his head. He's frightened. "Has there been another one?"
"Last night, I heard."
"That's the latest, then," he says, sighing with muddled relief. He puts on a false jolly face. "What can I get you, sir?"
"If you've got the location where last night's murder took place, that'd do." He drops a few pounds in the tip jar.
"That's all? Everyone knows that." He rattles off the address before Ianto has his pencil ready.
"Thanks. I hadn't heard. Wanted to pay my respects."
The Raxacoricofallapatorian fixes him with a stare. "That's not funny, friend."
Ianto has stepped into something again. "Sorry. Is there something I ought to know about the deceased? I only heard someone was killed."
"Panton Koris." The name is spoken with a hush, as if saying the words too loudly might summon the dead man back.
Koris. Ianto's heard the name somewhere before. "Wait. Not the gangster?"
"I don't know anything about that," says the landlord in a hurried voice. "If you're not going to order, you're taking up valuable space. I'm going to ask you to loiter elsewhere."
"Right. Thanks for your help." Ianto strolls back outside into the bright day, dazzling after the dim pub.
Shit. Panton Koris. Sharky was one of the little fish, so to speak, but Koris runs Greentown, or whatever the hell Jack wants him to call this loose affiliation of scared aliens. Ran. With a well-greased claw, firm and unfair but unfair to everyone, a small stake in every business, and plenty of connections to human crime. Even Torchwood London hadn't been able to touch him.
Plenty of Koris's hirelings surround the murder scene, hugely apparent in broad daylight, but no humans will get close today, and that includes Ianto.
A few more careful questions yield an important development: the second in command of Koris's operation will be speaking tonight at a large gathering at what passes for the local school. Attendance isn't mandatory but it's encouraged.
"We're going to talk about what happened," says his source, a steely-gazed Arcturan. "And maybe talk about what we're doing next. The humans are coming after us, we'll go after them. No more hiding."
"And those of us who look human?" No-one's questioned his story on that, at least.
"Stay home. Lock your door." The Arcturan brandishes a pseudopod like a fist.
"Thanks for the advice."
***
Ianto's certain the meeting is a terrible idea. If the killer is going after aliens, a large gathering will be too tempting to pass up. As he sits at a human-leaning café, he texts Jack a hello and wonders what on Earth he's going to do next.
That's not entirely true. He's going to the meeting. He's going to keep watch in case the murderer with an old Torchwood artefact shows up. He's not precisely certain what he'll do after that, as he has no weapons, no backup, and no plan.
The mobile rings with Jack's number. "Hello."
"Hey, I miss you." It's the sweetest thing Jack's ever said on the phone, and Ianto is momentarily nonplussed.
"Oh. I was going to open with 'How's the weather?'"
"Rain. How's the meeting with your friends going?"
"Splendid."
"Really?"
"No. I'm remembering why I didn't spend time with them."
Jack laughs. "Then why don't you take a train back tonight instead? I'm tied up with a case, but I could ask Rhys to pick you up from the station. I'll bring you breakfast in bed tomorrow morning."
"I wish. I promised them we'd take in a show tonight. One last stab at trying to have fun."
"You kids and your fun," Jack chides, but there's no meanness in the teasing. "What show?"
"I'm not choosing it, so I don't know for sure."
"Go West End. I used to know a lot of actors from the area." Jack's tone has wandered into his 'remembering shags of yore' zone.
"Consider it suggested. Jack," he starts, and hesitates. If he's right, if the killer is coming tonight, there's a very real chance he's going to die, and he wants things to be right with Jack this time, but he doesn't know how. There's a depth of emotion he's unable to express in the same conversation where he's pretending to like musicals. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll drive up and get you, you know. If I have to."
"Promise me a repeat of what happened the last time you drove to fetch me in London, and we have a deal."
"I don't do repeats. I do innovative transformations of previous concepts."
As a come-on, it's curiously formal, and also just intriguing enough that Ianto wants to know what he's got in mind. "Tomorrow, then."
He hears Gwen's voice in the background, and if Jack was anywhere near an endearment, the window is now closed. There's a soft click as he rings off.
Ianto dials Mickey next. "I can afford you," he starts. "I need your help. I think I know where Sharky's killer is going to strike next, but I don't have a gun."
"You've been spending too much time with Jack. Most people start with, 'Hello.'"
"I'll call your wife next." It's not much of a threat, and one that's quickly flattened.
"My wife has informed me in sleeping-on-the-couch-until-I'm-forty terms that I'm not to give you any more help."
"Did she say why?"
"Leave off. We're on the case now, and we're the professionals. We'll let you know what we find out. Stay clear of it."
"Is that what she said or is that what you're saying?"
"Same applies either way, mate. I'm not getting in trouble at home over you, and if you want me to return the favour, drop it." Mickey rings off abruptly.
Return the favour? The last thing he needs is Martha or Mickey phoning Jack to let him know what Ianto's really been up to. And they would, Martha especially. She is his friend, and she wants him to rest and recover and all those boring things, and she's Jack's friend, and knows Jack will be happy to wrap Ianto up with warm towels and keep him safe for the rest of his days.
There will be no help from them. He's still waiting to hear back from Sarah Jane, but what if she's privy to Jack's current insistence as well?
He makes one more call.
"Hello," Alice says, a worried note in her voice.
"Hi, Alice. It's Ianto." He clears his throat. "May I talk to Steven, please?"
"Why?"
"I'm going to be busy tonight with friends. We're going to a show. I wanted to say hello and let him know, because I won't have my mobile on if he calls." They haven't spoken in a few days, the longest time they've spent without contact in over a year.
"He won't be calling tonight."
"Oh. Have the nightmares finally stopped?"
"We're dealing with them. He'll be fine."
"All right. Is he still seeing the same therapist? He didn't like her very much."
She pauses for long enough he thinks the call has dropped. "Ianto, why are you calling?"
"I wanted to say hello."
"I think it's best if you don't. Steven needs to readjust to his life here. Every time he talks to you, he gets upset."
Steven calls when he's already upset, but Ianto isn't going to point that out. "He's been through a lot."
"Yes, he has." Her voice is breaking. Her heart is breaking. But she shouted at them and sent them away. "He needs to understand that his dad and I are the ones to talk to when he's sad. He has to tell us what's going on in his head if we're going to help him get better, not a stranger."
The word stings with the old fears drilled into his own head as a child. Strangers are bad men who lurk in cars and take away kids who aren't careful. Strangers will touch you and hurt you.
Steven never talks about what happened before he reached Amy's door.
"I'm not a stranger." Ianto was his dad for a while, but that's not something easily explained, and it's over now. Not like Joe. Joe may have walked out of Steven's life, but he can have visits and call when he likes, no objections, no insinuations. No questions why he spends time alone with a little boy.
Ianto tries another approach. "We're friends."
"You are far too old to be his friend. Look, I'm not saying you can't ever see him again. I'm just asking you to leave us be for a while. Let him try to get back to a normal life."
He won't get anywhere arguing with her. Jack's indicated that enough times. And isn't this what he always wanted for Steven? A normal life back with his real family?
"I'm sorry for bothering you. Call me when you think he can. I don't ... I don't want to cause you trouble."
"Thank you. We'll call. Give us some time."
It's the third bad ending to a phone call in the last twenty minutes. He's not going to risk another.
***
The meeting is scheduled for eight o'clock, but the streets outside bustle with scared aliens well before. Everyone's on edge, startling at noises. Ianto has added a hat and he draws his coat around himself to look more like someone trying to blend in. He's human in a place where humans aren't welcome tonight. He sticks to the sidelines, watching the shadows. He has plenty from which to choose, and more than once, he spies movement that could be trouble, but it's gone before he can investigate. Cloaked and hooded figures are many tonight, though so are plenty of aliens who dress like humans. As he watches, two adolescent Parmerians walk by in matching Whyteleafe supporter shirts, and they're more concerned with giving dirty looks to blokes in Rochester United colours than with scanning the gathering for murderers. Ianto is only one face in the crowd. So's the killer.
This is a bad idea. Without help, without a gun of his own, he's as vulnerable as the rest of the people here. More, he notes, discerning badly-camouflaged weapons. He rests with his back against a convenient wall as the school's doors open.
Hired muscle, late of Panton Koris and now in the employ of his successor, guard the doors and smack the heads of anyone armed. "Not here, you dumb E.T.!" bellows the bigger one. He himself is armed as are his companions, but no-one else is being allowed inside with any guns.
It's worth a thought that Koris's successor arranged this whole thing in order to take out the competition.
Ianto makes his way in with the crowd, even managing (he's proud of this) to fart on cue when he gets a too-curious question why he's here. Thank God the skinsuit technology has been improving because he's not heavy enough to get away with the counterfeit otherwise. They wave him through, with a mild cuff to the back of his head for good measure.
He breaks off as soon as he can to find a high vantage point to watch the auditorium. The gathering is huge, and noisy, and noisome as well. Farts aside, many alien species have a distinct odour, and they all jostle in his olfactory sense like there's a circus with extra elephants going on below. Shouting elephants, he muses, as most of the hullabaloo surrounds demands for what's going on, and what's being done.
"Why should we pay you protection money when it didn't even protect Koris?"
"My spawn isn't safe here! How can we keep our families from being killed in the street?"
Only one Forbani couple is in the crowd with the rest, not shouting, but edging next to the stage in order to hear the new boss's replies.
Koris's successor looks nearly human, except for the mandibles. He wears a crisp suit that Ianto can tell cost four figures, and the sleek lines only accentuate the alien's sharp edges. This one has been a second-tier mobster longing for the top for years, hungry and ready to snap up the opportunity to lead. Ianto suspects him more and more even as he tries to calm the crowd and get order.
There.
Across the way on a catwalk, a humanoid figure crouches in the same shadows Ianto's using for concealment. It's hidden in a deep, hooded jacket, scanning the crowd with a sharp turn of head.
When the shadow shifts, he sees a gun in its grip.
Ianto slithers out of his own hiding place, trying to map out the fastest route over without being seen. His feet nearly tangle beneath him in his hurry. Fear pounds in his mouth, but there's no-one else unless he calls the burly guards. By the time they could climb up here, the killer will have vanished, perhaps will have killed again.
A bloody memory of the Parmerian's death comes back to him as Ianto dashes through the empty corridor towards the other side of the auditorium: burned from inside, the body exploding outward like an egg left in a microwave.
The murderer slaughtered a little girl that way. He manages to run faster.
The door leading out to the catwalk is unlocked. He turns the knob silently, hoping to sneak up on the killer, take him down without himself getting shot. The door opens onto more goose-grey shadows, and one is exiting out the other end.
"Shit."
If he chases across the catwalk, he'll make too much noise. Ianto spins and heads down the corridor at a run, tearing around the corner in the direction he saw the shadow go. He didn't fire. Why didn't he fire? Was he looking for a better place to hide?
The form is turned away from him, heading towards the side where Ianto stood minutes ago, from his own perfect vantage point. He could line up the speaker, who is below them launching into prepared notes: their community must pull together in their time of need; they must not talk of going to war with the humans; they must as a group reach out to their human friends and allies now. The voice booms and echoes from the loudspeakers placed around the ceiling, hurting Ianto's ears and covering his steps as he runs at the killer.
Ianto tackles him, smashing both bodies to the ground hard. He reaches for the gun, but there's a sharp elbow out of nowhere into his side followed by a hard punch to the face that stuns his vision and shoves him off.
Desperate, he kicks out, connecting with a knee and dropping the man again to the ground. Ianto gets in another punch, but the killer rolls away, so it doesn't connect hard, and he's on his feet faster than Ianto.
The hood has come loose, and the weapon is raised. Ianto manages to get his head up, blinking in pain and confusion. He stares down the barrel, and sees Albert's sharp face.
***
Chapter Five