Chapter Twenty-Eight: My Condolences

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I don't reply to Mickey's calls anymore. I don't know what to say.

He had a reason to stay, he had his Gran and a world to save. He had a chance to make a difference. I've got nothing. My reason was pointless, it didn't work. At least I could bear the sacrifice when I thought there was a possibility.

The days pass. I sit in Ricky's old room, staring out of the window as if waiting for some kind of sign to keep my faith going.

Hearing a knock at the door, I get up from the windowsill and hurriedly wipe my eyes. The elderly woman can't see me but she sighs, pursing her lips into a thin, wrinkled line. A hand rests on her hip, the other tapping her cane impatiently against the carpet. "That's enough. Get up."

"I'm up, Rita. I've been up for hours."

That was a bad idea. Pointing a shaky finger at me, she takes another step into the room. "Now, don't you take that tone with me, Miss. You call me 'Gran'. And I'm not talking about that. You've done nothing for months, and don't think that wasting your time in that coffee shop does anything. You're fading away in this house."

Sighing, I busy myself with making the bed as I say, "I've been looking for a better job but I don't exactly have much to offer that they'd want."

"Don't be stupid!" she scoffs. "You are an intelligent young woman. Find something. If they won't accept you, make them. At least leave the house for today. The ladies from church are coming round for tea and I'm not in the mood to excuse those odd things you say. Didn't you say your friend had sent you an address to visit?"

The mention of it only makes me feel worse. Then again, I can't put it off for much longer. I nod, taking the brown paper file from he bookshelf. "I suppose you've got a point."

"Am I ever wrong?"

——————

 Pete's parting bribe to keep me away has been nothing short of a blessing. I had taken Gran's guidance and put it into a bank account to gain interest, only spending when I really need to. Following the address that Jake had sent me, I take a train to Swansea.

It's the first time I've done this but somehow I manage not to panic.  Ever since my failed attempt to save my home, a part of me has been numb. I worry that it will never get better.

The house I arrive at is small, just an old council house looking over the beach. A few children's shouts come from inside, the hum of a television. Gulping, I steel myself and knock on the door. The man who answers is older, perhaps in his early fifties, with short salt and pepper curls. He peers over his glasses at me and speaks with a cautious tone, "Hello?"

Every introduction I had prepared falls short. I stammer, hurriedly lowering my gaze to the floor as I search for something that will sound right. This was meant to be perfect. For her, this was meant to be perfect. Now I realise how stupid I was.

"H-Hi," I finally manage. "My name's Inara, I'm— I'm a friend of—"

"No need to be scared," the man laughs, opening the door a little further. A young woman watches from down the hall, a baby cradled in her arms. "I don't bite, I promise. How can I help you, Inara?"

With an awkward chuckle, I reply. "I'm looking for Bryn Price?"

He nods. "That's me."

"I need to talk to you... about Angela."

All humour vanishes from his face now but he doesn't turn me away. He just steps aside, gesturing for me to follow him into the house.

It is a warm place; faded, floral wallpaper adorned with dozens of pictures — children with ice cream grins, summer weddings, days on the beach. A little boy races across my path, giggling and shrieking with a couple of older girls in pursuit. The woman stands in the kitchen now, calling for them to slow down.

Too late. There is a thud, followed by tearful wails. "On it," the smartly-dressed man sat by the television sighs, hurrying in the direction of the fall.

A few other people sit around the kitchen table. They look up when I come in and I feel the pressure even more, awkwardly fiddling with a button on Jack's trench coat. A chair is pulled out for me and I accept it with a smile.

"Coffee?" the woman asks. She has a kind smile I recognise in an instant, her face framed by frizzy curls swept into a low bun.

"If that's all right. Just black, please," I answer, feeling Mr Price's anxious eyes fixed on me. I can only stall for so long.

Finally, it comes. "Why are you here now? Angela died ten years ago. How do you even know her? Who are you?"

The youngest — a girl who can't be much older than Rose, and with the same sky blue eyes and choppy blonde hair — lets out an exasperated huff. "Jesus, Dad, lay off a bit."

"It's okay, he's right to ask so much. I know this is confusing and I'm afraid it won't get much better. I only knew Angela for a night and she went by a different name then, but she was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I really admired her. And I wish I had done more to save her."

"What does that mean?"

I draw in a deep breath, accepting the mug with trembling hands. The woman has been joined again by who I assume is her husband, judging by the golden rings they both wear. His somewhat round face his shadowed by spikes of brown hair. He bounces the toddler on his knee, offering him a biscuit to gnaw on. I can feel them all watching me now.

"She didn't die the way you think she did. She had to go into hiding to protect you, after she read a classified file at Cybus Industries. For the past five years, she's been working with a group called The Preachers to bring down Lumic. We were in the factory that night, we destroyed it. She was... killed, a— a C-Cyberman got to her. But she died a hero, she saved thousands of lives." I produce a picture from my pocket, of letters etched into stone. "I had her real name put on the memorial. And her friends are continuing the fight, taking down the other factories. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to you, there's no excuse."

But they don't seem to care. The news is a relief, in a way. Now they know where she went and what she did, they finally have closure.

The rest of the afternoon is spent indoors whilst the rain pours outside. I sit with them, listening to stories of Angela's past, laughing with them. And it hurts a little less — all of it hurts a little less.

The time finally comes for me to leave and they escort me to the door. I accept an unexpected hug from Mr Price and his eldest grandchildren.

I don't make it that far down the drive before my name is called out. The smartly-dressed man follows, glancing nervously back to the others before he addresses me with a lowered voice, "What you said about the factory, it was very impressive."

"Thanks, Ianto. Honestly, my friend did most of that."

"You seem like a very bright young woman. If you really are looking for a job to better suit your capabilities, you should check this out."

Looking to the business card he holds out for me, I accept it with a frown. It's simple, with just an address at the bottom and a set of silvery hexagons forming a 'T'. There is no company name. "What's this?"

"Just go there tomorrow, two o'clock. Preferably on the dot, my boss has a thing about punctuality."

——————

Anyone who actually goes to a location given to them by a stranger with no other information would be stupid. Everything about it just screams 'murder'. But there is something about it. It's like the card is goading me, pushing me to take the risk.

I find myself standing at the address,  right at the entrance to Canary Wharf Tower. This could go very badly.

Along with a stone-faced security team, a woman waits. She is tall with a slightly orange complexion and perfectly styled blonde waves. Her cheekbones are high and clearly defined, her blue eyes intently fixed on me. Breaking into a friendly grin, she approaches with her hand ready to shake mine. I accept. "Inara Luscinia."

"Yvonne Hartman. Pleasure to meet you. I've heard good things."

"Not sure what Ianto could have told you, ma'am," I joke. "I didn't mention much."

She laughs. It's shrill and a little too enthusiastic. "Oh, please. I hear a lot of things, my research team is the best in the world."

I follow her into the lift, anxiously watching as the security team joins us. I can feel them scrutinising me in the reflection of the doors. "What exactly do you research? Where are you taking me?"

"No need to worry, Inara. I'm just going to give you a tour of your office."

"Pardon?"

Again, she laughs. It's almost patronising. "You think we're going to let an asset like you get snapped up by someone else? Please. I know you're not human, and that blue box was a very nice touch — I was incredibly impressed, although a little disappointed that your friends have vanished. Then, of course, there's the Janus Coin. Sorry that didn't work out for you."

"Who in Tartarus are you?"

The lift seems a lot smaller all of a sudden. There's no escape, no weapons. I'm stuck.

Still, she beams at me. "Yvonne, I told you. And my organisation can help you. Whatever you need from us, you can get it. We'll help you figure out how to make that coin work. In return, we only ask that you answer a few questions and lend us your expertise. How does that sound?"

"A little dodgy."

"Fair enough," she chuckles. "But your opinion will change soon, I can guarantee it."

The doors open onto an open room bustling with people in lab coats and business suits. Every single one of them has an ID card pinned to their chest. Large screens show graphs and news footage, casting colourful light onto the spotless, white floors.

"Welcome to Torchwood."

A/n:

Torchwood's here!

Yvonne can totally go die, lol, but Ianto? My love! My precious boy!

We stan Ianto.


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