Title: Abort, Retry, Fail?
Author: caledonius72 
Prompt: Written for reel_torchwood  round 2; The Stepford Wives (1975); based on the 1972 Ira Levin novel of the same name, directed by Bryan Forbes with a screenplay by William Goldman.
Characters: Jack Harkness, Toshiko Sato, Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Ianto Jones, Owen Harper
Pairing(s): Gwen/Rhys, Jack/Ianto, implied Owen/Tosh
Rating: NC-17, for the swearing and darkish themes, no sex but there is innuendo though.
Warnings: Bad language.
Spoilers: Set during S2, may contain spoilers for S1 and S2, and selected back-story from S3
Disclaimer: Belongs to the producers (BBC Wales, Edgar J. Scherick, Columbia Pictures), the creators (Russell T. Davies et al, Ira Lewin, William Goldman, Bryan Forbes). This has been written for fun and not for profit.
Author's Notes:

• One of my favourite movies, a thriller in sunlight, great dialogue and terrifying. Paula Prentiss’ performance is mesmerizing; she steals the movie right from under everyone’s nose.
• This is the longest thing I’ve written, ever, in my life! It’s been hard but good fun. Constructive criticism is actively sought; I want to become a better writer.
• This is inspired by The Stepford Wives, rather than a retelling, and there's a much darker story based on The Stepford Wives that could be written, I've got the ideas for it, but not quite confident enough (yet!) to write it.

Beta: Profound thanks to madder_rose and fide_et_spe for the hand holding, plot pointers, and the sterling beta work – both of them are very much appreciated and have given insightful feedback. Any mistakes, errors, bad science or glaring plotholes are mine alone so just deploy a bit of handwavey to overcome them.
Summary: Rhydygrisiau is picture perfect, a model town. Torchwood know there's no such thing as perfection. Just what is going on?

 

* * *

She didn't feel the branches of the trees whipping at her face, leaving faint lines where they struck her. She didn't feel the cold wet trickle of the rain slipping down the back of her neck, chilling her even further. She didn't feel the spasms of her leg muscles protesting as she ran. She didn't even feel the burn of her lungs as her chest heaved with the exertion of running so hard, so fast.

All she felt was the hard ball of terror in her guts and the fierce desire to protect her children. Her mind was crumbling as she tried to come to terms with what had happened in the last few hours. Her entire world had fallen apart, all her carefully constructed assumptions were disintegrating.

Where are they? Where have they taken them? Joanna let out a moan of fear. She forced herself to stop, to think. She pulled her hands across her face, pulling the thick tangle of her sopping wet hair off her face. Not at Bobbie's... oh god, Bobbie... She shuddered as the memory returned of what she had done to Bobbie. What she'd been forced to do. She bent double, her hands grasping her knees, as she shuddered with dry heaves, gulping down deep breaths to calm herself.

And Walter. How could she have married such a monster? How could she have been so utterly, horrifically wrong about him? She bit her cheek to stop herself from breaking down, the zap of the pain and the tang of her blood cleared her head of the noise of her buzzing thoughts. Get a grip! Where? She reeled through the possibilities in her head, before latching on to one. YES! She stood up, looking around, getting her bearings and headed off.

* * *

Joanna reached the grand Victorian mansion by taking the back route, avoiding the roads, sneaking across the open country, cutting through back gardens. She knew they'd be out looking for her by now, determined not to let her escape. As she walked across the immaculate lawn, her shoes squelching in the rain-sodden turf, she spotted a light, high up in one of the Gothic turrets. Hurrying forward, she was about to lift the huge iron knocker when the door fell open at the push of her hand. Go inside, get the children, leave. She took a few cautious steps inside and pushed the door closed behind her.

* * *

     “...than a Harwood's lorry! Welcome back to Sunday Soothers, you've got me, Rhodri Smith, from now until...”

Gwen flicked off the knob of the radio, studiously ignoring her husband as he protested.

     “Rhys, I don't care how bloody popular your advert is, I'm sick of hearing it. And if I hear one more Sunday Soother I'll swing for someone, and you're nearest.”

     “Awright pet, don't get yourself all upset. We've had a lovely weekend, let's just get home, eh?”

Gwen fell back against the passenger seat, a smile on her face. It had been a good weekend. She'd wangled a long weekend from Jack, and she'd booked the two of them into a luxury hotel outside Lampeter – good food, fantastic beds and a spa treatment for her, and clay pigeon shooting for Rhys. Now the weekend was ending, which was probably making her peevish. Tomorrow she'd be back at work, keeping Cardiff safe. She couldn't wait...

She looked over at Rhys as an enormous growl came from his stomach. “What was that, Rhys? You say something?”

Rhys laughed and glanced at her. “Man hungry, man want food. Actually, what is for tea? Shall I do one of my specials?”

Gwen tried to cast her mind back to Friday evening, when she was running around the flat trying to pack. She'd wanted to get out of town quick so Jack couldn't call her in, hadn't had the time to look around for food. What was there in the fridge? “Don't know, we'll have to get a bit of shopping in. What's the SatNav say?”

     “Next town is Rhydygrisiau. Bit of a detour to stock up then?”

     “May as well, the shops'll be shut by the time we get back to Cardiff.”

* * *

They were wandering around the Co-op, bickering over what to get, when Rhys gave Gwen a hard nudge.

     “What? I do not want to have fish-finger butties for my tea!”

     “No, get a load of that...”

Gwen followed his gaze and she raised an eyebrow. Across the aisle was a vision of womanly perfection. Young, tanned, lovely. A long skirt with an almost see through blouse, with a plunging neckline. Everything in the woman's trolley was stacked neatly – heavy items on the bottom, fragile on the top. Gwen looked down at her own trolley to see that the tomatoes had already been severely dented by Rhys plonking a six-pack on top of them. The woman was smiling serenely as she pushed the trolley past them.

     “How come you don't look like that when you're shopping?”

     “Give over Rhys.” Gwen kept looking around, taking things in the Torchwood way, rather than as a tourist. The supermarket was clean, so clean you could eat your dinner off the floor. Shelves were fully stocked, no spillages or crying kids, no wonky wheels. Ianto would love this. As they moved around, she noticed more women, all similar to the first one they spotted – well turned out, happy looking, and slightly sexy.

Rhys had nipped off to get something or other, she'd stopped listening to be honest, and she was so engrossed in looking around her, she didn't spot the other trolley as she rounded the corner. There was a loud crash as the two trolleys collided, and a thump as the woman was forced back and knocked her head against a pillar.

     “Sorry! You all right love? No harm done?”

     “Oh. I'm fine. Sorry to be a nuisance. I didn't see you.”

     “You sure you're all right? You got a bit of a knock there.”

     “I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't see you.”

     “That's OK, I wasn't paying enough attention.”

     “I'm sorry, I'm fine, I didn't see you.”

Gwen was getting concerned; the woman wasn't even looking at her, she was gazing just over Gwen's shoulder - she found this disconcerting - she kept half turning to see if there was anyone there. The woman raised a hand to her temple and rubbed at it.

     “You have hurt yourself, I'll go and get someone.”

Just as Gwen turned around to look for someone to help, a smiling man popped before her.

     “Oh dear, looks like Mrs Eberhart's got a nasty bump there. I've already called an ambulance, they should be here soon.”

     “Good. She's rambling a bit, keeps touching her head, concussion perhaps.”

     “Well thank you Miss. I'll stay with her until the ambulance gets here. You carry on with your shopping. New in town?”

Gwen was a bit flummoxed by the question. The man, Barry (according to his name badge) had a proprietorial hand on the woman's arm.

     “No. Just passing through. It's a lovely town though.”

     “That it is Miss. Now, if you don't mind...” He looked at her with an encouraging smile. She took her cue and went on with her shopping as Barry led the woman to the front of the supermarket “Come on now Joanna, the ambulance will be here soon. We'll pack and deliver your shopping for you.”

Rhys finally ambled back with a forlorn look on his face. “They don't stock it.”

     “Never mind, we can get it in Cardiff. Let's go, or we'll not get home until late, and I want to put a wash on.” She filled Rhys in on her little accident, and her opinion of the supermarket.

They queued and paid, and were just trundling the trolley to their car as they saw the ambulance leaving the carpark, no sirens, no lights.

As Rhys heaved the last bag into the boot, Gwen realised what was nagging at her.

     “Rhys?”

     “Mmmm?”

     “Didn't we pass the hospital as we drove in?”

     “Yes, you pointed out that they had an A&E which was, and I quote, 'rare for such a small town' – you spend too much time with Owen.”

     “If we passed the hospital on the way in, why did the ambulance head in the opposite direction?”

     “How should I know? Mebbe they've got better SatNav. Come on babes, let's go.”

Gwen frowned, not convinced. There was something about Rhydygrisiau that didn't ring true. She'd need to do some checking.

* * *

Ahhh, Monday mornings...

Toshiko Sato, slamming her door behind her, a slice of toast clamped in her teeth as she shrugs on her jacket, her bag at her feet, ready to heft it over her shoulder.

Gwen Cooper, stumbling around her flat in a stupor, slurping on the ambrosia that is a mug of tea made by Rhys, muttering “matching bra and pants, matching... is that so hard?”

Owen Harper, quietly closing a front door that wasn't his, in a street that he'd never been to before and wouldn't visit again, heading off to where the traffic sounds were coming from, “Taxi!”

Ianto Jones, a paper bag of warm pastries tucked under one arm as he struggles with a hefty bunch of keys and a seized up lock, WD40, another thing added to his mental clipboard.

Jack Harkness, a stick figure on the roof of the Assembly building, looking down on the Plass, surveying his domain. 7 o'clock and all's well.

* * *

     “Need a hand with that?”

The bag of pastries dropped to the wooden decking.

     “Tosh!” Ianto sounded flustered “Don't sneak up on me like that. How do you manage to be so quiet when you're wearing those things?”

Tosh looked down at her feet.

     “Something wrong with my shoes, Ianto?” She pivoted on one of the 3 inch heels, showing a well turned calf.

     “They are beautiful Tosh, an exquisite piece of engineering, but you'll go arse over tit in them one of these days. You mark my words.”

Tosh reached for the keys, “You salvage the goodies and I'll get us inside.” She studied the lock, selected a key, and with a push, a twist and a ladylike grunt the stubborn lock shifted and she pushed open the door to the Tourist Office. Holding the door open wide, she smiled at Ianto, “After you...”

Ianto stepped through, bumping the light switch with his elbow, arms occupied with keeping the disintegrating paper bag in one piece.

     “Morning! Brilliant Ianto, munchies, I'm famished.” Owen had slipped through the door behind them, and snagged a croissant from a tear in the paper bag. He stood at the door to the Hub, looking at Ianto. “C'mn thn, opn up.” Flecks of croissant flew across the room as, yet again, Owen talked and chewed at the same time.

     “You are a disgusting object Owen Harper.” Ianto dumped the bag on the counter and reached over to press the button. “Those were for the team meeting, not breakfast. I was going to warm them again, place them lovingly on a doilied plate, with steaming mugs of coffee. Not now. Don't know why I bother with you Philistines.”

Owen laughed and moved through the doorway, a half chewed “Later!” echoing from the corridor. Tosh and Ianto shared a look and then turned as a shadow filled the doorway.

     “Tosh, the very woman! Mornin' Ianto. Ooooh, pastries. Can I have one now?”

     “Go ahead Gwen. Owen's already helped himself, and we shouldn't let him take advantage, should we?”

Nodding, a Pain au Chocolat in her hand, she stuck her arm through Tosh's and pulled the other woman through the doorway. “Now Tosh, I'm wondering...” the rest of the sentence was lost in the corridor to the lift.

Ianto sighed and stared at the mess that was his counter. Scraps of paper bag, and a grease mark on the “Visit Cardiff Castle” pamphlets from where the pastries had spilled out. Turning around, he began pushing the door closed, but it seemed stiff and wasn't closing. Great, the wood's swollen. Another thing to sort out. He pushed even harder and the door was still closing very slowly, meeting resistance.

It was the grunt and a muttered “Dammit” that gave Ianto an indication that perhaps it wasn't the door. He grabbed hold of the handle and pulled the door open again. The next few moments were a blur of military blue wool as the force that Captain Jack Harkness was using to push the door open was suddenly transferred to pitching headlong into Ianto, landing in a heap of tangled limbs.

     “Ianto Jones – and good morning to you. You didn't have to be the welcome mat...”

     “Off Jack... get off. You're too heavy.”

     “That's not what you said last night...”

     “Very droll, Jack. We were in a bed with a sprung mattress, this floor is uncomfortable...”

     «Oh, for the love of... What is it with you two? It's not even 8 o'clock... Ianto, there is an empty coffee pot down here...» Owen's voice crackled out of the Tannoy system.

Ianto gave an 'I told you so' look, and shoved at Jack. “Off Jack, later...”

    “Busted.” Grinning, he gave his hips a thrust into Ianto's, pulled himself upright and reached an arm out to pull Ianto up. Too slow, Ianto was already upright and dusting off his suit.

    “Duty calls; get the button, would you?” He shut and locked the door, scraped up the remaining pastries, and stood in front of the panel. The door swung open and he felt Jack's presence next to him.

     “Shall we join the others, young Mr Jones?”

     “Certainly, Captain Harkness. Age before beauty...”

Jack was still laughing as they stepped through the cogwheel.

* * *

     “...got them bagged and tagged and awaiting my tender mercies in the autopsy bay.”

     “Report by end of the week, Owen?” Owen nodded. “Gwen. Whatcha got, gorgeous?”

     “Don't know if it's much of anything really Jack. Just a funny feeling.”

     “Better come see me Cooper, might have a pill for that.”

     “Har-de-har-har Owen. No... It's just... Well, we were coming back from Lampeter, and we stopped off in this little town, and things there were a little odd.”

     “Odd, how odd?

     “Too clean, too tidy, too perfect. Lord knows, we know that life can be messy and brutal, but this place was just wrong, you know?”

     “Can't fault a town that's neat and tidy, we could do with more of that around here.” Ianto looked pointedly at Owen.

     “I can see you Ianto, and don't think that raised eyebrow is going to convince me.”

     “I have one word for you Owen – decaff”

     “And I have one word for you Ianto – Starbucks.”

Gwen and Tosh shared a grin. And they're off...

     “Back to the point guys. What makes you think there's something wrong? Perhaps they're going for Wales in Bloom, and want the place spick and span.”

The team goggled at Jack. Since when did Jack know anything about horticulture? An eyebrow went up. “What? You think I don't read? Shame on you all.”

     “It wasn't just the town. It was the people too, all of the women were perfect. Tall, good figures, immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place, sexy too.”

     “What's wrong with that? Sounds like my kinda town.” Jack's grin let his team know exactly what he was thinking.

     “It was just odd. Do you mind if I borrow Tosh and Ianto to do some research on it?”

     “No, we've got a quiet week coming up. Might be something, might be nothing. Your police instinct is probably right. Keep me updated.”

* * *

Ahhh, Friday mornings....

Toshiko shutting her door ever so quietly, praying that the dull throb of her hangover wouldn't blossom into something she'd need one of Owen's little blue pills for.

Gwen bidding the shop assistant a cheery good morning as she headed off to the Hub with 2 dozen doughnuts.

Owen glistening with sweat, the tsss tsss tsss of music escaping from his earphones as he warmed down from his run.

Ianto bent over sorting out piles of laundry, ready for the service wash, one of Jack's shirts wrapped loosely around him, to ward off the omnipresent chill.

Jack reclining in his bed, admiring the view as Ianto's mighty fine arse bobbed around in front of him, appearing and disappearing under the shirt-tails as Ianto bent or stood.

* * *

Owen sat in the boardroom watching his colleagues bustling around. He'd picked up that something must be up with Gwen's pet theory; there'd been conclaves around the Hub all week, little confabs and cross checking. Gwen had even checked a couple of things with him; medical records, procedures, that kind of thing. He watched them all, stifling a huge yawn that was threatening. Yawning before the kiddies had even started would not go down well. Secretly he thought there might be something to it after all. Must be something to get Ianto's knickers in a twist of triple checking. Gwen hovered a bit nervously in front of the plasma screen, like a student teacher so eager for the class to pay attention. Tosh was lost, completely engrossed in whatever was on the screen in front of her. She had a half eaten Jammie Dodger in her hand that kept advancing towards and retreating from her mouth. Ianto was just tucking himself neatly into his seat at Jack's right hand, notebook squared off in front of him, and twirling his pen in his fingers. Jack was just sitting there, all twinkly eyed and avuncular, like a proud father.

    “Right, best start then.” Gwen clicked the pointer and a satellite map of mid-Wales appeared, a red blinking dot in the centre. “This is Rhydygrisiau. Only a few hundred inhabitants, so calling it a town is being generous. Fairly run of the mill town up until 10 years ago, when it got some European money to develop the rural economy. Normally this would mean tourism or farming related jobs, but not Rhydygrisiau, they built themselves a business park.”

Gwen thumbed the wheel on the pointer and the map zoomed in, focussing on a group of half a dozen buildings in a horseshoe shape at the end of a track, buried in a valley, off the main road.

     “It's discreet, doesn't mar the views, isn't visible from the main road, surrounded by mature forest on all sides. Only the one access road.”

    “And? It's a business park, what's so special about that? Lots of towns and villages have them.”

    “Ianto, perhaps you could tell Owen some more?”

Ianto cleared his throat, and glanced at his notes.

    “All of the 8 units are occupied by SMEs, that's small to medium enterprises Owen, which is unusual of itself. I spoke with a contact at the Welsh Assembly, there's often at least a couple of units empty in rural business parks, and a high turnover of tenants. These units have been occupied by the same businesses since it opened. What's even more distinctive is the type of companies that have them. Not one of them is tourist, craft or agriculture related. We've got a couple of R&D companies in electronics, miniaturisation, a high end plastics concern – advanced polymers, metallurgy – but looking at highly tensile, low weight alloys, software companies specialising in AI research, speech recognition, a bio-medical organisation, and there's one building that seems to be a shared warehouse of some kind – storage and distribution going by the vans that come and go. If I didn't know any better I'd say it was a Cyberman factory.”

Ianto's gaze around the room was his usual mild mannered countenance, it had been a good length of time since That Evening, and he'd proven his loyalty time and again, but they couldn't help but wince a little at the mention of the C-word.

     “I've been studying the satellite images and looking at communication traffic and there's nothing to suggest in any way that there's anything Cyberman related. Each of the companies has links with universities and larger companies, but it seems to be on a consultancy basis, they're all highly specialised. Owners and employees all live in the town, there's no-one that works there that isn't a local. Companies House records indicate each has a healthy profit – not too high and not too low, just enough to keep all the authorities happy. What I haven't worked out yet is what they're selling and to who. Where is the money coming from? Universities don't pay much to consultants, and corporations will try and pay as little as possible. Tosh, I might need your help on digging deeper.”

Ianto finished, a small frown of frustration on his face; he hated not knowing.

     “Thanks Ianto.” Gwen gave him a bright grin. “Once Ianto'd told me all that, I knew that something dodgy is going on there, but there's more. I kept thinking of that woman I bumped into in the supermarket. How she was just like all the others and a bit vague, and the way that guy from the supermarket treated her, like a dumb animal.”

Gwen clicked the pointer again, and a case file appeared, the standard driving licence shot.

     “Joanna Eberhart. 33, married to Walter. Eberhart's an unusual surname so not too much trouble to find the right one in Wales. He's a lawyer, they've got two kids. He's pretty successful, moved from a big London practice and set up shop in Rhydygrisiau. The kids are doing well in school. She's the enigma, before her marriage and after she was an up and coming photographer, not high profile but her work was getting exhibited.”

Gwen paused and cycled through a series of photos of Joanna. Drunken university shots, her wedding, holiday snaps, birthday snaps, the kind of thing you'd find on anyone's Facebook profile. A pretty woman, long brown hair tucked behind her ears, or piled up in a loose knot, wide brown expressive eyes, well dressed too – not too mumsy and not too artsy.

    “They moved to Rhydygrisiau about six months or so, settled in well, the kids at the local school, made a few friends. What we'd all do moving to a new town. There's no CCTV in Rhydygrisiau for some reason, but Tosh managed to get some of her from the cameras in the bank, the post office and the supermarket.”

Gwen cycled through a newer set of pictures, each one time-stamped.

     “This is about a month after they'd moved.” Joanna was in jeans and T-shirt, queuing in the bank striking up a conversation with the woman in front of her.

     “And a month later.” This time she was at the post office sharing a joke with the same woman from the bank – obviously now a friend.

     “This is from about 3 months after moving.” Joanna was in the supermarket, looking a little more stressed. She had a short conversation with her friend, who was all dressed up, and then went back to the obviously whispered argument with a man.

     “This is about 2 months ago.” Joanna looked drawn and ragged. She was in a chemists shop, standing in the aisle holding a bottle of multi-vitamins. She was staring into space, her hair a bit unkempt.

     “And last month.” There was a creak of leather as Jack leant forward in his chair, and a muffled “shit” from Owen. Joanna looked spectacular as she moved around the supermarket. Her hair was drawn up into a sleek pony tail, a frilly blouse, mid-length skirt, immaculate make-up. It was quite a transformation.

Gwen paused the footage as Joanna was reaching for a can from the shelves, and zoomed in on her face.

     “This is how she looked when I bumped into her. Look at this.” She brought up the image of Joanna in the bank from six months earlier. Side by side the change was more remarkable.

     “Sure it's a big change. She's had a makeover. She's settled in to life in the country. Takes a while to get used to a new way of life, getting to know the locals. I can't see why we should be interested.” Jack was playing Devil's advocate.

     “You'd think so, but there was something, Jack, something was missing, in her eyes. Look at her eyes.”

There was a pause as four pairs of eyes flicked back and forth between to the two images. In the first there was warmth and humour, in the newer image there was a placidity, self satisfaction.

     “Tosh?”

Tosh pushed her glasses back up her nose, and put the biscuit back down. She tapped a few buttons and brought up a new set of images on the screen.

     “I used my back door into the NHS database and then into the local GP practice. They're not officially linked up yet, but you know me, I like to help.”

Ianto snorted, he'd benefited the most from Tosh's helpful ways when arranging cover stories and cover-ups.

     “According to the records there, they all registered as a family when they moved. Joanna had an initial check-up, and then a couple of visits along with the children, the usual stuff, coughs and sneezes, nits. About 3 months ago she had an appointment with her GP, she got a prescription for anti-depressants, and a referral to a psychiatrist. She had one session, and never went back. In fact she's not been back to her doctor, in her own right at least.”

     “So what? A lot of people don't go to their Doctor for the routine stuff. They only go when they need to. Bane of my life, trying to cure what could have been prevented.”

Tosh gave Owen a bright smile. “Of course Owen, so I did some sampling to see if Joanna was the only one.” Her smile dimmed. “She's not; about half the women in Rhydygrisiau don't go to see their GP, at all. Some haven't been for years, those that move into the town tend to stop going after 6 months. I also checked with local surgeries, just in case, and no sign of any appointments with any other practices. I dug deeper, out of our non-attenders, one is diabetic and two have asthma – none of them have been having their prescriptions for insulin or Ventolin refilled. Is that possible Owen?”

     “I suppose so, it depends on the type of diabetes, sometimes it can be managed by diet rather than insulin, but if you're young and on insulin then that's it. You need to keep on taking it. Similar with asthma, you can manage it in other ways. Any sign of homeopathy, or other alternative therapies?”

Ianto pulled Tosh's laptop towards him and entered a search query. There was a whirr of a processor and Ianto squinted at the screen. “OK, within a 5 mile radius there's two beauty therapists, a counsellor, and a homoeopath.” The group paused whilst Ianto typed in a few more commands on the laptop. “I've cross checked against the list of women that Tosh has, and none of them have visited the counsellor or the homeopath, but plenty of bookings at the beauty therapists – Aphrodite's Mirror beats The Beauty Spot by about 2 to 1.”

Owen's interest was piqued – how could these women not be going to a doctor? “I want more information Tosh. Can you get me access to the records for all of the patients?”

Tosh nodded. “I'll set up a link on the server for you; you'll be able to click in and out whenever you need to.”

     “I think I know the answer already, but is there any rift activity, any alien tech?” Jack turned to Tosh.

     “I've set the search radius as wide as I can, and there's not a blip – nothing. The Rift is pretty localised to Cardiff, and there are no signs of it expanding. Alien tech, again none that I could see, it's a bit hard to do that kind of check so remotely – there might be something so small that it isn't being picked up, but it's clear so far. It would be good to get local readings though just to be sure.”

     “So what have we got? Some faintly suspicious companies and a bunch of women who don't go to the doctor. Doesn't exactly sound like our kind of thing, why not hand all this over to the police?”

Gwen's nostrils flared a little in annoyance with Jack's summary. She knew that there was something bigger at work here. More than just what was being seen on the surface.

     “I think we should do some more work on this Jack. All of us think there's something worth investigating. Perhaps a few more checks to make sure, and then hand it over to the police. It wouldn't be the Cardiff lot that know us, it would have to be the locals, and they wouldn't be able to cope if it was one of ours”

     “Okay. I take your point. Owen, you do some more digging in the medical notes and see what you can find, you'll have a better idea of what to look for that any of us. Tosh and Ianto, get something together that will allow for remote scanning, and when you're done, our Mr Jones will be heading out for a drive in the country, a spot check by the Welsh Tourist Board. For the rest? Business as usual, there's still Weevils to subdue.”

* * *

     “Oh!”

     “Oh?”

Tosh's hand wrapped automatically around the cup of coffee that Ianto was offering her, a reflex reaction; but her eyes were taking in her colleague's appearance. Ianto was usually spick and span in his suit, ruthlessly efficient and poised for action. Today he looked like a student – stout boots, jeans, t-shirt, a jacket draped over one arm. It was when he was in civvies that she realised just how much younger he was.

     “Is it dress down day? I didn't realise we were doing those. Did I miss a memo or something?”

Ianto chortled at Tosh, trust her to think she'd overlooked something.

     “No. Today's the day for my jaunt to Rhydygrisiau. If I'm supposed to be tramping all over the Welsh countryside, I'm not going to do it in a suit and brogues.”

Tosh's face cleared as she remembered, and tilted her head to one side. “But what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on your way?”

     “I came in to get the Hub up and running, and to make myself a flask of coffee. There's only a tea-shop in Rhydygrisiau, and I don't quite trust them. Thought I'd make you all your first pot, after that you're on your own. I give you the responsibility of not letting the others near my machine, on pain of pain. I'm counting on you Tosh.”

Tosh grinned and gave him a mock salute. “Sir, yes Sir, I solemnly swear to defend the coffee machine with my life if need be, Sir.”

     “Don't be daft.” He turned, and opened up the backpack to stow his flask inside.

     “Have you got everything you need?” Both of them swung round to see Jack leaning over the gantry.

     “Torch, compass, map, coffee, first aid kit, stun gun, car keys, mobile, wallet and a rather special camera.”

Jack nodded and gave Ianto a salacious grin. “You know Ianto, I might just have to issue a memo so that you alternate between those cute suits and those jeans. The view I've had from up here has been spectacular.”

Ianto rolled his eyes and hefted his bag onto his shoulder. “As you wish, I'll draw up a schedule on my return. I'll be back by the end of the day, can't see how it'll take me long to get some decent readings.”

     “Stay on the comms and check in every hour or so, I don't want this to blow up into a major situation.”

     “I'll be in touch with Ianto anyway. I'll need to point him in the right direction so there are no blank spots.”

     “Righty-o. Best be off, it's a long drive.” With that Ianto walked through the Hub to the carpark under the Assembly building and was soon on his way.

* * *

Once he'd got out of Cardiff, fighting the traffic all the way and cursing himself for not getting Tosh to give him green lights, Ianto began to enjoy the drive. It was good to get out of Cardiff, and for once it wasn't raining. He had the windows down, his shades on, and was making good time. He'd have to slow it down, the further out into the country he got - the roads would be narrower and twistier.

     «Ianto?»

He thumbed his headset so he could speak “Yes Tosh?”

     «How far away are you?»

He glanced down at the SatNav, and then took a sharp bend.

     “Not too far, I'll be in Rhydygrisiau in about 10 minutes. What's up?”

     «Nothing really. The others are out, looking into a 'funny smell' coming from a flat in Cathays.»

     “All the flats in Cathays smell funny. It's the students.”

     «This funny smell has laid out a fire engine and two squad cars worth of emergency services personnel. Current thinking is it's more than just a corpse going off.»

     “Rather them than me. Anywhere in particular you want me to start snapping?”

     «Start in the middle and do a radial sweep outwards. That way I can get some triangulation points as well.»

     “Sounds about right. Good job I've got my boots on, I think this day-trip is going to be hard work.”

     «Let me know when you're ready to start and I'll get everything recording.»

     “Will do.”

* * *

By lunchtime Ianto was weary. It had been hard work on his feet, he was sure he'd have a blister or two, and the camera had started out feeling light enough, but with Tosh's enhancements to it his wrists were beginning to ache. First thing when I get back will be a long hot soak and beer. He'd had to dissemble a couple of times when the local curtain twitchers wanted to know what he was doing. The cover story of working for the tourist board seemed to satisfy their curiosity.

The town itself was pretty standard; a long high street with terraced Victorian houses and shop fronts, a sixties precinct at one end, with the Co-op, a dry cleaners, the bakery, the butcher. Strangely there was no bookmaker, or anything on the seedier side of life. The local pub, the Slaughtered Lamb, wasn’t a dingy hole, but done out in the best gastropub style, but there was still that little circle of hardened drinkers around the bar. Ianto didn’t linger for a meal, just having a soft drink. There had been a substantial looking Victorian Gothic mansion on the outskirts as he’d driven in – very Hammer House of Horror, must’ve been the Big House at one time.

Come lunchtime, he parked up in a lay-by just outside of the town to enjoy his sausage roll, crisps and an apple. He was in the passenger seat, the door open, sitting with his feet on ground and tilted forward so that the flakes of pastry and crisp crumbs didn't land on his upholstery, when a large white van rumbled past him heading out of town.

     “Tosh?”

There was a beep in his ear as the comm activated and he heard what sounded like a napkin being wiped across a mouth.

     «Yes?»

     “Sorry, have I interrupted your lunch?”

     «Not really, just finishing the last of a Panini. What about you?»

     “Just finished a mediocre sausage roll from the Lite Loaf bakery.”

Tosh snorted and there was the sound of a keyboard being dragged closer.

     “I've done the town now, though it might be more appropriate to say the town's done me. My poor feet!”

     «Aww, my poor wee lamb... If you head back to the Hub I'll make sure someone gives you a footrub.»

     “I'll forgive you the lamb comment if you can arrange that. A big van's just gone past, and I wanted to check if you need me to get some readings of the business park too?”

     «Oh... Yes. Not much point in not getting all the data we can, though I have to say that there's nothing so far from your scans.»

     “I did wonder, I've not spotted anything fishy in the town, but Gwen was right, there seems to be a lot of well maintained, attractive women. But there’s something about their eyes, like… the smile doesn't reach them. Need to make sure we keep Jack on a short leash if he decides to head up here.”

     «You do know I can hear you Ianto? I was going to volunteer to give you that footrub...»

     “Oh hello, Jack. Nice lunch?”

A deep chuckle came over the ether. «Yes, and don't think you can get round me. How's it going?»

     “Boring, tiring. Not sure I'm getting anything useful but I suppose we need to do it so we can be sure. I'm heading into the woods to check out the business park after lunch.”

     «Watch out for bears. I'll see you when you get back.»



Part Two