Almost Perfect

IANTO TRIES BEIGE

Gwen walked along the wharf, trying to ignore how cold and wet it was. There are mornings when Cardiff Bay looks like Venice Beach, and there are mornings when it looks like Norway. Today was not one of the better ones, and sheets of rain lashed across the decking outside Torchwood. Gwen had already dropped her keys as she locked up the car and, added to that, a mild hangover refused to be ignored. Last night had been a late one, but she’d finally made it to Darren and Sian’s before Rhys drank all the wine. It was surprisingly fun, and the rat almost cute, even though she’d insisted Rhys wash his hands the moment they’d got home. Gawd, when had she drunk so much wine? She tried to clear her head. It felt like she hadn’t slept at all. The weekend seemed a long way away.

She let herself into the Tourist Information entrance to Torchwood and shivered. Despite living in Cardiff for years, Gwen had never bought an umbrella. It always struck her as giving in. Anyway, she hadn’t been allowed them on long nights on police duty, and it seemed silly to get her own when Rhys had a ridiculous golfing one with a daft corporate logo.

It was an odd day. Ianto was late for work. When he finally arrived, he seemed fine, bustling around, very much his old self. But every now and then, Gwen thought she caught a look of utter misery on his face. Plus, he was wearing a really inadvisable beige trouser suit.

‘I’ve been shopping on the way in,’ he explained. ‘Everything so far has been Lisa’s. But I figured it’s a bit… you know…’

‘Creepy?’ Gwen was quietly appalled.

Ianto nodded. ‘Yeah. Dead girlfriend’s clothes. I know. But I still had some of her stuff, and I figured… well, she’s the woman I know the most, really. Well, that’s not true. There’s also my mother. But, firstly, it’s just wrong, and secondly, floral print.’ He put on a brave smile, showing off perfect teeth. ‘Anyway, I spotted this on the way in. It feels a bit more… me.’

Gwen nodded, kindly. ‘Yes. Very nice.’

Jack wandered past. ‘Ianto. Beige. No.’ He vanished into his office.

Ianto sighed. ‘Were you being polite?’

‘No, no. No. Well. A little,’ she admitted.

‘OK. It’s so hard being… you know… A woman. I thought I was doing OK, but the shopping is just…’

‘Hard?’

‘Yes. And expensive. Jack really doesn’t give you a clothing allowance?’

‘No.’

‘Right. And I can’t take this back – I’ve already got Weevil blood on the cuff, and that’s a stain that never lifts.’ He gave her a look, and suddenly Gwen saw the old Ianto shining out of this new body – all Valleys Boy mildly confused by the world.

‘We’ll go shopping. Promise. Or get Jack to take you.’

‘Um.’

‘Is everything… OK… between the two of you?’ Gwen asked.

‘Not really. He’s fine… you know. But at the same time, I think he still worries that I might not be Ianto. And I can’t talk to anyone else about it. Not my friends, not my family. How do I explain? I’ve told my neighbours I’m flat-sitting while I’m… he’s on holiday. If you get what I mean. But they’re not going to believe that for ever. It’s all so bloody… and I can’t talk to anyone. You’re… Gwen… you’re it.’

Christ, Ianto’s unspooling, thought Gwen. Poor lamb.

‘Come on, Ianto. Jack will get you your old body back. Don’t give up. Any luck with the memory pill?’

Ianto shook his head, his long, beautiful hair following lazily, like it was in a shampoo commercial. ‘No, not really. I can suddenly quote all of Under Milk Wood and vividly recall having my wisdom teeth out. But nothing useful.’

‘Never mind. Tomorrow we’re bunking off. You’ll love shopping.’

‘Thank you, Gwen.’

Don’t mention it, thought Gwen, feeling a lot better.

Ianto had combed through Patrick’s Facebook profile and failed to come up with any coherent theories on who might want to kill him, or any brushes he might have had with alien technology. He and Gwen had been delighted to find a picture of Patrick running across a beach in speedos, but that was about it.

Jack was kept fairly busy dealing with reports of atmospheric disturbances around the city. Apparently static electricity was up by a quarter now, which Jack seemed to find curiously amusing.

Gwen was occupied assuring a rather weasel-like Assembly liaison that the Rift honestly had had nothing to do with the ferry crash in the Bay. It was one of those things – slightly mysterious, which meant that Torchwood had to be all over it. But she couldn’t quite work out what to do really, other than interview the survivors, who all seemed a bit dazed and not very communicative. But then, most of them had either hypothermia or concussion so it wasn’t really that surprising. As far as she could tell, the ferry had started taking on water just outside the Bay, listed alarmingly, but had made it into dock. Even Jack’s theory of a mine seemed off – Gwen had examined the hull, and couldn’t find any evidence of an explosion. So: more talking to gruff Norwegians and dazed people who’d been on a hen night.