Don't Blink

Standard Disclaimer:

This is a fan written story arc involving characters created and owned by Russel T. Davies and the BBC. The following story is fictional and does not portray and real person or event, any reference to any real person or event is strictly coincidental.

No animals were harmed in the making of this fic.

Summary:

A local museum brings statues from around the world to Cardiff for an art display and auction at the bay. Ianto finds himself face to face with one carefully crafted angel, forever weeping into its hands.

Chapter One

"Bloody hell, these things creep me out." Owen's face twisted slightly, his head shaking as he took time to linger and examine the various stone creations. "It's the ones of kids that do it. Empty eyes and there is always something off about their expressions. Just sitting there. Not moving. And the angels. Always with the angels crying. Aren't they supposed to be happy to be dead?"

"They're stone, Owen. They don't move and it can't hurt you." Gwen grinned quite happily at his expense, rounding a large and indescribably shapeless piece of marble. "I don't get what this is supposed to be."

"Art." Tosh offered helpfully, shrugging her shoulders in a most delicate and indifferent way. "I think it's lovely. Sort of masculine."

"It's nearly a replica of the Verid males of Jotlau. Missing a few important appendages, though." Jack's brow raised, a lazy grin on his face as he reminisced more than recalled information from the archives of Torchwood. He took a pointed stride towards the tourist office, glancing at his wandering team members. "Enough culture. We have work to do."

"Keep activities near the bay to a minimum and no one uses the lift until this entire thing is over. I have no desire to start handing out Retcon to every tourist who catches a case of curiosity. The auction is at the end of the week and then this whole thing goes away." Jack made his way to his office the moment the cog door rolled back into place, glancing around for their suited caretaker. "Ianto?"

"Yup." Ianto peered out from behind the Rift Manipulator, lips parted and brows raised.

"Coffee?" Jack nearly smiled, his head tilting just slightly before he turned and vanished behind the venetian blinds. He stepped back into the door frame a moment later, just as Ianto had begun making his way to the coffee machine. "I want you in the office to field tourists. We'll call if you're needed."

By the end of the night, Ianto had recounted the history of Cardiff Bay 637 times and recited the most interesting details of the city itself an additional 249. It was odd to lose himself in something mundane, but for the hours that he was able to sit behind the desk and pretend to be someone other than Ianto Jones of Torchwood; he was content.

It felt good to be normal, for once, and to be able to recall information that didn't include vicious alien species and their constant threat to the human race.

He waited until the others had gone for the night, each filing out of the tourist office in turn with a quiet 'good night, Ianto.', before he locked the door and made his way down to the hub to tidy things about. Jack was there, somewhere. Shuffling through papers in his office, or looking over details of past reports in the dusty filing cabinets, doing things that were none of Ianto's concern.

It was his job to clean without question and to make sure that things ran smoothly as silently as possible. Recounting the days adventures after hours with Captain Jack Harkness wouldn't be within his job description. With garbage bags full of scraps of paper, pizza boxes, drink containers and unidentifiable tidbits, Ianto made one last pass through their base before heading out into the cool night air to toss the bags into the nearest bin and head for home.

Autumn was beginning to settle, and there was a crispness to the evening that caused him to shiver a bit within his suit. The plastic bag rustling against his leg with every step, nearly echoing through the assorted pieces of marble and plaster than lay motionless between the water tower and millennium center.

He took his time as he walked from one end of the pier to the other, letting his gaze drift over each masterfully crafted piece in silent admiration. The crowds were gone and his duties for the day were taken care of, he hadn't realized that he was likely the last one on this side of Cardiff to actually see what was drawing such a crowd.

Lingering for a moment to pick up a discarded and forgotten brochure on the event, he let the bag of garbage rest beside him as he idly paged through the glossy photos. There were brief histories of each carving, something he delighted in reading over if only so he had something to recite in the days following should someone ask him. He liked knowing as much as possible. It made him important and reliable when unanswerable questions needed answering.

The event was organized by some rich to-dos in London, bringing together twenty-four collectable pieces to be admired and then sold at auction to profit a charity called 24 hours. There was a snippet in the back regarding the work they do with missing persons cases, funding investigations and searches. They had recovered over a thousand people over the last two decades all over the UK, all having been reported within 24 hours of their disappearances.

Impressive, Ianto thought. If Torchwood had that sort of success rate, they could afford to have a headquarters with windows and maybe a proper door.

He glanced up from the brochure at a faint shadow just beyond his peripheral vision, turning as an uneasiness settled about the cool evening air. In a moment, the deserted bay no longer felt deserted and Ianto Jones was certain he was being watched.

"Jack?" He craned his neck a bit to look around one of the larger pieces, glancing down the row of displayed statues for any signs of movement. Taking slow, hesitant steps, Ianto began walking between each of the large figures. His soft leather shoes creaking quietly against the pavement, as he let his hand shift to where his gun would be if he had remembered to grab it from the desk before leaving the tourist office.

It took him a moment to realize that he had also left behind his comm and his cell phone, both sitting neatly aligned beside each other in the upper most drawer on the left. An inconvenient over-sight that he was starting to regret as the uneasiness began to increase. The uneasiness became more of a nagging feeling that something else wasn't quite right with the art display itself.

It had been itching at the back of his mind since he started the slow investigation to seek out the source of movement. That insufferable feeling that there was something so obvious right in front of his face and yet he was too dumbfounded to see it, screaming out to him 'Ianto! Pay Attention!'.

"Twenty-five." He muttered quietly, taking a step backwards. "There are twenty-five statues."

In the instant of clarity of what it was that had been nagging at his subconscious, he turned on his heel to look back down the row of statues to see exactly what it was that had the back of his neck twinged with fear. The angel had moved and was peeking over it's fingertips.

Ianto blinked.