*enters flat, making a vague attempt to tidy up some of the clothes and clutter loosely strewn about the place*

*goes directly to the drinks cabinet and pours a shot of Scotch, downing it in one gulp*

One for you?

*offers you a glass*

Current Location: my flat

*sits at desk*

*is meant to be compiling data on the incidence of alien deaths from accidental cheese spray attack, but is actually researching immortality...namely, how to acquire it and be rid of it*

*is having a hard time finding anything outside the realm of mythical accounts, though*

*sighs*

*suddenly sees Pfred and Danny coming and shuts off computer monitor*

Oi. What are you two doing in here? I thought Byte-boy over there was crunching numbers for your grandad.

Tags: danny joyce
Current Location: Torchwood Hub

*goes home*

*stands in front of the tall reflective window where Calypso thought it would be fun to play hide-the-human...holding a small device behind back*

*doesn't quite know how to activate the sigil...wishes there were an instruction manual, or that the Sfinx had bothered to drop a hint or two when carving the thing into my flesh*

*lets out a breath, and has a go*

Calypso, I command thee...appear!

*nothing happens*

*feels a total cod, but tries again*

Eternal, I name you...Calypso!

*nothing*

...Open Sesame?

*sighs in frustration...then remembers Calypso saying how empty her world was, how grey and bleak...how she looked as herself, no disguises; and how it felt to touch her, slick scales fading into soft skin...*

*sigil in chest begins to glow*

*calls Grace's cell phone*

Grace? It's Owen. I hadn't heard from you since the whole Noxs thing, and I just...I just wondered how you were. Anyway. Give me a call when you can. Bye.

*rings off*

*sits at desk, staring into space*

*eventually picks up a cell phone and dials Grace's number*

Yeah, Grace. Hi. It's Owen. Listen, I've got to do another checkup on the kids, but everyone else is out shagging a co-worker or getting married or God knows what else, and I'm all on my own. Could you come down and give me a hand? I'd really appreciate it.

Really? Great. Thanks a mill. Bye.

*rings off and waits at desk, looking troubled*

Tags: noxs and tyler

*sits at desk, running tongue over teeth distractedly, as though getting used to the feel of the newly-corrected canines*

*looking at an old picture, almost forgotten, taken on the beach in the early days of the relationship...before the glove*



*bluetooth*

Oi, Suze...if you've got a moment...can I have a word?

Current Location: Torchwood Hub

Second Report: Weevil Offspring - Socialisation and Development
Dr. O. Harper #000011507724


*sighs*

*waits for Dafydd to arrive to sort out the last of the portal details*

*has a long, well-needed sleep*

*wakes, finding a fresh cup of Ianto's coffee on the bed table...drinks it, and does begin to feel much better*

*goes for a shower*

*stops by Janet's cell on the way back to check on the kids...and is staggered at how much they've grown in the space of nearly a week...watches them crawling over each other, playfighting and chewing each others' ears*

*watches as Janet stands up, sniffing the air, staring hard through the plexiglass*

*steps away from the cell and slowly returns to the spare bedroom*

*lies on top of the duvet, staring at the ceiling*

*lies down nervously on the exam table*

*has visited the toilet twice, just in case*

*watches Doctor Holloway attach the medical sensors while Ianto fastens the restraints*

*firmly*

Wait! I haven't...*falls silent* Never mind. *wanted to see the babies one last time, but doesn't think that would be prudent to mention just now*

Oi. You can take that implant out now, Jonesy. *leans up so you can, and sighs with relief as the wires slither out*

*lies back, flexing fingers anxiously - to Grace*

You're sure about this? Your Doctor Joyce sounds like a bit of a practical joker; I wouldn't put it past him to try something funny.

*tests restraints, and finds them reassuringly, frighteningly sound*

*pacing restlessly in cell*

*agitated*

*has played all the Playstation games, read and re-read the medical reports, and is sick to death of everything on telly*

*leans against the cell door, grabbing the airholes and pressing forehead against the transparent plexiglass...breathing hard*

*mutters*

Christ...where the bloody hell is she???

*goes through the multiple empty takeaway boxes piled in the corner to see if there's possibly a crumb left that could still be eaten...has gone through three curries and four pizzas in the last six hours, but is still hungry...but finds nothing, tossing the boxes down again in frustration*

*goes back to the cell door, squeezing eyes shut tight*

*can feel something fighting to break through...like a rat clawing inside a glass jar...and has to fight the urge to take the psi-blocker out again*

*towards the CCTV, for the umpteenth time, struggling to keep voice - which is unsually rough and gravelly - calm and even*

Ianto? Any word yet?