ICEMAN AND the Coffee Boy

by Soledad

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.

Author's note: The 'turbolift' of the Torchwood Institute was inspired by the alarmingly fast lift of the Danube Tower in Vienna. It's really, sickeningly fast, especially for people with claustrophobic tendencies (like me).

This story ends here. Look out for "Beautiful Minds", which picks up the thread a few years later.

Chapter 10 – Epilogue

Six months later.

Wesley Wyndham-Price checked his immaculate appearance one more time in the mirror of his bedroom and nodded in satisfaction. Every single hair on his head was firmly in place, unruly locks smoothed out and forced in spotless order. The chain of his pocket watch (inherited from his beloved Uncle Aubrey) was threaded through the buttonhole of his waistcoat in the right way, and his new tie-pin (a gift for his recent and successful graduation) perfectly placed.

Yes, he could show his face without the ever-present dread of embarrassing himself.

He'd always been very conscious of his appearance, but today was particularly important. Today he'd be introduced to the director and the department heads of the Torchwood Institute. Today he'd begin his first official day at work as a junior archivist.

Granted, this wasn't exactly his dream job. That would have been librarian at a museum; preferably at the British Museum itself. He'd been in hopeless love with that gorgeous library since the day he'd first set foot there at the age of six. But he was realistic enough to understand that he was too young and too inexperienced to even think of applying for a job like that. At least two generations would have to die out before he'd get a chance.

Therefore when Mr Howarth had asked if he'd like to work for the Institute with him (and later with Ianto) Wesley had agreed without hesitation.

"If you prove yourself, you can hope to become the curator of Torchwood House one day," Mr Howarth had said. "Then you can live on the Torchwood estate like your ancestors did who were country squires. That would suit you the best, I think. And you can live out your librarian's instincts in the Archives there."

That was certainly very true, and Wesley found that he liked the idea. Ianto had made it adamantly clear that he'd never bury himself in the bloody countryside, as he put it. He was a city boy and wouldn't leave London for the world. So Wesley had been the logical choice to be groomed as the next curator. That would take quite a few years, too, but the Holmeses were good at long-term planning.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ianto pounding on his door impatiently.

"Wes, are you coming out of there any time soon? The car will be here in five minutes, and know what they say about Ms Hartmann and punctuality, don't you?"

"Yes, of course," and he knew indeed. If there was something Yvonne Hartmann couldn't tolerate it was the lack of punctuality. So Wesley cast a last, anxious glance into the mirror and hurried out to his friend as quickly as his newfound dignity would allow.

It was amazing how fast dignity could move if there was a deadline looming on the horizon.

Ianto was waiting for him in the foyer, also wearing one of his good suits. Not one of those Marks & Spencer atrocities, though. He had finally given in to acquire a few much fancier ones, due to his fa… to Mr. Holmes's insistence. Wesley was very careful not even think of Mr Holmes as Ianto's father. That could have led to a dangerous slip of tongue at the least desirable time.

Of course, the fact that Ianto never spoke of the man that way either helped to remain discreet. He still called his adoptive father – his uncle, really – Tad, in Welsh fashion and with deep affection, while his biological father was always mentioned as Mr Holmes, in a somewhat wary manner.

Wesley didn't blame his friend for being wary. His own father was bad enough when it came to scare the living daylight out of people, but Mr Homes was truly intimidating. And Ianto hadn't even grown up with him to get used to the feeling as a child.

On the other hand, that had probably – no, certainly – made Ianto's childhood a much happier one, despite the financial struggles of his adoptive family and his adoptive father's drinking.

The car was just pulling up in front of their house when they left it, their landlady, the grandmotherly Mrs Turner, waving them from her open window. She was so much more than a landlady, really. She'd practically adopted them, providing them with copious amounts of tea and home-made biscuits… and gossip. (The fact that Ianto despised tea didn't really count. She was a jewel.) She would even have cleaned out the flat after them, had they not been fastidious by nature themselves – Ianto cos living in an ordered environment helped him to keep his mind ordered and Wesley because he'd been raised that way. He now smiled back at Mrs Turner tightly, grateful for the wordless encouragement, and followed Ianto to the car.

He was surprised to see Mr Holmes's PA in the driver's seat; the mysterious woman who, according to Ianto, changed her name from time to time.

"It wouldn't be a good thing to make people realise that you're meant to rise in the ranks more quickly," she explained. "Besides, Mr Holmes has to deal with certain members of the cabinet today. It seems somebody has got themselves in a mess, as usual, and an emergency meeting has been summoned during the night. It can last a while."

"England would fall without its civil servants," Ianto commented dryly. "Had the Welsh known that earlier, we'd never have bothered assassinating kings or Prime Ministers."

"That's why we keep it such a deep secret," Quilla grinned. "Now, get in the car, gentlemen, we have no time to waste."

They laughed and climbed into the back seat where they already found Tish Jones, wearing her elegant business suit and carrying a large leather quite vintage-looking briefcase.

"Your employment papers," she explained to Wesley. "I'm representing Mr Holmes today."

Even after six months' worth of weekly visits, Ianto felt understandable excitement when entering Torchwood Tower. The place had turned out a great deal more complex and interesting than he'd have originally thought, and by now he was genuinely looking forward to these visits. He'd made fast friends with several members of Yvonne's staff – he was particularly fond of Addy – and among the younger scientists he'd found a few casual friends as well.

Lisa Hallett had indeed got that promised job at Cybernetics, and she dropped by whenever Ianto had his tutoring days with Mr Howarth. They'd grown unexpectedly close in these months, perhaps due to the fact that Emma, Ianto's girlfriend, had got an irresistible scholarship offer from one of the great fashion houses in Italy, and Lisa had introduced Ianto to quite a few of her friends and co-workers.

Ianto hadn't spoken to his father for a month after Emma's departure, although Mycroft swore that he hadn't had a hand in it. Perhaps he hadn't indeed; however, knowing him Ianto found it a little hard to believe. He and Emma didn't break up, not officially, but having a relationship across a whole continent wasn't an easy thing. So he would mostly find himself hanging out with Lisa, Addy, Addy's boyfriend Gareth, Matt and Addy's cousin Martha Jones, who happened to be a young resident doctor at St. Bartholomew's Hospital – or Bart's as it was usually called – and with Wesley orbiting around them as it was his wont.

It had been quite a shock when he realised that Martha was actually Tish's younger sister, but then he remembered Dame Diane's comment about how the women of the family were all very ambitious. He couldn't deny the truth of that, having now met both beautiful, strong-willed sisters… and their estranged father who seemed content enough to be the groundskeeper of the Holmes townhouse in London and living with a blonde bimbo younger than his own daughters.

As they had become a close-knit little group of friends, so had Ianto drifted away, slowly yet inevitably, from his mates at university. Oh, he still played rugby with them, even did gigs with the band occasionally – mostly because Addy and the others liked their music. But the former closeness wasn't there anymore. Ianto was playing in a different league now, and after the first bouts of rebellion, he'd accepted that fact. Being a protégée of the Holmes family did make him different (even if you weren't related to them, evidently, as Wesley's case showed), whether you liked it or not.

To his honest surprise, Ianto found that he didn't mind it as much as he originally had. He still had to work hard to produce the required results – Mycroft Holmes wouldn't accept anything but the very best from his only son – but receiving extra tutoring from both Mr Howarth and Mr Ellis did help. It also opened his horizon in way he couldn't even have imagined before, and for that he was grateful.

Knowledge was power, as his father liked to repeat, and he found that he enjoyed being in that particular position of power. Even though he had no ambitions whatsoever to follow the path of his father's to actual politics.

Wesley called it him 'discovering his inner Holmes', and as funny as it sounded, it was, in a manner, very true. He was still far from actually embracing his inner Holmes – and he hoped fervently that it wouldn't happen for decades yet to come – but he had to admit that he'd grown comfortable with having access to almost unlimited knowledge… and not having to worry about money like he used to. Financial independence was liberating.

Still, Ianto tried his best to remain true to himself. He dreaded the day on which Rhiannon would visit him only to find a stranger in her baby brother's stead. He didn't want that to happen. Rhi, Johnny and the kids – the new baby, a little girl named Mica just being born three weeks ago – were still the only true family he had. The ones he felt an emotional bond to. He'd rather die than lose them… or give them up to become a posh git.

Ianto shook his head and forced his meandering attention back to the current event of importance. This was Wesley's big day, and he owed his best friend and flatmate to pay him proper attention.

Especially as – knowing Wesley as he did – he probably would have to interfere if Wes started panicking. Or fainted. Or something equally embarrassing.

They rode the lift to the uppermost level, having grown used to its speed well enough by now that Wesley's stomach no longer tried to empty itself through his ears during the ride. He was barely green around the quills when they finally stepped out of the cabin, right into the shared office of Yvonne Hartmann's staff; a room, now unusually crowded with people, most of whom Ianto barely knew and Wesley didn't know at all.

The department heads were all there, of course, aside from Yvonne and Mr Howarth. Many of them wore white lab coats, therefore it was safe to assume that they were scientists, and all of them had name tags pinned to their clothes, but Wesley couldn't be bothered to try reading them at the moment.

There was Yvonne's entire staff, of course – at least some familiar and friendly faces – and a pretty blonde in a smart business suit. Both Ianto and Wesley knew her: Jenny Smith, the junior partner of Smith, Smith & Smith, the daughter of the Holmeses' chief layer, who ran the secondary office of her father's law firm; the one located within the Tower. She was here to represent her father and senior partner, just as Tish Jones represented the Holmes family.

In the first moment Wesley was a bit intimidated by being the focus of the attention coming from such a crowd. In truth, he looked as if he could bolt any second, so Ianto squeezed his elbow encouragingly.

"Don't forget to breathe, Wes," he murmured. "And remember: they're only ever humans, too, who walk on two legs and chew with teeth like everyone else."

That had been the standard encouragement of the late Madelyn Jones, whenever her children got scared of someone. As silly as it sounded, it never failed its effect- Wesley, too, chuckled nervously and steeled himself to face whatever might be coming.

Fortunately for him, the introduction turned out fairly short and simply, Yvonne Hartmann being in her best 'people person' form. He got introduced to the department heads, whose name he promptly forgot (with the exception of Mr Howarth, of course, who reassured him that he'd have time enough to learn who was who), congratulated by Yvonne's staff that he already knew, and then whisked into Yvonne's private office, together with Mr Howarth, Tish Jones, Jenny Smith, Quilla and, of course, Ianto.

It was time to finalise his contract. Then he could start his life as an independent adult. It was a lovely thought.

"The papers have all been prepared," Quilla said, taking a manila folder out of her briefcase and handing it to Jenny Smith. Smith, Smith & Smith also ran Torchwood's personnel department, which was why they needed an office in the Tower.

Jenny opened the folder and read every single document very carefully. She checked the small print and the signatures – twice – and then nodded in satisfaction.

"Everything seems to be in order," she said.

"Of course," Quilla replied with a frown. "Your father has already checked the contract for any possible mistakes."

"Which is why I checked them again," Jenny's voice was high, almost child-like, but her blue eyes showed very mature concern and pain. "Dad is a good lawyer, one of the best, but he's been a bit… distracted ever since Mum's fallen ill."

"Speaking of which, how's Mrs Smith doing?" Mr Howarth asked.

Jenny shrugged. "She's hospitalised. Fortunately, Mr Holmes allows us the use of the private rooms at Bart's, so either Martha or Owen can keep an eye on her. Katie visits her daily to support her, but… it won't take much longer now, and for that we're grateful. She's suffering too much, despite being on a morphine drip all the time."

So he hadn't been completely off deducing John Smith, Ianto realised. Not a widower – not yet – but constantly worried about a terminally ill wife. Understandable that he'd lost so much weight so quickly… although he couldn't have been particularly fat before.

And Ianto's father had Mrs Smith put in the private rooms at Bart's? The rooms kept free for any potentially ill family members? That had been really nice of him, Ianto found – a bit surprised, cos nice wouldn't be a term he'd associate with Mycroft Holmes automatically. His father must have hidden depths still waiting for him to discover.

In the meantime Yvonne, too, signed the documents and Jenny Smith stored them in her own briefcase, promising the Torchwood Director to send her digital copies of everything.

"Thank you, my dear," Yvonne smiled pleasantly; then she turned to Mr Howarth. "Well, Rupert, the young man is all yours. Have you decided which subsection of the Archives assign him to?"

Rupert Howarth nodded. "The section of copyrighted inventions needs to be reorganised and digitalised. It has been shamefully neglected ever since Alex Hopkins left us. I think somebody with Wesley's patient and meticulous nature would be best suited for that task. After that – we'll see. There's always more than enough to do."

Yvonne agreed- "That's a good idea. He can always contact Alex in Torchwood House if necessary, and this would be a good introduction to the general working of the Archives," she turned back to Wesley, her smile growing even wider. "Welcome to Torchwood, Wesley. I hope you'll fit into our family well."

~The End~