1.

It's been a busy week, and the past twenty-four hours have been particularly challenging, even for Torchwood. Ianto fully anticipates his Christmas going pear-shaped; the universe doesn't let up for holidays, as working in London proved time and again. He only wonders what form his celebratory doom will take this year.

"So what happened to your car exactly?" his sister asks from the stove, where she's whisking the gravy for the turkey cooking in the oven alongside the pork roast. The kitchen smells delicious, and in spite of a feeling of distance he can't shake, Ianto is glad he's there, especially for a good, home-cooked meal. It's the first time he's spent Christmas with his family since he left for London years ago. His mum asked, year after year, but he'd had no interest in returning home. And Torchwood usually found itself quite busy on Christmas, so he'd always stayed in the city, begging off with the excuse of work. The previous year had been his one and only holiday with Lisa, something he's trying very hard not to think about, and as long as Rhiannon doesn't say anything about her, he'll be fine.

"Just an accident," Ianto replies. He's cutting the potatoes, concentrating carefully because his mum is very particular about her potatoes. She'd probably be doing them herself if she hadn't hurt her shoulder when some rude holiday shopper had knocked her over at the Hayes; instead she's resting in the living room after overseeing preparations for both the turkey and the roast, reading to Mica while David plays his new video game. Ianto has no idea where Johnny is or what he's doing.

Rhiannon turns around and frowns. "Are you all right? You didn't say anything about an accident on the phone, only that you didn't have a car."

"I wasn't in an accident," Ianto tells her. "Only the car."

"Like, in a car park or something?"

"Something like that," Ianto murmurs absently.

"Ianto," she presses. "Why can't you tell me?"

"Because a man died in my car," he finally snaps. She's been badgering him since the moment he walked in the door, question after question about work and his flat and his love life. Why couldn't they talk about normal things, like the weather and rugby and the latest gossip around the estate? Ianto sighs. Because they aren't normal—or, rather, he isn't normal, and sometimes he feels as if they must know it. How could they not suspect he's lying to them about everything—his job, his friends, his dead girlfriend?

Then he remembers: he's good at lying. He's been doing it for years, and did it so well he hid a cyberbeing in the basement of the Hub for months before his coworkers found out. He probably should have lied about the car, told them it'd been stolen for parts or something, but it's Christmas and he doesn't want to lie. Not today.

Rhiannon is staring at him with her mouth hanging open; she looks ridiculous, and he snorts.

"Close your mouth, it's not like I killed him," he tells her. If he peels that particular potato a little more aggressively, he's sure it will taste as good as the others.

"I didn't think you did," she murmurs, still staring. "What happened?"

"Stole it and gassed himself," Ianto replies shortly. "And as I rather liked the car and hate thinking about him dying in my front seat, I'd prefer to not talk about it." Even worse the thought of Jack finding John Ellis, returning to the Hub red-eyed and smelling of fumes.

She's quiet for a moment. "Did you know him, then?"

Oh, that's a harder question. No lies, but he doesn't have to tell the whole tangled truth. "Yes, I knew him through work. Not talking about it though, remember?"

"Right." She turns back to the stove. "I'm sorry," she says. "Not the best Christmas, I imagine."

"You don't know the half of it," Ianto mutters to himself. After taking the bus to work the morning after John Ellis's suicide, he'd then had to deal with his teammates: Jack, upset over his failure to save the older man; Owen, angry that Diane had thrown herself back into the Rift; Gwen, sad to see her charge off to London at the train station. Only Tosh had been her normal self, and so it had been Tosh he'd talked to most of the morning, and who'd gone with him to hire a car for the week.

They'd even stopped for coffee, until they'd all been called out to a Christmas tree farm north of Llanishen, where they'd spent the rest of the day and most of the night chasing down the strange, tentacled aliens who'd infested the trees. And of course half of the infested batch of trees had already been purchased and hauled away to happy homes, which meant tracking down every person who'd bought one, decorated it, and set their presents underneath. Fortunately, most of the trees had been found and confiscated without argument from the family or the alien in the tree, and only two families had to be Retconned when the normally quiet Cirrata had tried to strangle them. It had been a late night, though, and after a quick Christmas Eve toast, they'd all gone home exhausted.

"Are you sure about this job?" she asks. Ah, time to start on the job again. She's already asked him what he does, how does he like it, what are his coworkers like? Perhaps it's normal small talk for most people, but coming from his older sister it's more like an interrogation, and when he can't answer most of her questions, it's very difficult to reply.

"Not all the time," he tells her honestly. "Sometimes it's a bit rough around the edges." Understatement of the year. He grins to himself, thinking about their ongoing battle with the Weevil population, not to mention sex gas aliens, fairies, and time travelers. "And the hours are hard some days, but the pay is great, and it matters." He waves the knife at her before she can scoff at him. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but it does. I'm doing something important." He goes back to his potatoes, telling himself that coffee is definitely important. "Most days."

He finishes the last potato with a cry of triumph. Standing to stretch, he takes his pile of potatoes over to the pan on the stove and slides them in. Rhiannon seasons them and slides the pan into the crowded oven. Setting the dishes near the sink to be washed and dried later, Ianto goes to the refrigerator and grabs another beer. Rhiannon tries to stop him.

"Hey, that'll spoil your dinner, that will!" she says, and he rolls his eyes.

"It'll tide me over," he replies, ducking into the dining room and nabbing some cheese and biscuits from the table. "Or at least get me through the next twenty questions."

"Ianto," she says. "I'm not trying to badger you—"

"Could have fooled me!" he says cheerfully, raising the bottle in a toast, and she huffs at him.

"But we worry, mum and I. You've been back in Cardiff for months and this is what? The second time we've all had dinner together? You're family, Ianto, and that's important. Especially now, with mum…"

He stares at the bottle in his hands and sighs. In a way, she's right. They are his family, and his mum needs them both more than ever now. Yet sometimes he doesn't feel like he's a part of the family anymore. He's so different—always was, really—and he's been through so much now, he can barely relate to their lives. And he can't tell them about his, so what's the point?

"I know," he says softly. "And I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. And I will do everything I can to help mum."

"Okay," she says, nodding. She pours herself a glass of wine. "Then what are you going to do about your car?"

He shrugs. "Insurance should reimburse the value of the car, and my boss said he'd cover the rest to replace it." From the frown on her face, he realizes he's slipped.

"Your boss?"

"It happened at work," he replies.

"That's generous," she says, still sounding confused. "Must be a nice boss."

He almost spits out his beer, but his mobile vibrates in the pocket of his jeans and draws his attention instead. It's Jack, and Ianto half wonders if Jack knew they were talking about him.

The Cirrata are back! Someone sold some bad trees off the side of the road. Owen and I are tracking them down now. Busy?

Ianto sighs. He'd have a hell of a time explaining why he has to go in to work on Christmas Day, and truth be told, he's had enough of Torchwood and time travelers and aliens. He'd like one day to try and be normal, catch up with his family before they forget what he looks like, or worse. Yes, they may badger him into unconsciousness, but his mum is ill and they're his family. He texts back, not sure what to expect in reply.

Having Christmas dinner with my family in Newport.

Understood. Stay on call if we need you.

He's both surprised, and not. Jack isn't aware of his mum's situation, as Ianto prefers to keep such things private, but he knows that Ianto doesn't spend much time with his family. They'd talked about it once, before Lisa had died, and again afterward when Jack had been trying so hard to help him through it. That he's allowing Ianto to stay means something, though Ianto is not sure what it means. He's grateful, however.

Yes, sir. Thank you. Call if you need anything.

Rhiannon is watching him with a smile. "Someone special?" she asks, and once again Ianto snorts.

"Hardly," he says. "Just my boss. Work stuff."

"Right," she nods knowingly, clearly not believing him. "And does your boss always text you on Christmas or—"

She is cut off by a high pitched scream from the living room, followed by a shout, and then, "Ianto! Get the broom!"

Mica screams again. "Or a big gun!" David shouts.

Ianto exchanges a look with his sister and they hurry into the living room. Mica is curled up in her grandmother's lap, her eyes squeezed shut. David is standing in front of the tree, staring at it with wide eyes.

"There's something in there!" he says, pointing at it. A slim furry tentacle shoots out and grabs his wrist, and he yells, ripping his hand away. There is a red ring around his arm, and Ianto knows from experience that it stings. Rhiannon runs over to David, taking his hand and pulling him away from the tree.

"Baking soda and water paste," Ianto tells her over his shoulder as he slowly approaches the tree. The tree rustles ominously and a tentacle reaches out toward him. He wonders if this is part of the infestation Jack and Owen are chasing down and debates calling them when another tentacle shoots out of the tree, followed by several more.

It's big. Really big.

He takes a step closer, and the alien hisses at him from within the branches. Reaching instinctively for his gun, as this Cirrata is obviously full grown, unpredictable, and aggressive, he realizes he's left his gun locked in the glove box of the car he'd hired. "Shit."

"Ianto!" his mum whispers.

"Sorry," he replies, thinking about how to subdue the alien and not his response. "I left my gun in the car."

"Your gun?" Rhiannon exclaims.

"Cool!" David shouts, and his mum hushes him, turning back to Ianto.

"Ianto, what's going on? What is that?"

"It's a Cirrata," he tells her automatically, taking another tentative step forward to get a better look. Curled around the trunk of the tree, the creature looks like a cross between a sloth and an octopus. With the camouflage capabilities of a chameleon, its tentacles blend in like branches as it sucks the sap from the tree. It hisses at him and spits. Ianto knows—again, from experience—that any sort of contact with the alien is like getting a bad case of poison ivy, only far more painful. He still has the welts to prove it.

It's the largest creature he's seen, and the most aggressive, and he's not sure what to do with it. Most of the others had been young and small, remaining calm, quiet, and in the tree, and though they'd been prepared with tranquilizers the day before, they'd only had to use them twice. Gwen had wanted to save them, keep them at the Hub, until Jack had told her that Cirrata were nothing more than pests on their home planet, like overgrown insects who existed only to eat, sleep, and reproduce. On earth they were dangerous, sucking the sap from pine trees and excreting a substance that was poisonous for humans. He'd seen an infestation once before, back in the thirties, when a nest had grown so large that several people had been killed and several acres of land decimated. Fully grown, they could be hostile when provoked; there would be no saving them.

And yet she'd still tried talking to it like a pet, until it had wrapped its tentacles around her neck. Tosh had shot it in the head, releasing her, and after that, Gwen had understood the necessity of putting them down back at the Hub. She hadn't liked it, but none of them did; they only understood better. Now Ianto was facing one on his own, without any sort of weapon, in a confined space with civilians present.

Bloody Torchwood.

"Mum, take Mica to the kitchen and get me the biggest knife you can," Ianto says softly. He can almost feel the nervous energy from the alien, like a cornered dog, ready to attack at any moment. "Rhiannon, get that paste on David's arm, it probably hurts like hell."

"Language, Ianto," his mum murmurs, and he rolls his eyes even though she can't see him. He hears them leave the room and takes out his phone, dialing Jack's number and keeping a close eye on the tree.

"Happy Christmas!" Jack exclaims, sounding excited. "Change your mind about chasing aliens with us this lovely night?"

"No, I've got one in my house," Ianto replies. "Or rather, my sister's house. It just got my nephew."

Jack swears, abruptly serious. "Is he all right? Where are you?"

"I'm in Newport." He rattles off the address. "And he's fine, Rhiannon's got the kids in the kitchen." His mum comes back and hands him a knife. "And I've got a really big knife."

"All right. We're about fifteen minutes away, can you keep it calm until then?"

"That depends," Ianto replies dryly. "How much Retcon do you have?"

"Plenty," Jack replies. "If we need it."

His mum walks past him to gaze at the tree. A tentacle shoots out and slaps her across the face, and she falls back, surprised. "We'll need it," Ianto replies, and hangs up to help his mother.

She has a large red mark across her cheek. He guides her to the kitchen, where Rhiannon is smearing white paste on David's arm and clearly trying to stay calm. Mica is telling Johnny all about the monster in the tree, although Ianto has no idea when he appeared.

"What the hell is going on?" Johnny asks. "There's something in the tree that hit David?"

Ianto gets a clean washcloth, wets it with warm water, and smears it with baking soda. He offers it to his mother for her face before turning to Johnny. "Yes, and you're going to help me get it out."

"Like hell I will," Johnny starts, and Ianto's mum shakes her head at him.

"Language, John," she tells him. "And do as he says. He knows what he's talking about."

Ianto glances at him mother in surprise. "Well, I assume you do, since you recognized it."

"I saw it on the news," he tells them with a shrug. "Apparently they got into a number of trees. Where did you get yours?"

Johnny shrugs. "Bought it off a bloke on the road, selling them for twenty quid. Why?"

"Because it's probably part of a larger infestation. I'll need to know exactly where you got it, but we have to contain it first." He glances around the small kitchen. "I need a broom after all, and a large box." He can't shoot it since he doesn't have a gun, and he doesn't want to kill it in front of his family anyway. Jack is on his way, and he and Owen can deal with disposing of it back at the Hub. Right now Ianto needs to capture it so it doesn't injure anyone else. He motions Johnny toward the living room and tells the others to stay in the kitchen.

He grabs a blanket from the sofa and tosses it to Johnny. "All right, here's the plan. I'm going to poke it until it comes out. They're not exceptionally fast, so you throw the blanket over it, and I'll cover it with the box." He pauses. "It looks like a big one, so I might need some help holding it down."

"Holding what down?" Johnny asks, staring at the tree. It's rattling on its own, like the alien is agitated at being discovered. "What the hell is that thing?"

"It's called a Cirrata," Ianto tells him. "Strange little things that live on pine sap. Don't let it get near you, or you'll have some nice welts to show for it." He pokes the tree; the thing hisses at him and a big globule of spit flies past.

"How do you know all this?" Johnny asks, holding up the blanket and trying not to look terrified. "You didn't see it on the news."

"I spent most of the day yesterday tracking them down," Ianto replies with another poke. Six tentacles shoot out; one brushes the back of his hand, leaving a large red line. "And this is the biggest one I've seen. How the hell did you not notice a great bloody alien living in your tree?"

"It's an alien?" Johnny asks, staring at him in surprise. Ianto rolls his eyes.

"You didn't think it was Welsh, did you?"

"How the hell should I know?" Johnny demands, growing defensive. "And what the hell are you doing chasing aliens on Christmas?"

"Language!" his mother calls from the kitchen. Ianto mutters under his breath.

"My job," he says. He pokes it hard and it rewarded when it comes flying out of the tree, straight for his face. Several tentacles hit him about the head and face before he manages to smack it down with the broom. "Johnny! The blanket!"

Johnny recovers his wits and throws the blanket over it, confusing it long enough for Ianto to cover it with the box. It immediately begins jumping around, and he pushes down hard. Johnny rushes over and places a small ottoman on top. The box bounces a little, but they surround it with chairs from the dining room and then stand back to admire their makeshift cage. Ianto can't help it: he bursts out laughing, even as he feels his face starting to sting.

"Bloody hell," Johnny murmurs, eyes wide in shock.

"Jonathan Davies," Ianto's mother says, walking into the living room with the flannel still held to her face. "Stop that right now. It's Christmas and I don't want to hear that sort of language in front of the children anymore."

"It's a fucking alien," Johnny protests. "In my house!"

"And it's probably scared to death by your shouting and cursing, so put a sock in it!" She turns to Ianto, who's staring at her. "So dear, see many aliens at the tourist office then?"

And just like that, Christmas—and his life—will never be the same.

Author's Note:
I wanted to write another Christmas story, and Taamar challenged me to write about tentacles. Actually, she gave me quite a long prompt, but the tentacles were the only part that made it in. So my apologies, but I do hope you enjoy it anyway, my dear! Not as serious as my last, four parts and up quick barring any travel issues. Happy Holidays!