dc_blythe

*puts an enormous layer cake with butter frosting on the table*

*doesn't know exactly when Harley was 'born', but has chosen the day we found him as the day to celebrate his birth*

Okay, Harley...you're gonna love this...Peter, you've got the camera? Good. Just have to light the candle here...the cake looks amazing, Kevin, you've really outdone yourself...and...right. Now Harley, you make a wish and blow out the candle, and we can all have some cake!

*returns home with a suntan and several large boxes*

*struggling to keep the boxes from falling; Peter trailing close behind and wrestling with a similar load*

*from behind the topmost box*

Harley? Kevin? Got a surprise for you.

*puts down the boxes with some relief and dials Ianto's cell phone*

Hi, Ianto. Blythe. Yeah, just got back. We've got a parcel for you here if you'd like to come and get it. Yeah, I thought I'd call first; I know how your lot are with people showing up uninvited. Alright, see you soon.

*rings off and helps Peter unpack the boxes*

*browsing through the photo album Tessie brought for me*

*adds some pictures of Harley*

*smiles*

*carefully takes the small envelope of Peter's baby pictures out...and finally opens it*

*goes through them*

*can't help smiling...he was a looker, even back then*

*studies the picture of him with his parents...trying to puzzle out what sort of people could be so horrible to their own child...and considers throwing it away*

*but can't*

*after some tense indecision, puts it back in with the others*

*sighs*

*follows Peter outside from the kitchen*

*doesn't say anything*

*waits for him to storm off again, or shout at me*

*relaxing at home, sitting on the sofa with Peter, having the occasional sip of lager (thank god for the winery down the road that carries decent imports)*

*watching Creature Comforts*

*nudges Peter*

What if we were on there? What d'you reckon we'd be?

*looks you over thoughtfully, not quite able to suppress a cheeky grin*

They've never had a giraffe on yet, have they?

*going through Invitations list*

Peter? Does this look about right to you?

my relatives (Tessie, Sylvia, Darren, Margaret, Nan, aunties, uncles, cousins, etc)
Ianto and the Torchwood crew
Kevin
Pfred
Martha
Doctor Holloway
Penelope (if she's still getting post wherever she is)
Reinette
Doctor Joyce (we should, really, it's his house)
Bellino and the Ood (although they'll already be there)
Giac and Henriette (address?)

talk to Kevin re: having Harley be the ringbearer - ask Pfred to be flower girl?

*watches you look over the names - pause, hesitantly*

Are you sure there's no one else you want to invite? No family, or anything? No one you even want to tell?

*snug in bed with Peter in our room at the bed and breakfast...wrapped in each other's arms under the clean crisp air-laundered sheets; a gentle breeze from the open window playing across the moonlit room*

( *dreaming* )

*I wake up, opening my eyes to see Peter's sweet sleeping face on the pillow beside me*

*smiles*

*kisses him gently, not enough to wake him, and snuggles in close, dropping off to sleep again almost at once*

*doesn't remember the dream the next morning*

Kevin? When you've got a moment, could I have a word?

*looking all over the house for Dad's old coin collection*

*wants to give it to Harley someday, but can't remember where I put it*

*pawing through desk drawers and cupboards, getting more and more frantic...Dad gave Darren his watch, but at least he gave me the coins because I used to like playing with them as a kid*

*tries to calm down and think of the last place I saw them...they're not in the safe deposit box...coins going back to Roman times, and one or two from even before that...*

*goes to the closet, sorting through boxes, opening one marked 'Goodwill'...and gets a nasty shock*

*sees the clothes I was wearing when the Circus took me, covered with filthy bits of straw*

*stares for a few seconds...thought Peter got rid of them...is sure he did...and then finds a note from Tom sticking out of one of the pockets: 'souvenir boss HAR HAR'*

*suddenly jumps back, yelping in pain and surprise as something long and thin falls over and whacks me on the head*

*picks up the cattle prod, face hard and expressionless for several seconds...and then explodes in a rage, battering the box with the prod, ripping the cardboard to shreds; tearing the clothes apart and smashing the prod into bent twisted bits of metal*

*finally slumps down against the wall, spent, head in hands...surrounded by the carnage, panting and trembling and struggling for control*

*writes*

Well, after a bit of a scare we've got our little lad back again. He seems none the worse for it, though he was a bit wary of me just afterwards. I don't blame him if that thing was wearing my face to frighten him. He does seem a bit more quiet, though, like he's trying to work something out.

It could just be his way of dealing with it, though. He's a pretty sensitive little chap. He saw a cartoon where a baby rabbit got its carrot stolen and cried for ages. Saw another one where a rooster lost its voice and cried for an hour. Poor sweet kid. Then when he was in the coma I guess someone told him that babies hatch out of eggs, and he thought that meant the breakfast eggs in the kitchen. (Took us twenty minutes to calm him down -- he thought we were eating babies every morning. Thankfully he hasn't asked where babies do come from yet though -- think I'll let Peter handle that one if he does.)

He also cried over a book his teacher read to him. Gave him a pretty bad nightmare. Still haven't tracked it down, and I haven't seen his teacher for a bit either, come to that. Might look into finding someone else anyway -- I don't think this Mr Logan bloke believes Harley's just a few months old. I think he thinks he's backwards or stupid, and he's not. For just a little fellow he isn't half clever. Heard him ask Kevin the other day if fish ever got thirsty, or if the heater ever ran out of breath.

I don't know where we'd get the money for a teacher, though -- that Logan bloke was on the Gates' payroll. I've got an idea, but I'll have to run it by Peter and Kevin first before we

*gets up for a glass of water*

*sits by Harley's bedside*

*reads him stories about Noddy and Olivia and Alexander; about Sneetches and woozles and pale green pants and dogs that have parties in trees*

*sings him some of his favourite lullabyes that mum used to sing to me*

*sighs wearily and strokes his hair back from his forehead*

I love you sweetheart. Please come back.

*wipes eyes and resumes singing*

*asleep, crying softly*

I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, Peter, I took it back, I tried to take it back...

*whole body tenses suddenly, writhing against some unseen foe...and then collapses back into near-silent tears*

I know. I know I do...you're right. I deser -

*tenses again, limbs and back as rigid as steel...and collapses again*

I'm sorry I'm sorry oh god please Peter don't be dead I don't want you to be dead...

*sits at the table, scribbling again*

Our Harley got his first piece of mail the other day - a postcard from Jimmy. I think every single person in the house has read it to him at least twice. Now he wants to learn to read, and he's hardly giving poor Kevin any peace. It's a bit unsettling how quickly he's progressing -- he's already starting to recognise letters, and points and yells out his own name whenever he sees an 'H' on the telly or something.

He's still as mad for the painting as ever, and has been trying to paint his football, with limited success -- he can't quite grasp how the paint keeps wearing off it.

There's a lot that's strange and wonderful and unusual about a kid like Harley, but he's such a sweet little chap that you forget how special he is -- until something reminds you. Such as:

He moves and gestures exactly like Peter; is the image of our Darren when he smiles; and speaks like a native South African. (picked it up from Kevin; wonder will it stick?)

Watching Kevin teach him how to wash his hands, how to brush his teeth -- and how to shave.

Watching him create artwork in ten minutes I could never hope to match in ten years -- and then watching him cry in frustration because he can't tie his shoelaces. (Know just how he feels. Took me ages to learn.)

So far no more word re: the Circus. Really hope what Jimmy and Kevin said about him being safe is true. If we're all very lucky, the worst thing we'll have to protect him from now is knowing how he came to be, and came into our lives -- but we can't hide it from him forever. He's already got a fascination for baby pictures, and it's only a matter of time before he starts asking why there aren't any baby photos of him about. I only hope we know what to say when

*stops writing and puts pen down, rubbing face tiredly*

*in the bathroom adjoining our bedroom*

*curled up in one corner of the shower, naked, hugging knees to chest, letting the water fall against me without really feeling it*

*staring into space*

*bursts into the other room and finds Kevin just putting Penny down for a nap*

Kevin. We need to talk. Now.

*imparts by body language and expression that it might be better to talk outside in the corridor*

*sits at the table in Doctor Joyce's study, scribbling in the least frilly-looking 'Baby's First Year' scrapbook I could find*

Our baby Harley was born on: ????
Came home from the hospital on: *fills in the date we found him*
First solid food: Applesauce.
First tooth came in on: Always had a full set.

*skips all the ones about first sitting up, rolling over, crawling and walking, etc, and skips some others, realising I'll have to consult Kevin for them*

First word/s: 'Mummy' and 'Jimmy'
First sentence: 'Can I have some cake?' (and second, and third, and twentieth...)
Favorite food: Cake.
Favorite color: All of them.
Favorite toy: His paints. Although Kevin got him a football a while ago and he seems fairly keen.
Favorite clothes: His railroad train jim-jams.
Favorite song: Mum's lullabyes and 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'.

Notes: It's hard to fill in one of these things with a kid like Harley. But here goes. He's smart, a bit cheeky (wonder where he got that from?), and so good-natured it's almost unreal. He likes games and hugs, even though he's either used to hugging Kevin or he doesn't know his own strength yet -- my ribs are sore for hours after a Harley hug-attack. He's a genius at painting, and a frighteningly quick learner -- in regular baby terms, he's only a few months old, and he's already starting to form complete sentences.

My only fear is that   I wonder how he will react when we have to tell him how he came to    I'm glad he doesn't know yet how he was     If anyone with a grudge against the circus ever

I hope we can protect him.

*creeps into our bedroom*

*takes out a box of Mars bars and arranges them carefully on the bed*

*stands back and admires the result...a picture of a heart with an arrow shot through it, drawn in Mars bars on a duvet canvas*


*smiles, satisfied*

*sneaks back out*

*sleeps fitfully*

( *thrashes in the grip of a nightmare* )

*gasps awake, crying out and drenched in sweat*

*enters the study*

*goes to the window and clutches the sill for support*

*leans forehead against the cold hard glass, closing my eyes tight*

*tries to get myself under control*

*sneaks into Daniel Joyce's study, clutching the stolen goods and a water pistol*

*looks around, taking in the layout and hunting for tactical advantages*

*spots a small cabinet underneath one of the bookshelves that Peter will never think I could fit into, and squeezes inside*

*carefully closes the door*

*checks watch - I still have two minutes left on my head start*

*sets about disposing of the evidence*

*unwraps the Mars bar I took from the full box on Peter's dresser and crams it into my mouth*

*huddles in the cabinet, chewing laboriously and clutching the water pistol close in classic robber fashion, waiting for the copper to find me*