WHEN: New Years' Night.
WHERE: Miscellaneous rooftops and alleyways.
WHAT: Tim goes on patrol.
WHO: Red Robin, Artemis, and anyone else who prowls the roofs at night is welcome to join.

The snow was starting to melt. It made running around on the rooftops a little warmer, but a lot more dangerous. That was probably part of the appeal. Tim still made nightly patrols, but they'd gotten shorter and shorter for months now -- after Jason left; after Cass vanished... crime wasn't high enough on the island for there to be much of a point. Maybe once a week, he stopped a mugging, but other than that, it had become just a quick, hour-long prowl, exercise and training and looking out to see if anything newer and stranger had taken over the island.

For the last week, he'd been out three or four hours every night. It wasn't that he needed to clear his head. Or at least, it wasn't just that.

There was someone else out here too -- and whoever it was didn't answer on the radio frequencies he shared with Steph and Torchwood. So every night, he made another try at this little game of cat and mouse -- bat and bird? -- trying to get a closer look.

I hope that everyone had a good and safe New Year's. December was kind of a strange month for everyone, I think, but I got to share it with people I care about, and that's all I really wanted. The sweet and thoughtful gifts from my friends were just a really nice bonus. Thanks to everyone, and sorry I didn't say anything sooner.

Let's hope this year is even better, and less full of monsters and alien attacks.

EDIT: Ryoji? Is everything okay? I haven't seen you at meetings or anything lately...

I'm dead. I have to be. That is the only explanation for this ... this preposterous nonsense.

[Ianto doesn't appear to be talking to anyone in particular. His phone is resting on a window ledge, slightly skewed view as though it was not intentionally recording. The short haired Welshman was pacing back and forth, one hand on his hip, the other sliding through his hair. Hair full of dust and pieces of debris like his tattered suit. A bruise and a nasty looking cut could just be seen on his cheek when he turned a particular way. He shook his head again and threw his arms up, looking up at the night sky. ]

I'm dead or unconscious and this is all just a dream. A nightmare brought on by too many years doing this job. That has to be it. It has to be.

[His voice cracked a little at the end. He really didn't care about the fiction/nonfiction speal, the fact that his clothes were ruined, the blood running along his chin. He did not even care that this was not Cardiff. No. What really mattered was the memories flashing through his mind from just before he awoke to the lecture. Jack. Jack could survive anything, he said. But there would be nothing left of him after that. Nothing to survive. How could he possibly-

Ianto swallowed a lump in his throat, glancing down at his room assignment. This was all a nightmare. He would wake up from it in Cardiff, and the hub would be there, Jack would be alive, and everything would be okay.]

[Hey New Moore, have an Artemis again. She's even looking slightly pleasant, what do you know. Also the video is bouncing slightly - she's walking in a park, wearing normal people clothes and carrying a backpack.]

So, I need money, which means I need a job. I've looked around and done some odd lifting and carrying jobs, but I don't really have any - marketable talents other than being athletic. Anyone know of an opening for a highschool-grunt type job? I could probably do fast food, or a grocery store, or something. 

[She's come to a stop. Putting the phone on the ground, she sits down beside it and starts stretching. In the background is a sign indicating the start of the park's mile-long running loop.]

So yeah. Any recommendations?

And I wanted to say thanks to those of you who helped me get settled in. I - really appreciate it.

[And she reaches over to click it off.]

[The video opens to one (1) Rose Lalonde, sitting primly on what appears to be the carpet of a play area. Her jaw is tight and she stares the camera down in obvious annoyance.]

It seems I have been relocated.

[There's an ear-piercing shriek of laughter in the background, and a few toddlers dart on and back off camera. Her expression gets tighter.]

My erstwhile roommate has been 'released' into the wilds of actual reality, or whatever story it is that they feed us, which has left me in the position of evicted to a daycare center until such a time as a proper guardian can be procured. Apparently, essential godhood is not taken into account when discerning whether or not one can satisfactorily take care of oneself.

[A brightly-colored plastic ball, such as the kind found in ballpits, comes speeding out of nowhere. Rose catches it before it hits, with the same hand that still clutches one of her customary needles. Turning her hand palm-down, she opens her fingers. The needle falls; the ball does not.]

At least I have this truly astounding collection of Sweet Valley High novels to keep me sane.

[Or not. The ball finally unsticks itself from her hand with an unpleasant smack, and she grimaces.]