The twins were crying, which was hardly an unusual occurrence. They were a mere three months old, so crying was their only form of communication at present. Jack, of course, claimed they were very advanced for their age, clearly due to his superior fifty-first century genes, but they weren’t advanced enough to be talking.
They were probably hungry. Ianto came to that conclusion mostly because he’d only changed them fifteen minutes ago, and they had very healthy appetites for such tiny scraps. Normally, either he or Jack would hold them, trying to soothe them, while whoever didn’t have their arms full of squirmy babies would prepare their formula. Unfortunately for Ianto, Owen had called Jack an hour or so ago, needing his help with a situation he couldn’t handle himself. So much for their day off! To make matters worse, it was midweek, so Meriel was at school.
Ianto was a highly competent Torchwood agent, not to mention immortal, but for some reason, whenever he was left dealing with the twins by himself, he found himself becoming a bit… frazzled. They were so tiny, and helpless, and LOUD! He was sure Meriel had never been so loud, or so fussy.
He lifted Jenna out of her crib, cradling her in one arm, rocking her, but that just seemed to make Gareth cry harder. Swapping them over resulted in Jenna’s wails increasing in volume. This obviously wasn’t going to work. Ianto couldn’t pick up both twins at once, and anyway, he needed both hands to fix their bottles.
“Nosy! Thank goodness you’re still here, I don’t have enough hands!”
With a reassuring hum, the Fluff arranged its long body in coils, creating two soft, furry nests, and with a sigh of relief Ianto popped one baby into each, where they were cradled securely, rocked soothingly back and forth by gentle undulations. Nosy hummed quietly, as if singing them a lullaby, and while it didn’t stop their crying, it did at least serve to reduce the volume.
Leaving the babies in safe hands, so to speak, Ianto dashed off to the kitchen to prepare two bottles of formula. He was back in five minutes, kneeling beside Nosy to plug one bottle into each hungry mouth. The twins weren’t able to hold their own bottles, and Nosy, thanks to its lack of hands, couldn’t grip them either, which left the Fluff holding the babies and Ianto holding the bottles. He was in a slightly awkward position, but it hardly mattered; the hungry wails were gone, replaced by contented sucking sounds, as close to blissful silence as he could hope for under present circumstances.
Bottles finished, Ianto rearranged his son in Nosy’s coils and cradled his youngest daughter against his shoulder, patting her back gently until he was rewarded with a loud burp. Gareth soon obliged Nosy with one of his own.
“I think we handled that crisis pretty well, don’t you?”
“Hum!” Nosy agreed, as Gareth gurgled happily. Baby-care was easy.