Title: The Hour of the Wolf (9/10)

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Torchwood Three team and their offspring

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Spoilers: None. This takes place in my Homecoming AU, four years or so after The Eye of Neith.

Summary: Something is happening in St. Catherine’s Glen, and whatever it is will change the Cooper-Williams family forever…

Part one is here ; Part two is here; Part three is here; Part four is here; Part five is here; Part six is here ; Part seven is here ; Part eight is here

 

            Jack watched Gwen and Yan as they sat on the floor near Pryce. Their heads were close together and there was a great deal of fierce whispering going on. Jack felt a little sorry for Gwen; even as a young boy Yan had possessed the ability of driving his mother into raving fits with his mulishness. From her expression, the only thing keeping his second from turning some of the valuable antiques in the Torchwood library into missiles was the urgent need to keep their hiding place a secret.

 

            “We’ll have some uncomfortable dinner hours around the house,” Rhys murmured, “and it’ll get worse after Pryce is well.”

 

            “You don’t have to worry,” Jack said, “they’re not going to suffer any more because of Torchwood.”

 

            Rhys took Jack’s arm and forced him to turn around until they were face to face. “Did you get into the good single malt and didn’t share? My children are going to suffer because of Torchwood no matter what. How often have you and I sat in a waiting room praying Gwen or Ianto or Andy or John or Martha make it, hoping we don’t have to explain to the children that their mother or uncle or aunt will not be coming back? How many stories have we told them about Uncle Owen and Aunt Toshiko? Do you think there are going to be no more Daleks or Cybermen or haemavores in the future? There is nothing you can do to protect them, Jack, no matter how hard you try.” He took a deep breath. “And I wouldn’t want you to.”

 

            “Rhys…”

 

            “No. Listen. They are adult. Still young, but not children anymore. They have a right to their own lives, their own dangers, and their own grief. Even if it breaks our hearts. I’d rather they be here with you rather than join Torchwood One or UNIT and don’t tell me that wouldn’t happen. I know my kids.”

 

            “Gwen won’t be happy.”

 

            “That’s the most wildly optimistic thing I’ve ever heard you say.  The nice thing is that I get to sit it out, and, if you play your cards right, so do you.”

 

            “You don’t think she’ll scream at us?”

 

            Rhys gave him an incredulous look. “She’ll scream like a Cardiff City fan at the FA Cup final, but the fight is between her and the boys. For once, you and I have cover.”

 

            “Well, thank God for that.” Jack strolled over to an exquisitely crafted floor globe standing in an alcove behind the desk. “And I definitely know where the good stuff is.”

 

            He pressed his thumb against the Scotland part of the British Isles and the globe split in two along the equator. Inside were two cut glass decanters and a set of glasses.

 

            “Pour me one too while you’re at it.” Ianto strolled out from between some cabinets on the far corner of the room. “I think I need it.”

 

            Jack did not miss the subtle signs of exhaustion. “Overdoing it, cariad?”

 

            “Just a bit. TARDIS did most of the hard work, but I’m new at this. I still have to think about things before I do them. I’ll get better. The good news is most of the Brethren are out on the glen chasing a nonexistent Torchwood team.” He shrugged and tossed back the drink Jack handed him. “Whoa. I should have been more respectful to Charlie’s best.”

 

            Rhys sipped at his own drink. “Are they all gone?”

 

            “No. Jane and two of the monks stayed behind to keep an eye on the host. It’s practically helpless in daylight.”

 

            Rhys poured some more scotch in his glass. “I think I’ll take some of this to Gwen. It’ll take the edge off. Jack, how are we going to get to the observatory? We have to carry Pryce. Don is near catatonic, and Merry keeps on dropping in and out of consciousness…”

 

            “We might not need to move all of them.” Jack said. “Rhys, check on Don and see how much we can expect from him. Ianto, can TARDIS figure out what exactly is happening to Merry?”

 

            *The boy’s body was being prepared to trap the haemavore.*

 

            Jack’s grin told Ianto he also could hear TARDIS. Jack always seemed elated when the old Teacher communicated directly with him. *I don’t understand.*

 

            *In some cultures haemavores are viewed much in the same fashion as demons were on Earth at one time: powerful beings that could be bound to your will with certain ceremonies and potions. The trick is to trap it into an especially prepared host. Once helpless it could be coerced.*

 

            *So the monks are not serving the haemavore as much as using it?*

 

            *Indeed.*

 

            *What about the boy?* Ianto asked.

 

            *Let us examine him.* As usual, precise instructions followed. *There is a chance that if the process has not yet reached the critical stage we can reverse it.*

 

            Merry was lying in one of the big club chairs grouped around the fireplace. He had curled up into as tight a ball as he could manage, and someone had thrown a heavy carriage rug over him, but he was still cold and clammy and his teeth chattered incessantly. A thin trickle of blood-tinged saliva ran from the corner of his mouth to stain the sleeve of his t-shirt. He looked absurdly young and fragile.

 

            Ianto knelt by the chair and ran his hands lightly over the boy’s head and chest.  Merry was burning up. His heart was beating so fast and hard that Ianto didn’t need heightened senses to detect it, and his sweat and saliva smelled oddly metallic. If Ianto didn’t know any better, he would think that Merry’s body was trying to fight off an infection.

 

            *That is exactly what it is doing. The treatment was not completed, or the potion was of insufficient strength.*

 

             Ianto produced the little vial Yan had given him. *Yan procured some from the infirmary.*

 

            *Let’s see. Yes. The potion is not quite correct. They are using the oil of mistletoe as the closest earth homologue, but it could produce an allergic reaction on the host. For it to work properly the body should have been prepared from childhood. The boy is lucky. If he is not possessed within eight hours he will return to normal. We can slow down his heart and strengthen his immune response a little. It will give him a better chance to fight off the effects.*

 

            They worked slowly – at least it felt like hours to Ianto – but when he stood up his time sense informed him only fifteen minutes had passed. He found Jack standing patiently behind him.

 

            “He seems better.”

 

            “I think he’ll be ok if everything works out. The only thing we need to worry about is Pryce’s wound. We can hide Merry and Don in the passageway.”

 

            “Yeah. Yan can stand guard.”

 

            “He won’t like that.”

 

            “Tough. He wants to be a Torchwood agent, he learns to follow hard orders.”

 

            Gwen walked up to them, holding her PDA. “Andy sent us some information. The police found Francis Hadley dead this morning. He had been strangled with a knotted rope.”

 

            “Like a monk’s belt?” Jack asked.

 

            She nodded. “Andy and John got to Conway ahead of the police. He’s still alive, but only because he hadn’t been in the house when the monk showed up. One of his security guards is dead and the other in hospital.”

 

            “Did he know why the Brethren were trying to kill him?” Jack asked.

 

            “Yeah. It seems that there are families in the Brethren whose job it is to raise possible hosts. If by the time they reach thirty there’s no haemavore in sight the hosts are expected to marry and produce the next generation. Conway told Andy it’s never happened, so most of the families don’t really take it seriously. Conway was supposed to be preparing Merry from the time he was five or six but he didn’t. When Booth realized what he had done… well, disobeying the Brethren means instant death.”

 

            “What about Hadley?”

 

            “He was obsessed with protecting his oldest son. He figured one male child was as good as another, so he sent Don instead. Bad mistake.”

 

            “What a fantastic bunch,” Jack growled. “All right, we have two or three hours before we can move. Let’s thrash out the details…”

 

            The knock made them all jump. Jack pointed at Gwen then at Yan and Pryce; then he repeated the gesture with Rhys and Ianto, pointing them towards Merry and Don. He unholstered the Webley as he moved noiselessly towards the door.

 

            “Captain Harkness?” Jack could hear the suppressed hysteria in Jane’s voice. “Jack, please. We need to talk.”

 

            “So talk.”

 

            “Please. The… whatever it is… I don’t think it’s a haemavore, I think Booth got it wrong. He wants it so much, he craves power, but I don’t think she’s what he thinks she is.”

 

            “She?”

 

            “Yes. It’s a female, and Jack, she’s not like anything I’ve read about in the records. I’m telling you there’s something really wrong here. Please let us in.”

 

            “Jane, take a guess at how old I am and then ask me again.”

 

            “Jack, please.”

 

            “You smell like him.” The new voice was gentle, and full of a longing that tore at Jack’s heart. “Different, but same.”

 

            “Like who?”

 

            “The Doctor. He was my friend for a little while.”