Title: Evolution ()4/?)
Author: Emma
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Rhys Williams, others
Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack and Ianto in it!
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?
Summary: Rhys Williams has his own monsters to fight, but why can't he remember?
Author’s Note: This story takes place in a totally different AU from Homecoming. In this one, Gwen and Owen died at the end of TW2.
Prologue is here; Part one is here; Part two is here ; Part three is here

        Waking up after being shot and then shot full of pain killers, muscle relaxants, antibiotics, and God knows what else is not a pleasant experience. In the movies, the brave hero opens his eyes in a pleasant room to find the beautiful, plucky heroine – Nicole Kidman or maybe Siena Miller – looking down at him with admiration. Reality’s not that kind. I woke up to find Andy Davidson and Ianto Jones at the foot of my bed looking like the Inland Revenue come to collect.

        “When did you regain your memory?” Ianto asked.

        The cool, disinterested tone pissed me off. “You bloody bastard. You steal my memories, you bloody exile me from everything and everyone I know, and you swan in here and think you can start asking questions?”

        He looked at me for a long moment, and then turned to Andy. “I’ll send Martha in.”

   
        I watched him leave, and couldn’t resist a few more digs. “You were supposed to be my friend, and Gwen’s. And you let him do this? The faithful Ianto, always helping his Captain, no matter how dirty the job?”

        He seemed about to stop for a moment, but kept moving without looking back. The click of the lock behind him sounded like a gunshot. I flopped back against the pillow, blinking back tears.

        “You stupid git.”

        I looked at Andy. Torchwood had changed him in the same way it had changed Gwen. Gone was the over-eager coltishness, the easily read expression; in their place was cool self-assurance and a studied blankness that would have done a professional gambler proud. That didn’t keep me from realizing he was angry enough to rip my head off.


        “Sticking to Torchwood, right, Andy? No matter what they do. Didn’t take you long to step into Gwen’s shoes.”

        He examined me like a scientists studying a particularly exotic bug under a microscope. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down.

        “When Gwen died you went crazy. Insisted you wanted to forget everything except Gwen. Ianto begged you not to. He said it would be like losing Gwen all over again. You didn’t care. You wanted out of Torchwood, you said. Sometimes you even went on tirades against Gwen for choosing us over you. You were a right fucking mess, Rhys.”

        “Jesus, Andy.”

        “Then you tried to kill yourself. Don’t look at me like that. If you don’t believe me I can show you the CCTV tapes. We have them neatly filed in Archives. You jumped into the river with your pockets filled with rocks. You nearly did it too, except Toshiko had taken to tracking you down on CCTV, and she warned Jack. Two days after you got out of hospital Ianto retconned you. It was his suggestion that you call Eddie Dingell.”

        “Why?”

        “Because you needed a fresh start, and you’d always talked about Woodstall as one of the best times of your life.” He leaned back. “Ianto thought you needed a chance, to, well, get back to being you.”

        I rubbed my eyes. I had never felt so ashamed in my whole life. “Why can’t I remember that? I remember weevils, and the pterodactyl, and even John fucking Hart, but I can’t remember Ianto’s kindness.”

   
        Andy shrugged. “Retcon affects everyone differently. Some people never get back all their memories. Some get it at different speeds, like their brain is choosing what’s important, and handing that over first.”

        The door opened and a woman in a lab coat came in. My brain supplied her name: Martha Jones. She was an UNIT doctor, and a companion of the alien called the Doctor, and one of Jack’s closest friends.

        “Hello, Rhys.”

        “Doctor Jones. Nice to see you again.”

        She smiled, and it was like the sun had broken through the clouds. “Really?”

        “Yeah. It’s like coming home, you know?” I remembered she was married to another doctor. “How’s Tom?”

        Her smile turned heartbreakingly sad. “Tom died two years ago. Plane accident in Africa.”

        I stuttered out some of the useless words everyone says at moments like these. She patted my hand. “I wasn’t able to come to Cardiff for Gwen’s funeral and by the time I did, you were gone. I’m sorry too. I like Gwen.”

        “Thank you.” Trying to get us past the awkwardness of the moment I asked the question that had been forefront in my mind since waking up. “So, am I allowed to ask what’s going on? Or am I to be retconned again?”

        “That’s not fair,” she chided me gently. “You chose it for yourself.”

        “But I’m not Torchwood any longer, and I? I don’t think anyone will ask my opinion.”

        “You’d be surprised. Can you sit up?”

        Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a slim wand with a bulbous head and a row of buttons set along its side. She ran it up and down my arm, lingering over the bandages.

        “You’re clear.”

        “Clear of what?”

        “Infection.” Ianto stood by the door. “Martha, UNIT has sent over those lab reports you wanted, and Jack wants a progress report on them by this afternoon.”

        She looked at him as if infected with my suspicions. “And you?”

        “I’m going to debrief Rhys. Don’t worry, Martha. Even if I wanted to retcon him, Jack wouldn’t let me. Go on, get. He’ll be fine."