Title: Evolution (6/?)
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 ; Part four is here ; Part five is here

          Getting me out of hospital this time was just a matter of getting the A&E doctor to sign a couple of forms releasing me into Martha’s care. Watching her con the hapless, overworked bloke I wondered if she had taken lessons from Captain Gorgeous or whether it was a case of like calling to like. It seemed to me a lot of Torchwood folk could lie through their teeth without batting an eye.

 

            Just as well I had a pretty good built-in bullshit detector.

 

            I napped most of the way back to Woodstall; the Torchwood monster SUVs are nothing if not comfortable. Martha insisted on riding in the back with me, to keep a medical eye on me. When Andy snarked that a flesh wound in the shoulder was probably much less painful than some horses’ kicks, he was told to mind his own business. Ianto wisely kept his mouth shut, but he rolled his eyes at me as he held the door.

 

            At one point I woke up to find that I had fallen against Martha and was sleeping with my head tucked into her shoulder. I had been dreaming of walking in a field of dark-red roses that some had dusted with cinnamon and gold dust. As I came fully awake I realized it was Martha’ perfume I was smelling.

 

            “It’s you,” I mumbled.

 

            She chuckled. “Are you quite awake, Rhys?”

 

            I could feel my tongue tripping over itself even before I opened my mouth. “Ah… yeah. Sorry, I was just…”

 

            “It’s me, what?” she interrupted my blathering. At my confused look, she explained. “Right before you woke up you said it’s you.”

 

            “Ah… your perfume. I was dreaming of a field of roses sprinkled with cinnamon and gold. Weird, eh?”

 

            “Spicy roses. They grow in one of the moons of Isshasar and bloom only once every hundred years. The perfume is ridiculously expensive. The Doctor gave me about a quart for my birthday three years ago.” She giggled. “It’s guaranteed never to lose strength. I’ll be wearing it when I’m ninety. The man has no clue.”

 

            I lay back, grinning. Everything was back to normal. At least, Torchwood-normal.

 

            The stable yard was suspiciously quiet when we arrived. In my experience the appearance of Torchwood was preceded by explosions and followed by a month’s worth of cleanup. Woodstall seemed to be going through its usual paces at its usual speed. The only signs of invasion was the customized lorry parked on the space usually reserved for our horse transport. I figured Captain Gorgeous was somewhere around, charming everyone in sight into doing whatever he wanted them to do.

 

            I was getting really worried.

 

            I trusted Ianto, and Andy, and even Martha. In spite of what they did for a living, they were as human as I was, and pretty decent folk in their own way.  Jack Harkness was a different story altogether. Gwen had told me about Jasmine, and Tommy, and Flat Holm; Jack, she’d said, made hard decisions because his devotion was to the human race, not to individuals. I didn’t trust Jack not to make a hard decision about the baby if he thought it was necessary.

 

            Thomas opened the door before we even had a chance to knock. He had that wild look in his eyes I used to get when I got dragged into Torchwood business. “Rhys, what is going on here? Who the hell are these people?”

 

            “We’ll answer your question, Mr. Woodstall,” Ianto stepped in smoothly, “inside. Let’s not give anyone easy targets.”

 

            Martha took my arm and pulled me along. “I need to treat the shoulder again, Rhys.”

 

            “I thought the A&E guy said I was all set.”

 

            “Don’t be silly. I’ve got something that will cut your recovery time in half.” I must have made a face, because she snickered. “Don’t worry. I can personally guarantee it’s going to work as advertised. No surprises.”

 

            “Casting aspersions on Martha’s abilities, Rhys?”

 

            Everyone turned towards the stairs as if pulled by strings; some things never changed, and Jack’s flair for making an entrance was obviously one of them. There he was, big as life, twice as handsome, and three times as dangerous. He still wore the RAF coat, but Ianto’s influence was plainly visible in the perfectly tailored trousers, heather green jumper and polished half-boots. Expertly cradled in the crook of his elbow was the baby.

 

            I was surprised to find I was glad to see him.

 

            “Nope,” I answered his sarcastic little challenge, “just your equipment.”

 

            “Are you angling for a demonstration?”

 

            “Now, boys,” Martha said, not quite succeeding in stifling a giggle. “If you keep this up, I’ll exile you to the barn with the other stallions. Come on upstairs, Rhys. The sooner I can treat you, the faster you’ll heal.”

 

            “Wait a bit, Martha. Jack what are you going to do with the baby?” I looked down at the pretty little girl in his arms.  “Hello, there… We need to give her a name.”

 

            “She has one. Meet Eowyn Rose Harkness-Jones.” He tickled her under the chin and she chuckled and grabbed at his finger. “Rosie, this is your uncle Rhys.”