Title: Evolution (13/?)

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…

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.

Author’s Note: Sorry about the delay. This just has not been my month. First the root canal, the my father comes down with a massive stomach virus that nearly puts him in the hospital… and guess what happens to people who nurse people with stomach viruses? You betcha. Projectile vomiting is NOT fun, folks!

Prologue is here; 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 ; Part nine is here; Part ten is here ; Part eleven is here ; Part twelve is here

          The Jones farmhouse could have come straight off a tourist postcard: a two story white-washed cottage with a stone barn a short distance behind it and a perfect cottage garden just coming into spring bloom, all surrounded by a waist high stone fence, with a hill rising behind it dotted with old pear and plum trees.

 

            Jack swung the SUV to a stop across the gate, blocking access to the house. I wondered what the ever prim and proper Mrs. Jones would think of having her beautiful perfection invaded.

 

            After knocking several times and getting no answer, Jack pulled a slim leather wallet out of his pocket. “Euan, Rhys, you know the area. Search the barn and the grounds. Ianto, Thomas, you’ll take the ground floor. Martha, with me.”

 

            “Hey!” Euan objected. “You can’t just break into someone’s house!”

 

            “I think you’ll find that under Torchwood authority I can do pretty much whatever I need to do.” He extracted a pick from the wallet. “But if you go now, you can say with a clear conscience that you didn’t see me.”

 

            Euan made a sound that could have passed for laughter if you didn’t know him. “You’re everything they say you are, aren’t you? Come on then, Rhys.”

 

            I followed him along a flagstone path leading to the back of the house. Roses lined both sides of the path and climbed up the cottage wall. They were not yet in bloom, but primroses, daffodils, and wild violets had made their appearance. Immediately to the right of the cottage’s back door there was a neat kitchen garden with tiny greenhouse, and a beautiful old pear tree with a wrought iron table and chairs set close to it.

 

            The path joined a similar one that started at the back door and led to the barn. The building looked impressively solid. It had been built flush against the hill with doors at either end.

 

            “Ollie and I used to play here on rainy days.” Euan pushed door nearest us open. “Wait until you see it.”

 

            He started to go in and I pulled him back. “Jesus, Euan, we’re looking for a killer here. Can you at least look where you’re going before you rush in?”

 

            He flushed, then nodded and pulled out his gun. “Ok. Light switch is to the left. I’ll go in first.”

 

            We did our hero thing and found ourselves smirking at each other in a deserted barn. I looked around. The building had been framed with thick wood beams which had been left exposed. Every inch of the wood had been carved. Trees, animals, flowers, castles, cottages, dragons – a fantastic jumble done in gorgeous detail.

 

            “Ollie’s grandfather made furniture, a lot of it for our place. This was his hobby.”

 

            "It’s like using a cathedral to store junk.” I looked at the piles of mouldering stuff. “At least they left some space to maneuver. You take that side, I’ll take this one.”

 

            “What are we looking for?”

 

            “I think that’s in we know it when we find it territory.”

 

            We worked in silence for a while, but I could almost feel his need to ask questions. “Out with it, Euan.”

 

            “One of my uni mates is a captain in UNIT’s counterintelligence branch. Are the stories he tells about Harkness true?”

 

            “I’d say multiply everything he’s told you by ten and you’d be closer.”

 

            “Wow. According to Harry, he was notorious for his… ah… escapades…”

 

             I understood what was driving the question. In spite of his brilliance, Euan was never going to have the career he deserved; his inability to suffer fools and what his superiors called his alternative lifestyle would keep him a village constable all his life. “You planning to ask for a job?”

 

            “Maybe.” He nosed about in an old trunk. “Is it possible, you think?”

 

            “I wouldn’t know. But if you’re really interested, ask Ianto, not Jack.” At his inquiring hum, I explained. “Jack’s first instinct will be to say no. Ianto will make you understand exactly what it is you’d be getting into. Then he might decide to talk to Jack about it.”

 

            “Harry says that UNIT has a book going on how long the marriage will last. Lots of people have already lost money.”

 

            “If I can get in on the action, I’ll take the until Ianto Jones dies bet.”

 

            “Lucky bastard.”

 

            “Yeah, Jack’s very lucky.” He straightened up, rubbing the small of my back. “There’s nothing here. What’s next?”

 

            “The orchard on the other side of the hill.”

 

            We left the grounds proper and followed a dirt path up the hill. There were roses here too, the five-petalled kind my mum called dog roses, climbing over the rocks. The ground was squishy underfoot, so oversaturated that footprints disappeared at few moments after you lifted your foot.

 

            It was a short climb and soon the ground sloped down again into a pocket valley with a small apple orchard taking up most of the space. The path widened into a kind of road, obviously so that a small truck could be driven close to the pickers at harvest time. To one side, rocks had been grouped to create a little sitting area around an open fire pit.

 

            Someone was slumped over the rocks. Even from a distance we could see the blood running down into the ground beneath.

 

            We ran down, tripping on loose pebbles and sliding on mud. Euan got there before me. He knelt next to the body and turned it over. It was Mrs. Jones. She was alive, but it was obvious even to me that she wasn’t going to survive the severe beating she had taken.

 

            “Mrs. Jones,” Euan picked her up and cradled her gently. “Who did this to you?”

 

            Her eyelids flickered and she looked at us. Her eyes already had that empty look dying people get at the end. She tried to say something and finally managed a whisper. “Under the rose.”