Torchwood Fic: Evolution (14/?)

[merucha]

Title: Evolution (14/?)

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: This chapter was meant to go a little differently, but Rhys and Martha insisted that they wanted to have their first snog… what can I tell you? They’re stubborn!

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; Part thirteen is here
 

          I called Ianto from the orchard to tell him about Mrs. Jones. He asked me to come back to the house while he and Jack went to deal with the usual police business. I passed them on the way up and gave them a short report on our earlier search of the barn and grounds. Jack nearly snarled when I mentioned Mrs. Jones’s last words. He didn’t have to say anything; from what I had seen, Mrs. Jones had a real passion for roses. Searching under each and every one of these bushes was going to use up a lot of time and manpower.

 

            Martha met me in the kitchen, tea mug in one hand and a gun on the other. She grimaced when I looked at it and raised my eyebrows at her.

 

            “I hate the things, but Jack insists everyone be competent in using them.” She returned it to the holster at her hip. “He’s right, damn it.”

 

            “I wasn’t commenting on the gun,” I said. “You’re Torchwood. It’s more the whole look.”

 

            “Whole look?”

 

            “All you need is a swishy coat.”

 

            She looked down at herself in surprise. She was wearing a pale green jumper, dark trousers, and half-boots.

 

            “You prat.” She laughed. “I’m just comfortable.”

 

            “Oh, no, Doctor Jones. Comfortable is the last thing you bring to mind.”

 

            “I’m glad.” She smiled at me, and then abruptly turned serious. “Can you stand it, Rhys? You lost one wife to Torchwood. If we… I love what I do.”

 

            I kept a straight face but part of me wanted to burst out in song or something equally silly. She had said one wife, not your wife, implying the smallest possibility  of a chance that the darling Doctor Jones was thinking long term.

 

            “A few years ago, I think I would have said something different, but now? People die. Tom died in a plane crash. My favorite cousin died when she slipped on a wet sidewalk and hit her head on a cobblestone. Someday Ianto will die and leave Jack behind… Hell, we will all die and leave Jack behind. You can’t stop death. All we can do is love and hope for the best.” I took her hand. “So, this being Torchwood and all, are we absolutely positively certain that we’re not under the influence of a sex-crazed alien? Or some sort of aphrodisiac from a planet halfway across the galaxy?”

 

            She giggled. She giggled! “I don’t think so.”

 

            “Well, then…”

 

            I pulled her close. If the first kiss was a bit tentative, the second one more than made up for it. Duw, but Doctor Jones could kiss! She was soft, and she tasted of coffee, and mint, and something that was just Martha, and for the first time in a very long time I felt like living, not just existing.

 

            Just as we were learning to survive without much oxygen, someone behind us cleared their throat. Martha tightened her arms around my neck to keep me in place – no guilty jumping apart for Doctor Martha Jones, thank you very much – and gave me a final lingering press of lips on lips before we turned to face Jack, Ianto, and Euan.

 

            “So, Martha,” Jack slow drawl warned me that the troublemaker in him was itching to come out and play, “find anything? Medically speaking, that is.”

 

            She contented herself with pinning him to the wall with the haughtiest stare I’d ever seen. “If there is anything more advanced in this place than corn plasters and paracetamol, I can’t find it.”

 

            Euan picked up a small towel from a stack on one of the shelves and moved over to the heavy metal kitchen sink under the window to try and wipe some of the mud off.  “If I may ask, what are we looking for?”

 

            Jack gave Martha a tiny nod. “Let me ask you a question first,” she said to Euan. “Do you every remember Mrs. Jones taking Mike anywhere? Doctor’s appointments, maybe?”

 

            He shook his head. “She was a recluse. I think I’ve seen her in town four times in twenty years.”

 

            “That’s it, then. What was done to Mike as a child requires intensive work using some very advanced equipment. There had to be a permanent setup somewhere here.”

 

            “It was a long time ago,” Euan said. “I don’t think Mike came back at all after he moved to Woodstall. So maybe they dismantled it afterwards… You know, this doesn’t add up. How could Mrs. Jones keep something like that hidden from her own daughter?”

 

            “More to the point, when did Mike start taking annual holidays?” Ianto asked.

 

            “About seven or eight years ago.” Euan dried his hand and neatly draped the towel over the edge of the sink. “And at first he didn’t go every year. Damn. It’s got to still be up and running, doesn’t it?”

 

            Jack nodded. “That seems likely. And that leaves us with Mrs. Jones’s last words.”

 

            “I was thinking about that on the way back,” I said. “The ground around here is solid rock with maybe a couple of feet of topsoil.  Even if they had managed to carve out a space under the house, they would have needed lots of construction equipment. People would have noticed and remembered, especially the rest of the family!”

 

            “So what can under the rose mean?” Ianto looked around the kitchen. “The woman was obsessed with roses. Look around. Rose patterned china. Rose-coloured curtains. An antique toothbrush holder with tiny gold roses. Even the firescreen for the parlour fireplace is carved with roses!”

 

            Jack’s startled look passed unnoticed when Euan let out a shout worthy of a rugby fan seeing Wales demolish England in the finals of the Six Nations.

 

            “Of all the stupid… Come on. I know where it is!”