Title: Evolution (20/20)

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: There’s an epilogue to this but after that we will go back to the Homecomingverse for a totally crack story…

 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; Part fourteen is here ; Part fifteen is here; Interlude is here; Part sixteen is here; Part seventeen is here; Part eighteen is here; Part nineteen is here

           “Tea, sir?”

            I grabbed the steaming cup gratefully. The tea was strong and sweet and I hoped it would keep me awake. It was past midnight, and it was likely I was going to be up for a lot longer.

            After talking to Sullivan, Jack had sent Martha, Mike, and Euan back to Woodstall with the babies and all the medical and research files. Euan passed the job interview he didn’t know he was having by calling a friend in the Carmarthen police and getting a two-car police escort without once mentioning Torchwood.  The rest of us crammed ourselves into the SUV and headed for the nearest UNIT base, which turned out to be quietly tucked away in a corner of the RAF base at St. Athans. Once there, Jack, Ianto and Sullivan disappeared into the Colonel’s office, while Hart and I were left to cool our heels outside, watching a stream of official-looking people come and go.

            Jack’s temper had gone from bad to terrifying, all the worse for being perfectly under control. Ianto stayed one step behind him, always within reach, looking as grim as Jack himself. I was missing something important, and I didn’t have Martha to ask.

            “Jack thinks there’s still an active conspiracy.” Hart looked up from whatever he had been doing to his wrist strap. “He’s probably right. There’s no way McKenzie could have continued his work after Canary Wharf without help.”

            “Are you reading my mind?”

            He sighed. “No. Your face. You probably couldn’t play poker to save your life.”

            “I guess. Can I ask you a question?” I took his wave as a yes. “This weevil thing. Does it mean Jack, Mike and the weevils are all related?”

            “It’s a bit more complicated than that. Archangels believed they were the pinnacle of human evolution, so they, in effect, froze their genome but couldn't keep from tinkering with the details.” He snorted contemptuously. “Arrogant and stupid to boot. Trying to retro-engineer their reproductive capabilities was the equivalent of hitting ice with a sonic grenade. Jack was lucky his people got out early. The weevils are the last survivors and probably have a very low birthrate to go along with all their other miseries. The one I feel sorry for is Mike Greene. As a true purebred Archangel his DNA is so specialized that he can’t have children with any female other than those of his clan and sept. That’s why McKenzie was breeding only females. He needed mates for him.”

             “Duw. No wonder Jack is pissed off. So now what?”

            “Now the hammer falls. The old gent with a cane who came in about an hour ago? That’s Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. He’s the grand old man of UNIT and half the soldiers would follow him through hell. His nephew is colonel here. I’ll bet you a hundred quid that we are on the move before sunrise.”

            He was right. At about four-thirty in the morning an UNIT convoy assembled by the gates of St. Athans. Jack rode with the colonel in the lead with the Torchwood SUV directly behind. Ianto briefed us as he drove, having refused Hart’s offer to drive with an expressive eyeroll. It seemed that although McKenzie had kept Sullivan pretty much in the dark as to his whereabouts, the doctor had gathered enough information for Tosh to be able to pinpoint his hideout.

            “He’s holed up in an abandoned drift mine near Treherbert.”Ianto said. “The satellite images show twenty or so heat signatures in the tunnels and six in the colliery buildings.”

            “How are we going to get the weevils out of the tunnels?” Hart asked. “Hand to hand in an enclosed space could get very messy. These are kids we’re talking about.”

            “The Colonel arranged for the use of one of the new payload delivery drones the RAF are testing. We’re going to flood the tunnels with a combination of weevil spray and ether. It won’t knock them out completely but it will make them very pliant.” Ianto grinned and I was startled to see how savage he could look. “Our business is with the other six bastards.”

            “Sounds good.” Hart pulled out what looked like an antique gun but probably wasn’t and checked it thoroughly. “Do we know who’s working with McKenzie?”

            “Oh, yes. Toshiko has been working miracles all night. Jack has contacted Buckingham Palace, as some fairly influential people are likely to be taking extended vacations effective this morning. Her Majesty reminded Jack that she still owns a couple of islands in the Orkneys so desolate that even terns won’t nest there. She's also summoning her senior ministers.” He grinned again. "Jack says that she can deliver a  right royal bollocking. I think he speaks from experience."

             “This seems so…organized.” I  said. “Even…well…”

            “Anti-climactic? Well-planned? Safe?” Ianto shrugged. “We’re parents. These days we take risks only when we have to. Torchwood springs enough surprises on us.”

            “Disappointing, isn’t it?” mocked Hart. “The dashing heroes reduced to homebodies.”

            “As it should be.” I said firmly. “Now hush and let Ianto drive in peace.”

            We arrived at the mine about an hour after sunrise. There was no attempt at subtlety. The perimeter fence was mowed down by the armored vehicles and soldiers poured through the grounds. They fanned out, weapons at ready, using the rusting equipment and collapsed brick walls as cover. We moved after them.

            “They had to have heard us coming,” I muttered. “There should be some shooting by now. Why isn’t there any shooting?”

            Almost immediately someone started firing from one of the first floor windows of the nearest building. One of the shots nicked the edge of the wall I was crouching behind.  I felt bits of brick pepper my head and neck. Hart sent me flat to the ground with a hard shove to the small of my back. I let out a faint scream as my half-healed wound protested. 

            “Getting shot twice in four days is overkill even by the heroes’ code, Rhys, so pay attention. Move when I move and stop when I stop and for the Mother’s sake stop asking the Universe questions. It seems in the mood to answer you.” He pointed at a rusting lorry.  “Over there. And remember, we have the soldier boys to do the hard work.”

            We ran across the yard to crouch behind the lorry. The sniper seemed to be distracted; the soldiers were returning fire. I heard several things buzzing by overhead, and suddenly there was the sound of glass breaking and a huge boom inside the building. Smoke poured out the windows; even at a distance it could make my eyes water.

            “And that should be that,” Hart said. “That stuff will eat right through a gas mask.”

            He was right. A few seconds later the door of the building opened and several men came staggering out, holding their arms over their heads. They were roughly forced to the ground by the soldiers, searched, their hands cuffed behind their backs, and then pulled back on their feet. I examined their faces. One of the men resembled Mike and Jack in the same way they resembled each other; he could have been their older uncle or cousin. I looked at Hart, who nodded in agreement. We had found McKenzie.

            Jack walked past all of us to stand in front of him. McKenzie said something to him in a language full of zzzzs and odd clicks. He was fair making a speech when Jack interrupted him with something short and clipped. Hart winced and then laughed. Jack said something else and turned away. McKenzie shouted at his back, but Jack ignored him and kept going until he was standing with us.

            “I see you haven’t lost your talent for literate description,” Hart said, still giggling. “I’ll have to remember that next time I come across a Judoon.”

            “Where’s Ianto?” I asked.

            “Seeing to the Weevils,” Jack said, and for a moment all the responsibilities he carried were written plainly on his face. “We still need to figure out what to do about them.”

            He set out towards the entrance to the mine tunnel, and we followed him. The tunnel was slightly below and to one side of the building, opening directly into the hill. Old rail tracks, all torn up, still led inside. As we arrived we saw Ianto and some soldiers leading out the weevils. Looking at them, Hart skidded to a stop so suddenly he nearly tripped himself.

            “Jack, the boiler suits. Does Torchwood hand them out?”

            “Yeah. Weevils seem to like being covered. They were always breaking into houses and shops to steal clothing. At one point they started getting really aggressive, so I asked Torchwood One to provide us with some sort of simple coverall we could just hand out. Once or twice a year Ianto and I take a big box of them to one of their hideouts and leave it there. They also help with the illusion that weevils are just men wearing masks.”

            “The original request must have gone through what’s her name, Hartman, right? Because what they’re wearing… they’re fatigues, Jack. Archangel navy conscript fatigues. Wrong fabric and color but... McKenzie must have ordered them especially.”

            Jack swore – the first time in my life I had heard him use obscenities – and started to turn back towards the prisoners. Hart stopped him.

            “Never mind him.” He tapped his wrist strap. “While I was waiting at the base I contacted my Nest Mother and told her about this. She thinks it’s best if I take them home. Before you say no, hear me out Jack. This lot is highly intelligent but genetically unstable. They might live at best another decade. We have places at home where they can live unmolested, and medication to help with the pain. If they manage to breed a stable population, highly unlikely but possible, we have colonies to establish them in. You know they can’t stay here, and with us they have a chance.”

            “How do we get them there?”

            “I’ll use my wrist strap to create a containment field, and then use yours to boost its power. I can move them in two batches.” He gave an exaggerated sigh at Jack’s doubtful face. “Jack, it’s me. I can do this jump in my sleep!”

            “All right.”

            I drew a huge breath and let it out slowly.  “So we’re done here?”

            “More or less,” Jack said. “You’re in a hurry?”

            “Oh yeah. Can you get a ride back to Woodstall? Good. I’m going to get the SUV keys from Ianto. I have to find Martha and get to apologizing!”