Title: Bred in the Bone: Epilogue

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Andy Davidson, Toshiko Sato, 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: Andy Davidson must embrace his inheritance in order to protect Jack and Ianto’s daughter Gwen

Author's Note: This is an AU where Gwen and Owen were killed by Gray. So if you want to know why Martha is married to Rhys and Jack and Ianto have a CP and two adopted daughters, you may want to read Evolution first

Author’s Note: The title is shamelessly stolen from Robertson Davies’s magnificent novel. It’s also an old saying: what’s bred in the bone will out in the flesh

            I found Jack leaning against the back gate, watching the children play and serving as a deterrent to any of our little imps who were tempted by the perfect lawns in the park beyond.

            “My Lord Consort,” I bowed, not bothering to hide the smirk, “your Royal Spouse bids me tell you to get your arse back into the kitchen and rejoin the party.”

            We were finally celebrating Rosie’s birthday, three weeks late. At least that was our excuse. The back yard was filled with a stampeding herd of kids, both human and tylwyth, watched over fondly by Small Ones. The Torchwood small fry had been an instant hit with my relatives at my engagement party, and these days they spent as much time in one world as in the other. I noticed the subtle hand of the Small Ones on many of the games being played; it was never too early to start training.

            “We came damn close to disaster, Andy,” Jack said soberly. “If it hadn’t been for your people we wouldn’t have made it.”

            It had been the nearest run thing since Waterloo. We were still cleaning up after Merihim, both in the physical and the magickal worlds. Violence, disease, climate upheavals, all sort of things were trending up, and would for a while longer, until his influence was completely gone. At the personal level, we had nearly lost Rhys when the second Rift engine failed. They hadn’t been able to activate the lockdown in time and Rift energy infused with Merihim’s essence had flooded inside through the fountain vents. Rhys had managed to seal the medical bay – where Martha had been setting Euan’s leg – but he had gotten the brunt of it.

            He had spent a week in a coma. Doctors had told Martha gently to prepare for the worst. But nobody had counted with the Puck. Uncle Robin had swept into Rhys’s hospital room with a few of the beldames in tow and they had examined him from his hair to his toenails. When I asked him what they had found he gave me a long, complicated, and totally meaningless answer that made him sound a great deal like Jack's Doctor. We were all firmly ushered out of the room and teams of Small Ones worked on him round the clock for forty-eight hours. When we were let back in Rhys was sitting up and eating.

            To most people, including his flabbergasted doctors, he had experienced a miraculous remission. Ianto and I had Looked a little deeper and what we saw rocked us back on our heels. All of Rhys’s major systems had been modified; internally, he looked more like a Small One than a human being. Outwardly, he seemed normal. Whatever they had done fooled all the medical equipment, and he behaved exactly like our Rhys. The only visible difference was that the sausage butty king had become a thoroughgoing vegetarian. After some discussion, Ianto and I decided to let sleeping dogs lie.

            “We made it,” I told Jack. “And close only works with horseshoes and hand grenades.”

            “Where is Susan Creevey?” Jack said abruptly.

            “I don’t know. With Uncle Robin. I haven’t seen him since he came to the Hub to take the pieces of the Risen Mitten.” I didn’t want to think about Susan Creevey on this day. This was all about joy and the shrieks of happy kids. “She’ll be ok, Jack. The Puck is not cruel without reason. Let’s go in and arm-wrestle John for the last quesadilla.”

            We managed to cross the yard without being stopped by any of the kids, a small miracle in itself since they all thought Jack was the greatest thing since ice lollies on a hot day. Rhys and Euan were watching rugby in the kids’ lounge, amply provided with drinks and snacks. Euan’s cast had been garishly decorated by the kids and he was trying to distract Rhys from the impending Cardiff loss by pointing out the details.

            Ianto was waiting for us at the entrance to the dining room, tapping a wooden spoon against his palm. We managed suitably chastened expressions and were about to start on the apologies when we heard angry voices coming from the kitchen.

            When we got there we found Aunt Achren standing in the middle of the room, face set into implacable calm, while Tosh, Martha, and Angie shouted at her. Grandmother also seemed as if she were about to start bellowing at any second. John stood to one side, trying to keep an impassive appearance but looking as if he was trying to keep from cackling. Pansy sat on one of the high kitchen stools, swinging from side to side and grinning wickedly.

            Ianto and I both tried to cut through the noise without much success. Finally John put fingers to mouth and cut loose with the loudest whistle I had ever heard. In the sudden silence, Jack stepped to the middle of the room and looked at the combatants each in turn.

            “Would anyone care to enlighten us?”

            Tosh and Angie both looked a bit subdued, but Martha had earned her stripes in larger battlefields and was not at all intimidated. “The Lady Achren has seen fit to inform us that the first order of business is for Ianto to choose a proper Consort. It seems you’re not good enough to the Tylwyth Teg.”

            “What in the world does that mean?” Ianto stomped over to Jack’s side. “I am married to Jack. He’s my Consort. Full stop.”

            Achren shook her head. “The Winter King must have heirs of his blood.”

            “But the Small ones approved of him,” I blurted out.

            “The Small ones often act out of romantic impulse,” Achren said. “We cannot.”

            Pansy laughed. “Mayhap the time my Lady has spent away from her people has dulled her eyes, if she cannot See the plain signs.”

            It was as close to an insult as I had ever heard a Small One deliver to someone of Achren’s rank, but there was a meaning behind it that had Aunt Achren, Grandmother, and I swiveling to stare at Jack. I would have laughed at their expression if I hadn’t the suspicion I looked equally gobsmacked.

            “Jack… those jokes you’re always making about getting pregnant… they’re not jokes, are they?” As he shook his head, the memory that had eluded me back in the Hub the day Puck had first visited us became clear as day. “The charm Uncle Robin gave you. Have you ever noticed if it glows after you and Ianto… well, after?”

            He nodded, his eyes going wide as his hands drifted down to cradle his stomach protectively. “It was a fertility charm, wasn’t it?”

            “Yeah.” Something else clicked and I turned to John. “You knew! That’s why you wouldn’t let him get killed.”

            He nodded. “His smell has changed. You can’t tell?”

            “I could,” Ianto sounded half-pissed. “I thought it was stress.”

            John and I burst into laughter as the women made a concerted rush towards Jack. We pulled Ianto away as the female side of the conversation became, in the words of one of my favorite authors, appallingly obstetrical. Once over the shock Jack seemed perfectly comfortable in their society. John called out to Rhys and Euan and ordered them to go into the cellar and bring up some champagne.

            The bastard refused to tell them why.