Chapter Text
Gwen pulls the oversized dressing gown tight around her bulging belly and slides out of bed. Even though it’s a men’s large and would normally drown her, it can just about stretch around the baby. The sleeves are huge though. She rolls them up past her elbow as she crosses the room to look out of the window.
She and Rhys have the attic room of Rose Cottage to themselves. There had been some debate about this when they were settling in to the cottage because, yes, she did have to climb an extra flight of stairs to get to this room but she also benefitted from the en-suite (even if she could barely turn in the cramped shower). Out of the window, cloudy skies are reflected back by a slate grey sea. They’ve ditched the stolen car and now have only Jack’s Golf, which they use on the occasional supply run, always parking far from the shop they need to use.
Gwen hasn’t been on a supply run. It’s been just over a week and the others have barely let her leave the house. She’s allowed to potter around the garden and along the drive, but that’s it. She doesn’t have the energy these days to fight them on it, and her ankles are swollen to the point that she doesn’t fancy going too far anyway. She’ll make do with the sea breeze from the garden.
It’d be nice if Jack owned a telly though.
She makes her way down the stairs onto the hallway of the middle floor, taking each step one at a time, progressing down diagonally to keep her balance. As she can no longer see her feet, going down the stairs is a bit disorienting.
She readjusts her dressing gown sleeves as she heads for the next set of stairs. She passes the twin room Owen and Tosh are sharing, door closed, but can see the door to Jack and Ianto’s room at the end of the hall has been left open. The bed is neatly made, and one side of the room is as prim and tidy as the hotel corners on the duvet, but the other is a mess – clothes on the floor, three glasses on the bedside table, a wet towel slung around the bedpost. She thinks she can guess whose side is whose.
As she makes her way downstairs, Gwen hears voices from the kitchen.
‘No, no, what I’m saying is, we need to give Gatland more of a chance,’ says Rhys. Gwen rolls her eyes. Not this again.
‘I don’t disagree with you,’ this is Ianto now. He’s ditched the suits in favour of dark jeans and plain tees since they came to the cottage. ‘What I’m saying is, I don’t understand how we went from winning a Grand Slam when he came in – conceding only two tries in the entire tournament – to this mess we’re in now. What’s changed?’
‘The man’s got to try things, Ianto,’ Rhys says. ‘Clearly, the key ingredients are there, but –,’ he spots Gwen. ‘Morning, love, fancy a cuppa?’
‘If you’re making one,’ she says, taking a seat next to Ianto at the table. Rhys gets up and starts fussing with the kettle. ‘Where’re the others?’
‘Security checks,’ Ianto says, spooning a large amount of Coco Pops into his mouth. Gwen had often thought that Ianto’s tendency to order pizza and other takeaways to the Hub was just a means of getting them through their hectic days, but it was becoming clearer to her by the day that this was how he actually chose to eat. He hadn’t taken a turn at cooking yet and Gwen suspected that may be for the best. Even Jack had managed to turn out a decent shepherd’s pie.
It was all strangely domestic, like they were a group of old school friends on a reunion trip to the Welsh coast.
The walkie-talkie in the middle of the table crackles, reminding Gwen that this is very much not a holiday.
‘Tiger pants, come in, tiger pants. Over,’ Jack’s voice comes through the tinny speaker.
Ianto’s hand shoots out for the walkie-talkie with lightning speed, nearly tipping over his coffee.
‘What did we say about codenames?’ he hisses into it, getting up and heading for the door.
No response.
Ianto sighs.
‘What did we say about codenames, over,’ he says.
‘That’s better,’ Jack replies. ‘And we said we should keep using them if they’re so fantastic and creative. Over.’
‘That’s definitely not what we said. What do you need? Over.’
‘Tosh has a few new ideas on what we can be doing, can you check the supply cupboard for me? Over.’
‘Sure. Give me a minute. Over.’
Ianto leaves the room with the walkie-talkie in hand, heading for the supply cupboard at the back of the house.
Rhys presents Gwen with her cup of tea. She holds it in both hands, brings it to her lips, and blows. The milky surface ripples.
‘Doing okay?’ Rhys asks, sitting beside her.
‘We’re getting close now, Rhys,’ she says, one hand coming down to her swollen stomach. ‘What if the baby comes while we’re hiding out here?’
It’s not a new topic of conversation. They talk about it one way or another most days – sometimes seriously, sometimes joking as if it’s not a real possibility at all. But they know it is. The jokes are just there to take the edge off.
‘What did Owen say?’ Rhys asks.
Gwen had talked to Owen about her situation the day before.
‘He says we can handle it,’ she says. ‘He says we’re still better prepared than many women throughout history have been. He was pretty calm about it.’
‘There we are then,’ Rhys says, settling back in his chair. He reaches a hand out to rest on top of Gwen’s on her baby bump. ‘If he’s not worried, then I’m not worried.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ Gwen tells him. ‘You don’t have to squeeze little one out of your delicate parts.’
Rhys grips her hand tighter.
‘It’s not that bit I’m worried about, truth be told,’ she continues. ‘Well, I am, pretty scared shitless, to be honest, but that’s the only way out now so no point worrying about it. No, what I’m worried about is how we’re supposed to be on the run with a baby. We mustn’t forget that’s what we are, Rhys. We’re fugitives. How are we supposed to be new parents and fugitives? It’s no place for a baby.’
Rhys clears his throat.
‘It’s not. Of course, it’s bloody not. And if I had any other idea about what to do, Gwen, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I don’t.’
Gwen toys with her lip between her teeth. She’s been thinking about this a lot through the night.
‘I’m going to talk to Jack,’ she says after a moment. ‘I know he wants us to wait this out, to wait until they need us, but surely there’s more we can be doing, more we can do to fight back. And I’m worried about, Martha, I can’t believe he’s just sitting back knowing she’s in UNIT’s clutches.’
‘But what good will fighting do, Gwen?’ Rhys asks. ‘For you? For the baby? You’re safe here.’
‘For how long? We’ve not exactly fled to the other side of the world here, Rhys, we’re in the same bloody country. I’m amazed we’ve lasted this long.’
‘Me too, to be fair,’ he says. ‘I’ve barely slept a wink the entire time we’ve been here, I’m always listening out for the sound of trucks and guns coming down the road.’
‘That wouldn’t be very subtle of them.’
‘They don’t sound like the subtle type, this UNIT lot.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
Gwen smiles at him. He sighs and shakes his head.
‘Fine,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what good it’ll do, but fine, talk to Jack.’
‘Talk to me about what?’ Jack asks, striding into the kitchen.
Gwen gets up out of her seat, taking her mug with her.
‘Let’s go outside,’ she says.
*~*TW*~*
Around the front of the house, Tosh, Owen and Ianto have their heads together around the Golf and appear to be working on a list of some kind.
‘Even with some basic microphones and laptops, just cheap ones, whatever we can get in Argos or wherever, I could make us feel a lot more secure,’ Tosh is telling the other two, scribbling something down on the list.
‘We’ve found Tosh’s limit,’ Owen jokes. ‘One week without a computer and now she’ll take whatever she can get her hands on.’
‘It’d be good if we could monitor news too,’ Tosh says. ‘Not that there’s Internet here, right, Jack?’
‘No lines in of any kind,’ Jack says as he and Gwen walk by – Gwen realises he’s steering her to the bench at the back of the garden, the one that allows you to fully take in the rose bushes and sea views.
‘Right, there are a few more things I’ll need then to -,’ Tosh starts.
‘You’re not going to be drawing any unwanted attention to us, right, Tosh?’ Jack interrupts, coming to a stop.
Tosh stops writing and looks up.
‘Who do you think I am?’ she asks.
Jack offers the flats of his palms up, placated.
‘Of course, sorry,’ he says. ‘Go on.’
He turns to Gwen, eyes wide.
‘That’s you told,’ she says.
‘I know Tosh can be scary, I’ve seen her in action,’ he says, ‘but I don’t like having that fire directed at me.’
They get to the bench and Jack holds out an arm, gesturing for Gwen to sit first. She does so, and then Jack sits beside her. Even though he’s foregone his coat today, he’s still dressed in his usual Oxford shirt and dark slacks – clothes had been one of their first supply runs. If Gwen didn’t know Jack as she did, hadn’t been through so much with him, she’d feel much more self-conscious about being sat beside him in just her dressing gown, but they’re past all of that.
‘How can I help you?’ he says.
Gwen sets her mug down on the arm of the wooden bench. It’s the sort of thing her Nan would have in her garden, and she can’t imagine Jack buying it. She’s wondered that about a lot of the things in the cottage – the sleigh bed in her room, the mahogany grandfather clock in the hallway with its mother-of-pearl face, the ornate brass mirror over the fireplace. How did Jack come into possession of this place, of these things? Had he known someone once who had lived here, and they had left it to him? Had he shared it with someone, long ago? It’s a big place for one man. Did he own many others like it? Just in this country or around the world?
She feels Jack’s eyes on her and meets them with her own. She spots bags under the deep blue irises, outlining his face with a tinge of sadness. He carries a weariness with him, always, if you look for it. No matter his energy, no matter his laughter and jokes, it can be found if you look for it in his eyes.
‘Is this it, Jack?’ she says at last, a cool zephyr blowing strands of hair onto her face. She brushes them aside. ‘Are we letting them win?’
Jack bristles. Sits up straighter.
‘You know that’s not my style,’ he says.
‘Then what are we doing here? We’re fighters, we’re scrappy. That’s kind of our deal.’
Jack raises one eyebrow.
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. So, what’re we doing waiting around? Taking in the ocean air for the good of our lungs like sickly old Victorian women?’
‘I told you, we’re waiting for them to come to us. It won’t be much longer.’
‘Bollocks, Jack! To hell with that! You would’ve taken Jennings down the moment you saw him in the Bay if you thought that was a fight you could win. And even then… No. What’re we really doing here?’
Jack gets up. He paces a few metres away and folds his arms.
‘I’m keeping you all safe,’ he says, his back to Gwen. ‘After everything we’ve all been through – with Owen, with Tosh nearly dying because of my – you’ve all been through so much, because of Torchwood, because of me.’
‘Jack, we signed up for -,’ Gwen starts, but Jack flails around wildly, turning to face her again.
‘Don’t you think I don’t know that? But you’re my team now, not some group of people I saw potential in, some strangers I thought could do a good job.’ He raps his closed fist on his chest. ‘You’re my team.’
Gwen gets up off the bench – it’s getting harder every day – and goes to him. She finds the fist on his chest and clenches her hand around it.
‘We are. But, Jack, you’re acting like you’ve let us down.’
‘Haven’t I?’
‘No! You haven’t, not at all.’
‘But don’t you see, Gwen? Don’t you see what’s happening here?’
He holds one arm out, gesturing up at the sky. He stares intensely down at her.
Gwen has never seen Jack like this before. Her heart pounds in her chest.
‘Tell me what I’m not seeing,’ she says.
‘All of this,’ he says, his arm still waving, taking in the shape of the cottage, of the space around them, ‘is temporary. We can’t outrun them forever. They’ll need us, I’m sure of that – but what happens after that, I don’t know. I don’t know what happens to you all, to our team. That list of crimes we’ve committed… I don’t have the power to make that go away, if they really want to do something with it. Even if we still have value, I don’t know what kind of life that will be. They don’t forgive easily, not men like Jennings. So, yes, we’re waiting, and we should make it last as long as we can. It might be all we’ve got.’
Gwen feels sick. She had been so worried about being caught, about the baby, that she hadn’t thought at all about what being caught would mean.
‘But – my baby,’ she starts.
Jack hangs his head.
‘I’m sorry, Gwen,’ he says.
‘No, Jack Harkness, no,’ Gwen’s voice breaks as she scolds him, feeling tears coming to her eyes. They can’t both despair. ‘Don’t you take that tone with me. This isn’t over, you hear me? We’re all here, we’re all together. And that’s when we’re strongest. So don’t you apologise to me.’
Jack shakes himself off. Gwen has seen him do some version of this so many times before, knows he has it in him to keep going (and hates to think what would have to happen for this strength, this resilience, to disappear).
‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what’s in store, but I’ll give it everything I’ve got to give your baby a chance. To give the three of you a chance at being a family.’
‘And the others?’ Gwen asks.
Gwen looks down at the other three, gathered around the car. Ianto is breaking away, the list in hand, striding towards them. Jack smiles at him, then turns to Gwen, and she sees how sad the smile really is.
‘I’ll fight for them too,’ he says. ‘When the time comes. You understand me now, Gwen? It’s about fighting when the time comes. And I know you can do it, baby or not. For now though, while we’re waiting… Make the most of it.’
Gwen nods. Her head is spinning, she feels like she used some of her last reserves to get through to Jack. She fumbles her way back towards the bench and sits down, tries to find a smile to plaster on her face as Ianto approaches.
‘Everything alright?’ he asks.
‘All good,’ she manages to get out.
Ianto’s brow frowns momentarily as he looks her up and down, but is soon smoothed out as he turns to Jack. Gwen wipes at her eyes, remembering the tears that had been threatening. The dressing gown sleeve is scratchy.
‘I’m going on a supply run to get some of the things Tosh needs to step our security up a notch. Do either of you need anything?’
‘All set,’ Jack says, tucking his hands in his trouser pockets. Gwen nods in agreement, finding it hard to force any more words out.
‘Alright then,’ Ianto says. ‘I’ll probably be out a little longer than usual with this list, but I should be back in two hours or so.’
‘Got it,’ Jack says – and then, as the other man moves to walk away, ‘Ianto? Be careful.’
‘Always, sir.’
*~*TW*~*
Ianto jostles the shopping bags under his arm. Aberystwyth isn’t a big town, and it isn’t home to many shops – just far too many noisy students. Argos had been out of the battery packs that Tosh had requested, so Ianto has had to make his way across town again to the supermarket to see what he can find there. He’s already been to the Morrisons once to get the ingredients Rhys had asked for for dinner and he feels all the more conspicuous for his return trip to the shop. The heavy bag containing two laptops, a set of speakers, and five microphones isn’t helping – neither is knowing he parked the car a mile away on a residential street with no cameras and he’s still got that walk to do.
He scans the list in his hand and frowns. He can’t tell if he’s looking at a five or an s, but he can’t find any batteries with either model number anyway. He catches sight of the time on his wristwatch – he’s already been gone for more than an hour and a half, and it’s a twenty-minute drive back to the cottage. He’s going to be longer than he thought.
He sees a shop assistant watching him and darts around into the next aisle. He doesn’t want to interact with them if he can avoid it, doesn’t want them knowing his face or asking questions.
‘You look lost, Mr Jones.’
The hairs on the back of Ianto’s neck stand up at the sound of the woman’s voice. It’s not entirely familiar but he thinks he can place it. His hand clams up on the handle of the plastic shopping bag. He doesn’t turn around.
‘Honestly,’ the woman continues. ‘I know Jones is a common name around these parts, but you must know I’m talking to you, Ianto Jones.’
Ianto tenses and turns around.
It’s exactly who he thought it was – the woman who had been with Jennings on the Plass, the one who had been part of the operation to tail them. Ianto recalls that Jennings had referred to her as Johnson. She sports a softened look today to better blend in with the shoppers, black jeans and a khaki long-sleeved tee, a matching baseball cap on her head, long ponytail trailing through the back of it. She watches him with her cat-like eyes and smiles.
‘Hello,’ she says.
Ianto further takes in her appearance, assessing whether she could be carrying any weapons. His eyes flicker either side of her, trying to see whether she’s alone.
‘It’s just you and me, Mr Jones,’ she says. ‘No offense, but I can handle you on my own quite competently. I’m here to talk.’
Ianto clears his throat.
‘I’m actually kind of busy right now,’ he says.
She purses her lips and blinks.
‘So I can see,’ she says, ‘but I rather think what I have to say might be more important.’
‘Who do you work for?’ Ianto blurts out.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Who do you work for? I know you’re working with UNIT but you… You don’t seem much like them, not like those that I’ve met anyway.’
She smirks.
‘You’re right. I’m not with UNIT,’ she replies.
‘So who?’
‘Unlike Torchwood, UNIT chooses to co-operate with others. I run a small, specialised team from the… Let’s just say the Government. You’ve all caught the attention of a few too many people in places higher and more secret than even you know about, I’m afraid.’
Ianto processes the new information. This can’t be good.
‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ he pushes back, not sure where he’s driving with this other than to buy more time. And what will he do if he gets that time? He tightens his grip on the heavy bag in his hand, the closest thing he’s got to a weapon.
‘That’s all I’m going to tell you, and I didn’t even need to tell you that.’
‘What do you want then?’
‘To show you something.’
‘To… show me something?’ Ianto’s floundering, and he knows it. He’s got no back up here of any kind. If she wants to lead him away from the supermarket, onto her own turf, he doesn’t know what he can do. He comes to a decision. ‘Show me here.’
‘Not a problem,’ she says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a phone – at least, Ianto thinks it’s a phone, but it looks more like a small PDA and more flash than any mobile he’s ever seen.
She taps the screen a few times, then offers it to Ianto.
‘Look familiar?’ she asks.
Ianto squints down at the screen, struggling to see the dark picture in the fluorescent lights of the supermarket. He adjusts his stance to cast a shadow over the screen and gasps as his eyes finally make out what he’s being shown.
‘Rhiannon.’
For there, on the small screen, is a video of his sister. She’s alone in a small, dark room – a cell, Ianto realises. Her hair is a mess, lank against her pale face. She sits on a narrow bench, knees drawn up under her chin.
‘This isn’t… This can’t be real,’ Ianto says.
‘Oh, believe me, Mr Jones. It is. Mrs Davies has been with us for three days now. We’ve been kind so far and left her husband and children alone, but rest assured that we’ll be bringing them in too if you don’t co-operate.’
‘Let her go, please, she hasn’t done anything, she doesn’t deserve this,’ Ianto says, pleas tumbling out of his lips, all pretence at being cool and calm gone.
He stares down at the screen again, hands shaking as one of his biggest fears plays out before him. He feels powerless to do anything.
‘I can do that,’ Johnson says. ‘If you turn yourself in. A fair trade.’
There’s no question in Ianto’s mind.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘But that’s not all,’ Johnson says. She steps closer and swipes her finger across the phone screen, and more video feeds flit past Ianto’s eyes – he sees Gwen’s parents in a cell similar to that of Rhiannon’s, and a woman who can only be Tosh’s mother, as well as a red-head that matches Catrin’s description, and another woman whom he can’t place, but there’s something about her face, something familiar…
‘Admittedly, we’ve struggled to gain leverage on Dr Harper – were you aware his mother died last year?’ Johnson says casually, returning the feed to Rhiannon.
‘He – he didn’t mention it…’ Ianto says weakly.
‘But we believe he’s loyal enough to the rest of you to come along too so your loved ones can go free.’
‘I’ve already said I’ll come with you,’ Ianto says. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
Johnson barks out a laugh.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she says. ‘It’s all or nothing. You’ve got twenty-four hours, Mr Jones. Run along to your little hideout and tell the rest of your gang what I’ve just shown you. Tell them you all need to report to the Torchwood Hub – even Mr Williams – within the next twenty-four hours or…’
‘Or what?’
She grins, incisors sharp and flashing like her dark green eyes.
‘That would be telling,’ she says.
‘They’re innocent people!’ Ianto protests.
‘Maybe,’ she shrugs. ‘But you’re not, are you, Mr Jones? So, if you truly believe in protecting innocent lives, I’ll be seeing you in Cardiff soon.’
With that, she slides the phone out of Ianto’s hands, places it back into her pocket, and walks away.
Heart racing, mouth dry, Ianto drops the shopping bag and sprints towards the exit.