Fic: Quelled or Quenched (3/?)
Title: Quelled or Quenched Part 3
Author: rev02a
Beta: comestodecember
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, language
Cast: Team, all canon parings, past Ianto/OC, Rhiannon & Co.
A/N: The title comes from the poem “Binsey Poplars” by Gerard Manley Hopkins. This is AU.
Summary: Torchwood One’s mantra of “if it’s alien, it’s ours” may suit the dreams of rebuilding an empire, but does little for ethical concerns. In 1998, Captain Jack Harkness becomes aware of the imprisonment and experimentation on the Ambassador of the Forest of Cheem.
Part 2
“I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.” -Willa Cather
August 21, 2007
As it was a Torchwood matter, Torchwood dealt with the clean up of Canary Wharf. This, coupled with his guilt due to his inability to deal with the Forest Project years before, prompted Jack to buy the top two loft flats and moved the Jones in. Rhiannon and the two kids walked around the flat with wide, wondering eyes. There was a greenhouse on the balcony, dishes and food in the kitchen, and beds in the rooms-they’d have to decorate everything else. His housewarming gift was a series of silver framed photographs of their family.
Toshiko had spent hours hunting through the reels of Torchwood One footage for these screen captures. The photos were clear and beautiful. Rhiannon cradled a photo of her family to her chest and cried over Johnny’s image. Mica leaned against her mother’s leg and stared at the picture of her father with wide eyes. David began to place the frames all around the room.
Jack excused himself to the flat across the hall. The door was standing open and Ianto had made it no further than two steps inside.
“You ok?” Jack asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
Ianto continued to stare out the far wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Immediately, Jack kicked himself. He’d been sure that nothing in the structure was made of wood, but he hadn’t thought about walls of glass.
“No one is watching you this time,” he began, as he walked to the windows. “No one can, you’re too high up.”
Ianto closed his eyes for a long time. “I guess not.”
Jack turned from Ianto and looked out over the city. “You’ve got a nice view.”
Ianto entered the flat then. He looked around the empty space quietly. “I can’t cook,” he commented as he looked at the spacious kitchen.
“Can Rhiannon?” Jack queried.
“Nope. Our food was always brought to us,” Ianto explained, as he opened a drawer at random. “What’s this?”
He held up a twirl whisk and hit it with his finger. The metal bounced.
“It stirs stuff,” Jack replied, not really knowing when it was needed. Ianto nodded, however, and returned the item to the drawer.
He stared at the other contents in concern. “I don’t know what these are or how to use them.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll get you a book.”
Ianto closed his eyes and nearly doubled over in pain. Jack moved to him and held him from behind. Ianto gasped, as dry sobs wracked his body.
“My Sarah, my beautiful Sarah,” he cried, barely audible.
Ianto’s knees were weak and he was unable to stand, so Jack lowered them both to the tile floor and held the sobbing man in his arms. Jack shushed him and soothed him.
Eventually, Ianto grew quiet and rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. Jack untangled himself from Ianto long enough to fetch the gift bag from the center of the living room. He presented it to Ianto, watching the man slowly unwrap photograph frames of Bruce and Sarah, along with Rhiannon and her family. Ianto held the largest photograph of the three of them, and, like his sister, stared at their faces. He traced Bruce’s cheek with his finger.
Jack knew a vigil when he saw one, so he walked to the window and stared out across the city. Ianto deserved some privacy for his grief.
In time, Ianto stood. He set each of the smaller frames up on the island between the living area and kitchen, but carried the large frame with him.
“I could get you into some cooking classes,” Jack offered, watching the cars on the street.
“I’d like that,” Ianto sniffed.
Jack faced him, noting the blotchy skin and puffy eyes. He reached over and wiped away an errant tear; to Jack’s surprise, it was sap. Ianto watched as Jack rubbed the sap between his fingers.
“Will people notice…” Ianto gestured at his skin, which made a beautiful canvas for the wood grain pattern that danced across it.
Jack wiped his fingers on his trousers, “People notice less than you’d expect. If they do, say it’s a tattoo.”
Ianto nodded, his eyes drawn down to the frame in his hand. “He’d be so angry at me for living like this.”
Jack frowned at Ianto. “For living here?”
Ianto shook his head. “For crying, for staying indoors.”
Jack touched Ianto’s shoulder. “You’re grieving. It’s natural. Trust me. I’ve lost spouses. I’ve lost children. I have never lost them both at one time; I don’t know that I would be as sane as you if our roles were reversed.”
Ianto made no comment, but seemed comforted.
October 31, 2007
Jack knocked on Rhiannon’s door and was met by a pair of short monsters.
“Boo!” one childish voice yelled from behind a mask.
“Boo, Uncle Jack!” the second yelled.
Jack yelled in faux-fear and clutched at his heart dramatically. “Call off these monsters!”
Rhiannon appeared, looking haggard, but healthy. “Monsters! Let Jack in!”
Both children agreed easily enough and ran into the flat. Jack closed the door after himself as he walked in. The walls were covered with photographs and art, some new and some from their time in the Tower.
“Did you paint these masks?” Jack asked, gesturing to the homemade Halloween costumes.
Rhiannon grinned. “I did. I didn’t do too poorly either, I don’t think!”
“They’re good!” Jack looked around the now furnished flat. He took in the settee and stacks of books. “Ianto’s not here?”
Rhiannon’s face shadowed. “I’m so worried about him, Jack.”
Jack stayed a while longer, enjoying dinner with them. He gathered more information about Ianto’s depression before he excused himself to see the other tree. He felt strange thinking that way, but Rhiannon and Ianto were adamant. It was who they were.
Ianto didn’t answer his knock, so Jack used his key. The flat now boasted a bookshelf, where the silver frames of Ianto’s partner and child were lovingly displayed. The rest of the flat was a mess, but the bookshelf was dusted.
Dishes were heaped in the sink and the odor of illness hung around the bathroom. Jack found Ianto in his bed, naked. The sheets were clearly dirty, as were piles of clothes littered around the room. Jack immediately identified the outfit Ianto had worn when leaving Torchwood Tower and the one he’s last seen the other man in.
Clearly, Ianto wasn’t leaving his flat often.
Jack grabbed Ianto under the arm and lugged the other man into the bathroom. Ianto gave a grunt.
“Jack?” he asked in surprise.
“One and the same,” Jack agreed, turning on the taps in the shower. He did not wait until the water was warm before he shoved Ianto under the spray. Ianto howled with indignation. “Scrub up, we’re going out.”
While Ianto showered, Jack hunted for clean clothes. Finding none, he went to the SUV and claimed his emergency clothes kit. He would try to remember to replace it; otherwise, he’d be in for a surprise next time he needed new trousers in the field.
Ianto was furious as Jack dressed him. “I’m not a child! This is my life, I chose this!”
Jack paused then, his hands halfway through the motions of forcing Ianto’s arm into a shirtsleeve.
“No,” he said, with soft urgency, “no, you don’t. Ianto Jones loved life as much as he loved his family and he wanted to be free. You’ve just lost sight of who you are. I have to help you remember.”
Ianto stared at Jack with frank surprise. Jack wondered if Ianto would question his motivation for such a comment. Undoubtedly, Ianto would know that Jack had read everything about the Project. Ianto was not a fool; Jack was Torchwood and so was the Forest. Chastened, he allowed Jack to help him button the shirt.
When the Jones had first moved into the safe house in Cardiff, Jack had realized just how innocent they both were. They had no concept of currency or shopping. Jack had treated them like relocated aliens whom had fallen through the Rift. It was easiest that way.
Rhiannon and her children had accepted the lessons on culture and general schooling. Ianto had not. That should have been Jack’s first clue. The second, and possibly more obvious one was Ianto refusal to speak to the UNIT provided psychologist.
It was time for the man to talk. Out in the night air, Jack guided Ianto to the SUV. He opened the passenger door and helped Ianto with his seatbelt. Then he drove them off into the dark until he found an empty, but lit car park. He parked, but left the engine running.
“Time to learn to drive,” Jack ordered, and slid out of the driver’s seat.
Ianto objected at first, but, eventually, he eased the car into motion. Jack leaned back in his seat and allowed Ianto to guide the vehicle around the car park again and again until he had the basics down.
“Right, out onto the street then,” Jack directed, sounding relaxed and content.
Ianto looked at him in surprise. “I’ve never done that before!”
“Neither has any other driver with an L plate. To the road, Jones.”
The streets were empty, so Ianto was more at ease learning his placement on the road. Finally, he slowed and pulled into a lay by. He parked.
“Finished?” Jack asked, surprised.
“I’d like to go back now,” Ianto replied, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“Then take us back,” Jack replied, with a smile.
Ianto looked hesitant, but then opened the door. He walked around the SUV and waited for Jack to give up the passenger seat. When Jack relented, Ianto looked relieved.
Jack turned them back toward Cardiff and the Plass. They were silent as they drove the back roads into the city. Then Ianto spoke, and his words were haunted.
“I could have saved Lisa,” he whispered.
“Lisa?” Jack asked, concerned. He doesn’t know a Lisa.
“Dr. Hallett, the women in charge of the project. She was in love with Dr. Ira Jones, my DNA donor. She decided I would be his replacement when he ended their affair.”
Jack nodded. “I know who we’re speaking of now.”
“I placed her in line for the Conversion chamber in front of me. She thought I was Ira, and she trusted me. I sent her first,” Ianto’s voice was hollow, and sounded far away.
Jack glanced over at Ianto. He stared out the windscreen, oblivious to the too big clothing or dark night settling around them. Jack let off the accelerator. Apparently, Ianto needed to drive in order to talk-that meant Jack needed to slow down.
“She was still alive when the Doctor opened the Void. I could have saved her. Instead, I ignored her.”
Jack knew guilt, even useless guilt like this. It dug holes into the soul.
“She was still alive when the rescue teams found us,” Ianto concluded.
“She wasn’t herself anymore,” Jack offered. “Once the conversion begins, their humanity is lost. She was dead once she was strapped to that table.”
“Then I murdered her,” Ianto offered. His voice was heavy with dread.
“No. You made one choice out of a series of bad choices. You could have been converted, but who would have protected your sister then? You could have sent one of the children first, but then you’d have lost your sister too. She would never have forgiven you,” Jack said, thoughtfully.
“At the time, I remember thinking about Lisa threatening me.”
Jack looked back at Ianto. “How?” He left his voice emotionless, but knowing about Ira Jones and Lisa Hallett’s former affair, he had growing fears.
“She told me she was keeping Sarah and Bruce safe from the next round of experiments. She’d keep doing so if I continued to see her. I’d… I’d told her that afternoon that I wanted to spend my time with them and the Forest instead of her.” Ianto sagged in his seat. “I wanted to keep them safe; I failed. They were already dead, I guess I blamed her.”
“You have that right,” Jack replied, surprising Ianto.
“I… what?” he asked, sitting up and facing Jack.
“Ianto, your entire life was constructed for ‘scientific inquiry.’ Those are the words Hartman and Hallett used when Alex and I tried to get you all out.”
Ianto interrupted. “You tried to get us out? Out of the Tower?”
Jack nodded slowly. “We didn’t try hard enough. I should have tried harder. I’m so sorry, Ianto. I’m so sorry.”
Ianto didn’t move; he didn’t breathe. He just stared at Jack with wide eyes. Finally, he spoke.
“Thank you,” he whispered. His voice was nearly lost under the purr of the engine.
Jack whipped his focus from the road to Ianto’s face. “What?”
“Thank you for trying. Thank you for knowing it was wrong. If we’d known you even wanted us out it would have given so many hope. Thank you.” Ianto breathed these words out like a prayer. They were balm to Jack’s guilty conscious. He blinked away tears.
“Like I said,” he continued, trying to control the lead of the conversation, “Hartman let those scientists experiment in any way they wanted. Mica, David, and Sarah were another line of experiments. I’ve read the records, Ianto.
“The Tower wanted to see how long it would take before the gene pool would be too diluted for further reproduction.”
Ianto gaped at Jack. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. His volume gave away his lie. Jack decided to humor him, however.
“You and Bruce loved each other very much, yes?” Jack asked as he offered a bittersweet smile.
Ianto’s eyes were far away, but his face relaxed. “Very much. He was my best friend, my dearest companion, and the man I loved.”
Jack rested his hand on Ianto’s thigh. Without hesitation, Ianto grasped Jack’s hand tightly. Jack squeezed back.
“You know you were brothers, right?” Jack asked, only hesitating slightly.
Ianto started. “What? I’m sorry?”
“You and Rhiannon call each other siblings because you share DNA with a married couple. But you, along with every other member of the Forest, had the same father. Ambassador Comwen was an alien from the Forest of Cheem who fell through the Rift. One was splicing your human DNA with his.”
Ianto was very quiet. “We’re not just trees, then?”
Jack shook his head. “Yes, you’re trees, but an alien, sentient tree. He spoke, he sang, he wore clothes.”
Ianto licked his lips. “Bruce and I, and Johnny and I, and Sarah and I are all related… Bruce was my brother… and Sarah my niece and daughter.”
Jack let his silence be his affirmation.
Ianto coughed and then ordered Jack to pull over. The car was barely stopped before Ianto’s door was open and he was sick. Jack threw the SUV into park and ran around to help Ianto out. Ianto stumbled a few feet away before he fell to his knees and continued to sick up on the gravel. Jack stared at the man’s back before allowing his gaze to linger on the stars.
Soon, Ianto made his way back to the light of the interior of the SUV. Jack handed him a bottle of water. He swished out his mouth, spit this water out, and then drank the rest down. Ianto stared at the empty bottle in his hand.
Unable to stand it any longer, Jack grabbed Ianto and pulled him in for a hug. Ianto resisted and then fought, before he suddenly sagged against the other man. He hid his face in Jack’s chest and sobbed.
“Don’t feel guilty about this,” Jack ordered, his voice gentle. “You had no idea. You had every right to love him.”
Ianto’s breath hitched and he lifted his head to rest in the joint of Jack’s neck. “You smell good,” he offered between sobs.
“Yeah, good ol’ 51st century pheromones,” Jack replied, as he rubbed Ianto’s back.
“Jack,” Ianto asked, when his tears had subsided, “when does it stop feeling like my heart has been ripped out of my chest?”
Jack tipped his cheek onto Ianto’s hair. This close, their vine qualities were clear.
Jack decided to answer honestly, “Never, but you learn to deal with the ache. Then someday, you fall in love again and it hurts less.”
Part 4