Fic: We Don't Ask (Torchwood)
Title: We Don't Ask
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: None
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Adrift
Summary: Someone always has to clean up.
Captain's Blog
...We offered Nikki, Jonah’s mother, amnesia pills, but she refused them. She said she didn’t want to go back to constantly hoping in vain....
One hour, forty-three minutes. Ms. Bevan would be waking up on her own in ten minutes, plus or minus two.
He stood up and crossed to crouch before her chair, taking her hand and rubbing it between his own, shaking her shoulder lightly. "Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you all right?" Her eyes blinked and then opened to focus blearily on his face. "Are you all right?" he repeated. "You had a bit of a turn there, I'm afraid."
"Who are you?" she asked, still trying to focus on his face. She would see no one very memorable, a man wearing clothes even more nondescript than his face.
"PC Afon Ewan," he said, pasting his most self-deprecating smile on his face. "PC Cooper sent me?" he reminded her.
"Gwen." She searched her memory for...something. "She said--she said you found Jonah? That he--" Her brow wrinkled.
"Yes, ma'am," he said before she could dig too deep. "I'm sorry--I am so sorry." She searched his face. "We've arranged to transfer the body to James Summers and Son, in Roath Court, if that meets with your approval."
"No! He was--he was--" Her persistence was admirable, but he had calculated the dosage very carefully; she would have memories, but dreamlike, easily overridden. "He was--alive." She shook her head in confusion. "He's alive. Isn't he?"
He let his real sympathy show. "I'm sorry. The DNA analysis confirms that he is your son. There's no doubt." There was a body, flotsam and jetsam of the Rift. Between the depredations of time and water and what might even have been seagulls, no one was going to let the mother see it.
He held her as she wept, letting the Retcon take her down again. Leaving a brochure and business card for the funeral home on her table, he let himself out. It was better this way.
Edited by I. Jones: We're Torchwood. We don't ask.
******
Author's note: The Captain's Blog entry, minus Ianto's addition, is from the BBC website, by way of iantos_desktop. Thanks to copperbadge for the beta.
And...a sequel: RTFM.
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: None
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Adrift
Summary: Someone always has to clean up.
Captain's Blog
...We offered Nikki, Jonah’s mother, amnesia pills, but she refused them. She said she didn’t want to go back to constantly hoping in vain....
One hour, forty-three minutes. Ms. Bevan would be waking up on her own in ten minutes, plus or minus two.
He stood up and crossed to crouch before her chair, taking her hand and rubbing it between his own, shaking her shoulder lightly. "Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you all right?" Her eyes blinked and then opened to focus blearily on his face. "Are you all right?" he repeated. "You had a bit of a turn there, I'm afraid."
"Who are you?" she asked, still trying to focus on his face. She would see no one very memorable, a man wearing clothes even more nondescript than his face.
"PC Afon Ewan," he said, pasting his most self-deprecating smile on his face. "PC Cooper sent me?" he reminded her.
"Gwen." She searched her memory for...something. "She said--she said you found Jonah? That he--" Her brow wrinkled.
"Yes, ma'am," he said before she could dig too deep. "I'm sorry--I am so sorry." She searched his face. "We've arranged to transfer the body to James Summers and Son, in Roath Court, if that meets with your approval."
"No! He was--he was--" Her persistence was admirable, but he had calculated the dosage very carefully; she would have memories, but dreamlike, easily overridden. "He was--alive." She shook her head in confusion. "He's alive. Isn't he?"
He let his real sympathy show. "I'm sorry. The DNA analysis confirms that he is your son. There's no doubt." There was a body, flotsam and jetsam of the Rift. Between the depredations of time and water and what might even have been seagulls, no one was going to let the mother see it.
He held her as she wept, letting the Retcon take her down again. Leaving a brochure and business card for the funeral home on her table, he let himself out. It was better this way.
Edited by I. Jones: We're Torchwood. We don't ask.
******
Author's note: The Captain's Blog entry, minus Ianto's addition, is from the BBC website, by way of iantos_desktop. Thanks to copperbadge for the beta.
And...a sequel: RTFM.