Never Doing That Again
Title: Never Doing That Again
Author: crystalshard
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Warnings: Jack mpreg
Summary: A short, crackified take on the Wandering Years, by jadesfire2808. Jack is Ianto's 'mother'.
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, it belongs to the BBC. Nor do I own the Wandering Years, it belongs to jadesfire2808.
A/N: Inspiration came from terrylj and nnwest, who thought up these scenes in the first place. Fool that I am, I went and wrote them. If you don't know the Wandering Years, this won't make sense.
Hywel's parents were waiting for him at the garden gate when he pulled up in the car. Both of them gave him a hug, then his mother looked around in confusion as no-one else exited the vehicle.
"Hywel, where's Vanessa? I could have sworn that she was coming with you," Marion said, peering through the passenger window as if Hywel's wife would somehow suddenly appear.
"She . . . couldn't make it," Hywel said carefully. A good translation for 'too furious with him to want to be anywhere near him.'
Hugh's face showed sympathy, but much to Hywel's relief, he didn't push it. "So, how is Jack doing at Torchwood One?"
Uh-oh. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. "He was fine, last time I saw him," Hywel said neutrally. "Said that he was planning on going to Torchwood House for a few months. They seem to have dug up some artefact that needs his expertise."
"Shall we go inside?" Marion asked. "I have an apple pie in the oven. It'll be ready soon."
Hywel smiled. "Thanks, Mum."
* * *
"It's strange," Hugh said idly as he tapped his fork on the plate that had until recently held a slice of fresh-cooked apple pie. "Jack said that he wanted to get out of the country for the next few years. I wonder why he's choosing to stay up at Torchwood House?"
Hywel went pale, and then flushed. Marion, as sharp-eyed as ever, noticed. "Are you sick, love?"
Hywel swallowed dryly. This was going to be hard to explain. His parents had brought him up to be honest, but that childhood indoctrination was warring against a new and very fervent desire for them not to know. "No, I'm fine. It's just . . ."
"Just what?" Hugh prompted.
"Jack, ah . . . has a certain medical condition right now that he doesn't want to fly with."
"Jack never gets sick," Marion said, looking over at her husband as if for confirmation.
"No. But he does have a few biological anomalies that Torchwood doesn't have nearly enough information about," Hugh said distantly. "What's wrong with him, son?"
"He's . . ." Hywel had to pause and swallow again before he could continue. "He's pregnant."
Both Hywel's parents went absolutely still. Hywel could see the questions that flickered behind their eyes, going by too fast for them to pick any particular question out.
"Who by?" was Hugh's eventual question.
This wasn't going how Hywel had expected at all, but he still answered truthfully. "Me," he admitted.
The silence was longer this time. "I take it that Vanessa wasn't consulted, and therefore she's angry with you?" Hugh asked mildly.
"Something like that," Hywel admitted. "It's complicated."
Surprisingly, Marion smiled. "With Jack, things are either very simple or very complicated. There isn't much in between."
* * *
Twenty-odd years later:
It was late at night when Jack found Ianto in the Torchwood morgue, slumped by one particular door and holding a piece of paper in his hands. It was a piece of paper that Jack had buried long ago in the Torchwood archives, unable to destroy it even though he probably should have. He'd thought, at the time, that the general chaos of the archives would have kept it hidden forever. He hadn't banked on Ianto Jones' organisational skills - skills which were keeping Owen's lab stocked, Suzie's research funded, Tosh's computer running and Jack supplied with coffee.
"What's wrong, Ianto?" Jack slid down the side of the cold morgue door, landing close enough to pull Ianto into a soothing hug. Unfortunately, Ianto was in no mood to be soothed, and he stayed stiff and unresponsive.
"This is, Jack. I don't understand. If this is some sort of sick joke . . ."
Jack got a closer look at the piece of paper, and winced. "I had hoped you'd never find that," he said softly.
"You knew that this was here? My birth certificate, Jack!"
Jack reached down to trace the names on the paper. Name, Ianto Jones. Father, Jack Jones. Mother, Jane Jones. "Those were aliases, you understand," Jack told the man by his side. "Couldn't put real names on that thing. Torchwood cooked you up another one barely a day later, with the names of your dad and his wife on it. It was easier to pretend that your birth was ordinary."
"So that means my dad was really my dad - but my mum wasn't really my mum?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah. It was complicated." He wriggled slightly, the cold metal of the door that he was leaning against starting to soak through his shirt.
Ianto frowned. "What do you mean, my birth was ordinary? Bit of a strange way of putting it, isn't it?"
Jack looked at Ianto for a moment, weighing his chances of understanding. Ianto was young, a 21st century human. But he deserved to be told.
"You weren't born in Wales, Ianto. You were born in Scotland, at a place called Torchwood House. It's in . . ."
"I know where it is, Jack," Ianto interrupted, with a return of the dry humour he usually had. "I take it that Torchwood had something to do with me being born?"
"After a fashion. Your - well, I suppose 'mother' is the best term - was male."
Ianto's eyes widened slightly. "Was I an experiment, then? What did you have to do with this?"
"No, you were more like a wonderful accident. Male pregnancy is unknown now, but it's a fact of life in the future."
"My . . ." Ianto seemed to have trouble deciding on a title, and eventually opted for the one Jack had used. "My mother was a time-traveller? Were you there when he came to Earth?"
"I should hope so. The time-traveller was me."
Ianto stared at him blankly, Jack's own blue eyes watching him from the younger man's face.
Finally, I've found the thing that can shock the unflappable Ianto Jones, Jack thought morbidly.
"You're . . . my mother?" Ianto asked simply, as if he was simply trying to confirm a fact instead of cope with a shocking revelation.
"Yes, Ianto. I'm your mother." Taking the birth certificate in one hand and Ianto's unresisting fingers in the other, Jack pulled him upright. "Come on. It's too cold in here for serious discussions, and I think you need a drink."
"I think I do," Ianto agreed quietly.
As Jack tugged Ianto towards the old couch by Tosh's workstation, he came to a decision. Ianto couldn't cope with the knowledge he'd just been given. It didn't feel real to Jack, anyway - he'd had nothing to do with his biological son's upbringing. In a very real sense, Hywel and Vanessa were more his parents than Jack would ever be. There was no point in letting it change things.
A tumbler of whiskey and Retcon later, Ianto was sleeping peacefully on the couch.
Jack left him lying there as he slipped silently away. The incinerator should be able to get rid of that last incriminating document. He should have done this years ago.
Author: crystalshard
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Warnings: Jack mpreg
Summary: A short, crackified take on the Wandering Years, by jadesfire2808. Jack is Ianto's 'mother'.
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, it belongs to the BBC. Nor do I own the Wandering Years, it belongs to jadesfire2808.
A/N: Inspiration came from terrylj and nnwest, who thought up these scenes in the first place. Fool that I am, I went and wrote them. If you don't know the Wandering Years, this won't make sense.
Hywel's parents were waiting for him at the garden gate when he pulled up in the car. Both of them gave him a hug, then his mother looked around in confusion as no-one else exited the vehicle.
"Hywel, where's Vanessa? I could have sworn that she was coming with you," Marion said, peering through the passenger window as if Hywel's wife would somehow suddenly appear.
"She . . . couldn't make it," Hywel said carefully. A good translation for 'too furious with him to want to be anywhere near him.'
Hugh's face showed sympathy, but much to Hywel's relief, he didn't push it. "So, how is Jack doing at Torchwood One?"
Uh-oh. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. "He was fine, last time I saw him," Hywel said neutrally. "Said that he was planning on going to Torchwood House for a few months. They seem to have dug up some artefact that needs his expertise."
"Shall we go inside?" Marion asked. "I have an apple pie in the oven. It'll be ready soon."
Hywel smiled. "Thanks, Mum."
* * *
"It's strange," Hugh said idly as he tapped his fork on the plate that had until recently held a slice of fresh-cooked apple pie. "Jack said that he wanted to get out of the country for the next few years. I wonder why he's choosing to stay up at Torchwood House?"
Hywel went pale, and then flushed. Marion, as sharp-eyed as ever, noticed. "Are you sick, love?"
Hywel swallowed dryly. This was going to be hard to explain. His parents had brought him up to be honest, but that childhood indoctrination was warring against a new and very fervent desire for them not to know. "No, I'm fine. It's just . . ."
"Just what?" Hugh prompted.
"Jack, ah . . . has a certain medical condition right now that he doesn't want to fly with."
"Jack never gets sick," Marion said, looking over at her husband as if for confirmation.
"No. But he does have a few biological anomalies that Torchwood doesn't have nearly enough information about," Hugh said distantly. "What's wrong with him, son?"
"He's . . ." Hywel had to pause and swallow again before he could continue. "He's pregnant."
Both Hywel's parents went absolutely still. Hywel could see the questions that flickered behind their eyes, going by too fast for them to pick any particular question out.
"Who by?" was Hugh's eventual question.
This wasn't going how Hywel had expected at all, but he still answered truthfully. "Me," he admitted.
The silence was longer this time. "I take it that Vanessa wasn't consulted, and therefore she's angry with you?" Hugh asked mildly.
"Something like that," Hywel admitted. "It's complicated."
Surprisingly, Marion smiled. "With Jack, things are either very simple or very complicated. There isn't much in between."
* * *
Twenty-odd years later:
It was late at night when Jack found Ianto in the Torchwood morgue, slumped by one particular door and holding a piece of paper in his hands. It was a piece of paper that Jack had buried long ago in the Torchwood archives, unable to destroy it even though he probably should have. He'd thought, at the time, that the general chaos of the archives would have kept it hidden forever. He hadn't banked on Ianto Jones' organisational skills - skills which were keeping Owen's lab stocked, Suzie's research funded, Tosh's computer running and Jack supplied with coffee.
"What's wrong, Ianto?" Jack slid down the side of the cold morgue door, landing close enough to pull Ianto into a soothing hug. Unfortunately, Ianto was in no mood to be soothed, and he stayed stiff and unresponsive.
"This is, Jack. I don't understand. If this is some sort of sick joke . . ."
Jack got a closer look at the piece of paper, and winced. "I had hoped you'd never find that," he said softly.
"You knew that this was here? My birth certificate, Jack!"
Jack reached down to trace the names on the paper. Name, Ianto Jones. Father, Jack Jones. Mother, Jane Jones. "Those were aliases, you understand," Jack told the man by his side. "Couldn't put real names on that thing. Torchwood cooked you up another one barely a day later, with the names of your dad and his wife on it. It was easier to pretend that your birth was ordinary."
"So that means my dad was really my dad - but my mum wasn't really my mum?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah. It was complicated." He wriggled slightly, the cold metal of the door that he was leaning against starting to soak through his shirt.
Ianto frowned. "What do you mean, my birth was ordinary? Bit of a strange way of putting it, isn't it?"
Jack looked at Ianto for a moment, weighing his chances of understanding. Ianto was young, a 21st century human. But he deserved to be told.
"You weren't born in Wales, Ianto. You were born in Scotland, at a place called Torchwood House. It's in . . ."
"I know where it is, Jack," Ianto interrupted, with a return of the dry humour he usually had. "I take it that Torchwood had something to do with me being born?"
"After a fashion. Your - well, I suppose 'mother' is the best term - was male."
Ianto's eyes widened slightly. "Was I an experiment, then? What did you have to do with this?"
"No, you were more like a wonderful accident. Male pregnancy is unknown now, but it's a fact of life in the future."
"My . . ." Ianto seemed to have trouble deciding on a title, and eventually opted for the one Jack had used. "My mother was a time-traveller? Were you there when he came to Earth?"
"I should hope so. The time-traveller was me."
Ianto stared at him blankly, Jack's own blue eyes watching him from the younger man's face.
Finally, I've found the thing that can shock the unflappable Ianto Jones, Jack thought morbidly.
"You're . . . my mother?" Ianto asked simply, as if he was simply trying to confirm a fact instead of cope with a shocking revelation.
"Yes, Ianto. I'm your mother." Taking the birth certificate in one hand and Ianto's unresisting fingers in the other, Jack pulled him upright. "Come on. It's too cold in here for serious discussions, and I think you need a drink."
"I think I do," Ianto agreed quietly.
As Jack tugged Ianto towards the old couch by Tosh's workstation, he came to a decision. Ianto couldn't cope with the knowledge he'd just been given. It didn't feel real to Jack, anyway - he'd had nothing to do with his biological son's upbringing. In a very real sense, Hywel and Vanessa were more his parents than Jack would ever be. There was no point in letting it change things.
A tumbler of whiskey and Retcon later, Ianto was sleeping peacefully on the couch.
Jack left him lying there as he slipped silently away. The incinerator should be able to get rid of that last incriminating document. He should have done this years ago.