VS3:10 -- "Family Business", Part Four

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Family Business -- Part Four

Gwen was damn impressed; big hedges bordered the farm, keeping out prying eyes, wrought-iron gates painted the same colour purple as the branding on all of the packets. She vaguely remembered reading about the suddenly successful entrepreneur buying up a place from a minor celebrity, and this seemed to fit the bill - big, gaudy and private. She wasn't quite certain how she was going to get in.

She parked out front, and checked the gate, surprised when it swung open under her hand. Wilson had been quite shaken after the car accident, certainly, but surely she'd have remembered to lock the gates? What was the point in having them - and in protecting a secret formula behind them - if you didn't lock them?

She could feel the thrill of adrenaline starting to spark up and down her spine, radiating out to her arms, making her hands twitch to be doing something, getting in there and taking names. Sadly, unless there were triffids hidden behind that fence, it was probably more likely to be writing down the names than kicking anyone to the curb, but something was wrong, and Gwen's danger senses were tingling.

She drove up to the house, parking right at the front entry, pulling out her gun once she realised that the front door was unlatched, too, swinging carelessly on its hinges as if a ghost were tipping it back and forth. Carefully, she nudged it open, letting it swing wide.

The carpet was purple. The drapes were purple. The furniture was purple. Even the large, framed picture of a unicorn in front of the moon was, yes, purple. Gwen lowered her gun a little, unable to escape the mental image of walking into the innards of a grape.

"Hello?" she called. "Ms. Wilson? It's Gwen Cooper from Torchwood. I just need to ask you a few more questions."

No reply. The unicorn stared at her from the wall, slightly cross-eyed. It looked as if it were like it was plotting something.

"Hello?" Gwen said, walking through to the kitchen. Out through to the back, she could see huge glasshouses, gleaming in the sun. Ah. So that was where she needed to be. Still holding her gun, she made her way to the back door, noticing as she did so that her hands were shaking, just a little bit. She'd been on the downslide again, but she was determined not to be sick now. The rush of danger was buoying her, and there was no way she was calling Jack twice in one day and asking for a lift.

The yard had probably once been a cottage garden, but now it was filled with gleaming sheds, condensation blurring the contents a little as they stood warm against the freshness of the February air. Gwen noticed a building sitting a little apart from the house; probably once a laundry, it had been converted into an office.

Her luck had to run out with the office - it was locked. Still seeing no signs of life, she went back into the kitchen, looking in drawers and cupboards, finding cutlery, a ladle that was stubbornly blocking a drawer, and there, underneath it, a bunch of spare keys. Gwen permitted herself a little grin before she picked them up, a dizzy spell making her suddenly clutch at the counter before she could go on. Right. This was getting ridiculous. She'd have to talk to Megan and make sure that this was proper pregnancy, and not some weird thing. Maybe she needed to eat more iron, or less sugar, or something.

It took four keys to find the right one, and then she was in there. Yes, this was the business office. There were notebooks, and computers, and all sorts of charts up on the wall. Framed, taking pride of place, was a degree in herbal naturopathy - Jack and Megan would have a field day with that. Argument fodder for the next six centuries, or thereabouts. It would take them weeks to go through the computer files; Ianto would have a field day with that, and Megan would probably be leaning over his shoulder.

Helpfully, Anna Wilson had been a labeler. Gwen scanned the shelves. Preliminary Notes. Development. Research Notes. Stuff. More Stuff. There was a pattern developing as she looked along the shelf. Gwen pulled off a Stuff file, and it seemed to just be a jumble of bits of paper and receipts, business cards and for some reason, a fifty pound note. She sighed, putting it down and picking up one of the more coherently-labelled files, sitting down at the chair. This one was in order, pages neatly labeled in a rounded hand. There was a sketch of a flower: fleshy leaves and downward-sloping petals.

"Probably related to St John's Wort," Gwen read, and that was a relief. When she'd googled purple moonflower, she'd come up with datura, and she was pretty certain that it wouldn't be legal to put that into a topical cream. There were names, most of them crossed out. Purple Sweetblossom. Sweetblossom. Royal Moonblossom. Purple Moonblossom. Anna Wilson had inhabited a dream world, it seemed, from the doodles of flowers, pound signs, and crescent moons that lined the pages like illumination in a medieval manuscript, and she'd dreamed of being financially successful. Not a bad dream, all things considered, but from the looks of it a lonely one. Gwen put the folder down.

"So where are you, Anna?" she asked, picking up the keys again. "With your plants?"

The grass was a little long, and it swished around the hems of Gwen's trousers as she trudged across the lawn towards the greenhouses, squatting in the yard as if they were great spaceships. One was more misted over than the others, and when she looked, the concrete step in front of it was damp, water running over it. Okay. One of these things is not like the others, therefore that's the one that gets investigated first.

The door wasn't locked, although a wash of water stained the toes of her shoes dark with damp as she stepped inside. Someone had turned on the irrigation system, but they hadn't turned it off again. The air in the greenhouse was heady with the scent of the plants, damply warm, row upon row of purple flowers luminescent in the sunlight that filtered through the glass panels. And there, there was Anna Wilson, still wearing the suit that she'd had on when Gwen had last seen her. Gwen bent to take her pulse, sucking in a great gulp of air to try to clear her head from the stuffy fumes.

Wilson was face-down on the floor. There was no dignity in death, just in case Gwen had needed a reminder. She lay where she'd fallen, her suit stained with water and saliva, her body contorted. Rigor mortis hadn't set in; she was still a little warm. Yes. This was definitely the right place - she'd get Jack and Megan out, determine the exact cause of death, see what they could do about it. Head spinning, Gwen fumbled for her mobile, hitting Jack's number on the speed dial.

"Gwen, I'll put you on speaker," he said, when he picked up, "we think we've got a solution."

"That's good," said Gwen, surveying the mess around her, looking for a tap to turn off the rushing water. "You'd better get out here. I think we've found the source."

"Good work," he said. "Ianto with you?"

"He's not here yet," she replied, blinking as a wave of sickness threatened to overwhelm her. "Give me a sec. I might just go outside; it's getting a little bit claustrophobic in-"

Her phone bounced when it hit the ground, finally shattering on the fourth rebound. Gwen didn't see it; she'd fallen onto her back, the water from the irrigation system speckling her face, her breathing slow, dead to the world.

"This looks like it," said Jack, steering the SUV through the open front gates of the little farm - it was bordered by high hedges that concealed anything behind the gates. Megan had been watching him all the way, his agitation poorly concealed. He'd ignored his phone ringing, and she'd barely been able to stop herself from grabbing at the dashboard as he took corners far too quickly for safety or comfort. Gwen's car was on the driveway ahead of them, and Jack pulled in behind it. "Yep, definitely it."

"Her phone's still going straight to messages," Megan said, and Jack nodded, already out of the car and slipping his Webley from its holster.

"Be ready, then."

Megan got out her gun. Jack had tried to insist on weapons training down in the bottom of the Hub, in the old train station, but Megan had put a stop to that the first time he tried to adjust her stance. It was as if the man didn't know where human physical boundaries stopped.

"We'll check the house first," said Jack, and they rounded the door, weapons at the ready. Something was wrong here; doors were open, the house still and silent. And purple. Megan tensed, ready to fire at a pair of eyes at the end of the hallway, and then relaxed. Right. It was a painting of a cross-eyed unicorn.

Jack caught her eye.

"Don't want to kill a unicorn," he whispered, and then gestured to the stairs. She nodded, her footfalls silent on the thick carpet, sweeping the area. There was a bra on the balustrade, and a trail of clothes on the floor. For such a fancy house, it looked a bit like a teenager's bedroom - clothes, shoes, pieces of paper spread everywhere. The bathroom, when she poked her head in there, was going mouldy around the taps, the bath full of bottles that bore the same purple branding as the stuff that Gwen had given her in the Hub.

"Clear," Jack called, from down the hall. "Come and look at this."

Megan followed the sound of his voice down the hall to the bedroom, where he stood at the window. There was a huge painting on the wall, detailing a large, purple flower.

"Purple moonflower," said Megan, looking at it. "Jack…"

"Purple moonflower," he said. "Come here, Megan."

She joined him at the window. The little farm had a magnificent view; the green, rolling hills of Wales, fluffy white clouds against a perfectly blue sky, and three shining glasshouses, each one full of rows and rows of bright purple flowers.

"The door on that one is open," Megan said, pointing.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, turning and bolting downstairs. "And what's a bet that Anna Wilson didn't know what she had here?"

"You think this was an innocent mistake?" Megan asked, trying to keep up. He shoved open the doors to the kitchen, hard enough that one of the glass panels in them shattered. "Wait… we don't know what's down there. Guns blazing isn't going to help us if someone has Gwen hostage."

"Not going to hurt, either," Jack said, pushing through to the yard, his Webley in hand. He hushed her as they approached the door to the greenhouse, water trickling out and onto the garden path. Warm air was leeching out, like from an opened oven, and the humidity made her skin crawl. It was like being back in the tropics, and the hissing sprinklers filled the air with a fine mist, making it hard to see. Jack gestured to a tap on the wall, and Megan went to it, turning off the irrigation. Her foot crunched something, and she looked down to see what appeared to be part of the casing for a mobile phone.

"Looks like it was a lucky thing that the plant survived," Jack said, as he split-sploshed across the cement floor, looking around. "Gwen? Gwen?!"

"Looks like our Welsh girl made good didn't," Megan said, looking over at two dark shapes on the floor. One was a woman that she didn't know, her suit stained dark with water, and the other was-

"Gwen," said Jack, and he ran to her. She'd fallen between rows of flowers, face up. It was a lucky thing, too; there was enough water puddling on the floor under them that falling face-down would have put her in danger of her life. Jack bent to check her pulse, his coat trailing in the water. "Megan, here."

Megan did likewise with Anna, but it was no use - her body was cold, skin already starting to grey.

"We're too late for Anna," said Megan. "I'd at least have thought that she'd have managers and hangers-on, people to stop this from happening."

"Looks like she didn't," Jack said, cradling Gwen a little, pulling her limp body close to his chest. "Gwen. Come on, I know you're in there."

Gwen opened her eyes. "Jack?"

"Hey," he said, brushing her damp hair back from her forehead. "What did I say about fainting on the job?"

"No lollypop unless I break my leg," she replied, closing her eyes.

Jack, ignoring every rule in the book about moving injured people, hooked one arm under Gwen's knees and the other around her waist, lifting her out of the water. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he carried her out into the fresh air, away from the heady scent of the plants.

Megan couldn't stay silent. "Jack, you idiot! What if she has internal injuries? Put her down now."

For once, Jack seemed to listen to her, putting Gwen on the grass. Gwen was soaked to the skin, and Jack helped her out of her damp jacket as Megan checked her over. Response time was good; no pain in the abdomen, and although Gwen was shivering now that she was out of the heat, she didn't seem to be in any immediate danger. Jack pulled off his coat, wrapping it around Gwen's shoulders. Gwen flinched.

"What?" asked Jack. "What is it? You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, and took his hand, putting it on her stomach. "It's moving. Oh thank fucking god, it's moving."

"Doesn't like it when Mum faints," said Megan, and Jack grinned, suddenly.

"I felt that!"

Gwen swallowed. "I feel dreadful. Like I'm going to faint again."

"I'll go get you something to deal with your blood sugars," said Megan. "Jack, keep an eye on her. If there's any sign of worsening, then we're going straight to A&E."

Megan got up, striding back to the house to get into the kitchen, hunting through cupboards until she found what she needed. Dishes were stacked everywhere; no washing up had been done for a while. It was probably a miracle that the woman had been filling her orders. When she ran back out with the honey jar and water, Jack was already on his phone to the authorities, Gwen sitting up, but leaning heavily against his shoulder.

"Hello? This is Captain Jack Harkness," he said. "Torchwood. We need to organise a recall of all Cosmetologica products. No, I'm not kidding. Cosmetologica. I'll explain when I get there."

Gwen blinked at Megan, Jack's hand still twined with her own on her stomach, and Megan gave her the water bottle.

"Sip," she said. "It was very hot in there."

Gwen sipped, and Megan nodded, twirling a spoon in the honey.

"Okay. The stuff you were putting on your skin has probably lowered your blood sugar," she said. "I'll do some testing when we get back in to Cardiff."

"Gwen okay?" Jack asked, hanging up.

"Gwen okay," said Gwen, nodding. "What's that for?"

"It won't hurt you to have some honey, even if it was just the heat that made you faint," said Megan. "It's a bit more palatable than eating right out of the sugar bowl, and honestly, I'm a bit afraid of what might have spoiled in that kitchen."

She handed Gwen the spoon, and Gwen ate the honey, and then sipped the water.

"Anna's dead, isn't she?" asked Gwen.

"Yes," said Megan. "Probably had no idea that the plant was anything other than a pretty smelling weed."

"That's all it would take," Jack said. "One or two viable seeds, blown in on the Rift, nice damp climate, nice rich soil. They grow, get harvested. Someone notices that they have a good perfume; and this is Wales, isn't it? Everything here has been catalogued and tested and experimented with for centuries. It wouldn't be hard for some money to change hands and a product to get approved. We could be hundreds - even thousands of light years from their original destination."

"So you think it wasn't malicious," said Gwen, around the spoonful of honey.

"This… this could be used to control lives," Jack replied. "Plant some in an area, people get sick, property values go down as rumours of industrial poisoning go up. Buy up the land cheaply, sell it off expensively in a few years once the hype has died down."

"There'd be nothing to stop a terrestrial armed force from using it, either," Megan said, quietly. "Let it into an ecosystem and weaken a country just enough to make it ripe for invasion."

"There's a shed," Gwen said, rough-voiced, "over there. All her notes are in there. We'll need to strip it."

"We'll do that," said Megan. "You stay here for a while; call me over immediately if you're feeling any worse."

Gwen sat on the grass as Megan picked up papers, dumping them into the back seat of the SUV. One file sprang open, scattering pictures all over the floor, and Megan saw one of the dead woman in the greenhouse, smiling, next to a beaming real estate agent. Jack, on the other hand, was taking care of the body, putting it into the storage compartment under the rear seat. He'd do his back in, lugging things around like that, and then she'd have to treat it. And she'd be entirely unsympathetic.

Something buzzed at her hip, and she froze until she realised that it was her mobile telling her that she had a message. When she flipped it open, she realised that she'd missed quite a few calls by leaving it on silent. Damn. There was voicemail on her phone. Ianto. Three new messages.

"Megan, it's Ianto. I can't reach Jack or Gwen. Call me."

BEEP.

"Call me."

BEEP.

"Megan," said Ianto, his voice marred by static. "I need one of you to call me. Im at… hospital… have another case. It's…" Static interfered. Shit. "…I need….call me." The phone cut out.

Ianto, for all his smugness and world-weariness, was still very young; it was easy to forget this when they were in the Hub, but on the phone he'd sounded every inch a frightened young man. Megan tapped her fingers on the hard back of her mobile, as Jack helped Gwen up from the grass, letting her lean on him as she made her way to the passenger seat of the SUV.

"You'd better call Ianto," Megan said.

Jack turned to her.  "Ianto? Why?"

"I think he needs you," she said, and Jack shook his head.

"He's a big boy. Whatever it is, he can deal with it," he said. "Come on. We've got some plants to kill."

"Kill?" Megan asked. "Jack, this could be… we could use this to help us control diabetes. It could be… there could be all sorts of…"

"And you have samples of it back in the lab," he said. "A woman is dead. I don't want a concentration this high to be available to anyone."

"But…" she wrapped her fingers around her pendant, feeling the warmth of the lump of amber against her hand, "Jack, it's… what if…"

"We leave this, then whoever is looking after the estate comes in," he said. "Picks up the secret ingredient and goes on to mass production. It'll pass every test we give it, because we don't know what to look for. Thousands of people around the world, using Cosmetologica."

"You can't know that," she replied.

"You can't know that it won't happen," he said. "This is my call. If you think I've got it wrong, you can go and wait in the car."

"Waiting in the car like a child is an inefficient use of resources," Megan said, with a sigh.

Jack picked up a rock. "Hey, you want to help me test something?" he said.

"Is this the right time?" she asked.

"Oh, come on," he said. "Haven't you always wondered what happened if people in glass houses threw stones?"

There was a certain iconoclastic glee in pelting rocks through the windows, letting in enough air to feed a fire. Jack was trying for trick shots; hit a panel on the side, and then watching as the stone burst up and through the roof, shards of glass gleaming in the sunlight as they shattered and collapsed in on themselves. Even Gwen was getting into it, sitting on the edge of the seat of the SUV, a spoonful of honey in her mouth. Finally, Jack pronounced the job done, and went to get the spare petrol tanks from the back of the SUV.

"Keep an eye on Gwen," he said. "I'll do this."

She watched him trot off towards the first greenhouse. Petrol, Megan reflected, smelled awful. She was behind the wheel while Jack seeded the greenhouses and it still surrounded her. She'd turned off her mobile, just in case, but the engine didn't set it off, though, and so she figured that it would probably be okay to check again for any messages.

Hell. There was another message from Ianto.

"Megan, if you get this…" Ianto's accent was thick, so thick she could barely understand him, "It's Mica. She's… got whatever this thing is. Tell Jack… get Jack to pick up… shit. Just… call me, Megan, or something."

She sighed, and tried to remember who Mica was. Gwen groaned.

"Ugh. I think I'm going to be sick," she said. "That smells terrible."

"Wait until it burns," said Megan, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. She hadn't known Ianto for long, but he didn't panic, and he'd sounded a few threads away from fraying completely.

"I'd rather not," Gwen replied, and she slumped backwards in her seat, leaning against the window.

"Gwen?" Megan asked.

"Feel sick," Gwen mumbled.

"That's it," Megan said, "home. Now. I'll take you to Cardiff A&E; we'll see what's going on with Ianto, and I'll have a chance to get a good look at you. Have another spoonful of honey."

"But Jack…"

"Can take your car," said Megan, and she got out, unloading the rest of the spare petrol cans from the back. Jack jogged up, dumping the empty can next to her.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"Gwen's too sick," she replied. "And I really think you need to talk to Ianto. Whatever he's done to piss you off this time, I think you need to talk."

"We'll talk when I'm done here," said Jack, picking up a petrol can in each hand, his grin lupine. "Better get driving, if that's what you've gotta do."

The long spring inside the hospital vending machine twirled, and a packet of crisps fell down, David pushing the slot at the bottom open to get at them. Ianto paced, hoping that his damn phone batteries lasted, and that someone picked up this time. It rang three times, and then Jack picked up.

"Busy," he said.

"Jack," Ianto said, relief flooding through him, hot and cold in turns. "Thank god."

"Really kinda busy, Ianto," said Jack. There was a strange noise in the background, cracking and popping - and was that glass breaking?

"Jack, it's Mica. She's affected," Ianto said.

Jack paused. "Muli's on her way back."

"I can't…" said Ianto.

"You will," said Jack. There was an almighty crash. "Gotta go."

"Jack!" Ianto said, but all he could hear was the dialtone, and then the wheeping noise of the battery warning on his phone. He hung up, the relief that had washed through him turning to terror that threatened to drown him.

David was looking at him oddly. "No one's answering your phone, are they?"

"They're on their way," said Ianto, the phone hot in his palm where he had it in a death-grip. "Did you get your crisps?"

"Didn't we come out here so we could use your phone?" said David, and Ianto shoved it into his pocket.

"We came to get some crisps, too," said Ianto. And to give Johnny and Rhiannon five minutes where they didn't have to be brave for David, but there was no sense in telling David that.

"That's crap," said David.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Ianto asked, and David started to cry. Oh god. This was going downhill; people in the corridor were looking at them, probably wondering what kind of horrible guardian Ianto was, and Ianto wasn't sure of what to do - did he hug David? Or was that weird?

"I don't want Mica to die," David said, and he hugged Ianto, and then it made sense to hug him back.

"She won't," said Ianto, "because I'm not going to let it happen."

"How can you? You're not a… not a… d-doctor," David sobbed.

"Sssh," Ianto said, rubbing his back. "Hey. Hey. I'm not a doctor, but I know a good one. Her name's Megan, and she's solved the mystery of some of the worst diseases in the world."

"You're… you're lying," David snuffled. "Dad said you were a liar."

Ianto shook his head. Ouch. "For serious. I'll swear this to you. And that was just Captain Jack Harkness from Torchwood on the phone, telling me that Dr. Muli is on her way."

Please don't let me down, Ianto thought, as David hiccoughed.

"T…Torchwood's not real. It's just what they tell us kids to make us behave," he snuffled.

"Oh no," said Ianto. "It's real. Look."

He dug into his pocket for his ID, and produced it. David scrutinised it, wiping his nose with the back of his hand before he handed it back. "For serious?"

"For serious. Dr. Muli is on her way, and she'll make Mica well again," Ianto said.

David rested his head against Ianto's shoulder, and closed his eyes. "Uncle Ianto?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I just squashed my crisps."

Ianto chuckled, brushing back David's fringe. "I've got some more coins in my pocket."

Once they'd attained a fresh packet of salt and vinegar crisps, Ianto turned to go back. He stopped when David grabbed his arm.

"Wait," said David. "I don't want… I don't want Mam to know I was crying."

"She won't mind," said Ianto.

"She says that," said David, miserably. "But I don't think she means it. I'm meant to be the eldest; I'm like her. We're meant to take care of the younger ones."

"She said that?" Ianto asked, fishing around in his pocket for his spare hanky. David nodded.

"All the time," he said, and Ianto scanned about, spotting a drinking fountain up against the wall, near the doors to the loos.

"Come on, over here," he said. "Have a drink. You'll feel better." Once David had drunk, Ianto wet the corner of the hanky at the fountain. "Chin up."

He took David's chin, and wiped off the tears with the damp hanky, then offering him the dry side. David blew his nose, offering Ianto the soggy hanky back. Ianto shook his head.

"Probably best if you keep it," he said, and David shoved it into the pocket of his jeans before reaching for Ianto's hand as they walked back down to where Mica had been put into a little, dark room. Ianto had looked in earlier and seen all of the machines; he'd had to take a minute to catch his breath, let his brain register that this was Mica, and there was no metal in her - this was still flesh and blood, and whatever mental baggage Ianto might be carrying, it was useless to bring it in that door. Rhiannon was waiting for them in the corridor, and David flashed Ianto a quick, secret smile that seemed to say don't tell her I cried. She pulled David close as soon as he came within reach.

"Where's Dad?" David asked.

"He's in with Mica, sweetheart," she said, brushing his hair back. "You two were gone awhile."

"Erm… that was my fault," Ianto said, brandishing his phone. "I was trying to get a signal - you know how it is with these things. There's only a few places in the hospital where I can turn the bloody thing on."

David shot him a look of pure gratitude, and Rhiannon shook her head.

"Don't do it again," she said, with just the smallest of smiles. He'd never really been all that good at lying to Rhi. "I might get Johnny to come and sit with this one, and you and I can talk."

Johnny seemed to have calmed down a bit, but he didn't speak to either of them as they changed places, even though Rhi said something to him, too soft to catch. She pulled the door shut behind them, and sat beside Mica, taking Mica's hand between both of her own.

"Thank you," she said. "Did he cry for long?"

"No," Ianto replied. "He's being brave for you. Said it's his duty as the eldest."

Rhiannon reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Mica's forehead.

"It's… the doctors think it's a diabetic coma," said Rhiannon, quietly. "But you don't, do you, Ianto?"

Ianto ran his hand through his hair. He didn't know the treatment for a diabetic coma; but equally, he didn't know the treatment for whatever this was that they were fighting.

"They're putting sugar into her, trying to raise her blood sugar enough that she'll wake up," said Rhiannon. "I want to know now if you think that's going to do more harm than good."

"I'm not a doctor," he said, and she nodded.

"I know that. But this… this Torchwood… you deal with weird stuff. I've heard the rumours. Everyone's heard the rumours. You know about the bombings, and those murders, and those animal-things that are meant to live in the sewers," she said, and he supposed that she had heard; thanks to the rift, Cardiff was crawling with urban legends, some more urban than legend.

"What are you asking me?" he said.

She touched Mica's cheek; Mica's pale, cold cheek. "I'm asking you to tell me if you think we're killing her," she said. "As someone who works for Torchwood. Not as my brother, not trying to spare my feelings. Tell me if you think she's going to die."

Ianto closed his eyes, letting his palms smooth the front of his suit, and then it was easy, easy to become the officious butler. What would Ianto Jones, Torchwood operative, say to a mother he barely knew, even if he didn't know the answers?

"You're not killing her," he said, lies and half-truths. If anyone asked him later, of course he'd told the truth; it wasn't Rhiannon who was killing Mica. It was whatever was in Mica's blood that might kill her by morning. He sighed, feeling his shoulders slump a little. "Would you like me to go and sit with David, and let Johnny come back in here?"

Rhiannon was smiling, albeit somewhat damply. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Ianto?"

Ianto looked up; it felt like forever since he'd spoken to Jack. Long enough that Johnny had gone back out to sit with David, keep him calm. Muli stood in the doorway, a little trolley propping the door open, and Rhiannon looked up at her, suspicious.

"What's she doing here?" Rhiannon asked.

"She might know…" Ianto said, and Megan nodded, just slightly, "…she knows how to fix it."

"I'll need to examine the patient," said Muli. "Alone."

"No," said Rhiannon.

"I could stay," said Ianto.

"I'm staying," said Rhiannon. "I'll get Johnny… I'll… Ianto."

"Please," said Muli.

"I'm bloody well staying," said Rhiannon.

"Rhi," said Ianto. "Megan can just close the room if she needs to. It's… better, this way."

And in the back of his head, there in the back, was the nagging thought of doing this before - going into a hospital room together with Owen, or Jack; requesting privacy, and then leaving before you could see the disappointment on the faces of the family.

"Ianto," Rhiannon said, and she could barely get the words out. "She's my little girl."

"I know," he said, and it was hopelessly inadequate, but that was all he had.

"Promise me," she said, her hands shaking, "promise me that she won't die."

"I trust Megan," he said.

"That's not a promise."

He swallowed. "I know."

"Mrs. Davies?" Muli said. "Please. Time is short."

Rhiannon didn't look at him as she left, and Ianto grabbed the cold metal rail at the end of the bed to stop himself from screaming. Megan shut the door behind her, and Ianto didn't want to think of her as Dr. Muli right now; he wanted her to tell him what to do as Megan, his colleague - his friend.

"Is Jack coming?" Ianto asked.

She shook her head. "He's finishing up out at the farm. We found the source."

"Did you tell him…"

"I told him," she said, moving to the bed, checking the charts before she looked at the machine readouts. "Yes. This is it; she's had a massive dose. Probably from the stuff your sister was selling."

Oh god, Ianto thought. He couldn't tell Rhi. He swallowed.

"Megan, if her sugars get any lower, she could…" Ianto couldn't finish that sentence.

"Look," said Megan, "I can't say for certain that if you give her sugar, the compound will become dormant. I think the glucose drip won't hurt, but it's not going to be enough. I want to set up toxin-specific dialysis; I've talked to the team downstairs about organising filtration. Give her a chance to fight it."

"It's a bacteria," he said, and that caught his breath. "It's not a compound at all, is it?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "I don't think it's something we have a word for yet. It's not alive, but it's not… it's almost like... theoretically, what we could do with nanotechnology, given a few years and a few hundred million dollars."

"And you haven't tested this treatment," Ianto said.

"Not on a…" Megan sighed. "I have in the lab. And I know it'll work."

"You want to further dilute the blood of someone who is dying from not having enough sugar in her blood to start with," Ianto said, quietly.

"I'm proposing we do two things," said Megan. "Remove some blood and then replace it, along with glucose. I've told them to get a dialysis machine prepped down in ICU, but we're filtering out something that we've never had to filter before. Our best chance from there is to hope her immune system takes it on."

"Shit," Ianto said. "Shit, shit. Where the hell is Jack?"

"I don't know," said Megan. "But I don't think that this is Jack's call."

Mica was very small, and very pale. Her skin seemed almost translucent, the light from the machines playing over her features, and she was so still, so still that Ianto reached out to brush her cheek with his fingertips, just to feel whether she was still warm, still alive.

"Ianto?" asked Megan, and Ianto nodded.

"Do it," he said, and he wrapped his large hand around Mica's small, cold one, holding her arm steady. Megan pulled equipment from the trolley, and Mica didn't move when the needle broke her skin; didn't move when Megan drew away.

"It won't be immediate," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ianto."

"You're only allowed to be sorry if it fails," Ianto said, throat tight.

"Are you close?" she asked.

"Not as close as we should be," he replied, and she patted his shoulder through his suit.

"I'll be back," she said.

It felt like an age before she returned with a registrar, the two of them using a backboard to shift Mica onto a trolley. Ianto hovered, feeling useless, and Megan turned to him.

"You won't be able to come in," she said.

"I promised…"

She shook her head. "There's only room for one, and I think that should be Rhiannon."

He nodded. "Will Mica die?"

"I don't know. The blood tests are showing a high concentration - she's been exposed for a long time, and her tolerance has built," said Megan. "Go, get Rhiannon."

David was sitting in Rhiannon's lap in the waiting room, and he looked up when Ianto appeared. Rhiannon breathed in, sharply, and it was Johnny who spoke.

"Well?"

"There's…" Ianto put his hands on his hips, so that he wouldn't fiddle with his cuffs. "They're putting her onto dialysis."

"There's nothing wrong with her kidneys, is there?" Johnny demanded.

Ianto shook his head. "I can't say. I'm not a doctor."

"Look, it's your Torchwood what's done this," said Johnny, and Rhiannon put a hand on his arm.

"I… Megan says that one of you can sit with her," said Ianto. "You'll need to go downstairs to intensive care."

"I'm going," said Rhiannon. "David, I need you to sit with Dad."

"No," David said. "I'm coming with you!"

"No," said Rhiannon. "Baby, you need to be a big boy, and stay with Dad."

"Stay with me," said Johnny. "Come on. We'll go back to the vending machine and I'll get you a chocolate."

"Ianto," said Megan, as they rolled the trolley out.

Rhiannon was already on her feet, letting her husband take David. "Mica!"

Ianto let her go. Johnny turned to him.

"You're not going?"

"There's only room for one," Ianto said. "I think I might… I'll go downstairs and see what I can find out."

"Good idea," said Johnny quietly.

Ianto went to the lift, hoping that he could catch Megan in a corridor somewhere, relying on his Torchwood ID to get him in. When it pinged on the ground floor and he got out, Ianto saw a very familiar silhouette standing in the lobby.

"You are coming with me now," said Ianto, grabbing Jack, because he felt like he was about to fall over, and shoving Jack about made him feel stronger.

"Ianto," Jack said.

"No," Ianto said. "Jesus, Jack. Where have you been? Mica's…"

Jack nodded. "I just checked my messages. How is she?"

"I don't know," said Ianto. "Megan has taken her down to… she wants to put her on dialysis."

"Is someone with her?"

"Yes," said Ianto. "Yeah, Rhi's with her. Jack…"

"Come and sit down," Jack said gently. "Come on. Rhiannon knows your number, doesn't she?"

Ianto nodded. "Yes."

"Then trust Megan to call you if something goes wrong, and Rhiannon to call you if something goes right."

Ianto let Jack half-coax, half-shove him to the cafeteria, and they sat at one of the little tables, something between them. Ianto supposed that it was so that he couldn't punch Jack, or something.

"You found the problem, then," he said.

Jack nodded. "Found and eradicated."

"You didn't bother to call me back," Ianto said.

"It was important," said Jack. "And I trust you."

"Jack," said Ianto. "If we're going to… whatever it is that we're doing… I need to be able to rely on you."

"No!" Jack said, sudden, sharp. "You can't rely on me."

"You're my captain," Ianto replied. "I… if I can't trust you, who can I trust?"

"You can trust me," Jack said, softening. "Ianto, you're brilliant. You're so brilliant. But you need to rely on yourself and you know it."

"Do you know?" Ianto asked.

"Know what?"

"If it will work."

Jack reached across the table and drew his thumb over the back of Ianto's hand, just gently.

"I have faith in my team," he said, soft. "I wouldn't have known if it would work any more than you did, but you made the right decision."

"She nearly…" said Ianto, his throat tight, eyes burning. "She nearly died, Jack."

"She's alive," said Jack.

"You weren't there."

"You made the right decision," Jack said.

Ianto swallowed.  "I've… I've made…" he said, and then changed tack, "I'm waiting for it to go wrong."

"Ianto."

"Just… listen, will you?"

Jack was silent. Ianto sighed.

"I've done some stupid things, okay? You know how stupid… you know," he said, as loudly as he dared, which wasn't very loudly at all. Jack kissed his knuckles.

"I know," he said. "But you've done some amazing things, too."

Ianto closed his eyes. "You're not listening."

Jack sighed, heavily, and Ianto kept his eyes closed, just happy to feel the cheap chipboard table under his hands and to hear the sigh of people around him. No emergencies. No one dying. Just the hum and buzz of talk, the swish of coats and feet on the ground.

"So tell me." Jack said. "I thought we… I thought…"

Ianto's phone rang, and he fumbled for it. Unknown number. His heart nearly stopped.

"I don't know who it is," he said, and Jack took his hand. "Hullo?"

"Where are you?" Rhiannon asked, and his stomach dropped, felt like someone had just filled it with acid.

"Cafeteria," he said, hoarsely. "Where are you?"

"On the payphone," she replied, and he could hear the tears in her voice, so he had to get up, had to move, had to pull away from Jack. He had made the wrong decision, he'd made the wrong decision again and now it was Mica who was dead.

"I'm sorry," he said, his throat tight.

"You fucking shit," she said, and she was crying. "Jesus, Ianto. She's… she's okay. She's okay."

"What?" Ianto asked.

"She's okay," Rhiannon said, and the shock hit him and made his knees weak. "I'm… I'm going to stay here the night, and Johnny will take David home."

"You need…?" Ianto asked.

"I'm fine," said Rhiannon, with a little sniff. "I'm fine, you go home."

"Mmm," Ianto replied.

The phone beeped, indicating the timer was about to cut them off.

"Ianto," she said, and paused. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied, and the beeps cut her off. Jack had stood, was watching him carefully. Ianto hung up.

"Ianto?" Jack asked. Ianto couldn't stay still, had to move, had to do something.

"She's going to be okay," said Ianto, pacing. "She's going to be okay. Oh my god, Jack. She's going to be okay."

"I think I got that," Jack said, wry amusement colouring his tone. "Come here."

"Jack…"

"Come here," said Jack, strong fingers grabbing for Ianto's hip. He smelled a bit like smoke, the scent lingering in his clothes, and Ianto let Jack pull him close. "Hey. Hey. Am I given to understand that everything is fine here?"

"Yeah," Ianto said.

"So I can take you home?"

"You don't need to take me anywhere," Ianto replied.

"You're not listening to me," said Jack, holding Ianto's head so that their eyes were forced to meet. "So I can take you home?"

Ianto considered the options, just briefly. He closed his eyes again.

"Please," Ianto said, even though it made his cheeks burn hot and embarrassed. "I'd like that."

The park was empty but for one person; suppertime, the kids all indoors, being grilled about their days at school. Gwen sighed, walking across the already-damp grass, the dew setting in early.

"You've got to go talk to them sometime, you know," said Gwen, and Ianto twisted from where he was sitting on the swing to look at her.

"Or… I could just stay out here," he said. "It's kind of nice."

It was kind of nice; the air wasn't bitterly cold like it had been a few months back, and the sky had shaded out to a deepening purple, the first faint stars shining through. He'd come with them to check on Mica. She was running around showing people her wrist-band, and the Dora bandaids that Megan had given her. She'd stuck two on her cheeks, like war-paint, and somehow others had made their way onto the cat. Rhiannon had offered Gwen a grin, but she'd been looking around, checking for Ianto. Gwen had gone to look for him as soon as she could politely do so, Jack holding forth on burning greenhouses full of plants to the utter delight of David; clearly not-quite-uncles who burned flowers were quite okay with David.

Gwen sighed, and sat on the other swing, next to Ianto.

"You're not scared, are you?" she asked. He turned to her.

"Mica okay?" he asked. She nodded. "And you? You're okay? Properly okay, I mean."

"Yeah. Spent the last few days going from doctor to doctor, and then Megan wanted to have another look. They reckon I've got symptoms of gestational diabetes," she said. They'd given her a blood sugar machine, and taught her how to test her sugars, looking for more information before they did anything else. "This baby's going to come out thinking it's the subject of some sort of documentary, the attention that we're paying it."

"Or it'll be a spoilt brat," said Ianto. "Though with Uncle Jack in the picture, it's going to be a spoilt brat anyway."

"You're not distracting me that easily," Gwen replied. "Why are you in the park and not down at Rhiannon's house?"

"Because I don't really know…" Ianto trailed off. He sighed. "Mica nearly died. They don't need Torchwood in their lives bringing death wherever it goes. Better that we're apart; Jack'll deal with it, and that's that."

"Oh, that's crap," said Gwen, and Ianto looked at her. "Do you really think they're better off not knowing?"

"Is this about why I didn't tell you about my family?"

"It's why you did tell me things that weren't true," Gwen replied.

"I never did," Ianto said. She swung sideways, nudging him. He nudged back. "I just… no, I didn't. I let you infer. Ask me anything, and I'll answer it."

"I didn't mean that," Gwen said.

Ianto shook his head.  "Come on. Ask me."

"Do you see her much?" Gwen asked, capitulating because she was curious.

"We're not that close," said Ianto. "I probably would have stopped her giving her kids such stupid names."

She looked at him, and grinned. "You'll stop me from calling my kid something stupid?"

"I am extremely gifted at working out all possible ways a child's name could be unfortunately shortened," Ianto said, primly. "I cannot, however, account for nicknames that it might pick up as the result of childhood indiscretions."

Gwen laughed. Ianto was an adept subject-changer, and she wondered what he'd been called when he was young, and if it had come from his name (although the one witness she'd seen who'd called him Yan had got the silent treatment quick-smart), or if he'd had any childhood indiscretions.

"Your Da wasn't really a tailor, was he?" Gwen asked, swinging.

"Depends on your definition," Ianto replied. "Did he make clothes? Yeah. It's like… is Jack just a Torchwood agent? Are you? What about when you're home? When the baby comes?"

He was right, in a way; none of them were the sum of the surface, none of them were ever one person. He sighed.

"My Da, the one I remember, is the man who made me learn how to sew a button on and told me I had to man up when I was being dramatic. He's… cigarettes, and beer, and hiding down in the old boatsheds when Mam wanted us to put on our Sunday best to go to the dentist."

"You, a drama queen?" she asked. Ianto grinned.

"Never." He twisted on the swing. "Owen knew where I came from."

"What?" Gwen asked.

"Owen. He went snooping in my medical records," Ianto said, and then looked at her. She shook her head. "Not… meaning anything by it. Just went looking. I broke my leg when I was a kid. There's a shadow on my bone where it fractured."

"How did you break it?" He was trying to tell her something, something as deep and fundamental and unknowable as bones through skin.

"Dad pushed me off the swing. The swing that you're sitting in," he said, with a little smile.

"Ianto, that's…"

"He didn't mean to," said Ianto, swinging slowly, trailing the toe of his shoe in the dust. "It's just that sometimes he didn't know when to stop."

"You're not going to tell me that you spent your childhood walking into doors?" Gwen asked, biting back her impulse to touch him.

"Nope. I spent my childhood playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," Ianto replied. "I was Raphael."

"I would have picked you more as Donatello," said Gwen.

"You had to be April, didn't you?" Ianto asked.

Gwen wrinkled her nose.  "I was the only girl."

"Mmm," Ianto sighed, swinging.

"Did Rhiannon really make you be a Spice Girl?"

"Yep."

"I bet you were Posh," said Gwen, biting her lip. "You've got the cheekbones to be Posh."

"Nope," Ianto said. "I was the youngest, so I had to be Baby."

"Can you do the dance?"

"No," Ianto said, deadpan, "I cannot."

"How were you a Spice Girl if you couldn't do the dance?" Gwen asked.

"Well, given that the original Spice Girls couldn't…"

"Oh, come on," Gwen said. "Come on."

Ianto sighed theatrically and jumped off the swing, his shoes scuffing a little in the dirt.

"Stop right now…" he began, more speaking than singing, putting his palms flat in front of him and recalling the dance perfectly - perfectly, Gwen thought. She could see someone else approaching them, behind Ianto, a familiar silhouette of a tall man in a coat. She smiled, but didn't say anything, not even when Jack got close behind him.

"I could watch this all night," said Jack, lazily.

"Sneak," Ianto replied, waggling his thumbs over his shoulders.

"I always preferred Steps," said Jack.

"Oh you didn't," said Ianto. "Hey you, always on the run…"

Jack grabbed him around the waist and then kissed him. Ianto stopped, put his arms around Jack's shoulders and kissed back, hamming it up for Gwen, acting as if Jack were trying to eat him. Gwen laughed.

"You two made up, then," she said.

"There was nothing to make up," Ianto said, completely innocently. She shook her head.

"I'm glad," she said, swinging. "How's the recall going?"

"Nearly done," Ianto replied. "I've had it classified as a noxious weed, too; no more showing up in florist's bunches."

They'd had to do a mass removal out of flowers from around the Hub, just in case they affected Gwen, so Megan had bought one final bouquet for Gwen as a sort of a make-up present. Somehow, she'd picked Gwen's tastes without asking - jonquils taking the burden for gerberas and, importantly, nothing purple. Gwen liked jonquils; they reminded her of being a child and picking flowers, the sap leaking from stems onto her hands.

It had been Ianto's idea to take the purple bunches to the funeral of Anna Wilson; they'd gone, and when they'd got there it had been TV cameras (Welsh Entrepreneur's Shock Death) and clients, but no friends. Her ex-husband had been there with his new girlfriend, describing his plans for the company and rebuilding after the mysterious fires in the greenhouses, as Anna was buried under a mountain of purple. Having gone through her papers and files, Gwen thought that Anna might have liked that. She swung higher, enjoying the crisp air.

"And Megan's research?" she asked. Megan had reserved samples of the plant for her own studies. Gwen respected that; she liked to get her hands dirty.

"Continues," Jack said. "How about you? How have you been going with the unfinished work with the weevils?"

"Been a little distracted," Gwen said, ruefully. "I'll get right on it, Jack."

Jack caught the chains of the swing, stopping her momentum. He looked down at her, and she looked up.

"Come on," said Jack. "Rhiannon is waiting for us. I promised dinner, on Torchwood."

"Where?" Ianto asked. Jack shrugged.

"Wherever Mica wants," he said. "She's getting more early birthday presents than I think I've had birthdays, and that's saying something."

Ianto laughed, and then he offered Gwen his arm.

"Come on; you come, too," he said. "I can assure you that you'll be dining well on Ronald McDonald's finest tonight…"

"Should we call Megan?" asked Gwen. Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I have it on good authority that she's out on a date," he said, and they walked three abreast down the footpath, towards the warm lights of Rhiannon's house.

END