Rating: PG (so far. Might get higher and the subsequent chapters)
Pairing/Characters: Ianto; Jack; Gwen (if someone else pop in, I'll let you know); Jack/Ianto and there probably will be mentions of Gwen/Rhys
Genre: General so far, but maybe romance eventually? It is after all a Janto fic
Summary: Nine months later and Ianto wakes up from death.
Spoiler: Mentions of Children of Earth, but nothing especific, except Ianto's death, but I don't consider it a fix it fic; at least not yet.
Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine. I'd never kill Ianto and ruin the best cannon shipper ever!
Notes: Huge thanks to specialj67 for being my beta. Jackie, you rock!
In the end, it was quite easy to find Martha’s parents' address. He made a quick Internet search on the stolen phone and committed the address of Francine Jones to the memory. The Welshman was thankful for working in Torchwood, otherwise he wouldn’t have the knowledge to get the information he wanted. But then again, if he didn’t work for Torchwood, he wouldn’t find himself in such predicaments in first place.
Ianto looked up at the sky grimly. Gathering clouds were obscuring the smattering of stars visible through the light pollution, predicting a heavy rain was coming his way, and he had no money to hail a cab to take him to where he needed to go. He could always steal some, but he felt bad at the mere thought of stealing something else. He settled for walking then. It was a long distance, but he would manage--he had to. It took him nearly two hours to reach the Jones’ household. During his course, the rain started to pour, and Ianto was soaked to the bone once again, shaking with the cold. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t especially tired and his feet didn’t ache, even though he didn’t stop once. He filed this bit of information, along with his newly acquired postmortem super strength, under "Weird Shit" in the back of his mind to be mulled over later when he wasn't running around stealing lab coats and mobiles and going on running jags through London in the rain.
Ianto stood, sopping wet, on the front stoop of the house for much longer than was probably socially acceptable until the door finally opened, spilling light through the doorway. And a thoroughly confused Francine Jones peering out at him.
“Evening Mrs. Jones. I’m Ianto...Jones--Ianto Jones; I’m not sure you remember me, but we’ve met at Martha’s wedding.” He spoke quickly, his teeth chattering loudly because of the cold.
“Yes, I remember.” The woman nodded slowly.
“I find myself in a bit of a situation and I need help. I’m sorry to disturb, but I really don’t have anyone else to go to.” Maybe it was his pitiful state, drenched in cold rain and shaking; maybe was the pleading tone of his voice and the equally imploring expression on his face, but after a couple seconds of consideration, Mrs. Jones nodded to Ianto and stepped aside to let him inside the house. The man smiled thankfully as he passed by her, pausing just inside the entryway so as to not get anymore of her wooden floor wet as Francine closed the door behind him.
“I’ll get you some towels.” she offered, looking askance.
“Thank you.” He called after her as she disappeared down the hallway. A minute later, she returned and handed him a white and warm fluffy towel. Ianto smiled again in gratitude before drying himself off as best as he could.
“There’s a bathroom over there,” she gestured to the left. “You can change into these." She handed him some clothes. "They were Leo’s--my son's. Might be a little big for you, but staying in those wet clothes is not a good idea.”
Ianto nodded, draping the towel around his neck before accepting the bundle of clothes Mrs. Jones offered him. She guided him to the bathroom and left him alone to change.
Francine made her way to the kitchen, putting the kettle on to make tea for the poor young man. She also took some leftovers from dinner and set a place a the table for him. He looked hungry, the poor dear. Lifting the cordless from the counter, she dialed Martha; Ianto was her friend after all--she might like to know he was in such terrible state.
The phone rang a couple of times, before Martha answered with a distracted ‘’Dr. Jones speaking.’’ She was probably still at work then.
“Darling, it’s mum.”
“Hi mum, something wrong?” She felt the worry in her daughter’s tone and smiled.
“No, nothing wrong. Just a friend of yours dropped by. He seemed in quite a bad state. I let him in to warm up. He said his name was Ianto.”
Francine heard the sharp intake of breath from the other side of the line and immediately knew something was Not Right. Martha even the tiniest bit scared was a near impossible thing.
“Mum," she ground out, "the only Ianto I know is dead.”
Fear clawed inside Francine as she turned to look at the kitchen door: empty. Still in the bathroom then. Good.
“Listen, don’t do anything, I’ll send a UNIT team over there to get whoever it is that is impersonating Ianto. Just play along; pretend everything is fine. Don’t give him any reason to…” Martha trailed off and Francine could feel the bad omen in her voice. The memories of that bloody year in the Valiant surfaced in her mind and she could feel her hands shaking. “It will be alright, mum. I promise. Just do as I said.”
“Okay.” Francine said shakily with a nod, despite the fact that Martha could not see her. “I love you, darling.”
“I love you too.” Martha replied quietly back just as Ianto emerged in the kitchen doorway. Francine disconnected the call and drew a deep breath to calm herself, taking advantage of the fact that her back was to him.
“I’m very thankful Mrs. Jones.” He said in a smooth tone as he walked in and took a seat. She just nodded in reply, setting about to make tea.
“I thought you might be hungry.” She said in a surprisingly controlled voice, nodding towards the food in the plate.
“I am, thank you.”
They lapsed back into silence while Ianto ate and Francine fiddled with the kettle and mugs and such. He watched her carefully as she moved around the kitchen, the tension obvious in her form, despite her best attempts to hide it. Ianto cleaned the plate first, putting it along with the dirty dishes in the sink.
“That was Martha on the phone, was it?” He didn’t turn to look at the older woman.
“Yes.” She replied shortly, the underlying fear evident in her tone.
“She told you Ianto Jones is dead.” It wasn’t a question, and this time, Ianto did turn to look at Mrs. Jones. The woman’s eyes were shining with fear; it made him deeply uncomfortable.
“There’s a UNIT team coming, hmm?” Mrs. Jones nodded again and Ianto sighed. “I have to get going then. If they catch me, they’ll do all sorts of experiments on me. It’s not everyday one comes back from dead.” Ianto was talking more to himself than to Mrs. Jones, but she listened anyway. His tone was calm, but dejected, full of regret. The woman felt her anxiety diminishing a little. He looked her in the eyes, face set and she backed up a little.
“I’m not going to hurt you, ma’am.” Ianto reassured quietly. “I’m very thankful for everything you did to me, but I have one more favour to ask.” Francine signaled for him to continue. “What I’m telling you is true. I did come back from the dead, I don’t know how or why or by whom, but someone brought me back and I need Martha’s help to figure this out. So this is what I’m going to do: I’m going to get out of here and hide in an old Torchwood One warehouse--I'll give you the coordinates. I’m telling you this, so you can tell Martha. Ask her to meet me there. I know you have no reason to trust me Mrs. Jones, and you can very well tell my location to the UNIT team, but I’m putting myself in your hands.” He took a breath, searched her face, not sure if he wanted her to reply or not.
Francine stared at the young man for long seconds after the heartfelt speech. He didn’t make a movement to approach her, sensing her fear, but at the same time, she could feel apprehension coming off him in waves. She wanted to believe in Ianto, but she wasn’t so sure Martha would.
Ianto peered out the window over the sink, and Francine could see that his discomfort grow.
“I’m off then. The UNIT team is almost here. Thanks again, Mrs. Jones.” He made his way to the door before pausing. “Tell Martha that I’d really appreciate if she could get me another UNIT cap. Mine was blown up...and red is really my color.” Ianto smiled at the confused look in Mrs. Jones’ face. “Don’t worry. She’ll understand.”
With those words, Ianto walked out of the house and disappeared in the darkness and heavy rain.