Her Taddy's Girl

Jack woke up with a start and his hands flew to his stomach. His now flat stomach.
He shot up, looking around the Hub- there were voices, like a TV buzzing as background noise at a home. He turned around, frantic to see his baby. What had happened to her? Was she alright?
He tried scrambling to his feet- every movement aching like usual- and fell to the floor with a bang. Startled voices ran over and Martha, Gwen and Rhys all ran down the stairs to him.
“Jack, are you okay?”
“Where’s my baby?” He demanded, “I ha-have to keep her safe.”
Rhys passed a small purple bundle to Jack, “Here you are mate.”
Jack tightened his arms instinctively around the tiny baby and stared in marvel. There was his Yan, reflected in a beautiful baby girl, every bit as beautiful as her Tad. His electric blue eyes staring back at Jack in the face of their daughter. His button nose, his pale skin, even wisps of his charcoal hair on top of her head.
She was completely and utterly perfect.
Her little mouth opened in a yawn and she reached a hand out. Jack placed his finger into her fist and she grasped on with all her strength, as though she’d never let go.
He realised he’d never gotten round to thinking of a name. But he instantly remembered a conversation from long ago.
“If I ever had a daughter, I would probably call her…Bronwyn.”
“Bronwyn.” Jack whispered, tears in his eyes as he bounced her gently.
It fit her beautifully. Bronwyn Harkness-Jones.
“Hey.” Jack whispered to her, a smile on his face for the first time in months, “You’re so beautiful aren’t you?”
She just looked at him, he continued, “You are, just like your Taddy.”
Gwen squeezed his shoulder and he was grateful for the reminder of reality. He held Bronwyn tighter and said seriously, “I’ll protect you. I promise you I’ll keep you safe, baby. I promise.”
And he looked up to the ceiling, “I promise you too.”
                                                                   *
“Bronnie, bedtime.” Jack said, looking over to the dining room table.
The dark haired 7-year-old girl looked up from the piece of paper she was hunched over and stared into Jack’s eyes with pleading, “Please, Daddy, I haven’t finished my picture.”
Jack tried to desperately look away from his baby girl’s Ianto looking eyes, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to those.
He sighed when he looked at her; she really was the feminine version of Ianto. Cute little button nose, bright blue eyes, charcoal messy waves, milky skin… It always surprised people to hear that Jack was her father, because truthfully she looked nothing like him.
She acted like him though, which frightened him considerably. How the hell was he going to cope when she reached her teenager years?
“How close are you to finishing?”
She bit her lip and her dark eyebrows knitted in concentration, “I just got to do some colouring, I think.”
He shook his head and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, “10 minutes, maximum.”
She beamed at him, “Thank you Daddy! I’ll be really quick, promise.”
He shook his head again, this time smiling gently, “Good girl.”
Jack passed the next 15 minutes reading one of Ianto’s favourite books before looking up at the clock and cursing silently.
“Bronnie?”
“Done.” She grinned, showing off a little toothy smile, she scrambled off the chair and ran to him- almost tripping over her own two feet, “What do you think Daddy?”
Tears swelled in his eyes, “That’s your best yet, baby.”
She grinned, clapping her hands, “Good, because I spent all today on it. It took aaaaaaaaaaaaages.” She said, drawing out the ‘ages’ sounding-and looking- like Ianto when he was pouting.
“We’ll put it on the wall, yeah?” He asked her, her smile widening, “Next to the big picture frame?”
She span around, her little purple dress floating around her, “Yey!” She kissed Jack on the cheek and ran to her bedroom, “I’ll get changed while you put it up daddy.”
He smiled and looked back down at the picture. Tears falling now that Bronwyn had left the room; she had drawn a simple family portrait picture. Her hand in hand with 2 men; one who she had never met. Jack with his small smile on her right and a surprisingly well-drawn Ianto- especially when considering she had photo’s and a couple of videotapes to go by. Ianto was looking at her with the love he should have looked with but never had the chance to express.
He walked to the ‘Big picture frame’. It was a big picture frame as the name would suggest, and in it was a collage of photos. Some of Jack and Bronwyn and some of Jack and Ianto; One on their wedding day, one of them posing- running around basically- for Gwen. And in the middle was one of Ianto only; a beautiful close up that Tosh had taken about a month before she died, he was sitting in the park. A carefree and breathtaking laughter on his breathtaking face, his eyes dancing happily and a scarf wrapped around his neck for warmth.
This family picture should be up there already; it shouldn’t have to be their 7-year-old daughter’s hand drawn one.
He walked into her very red room and tripped over the mess- something she had definitely inherited from her Dad. She grinned at him as she sat up under her duvet; red with little white butterflies on it.
“I brushed my teeth.” She smiled, showing off those newly brushed teeth, “And washed my face.” She frowned, “I think that’s all to do, isn’t it Daddy?”
He laughed, “That’s good. You did forget one thing.”
Her mouth dropped, “Oh no!”
“You haven’t given me a bedtime kiss yet.” He grinned, in a ‘Duh!’ tone of voice.
“Daddy!” She gently smacked him on the arm, “You scared me there. I had to wait for you to come in, of coursely.”
He laughed, “I like it when you say ‘coursely’.”
She gave a knowing smile, “That’s why I say it.”
His smile became softer and he leant down for her to give him a quick kiss, before she wrapped her small child like arms around his neck, “Night night, Daddy.”
“Night night, honey.” He held onto her tighter, not wanting to let go.
She squirmed out of his hold then and looked at him seriously, “We have to say ‘Night, night’ to Taddy too.”
“Of coursely.”
She closed her eyes and smiled, “Night, night Taddy. I hope you’re okay, I’m okay and I’m keeping an eye on Daddy for you. Have a good sleep, I miss you lots and lots and lots.”
She then opened an eye and whispered, “Come on Daddy. It’s your turn.”
Jack closed his eyes and Ianto instantly appeared in his mind, “Night, night Ianto. I hope you’re okay, I’m just about managing, but I got my helper looking after me. I love you.”
“Love you!” Bronwyn grinned.
They opened their eyes and smiled. Bronwyn snuggled under her duvet covers, “Have a good sleep, Daddy.”
Jack kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back, “You too, Bronnie. Love you.”
He walked to the door and was about to leave through it and turn off her light when a slight whisper stopped him, “Daddy, will you tell me a story about Taddy tomorrow?"
He halted before smiling sadly, “Of coursely.”
                                                                     *
“Oh Jack.” Gwen said, sympathetically, stirring her coffee, “I know what you mean. I keep looking at Chris and wondering where that 17-year-old lad came from. The other day he was 7 months old! How did that happen?”
Jack smiled, “Time goes fast…too fast.”
Gwen stopped stirring and once again the conversation fell dark under the topic of their old colleague- friend in one case, husband in the other. Gwen had quit Torchwood the month Ianto died and now lived a rather boring- but blissfully- normal life with Rhys and their two children; Chris and Eva. She kept her memories though and at least twice a week her and Jack would meet up for a drink- Coffee for Gwen, Tea for Jack. It was never Coffee for him anymore.
She patted his hand offering silent and small comfort before changing subject, “So, has Bronnie decided on her dress for the prom yet?”
Jack nodded, taking a sip from his tea, “Yeah, the other day she picked one. It’s purple and knee length.”
Gwen sighed, “And? What else? A lot of dresses are purple and knee length you know.”
He put his tea down and tried to concentrate, “It’s got this shiny glittery stuff at the hem and a black ribbon under the bust… I think. It’s got a neckline.”
Gwen laughed, “I think every dress does.”
“Shut up.” He pouted, “It’s a…it’s a…” He clicked his fingers repeatedly before his face lit up, “A sweetheart neckline! That’s the name.”
“Sounds gorgeous.” She sighed, “Eva will probably have some black thing with a veil, going by the stage she’s in now.”
“I always knew it would be purple. Her favourite colour used to be red but at about 10 it changed to purple.”
“That’s because it was Ianto’s favourite.” Gwen blurted out. Jack gave an eyebrow raise worthy of his dead husband and she continued, “She always wanted to be like her Taddy.” She then put down her coffee mug, “Which reminds me, are you ever going to tell her how Ianto died?”
Jack glared, “She set you up on this, didn’t she?”
Gwen held her hands up in mock surrender, “Calm down, yes she did. But it’s only natural she wants to know Jack, if you can’t tell her why not write it in a long letter for her to read?”
Jack ran his hands through his hair and leant on the table, “Why should I have to relive that?”
“Because it’ll help you move on, Jack. It’ll help both of you.”
                                                                       *
Bronwyn fumbled around her bag for her keys, taking a good two minutes before she found them. She shoved them into the lock and stepped into the warm apartment she had shared with her father for the past 16 years. She threw her bag against the wall and kicked off her trainers before gently removing her coat and placing it next to her Dad’s on the coat peg.
“Bronnie?”
She then realised it was dark. And her Dad’s voice was barely above a whisper, a sick feeling rose in the pit of her stomach. She’d done something wrong, hadn’t she?
She shuffled in and saw her Dad holding a photo in his hands. She recognised it as her Dad and Tad’s wedding photo and was horrified to see the tears running down his face. She’d never seen her Dad cry…but perhaps he did? Had he kept it secret from all these years, to try and keep her happy?
He would do that, the noble idiot.
“Dad?” She asked, moving around the sofa to sit next to him, “Are you okay?”
He looked up and tried his best at a smile, “I’m fine.” Liar, “I believe you wanted me to tell you something.”
She swallowed nervously, “Yes.”
Her dad leant down and brought up a heavy looking wooden chest, his fingers trailed it lovingly and he pushed it out in front of him to her, “I want you to look through this after I’ve told you my story, okay?”
She nodded, too dry mouthed to say anything.
He ran a hand through his hair and leant back, not bothering to keep his tears hidden from her, “Okay, it was about 5 months after we got married. I found out I was pregnant with you the day before and arranged to cook your Tad dinner that night. It was about…7’o’clock in the evening. Your Auntie Gwen had left to go home as it was a slow day and I went home to set up dinner.” He took a deep breath in before continuing, “Your Tad decided to stay and lock down the Hub for us, it was supposed to be a simple half-an-hour job, bu-b-b…”
He broke down, sobs that she’d never seen let alone from her father. Who 10 minutes had been the strongest person she’d ever known. She hugged him tightly and let him sob into her blue blouse,
“I heard it through the Comm’s. T-t-they came, j-j-just some p-people who t-tracked down T-T-Torchwood. They t-tried to get him to c-c-con…confess, but he w-w-wouldn’t. I-I tried to get back, b-but I was too...too l-late.”
She closed her eyes and hated herself for making him relive this; he obviously blamed himself. She was a monster for doing this.
Jack, however, was losing himself to a memory…
Jack ran through the streets of Cardiff, his coat flying behind him like a cape. His mind was whirring, his heart thumping painfully. His whole body in agony but his mind more determined. He had one thought and one desire that carried him on, he had to get to him. Keep him safe.
He ran into the Tourist Information Office to see it ransacked, it sent fear into his heart and a few tears down his cheeks. He fumbled for his card, trying to open the Cog door. That’s when he saw it.
The scene that would plague his mind every minute of every day, haunt his dreams and stab at his heart. He forgot the joyous miracle he had to share and despair filled him.
2 men- that’s all they were. 2 stupid, pathetic excuses for human beings, towering over his brave husband with a gun. Their hands shaking as Ianto lay on the cold floor, gasping for breath with a blossoming blood stain on his crisp white shirt.
Jack pulled out his gun with swift, fluid movement and shot them. Easily and through the head, killing them instantly; it fell numbly from his fingers as he ran to Ianto’s shaking form on the floor.
He cradled him in his arms, “Yan, yan?” He pleaded, holding onto his hand tightly.
Ianto smiled, “I hope you’d…come.”
“Come on, Yan. You promised me one year at least. It’s been 5 months.” Jack sobbed.
Ianto smiled, “It was a good 5 months of marriage…”
“The best.” Jack cried softly, “Please…”
Ianto’s eyes fluttered softly, “I love you.”
Tears falling onto Ianto’s suit from Jack’s eyes fell fast as he whispered, “I love you too, I always have.”
Ianto’s smile grew just a little wider as his body became still and Jack felt something in him die and that’s when he knew he was gone. He leant down and kissed his perfect, brave, loving, wonderful husband one last time, gently on the lips before whispering, “I didn’t get chance to tell you…you’re going to be a Tad.”
Jack sobbed again; if he’d just been a few seconds faster…or if he’d helped Ianto shut down the Hub or…
Just or…
                                                                    *
Bronwyn held the wooden chest protectively in her hands, she ran her hands along the lid and breathed in deeply. The minute she opened it a curious scent of coffee and vanilla overpowered her and it was so warm and so…fatherly, that she smiled. She picked up the items; a tie, photo’s, a stopwatch, a letter… Everything that made her Tad who he was.
Her Tad had always been somewhat of a mystery for Bronwyn; someone she attained to be. The brave loving hero who helped save the day but at the end of it tidied up, made a good coffee and provided a witty remark. She had heard so many stories but never the last moments of his life. He died protecting Torchwood.
Tears rolled down her face; it felt wrong she was here. That maybe if she wasn’t here than her Tad would be. It was irrational and stupid but for a man who she had never met, she sure did miss and love him a lot.
She brushed the tears out of her eyes and picked up a leather bound book. No title or author name or anything…simply a worn spine. She opened it up and found crinkled pages that had been imprinted with an elegant script, obviously heavy handed. She flicked to the last page and could smell that smell again; she grinned.
She pored over the last page, absorbing any new information she could from it’s pages. She realised with a start that the small red stain in the corner of the page was blood and that he must have written this literally seconds before his death.
Today’s been a funny day. Jack’s been jumpier than Gwen trying to hide chocolate, but he ‘claims’ he’s alright. He didn’t have my coffee though, which I take as a great insult.
Gwen told me that men were confusing and we shouldn’t try to understand. Needless to say, I took this as an even greater insult.
I’m currently shutting down the programs on the computers at the moment. After that, I’ll go back to the flat. Jack says he’s cooking dinner, should I be worried? Most likely, however, the opportunity for me not to cook is too desirable so never mind.
Funny, I swear I could have just heard something… Torchwood sure does know how to make someone paranoid.
This was it. The last words Ianto Harkness-Jones ever wrote in his life. He had no idea when he woke up that day that that was his last…
Bronwyn choked on her own tears and let the diary slip between her fingers and raised her hand to her mouth.
                                                                   *
Bronwyn stood looking at herself in the mirror; her face was blank and emotionless as she stared at her black attire. A pair of black flared work trousers, a black camisole underneath an unbuttoned black blouse; her charcoal hair straightened and pulled into a bun on the back of her head.
It was the smartest the 16-year-old had ever looked, but instead of finding joy in this she found despair.
She was visiting her Tad’s grave today.
Her Dad went every Saturday/Sunday- rift depending- but he went alone. He hadn’t taken Bronwyn before; he claimed he didn’t want a young girl constantly at cemeteries, but after talking to her Dad the other night she asked to go.
And so that’s why she was here. Dressed for a funeral and completely unlike her.
Her Dad came in to her room, smartly dressed in his best dark blue shirt, grey flannel trousers, beige boots and RAF coat. He took one look at her and shook his head.
“That’s not you Bronnie; Wear something you’d normally, your Tad wouldn’t want to see you dressed for a funeral.”
She smiled and nodded, going for a pair of dark blue flared jeans, a long purple long-sleeved top and a pair of black flats. She debated on the bun, before pulling it out shaking her hair out. He nodded his approval and chucked her a black coat and they set off out the flat.
It wasn’t the warmest day, despite it being June. It was if the Earth knew what the little family was setting off to do and was mourning along with them. They climbed a cliché looking hill to get to the beautiful cemetery, the grass was just mown and despite the cold, the sun was shining down on the bodies of fallen.
Bronwyn turned to her father with a questioning look and he held her hand and pulled her gently off to the corner of the grounds. A secluded area to the rest of the cemetery, where one grey headstone stood alone. A big and beautiful bouquet of white lilies sat next to a smaller bunch of sunflowers. Her Dad’s hand slipped away from her own and he fell to the ground.
He sat cross-legged on her Tad’s grave and pulled a beautiful red rose out of his coat pocket and laid it on his gravestone. He kissed his hand and placed it on the headstone.
“Morning Yan.” He whispered, smiling sadly and tearing up.
Bronwyn stood frozen on the spot, her eyes (that were his really) tracing the italic words on the headstone.
Ianto Jones
1983-2012.
Wonderful man who shall be sorely missed.
The world seems so lonely and melancholy without you in it but you shall always live on in our hearts.
She realised that underneath the ground by her feet was her Tad. A man who she had never had the good fortune to meet and thanks to some alien crazed freaks, would never meet.
“Bronnie.” Jack whispered, “Aren’t you coming to come and see your Tad?”
She whimpered a little and dropped to her feet, sitting next to her Daddy. He grabbed her hand and then smiled, staring at his husband’s grave.
“This is Bronwyn, Ianto. She’s going to come visit you too now; I told you she was beautiful, didn’t I? She looks just like you, you know. Like me, she misses you a lot.”
“I do.” She whispered, “Every day Taddy.”
Jack grinned, “Why don’t you tell your Tad a little bit about yourself, baby?”
She shot him a look and he chuckled and rubbed her shoulder in apology. She took a deep breath and fixed a soft smile on her face, “Umm… I don’t know what to say without sounding stupid. I like to paint and draw. Daddy said you liked Art, I saw a sketch you did once. It was amazing!” She stopped for breath and relaxed a little, “Dad said I also got your intelligence, which isn’t hard.” She added a wink as her Dad rolled his eyes at her, “I just did my exams and I hope I did well enough to learn the skills for Torchwood. Dad calls me his ‘Little Hacker’ and I’m getting good with my shooting aim.” She laughed and then stopped looking down, “I miss you. Dad misses you, everyone does. I wish I could be saying this all to your face instead of your gravestone. I want to hear you make some sarcastic comment because everyone says they were good.”
A tear fell down her cheek, “I’ll be here every week Tad. With Dad, I’d like to visit you.”
Jack kissed the side of her head and they sat there, talking to the man whom none could see or meet now, but who they could feel around them.
                                                                    *
“Can’t you just filter through the CCTV for the facial image?”  Jack asked, for once sounding like he knew exactly what he was on about.
“Well, I would but the system’s done. I only have the basic backup working.” Said their technician, tapping furiously at the keyboard.
“What are we going to do?” Jack moaned, running a hand through his hair and taking a sip of tea to calm himself down.
“Well, I could always check the old fashioned way.” Bronwyn grinned, “You know, with my eyes.”
Her words were once his. Jack dropped his mug in shock, the shatters of china on the concrete floor resembling the broken pieces of his heart.
                                                                   *
“They say I’m like you.” Bronwyn said, her hands shoved in her pockets. The rain dripped down her neck, causing her thick charcoal hair to stick to her neck, “That what I say and how I look, is you to an I. They say I act like Dad though, but that when everyone looks me, all they can see is you.” She paused, biting her lip, “I used to relish it, that I was like my amazing Tad. The wonderful, brave, loving Ianto Jones who managed to capture the heart of Captain Jack Harkness. I put you on a pedestal.”
Tears fell down her pale face, “I still do. And that’s why I hate it now. I feel like they expect me to be you, Tad. That what I say has to be as good as your one liners, my drawings have to be as flawless as yours and that I’m supposed to be…you. But how can I compare to you Tad?”
She cried, her tears invisible amongst the teardrops, “It’s not fair!” She cried, “They all know you! They tell me about you; what you’ve done, who you were and every little detail that made you, you! But I’m your daughter and I’ve never met you! I’ve never heard you speak or see you in the flesh or even hugged you!”
She fell to her knees, her jeans getting muddy as her sobs calmed down. Eventually, she looked at the gravestone through her wet hair and whispered, “I hate Torchwood. It took you away.”
                                                                 *
“Dad.”
Jack turned from his book to his daughter’s voice, but what he saw scared him. His brave 18-year-old adult daughter was shivering in her coat, her hair was dripping water on the floor and stuck to her head, her eyes angry and lost amongst her suddenly childish face. It was almost as though she was 8 and suffering from nightmares again.
“Bronnie? Are you okay?”
She shook her head, “I went to Tad’s grave.”
Jack swallowed, nervous and pulled off his glasses, “And?”
“I got angry. I got so angry, Dad.” She said, pulling off her wet coat and kicking off her shoes, she let them fall on the floor, “They call me Tad, they say I’m him but how can I possibly be him? I don’t know him and he was this amazing man who died for his important life-saving work.”
She sat next to Jack on the sofa- who bit back a retort on getting the furniture wet- and she stared into his eyes angrily, “Why shouldn’t I get to meet him? What did I do to deserve losing my Tad before I was even born?”
Jack held his daughter close, “You didn’t do anything, Bron. It’s my fault your Tad’s dead.” He cried, “I should’ve stayed…but I…I didn’t.”
He realised all her fears and insecurities for her Tad and held her out at arms length so he could look at her properly, “Bronwyn, no one expects you to be Ianto. You’re Bronwyn Harkness-Jones and I love everything about you.” He smiled, “I understand you want to be like your Tad and while I wish for him to be back with every fibre of my being, I couldn’t lose the lovely woman you’ve become for his carbon copy.”
He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, “So, hold your head up high and be proud to be your Taddy’s girl. Because you got all the best from him.”
                                                                     *
Rihannon Evans walked around the Supermarket getting simple groceries for her and Johnny, pushing the trolley with her tired and achey bones. She was reaching for a can of baked beans when she collided with someone else’s hand. They sent the top shelf falling to the ground.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Came a polite, Welsh female voice.
“No, I’m sorry too-“
She looked up and almost had a fit. She was staring at her brother…her long dead brother. She shook her head, she hadn’t hallucinated about him for ages now. When she did, she realised she was actually looking at the female version of him. The concern in her eyes matched him; her whole face was like the feminine version of her little brother.
“Are you okay m’am?”
She clasped a hand over her heart, “Oh my goodness. You look so…familiar.”
The woman- she was about 19- frowned, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Bronwyn Harkness-Jones, what’s your name?”
Oh god. Harkness was the name of Ianto’s husband wasn’t it? Jones was common and she wouldn’t think anything of it, but Harkness was very unusual…
“Rihannon Evans.”
“Sorry, I don’t recognise a Rihannon Evans. Maybe, you’re mixing me up for someone else.” She smiled politely.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…you look like my brother.” That came out wrong, “Like his twin sister or something.”
To her surprise, the woman laughed, “I got a lot of that, ‘You look so much like him’.” She laughed again, “I’ve always been my Taddy’s girl.”