Fandom: Torchwood

Characters: Gwen, Rhys, Ianto, Jack

Author: m_findlow

Rating: PG

Length: 4,608 words

Content notes: none

Author notes: Written for Challenge 269 - Yarn

Summary: Gwen is hiding something from Rhys.


'You're home early,' Rhys observed, lounging on the settee with his laptop on his legs, working.

Gwen was startled at seeing him there, quickly pulling the shopping bag behind her and out of sight. Rhys wasn't so daft as to not notice. 'So are you,' she replied.

'Oh, this you mean?' he muttered. 'Quarterly reporting for head office. Mandy's got that bloody winter cough again. Can't get a moment's peace at the office with her trying to hack up a lung. Anyway, what's your excuse? World decided not to end today?'

She gave him a smile. 'Something like that. Besides, I'm only stopping by for a bit. Forgot to take the meat out of the freezer for tea.'

Rhys sighed dramatically. 'Aye, your wife comes home to make sure there's meat for tea but it's me that's got to do all the cooking. Besides, I already put it out. I knew you'd forget. The moment Jack comes knocking at the door, flashing those pearly whites it's like normal life just stops.'

Gwen beamed at the overplayed act of jealousy. 'Just remember it's you I married.'

'And don't let him forget it!' Rhys called back as she disappeared down the hallway.

She returned just as quickly and bent over to kiss him on the cheek. 'Gotta go, but love you. Be home for tea.'

'I'll believe it when I see it,' Rhys joked, watching her dash out through the door. As soon as he was certain she was gone, he closed the lid on his laptop. 'Now, what was it you were trying so hard to hide?' he asked.

He padded down the hallway in his socked feet, headed for the bedroom and coming to a halt at the door. 'Now, if I were Gwen, wanting to hide something, where would I put it?'

He scanned the room, discounting obvious places like under the bed and at the bottom of the laundry basket. His gaze fell on the slight crack in the wardrobe, left open just an inch or two. He went over and pulled the sliding door all the way open, pushing aside a veritable jungle of jackets and jeans, plaid shirts and knitted tops before spotting the box at the back of the wardrobe and the top flap which read "summer clothes". Bingo, he thought, pulling the box a little way forward so he could pull back the other flap. 'Oh, please be a Playstation,' he murmured, remembering his birthday was still a few weeks away but not too far off.

He pulled back the flap and spotted the corner of the bag Gwen had been carrying in, tugging at it until it came free. From the weight alone he could tell it wasn't a Playstation. It wasn't even heavy enough for a Nintendo. Bollocks. If it was underwear or new socks, he was going to be very disappointed. Had they really reached that point in their marriage where basic clothes now became essential gifts? He shook it out over the bed and out came four balls of wool, two in a pale blue and two a light peppermint colour. It didn't take long for him to put two and two together. Oh, Christ, was Gwen pregnant? He couldn't imagine how, at least not in the natural sense. They'd been on a break from trying for kids and had been very careful. Not that it seemed to count for much when a scratch from an alien could get you knocked up.

Oh, bloody hell. What if something alien had done it, despite them being careful? Not that he didn't want kids; he did, but shouldn't Gwen have said something?

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he'd drawn conclusions too quickly. If Gwen was hiding a few balls of yarn, she might have bought other things too. That would confirm it one way or another.

He began carefully pulling some of the clothes out of the top of the box, looking for more hidden items and coming up trumps with several more bags. In each however, were simply more balls of wool, in all different shades, not just pastels but bright colors as well - daffodil yellow, royal blue, deep scarlet and lime green. He piled them up on the duvet and began searching under the bed. Sure enough, there were more balls, this time not in bags, but tucked ingeniously inside shoes, or between the folds of spare blankets and in boxes where they stored their photos and other useless overflow. There was more than three dozen by the time he'd scoured the underside of the bed and the worrying sensations that had been nagging at him grew more and more uneasy. What was Gwen doing with all this yarn? She couldn't even knit as far as he knew.

He set his hands on his hips, surveying the colourful pile on the bed. Something about this was very wrong, he just didn't know what. He thought about calling Gwen right now, asking her outright, but then thought better of it. If something was wrong, did he really want her knowing he was on to her? It might be nothing, but if it was serious, what was he supposed to do? He should call Jack, that's what. But what if they were in on it? God, what if Gwen really was pregnant? What if it was Jack's? He felt sick just thinking about it.

He gathered them up and tossed them all in the laundry hamper, covering them with one of his dirty shirts. Make a decision, Rhys Williams, he told himself. What are you going to do?



'Hiya, I'm home!' Gwen chirped, returning around seven. 'Tea smells great,' she added, drawing in a long breath as the meat sizzled in the pan, covered in a rich tomato sauce and herbs. She frowned when she got no response, Rhys was neither in the kitchen nor the lounge. 'Rhys?' she called out again.

'In the bathroom,' came Rhys's reply. She followed the sound of his voice, reaching the junction at the end of the short hall where the bathroom doorway veered to the left and the toilet directly in front of her. Before she knew what was happening, Rhys came out of the bathroom and slammed into her, bodychecking her as she stumbled into the toilet. Rhys quickly shut the door and set one of their dining room chairs under the doorknob, which he'd moved into the bathroom in preparation for his all or nothing attempt at containing his wife.

'Rhys!' Gwen banged on the door with her fist. 'What the hell?'

'I'm sorry, Gwen but it's for your own good,' Rhys replied, leaning his weight against the chair, making sure it would hold. The toilet door had always been stiff and often got jammed, so it had been the perfect place to hold someone. Plus it was the only room without a window big enough to crawl out of.

'Rhys Williams, you let me out of here right now or so help me God!' came the threat from his now furious wife.

'I don't know what's going on, but I'm calling Jack,' Rhys replied.

'What on earth are you talking about?' came Gwen's exasperated reply.

'I found them, Gwen.' He knew he didn't have to say what. 'I don't know why, but I know that there is something wrong, and that it has to do with that bloody Torchwood, so Torchwood is going to fix it.'

'Rhys, please,' she begged. 'Just let me out and we can talk about this.'

Rhys wavered for a moment and then came to his senses. He knew Gwen, better than anyone. She was using that tone of voice on him that she used with other people; people she planned on arresting or knocking out cold just as soon as you got close enough, pulling you into a false sense of security. 'It's for your own good,' Rhys promised her.



Once he'd made the call, it didn't take long at all until the big black car with its blue flashing lights was parked out the front of their block. The two men entered the apartment without so much as a peremptory knock on the door. Rhys was standing guard outside the toilet when Jack found him.

'Rhys where the hell did you get a gun from?' he asked, seeing Rhys standing there, holding the weapon in both hands, keeping it trained on the door.

'It's Gwen's.'

Jack frowned. 'Well, put the damn thing down before you hurt someone,' he commanded, clearly unhappy. 'Like us,' he added. 'Or Gwen.'

Ianto stepped out from behind Jack, reaching out tentatively for the weapon taking it from Rhys and checking if it was armed before slipping it into the back of his belt for safekeeping.

Jack folded his arms, taking in the sight of the chair propped up against the door. 'Now, what seems to be the problem?'

'Jack?' Gwen's voice seeped through the blocked door.

'Just relax, Gwen. We'll have you out of there in a second, just as soon as we've dealt with Rhys.' He scowled at Rhys, clearly unimpressed with what he'd found.

'Please don't hurt him.'

'Not my plan,' Jack promised her. He turned to Rhys. 'Now, I'm all for bondage games but there's a right way and a wrong way to go about it. Nobody's getting turned on by being locked in their toilet.'

Rhys bristled at the comment.' Would you just shut up and take me seriously for once?'

Jack narrowed his eyes. 'We're here, aren't we? Now, like I said before, what seems to be the problem?'

'You tell me,' Rhys replied. 'Just come and take a look at this.' He lead them to the bedroom, uncovering the laundry hamper and revealing the contents.

'New hobby of yours?' Jack asked.

'They're everywhere,' Rhys cried, ignoring the jibe. 'In the wardrobe, underneath my socks, the pantry. Bloody hell, I even found some tucked inside the pots in the kitchen cupboard. I guarantee you, this is not normal behaviour.'

'And you know Gwen is responsible for this, how?' Ianto asked, quirking a curious eyebrow at him.

'Because she came home not a few hours ago with a bag and hid them in the wardrobe before she left again.'

Jack's eyebrows raised at the response. 'You always go poking through your wife's things?'

Ianto snorted. 'Oh, and like you never have?' he countered, giving his lover the eye.

'Christmas presents don't count,' Jack argued.

'I thought maybe she was pregnant or something. You know, taking up knitting and all, but there's enough wool here to keep the whole street in knitted pullovers.'

Jack peered into the hamper, flipping open his wrist strap and doing some kind of scan on the contents. 'Okay, well, not that I think they're in any way dangerous, but why don't you and Ianto do a once over of the house and collect up all the balls of yarn you can find. We'll take them back to the hub with us, just in case.'

Rhys looked unhappy, and Ianto appeared equally unenthused by the menial task but both of them kept their silence and went to work. Rhys left the room and returned a moment later. He angrily tore a black bin liner from a roll and handed one to Ianto, before tearing a second for himself. 'I'll do the bedroom,' Rhys declared. 'If it's all the same to you I'd rather not have someone else pawing through our underwear.'

'Kitchen it is then,' Ianto replied, trying to give his best smile.

Jack himself went back down the hall and removed the chair that was bucked up underneath the door handle and sat down on it. He knocked gently on the bathroom door. 'Gwen? You wanna tell me what's going on?' He kept his voice calm and low, which seemed to have the desired effect of keeping Gwen's often fiery temper in check. There was a little sigh on the other side of the door, Jack could almost picture Gwen sitting on the loo with her head in her hands. 'Okay, why don't I start?' Jack offered. 'First question, are you pregnant?'

'God, no!' came the emphatic answer.

'Okay, okay, just had to ask. You know when people are expecting they get all kinds of clucky. Just thought maybe-'

'I'm not pregnant and I'm not clucky,' she said, cutting him off.

'Hey, it's okay. I've been there. Knitting would be perfectly acceptable behaviour in the circumstances.'

'I can't knit. I don't even have any needles.'

Jack nodded, resting his arms on the back of the chair. 'Okay, so it's just the kleptomanic yarn collection you've got going on. Wanna tell me when it all started?'

There was a pause. 'It was a few weeks ago. I was on my lunch break, just wandering around the high street shops. They were just there, in the window. They looked so soft and colourful. I only went in just to touch them. I never meant to buy any, but they were just so...'

'Tempting?' Jack offered.

'I couldn't stop looking at them after I'd bought them,' she confessed. 'They were so nice and soft in my hands and they made me feel sort of warm and happy. I went back the next day and bought a few more, thinking I'd have to learn how to knit. Then it was like every day. I just couldn't stop. I wanted to say something, but it didn't feel wrong. It wasn't hurting anyone. God, I should have realised. I should have told you.'

Jack pulled the door open an inch or two, meeting Gwen's gaze through the narrow aperture. 'For what's its worth, I don't think it's your fault, Gwen.'

'But what is it? Why can't I stop it?'

'Don't have an answer for that yet, but we'll figure it out. Now, you ready to come out of there and forgive Rhys for committing house arrest?' She nodded and Jack pulled the door fully open, leading her out by the hand.

Rhys was tying off a bag and dropping it next to two more Ianto had already filled and tied, leaning against the kitchen counter.

'Easter at your place must last weeks,' Jack commented. 'Who knew there were so many places you could stash things.'

'This is why we don't do Easter egg hunts at the hub,' Ianto replied, adding a fourth full bag to the collection.

'That's a lot of yarn,' Jack said, staring at the four bags bulging at their sides.

'Trust me,' Ianto said, 'you don't even want to know where I found the balls of pale fuchsia.'

Jack grinned. 'Well, now I'm curious. You're just going to have to spill the beans now.'

'Maybe later.'

'And all of this came from the same shop?' Jack asked.

Gwen nodded, catching Rhys's eye as he returned from the spare room, another half filled bag gripped in his fist. 'I'm sorry,' she said.

Jack ignored the slightly tense moment between the couple. 'Okay, so what do we know about this store?' He turned to Ianto as he asked the question.

'It's quite interesting, actually,' he replied, having sourced the details from several receipts he found during his search. 'They've only been open four months, but if you take a look at their sales figures, well...' He flipped his PDA around so that Jack could see.

Jack whistled. 'That's a lot of balls of yarn.'

'Quite,' Ianto agreed. 'We've either got a knitting revolution on our hands or there's something not quiet kosher about this store.'

'I think it's time we hit the high street for a little retail therapy.'

'I can't go back there,' Gwen said, going pale. 'Part of me wants to and I know that's wrong.'

Jack rested a hand on her arm. 'You don't have to and I wouldn't ask you to. Ianto, do we have any R-16?'

The young man frowned. 'It's not part of our standard kit, but I'll check the glove box.'

'Thank you,' Gwen said.

Rhys came over and stood next to her. 'What's R-16?'

'Retcon,' Jack replied.

'No. Absolutely not,' Rhys said, shaking his head emphatically. 'No way.'

'It's the lowest dose we have,' Jack said. 'Just makes things a little bit fuzzy around the edges. It'll take the sting out of whatever it is that's making Gwen want to go back there. Like giving an addict something to replace their regular high.'

'It's fine, Rhys,' Gwen assured him. 'I've had stronger than R-16 before.'

'You've what?' Rhys cried.

Ianto came back just in the nick of time. 'I've only got R-16S,' he apologised.

'It's fine,' Gwen said, taking the small white pill and washing it down with the glass of water Jack offered her.

'The S stands for sedative,' Jack added. 'In case you were wondering.'

'I wasn't, but thanks,' Rhys said, looking unimpressed.

'I'm going to go lie on the settee for a bit,' Gwen announced. The three of them watched as she lay herself along its length, pulling a tatty looking patchwork quilt over her legs and snuggling down into the cushion.

'We should get going,' Jack said. 'Stay here, Rhys.'

'What? No, I'm coming too.'

Jack's blue-eyed gaze hardened. 'No, you're going to stay here and look after Gwen.'

'But-'

'Look, if she wanted to kill you, she'd have already done it by now. I don't think this is anything serious, but all the same, it'd be nice to know she wasn't here on her own. Let her rest, make sure she eats something when she wakes up. Just be there and reassure her. I know you can do that.'

It all felt very noble when Jack put it like that. 'Alright.'

Jack bent down and grabbed a bin bag in each hand, Ianto following suit. 'Okay, let's go.'



'I think it's after hours,' Ianto observed. The high street was dark at eight o'clock but for the bright lights of the shop fronts that continued to market their wares to passers by.

'Best time to shop,' Jack replied. 'No fighting off the other customers for a bargain.' He pressed a few buttons on his wrist strap and the electric bolts on the shop front doors clicked. He stepped forward and the sensors spotted him, sliding the doors open to welcome him inside.

The walls were lined with pigeon hole style shelving and every hole was filled with a different shade of wool, woven into balls as fine as thread, or as thick as a child's finger. Knitted samples hung in small swatches all around and large bins dotted the floor filled with yet more wool, packaged into bulk bundles, or pre-made into crocheted rugs and scarves. Another wall had books of patterns, knitting needles and everything else knitting related, most of which neither of them had seen before, let alone knew what to do with.

'It's like an emporium for wool,' Ianto said, awed at the sheer variety.

'In a country full of sheep, it shouldn't be quite so surprising,' Jack replied, but his face held a frown rather than the cheeky grin Ianto expected.

'Excuse me,' a shrill voice rang out, coming from a storeroom somewhere at the back of the shop. 'How did you get in here? We're closed.'

Jack shrugged. 'I just love a bargain, but I hate the queues.'

The woman with thick grey hair and a pale green apron approached Jack. 'You really can't be in here.'

'Oh?' He folded his arms and gave her a curious grin. 'I'm a little surprised, actually. I was half expecting there to be a line camped outside your doors, just waiting for opening time. I hear this place has become quite popular.'

The woman held her ground against Jack's charming offensive. 'We sell high quality products. That's not a crime.'

'No,' Jack conceded, 'but altering people's neural pathways is.'

She clenched her jaw, keeping her expression neutral. 'What on earth are you talking about?'

'Not earth. But then again, you knew that already because you're not from around these parts.' He gave her a knowing smile.

She gripped the edges of her apron. 'Cardiff, you mean?'

Jack's smile fell from his face. 'Don't get cute. You're alien. You're alien and you're messing with the locals. Locals that I happen to be very fond of. Locals that don't even know they're being targeted by alien technology.'

'Look, who are you?'

'Torchwood. And don't pretend you don't know who we are.' He took a step forward, moving into her personal space. 'I don't know how you slipped through undetected, but this is us serving you with your official eviction notice.' Jack spared a glance sideways at his companion. 'Ianto put the ball of yarn down!' came Jack's terse instruction.

He dropped it quickly, like he'd been caught holding onto something explosive. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to. I only... God, I don't even remember picking it up. I was just thinking what a nice colour it was.'

'Forest green definitely compliments your skin tone and eyes,' the shopkeeper said. 'A nice simple knit pattern, nothing too intricate.'

'Shut it, you,' Jack ordered.

Ianto came over and stood by Jack's side, keeping his hands in his pockets lest they wander again. 'I don't know what came over me.'

'It's okay,' Jack said. 'I do.' He turned his attention back to the woman. 'See, that's how they get you in. It's subtle, and if you've never had any kind of psychic training, impossible to detect, let alone fend off. She's good, I'll give her that. Even I didn't notice it at first. You can be forgiven for getting taken in. Just the tiniest little tendrils niggling at your mind, wrapping themselves around you until they have you completely in their grasp.'

Ianto frowned, looking offended that he'd been somehow violated. 'So, it's what, subliminal advertising?'

'Sort of. More like a hypnotic suggestion. Makes you feel all warm and cosy when you just give into it, and the worst part is that it doesn't let you go. If it was just a subliminal message, the minute you walked out of here the spell would be broken. This is more insidious. It carries on long after you've left, and soon it's like an addiction. You just have to come back to get another fix. You obsess about it. Buying them and keeping them isn't enough. You always want more.'

'You seem to be implying that there's something wrong with making people happy,' the shopkeeper replied.

Jack chuckled. 'Oh, and making a tidy profit has absolutely nothing to do with it, huh?'

'Everyone's entitled to make a living.'

'I don't deny that,' Jack replied. 'But this kind of technology is banned by the Shadow Proclamation for this very reason. Influencing people without their consent is a big no no. If this was the twenty-third century, you'd be up for life imprisonment in a Proclamation work camp. Luckily for you, this is the twenty-first century. Those laws don't exist in this timeline, nor apply to Level Five worlds yet.' Jack picked up a bright purple coloured ball from a nearby display, tossing it in the air and catching it again. 'This is your first and last warning. If this shop opens tomorrow morning, you'll find out just what Torchwood is capable of.'

He handed the ball of yarn to Ianto. 'Come on, let's go. I think I've lost interest in shopping.'

Ianto looked down at the ball in his hands and then up at the woman, before reluctantly setting it down and following Jack out.



They returned the next morning to find the shop empty and the windows boarded up with packing paper and masking tape. It was clear that business was shut up on a permanent basis.

'Where do you suppose she went?' Ianto asked. 'Spaceship parked around the back for a quick getaway?'

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced up and down the street full of people, going about their lives, oblivious. 'Don't know and don't really care. Whoever she was, she won't dare show her face anywhere on this planet again.'

There was a tap on Jack's hip that forced him to spin around, finding a tiny woman with tight white curled hair stooped over her walking frame. 'Excuse me, young man, but do you know whether the yarn shop has moved?'

'Afraid it's closed permanently, ma'am,' Jack replied, giving her one of his charming smiles.

'Hmph,' she muttered, not at all taken in by Jack's charms. 'Pity,' she replied, pushing away down the street with her walker.

'Guess she was just your ordinary, everyday knitting enthusiast,' Ianto said, smirking at the crestfallen look on Jack's face. He took Jack by the hand. 'Let's go back to hub. Gwen will be wondering where we got to.'

Jack gave a noncommittal shrug. 'She should be more imaginative by now,' Jack said.



'We're back,' Jack called out.

Gwen leaned back in her swivel chair, giving them both a little wave.

'How're you feeling?' Ianto asked, slipping into the seat next to her at his own desk.

'Wish I slept that well every night,' she replied, grinning. 'How did you go?'

'One mind altering shopkeeper duly evicted,' Jack reported. 'By the way,' he said, studying Gwen, 'you didn't happen to secret away any more of those balls of yarn here in the hub, did you?'

'Believe it or not, it's actually easier to hide them at home than it is here, what with Ianto always tidying up.'

'I'll try to take that as a compliment,' Ianto said.

'Well, that's a relief,' Jack said, tapping the side of one of the bags with his boot. 'We've got more than enough here.' He untied the top and extracted a ball, holding it out.

Gwen gave him a nervous glance. 'I thought you said I shouldn't. That it was like an addiction.'

'I think it's been long enough that the effects of the device will have worn off. All thanks to the help of a little retcon. See for yourself.' He handed her the ball of thick cream wool. She gingerly held it, turning it over in her hand. 'What do you think?' Jack asked, studying her.

'Yeah,' she said handing it back. 'I think I've had enough of yarn. Bless Rhys for looking out for me.'

'He really is one in a million,' Jack replied. 'Or at least maybe one in a hundred. He is still Welsh after all.'

'Some would say that's one of his most redeeming qualities,' Ianto quipped, unable to wipe the smirk from his face.

She looked around at the bags still piled up in the hub. 'What am I suppose to do with all these, now?'

Jack leaned back against the desk. 'Well, you won't be short on scarves,' he replied. 'Maybe a few crocheted blankets? Come in handy as winter gets colder.'

'I don't know how to knit.'

Jack grinned. 'Fear not, Gwen Cooper. I can teach you.'

Gwen gave him an incredulous look, matched only by Ianto's own. 'You? Since when do you knit?'

'Hey, I spent a lot of time hanging out with the Women's Institute back in the day. I could whip up a bara brith your grandmother would be jealous of. It's like riding a bike, you don't forget how. We could all have a go. I'm sure you don't mind us borrowing a few balls.' Jack rifled through the bag. 'Here's a shade of red would be just perfect for a certain Welshman I known.'

'Torchwood knitting circle,' Ianto mused. 'Just when I thought things around here couldn't get any weirder.'