m_findlow

Title: Haunted
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Gwen, Ianto, OCs
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M
Length: 50,847 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for spook_me 2020 Prompt - Ghost
Summary: The team investigate rumours of a haunted house in rural Wales.

If she was honest with herself, Gwen was glad to get out of the house. Not because she thought the place was harboring the undead, just because it was old and smelled old and was just generally dreary even if the furniture was fancy. The house itself was what felt dead more than anything else. It needed some softer furniture in lighter colours, less pictures covering every spare inch of wall with dour looking Victorians and bleak landscapes, more light and a handful of children running around.

Just the thought of children filled her with a little flurry of happiness. She couldn't wait for the day when her own house was filled with that sound. Not that she and Rhys hadn't been trying, or at least practicing, but it was hard to get in the mood when on your one night off, all you really wanted to do was have a glass of wine, watch some mindless telly and then turn in early to catch up on the rest of the week's worth of sleep.

She could just picture the look of horror on Rhys’ face if she suggested they move up here into a nice big country house. “What, you spending all day tending roses and popping out kids?” he'd probably say. “A bit of a leap from running around Cardiff, gun in hand, chasing aliens and saving the world. If we can't get Match of the Day up here, count me out, Gwen.”

She wandered out beyond the low cobblestone fence that ran behind the back of the house, interspersed with dead and dying flowerbeds, wild lavender and tall grasses. She didn't much care for a jaunt down along by the creek that hugged the property boundaries or the tall forest trees that sheltered it. Rumours of a haunted house that had bodies buried out beyond it were the sole focus of her interest.

A breeze whipped through and a metal clank from the weather vane on the roof diverted her attention for a brief moment as it changed direction on rusting hinges and then righted itself.

‘What kind of country house has its own graveyard? Churches yes, particularly out in rural places like this, but not your normal house.’

‘The creepy kind,’ Ianto grumbled, two steps behind her.

She suppressed a smile at his mood. He'd been far happier inside satisfying a compulsive need to put things in order. She on the other hand, was itching to get out and get stuck into the investigation. It was mildly annoying that Jack hadn't let either of them be party to his conversation with Father Michael, or the general upshot of it. Even more so that they couldn't question anyone else on the matter. What had people really seen or heard? What clues were hidden away in their testimony? Perhaps the whole thing was complete nonsense, driven by overactive imaginations and the feel of the place.

She stepped down the sloping ground, edging closer to the headstones closest to the house. She wanted names and dates that she could go back inside and research. Somewhere out here just had to be a clue.

‘I still don't know what Jack's fixation with this is,’ Ianto said.

Gwen knelt down and began tugging away at the grass which obscured the lichen covered markings. ‘Oh, you know Jack,’ she said with an air of nonchalance, sweeping a hand over the stone and pulling out her phone to take a snapshot. ‘There hasn't been a decent interesting case for a few weeks and he gets restless. Anything for a bit of excitement.’

‘Yeah, like we don't get enough of that in our lives.’ Ianto pulled his own phone out and took pictures of some of the lesser overgrown headstones. Was it just her imagination or was he avoiding any that needed to be touched or the bracken and grass cleared away from them?

Gwen wrapped a fist around a large tuft of dandelion, tugging at it sharply. The headstone had no name, but was instead on a stone lodged in the earth at its base, now covered in weeds. She imagined doing the same to Jack so that she could get some semblance of truth out of him, buried under all the bluster and showmanship. ‘You get the feeling like…’

‘…like he's not telling you everything?’ Ianto finished for her. ‘What else is new? I don't know why this case has him so drawn in, though. It's different. I don't even think he knows what he's not telling us.’

She brushed the hair from her face and looked up at him. ‘And that's supposed to make sense?’

‘I didn't say it makes sense. It's just Jack. When he knows more than he's letting on he's usually more evasive, more smiles, more change the subject on you by starting on some outlandish story of something that happened a century ago.’

She knew that all too well. That was Jack Harkness through and through. Bloody infuriating. ‘Are you becoming a Jack whisperer?’ she teased.

He snorted. ‘Hardly. I just get the sense he doesn't really know why he's here.’ He clicked a few more photos and stepped over a cracked and broken stone, avoiding it completely. She followed him, seeing it had fallen face down. Without hesitation she forced her fingertips underneath it, wedging them in the dirt and pulling it back up. The words marked on it were crusted with dirt and she scraped it away, lodging more dirt under her fingernails.

‘Get a picture, would you?’ she asked, still holding the heavy stone up long enough before setting it back down where it had been. ‘Maybe we're overthinking this. Maybe it really is just an email from an old friend to have a bit of a poke around a house that is more legend than actual truth.’

‘You're probably right.’

She did her best to try and lighten the mood as they continued the task. There were maybe two dozen graves here and it wouldn't take long to document them all. None of them were less than a hundred years old, most dating from the 1800’s. Probably everyone who'd ever lived here. She doubted the records would be much good, if they existed at all. Perhaps Jack would bring something back, or they could find out where the local parish records were being stored and go through them.

She stood back up and stretched out her spine. The woods were beginning to encroach on this edge of the graveyard and she noticed one of the trees had names carved into it. She ran her fingers over the ancient letters, weather worn but still able to read them. G. R. heart J. H. Did lovers still do that anymore, carve their initials into trees? It felt like vandalism rather than an act of devotion. ‘So, what do you think?’ she asked Ianto. ‘Father Michael. Ex lover?’

The look he gave her bordered on incredulous for its brazen disregard for his personal feelings. ‘Takes one to know one, is that it?’

She shrugged off the question as if it wasn't half obvious. If anyone was going to be hypersensitive to Jack's demeanor at the sudden introduction of a new player, it was his current lover. Ianto was, from what she'd seen so far, the incredibly jealous type, even if he staunchly denied it.

He dropped to his haunches beside the headstone and let the camera adjust focus. ‘Then no. I don't think so. Jack might have been quick to usher him out the door and out of sight but I didn't get the vibe.’

‘Vibe?’

‘Guilt, usually,’ he clarified. ‘Regret sometimes. Pain when things have ended badly, or perhaps they left him. You can see it in his eyes, the way he clenches his jaw, whether he sets his hands in his pockets or folds them across his chest.’

Gwen could scarcely believe Ianto had all of that figured out in just a few seconds of meeting someone from Jack's often chequered past but she let it slide. It was just his way of dealing with it. She knew there was only one way it would end between them and that was death. Ianto wouldn't be coming back to haunt Jack. Perhaps that was grim but she knew Ianto wouldn't walk away from Jack. Not ever.

‘So, which did you see?’

He stood back up and cast his gaze around the yard. She tried to follow his line of sight but it didn't stay anywhere in particular. ‘Relief. He's seen what Torchwood is and lived to tell the tale.’ He wandered off on her without saying anything else. She followed after him as he moved further towards the trees.

‘There's one over here,’ he called back, pointing at the shallow grave marker. He was right. It was nowhere near the others and the grass around it much shorter. ‘It's recent.’

‘Really?’ She was skeptical. ‘All these are a hundred years old or more.’

‘Nope. This one is dated last year. Thomas Morgan. Do you think he was the one that hung himself?’

She pulled a face. ‘And chose to be buried here? Lovely.’

‘Maybe he didn't choose. Maybe the locals didn't want him buried in the local parish graveyard.’

‘Why not?’

He set his phone back in his pocket. ‘Small community. People get twitchy about things like suicide. Probably given a wide berth to everyone who's ever lived here. Bet you have to drive all the way to the next town just to buy groceries because the locals won't serve you. Nothing like a good rumor to get a whole town talking about it.’

She leaned her elbows on her legs as she squatted by the grave. ‘Poor fellow. Maybe he was strange or maybe he was just lonely. Either way, it couldn't be easy having a whole town treat you like that.’ She smiled. ‘Makes you glad to live in the big dirty city, doesn't it?’

‘I count myself fortunate every time I walk through Tesco's double doors.’

‘Oi!’ Jack called out from the kitchen door. ‘You two going to stay out there all night and freeze to death?’

Ianto reached out a hand and helped Gwen back to her feet, her knees refusing to cooperate. You're getting old, Gwen. Knees go first. Isn't that what Rhys was always complaining about? That and his back.

‘Want to go find out what Tesco brought us that we can be grateful for?’ Ianto asked.

Next chapter...