Title: Iceman and the Coffee Boy

Author: Soledad

Fandom: Sherlock BBC/Torchwood crossover (sort of)

Genre: Drama, Family

Rating: T, just to be sure

Series: none really. Complementary piece to "Beautiful Minds"

Disclaimer: Both Sherlock and Torchwood belong to the BBC. Sherlock Holmes also belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Only the weird plot idea belongs to me. No copyright infringment intended and no money made.

Summary: When Ifan Jones dies, life changes forever for his son, Ianto. The revealing of a family secret drives him away from Cardiff, to the anonimity of London. Little does he know that his journey has just begun.

Author's note: This story takes place in the same alternate universe as "Beautiful Minds" and is, in fact, both a complementry story and some sort of sequel to it, designed to illuminate more of the background of "Beautiful Minds". This story mainly focuses on Ianto Jones the family secret he discovers and how it changes his life.

In this AU, there is no Doctor, no aliens, the Torchwood Institute is a private science lab owned by the Holmes family and UNIT is a military branch of the Secret Service. Basically, the Whoniverse characters have been inserted into the settings of Sherlock BBC, in fairly different roles. Hopefully, they still remain more or less in character. *g*

Chapter 01 – The Letters of Ifan Jones, Part 1

Ianto came home from the small coffee shop where he'd worked for the last two years in high spirits. As he always went directly to work after school, he'd redirected his mail to the shop about a year ago, and that was where he finally got the letter from the of London School of Economics: his application had been accepted! He could leave this grey, rainy and depressing Cardiff behind and go to London!

London! He'd only been there a few times – ever since Tad had lost his small business due to the recession and been forced to eke out a meagre living as a cashier at Debenham's, they couldn't afford anything beyond the bare necessities. But the few memories he had of the huge city, pulsing with light and life and energy, had haunted his dreams ever since.

London was the place where he'd always wanted to live.

He knew it wouldn't be easy. But he was used to make do with what little he had. One of those things was an uncanny knack for making excellent coffee and the instinctive knowledge how any given customer would like his or hers. That particular skill had made the Arabian Nights Café such a frequented spot of students; without him, it probably would already have gone bankrupt years ago.

He was fairly certain that he'd find a job as a barista in one of London's countless coffee shops, too. And once the customers had tasted his coffee, they wouldn't want to go anywhere else. That way, he'd be able to pay some of his study fees and afford a modest little bed-sit, even in London.

He glanced at his watch. His shift had been over for twenty minutes already. It was time to go home.

"I'm finished, Mr. Llewellyn!" he called out to the elderly shop owner who was discussing the latest rugby match with some of his regular customers, while handing over the black apron to his counterpart from the evening shift. "Off and out!"

"That's fine, Ianto," the old man waved back at him, smiling with almost paternal pride. "Give your Mam my regards."

Mr. Llewellyn was a sweet old soul and he liked Ianto as if he'd been his own son. Well, grandson, more likely. It wasn't his fault that his memory no longer served him well. Otherwise he'd have remembered that Madelyn Jones had died seven years ago, after years upon years of increasingly worsening depressions, because of which she'd had to spend her last years in Providence Park.

But today not even the memory of his Mam's slow descent into complete mental darkness could cloud Ianto's joy. He was going to London, to study economics and EDP. He'd just reached his temporary goal on a carefully planned-out career, thanks to his hard work at school, and nothing and no-one could keep him from leaving.

Not even his Tad, although he might try.

Ever since losing his wife and his tailor's shop within mere six months, Ifan Jones had become moody and occasionally aggressive. Mostly because he often sought comfort in the bottom of a bottle. Ianto had talked to him about his plans to go to London to university a couple of times, but all he'd got as an answer was a noncommittal hmmm. As if his Tad had tried to avoid the confrontation about a topic he knew he couldn't win.

Well, today the confrontation wouldn't be avoided any longer.

After a great deal of consideration – during which he'd played off half a dozen possible scenarios in his mind – Ianto decided on the direct approach. He unlocked the front door with his own key and walked directly into the living room, grinning from ear to ear, waving with the official letter.

"Look at this, Tad!" he exclaimed. "I got accepted!"

But it wasn't Ifan Jones who rose from the battered sofa in front of the unexpectedly silent telly. It was his daughter, Rhiannon – known as Mrs Davies for the last five years – her eyes read and puffy and her cheeks blotched from crying hard for a lengthy time.

"Ianto," she sobbed. "Oh, Ianto, you don't even know yet!"

"Know what?" Ianto felt a strange coldness encroach upon his heart. "Rhi, what happened?"

She allowed him to take her in his arms; she was shaking like a leaf, and seeing her who'd always been so strong and resilient, like a rock in the storm – his rock in the storm since their early childhood – shocked him to the bone.

"Rhi, talk to me!" he insisted. "Has anything happened to Johnny? Or to Daffy? Are they all right? Are you all right?"

She nodded repeatedly, but it took her endless moments until she could actually form any words.

"They're okay. We're okay. But Tad… Tad's had an accident."

"How bad?" Ianto asked automatically, although seeing the state in which she was he already expected the worst.

"B-bad…" she whispered, unable to continue.

Ianto swallowed hard.

"Is he…" he couldn't bear to say dead, but Rhi understood anyway and nodded miserably, starting to cry again.

Holding his sobbing sister while she practically dissolved in tears, the only thing Ianto could think of was: Now we're truly orphaned.

The official letter from the university lay on the coffee table, completely forgotten.

Ianto spent the night in Rhiannon and Johnny's flat. It was too small, even for a young couple with only one kid, but he couldn't make himself stay in his childhood home. There were too many memories; few of them pleasant.

On the next day, he went to the police station to learn more about the circumstances of his Tad's accident, although he did have his suspicions concerning the reason. He got directed to a friendly young constable by the name of Andy Davidson who was apparently working on the case.

PC Andy, as the others called him, was a lanky bloke with curly blond hair and guileless blue eyes and, and he seemed genuinely compassionate. Which was probably the reason why he got to deal with the upset relatives.

"I'm really sorry, mate," he said with disarming honesty. "But it seems the accident was entirely your Tad's fault. It appears that he got quite drunk in the morning, and then walked right in front of the bus. The driver tried to floor the brake – some of the passengers even sustained light injuries from it – but it was too late."

Ianto nodded, sadly but unsurprised.

"I always feared something like this would happen," he admitted. "He drank a lot ever since our Mam died."

"When was that?" PC Andy asked.

"Six years ago," Ianto replied. "Things were getting gradually worse as time went by."

The young policeman sighed; he probably heard stories like that every other day.

"That's a long time, hanging onto the bottle," he said. "All right then, if you agree to the closing of the case we could send the driver and the other witnesses home."

"I do," Ianto said. "No need to go on bothering those poor people – if you are sure it was Tad's fault."

"We are," PC Andy sounded vaguely apologetic. "All forensic evidence points in that direction."

"Then we better get on it," Ianto said with a sigh. "The sooner you can close the investigation, the sooner can I bury my Tad and order his affairs… such as they are."

"Fine with me," PC Andy pulled some forms out of his desk drawer and laid them in front of Ianto. "Please read them carefully and sign them on the dotted line if you agree with the contents."

"Sure," Ianto read the forms from top to bottom as required, then took out his fountain pen and signed them. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing," the young policeman took back the forms and handed them to a female PC who was collecting empty coffee mugs nearby. "Gwen, love, can you take these to the Desk Sergeant?"

The dark-haired Welshwoman seemed mildly insulted, as if such tasks were beneath her dignity, although Ianto couldn't imagine why. She was clearly a rookie, trying to learn the job from her more experienced colleagues, although she appeared in her late twenties already. She managed to make a vaguely dishevelled impression, even wearing a police uniform, which was quite a feat.

Slamming down the tray with the empty mugs unceremoniously onto the nearest empty surface, she snatched the forms from Andy's hand and glanced into them.

"What, you're still on the drunkard victim case?" she twisted her mouth in dismay, revealing a wide gap between her front teeth. "I thought it was clearly his fault."

"It was," PC Andy replied patiently. "Which is why we're closing the investigation. Especially as his next of kin is in agreement, as you can see."

"Much ado for a useless drinker," the rookie commented off-handedly.

Ianto was a patient soul – most of the time anyway – but at the moment he needed all his self-discipline not to throttle the stupid, heartless bitch with on the spot.

"That useless drinker," he said through gritted teeth, "had a name. He was called Ifan Jones. He was a master tailor, and he was a good husband and a doting father. That he had a bit of misfortune in his life wasn't his fault. So I'd appreciate if you spoke of my father with a little more respect, miss, unless you want me to hand in a complaint to Detective Inspector Henderson."

The rookie stared at him with open-mouthed shock, apparently not having expected him to know the name of her boss. Before she could react, though, PC Andy interfered.

"The Desk Sergeant needs to countersign the forms, so that we actually can close this investigation, Gwen. So, if you don't mind…"

The rookie shot Ianto a dirty look but left nonetheless. PC Andy turned to Ianto in apology.

"I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Jones. She didn't really mean it; she never does. She's just new to the job and needs to learn a great deal yet. Got a bit spoiled by her parents, I guess."

"That's an explanation, not an excuse," Ianto replied dryly. "It doesn't matter, though, PC Davidson. Hopefully this was the first and last time I've run into her."

The young policeman grinned. "Don't be so sure about that. Cardiff can be a surprisingly small town sometimes."

"It's fortunate then that I don't intend to stay in Cardiff much longer," Ianto countered. "Good day, PC Davidson, and thank you for your help."

Ifan Jones was buried a week later, in Newport, next to his late wife and his sister Bronwyn, who'd died almost twenty years earlier. The ceremony was short and simple and the mourners few in number; he'd moved to Cardiff at a fairly young age and there were few in Newport who'd still remember him. Basically, it was just the family and some of Johnny and Rhiannon's friends.

Ianto didn't have any friends close enough to care. Having lived with a habitual drinker from the age of twelve could do that to a kid.

He was somewhat surprised when he spotted PC Davidson in a little distance, though. He didn't think the young constable would come to the funeral of every car accident victim on whose cases he worked. It was probably an effort to atone for his partner's rudeness.

Whatever the reason, Ianto was grateful. No-one else had come to support him. Mr. Llewellyn might have, but he was too old and arthritic for such trips. Besides, he might not have understood whose funeral it was in the first place.

There was no death watch after the funeral. Their Mam had always despised the custom as barbaric and frankly, they didn't have the money to waste for such a useless thing.

"What will happen with the house now?" Johnny Davies asked, eyeing the childhood home of his wife warily. "We don't have the means to keep it."

"You can, if you move in," Ianto suggested. "Keeping the house wouldn't cost more than the rent you're paying for that sorry excuse of a two-bedroom-flat, and at least here you'd have the room for more kids, should you want any."

"What about you?" Johnny asked. "This is your home, too."

Ianto shook his head. "No; I'm done with this place. I'm going to London, as l planned. Starting a new life from the scratch."

"Rhi's gonna miss you, man," Johnny said after a lengthy pause. "And so am I, frankly. Don't become a stranger, you hear me?"

"You're a good man, Johnny Davies, even if you're a bit of a tosser sometimes," Ianto answered with a faint smile. "Don't worry; I'm not planning on burning all bridges behind me. I'll keep in touch, I promise."

"You haven't changed your mind then?" Rhiannon asked, having caught the tail end of their conversation as she came into the living room. "You still gonna go to London?"

Ianto nodded. "That was all I ever wanted, Rhi. And it will be the best for everyone. Granted, this isn't the best neighbourhood in Cardiff, but at least you'd be in your own; and Johnny is big and ugly enough to frighten away everyone who might get stupid ideas about you living here."

They all smiled sadly at his lame attempt of joke, but both Rhi and Johnny knew that he was right. The old house would have been too big for him alone, even if he'd wanted to stay, which he didn't. It had been too big for him and his Tad already, a depressing frame to Tad's slow slide towards self-destruction. With a young family living within its walls, perhaps it would become a better place; and Johnny's skills would help to return it to a much better state. Johnny had always liked to tinker around the house, paint the walls, make small repairs… that sort of thing. Now he wouldn't have to worry about a displeased landlord who didn't like when the tenants improved things. Now Johnny would be able to turn the house into an actual home.

"Make this place a home again," Ianto said quietly. "A home for yourselves; and for me to return to, from time to time."

With that, the agreement had been made, and the next couple of weeks were spent with dissolving Ifan Jones's modest household, cleaning and repainting the entire house and moving Rhi and Johnny's belongings there.

It was a lot of hard work, but it helped them deal with their grief; and when they were finally done, the simple little house looked like new. Even Ianto's old room had been redecorated, despite his protests that it wasn't necessary (not to mention a waste of money that they couldn't afford), as he was leaving anyway. But Rhi was adamant about it.

"This is still your home, you daft sod," she declared forcefully. "You took the pressure off us all these years, taking care of Tad as much as he let you; you've got the same claim here as we do – more than us, actually."

Since that was, technically, true, Ianto stopped arguing. Besides, it would have been stupid to renovate the whole house, save one single bedroom. Therefore they did it properly, and even had a very modest housewarming party for Rhi and Johnny's friends and for the neighbours who were on a friendly basis with the Joneses.

Two days after the party Ianto was sitting in his old but much improved room, hunting for cheap bed-sits and possible jobs in London via the internet, when the phone rang. Being the only one currently at home, he jogged down to the living room to pick it up.

"Ianto Jones."

"Barry Williams from Cooper & Williams," the cultured voice of a presumably middle-aged man said; it was a voice that Ianto didn't know. "Mr Jones, your father has engaged our firm to hand you over certain… documents I case of his death. We would like you to come to our office and collect them."

"What kind of documents?" Ianto asked in surprise.

He had heard pf Cooper & Williams, of course. They were a small but respected law firm, with a seat in Swansea; yet they had an office in Cardiff, too. They usually dealt with the execution of wills and inheritance issues, so a call from them was quite unexpected. As far as Ianto knew there was nothing for him – or for Rhi – to inherit, save the house, which had been on their names already since they reached legal maturity.

"I'm afraid I don't have the liberty to give you that piece of information on the phone," Mr. Williams said apologetically. "But I'm working in our Cardiff office this week, so we'll have the chance to discuss matters personally. "What time would be suitable for you?"

"I'm on a flexible schedule right now," Ianto told him. "I can come as soon as you've got an opening on yours."

"Excellent," Mr. Williams said. "Would be Tuesday 11 am acceptable?"

"Sure," Ianto replied. "Do I need to bring anything? Birth certificate? Ownership papers of the house?"

"Your ID would suffice," the lawyer answered. "Just so that we know we're handing over the documents to the right person. Good day, Mr. Jones."

He hung up without any further explanation and Ianto stared at the beeping phone in bewilderment, wondering what this was supposed to mean.

When Rhiannon got home, she was every bit as surprised and clueless as he was.

"I didn't even know Tad had a will," she said.

"Neither did I," Ianto confessed. "It wouldn't make any sense – he could barely keep the house between that poorly paid job of his... and the drinking. I don't think that he could have left us anything – except perhaps a lot of debts."

"Did he have debts?" Rhiannon asked, suddenly worried. She and Johnny weren't particularly well off. Certainly not enough to pay off any debts their Tad might have left to them.

Ianto shook his head.

"Not that I'd know of; and I was the one who saw that the bills got paid each month. He didn't really care about such things in the last year or so."

"What on Earth could this be about, then?" Rhiannon wondered.

Ianto shrugged. "We'll see on Tuesday, I guess."

But he, too, was more worried than he'd allow his sister to see. After all, it wasn't impossible that their Tad had made a lot of debts, without him knowing about it. He had been a drinker, and drinkers easily lost control over their finances. Learning that there was a huge mortgage on the house would be more than just an unpleasant surprise. It would be a financial disaster for them all, now that Johnny and Rhi had quit their rented flat and moved in already.

Therefore it was with great anxiety when Ianto appeared at the Cardiff office of Cooper & Williams on Tuesday morning, to learn what their Tad had done. Probably done, he mentally corrected himself as he approached the desk of the pretty blonde receptionist – one Maggie Hopley, according to the name shield right in the front.

"Ianto Jones," he introduced himself. "I've got an appointment with Mr Williams."

She checked the timetable displayed on her desktop monitor and nodded.

"Certainly, Mr. Jones. Just a moment, please."

She picked up the phone that must have been hotlined to the office of her boss because she didn't need to push any bottoms.

"Mr Williams, sir, your eleven o'clock client is already here," she listened to some instructions being given to her. "Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

She put down the phone and rose.

"Please come with me, Mr Jones. Mr Williams has time for you right away."

That was a pleasant surprise, as Ianto had expected to be made wait for a while (he wasn't a wealthy client, after all, at least not that he'd know). He followed the pretty blonde into the lawyer's office, which turned out nothing like those posh places one often saw in court shows on the telly. It was of moderate size, well-lit and functional – clearly a room where people worked long hours. The furniture a bit old-fashioned perhaps, but not pompous, and the equipment up-to-date, from the LCD desktop monitor through the newest model of high-speed printer down to the wireless phone.

Mr Williams himself was a middle-aged gentleman in a conservative three-piece suit – tailored, Ianto's experienced eye noticed, but not grossly overpriced, meant to be comfortable rather than fancy –, greying hair and gold-rimmed glasses. He had a spot of grey goatee in the middle of his chin, which Ianto usually found ridiculous, but it looked actually good on the lawyer. He appeared to be a competent and generally friendly person, yet one who took his job seriously.

When Ianto entered, Mr Williams rose from behind his desk to shake hands. His grip was short and firm, his skin pleasantly dry. Ianto hated to shake hands with people who had sweaty palms. It gave him goosebumps, and not in a good way.

"Thank you for coming at such a short notice, Mr Jones," the lawyer said. "Please, have a seat," then he turned to his receptionist. "Maggie, have Brian bring me the Ifan Jones file and make us some coffee, please. Then the two of you can have a break. Preferable outside the office."

Now that sounded a bit odd, but Maggie didn't even blink, so it couldn't have been such a rare occasion.

"Yes, sir," she said and left, calling back over her shoulder. "Thank you, sir!"

"She's a jewel, and usually very discreet," Mr Williams told Ianto confidentially. "But in some cases, like yours, I prefer to be absolutely certain that we won't be overheard. She and my lawyer-candidate have just returned from their honeymoon; they'll gladly make the break a lengthy one."

Ianto smiled politely, not really understanding why Mr Williams would tell him all this. Unless they lawyer wanted to ensure him about the discretion with which his case – whatever it might be – was being handled.

A few minutes later Maggie returned with the coffee – not an outstanding one, but Ianto found he could drink it – and with a handsome young man in a suit who was carrying a thick manila folder. Presumably the lawyer-candidate Mr Williams had spoken of, as he barely had eyes for anything (or anyone) else than the girl. Well, his wife, apparently.

"The case you've asked for, Mr Williams," he said, placing the folder on the desk of his boss.

Mr Williams nodded.

"Thank you, Brian. Now, off with you two. Mr Jones and I will need about an hour here – make the most of it. I'll take possible phone calls right in the office during your absence."

"Yes, sir," the newlyweds echoed as one and left eagerly.

Mr Williams waited until he could hear the front door fall shut behind them. Only then did he turn to Ianto again.

"Mr. Jones, these documents," he briefly lifted the manila folder for emphasis, "have been entrusted to me by your father in absolute confidence, shortly after your birth. I'm the only person who's ever seen them. Not even my partner knows what's in there."

"But you do?"

"Yes. Your father needed a lawperson to officially witness and counter-sign the documents. He made the extra trip from Newport, where the family used to live at that time, to Cardiff just to make sure that nobody else would suspect anything."

"Sounds ominous," Ianto commented. "You're not about to reveal to me that my father was secretly some kind of mafia boss, are you?"

"No; it's not quite that dramatic, although I'm sure you'll be fairly shocked anyway."

Mr Williams picked up a paper knife from his desk and carefully removed the seal from the manila folder. Then he pulled out a long, narrow envelope first, which was also sealed.

"Your father came to me again after his wife died six years ago," he continued. "He brought this letter and told me that – in case of his death – you'll need to read this first, before you'd read the actual documents," he removed this seal, too, and handed Ianto the still unopened letter. "I can leave you alone while you do it," he offered.

"You don't know what's in the letter?" Ianto asked in surprise.

Mr. Williams shook his head.

"No; your father was quite insistent that you should be the only person to ever see its contents."

"That's odd," Ianto murmured. "What was Tad up to?"

"Nothing sinister, I'm quite certain," Mr Williams said. "Your father was a good, decent man, despite the unfortunate way he chose to cope with his wife's death… and with the other misfortunes of his life. My assumption would be that he chose to reveal some facts that are not in the documents I was instructed to hand over to you, and that he didn't want others to know because of the deeply personal nature of those facts," he rose from his seat. "I'll go now and have a smoke outside. That usually takes me ten minutes. Would that be sufficient time for you to read the letter?"

Ianto nodded absently and Mr Williams left. Ianto waited for the door to close, then he took the paper knife from the lawyer's desk, sliced the envelope open and took out a piece of paper that he immediately recognized. It was a British country show style piece of stationery in florals and pinks and pale greens – the brand his Mam had once preferred. He couldn't remember having seen any of it in the house since his Mam had been taken to Providence Park, but apparently, his Tad had kept them, at least for a while.

The letter itself was penned with his Tad's precise, decorative handwriting – the one he'd had before his hands would start shaking due to his perpetually drunk state.

My dear boy Ianto, (it began)

What I'm about to tell you might come as a shock, so before I expose you to an old family secret, I want to remind you that we have always loved you like a son…

Like a son? Ianto's hands began to shake. What was that supposed to mean?

However, his Tad's letter continued, in the purely biological sense you're not our son. You're the son of my beloved sister, Bronwyn, who died at childbirth, bringing you into this world…, and, thankfully, into our lives.

What? Ianto stared at the letter until the words started to dance before his eyes. His Tad was his uncle, not his true father? And his Mam wasn't his mother? In fact, he wasn't even related to his own Mam by blood? How had he ended up as their son then?

The thought to give you away never occurred to us, not for a moment, the letter went on. Your Mam had several miscarriages, and we were told that she couldn't have any more children after Rhi. So you were like a gift from God to us; a gift for which we were grateful. But we'd have taken you anyway, even if we'd had a dozen children of our own.

Ianto believed that without question. Mam and Tad had always been generous. But what had happened to his father? Had he never wanted as much as see his son? He hoped the letter would answer that particular question.

Your father – your biological father – never learned about your existence. He didn't even know that Bronwyn was pregnant at the time they broke up. Bronwyn wanted it so. He came from a wealthy and influential family that would never accept her – or you. His affair with your mother was his only effort to break away from the family pressure. I assume it failed, but I can't tell for sure.

Ianto stopped reading. He needed a moment for the first shock to pass. It would come back later, he knew; that was how his analytical mind usually worked. Right now, though, said mind was too numb to work at all. His entire life, everything he'd known and believed in for nearly twenty years, had just been turned upside down and inside out.

Everything save one fact. He knew and believed as firmly as ever that his parents – well, his adoptive parents, it seemed – had loved him like their own. There had been ample proof for that all his life. Not even his Tad's drinking habit had ever changed that. And at least there was some blood relation. Close enough to remain a family, even after the big revelation.

Or so he hoped. It remained to see how Rhi might react to the news.

He wondered, though, why his Tad had chosen to reveal the truth to him at all. There was clearly no danger of his biological father wanting him back; the man obviously wasn't even aware of having an illegitimate son. And even if he had been, he'd most likely not want a bastard child to disturb his well-ordered life.

But as he thought about it, Ianto realized that his Tad was right. He needed to know this. Not because he'd want to seek out the man who'd accidentally sired him. He was more than happy with the simple, hard-working family he'd been part of all his life. For all intents and purposes, he was a Jones – whatever else he might be, and he never wanted to be anything else.

However, secrets like this were never completely secure. His Tad had apparently gone great lengths to keep him hidden from a rich and powerful family that might not even want him to exist. But there had to be a hospital or a maternity ward or, at the very least, a midwife who knew that Bronwyn Jones had given birth to a son nineteen years ago. His father's family could easily hunt those people down if determined enough to find him.

Such people always had the means to get what they wanted. Therefore it was safer for Ianto to know what – or probably whom – to expect.

In that spirit, he returned to his Tad's letter.

You'll notice that your true father's name is not given in your original birth certificate, it continued. Bronwyn never wanted him to know. She loved him very much; or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she was fascinated by him. Not by his money; your mother never cared much for material things. But she described him as a man of keen intelligence who never dared to give in to his true caring nature and considered feelings as a weakness – while desperate for being loved.

Whether she was right or just saw him through rose-tinted glasses, I can't tell. I never met the man myself. Neither can I tell you what you should do: seek him out or forget him and continue your life the same way you've lived it so far. It's entirely up to you, son.

There's one thing in which I disagree with Bronwyn, though. I've made some careful inquiries and found out that your biological father doesn't have a family of his own. No wife, no children – nothing but a troublesome younger brother. Whether it's by choice or by some misfortune, I never managed to find out. There is, however, the chance that he might want contact to the son he never knew he had.

In any case, I think he has the right to know. And since whenever you'll get to read this I'll be dead already, perhaps you will want to know him, too.

It's probably selfish of me not having told you all this while I was still alive, I know; and I apologize. But I was afraid that he might want you – and he does have the power to take you from me. That, I couldn't bear. I hope you'll forgive me one day.

"Oh, Tad!" Ianto whispered, fighting back his tears violently – and losing.

Forgive his Tad? If anything, he was grateful that Ifan Jones hadn't come out with the truth earlier. That he hadn't allowed some faceless rich man to stake claim on Ianto and take him away from the only family he'd ever known.

He wiped his eyes and returned to the letter.

So that's what I'm gonna do, as soon as I've finished writing this, Ifan Jones continued. After my death, a different law firm is gonna send your father another sealed letter, with a copy of your birth certificate and the adoption papers. There will also be a document in which your Mam and I officially declare that we'll never raise any demands – financial or otherwise – towards him and his family.

By the letter of the law you're our son and have no claim for whatever is his. If he wants to know you, he'll be welcome. But he'll have to make the first step; and it will be up to the two of you to figure out the terms.

Ianto, in case I've failed to tell you how proud your Mam and I always have been of you and how much you've enriched our lives, I apologize. You're everything any set of parents could hope for a son, and we always loved you very much. Don't allow this secret to get between us after we're gone. We only did what Bronwyn asked us to do and what we thought would be in your best interest.

In love, your Tad.

Ifan Jones

Ianto carefully folded the letter again, put it back into the envelope and replaced it in the manila folder. Apparently, his ten minutes were over by then, as Mr Williams re-entered the office, bringing with him a gush of fresh air and the faint smell of cigarette smoke.

Suddenly Ianto felt the desperate craving for a smoke, too. He wasn't a heavy smoker, but it sometimes helped him to collect himself. Not the nicotine itself as much as going through the whole small ritual of choosing a cigarette, lighting it, taking the first draught…

"Is everything all right?" Mr Williams asked.

Ianto nodded. "This was… unexpected," he admitted.

"The understatement of the decade, I presume," Mr Williams said in a strangely paternal manner. "Well, now that you've been filled in with the necessary details, you can as well take a look at these documents."

"To what end?" Ianto asked with a shrug. "According to Tad's letter, the only thing I'd really like to know isn't even there."

"And that thing would be?"

"Who my real father is. No," he corrected himself, "I mean my biological father. As far as I'm concerned, Thad has always been and will always remain my real father."

"But you'd still like to know…?"

"Where the other half of the genetic material has come from? Yes, I would. If for no other reason than to understand myself better. To know where certain things came from; things that used to drive Tad up the walls."

"What kind of things?" the lawyer asked with genuine interest.

"Things like my hang to figuring out people's lives based on their fashion sense or body language," Ianto explained. "Or my freakishly good memory that certainly doesn't run in the family. Nobody else has it, so I guess it must come from… from the other side."

Mr Williams nodded slowly. "Yes, that would actually fit."

"You know who my father is?" Ianto asked in surprise.

The lawyer nodded again. "I made some of the inquiries for Mr Jones, so yes, I can give you a name if that's what you want. I can even tell you something about the man's background. Not much, though; people like him can afford to pay for their privacy."

"I'll make go with what little you can give me," Ianto said. "Just giving a name to a phantom I didn't even know to exist until now would be helpful."

"I certainly can help you with that."

And indeed, Mr Williams gave him a name that said absolutely nothing to Ianto. He said so, and the lawyer nodded grimly.

"Of course you haven't heard of him before. Blending into the background seems to be his speciality."

"Is he…" Ianto hesitated. "Is he some sort of high-end criminal, coming from an influential family?"

Mr Williams shook his head. "No. As far as I've been informed, your father occupies a minor position in the British government."

Fantastic, Ianto thought in exasperation. My father works for the bloody government. And Tad has just informed him that he's got a grown son. An illegitimate son with a most unsuitable woman from his misspent youth. That's gonna down well – NOT!

"Should I be worried?" he asked warily. "I'm not gonna be yanked into some mysterious black car with tinted glasses, never to be seen again, am I?"

"Unlikely," Mr Williams replied dryly. "I supervised the documents your biological father is getting sent to about this very time. Mr Jones made it very clear that due to the adoption any claims you might have had towards your father have been declared null and void. He was sure you'd agree."

"I do," Ianto said. "I'm a Jones, and that's more than enough for me. I want to build my future according to my own interests, on my own terms. But will somebody like this man believe it? Or would he think it's all a trick so that I can blackmail him later?"

"That's a very good question," Mr. Williams admitted. "Unfortunately, not one I could answer with any certainty. There are some risks involved, I won't deny that. Powerful men in high positions generally don't like surprises. But your mother must have seen something in the man, so perhaps you should give him a chance. Who knows, he might even surprise you."

"He's not the only one who doesn't like surprises," Ianto muttered darkly. "And I'm worried about Rhi and her family, too. Thank God that I'm moving to London anyway. At least that way they won't get caught in the crossfire."

"You're not going to tell anything of this your sister?" Mr Williams asked.

Ianto realized with a sinking heart that he didn't actually have a sister. Well, he at least still had a cousin. That was still blood relation, even if on a lesser grade.

He shook his head. "No; I will simply tell him that Tad left with you a declaration that there's no mortgage on the house and that he didn't have any debts. Why rob her of the comfort of having a brother when she's just lost her father? No good would come of her knowing the truth, just unnecessary grief. It's better if everything stays as it used to be."

"That might not be possible in the long run," Mr Williams warned him.

"Perhaps not," Ianto shrugged," but I'll do my best to keep it that way as long as I can."

~TBC~