The Impossible Children

The team was hard at work when Jack entered the main room of the hub. "Hey, Jack, I've been hacking into hospital records all morning," Mickey told him, ignoring a disapproving look from Martha, "and I reckon I might have just found something of interest."

"Oh, Mickey Smith, I could kiss you!" Jack exclaimed. Mickey looked none too pleased by that notion, and Ianto raised an eyebrow. "But I won't," he added, looking from one man to the other. "Relax." After a slight pause, he said, "So, let's hear it then."

"Right," Mickey replied, pulling up the files. "Her name is Briallen Baines, age 24, admitted initially for strange symptoms that turned out to be pregnancy related, has been admitted for abdominal pains and high fevers, and most recently for anemia." He pulled up more information. "Husband: Mervin Baines. Lives in... bloody hell, I'm not even gonna try to pronounce that."

Ianto read off the Welsh name for him. Then, he added, "Great. I hope we aren't almost murdered and cannibalized by a bunch of nutters again."

"What?" Mickey asked.

"Long story," Jack said, "Basically, we had a very bad trip to the Welsh countryside. Anyway, Martha, you're gonna stay here with Tish, obviously. Ianto, Mickey, you two keep digging, see if you can find out anything else about these pregnancies or the creatures behind them. Gwen, with me, we're going to pay Mrs. Briallen Baines a visit."

The hub had gone quiet with only sounds of working and occasional discussion coming from Mickey and Ianto. Martha looked in on her sister and was surprised to find her awake; Tish had been sleeping a lot since their failed procedure was performed on her.

She entered the medical bay. "Hey, Tish," she greeted softly, "How are you feeling?"

"Been better," Tish said, "but you know I've been worse, too."

Martha nodded knowingly; this was unfortunately not the first time her family had been harmed in some way by some sort of alien. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"I'm alright, Martha," Tish replied, "No need to fret over me."

"It's my job both as a doctor and sister, I'm afraid," Martha retorted.

"Oh, right," Tish said, almost smiling, "how could I forget?" She rolled her eyes playfully. "I feel okay at the moment, though," she added seriously, "I'm sore, but it's totally manageable and it's- it's weird, but I'm okay with being stuck like this, I mean I'm sort of okay with it."

"What do you mean?" Martha asked.

"I mean, well, I wasn't sure about the whole thing, and I'm still not. I'm still worried about what the right call was or what's gonna happen with me, with it, but I'm sort of— I dunno— relieved that we couldn't get rid of it. It's like that choice was never ours to make,” Tish explained.

“I guess I hadn't thought of it that way,” Martha replied, and she, too, felt a strange sort of relief from that knowledge. She hadn't failed Tish, and Tish was not even that upset about it. Still, there was a terrifying element to what Tish was saying as well, which was that the whole situation seemed out of their control.

“Now, I just worry about what'll eventually happen to me or to it,” Tish continued, “but I guess that's out of my hands, too.”

Martha admired the relative calm with which Tish could say such words. “Yeah,” she agreed as calmly as she could, “I supposed you might be right about that.”

Gwen and Jack had managed to get lost twice on their way to the Baines residence. When they finally believed they had reached the right place, they were still understandably wary. Gwen placed a knock on the old, wooden door.

A very tall and very thin man answered the door. “Is this the residence of Mervin and Briallen Baines?” Gwen asked him.

“Yes, mum,” the man answered, “You're speaking with Mervin now.” Gwen was surprised to hear his accent was English rather than Welsh. He still sounded very rural. “May I ask who's calling?”

“We're from Torchwood,” Jack told him, “Special ops, we have some questions. Mind if we come in?”

Mervin seemed resistant for a moment, but finally he relented. “'Spose not, come in.” To his wife, he called, “Bri! We've got company! Something called Torchwood; they said they've gotta ask us some questions!”

Briallen Baines entered the main room of the house not long after Mervin, Gwen, and Jack had settled into it. She was short—much shorter than her husband, and she was heavily pregnant. “Can I get you anything?” she asked quietly.

“No, love, we're fine,” Gwen replied, “You can have a seat if you like.”

The Welsh girl took a seat beside her husband on their old, worn couch. Mervin placed an arm around her shoulders, almost protectively, and he asked, “So, what's this about then?”

“We're doing an investigation on strange pregnancies,” Gwen explained. Not wanting to give too many details, she moved on to the questioning. “Is it true that you were recently hospitalized, Mrs. Baines?”

“Yes, mum, I was,” Briallen replied, “The doctor said I need more iron.” Briallen seemed very polite and soft-spoken by nature, but it was clear that her current manner of quiet sedation had more to do with weakness and exhaustion.

“Before that,” Jack said, “You were admitted with a fever and abdominal pains, and before that same song different verse, etc.”

“They thought I might lose the baby.” Briallen had a distant, almost shell-shocked character to her tone and facial expression. “They still don't know how I didn't, one of 'em said.”

Mervin was quiet but in a different less complicit way than his wife. He regarded Gwen and Jack coldly, never taking his eyes off them for more than the few seconds it took him to glance at Briallen with concern. He cleared his throat, and Jack assumed it was some sort of challenge, one that he would ignore for the time being.

“Tell us more about the baby, Briallen,” Jack requested.

Jack slightly mispronounced her name, Gwen noted, but he still said it better than Mickey had. Still, she couldn't help but briefly wonder whether an American bastardization of Welsh or a Cockney one was worse. She wondered if Briallen had even noticed at all.

“What about it, sir?” Briallen asked.

“What do you know about it? What have they told you? Any abnormalities?” Jack pressed.

“Now hold on a minute—“ Mervin started.

Briallen placed a patient, soothing hand on his shoulder. “It's alright, Merv. I want to tell them.” She looked at the other two. Her eyes began to shine. “It's a miracle.”

“What makes you say that?” Gwen asked curiously.

“Merv and I, well, we couldn't have a child on our own, and we can't afford fertility treatment or any of that.” Mervin seemed irritated at this casual airing of their personal life, but out of clear fondness for his wife he allowed it. “But then, one day I go to the doctor's 'cause I've been getting sick a lot, and it turns out I'm pregnant.”

“At the risk of sounding rude, how sure are you that it's Merv's?” Jack asked, and Gwen was utterly convinced that he was completely aware (and unapologetic about) how that question sounded.

“Now listen here, you—!” Mervin began.

Again, Briallen managed to subdue him, although this time it took a little more effort. Still, she, too, seemed offended. “Just what are you implying?” She had notably dropped the “sir”.

“Sorry,” Jack said, “let me back up. How certain are you that they baby was conceived by either of you?”

“What are you? Some kind of nutter?” Mervin questioned.

Jack ignored this and Briallen's lack of response, and he continued, “Have you ever experienced loss of time?”

“I- I dunno,” Briallen replied, clearly confused.

“Ever sleepwalk? Or end up somewhere with no clue how you got there?” Jack continued.

“I- I dunno,” Briallen said, “I s'pose I might have.”

“Do you ever feel like you're being watched? Or hear strange noises, probably at night?” Jack asked.

“I- I guess sometimes,” Briallen responded.

“Any sleep disturbances? Like maybe sleep paralysis or strange, recurring dreams?” Jack asked.

“Jack,” Gwen stopped him. “You can't ask so many leading questions, and can't you see you've overwhelmed her!”

Jack was quiet, but he was watching Briallen closely. Mervin was as tense as ever. Finally, the small Welsh girl spoke again, stunning everyone. “I do get that though. Sometimes. Sometimes I dream about lying on a table with bright lights in my face. There are always those lights, so bright they hurt my eyes, and I can't hardly see anything else at all. Sometimes I dream about these men, well, I think they're men, but I can never see them clearly. I don't know what it means; I just thought it was a pregnancy thing.”

The room went silent and still. At last, it was Mervin who spoke. “They told us the baby had abnormalities, deformities...it didn't look normal, but they couldn't explain, didn't explain what they meant or what was wrong with out baby or if anything was wrong with it... said they weren't even sure if it was a boy or girl. Three different doctors told us that. They said they thought it was a girl, but they couldn't be sure.” It was clear that Mervin was as worried and frightened as he was resentful, paranoid, and angry. Maybe Torchwood could help them when no one else could; that realization seemed to be slowly dawning on him.

“Believe me, Mr. Baines,” Gwen told him with sympathy, “We want the same thing you want; we want answers. That's why we came here today because you can help us find the answers.”