Chapter 4: Drive My Car

Jack drove the grumbling group down a dirt road, driving recklessly in an unmarked black car that really didn't seat everyone very well. He watched the speedometer inch up to higher and higher numbers with glee. A glee that didn't show on his face at all, but was there all the same.

The Doctor, sitting in between Jack and John Lennon in an awkward middle seat next to the driver, gripped the front of his seat, knuckles turning white. "And this, Jack," he said, with just a hint of nervousness, "is why I never let you drive the TARDIS."

Jack just looked over and flashed him a grin.

"Oi!" Paul hollered from the backseat, sitting behind John, smashed between Ringo and the door, "Eyes on the road, mate!" He looked a bit green. But he certainly wasn't the only one as the car careened down the road, vibrating as it rapidly passed over the bumpy dirt road.

"I'm going to be sick..." Ringo muttered.

"Not on me, you're not," Paul said, trying to inch away from him. But it was to no avail in the cramped vehicle.

George silently tried to inch away in the other direction, but there was simply no room.

"I'll never understand how you got us in here like this," John moaned, "You're absolutely bloody mad!"

Jack grinned again, this time still looking at the road. It may have been a bit manipulative, what he had done, but it was all for the good of the Beatles. Besides, if you have fifty-first century pheromones, you may as well use them. Working actively on the four twentieth century lads, it wasn't too hard to get them to do what he wished. Harkness only wished they would work on the Doctor...

"Here we are!" Jack said cheerily, turning into a small clearing among rows of trees. The trees themselves were orderly, obviously planted there at one point. But dispersed among them were dozens of smaller plants. Bushes and brush, frozen weeds and wildflowers were jumbled together wherever there was space between the fruitless, bare trees. Beyond them, one could see nothing.

"And this is..." Paul trailed off, squinting in the darkness for a sign of people or man-made structures.

"Who cares! So long as one of you sods lets me out of this death machine, I'd be happy to be in... in... Well, even Alabama!" Ringo exclaimed.

John cringed slightly.

"What's so bad about Alabama?" Jack asked, wondering what they could possibly have against just the one state in America.

The Doctor laughed, a bit inappropriate for the moment, but he didn't seem to care. He knew and remembered full well all about the burning of Beatles merchandise in the southern part of the USA. He had his suspicions there was involvement from another race, another life form, but he hadn't had the chance to find out for himself. With a last chuckle, he said, "Living as long you have, Jack, I'm surprised your memory isn't up to par! Either that or you haven't kept caught up with current events. Although, current is a relative term to some, as is past and future. I'd have thought it'd be much simpler to keep up when you're living in numerical order, rather than bouncing around from place to time. Shame on you, Jack!" Seeing the confused and slightly concerned faces of four individuals, he added, "Ah, yes. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey sort of things."

There was a moment of pause, awkward to everyone except the time lord, then three car doors opened almost simultaneously as the Beatles got out of the car rather quickly. Ringo scrambled out last, following after George, who had gotten out before Paul. John backed away from the car, mumbling about homicidal mad men.

Overhearing a few choice words, Jack chuckled and patted the vehicle as he got out. The Doctor followed, adjusting his tie slightly as he did so. He raised an eyebrow at John's mutterings, but said nothing.

"Alright, kids," Jack said, clapping his hands together, "Shelter's just this way."

This time, Paul raised the eyebrow. "Kids?" he questioned.

"You know, this seems like the perfect atmosphere for a murderer to hit," John said slowly, eyeing up Jack suspiciously.

"Or rape," Jack agreed, "Although, I've heard it's not rape if you don't fight it."

"Stop it," the Doctor ordered, wondering why he had agreed to Jack's plan so readily. He had forgotten what Jack was like.

Jack laughed and put his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, none of that, then. Sorry, not tonight."

The Doctor rolled his eyes dramatically. The four lads just looked downright terrified at this point. With Jack not close enough for them to be overwhelmed by his futuristic pheromones, their utter trust and near infatuation with him had vanished, leaving all four suspicious of the strange man.

"Well, c'mon," the Doctor said, "Before the real murderers find us, allons-y!"

Jack slightly cringed at the insinuation of his innocence, knowing and remembering full well many things he was not proud of doing, but in the blink of an eye, his mask fell back into place, hiding all his true emotion.

"Why the bloody hell do you trust him?" Paul asked, crossing his arms, "Because I sure don't."

The Doctor shrugged. "He's saved some lives in his time. I probably owe him a thing or two, or perhaps two and a half, depending on how you look at it... Although, that one time, I did manage to- Ah, but that's not important!"

There was a howl in the distance, and a few shivers were caught, having nothing to do with the cold. Although, it wasn't exactly warm standing in an old orchard at night in January.

"Take us back," Paul insisted.

Jack checked a watch on his arm. It was ridiculously large, at least to the Liverpudlian lads. The Doctor wasn't fazed, though. Looking back up, Jack sighed. "Look, we need to go. There's a high level of energy around here. Static electricity, by the looks of it, but it's somehow different. Something I couldn't pick out. Something's coming, so we need to be leaving. If you don't cooperate now, I'll take measures to ensure that you do in about a minute. So, let's go. Like he said, allons-y."

The Doctor, not to be outdone by a watch, took his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. He pointed it around, letting it pick up any energy signals as it glowed a bright blue. He looked at it and then at Jack. Finally, he turned towards the band members, speaking more seriously than ever before. "We need to get out of here."

"Alright, your minute's up," Jack said, "Ladies and gentlemen, follow me. And please, no foreplay. Not yet." With that, he pulled a gun out from his belt, a small yet deadly weapon, and pointed it at the four. "Move and no one gets lasered." Jack rounded up the now terrified Beatles and led them into the woods.

"Nice knowing you, lads," John muttered, a lump of fear caught in his throat.

"Using guns, Harkness?" the Doctor asked, raising an eyebrow as he jogged next to the Captain, "Really? You can't just point weapons at people to make them obey, that's inhumane!"

"No offense, Doctor," Jack said, "But inhumane would be knocking them out, binding them up and dragging them away. This, although not everyone's favourite, at least ensures full consciousness."

"But pointing a gun at them? Captain Jack Harkness! I thought you were better than that! Put the gun away!" he argued.

"And let them stay behind and face who knows what?" Jack countered, "I'm doing them a favour; they just don't know it yet."

"Jack," the Doctor warned.

"Oh, let it go!" he said, full realizing he was arguing with a time lord as if they were a married couple.

They ran in silence. Then, suddenly, Jack stopped and bent down. "Better not think any murderous thoughts about me, Doctor."

"How I managed to travel with you in the TARDIS is beyond me. You're impossible!"

The four Beatles, all uncharacteristically silent, stopped just behind Jack and the Doctor. They were staring at Jack, all with slightly varying degrees of shock.

"In here," Jack said, pulling up a hidden trap door, layered with convincing grass, and revealing an old bomb shelter. He moved aside and nudged the four lads through first. Then, the Doctor ducked inside, giving Jack a disapproving look as he did so.

Jack sighed. "New face, new issues," he mumbled, hopping in after the others and closing the door behind him. He stowed the gun away, much to the relief of the Beatles.

"For the record," John spat, "I hate you, you bloody son of a git!"

Jack shrugged and pulled a cord on the wall, lighting up what had been a dim room before. "Fine with me. I've dated people who hate me before."

John looked ready to throw a punch or two, but he was distracted by the room around him. Every eye was wandering around the room, looking at it in amazement. Everyone except the Doctor, who just glared at Harkness, still angry at him for his form of mind control.

What had seemed to be a simple bomb shelter from the past war, was actually so much more. Whoever had gotten a hold of it before Jack had widened it greatly and covered the walls with a clean white tile. The floor was covered in a soft, beige carpet. Not only was it huge and nice-looking, but it was also liveable. For many. On one wall were three sets of bunk beds, each with its own soft mattress and baby blue sheets. On the other end of the expansive room sat a large wooden desk. Piled on the desk were mounds of papers, most with the heading of "Torchwood: Top Secret!" There was a file cabinet with all its drawers completely empty, presumably because the documents were covering the desk and surrounding floor.

"What's this?" Ringo asked, having chosen to ignore his unexplainable former infatuation, then horrifying terror with the strange man rather than dwelling on it and becoming angry. He held up a small black sphere with strange lines and dots stencilled on it in purple. It fit cosily in his hand, and was lightweight, like a tennis ball. Unlike a tennis ball, it was harder than a diamond.

Before Jack could answer, the Doctor's face fell farther. "Where did you get this technology?"

"I didn't kill anyone, if that's what you're asking," Jack replied.

"You understand how it works?" the Doctor questioned suspiciously.

"Sure. Whoever's house it inhabits is graced with its protection. Sort of reads minds, finds out who's a danger to me and who's safe. Useful little thing."

The Doctor nodded. "Right. Except it doesn't change its protected subject unless its former one dies. And even then, it moves on to next of kin, not some stranger. Unless you know the tedious and delicate process of reprogramming the sphere, it shouldn't have worked for you. It shouldn't be protecting you unless the whole family is killed."

Jack shrugged. "I just found it down here. Haven't had time to research it."

"Not that this isn't terribly interesting," Paul interrupted, "But I'd love to go back home. This has been an adventure and you have a very nice house and all with weird, mumbo-jumbo things, but I think I'm done. All I want to do is sleep... It's been a weird day and I'm done with aliens and guns and the like."

Jack took a closer look at Paul and sighed. If the Doctor were a doctor of medicine, he certainly would have been quite useful. As it was, he was useful in different ways, although nothing that would help Paul. "Alright, I don't really care how it happened, but you're a bit injured, there, Paul. I'm going to assume it was on the fault of him." He motioned to the Doctor.

Paul looked surprised. And suspicious. "Not exactly... But he did show up afterwards... Oi, I'm not letting you near me!"

"Typical," Jack said, nodding. He winked at the Doctor to let him know he didn't blame him. "Well, whatever happened, it looks painful, am I right? I'm no doctor, but I'd guess head trauma... Split lip, that one's obvious. And I'm sure plenty of bruises will show up, if they haven't already. How is it that you didn't make him," he motioned once again to the Doctor, "take you to a hospital?"

Paul shrugged. "Didn't think of it, I suppose. Mind was elsewhere. Actually... I don't quite recall why not..."

The Doctor cut in. "Ah, yes, right then. Probably the bump on the head that Jack suspects. Probably best to just hunker down for the night, sleep and heal. Don't you think, Jack? I'm sure they're all a bit tired," he said quickly.

Jack eyed him, wondering why he was suddenly so keen on them being out of the way, sleeping. "Right," he said, putting on his best host voice. Which, granted, wasn't actually very good. "Why don't you four claim a bed and the Doctor and I will lock things up. Make yourselves at home. Food's just through that door," he pointed at a door on a far wall, white like the walls and barely visible, "if you're hungry. Otherwise, we'll be right back."

With that, Jack led the way up the ladder and out, closing the trapdoor behind the Doctor. He put a hand on his gun holster, and asked with a smirk, "What's up, Doc?"

"Jack, this is serious," the Doctor said, "Something is messing with memories. I don't know what, and I don't know why, but something is not right." He took out his screwdriver and scanned the area, then made a face.

Resisting the urge to make fun of the fact that his sonic tool was a screwdriver, Jack asked, "What is it?"

The time lord, nine hundred plus years old and full of knowledge, looked sadly at Jack's concerned face. "That's just it. I don't know."