Everything Changed
Part 2
Harold Norman rubbed his eyes. It was too much, all this new stuff. He had spent the last 32 hours getting "caught up" while Jack was out all day. He had to eat a large amount of fast food for, what the receipt said, was the same price as a gallon of gas… times ten! While he ate he searched the internet, like how Jack taught him, and he researched the past he had missed. The start of this "Cold War". The Korean War. Vietnam. The Moon Landing. Rock and Roll and Elvis. The Beatles. Kennedy. Reagan. Clinton. Fall of the Soviet Union. Invention of the Internet. Back to the invention of television. First Contact. England's Christmases. Nine-Eleven.
He wanted to cry. Fifty Nine years. Music: Records, Tapes, CDs, MP3s. Films: Animation, War Dramas, VHS, DvDs. He read how his childhood became ancient history, and his history books became history itself. Evolution. Native Americans. Women's Rights. Civil Rights for blacks. Man, had life changed. And now they even had a Black President.
By the time Jack returned Harold was in deep thought, lying across a couch by the Armory.
"So, pulled some strings and Ianto did a fantastic job! Unfortunately we had to borrow some satellites to tap into the U.S. databanks," he put some bags down on a table, "Boy will I be paying for it when I get home. I'll tell you what."
"It must seem easy for you," said Harold, "Living through it all. Not understanding how it is to get it all at once."
"Focus, Harry," warned Jack, "It's a lot to take in but I'm sure it's not that bad. We have to get this place up and running again. After that you'll have… assimilation time."
"Fine," said Harold, sitting up, "I don't know what I was worried about. Fitting in. Only learned the Inter-webs today while kids can't go a day without it."
"Fastest way to learn," shrugged Jack.
"Ever heard of a library? A damn encyclopedia?"
"Yeah… sadly, many of them haven't. Anyway, let's get to work," Jack spread out some papers onto a nearby desk and opened one up, "So. Richard DeGama… He's the prime target here. He was in line to take over… well what you could call operations here until he… branched off. He now runs an organization called 'The Black Helicopters'. Not much is known about them besides they now control almost all of the alien tech and supernatural sightings in all of Mass."
"So why aren't you making him boss?"
"Taking control of a ruthless gang and throwing the rest of Torchwood into pieces? Yeah, I have no reason why I went through all the trouble to thaw your ass up," said Jack, "Anyway. I don't like his attitude about it, but you need the important equipment and personnel he took with him, and he won't be a bad asset either."
"Sounds like all he needs is a push in the right direction and possibly he could run this place," Harold shrugged.
"It's not like that," said Jack, "Anyway, let's forget him. After picking up his organization we'll need to get the current expert on Archival Expert: Juliet Rivers."
"Oh, come on now. A Woman?"
"What? Torchwoods' are full of women. How else do we have fun?" shrugged Jack, "Well… we can't all have a well dressed coffee… man to go home to."
"I know, I know," sighed Harold, "Gosh! Anyway, let's go. That sounds like enough, don't you think?"
"An army and an expert?" said Jack, "Sure, if you can control DeGama. The Black helicopters will be a great resource in standardizing operations here. Grab your coat, Harry; time is short so let's hit the road."
Harold nodded, adjusting his had and standing to get his coat. Jack threw a holster at him like he wore around his own waist. Harold brightened when he caught it, but frowned at its weight. Sure enough, the holster was empty. He didn't say anything before slipping it on his belt then putting on his large overcoat.
Jack waited for him to join him at the door. He smiled and held out a wallet. Harold picked it up and opened it. Inside was an ID, brand new and modern. A full color photo with his name and rank, a badge number, and when Harold moved the card back and forth he thought he could see a Torchwood 'T' shining across the card.
"Fancy," said Harold.
"Doesn't mean too much yet, that's a problem for later," said Jack, "Also acts as a credit card. Swipe it like this and you should be able to purchase a variety of things. Don't abuse it, though."
"Credit Card?" asked Harold.
"Ugh," sighed Jack, "It's… virtual money. We shall explain later. Anyway we need to make it across town to the docks where the Helicopters call home. I'll call a cab."
"Uh, how about we drive," smiled Harold, lifting the keys out of his pocket and dangling them.
"Where did you get a set of keys?" asked Jack, then he smiled, "You still remember how to us them?"
"Like it was yesterday," said Harold, "And the Motor Pool is this way, right?"
"Sure," said Jack, smiling, "Lead the way. Oh, but they call it the Garage now."
Walking into the garage was tough for Harold. The vehicles looked so different and alien to him. Dust covered most of them, and many of the parking spaces were taken up by desks and tool chests. In two spaces further down was a large black boat that looked like a smaller version of something he used not a week before his trial.
"Jesus," cursed Harold, "Is that a tank?"
A black armored vehicle was half revealed under a tarp, its cannon showing signs of dust.
"Yeah, overkill," said Jack, "They had some issues in the seventies."
"What kind of issues warrant the use of a tank in Boston?" asked Harold.
"Disco Fever," smirked Jack.
"Must've been some outbreak."
"So, what are we looking for," said Jack.
"A car," said Harold, "Left for me. I… don't see it."
"Tiffani, darling," said Jack, igniting a faint blue glow as the giant face of a woman appeared, "You know what the Lieutenant here is looking for?"
"Question. Answer: an attachment unread by New User: Lieutenant Harold Norman indicates a location that matches that of a used parking space in Motor Pool section B21."
"We have to fix that username," said Jack, "Anyway, that's over here. Let's go!"
Running up to the section in question, Harold could see many of the spaces were empty. As they rounded the corner of 16 and 17, Harold could see it. A vast amount of empty spaces, with only space 21 with a vehicle parked inside. Harold smiled, jogging up to it.
He ripped off the covering, revealing a shining black Plymouth Tuscan. In the faint florescent light the off-black lettering of TORCHWOOD on the side of the car seemed to shine. The windows were now black, surprising Harold. The front lights and the siren lights still showed a green tint to them. Harold turned to Jack, who whistled and put his hands on his hips.
"It's mine," said Harold, smiling, "It's my car. My baby. Old faithful. Well, that's not what we called her. We called her Linda, after Wilhelm's first love. That and she kept the LYNDA in the trunk. We were the first in charge of it."
"Really? You? The first to handle the Linear Yegric Nictar Defense Armament? That thing is… powerful."
"Well, we had it up until my vacation," said Harold.
"I like it, vacation," said Jack, "Anyway, does 'Linda' still know how to give a man a good ride?"
"I can't wait to find out," said Harold, approaching her driver's door.
When Jack was situated, Harold shrugged, smiled, and turned the key in the ignition. There was a faint start before the car turned over, its engine roaring up and rumbling in the parking spot. Harold and Jack smiled at the same time.
"Now, this I sorta miss," said Jack, "However, I figured Americans would get rid of this kind of stuff. Bigger vehicles and all."
Harold turned on the headlights, a bright lime glow illuminating the garage.
"Hey," asked Harold, "I can see… out the windows."
"Tinted glass, like sunglasses," said jack, smiling, "Come on, now. They aren't that new."
"They are to Linda." Said Harold, smiling, "I like it though."
He shifted into gear and pulled the old car out, and began driving."
"You know where we're going?" asked Jack.
"Out," replied Harold, "We're going out…"
Harold reached up and flicked a switch on the roof, the entire garage lighting up with a green strobe as the siren lights turned on. Harold switched the switch next to it, and the old siren began to turn, the garage filling with the scream. Harold smiled, pushing the gas and accelerating out of the garage.
The car pulled into the parking lot of the large building. The lights shut off and the siren died down. Harold pulled into a space and almost immediately got out of the car.
"How the hell can it take more then thirty minutes to get across the damn city with the siren and lights the whole way?"
"How the hell could you last thirty minutes listening to the siren?" asked Jack, "That's worse then Martha's Mother."
"Who's Martha?" asked Harold.
"Uh… no one, it's fine," said Jack, stretching, "Next time, I drive."
"Fine," said Harold, "Wilhelm drove anyway."
"Ok, so here we are," said Jack.
"This looks nothing like the docks," said Harold, staring at the beautiful marble building and the flags flapping in the harbor's breeze.
"Docks have changed," said Jack, shrugging, "Or it's just really good cover."
A loud, vibrating noise filled Harold's ears, and he looked up to see a strange black blob flying across the skies and hovering around the building.
"Explains the name," said jack, smiling, "Black Helicopter."
"What?" asked Harold, holding his hat, "That's a Helicopter? Helicopter is an object?"
"Let's go, Harry," said Jack, "We got a very interesting meeting ahead of us."
Jack wasted no time walking into the front doors, urging Harold along. As they walked in they both stood there with their mouths agape. The room was small, maybe the size of a trailer. One desk, with a very thin receptionist. She typed on a keyboard without looking up.
Jack looked at Harold, and shrugged, walking towards the counter. The woman never looked up, even when Jack leaned on the counter.
"Why, hello there, young lady," he said, smiling.
"Do you have an appointment?" asked the receptionist.
Jack almost seemed taken back by her cold response, but he cleared his throat and shrugged, his smile returning.
"No, but I think you'll find we won't need one. We're here for a Mr. Richard DeGama."
"I'm sorry, there is no one by that name here," said the receptionist, "Try a phonebook."
"Ooo," said Jack, holding his heart, "Darling… Well, I do think we are in the right place. The Black Helicopters?"
"Never heard of it. Leave, sir."
"Look, we're not exactly from around here," said Jack, then his sly coolness wore off, "And I know this playbook."
"Sir, I am ordering you to leave."
"Look me in the eyes and tell me that."
"Jack, you mind?" said Harold, pushing Jack aside, "Ma'am, we're Torchwood. We demand to speak with Mr. DeGama at once."
Her fingers stopped typing, only for a moment, but she didn't look up. Jack shrugged. Harold and Jack both pulled out their IDs at the same time.
"Look, Madame," said Jack, "We have the highest clearance and we know he's here."
Harold heard a smack, and Jack's eyes rolled into the back of his head. His ID slipped from his grasp as he slumped against the desk and fell to the floor. Harold turned and spotted a burly man over Jack's body. Before he could reach for his pistol he felt his head suddenly being hit before he lost control of his legs and watched as his head plummeted towards the desk.
Harold awoke in bounds. His face hurt and he tasted blood. Jack sat next to him, calm and collective, eyes forward. Harold strained against the rope but he fought the urge to scream.
"You alright?" asked Jack.
"Nose hurts," said Harold, "A bit tied up…"
"My doing," said a cold voice.
Harold looked around the room. They were in an old room, with dust and dirt smearing everything. Several florescent bulbs lit up the area. About four large men stood around them, three holding machine guns. Out of a murky window Harold could see what appeared to be a warehouse filled with figures and boxes and other such things.
"DeGama I suppose," said Jack.
"I'll ask the questions, Torchwood," said the man, looking over the badges, "Captain Jack Harkness. Cardiff. You're a long way from home."
"Love to travel."
"Lieutenant Harold Norman. Torchwood Boston, interesting. So what's two military guys like yourselves doing around here."
"Looking for you, Richard. Can I call you Richie?"
"You can call me, 'sir'," DeGama said.
"Dick it is, then," spat Harold.
"If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all," DeGama said.
"You are the one untied, I suppose," said Harold.
"What do you two want?"
"You, Richard," said Jack, "Just you."
"What for?"
"We're re-establishing Torchwood Nine," said Jack, "Under new order, under new law."
"Re-establishing Torchwood? No shit," spat DeGama, "And you want me…"
"The Captain, here, says you and your team would be the best help I would have of regaining a foot hold-"
"Your best hope?" asked DeGama, before he openly chuckled, "So, you want my might so you can put this… slick bastard rule my empire while I play second fiddle? That was your plan?"
"Richard, now let's stay calm," said Jack.
"Your Empire?" said Harold, smiling.
"What? You don't know? We got one of the Torchwood Motherlands down here and you don't even know. Even the damn USG knows about us."
"Americans," said Jack, "So, you seem to be the type that likes to brag."
"We profit," said DeGama, smiling wide, "Shit, you really don't know."
"You like to talk so much, tan-man," said Harold, "Why don't you speak."
"Get them up," DeGama ordered.
Harold felt the bonds being cut and he was pushed out of the small folding chair he sat in. Harold was shoved towards the window. He looked over to Jack, who was recovering from the same push. Jack straightened out his coat before taking a step up to the window. Harold looked over at DeGama, and decided to do the same.
Harold looked down into the warehouse. Down inside he saw row upon row of stuff. Besides guns and boxes and crates Harold saw an array of interesting sights. Futuristic tubes and alien weapons covered certain table-tops before they were packed into crates by handlers. Large tubes that looked like cryo-chambers held figures that Harold could not make out. Stone statues towered next to strange computer-generated images like Tiffani back at the HQ. Strange looking human-esque creatures wearing suits strolled through the isles, being showed the objects by other suited humans.
"My God," said Jack.
"We profit," said DeGama, "And so does the USG. The feds ask for a cut, and we give it to them. Meanwhile, we create the… platinum market. We control alien artifacts coming in and out of New England while pawning it, selling it, and buying it for uses of our own."
"You have an illegal black market for aliens and their artifacts," said Jack, "You're selling out to Blowfish? Really? Why is it always Blowfish?"
"Whoever will buy, Captain," said DeGama, "The US Government, the Russians, the Chinese, aliens, gangs, wealthy collectors. We have people walking through here all the time asking the question of 'How much do we have to give?'. More like pay…"
"What stops the feds from rushing in here and taking you out?" asked Jack.
"Fear," said DeGama through the teeth of his smile, "Fear of what we have. You see, Captain Jack Sparrow-"
"Oh, har har," laughed Jack, "I have never heard that one before. Please, let's write that down."
"Anyways, Captain," said DeGama, "No matter how many times they walk through our wares, they can never remember what they have seen."
"Idiots," said Harold.
"Sudden… memory loss," said DeGama.
"More like drugged," smiled Jack, "Amnesia Pills."
"Archaic, Captain," DeGama smiled, "Good to know Torchwood had something of use."
"What do you mean?" asked Jack.
"When I left Torchwood, I was sure to grab some souvenirs that would aid in future enterprise," DeGama walked over to one of the tables and picked up a large club-like object.
He held the handle and pointed the blunt end towards Jack and Harold. Harold could see a trigger on the stick, where DeGama's finger waited, and something that looked like eye-sockets for binoculars.
"This will wipe memories on the spot," DeGama said, smiling at Jack's tensed body, "Most of them know the drill. Once they finish looking around and we've negotiated their purchase, their memories are ours. They are informed of their deal and are shown their contract and they are given their merchandise."
"All the while never really knowing what else you had," said Jack.
"They are scared. The US Government, especially, was assured we had several weapons capable of ripping a hole into the fabric of time and space at the push of a button… or at the lack of pushing of another."
"All the while they never really know one way or another," said Jack.
"And they don't recognize our other clients," said DeGama, "Nothing feels better then forcing representatives of nations to bid against each other for items then wiping memories so they never even remember they were both in the same place at once."
"Brilliant," said Jack.
"Sounds dicey to me," said Harold, "Sounds… African. Like during the war."
"Vietnam?" asked DeGama, then he looked Harold up and down and shook his head, "Desert Storm."
"Try World War Two," said Jack, "He's a bit out of his time."
"Damn, boy," said DeGama, clapping, "You are out of it. You're like one of those Heroes on Call of Duty, huh?"
"Not a clue as to what you are saying," said Harold, "But you don't know a thing about me."
"Look, Cracker," said DeGama, "There's a few things you need to know about Boston now. Number One: You don't run it. Number Two: I do."
"So you decline our offer," said Jack.
"Tell you what, you keep out of my way and maybe make a purchase or two," said DeGama, "I'll let you run around and play Robocop or something. But something tells me you gentlemen don't appreciate my little operation here."
"We dislike your style," said Jack, "But what are we to do?"
"Nothing," said DeGama.
There was a period of harsh glances at one another. DeGama began to chuckle slightly, before he sighed. DeGama lowered the object in his hand, pointing it at the ground.
"I don't want to burn any bridges," said DeGama, smiling, "So I'll tell you what I shall do. You, Captain Sparrow, take Captain America over here back with you. You guys go play Drift Wood or whatever and run your British Empire over seas. When you want something, or you want to look around, I will give you the same courtesy as my other cliental."
"So you won't be returning Torchwood Property," said Jack, firmly stepping forward.
"It's my property now," said DeGama, crossing his arms and smiling, "But let me tell you what I shall do. I'll give you fifty dollars."
DeGama took a wad of cash out of his pocket. After flipping through it for a second, he tossed some bills at Harold, who tried to grab all of them before they fluttered to the ground.
"That way, you can burn those fucking old clothes and get some real attire," said DeGama, smiling, "And along with that, I won't erase your memory… this time. A sign of trust, from me to you. You'll be the only ones ever to be this far into my base of operations and walk out remembering even the wall paper."
Harold smiled, shaking his head, "You are a piece of work."
"Remember me," smiled DeGama, turning away from them, "Remember how you were beaten."
Harold felt large hands grabbing his shoulders and he was spun around and pushed behind Jack down a dark corridor.
Harold and Jack were shoved out the door they had came, the large guards shutting and locking the doors behind them. Harold picked up his hat from the ground, finding the fifty dollars DeGama had thrown cramped inside.
Jack stood up and began to walk towards the car.
"I understand why you don't want that prick running Boston," Harold said, stuffing the money into his pocket, "He needs a good ass kicking."
"That he does," said Jack, "He's going to be a problem with operations here."
"Woah, operations?" exclaimed Harold, "I can't take him on? Sure, he's a little prick, but he's dug in."
"He's arrogant," said Jack, "And he's dangerous. We can't have him running around Eastern America with the world at his feet."
"So the two of us are going to stop him?" asked Harold.
"Nope, you are," said Jack.
"Excuse me?" laughed Harold, "I don't even get half of his so-called English. How am I supposed to go up against his army?"
"Didn't you hear me? He's arrogant," said Jack, walking up to the car, "He doesn't have an army? He has technology that he's given to a bunch of High School drop-outs in suits and he has a ton of money. You, Harold, are a leader! All we need is to get you an actual army and put you against him."
"Wait, we're taking them down?" asked Harold.
"Keys," ordered Jack.
After Jack got into the driver's seat and complained about the difference of American road systems, he put it into gear and drove away from the docks.
"Listen, you have to get back what he stole," said Jack, "And we can not have the technology he finds to be used by himself but also we must stop it from being bought and sold around Earth. His actions thus far can ruin everything."
"Ok, I understand," said Harold, leaning back," So how am I supposed to get this army? That WAS my army back there."
"Well, I got an idea," said Jack, "We still have Juliet Rivers. I didn't see her there so it is unlikely she is with them. So… let's go find her. She might know where to find an army."
The car parked outside of the National Archives at Boston. The building looked small compared to the large sky scrapers of Inner Boston. Harold smiled as he approached the front entrance. Jack had a ringing from his pocket so he took out a small device he had called a "Mobile Phone".
"Hey, I got to take this call," said Jack, "It's Cardiff. Look, go inside and ask for Juliet. You'll know what to say."
"What? I don't know what to say."
"Are you kidding? A sly noire gentlemen like you? She doesn't stand a chance," smiled Jack, answering the phone, "Tell her you're a war hero. Ladies like that. Ianto, talk to me."
Jack turned away and began walking down the road. Harold rolled his eyes and turned to head up to the Archives. Harold was unsure what to say, but he checked to insure his nose had stopped bleeding and he fixed his tie.
He walked through the front door and walked up to one of the desks. A woman behind the desk looked up and smiled, almost giggling as Harold approached her. She blinked at him and blushed, twirling her dark brown hair.
"Hey there," she said, smiling, "I love the coat. It must be real toasty in there."
"Slightly," said Harold, his heart fluttering slightly.
"Antique?" asked the girl.
"Uhm… quite possibly," said Harold, "Seems brand new, though."
The girls eyes then seemed to shine at him and she chewed on a pen she was holding, "Steamy? Feeling a little… sweaty inside now?"
"Uhm… possibly," said Harold, adjusting his tie, "Excuse me, I'm not sure how that's relevant."
"Tiffany," said the woman.
"Excuse me?"
"My name, it's Tiffany," said the girl, her eyes fluttering.
"Oh… right, well I know a Tiffani."
"Not like me, you don't," she said, smiling, "I… guarantee it."
"I… agree," said Harold, "Not sure what this has to do… about me. Anyway, I'm actually here to see a Mrs. Juliet Rivers."
"No you're not."
"I'm sorry?"
"Doctor Rivers isn't seeing anyone, she's not married anymore, and she's boring," said the girl, who leaned forward and whispered, "I'm, however, on the market, available, and wild."
"Are you… look, this is important business," stuttered Harold, "I'm-"
"Not married, I see," said Tiffany, nodding at Harold's hand, which he held up to look at.
"I think we are on different radio programs," said Harold, stepping back and taking out his ID, "I represent Torchwood. I'm here about her-"
"Experience," cried a voice from across the room.
Harold turned to see a woman wearing a button down blouse and black slack pants. She had a stack of books in her hand and braided in a single column was a stock of dark brassy hair. He couldn't put his finger on a color, red or brown. Her face was rounded and her eyes were narrowed at him.
"Madame, I guess you are Juliet Rivers?"
"You would guess right, what do you want, Torchwood," said the woman.
"A moment of your time," said Harold.
"You've had a moment."
"An offer, then," said Harold.
Her head turned to one side, "I haven't heard the name of Torchwood in years. They don't run in America anymore."
"Want to change that?" asked Harold, his eyes narrowing to match hers.
There was a pause for a moment, before she tilted her head behind her.
"Follow me," she said.
"Hands off, Juliet," said Tiffany, her eyes not leaving Harold, "Please let me have this Romeo."
"Please don't," said Harold, Tiffany not showing any sign of hearing his plea.
"I need him for now, Tiff," said Juliet, smiling, "You might luck out and I'll get his number."
Juliet Rivers led Harold across the Archives and through rows of bookcases until she opened a door to a small office. On the door it read "Doctor Juliet Rivers". Harold said nothing as he stood by the door as she put down the stack of books behind her desk and she gestured to a chair across her desk.
"So," said Harold, "Doctor, huh? You a surgeon?"
"Oh, ha, ha," Juliet said, her laugh dry, "Not that sort of Doctor."
"Sorry," said Harold, "I truly did not know."
"So, who are you, Torchwood?" asked Juliet.
"Lieutenant Harold Norman," replied Harold, "Of Torchwood Nine."
"I don't believe it," said Juliet, "I was apart of Torchwood Nine for years. You're older… my age. I would've been there."
"You weren't."
"Torchwood's been shut down for years."
"Not Cardiff."
"Cardiff is Three."
"Look, it's a long story," said Harold, leaning back in his chair, "I was in Torchwood Nine… back in the forties. I was frozen in 1950. Captain Jack Harkness of Cardiff woke me up and put me in charge of Nine."
"Well, well," replied Juliet, "A Crimsicle."
"Cute," said Harold, "But it's not like that."
"You forget, you're not dealing with an outsider," said Juliet, smiling, "I know every inch of Boston, Torchwood and out. I hold records that go back for centuries. I know what those cryo-chambers are used for."
"Then you know my case. Prisoner 99-99-9?"
"I'm not that good, but I know your don't get frozen for being a good man."
Harold sighed, rubbing his forehead, "Look, I don't have time for this. Harkness said you were the person we needed. If you're going to get all upset, that's fine. We'll find our army another way."
Juliet started to laugh, a smile spreading across her face, "Army? Oh, that's good. You think I'm going to help you build an army? Oh I will let no such Torchwood rise here in Boston!"
"Without an army we can't bring down The Black Helicopters," said Harold, "And Jack is adamant-"
"Wait, wait, wait," said Juliet, leaning forward, her smile disappearing, "Did you just say you're taking DeGama down?"
"You know Dick DeGama?" said Harold.
"He was Torchwood."
"We know," said Harold, sitting straighter, "We saw him earlier today. He was very… unhelpful."
"You're going after him?" said Juliet, "He'll eat you alive. He's way too big."
"Harkness wants it done," said Harold, shrugging, "He says we can do it. With… an army at our side."
Juliet leaned back in her chair, starring at Harold, "You better not be shitting me."
"Language, ma'am."
"I will feed you to Tiffany if I find even a crack in your story."
Harold sat a bit straighter, looking out the door, "You're not serious, are you?"
Juliet laughed at his expression, before her face straightening again. Harold shrugged.
"You think you can go against him and win?" asked Juliet.
"No," said Harold, looking around, "I don't think I can survive a day in this damn city without help anymore. So much has changed."
"You want to stop him?"
"Don't you?"
Juliet nodded, her eyes darting to the floor, "Richard has done horrible things… and we all allowed him to go off and do them. We didn't want to stop him, so we all… followed his leave and left."
"Well, now it looks like you've created a monster," said Harold, and looking at Juliets reaction he leaned in, "Look, when the Nazi regime was plowing over most of Europe, a lot of people blamed them and the Russians and called them the monsters of Europe. However… are they to blame? Are they to blame anymore then the Italians, English, or French who allowed them to do it for so long? How about us,"
"This is ancient history."
"It applies," Harold crossed his arms, "Like it or not, you and the others who allowed this to happen are to blame. To be honest, even Captain Jack Harkness has a hand in this action."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Help me," said Harold, "Help me be a good leader. Help me… rebuild Torchwood. Hell, I don't care if you go your own way. But… at the least put me in contact with a few people who will stand beside me and take him down."
"You won't find enough who will stand with you," said Juliet, "And you won't find enough good enough who aren't already on Richard's pay roll."
"I shall do what I can," Harold nodded, "With what I can get."
"People could die," mentioned Juliet.
"People have died," said Harold, leaning back, "And I… I died a long time ago."
Juliet sighed, closing her eyes. She put her hands up to her face and leaned back in her chair. Harold sighed, fiddling with his thumbs.
"Alright," she finally said, opening her eyes, "I will help you bring down DeGama. Only that. I won't promise anything, and I will not allow you to effortlessly lead a team of people I help you get to their deaths."
"Good," said Harold, standing, "I will be sure no move is made against them without a definite plan of action. So, you better pack. This could take a while."
"So… that's it then?" asked Juliet.
"We're going to the HQ," said Harold, "Let's plan out our next move and let Jack know it's a go!"
"Fine, let's go," said Juliet, raising her hands in defeat, "But you might want to wait for me to pack."
"I'll just wait outside," said Harold.
"Fine, but you'll have to get passed Tiffany," Juliet smiled, nodding outside her office door.
Harold paused for a moment, "On second thought, perhaps you would like some man muscle to help carry things to the car."
"Oh, such a gentleman," Juliet rolled her eyes.
"What do you mean 'you're leaving'?" Harold yelled.
"Listen, I'm upset about this too, ok?" said Jack, removing a disk drive from one of the computers and putting it into the small duffle bag he brought with him, "But I only have two guys back there and too much depends on me at the moment. I'm sorry, but I have to go back and deal with that first."
"But you just got here, you just thawed me out," said Harold, "What am I supposed to do?"
"I just signed on to this," said Juliet from a chair, "I'm unsure I feel comfortable with the only person with any experience is about to walk out the door."
"Look, We all have priorities, alright? I am truly sorry, but dealing with some punk with a gun and a fleet of Helicopters isn't really the Rapture, now is it?"
"It was important enough to wake a man up," said Harold, "And almost get killed walking into DeGama's base!"
"You walked out of the Headquarters of the B.H.?" asked Juliet, looking around, "You did not mention actually meeting the man… and keeping your memory. Woah, he is way more dangerous now."
"Guys! You'll do fine," said Jack, backing up towards the door, "I have faith in you guys. You get a team together and get… situated. When I'm finished I'll make you guys a priority. DeGama can not be left alone, running even a single square foot of the world."
"What if he comes after us?" asked Harold.
"What if we're not safe?" asked Juliet, "What if those we include in this are not safe?"
"You'll be fine," said Jack, "Nothing is going to happen."
With that, Jack turned around and walked through the double doors and to the Elevator. Harold and Juliet listened to the elevator come all the way down, before heading all the way up.
They sat in silence for a good amount of time. Harold shook his head, looking at the door. Juliet fiddled her thumbs and looked from Harold to the area around her. After a good amount of silence, Juliet stood up and walked toward Harold.
"So, Lieutenant, we're here… alone."
"And?"
"And Harkness put you in charge," Juliet crossed her arms, "So… Richard?"
"You are right, given enough time he will, or already has, thought through the mistake of letting us go scott-free. If enough time passes, he may even decide to take action."
"And?"
"And he'll be watching us, either way. If not now, then he will soon. We have a limited time span to protect ourselves."
"Ok… so we run and hide?"
"Why?" asked Harold, turning to Juliet, "We are dead center in the city. We are under Quincy Market. How on earth are those Helithingies gonna fly down here? And they can't siege us. They can't assault our base with guns blazing. No air support, no mass numbers… their odds are as good as ours when we are down here."
"Ok… so we can hold out," said Juliet, pacing, "But the siege thing is wrong. We can't hold out in this tomb until Jack sorts out his issues. If they siege us we ARE stuck here."
"Wouldn't they have been here by now," said Harold, his eyes rolling with thought.
"What are you suggesting?" asked Juliet.
"My second year in the war we got cut off from our company in a barn," Harold sat down on a computer chair, holding out his hands to lay the battlefield in the dust of the desk, "We knew if we waited long enough we would be found. We were out numbered and outgunned. However, we realized early that they had not yet realized their mistake and found us out. We made the discussion in a matter of minutes to take the fight to them. In a matter of an hour we had single handedly crippled their back line and support armor divisions and began taking the fight to THEIR front lines. Once our allies realized what was happening, they ceased the retreat and double backed. We retook the battlefield and one the day because of our actions."
"Do you mean World War Two?" asked Juliet, "You were in W. W. Two?"
"Focus," said Harold, rolling his eyes, "If he has made the mistake of not making a move, even if he has surveillance on us, then we have the potential of not only taking him by surprise but crippling his major systems in a way where retaliation itself is impossible. We can cut the support to his machine and leave him gaping for air while we close in around him."
"I… am worried," said Juliet, "What if he has seen us. What if he's just waiting for us to make a move."
"He'll make a move regardless," said Harold, "You said it yourself. We could just stay here and starve, possibly add more people to this museum. Or… we can get a team and plan together and catch him by surprise."
Juliet thought only a moment before nodding, "I can't believe I got into this. Ok, leader, what's the first plan."
"We need a team, see what we have to work with," said Harold, shrugging, "So… you know any trustworthy and useful people?"
Juliet rolled her eyes, "Fine, I'll go take a look."
"I'm the Rookie," said Harold, shrugging, "I don't know anyone who isn't dead or in an old-home."
Harold got out of the car and waited for Juliet to walk up behind him.
"Alan Brinkley," stated Juliet, approaching the porch of the small house they were in front of, "He was the Technical Expert of our team. Knew everything. He could clean any gun, make any gadget, understood every gizmo. He also helped integrate Tiffani into our systems. She was a big help."
"Sounds great," said Harold, looking around the suburban neighborhood, "We used to have a few mechanics in my day; I could get under the hood too."
"No, no, not the same thing," said Juliet.
"Was in my day," said Harold.
Juliet knocked on the door, waiting for a response. When none came, she knocked again.
"Alan," she cried out, knocking even harder, "It's me, Juliet. Alan?"
After a minute of no response, she tried the handle, finding the door unlocked. She looked at Harold, who shrugged. She opened the door and then walked in.
"Alan," she tried again, "The door was unlocked. Alan? Alan Brinkley?"
Inside, Harold felt a little more at home. It was a nice, cozy home. Pictures and knick-knacks littered the home. Knitted blankets and flags decorated the space.
Following Juliet into the main room, Harold saw the modern aspects start to seep in. A television set sat in a corner, turned on to a station Harold held no interest in. Across from it sat a couch, and an armchair beside that. In the armchair slouched an old man. He starred blankly at the screen, ignoring the two visitors in the room.
Juliet caught her breath, but she said nothing as she slowly made her way across the room to kneel beside him.
"Alan," she said, her voice shivering, "Alan, are you there? It's me… Juliet."
"He's an ol' man," said Harold, pointing towards him, "Look at him. How old is he? He's ancient!"
"He's younger then you," snapped Juliet before returning to her calm tone, "Alan Brinkley, it's me. Do you remember me? Can you hear me?"
The old man's eyes seemed to roll to the side, looking at Juliet. Juliet brightened, but even Harold could see it was a fake smile.
"Hey," she dragged the 'e' out, "How're you, big guy? My gosh, it's been too long. How're you?"
He said nothing, he just stared on.
"He may be younger then me, but he's no use to us," said Harold, "So, strike one. Who's next?"
"Sshh," Juliet spat, before turning back to Alan, "I'm so sorry, Alan. He's kind of… a… uhm…"
"Asshole," Alan suddenly exclaimed, causing Juliet to jump.
With that, he smiled and leapt from his chair, causing her to fall back and it startled Harold as well. He raised his hands and let out a laugh.
"Juliet!" he exclaimed, before laughing again, "Oh, deer me, I am sorry. I just couldn't resist, little lady."
"Damnit, Alan," yelled Juliet, grasping her chest, "You bastard!"
"Oh, it ain't that bad," he said, chuckling to himself, "When you get to my age you'll take what laughs you can."
"I'll be sure to tell Helen on you."
Alan's face went a little rigid, and his smile faded slightly before returning, "Actually, you can't."
Juliet nodded for a second, before gasping, "Oh my God! Alan, I'm so sorry."
"Don't let it worry you," Alan threw up his hand to bat the conversation away, "It was years ago; shortly after retirement."
"Why didn't you tell us?" asked Juliet.
"We were busy," said Alan, helping her off the ground and hugging her, "We all were. There wasn't time. We all had new lives to lead."
"But… Alan," Juliet said, tears streaming down her face, "It's me…"
"Who are you?" asked Alan, trying to sway the subject.
"Lieutenant Harold Norman, Torchwood."
Alan's eyes seemed to shine, and he stood a little straighter, pushing Juliet back.
"Torchwood?" asked Alan, and his eyes turned to Juliet, "Explain."
"Lieutenant Norman here was apart of Nine," started Juliet, trying to wipe away her tears, "Back in the 1940s."
"Wow," said Alan, s smile returning, "Frozen? For what?"
"I have been told insubordination," said Henry, "But the details are dicey and… classified."
"Captain Harkness of Three woke him, made him leader," said Juliet.
"Leader," said Alan, and he smiled, "My God… we're getting the team back together, aren't we?"
"Jack wants us to reestablish some rule over here," said Harold, "We need to take back control from the US Government… and those Black Helicopters."
Alan's smile disappeared, he crossed his arms, "Richard's not on board?"
"Worse, he's an obstacle," said Juliet, "We're actually… going to try and shut him down."
"It's dangerous," said Harold, "The mere fact we're not leaving Boston means he'll most likely come after us. So… our first mission is to take him down first."
Alan nodded, and sighed, "Alright, then. I'll pack my things."
"Woah, woah, back up," yelled Juliet, causing Harold to jump, "That's it? Just like that? No questions? You could die!"
"So?" said Alan, almost laughing, "I'm dying, Juliet. I'm not getting any younger. Torchwood is amazing. Beautiful! Darling, I can not wait to get back to work!"
"But…" started Juliet, a smile spreading across her face.
"No buts, I'll see you at work," said Alan, and he turned to Harold, "And you, Asshole. You have a lot riding on you, didn't start off on the right foot. Do you believe you can take Richard on and win?"
"We're going to try," said Harold, nodding his head, "If we're going to fail, we're going to show that bastard that he's at least not untouchable."
"And us?" asked Alan.
"Sir, I will not order a move on him unless we are certain it will count," said Harold, "And I will die first before allowing anyone of my team to go down knowingly."
"And how can I trust you?"
"You… can't," said Harold, his jaw tightening, "I guess I'm just a man. All I have are my promises, my words, and my reputation."
Alan nodded, a small smile appearing on his face, "Alright then. Good enough for me. Let's go turn those words and promises into reputation, eh? I'll go pack my things."
As Alan headed steadily upstairs with the eagerness of a child, Harold asked, "And… how old is he again?"
"He should be about… 64 now, I believe," said Juliet, smiling up the stairs, "But he hasn't lost that sense of humor. Good to… see I guess. Anyway, Tech-Expert. We have one. Yes."
"Sounds simple," said Harold, sighing, "He looks like a real winner in the fight against DeGama."
"He'll surprise you," smiled Juliet.
"Next?"
"I thought we would try and find our medical expert back when Torchwood still ran for us," said Juliet, flipping through her notebook, "She was just a medical student, but she was real good and learned a lot in the time she was with us. I'm eager to see what she has been up to!"
"She?" asked Harold, rolling his eyes, "Oh boy."
"You think that's bad?" smiled Juliet, laughing sarcastically, "You're gonna have to realize you ain't in small-town fifties any more, gramps."
"Aw, hell no!" yelled Shannon Knightly across the medical ward, her frown turning into a large smile as she held out her arms for a hug, "If it isn't Julie! Ahh!"
Juliet rushed forward and gave her a hug. Shannon was a good six inches taller then Juliet. Her skin was many shades darker, along with her hair which was tightly tied back into a rough bun, however the mass of black hair just seemed to expand out of control, creating a black halo to the back of her head.
"Now, what are you doin in my hood, girl?" asked Shannon.
"Business," smiled Juliet, "And you. We're getting everything back together. We're going after Richard."
"Wait, what?" the smile on her face disappeared and she scowled passed Juliet at Harold, "And who the hell is this?"
"Lieutenant Harold Norman," Harold tipped his hat, "Torchwood."
"Uh-huh, and what the hell do you want?"
"Shannon, please," said Juliet, "We're trying to get the team back together. Rebuild Torchwood. And we're going after Richard."
"That Bastard? Good, someone needs to piss in his Fruit Loops," Shannon said, signing some paperwork given to her by an intern, "But what does this has to do with me? I… KNOW you are not here to drag me back."
"A Medical Expert would be nice," said Harold, "And you are trusted by Torchwood before."
"Mmhmmm, before," Shannon didn't look any happier, "Before ya'll closed down and left me out on the streets, ol' man!"
"Old man?" said Harold, jumping back.
"I had to start all over! I gave years of my medical career to a place I could never reference or prove! I had to start over."
"Hey, hey, hey! Slow down," cried a man from across the ward as he ran up to the group, wrapping his arm around Shannon, "Shan, my chica, are these Gringos bothering you?"
"Oh my, Enrica Chavez?" asked Juliet.
"Holy-Moly," said the man, stepping back, "If it isn't miss Juliet! Girl, you haven't missed a day!"
"Thanks, Rick," said Juliet, putting her hands on her hips and looking at Shannon, "Miss Knightly, would you care to explain?"
"Miss? I am a Doctor now, MISS Rivers," said Shannon, before she put her arms around the man, "And Enrica and I got together and he wanted to be close to me. So… he became a part time nurse here."
"And Janitor," said Enrica, puffing out his chest, "But I am full-time body guard, Gringo."
Harold rolled his eyes, "You must be joking? How do you know THIS rat? Please tell me Torchwood didn't all his kind?"
"My kind?" exclaimed Enrica, "Oh, I'm-a gonna cut you, bra."
"Ok, let's stop there," Juliet said, stepping between the two men, "HE was frozen, and he's out of his time! Ignore him for now!"
"Fine," Harold said.
"I was talking about YOU, Lieutenant, perhaps you should wait in the car?"
Harold stood straighter, feeling a little hurt and surprised. His fists clenched, and he scowled at Juliet.
"I may be 'old fashioned', but I will die before I take such orders," said Harold, then he turned to the other two, "Look, lady. I was told you are the best. And you know what we're getting into. You made a name of yourself here as a big name surgeon? That's great. But we need a full time doctor. So it's your choice."
Shannon almost laughed, but she nodded to Juliet, "Oh, you KNOW I'm comin', but it has nothing to do with Sergeant Douche bag over-here. I love Torchwood, honey, and I can-not wait to give Richard a run for his money."
"If she goes, I go!" Enrica yelled, raising his hand, "Please."
"What? No! We don't have any need for a male nurse!"
"Actually, Harold," said Juliet, "Enrica was our connection to the underground market."
"That's right, hat-man," said Enrica, "Anything you want, I could get. Info, alien tech, movements on coppers and feds alike. We need some IDs? I got you covered!"
"I don't see a need," Harold sighed.
"If he stays behind, kiss my ass good-bye, man," Shannon smiled.
Harold almost growled at them before Enrica came forward and said, "Did I mention guns? Gringo like you, must love guns. I can get all types, bra."
"Rule One," said Harold, "Don't call me Gringo. It's Lieutenant, or Lieutenant Norman."
"Alright," said Juliet, rolling her eyes, "Let's hope this will turn out great. Two more added."
"We're not doing too well with this list," said Harold, looking down at the list of Torchwood operatives they had attempted to recruit.
"Two more, looking better," said Juliet, "There's a few more I would like to try and call or visit… but I think we're going to need these guys."
"Good, let's go," said Harold, then he turned to head out the door.
"I really thought Franny would be… excited," said Juliet looking over some papers in the driver's seat.
"Well you did confiscate her arm and leg after her termination," said Harold, peering through binoculars in the driver's seat, "And her Husband…"
"Torchwood: America's strict policies on termination indicate all property of Torchwood must be returned-"
"She lost both limbs while on the job!" laughed Harold, "And she had no clue she was apart of a cross-breed experiment. Man… did Torchwood get cold."
"That… wasn't really our call," said Juliet.
"Is that him?" asked Harold.
Juliet picket up her tiny pair of binoculars, lifting it with one hand and laughing at Harold's large pair he hefted with two, and she looked out the car's windshield across the street. A small diner lit the sidewalk with the neon sign it hung above its doorway. A New York Yankees banner laid curled up on the street and a hobo begged for change beside the door.
Inside, Juliet could see the man Harold had pointed out. He wore a navy blue suit with combed back golden hair. He was in a vivid conversation with a very blonde lady in the booth across from him who daintily picked at her salad.
"Thomas Elridge," stated Juliet, "Left Torchwood and ended up picking up a job in the FBI. He's now an Analyst. His job is equally because he can do it extremely well as well as so the FBI can keep an eye on both him and Torchwood."
"I don't know… it's been a while since Torchwood… perhaps he won't be beneficial," said Harold, "I don't know how I feel about another reason for the FBI to breathe down our necks."
"Norman, we don't exactly have a lot of choice, we really need Tom on our side."
"We drove all the way out here," said Harold, dropping his binoculars, "I really do think we need to take this one step at a time."
"And what's the first step?"
"Saying 'Hello'," smiled Harold, grabbing his hat off the dash and stepping out of the car.
"Wait, wait," said Juliet, grabbing after him, and then gathering up some papers and trying to follow him, "Norman, wait! His dinner! Lieutenant!"
Harold walked across the barren New York street and headed to the diner. By the time he reached the doors Juliet had caught up and followed him inside. Harold turned the corner and eyed the booth.
The woman sitting across from Thomas spilled something, and she apologized and got up, heading towards the back to the bathroom. Thomas just chuckled the whole time, wiping away the fluid and giving the woman no gazes. When he finished cleaning, he stole a glance towards the bathroom, ensuring the lady disappeared inside the bathroom. He then turned to Harold and waved him over.
Harold smiled, walking forward.
"I am most honored, sir," said Thomas, "If it isn't Sam Spade, on a busted stake-out."
"Clever," said Harold, smiling, "I read that book."
"Fan of the film," stated Thomas, taking a drink from his glass but swallowing quickly upon seeing Juliet, "Oh, well now… Juliet Rivers."
"Tom," smiled Juliet.
"Please tell me this is a personal visit."
"My name is Lieutenant Harold Norman, we need your help."
"Lieutenant… wow. The military rounding up all the ex-Torchwoods?"
"We are Torchwood," answered Harold, "Torchwood Nine. Boston."
"Quite a drive, hope you didn't make it in that Antique," said Thomas, nodding out the window.
"You saw us? You're good."
"Really? You guys stand out…"
"Tom, Lieutenant Norman here has been instated by Cardiff to… reboot Torchwood and make us an actual force!"
"Yeah, like the older days, right?" chuckled Thomas, "Big bad Torchwood… oppressing the conspiracies and taking orders from the man."
"We did important work," said Henry.
"Important work, please."
"Look, I'm going to change everything anyway," said Henry, taking off his hat and resting it on the table, "The world has changed in the years I've been gone."
"Gone?"
"I'll explain later," whispered Juliet.
"Look, Torchwood was always about… trying to understand the unknown. Archive and Combat threats the world was not ready for and wouldn't quite understand. Learning, fighting, and stockpiling until the day we could effectively assist the human race with their first steps into the unknown. To space… to another world. To the future. I'm sick of all the back room deals and the Government agendas and the… second class work. It has only gotten worse, from what I have seen."
"And you're going to change all that?"
"Yeah," said Henry, nodding, "But we need some help. We can't even begin to try and change things with DeGama still muscling Boston. If we don't put the vice on him, we're dead in the water."
"I am apart of the FBI, and that isn't easy to quit without any notice and no… reason," said Thomas, sipping at his glass, "And… Richard isn't apart of this whole thing? Wow… that's very interesting."
"The Black Helicopters will fall before they have a chance to stop us," said Harold, poking the table, "And once he thinks over the situation, DeGama will see that we are a threat to him and he will come."
"Oh, how Dramatic," said Thomas, looking down and twiddling his thumbs before he said, "What are we going to do about my FBI position?"
"We can deal with that later, but I'm sure we can find our way around it. Say you're on an assignment or something. We could forge a document or-"
"Or I could just take some of my vacation time," smiled Thomas, leaning back, "Wouldn't be too bad after I finish this assignment."
"Why didn't you say that before?" asked Juliet.
"You didn't ask nicely," said Thomas, who stole a glance behind his shoulder, "And if I were you I would hurry before my target returns."
"She's your target?" smiled Harold.
"I'm officially already done with her but if I could get some more information… well… unless something interesting comes along I'm going for extra credit."
"Tom, please," said Juliet, "We… kinda need you."
"Kinda?"
"Thomas Elridge," stated Harold, cutting off Juliet, "I, Lieutenant Norman of Torchwood Nine, request your services as a Torchwood operative. Even if it is only for as long as helping us bring the Black helicopters to their knees."
"Wow, pulled out all the stops," smiled Thomas, giving a few claps even, "You know what… Harold, was it? I like you. I like the suit. Love the git-up. Let's go take them down!"
"Sounds good," smiled Juliet.
"So, what's your plan, 'El-Tee'," said Thomas, leaping up and throwing some bills on the table and looking around for his date.
"We don't know," sighed Harold.
"Run that by me again?"
"Our step one was round up a team," said Juliet, shrugging, "And now… we plan."