Fic: Greater Than the Sum of Its Parts
Pairings: Gen
Rating: PG
Warnings: COE compliant; complete absence of the Torchwood team you know
Word Count: 3000
Summary: Torchwood staff come and go. They leave or are taken or, most often, die young. But Torchwood always goes on.
A bazillion thanks to kittiword for the beta.
~~~~~~~
The hangar was empty except for her team. Back in khaki and red berets, straight and tall and ready for anything in the cold echoing space. “I am not here to give orders today.” She’d spent years building them into a seamless force that could deal with any order, make anything happen that she asked. And now she was going to break them up. But she couldn’t make them do this. She couldn’t simply order them to follow her. Not for this. Because she was breaking faith, and she would not demand it of anyone else. “I am here to tell you that I am leaving UNIT. I will be handing in my letter of resignation in the morning.”
She’d never questioned orders before. Never had to. But looking at the football the boy had been kicking around with the men… Things had to change. “We followed our orders to destroy Torchwood, and I feel that may have been… a mistake. The aliens came, and UNIT’s first move was to eliminate anyone who might impede their bargain with the aliens. Torchwood gave up everything to stop them, no matter what.”
They were such good soldiers. Just waiting for their orders. Allens, though. He had a grim look in his eye. He’d be coming. And possibly Robinson. He wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of co-ordinating with alien tech. “There are already reports of increasing violent incidents in Cardiff. Our monitors indicate that these follow almost immediately from a burst of activity from the Rift. The previous Torchwood team needs to be replaced. As from tomorrow, I will be operating from Cardiff in an attempt to salvage anything we can from the wreckage of the Hub and do what I can to manage the issues arising. I would not ask that any of you come with me, however should any of you choose to do so, you would be more than welcome.” She met the eyes of each of them as the silence stretched uncomfortably in the cavernous space with the flickering lights.
“Dismissed.”
~~~~~~~~
Anarchy in the UK was more than a Sex Pistols song these days. Green had stood down as PM to make way for Denise Riley, who had lasted all of three days before Cooper had hit YouTube with the recording of Riley hanging the entire lower socio-economic strata of society out to dry. The protests had rapidly turned to riots outside Westminster and government had ground to a halt as MPs and civil servants refused to risk their lives trying to get to their offices. Conference calls and online meetings were held, decisions were made, but ultimately there was no one to enforce them. The announcement of a curfew was greeted with jeers and the legendary attempt of hundreds of people to toilet paper the Houses of Parliament overnight. It had been a long time since the British people had reminded the government that they were ruled because they chose to be, but the government had finally gone too far.
The royal family had been thought of as little more than figureheads for so long that no one quite knew what to make of the broadcasts that started coming from Buckingham Palace. The Queen, aged 83 and wearing the same hair-do she’d had as a young woman, appeared in them. She sat in the study millions of people recognised from years of Christmas Speeches, in the same neat skirt suits she’d appeared in for 60-odd years, and she was a rock in the chaos. She was calm and sensible, but outraged on the people’s behalf. Prince Phillip, for all that he was one of the world’s worst diplomats, was an old soldier and a wily one at that. The British people didn’t trust the Army in the hands of the government, but the solid dignity of the Queen, and the Everyman bigotry of Prince Phillip were things most people could get behind.
It was difficult to reconcile the formal, grandmotherly woman who had been part of the Christmas ritual for her entire life with the stern, grim-looking woman she was saluting.
“So you wish to discuss the future of Torchwood.”
“Yes, ma’am. I appreciate you have many priorities at this time-“
“The keenest of which is the safety of this country, Lieutenant Johnson. And I believe, as I think you do, that Torchwood is key to that. It is a sufficiently difficult task to restore order to the nation without people being eaten by strange creatures and dinosaurs flying over South Wales.”
She was caught unawares by the wry tone in the clipped consonants and plummy vowels. It seemed the lady had a sense of humour, even in a situation like this.
“Has there been any word from Captain Harkness?”
“No ma’am. He was last detected in Bolivia. We lost track of him after that. He hasn’t attempted to contact Ms Cooper at all.”
“Poor boy. One would think he would have learned by now that you cannot run away from it. Ah well. I will have you sent commission papers for Torchwood, and authorised for access to Torchwood funds. You will report directly to myself. I wish to see profiles for all of your staff, and fortnightly updates. More often if the situation calls for it.”
A sleek, modern phone she hadn’t noticed rang suddenly. It seemed almost anachronistic among the sleek wood and soft upholstery of the office, but Her Majesty seemed perfectly at home with it as she answered, then muted the caller for a moment. “I’m afraid I must take this call, Lieutenant. My assistant, Chapel, will give you the paperwork you require. Good day.”
So. Torchwood was back in business.
~~~~~~~
She didn’t like Dekker. He spent far too much time playing silly buggers for his own amusement, and he smelled of a distasteful blend of Brut and formaldehyde, but the fact was that he was probably the best person for the job. And she dealt in facts, not matters of taste. So she was marching down the halls of Thames House, still cordoned off after the lethal virus had killed everyone in the building but Dekker. If nothing else, you had to admire the old fox’s survival instinct. Even if she planned to completely override it.
“Mr Dekker.”
He had been bent over, leaning into the inner workings of a machine of obscure purpose, but at the unexpected sound of her voice he jumped slightly, banging his head on the top of the machine. Rubbing his head, he turned to glare at the intruder, scowling even harder when he realised just who it was. “Being kidnapped again, am I?” he asked snidely.
“In a manner of speaking, Mr Dekker.” She couldn’t help smirking at him slightly. “You’re being seconded to Torchwood. Welcome to the team.”
“This is preposterous! You can’t just… I have projects!” She didn’t think he’d been this worked up about anything in the last few weeks, including narrowly avoiding being poisoned by aliens. “There are things that require close supervision. There’s no way they would allow you to just… trade me like a set of cards!”
She drew a deep breath, torn between amusement and irritation. “Mr Dekker. You may transfer your projects to Cardiff once we have a suitable base of operations set up. And I am afraid the Head of Operations was actually quite eager for you to employ your talents elsewhere for a time. The thing is that, superstitious though it may be, people tend to view sole survivors of such catastrophic events as the poisoning of an entire Government building as… unlucky.”
“But they can’t just send me off to protect the public from aliens! I’m sixty-eight! I can’t just…”
“Relax, Mr Dekker. No one is asking you to care. Merely to assist me regarding the technology required to monitor and contain activity from the Rift in Cardiff. You have three days to gather up what you will require. Accommodation will be found for you in Cardiff, and the details sent through to you.”
It was the first time she’d seen him go for more then three minutes without a smirk or a sneer. She felt quite proud of that. As she reached the door to leave she turned back to him. “Oh, and Mr Dekker? I suggest you aim to be a little more helpful than the last time we worked together. I have no objection to issuing reminders.” She glanced significantly at his leg and shoved the door open to stride down the corridor. She was beginning to see why people like Harkness enjoyed the dramatics so much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Are you completely insane? Do you think I’m insane? There were aliens, and I committed treason and watched people die and then I got locked in a cell and abandoned there by the people I was helping! I’m practically unemployable, and you want me to do it again? In Cardiff?!
This was not how she had pictured this conversation going. Lois Habiba had been instrumental in the victory over the 456, even if it had been somewhat Pyrrhic. She had never imagined that Lois’ involvement might have been reluctant.
“Ms Habiba-“
“Miss.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s Miss. Miss Habiba.”
She didn’t think she’d ever heard anyone insist on being called ‘Miss’ before. Still, she wasn’t here to argue. “My apologies, Miss Habiba. I am not asking you to do this as a volunteer. There is a generous remuneration attached to the role. As general support I would not expect you to engage in field work. The relocation package is also… attractive.”
The other woman glanced around the room, where warm-toned hangings and richly coloured abstracts enlivened the standard magnolia and beige of the rented flat. “Even if I’m about to be evicted?” she asked, with a bitterness that seemed out of place in the warm, comforting atmosphere.
“I’m not trying to take advantage of you Miss Habiba. I genuinely believe that you would be an asset to my team. Aside from anything else, try to imagine me in a job interview explaining to a candidate that aliens exist.” The slight snort from the other woman suggested her cause was not lost yet. “Look, you’re a clever woman, with initiative, a strong sense of right and wrong and the nerve to stand up for what you believe is right. I’m too used to following orders, and so are my men. Mr Decker is a sociopath. We need someone like you on the team. We also need someone capable of dealing with paperwork, because I wouldn’t know where to begin, and shooting it doesn’t seem helpful.”
She was treated to an evaluating stare to rival that of some Commanding Officers’ she’d received.
“Cardiff.”
“I’m told it’s very pleasant when there’s not a gaping hole in the middle of it.” Probably best not mention precisely who was responsible for said hole.
“It rains. All the time.”
“It rains in London all the time. And at least you can get a job in Cardiff.”
“I don’t like you very much.”
“Lots of people don’t. Fortunately, liking me is not a pre-requisite for working for me. I can give you until the end of the week to decide. Then I really need to start working on my ‘Aliens are real’ speech for recruiting.”
Lois stared at some point on the table between them for a few moments, keeping her eyes hidden. For someone with no training she was very good at being unreadable. Her eyes flicked back up. “I’ll let you know on Friday.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
She wished it would stop raining. Was it not bad enough that she was standing remorsefully over the grave of a child whose life was cut tragically short, without doing it in the rain?
“What are you doing here?” She was facing the intruder, gun in hand, before she realised who she was facing. The other woman stood before her unafraid, uncaring of the gun. She wasn’t entirely sure the other woman wasn’t armed, but if anyone deserved a free shot, it was Alice Carter.
For such a simple question, it was surprisingly difficult to answer. He was, as much as anything, a symbol of how badly wrong she had been. To tell the boy’s mother she was grieving, mourning, was tantamount to a slap in the face. Especially when she was grieving as much for herself as for the boy. To say she was sorry was hypocritical - it had been the least horrendous of her options, and she had taken it in full understanding of her actions. Which didn’t make it any less abhorrent, but she wasn’t crass enough to debate the matter with the woman whose son had been murdered before her eyes as a sacrifice to save everyone else’s children.
“Remembering. Making sure I never forget.” It was as true an answer as any of the rest, and truer than many. She would carry Stephen Carter’s gravestone in her memory for the rest of her life, along with the look of fear and trust on his face as he allowed her and his grandfather to orchestrate his death.
Alice’s eyes tightened. And then she nodded. “Don’t ever come back here again. Stay the hell away from us.” Alice turned and walked back toward the car park, ignoring the rain, oblivious to her dark hair in soaking tendrils dripping water down the back of her collar.
She was never sure how long she stood there under her umbrella in the old churchyard on a cold wet afternoon in September, but she knew she wouldn’t be back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She stood at attention before Colonel Gordon. Even if she was no longer part of UNIT, no longer part of any branch of organised military, she couldn’t stand in this spot in any other attitude.
“I am very disappointed in this decision.” The Colonel sat stiffly in the old-fashioned desk chair, the worn brown leather creaking slightly. “You are throwing away a career with UNIT that you have worked hard for to join a… a maverick group of renegades with little, if any, actual authority. I can only ask, have you gone completely mad?”
Conversations with the Colonel had always been difficult but standing here, knowing that she had transgressed made her stomach clench. “UNIT gave orders that Torchwood should be eliminated. I followed those orders like a good soldier, without question. I later discovered that those orders were issued to prevent Torchwood from interfering with Government’s intention to simply give in to whatever demands were made. UNIT was complicit in facilitating that atrocity. I was complicit in facilitating that atrocity. I cannot, in good conscience, continue to take such orders, knowing what manner of action UNIT is prepared to condone.”
Portraits of austere military individuals dating back two centuries stared forbiddingly down at her from the walls. She knew the name and rank of every one of them, and she knew they would disapprove of what she was doing. It was still easier to meet their eyes than the dispassionate gaze of the imposing figure behind the heavy wooden desk.
“I believe that the services provided by Torchwood are vital to the protection, not of the British State but of the British people. As such, I am committed to ensuring its continuation.”
“This is a mistake, Honoria, and a slap in the face to generations of honourable military service.”
Here it was. The final dismissal, after which she would never be able to return to this house. She wished she didn’t care quite so much. “I cannot consider the actions of UNIT in the recent debacle to be honourable. Nor can I consider some of my own actions on UNIT’s behalf to be honourable. From now on, I will be the one to decide what actions I must, in honour, take. I wish you could understand that, Mother.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A great deal of the rubble had been cleared from the Plass since the explosion. Builders had already begun work, covering over the crater and making it safe for the public. She wondered who had made that happen, when the entire country was falling into chaos.
“Hey! You can’t come in ‘ere. It’s a buildin’ site!” One of the builders; yellow hardhat, orange safety jacket and heavy scarred boots, came striding across the site towards her.
“I need to speak to whoever’s in charge regarding the area beneath the Plass.”
“Oh yes, and who might you b- Oh hell, you’re bloody Torchwood, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before turning his head and bellowing at the top of his lungs, “Oi! Bernie! Torchwood’s back in the ‘ouse!”
“’Bout bloody time!” came the answer from the little pre-fab cabin that stood as site office. “One of they monsters nearly ate Dai’s face off the other night! Took four of us to get it off ‘im!”
They knew about Torchwood, and were out fighting Weevils by themselves. What sort of ‘top secret’ operation had Harkness been running? Still, it would make it easier for her now. “I need to know the plans for the site, and require access to any and all debris recovered. There were things in there that could be dangerous.”
“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out. The thing that blasted one of the lads’ hands off the other week wasn’t a big enough clue.”
She took a deep breath. They were totally unequipped to deal with what they were dealing with, but they were doing it anyway. As she had no intention of digging up the rubble herself, she would have to build a working relationship with this man. “Here’s my mobile number. If you find anything that’s not rubble, call me immediately and someone will come to check and deal with it.”
“What is it then? All this stuff that’s in there. Most of it looks like junk, but some of it’s… well. Strange.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Just make sure that anything further is dealt with by my team. We’re trained to deal with it.”
“And we’re not.” He had folded his arms over the beer gut straining the lower buttons of his work shirt, looking offended.
“You’re not. It’s our job to deal with these things. It’s our job to protect innocent builders from having their hands blown off by mysterious objects. It’s not an insult to you, or your ability. It’s simply that you shouldn’t have to deal with these things.
He grunted, and looked again at the card she had given him, blank except for the mobile number printed on one side and her name, Johnson, above it. “The stuff that’s already been dug up’s at the University. You’ll be wanting to talk to Doctor Davies at the MEC.”
Which was convenient, as she had to go and reconnoitre a bunker under the University grounds for use as a base. “Thank you, I’ll do that,” she said, and shook his hand.
Things were coming together nicely.
Rating: PG
Warnings: COE compliant; complete absence of the Torchwood team you know
Word Count: 3000
Summary: Torchwood staff come and go. They leave or are taken or, most often, die young. But Torchwood always goes on.
A bazillion thanks to kittiword for the beta.
~~~~~~~
The hangar was empty except for her team. Back in khaki and red berets, straight and tall and ready for anything in the cold echoing space. “I am not here to give orders today.” She’d spent years building them into a seamless force that could deal with any order, make anything happen that she asked. And now she was going to break them up. But she couldn’t make them do this. She couldn’t simply order them to follow her. Not for this. Because she was breaking faith, and she would not demand it of anyone else. “I am here to tell you that I am leaving UNIT. I will be handing in my letter of resignation in the morning.”
She’d never questioned orders before. Never had to. But looking at the football the boy had been kicking around with the men… Things had to change. “We followed our orders to destroy Torchwood, and I feel that may have been… a mistake. The aliens came, and UNIT’s first move was to eliminate anyone who might impede their bargain with the aliens. Torchwood gave up everything to stop them, no matter what.”
They were such good soldiers. Just waiting for their orders. Allens, though. He had a grim look in his eye. He’d be coming. And possibly Robinson. He wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of co-ordinating with alien tech. “There are already reports of increasing violent incidents in Cardiff. Our monitors indicate that these follow almost immediately from a burst of activity from the Rift. The previous Torchwood team needs to be replaced. As from tomorrow, I will be operating from Cardiff in an attempt to salvage anything we can from the wreckage of the Hub and do what I can to manage the issues arising. I would not ask that any of you come with me, however should any of you choose to do so, you would be more than welcome.” She met the eyes of each of them as the silence stretched uncomfortably in the cavernous space with the flickering lights.
“Dismissed.”
~~~~~~~~
Anarchy in the UK was more than a Sex Pistols song these days. Green had stood down as PM to make way for Denise Riley, who had lasted all of three days before Cooper had hit YouTube with the recording of Riley hanging the entire lower socio-economic strata of society out to dry. The protests had rapidly turned to riots outside Westminster and government had ground to a halt as MPs and civil servants refused to risk their lives trying to get to their offices. Conference calls and online meetings were held, decisions were made, but ultimately there was no one to enforce them. The announcement of a curfew was greeted with jeers and the legendary attempt of hundreds of people to toilet paper the Houses of Parliament overnight. It had been a long time since the British people had reminded the government that they were ruled because they chose to be, but the government had finally gone too far.
The royal family had been thought of as little more than figureheads for so long that no one quite knew what to make of the broadcasts that started coming from Buckingham Palace. The Queen, aged 83 and wearing the same hair-do she’d had as a young woman, appeared in them. She sat in the study millions of people recognised from years of Christmas Speeches, in the same neat skirt suits she’d appeared in for 60-odd years, and she was a rock in the chaos. She was calm and sensible, but outraged on the people’s behalf. Prince Phillip, for all that he was one of the world’s worst diplomats, was an old soldier and a wily one at that. The British people didn’t trust the Army in the hands of the government, but the solid dignity of the Queen, and the Everyman bigotry of Prince Phillip were things most people could get behind.
It was difficult to reconcile the formal, grandmotherly woman who had been part of the Christmas ritual for her entire life with the stern, grim-looking woman she was saluting.
“So you wish to discuss the future of Torchwood.”
“Yes, ma’am. I appreciate you have many priorities at this time-“
“The keenest of which is the safety of this country, Lieutenant Johnson. And I believe, as I think you do, that Torchwood is key to that. It is a sufficiently difficult task to restore order to the nation without people being eaten by strange creatures and dinosaurs flying over South Wales.”
She was caught unawares by the wry tone in the clipped consonants and plummy vowels. It seemed the lady had a sense of humour, even in a situation like this.
“Has there been any word from Captain Harkness?”
“No ma’am. He was last detected in Bolivia. We lost track of him after that. He hasn’t attempted to contact Ms Cooper at all.”
“Poor boy. One would think he would have learned by now that you cannot run away from it. Ah well. I will have you sent commission papers for Torchwood, and authorised for access to Torchwood funds. You will report directly to myself. I wish to see profiles for all of your staff, and fortnightly updates. More often if the situation calls for it.”
A sleek, modern phone she hadn’t noticed rang suddenly. It seemed almost anachronistic among the sleek wood and soft upholstery of the office, but Her Majesty seemed perfectly at home with it as she answered, then muted the caller for a moment. “I’m afraid I must take this call, Lieutenant. My assistant, Chapel, will give you the paperwork you require. Good day.”
So. Torchwood was back in business.
~~~~~~~
She didn’t like Dekker. He spent far too much time playing silly buggers for his own amusement, and he smelled of a distasteful blend of Brut and formaldehyde, but the fact was that he was probably the best person for the job. And she dealt in facts, not matters of taste. So she was marching down the halls of Thames House, still cordoned off after the lethal virus had killed everyone in the building but Dekker. If nothing else, you had to admire the old fox’s survival instinct. Even if she planned to completely override it.
“Mr Dekker.”
He had been bent over, leaning into the inner workings of a machine of obscure purpose, but at the unexpected sound of her voice he jumped slightly, banging his head on the top of the machine. Rubbing his head, he turned to glare at the intruder, scowling even harder when he realised just who it was. “Being kidnapped again, am I?” he asked snidely.
“In a manner of speaking, Mr Dekker.” She couldn’t help smirking at him slightly. “You’re being seconded to Torchwood. Welcome to the team.”
“This is preposterous! You can’t just… I have projects!” She didn’t think he’d been this worked up about anything in the last few weeks, including narrowly avoiding being poisoned by aliens. “There are things that require close supervision. There’s no way they would allow you to just… trade me like a set of cards!”
She drew a deep breath, torn between amusement and irritation. “Mr Dekker. You may transfer your projects to Cardiff once we have a suitable base of operations set up. And I am afraid the Head of Operations was actually quite eager for you to employ your talents elsewhere for a time. The thing is that, superstitious though it may be, people tend to view sole survivors of such catastrophic events as the poisoning of an entire Government building as… unlucky.”
“But they can’t just send me off to protect the public from aliens! I’m sixty-eight! I can’t just…”
“Relax, Mr Dekker. No one is asking you to care. Merely to assist me regarding the technology required to monitor and contain activity from the Rift in Cardiff. You have three days to gather up what you will require. Accommodation will be found for you in Cardiff, and the details sent through to you.”
It was the first time she’d seen him go for more then three minutes without a smirk or a sneer. She felt quite proud of that. As she reached the door to leave she turned back to him. “Oh, and Mr Dekker? I suggest you aim to be a little more helpful than the last time we worked together. I have no objection to issuing reminders.” She glanced significantly at his leg and shoved the door open to stride down the corridor. She was beginning to see why people like Harkness enjoyed the dramatics so much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Are you completely insane? Do you think I’m insane? There were aliens, and I committed treason and watched people die and then I got locked in a cell and abandoned there by the people I was helping! I’m practically unemployable, and you want me to do it again? In Cardiff?!
This was not how she had pictured this conversation going. Lois Habiba had been instrumental in the victory over the 456, even if it had been somewhat Pyrrhic. She had never imagined that Lois’ involvement might have been reluctant.
“Ms Habiba-“
“Miss.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s Miss. Miss Habiba.”
She didn’t think she’d ever heard anyone insist on being called ‘Miss’ before. Still, she wasn’t here to argue. “My apologies, Miss Habiba. I am not asking you to do this as a volunteer. There is a generous remuneration attached to the role. As general support I would not expect you to engage in field work. The relocation package is also… attractive.”
The other woman glanced around the room, where warm-toned hangings and richly coloured abstracts enlivened the standard magnolia and beige of the rented flat. “Even if I’m about to be evicted?” she asked, with a bitterness that seemed out of place in the warm, comforting atmosphere.
“I’m not trying to take advantage of you Miss Habiba. I genuinely believe that you would be an asset to my team. Aside from anything else, try to imagine me in a job interview explaining to a candidate that aliens exist.” The slight snort from the other woman suggested her cause was not lost yet. “Look, you’re a clever woman, with initiative, a strong sense of right and wrong and the nerve to stand up for what you believe is right. I’m too used to following orders, and so are my men. Mr Decker is a sociopath. We need someone like you on the team. We also need someone capable of dealing with paperwork, because I wouldn’t know where to begin, and shooting it doesn’t seem helpful.”
She was treated to an evaluating stare to rival that of some Commanding Officers’ she’d received.
“Cardiff.”
“I’m told it’s very pleasant when there’s not a gaping hole in the middle of it.” Probably best not mention precisely who was responsible for said hole.
“It rains. All the time.”
“It rains in London all the time. And at least you can get a job in Cardiff.”
“I don’t like you very much.”
“Lots of people don’t. Fortunately, liking me is not a pre-requisite for working for me. I can give you until the end of the week to decide. Then I really need to start working on my ‘Aliens are real’ speech for recruiting.”
Lois stared at some point on the table between them for a few moments, keeping her eyes hidden. For someone with no training she was very good at being unreadable. Her eyes flicked back up. “I’ll let you know on Friday.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
She wished it would stop raining. Was it not bad enough that she was standing remorsefully over the grave of a child whose life was cut tragically short, without doing it in the rain?
“What are you doing here?” She was facing the intruder, gun in hand, before she realised who she was facing. The other woman stood before her unafraid, uncaring of the gun. She wasn’t entirely sure the other woman wasn’t armed, but if anyone deserved a free shot, it was Alice Carter.
For such a simple question, it was surprisingly difficult to answer. He was, as much as anything, a symbol of how badly wrong she had been. To tell the boy’s mother she was grieving, mourning, was tantamount to a slap in the face. Especially when she was grieving as much for herself as for the boy. To say she was sorry was hypocritical - it had been the least horrendous of her options, and she had taken it in full understanding of her actions. Which didn’t make it any less abhorrent, but she wasn’t crass enough to debate the matter with the woman whose son had been murdered before her eyes as a sacrifice to save everyone else’s children.
“Remembering. Making sure I never forget.” It was as true an answer as any of the rest, and truer than many. She would carry Stephen Carter’s gravestone in her memory for the rest of her life, along with the look of fear and trust on his face as he allowed her and his grandfather to orchestrate his death.
Alice’s eyes tightened. And then she nodded. “Don’t ever come back here again. Stay the hell away from us.” Alice turned and walked back toward the car park, ignoring the rain, oblivious to her dark hair in soaking tendrils dripping water down the back of her collar.
She was never sure how long she stood there under her umbrella in the old churchyard on a cold wet afternoon in September, but she knew she wouldn’t be back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
She stood at attention before Colonel Gordon. Even if she was no longer part of UNIT, no longer part of any branch of organised military, she couldn’t stand in this spot in any other attitude.
“I am very disappointed in this decision.” The Colonel sat stiffly in the old-fashioned desk chair, the worn brown leather creaking slightly. “You are throwing away a career with UNIT that you have worked hard for to join a… a maverick group of renegades with little, if any, actual authority. I can only ask, have you gone completely mad?”
Conversations with the Colonel had always been difficult but standing here, knowing that she had transgressed made her stomach clench. “UNIT gave orders that Torchwood should be eliminated. I followed those orders like a good soldier, without question. I later discovered that those orders were issued to prevent Torchwood from interfering with Government’s intention to simply give in to whatever demands were made. UNIT was complicit in facilitating that atrocity. I was complicit in facilitating that atrocity. I cannot, in good conscience, continue to take such orders, knowing what manner of action UNIT is prepared to condone.”
Portraits of austere military individuals dating back two centuries stared forbiddingly down at her from the walls. She knew the name and rank of every one of them, and she knew they would disapprove of what she was doing. It was still easier to meet their eyes than the dispassionate gaze of the imposing figure behind the heavy wooden desk.
“I believe that the services provided by Torchwood are vital to the protection, not of the British State but of the British people. As such, I am committed to ensuring its continuation.”
“This is a mistake, Honoria, and a slap in the face to generations of honourable military service.”
Here it was. The final dismissal, after which she would never be able to return to this house. She wished she didn’t care quite so much. “I cannot consider the actions of UNIT in the recent debacle to be honourable. Nor can I consider some of my own actions on UNIT’s behalf to be honourable. From now on, I will be the one to decide what actions I must, in honour, take. I wish you could understand that, Mother.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A great deal of the rubble had been cleared from the Plass since the explosion. Builders had already begun work, covering over the crater and making it safe for the public. She wondered who had made that happen, when the entire country was falling into chaos.
“Hey! You can’t come in ‘ere. It’s a buildin’ site!” One of the builders; yellow hardhat, orange safety jacket and heavy scarred boots, came striding across the site towards her.
“I need to speak to whoever’s in charge regarding the area beneath the Plass.”
“Oh yes, and who might you b- Oh hell, you’re bloody Torchwood, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before turning his head and bellowing at the top of his lungs, “Oi! Bernie! Torchwood’s back in the ‘ouse!”
“’Bout bloody time!” came the answer from the little pre-fab cabin that stood as site office. “One of they monsters nearly ate Dai’s face off the other night! Took four of us to get it off ‘im!”
They knew about Torchwood, and were out fighting Weevils by themselves. What sort of ‘top secret’ operation had Harkness been running? Still, it would make it easier for her now. “I need to know the plans for the site, and require access to any and all debris recovered. There were things in there that could be dangerous.”
“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out. The thing that blasted one of the lads’ hands off the other week wasn’t a big enough clue.”
She took a deep breath. They were totally unequipped to deal with what they were dealing with, but they were doing it anyway. As she had no intention of digging up the rubble herself, she would have to build a working relationship with this man. “Here’s my mobile number. If you find anything that’s not rubble, call me immediately and someone will come to check and deal with it.”
“What is it then? All this stuff that’s in there. Most of it looks like junk, but some of it’s… well. Strange.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Just make sure that anything further is dealt with by my team. We’re trained to deal with it.”
“And we’re not.” He had folded his arms over the beer gut straining the lower buttons of his work shirt, looking offended.
“You’re not. It’s our job to deal with these things. It’s our job to protect innocent builders from having their hands blown off by mysterious objects. It’s not an insult to you, or your ability. It’s simply that you shouldn’t have to deal with these things.
He grunted, and looked again at the card she had given him, blank except for the mobile number printed on one side and her name, Johnson, above it. “The stuff that’s already been dug up’s at the University. You’ll be wanting to talk to Doctor Davies at the MEC.”
Which was convenient, as she had to go and reconnoitre a bunker under the University grounds for use as a base. “Thank you, I’ll do that,” she said, and shook his hand.
Things were coming together nicely.