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Disclaimer: Jack Harkness belongs to the BBC and Starz, John Keller and Cliffjumper belong to Transformers, and Mike Franks belongs to Donald Bellisario and Don McGill. Gregory Easton and the Keller ladies do belong to me. I don’t mind if you’d like to borrow them. . .just please ask first and return them to me in good condition. This is the fifth story in the Worlds Apart series. Previous stories include Choosing to Be Family, Enfolded, Somebody’s Little Girl, and A Soft Place to Land.
Fort Hood, Texas
October 1992
“I’ve got him. We’re coming home.”
With those two sentences, a tight ball of anxiety loosened in his chest, and Lieutenant Colonel John Keller sat back heavily in his seat. He rubbed at his forehead, asking hoarsely, “How is he?” It was likely he wasn’t doing well, but the one thing he was sure of was that he would be all right. . .given time. There was a long silence, then a deep sigh, and John muttered under his breath, “Dammit. I was afraid of that. Did they figure out about his. . .ability?”
“No, and believe me, I have thanked God for that ever since we found him. John, I still don’t know who had him, but they hurt him bad,” came the response. There was an indistinguishable sound in the background and John’s friend soothed, “Shhhh, you’re all right now. Just lie still, we’ll have you home soon, son.” John rolled his eyes, knowing that the recently-recovered victim was old enough to be grandfather to them both, if not great-grandfather. Maybe even great-great-grandfather, though he thought that was pushing it. His old friend knew that as well, but he looked young enough to be the other man’s son, and John’s own younger brother.
Huh. . .younger brother. Yes, the last time John was this terrified for someone other than his wife and daughters was when his youngest brother Drake nearly died, shortly after John’s eldest daughter Lacey was born. And really, he wasn’t even this scared when Lacey was abducted, ten years earlier, because he knew that Jack wouldn’t let anything more happen to her. But Jack. . . right now, Captain Jack Harkness was the source of his worry. John said softly, “Tell me when and where you’re landing, and I’ll meet you. Will we need a safe house? My girls are extremely protective of him, as you well know.” He was rewarded with a familiar whiskey laugh.
“Found that out the hard way, John. Doubt if you’ll need a safe house, just a room where he can rest. John. . .they hurt him real bad,” the other man said and John closed his eyes. Dammit. There was a brief silence, and then his friend observed, “Sorry. Heard from the kid I’ve been training, you know, that Marine who lost his wife and daughter? There was a break in our case, and he wanted to update me. Anyhow, if you don’t mind supplyin’ a quiet room for Jack, I’ll head back up to DC. I’m pulling up to the gate now, should be there in another fifteen minutes. Shhh, ‘s okay, Jack, you’re safe now.”
“I’ll see you when you get here,” John promised, and the two men hung up. John once more rubbed his hand over weary eyes, no longer even trying to focus on the paperwork in front of him. He thought about the beginning of this headache. Captain Jack Harkness was on assignment in India when he went missing nearly a month earlier. None of the Torchwood branches could afford to send any people to investigate (read: didn’t consider Jack to be important enough to send personnel after him), and while Jack enjoyed a good time, he also did his job. John knew damn well that Jack wasn’t AWOL.
Tracking down his old friend himself was out of the question. Officially, at least. Oh, he supposed he could go AWOL himself and take a small unit of men, if he knew where to look. That’s what someone like him would do in the movies. God knew, for what he had done for John’s family, for that alone, Jack was worth it. However, Jack would kick his ass for eighty-sixing his career, and he had no business destroying the careers of his men, either. On the other hand, unofficially, he had contacts around the world who were keeping eyes and ears open about a ‘young American’ who was seemingly indestructible. Thus far, there was nothing.
And his girls were becoming concerned, especially Rinna and Lacey. Ever since Lacey discovered that Jack couldn’t stay dead, she became doubly-protective of him. That was why he hadn’t told them about the phone call from UNIT. When he received word of a man fitting Jack’s description in South America, he phoned a friend at the NIS (NCIS, had to remember it was called the NCIS now) who was familiar with the area and who knew Jack. Fortunately for John and for Jack, their old friend was able to head down to South America while his probationary agent followed up leads on their current case in DC. That reminded him, he should head out to meet the small party. It wouldn’t be hard to spot them. There would be three men. . .one man carrying another, with the third walking at their side.
He was right. As John left his office and headed down the hall to the entrance, the three men in question appeared at the other end of the hall: Special Agent Michael Franks, CIA linguist Gregory Easton (damn, he’s huge, John thought for the umpteenth time), and cradled protectively against Easton’s chest was one Captain Jack Harkness. Mike extended his hand to John, saying, “Told you I’d bring him home. Didn’t really think I’d let anybody hurt him worse ‘n he already was, didja?”
John shook the other man’s hand, replying, “If it was within your power, Mike, no one would ever hurt Jack again. You have any trouble at the gate?” He shouldn’t, not as an NIS (NCIS, dammit!) agent, but sometimes, you got a kid who was more enthusiastic than smart. As they talked, John ushered Mike and Greg into his office and the storage room which was converted into a tiny bedroom. Their friend and mentor was placed gently on the narrow bed which Rinna and Lacey put together for John on those nights when he couldn’t leave the office (or Jack, for days like today).
Mike shook his head, replying, “Got the usual sass ‘bout what an NIS agent is doin’ on an Army installation, but that was about it. ‘Specially when they saw Jack here. All a’ sudden, they couldn’t wave us through fast enough.” John nodded soberly. Good. He was glad to hear that. Mike fell silent briefly, watching Jack’s chest rise and fall, and then asked, “Speaking of your girls, Jack was mumblin’ somethin’ ‘bout trainin’ them. He's startin’ with a new generation?”
“He started teaching my oldest daughter how to shoot last year, after we were posted here,” John replied dryly. Mike rolled his eyes as he covered Jack carefully with a blanket and John continued, “He’s offered to do the same for Bronwyn and Cissie when they get older. Bronnie wanted him to do it at the same time, so she could beat someone’s butt.” This drew surprised looks from his two (conscious) companions, and John explained, “Bronnie is just as protective of Lacey as she is of Cissie. When that little sleazebag hurt Jack a few years ago and scared Lacey so badly, Bronnie wanted to hurt him back.” And John still hadn’t truly forgiven himself for not being there for his little girl. He didn’t even find out about the incident until he came home. . . this was Rinna’s decision, knowing that he would fret over not being able to do anything.
Mike drawled, “I got no problem with going after him m’self. . .might even send Probie after him. Lacey’s a bit older than his baby girl was, but he’s still real protective of young girls.” The third member of their little team muttered, ‘he’ll have to get there ahead of me’ under his breath, and too late, John remembered that Greg’s own sister wasn’t nearly lucky as Lacey was. Mike continued, “Let him sleep, it's what he needs more than anything else right now. Tell us more about those girls of yours. Lacey’s in college now, ain’t she? Eighteen now, right?”
“Eighteen years old, a freshman in college, and she’s doing about as well as can be expected for her first year. She’s studying history, with a minor in anthropology. Jack’s stories about the places he’s seen and the people he’s known got her interested,” John replied, very carefully not going further with that. Mike heard the same thing he did, John’s aide-de-camp entering the office with paperwork, and nodded his understanding. John also didn’t mention how skittish Lacey had become lately when Jack was mentioned. He didn’t understand it himself, and doubted if Mike or Greg would have any more luck than he did.
He proceeded, instead, to tell them about his other two daughters. Bronwyn was eight years old now, and turning into a full-stop tomboy. She pestered Jack to teach her to shoot, but that was only the beginning. She wanted to learn to rope and become a cowgirl. This drew a snort of laughter from Mike and a headshake from Greg. Cissie, on the other hand, seemed to be in the process of becoming a princess. He dryly informed his two compatriots that on at least two occasions, she wanted to wear Lacey’s Homecoming dress, and got very put-out that it didn’t fit her. That drew laughter from the other two men.
“Sounds like you’re havin’ fun without me,” a sleepy voice drawled. John, Mike, and Greg halted their conversation to look at the dark-haired man lying on the cot. Jack smiled tiredly at them, murmuring, “Is there a reunion someone forgot to tell me about?” John rested his hand on Jack’s shoulder, the immortal captain murmuring, “Thanks for comin’ for me, Mike. Didn’t realize you’d be in that part of the world. Don’t you have an agent you’re training at the newly-renamed Naval Criminal Investigative Service? And when do I get to meet him?” John bit back his laughter, not just at the question, but at Jack’s expression. Greg didn’t even bother, throwing his head back and laughing outright.
“When I’m sure that Probie ain’t gonna take a swing at you for flirting with him, Jack, that’s when you’ll get to meet him!” Mike retorted, grinning from ear to ear. Jack pouted, but the expression didn’t last long on his face. After a moment, Mike continued, “So, what’s this I hear about a high school kid using you as a pincushion? Damn, Jack, sounds to me like you’re losin’ your touch! Or is that how you got into trouble?” Jack glared at him, although there was no real heat in his expression.
“Didn’t even try to charm him, I was too furious,” was the eventual, reluctant reply. John could relate. He was angry and disgusted, not just with the little prick who threatened his child, but with himself as well. And as for Jack’s sheepish explanation of reassuring Lacey that he was truly all right, John knew better than to think it was anything but an attempt to reassure her. She was the same age as his daughter, for God’s sake. Jack looked back at John, asking, “I hope it wasn’t a problem that I danced with her in the living room that weekend. I always felt badly about how her Homecoming Dance ended.”
“You danced with her, Jack, you just didn’t ‘dance.’ Big difference. If you’d ‘danced’ with her, then we’d have a problem,” John answered. Greg blinked, his lips quirking as he looked from one to another. John rolled his eyes, adding, “Yes, Greg, I do know how odd this conversation sounds! But there are some things I just don’t want to imagine my eighteen year old daughter doing, even if she is at the age of consent, and the ‘dancing’ euphemism works about as well as anything else! Trust me, when your daughters are teenagers, you’ll understand!”
“I understand already,” was Greg’s dry rejoinder. Mike wisely kept his mouth shut. Greg continued, “You gonna be okay, boss-man? I’m still surprised that you were still alive when we got to you. . .what did they want from you that they were wanting to keep you alive?” Jack frowned, and Greg sighed, “Jack, I’ve been in this business for far too long. They purposely hurt you without the intent of killing you. What. . .did. . .they. . .want?” The last sentence was said in reaction to the decidedly mulish expression which appeared on Jack’s face. That was true of Jack for as long as John had known him, though. Stubborn. . . And if he was trying to protect someone who mattered to him, he was even worse.
“And don’t even try to tell us it was ‘cause a’ your pretty face, Jack. You’ve saved all of us too many times for us to believe that. . .hell. They didn’t want any information from you, not at first. You weren’t the target, you were the distraction! You were distractin’ them from somethin’ else or someone else. An’ it was important,” Mike growled. Jack merely stared at them, neither confirming nor denying Mike’s statement. . .which led John to believe that their friend was right. Mike slammed his hand on the edge of the bed, rasping out, “Dammit, Jack! You know any one of us would help you out!”
“It wasn’t your. . .look. It goes back to when I was a kid,” Jack began, sighing heavily. John exchanged a surprised look with Mike and Greg, and then the three men returned their attention to Jack, who explained, “There’s a race of beings that we called the ‘Bots. They’re huge and metallic, and the ones we knew were friendly and protective. One of these ‘Bots is on Earth right now. The name he uses is ‘Cliffjumper,’ and he’s been stranded on Earth for about six thousand years. His communications have been knocked out, and he has no way of reaching the rest of his people. Some really bad people wanted him, and I. . .distracted them.”
“Please, tell me that you didn’t get nekkid,” Mike sighed. Greg groaned and John rolled his eyes. It was a valid question, as so many of Jack’s stories did seem to involve the removal of his clothing, sometimes as a means of distraction. Fortunately, none of those stories were told to any of his girls (including Rinna). . . and that wasn’t the case this time, if Jack’s full-watt glare was any indication. And, as Rinna pointed out on more than one occasion, Jack’s full-watt glare had the same strength as his full-watt smile. . .which she always said needed to be registered as a deadly weapon. John hated it when she said things like that.
“No, Michael,” Jack bit out, “I did not get naked, I simply played the idiot tourist long enough for Cliffjumper to escape. And no, I won’t tell you how I got from India to Bolivia, because I don’t know. Only thing I can think of is that I was sedated, because I don’t remember coming back to life. Why was I taken to Bolivia? Couldn’t tell you.” He sighed and sank back against the pillows, looking exhausted. John felt a ripple of guilt in his gut. They shouldn’t have grilled Jack on what the hell happened, not while he was still recovering. When Rinna found out. . .and she would find out, she always did. . .she would tear into all three of them.
“Okay, Jack,” Mike said in a surprisingly gentle voice, “Just got one more question for ya.” One eye opened questioningly, and Mike went on, “Why did this Cliffjumper need YOU to distract the locals? I mean, ya just said that these ‘Bots are huge, why couldn’t Cliffjumper get his metallic ass outta Dodge?” Okay, another fair question. The one open eye closed, and then both eyes opened. Jack motioned to John to help him sit up properly, which the lieutenant colonel did, arranging his pillows at the same time to take the stress off his battered ribs. Mike observed with a grin, “Shoulda brought my camera, so Rinna could see this.”
“Why? She’s already got other pictures like that. In answer to your question, John, Cliffjumper probably could have gotten away, but it would have required hurting one of the locals. And like I said, the ‘Bots protect, they don’t want to be turning the indigenous sentient life into so much jelly. Speaking of Rinna, isn’t that her now?” Jack questioned. John held up a hand, silencing the other men as he listened intently. Oh yes. Here came his wife now. And unless he missed his guess, she brought Bronnie and Cissie with her. Good girl. He didn’t know how she knew to be here. . .unless his UNIT contact called the house? That was known to happen. He tried to avoid that, since Rinna had little use for UNIT, but there were a few she could tolerate.
Only seconds later, his wife strode into the room with Bronnie at her side and Cissie in her arms. And, surprise surprise, she carried a bag in her free hand, while Bronnie carefully cradled a box that John recognized as being from their favorite bakery. Rinna said briskly, “Good afternoon, gentlemen, I hope you’re hungry. Bronwyn, sweetheart, put the pastries on the shelf. Cissie, your job is to take care of Uncle Jack.” With those words, she neatly plopped their youngest daughter into their best friend’s lap, bending to kiss Jack’s forehead at the same time. John bit back a smile. Jack wasn’t going anywhere with Cissie in his arms. However, just to be safe. . .
“Cissie, be gentle, baby girl. Uncle Jack has ouchies,” John told the toddler. She cooed at Jack, reaching up to pet an unmarked part of Jack’s face. He quickly captured her tiny fingers and pretended to gnaw on them. Cissie giggled, and John said in an undertone to his wife as Mike and Greg began to set up a card table for the food, “Do I even want to know how you found out?” Rinna simply stared at him as if he’d lost what little sense he had, and John sighed, “Never mind, I forgot I was talking to a diplomat’s daughter.”
She simply smiled, pointing out, “I also have a teenage daughter, which requires a finesse of its own.” Good point. Rinna continued, “Now, gentlemen, I’m quite sure that you haven’t eaten, and there’s no doubt that the food you’ll be served on the flight home to DC won’t be nearly this good, Michael. So, eat, eat! Cissie, Bronnie, and I will see to Jack. And you, young man, will rest as long as you need to.” Uh-oh, she was playing the ‘mommy’ card. However, John could only grin at the nonplussed expression on Jack’s face. By now, though, he should have been used to this sort of treatment. . .both Rinna and Lacey utilized whenever Jack was hurting and didn’t want to accept help.
As his two friends began to devour the food brought by his wife, John Keller looked around the room, at this undeniably odd family. There was his wife and daughters, Cissie enclosed within the protective circle of Jack’s arms, while Bronnie sat on the end of the bed, kicking her legs, and Rinna listened to Jack’s newest stories about Cliffjumper. Not for the first time, John thanked God for Jack’s attempts at matchmaker.
What would his life had been like, if he had ignored Jack and let Rinna slip through his fingers? Who else could have cajoled and annoyed him into asking out the prettiest girl in town out for a date, other than Jack Harkness? Who else could bring together an Army lieutenant colonel on the fast track, a crusty veteran NCIS agent (yes, he finally remembered), and a CIA linguist who put himself through college as a semi-pro wrestler? And who else could have protected, taught, and inspired John’s girls with his life and his stories? Oh, the man made more than his share of mistakes, John knew that. He witnessed some of them. But he did his best in a rough business, and John had no business gainsaying him.
"We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm." Whether it was Winston Churchill or Eric Blair/George Orwell who said it, it summed up what all four of them did. And sitting in a circle around Jack was the reason they stood ready. For their families and for each other, they stood ready.