A very interesting proposition - Yule 2011 fic for Becca
While I am rusty as all heck on writing, here is beccadg 's stocking gift. Sorry it's so bad, but I really hit a wall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s me.”
John sat up. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t heard from this guy in a long time.
It had been five years since the Violent Crimes Task Force located in Atlanta had disbanded. He'd moved to another country and had a life started. A Wife. A family. And now, his former boss Bailey Malone was calling him. ‘Why?’
John cleared his throat. “Bailey... ho... how are you?” John closed his eyes firmly, and opened them again, slowly taking in the sunlight just beginning to peep inside his room and the alarm clock that blinked 6:27 am.
Bailey ignored John’s question. “How would you feel about restarting the VCTF?”
“As great as that would be,” John said, “we don’t have a profiler. Thanks, but call back when you do...” He was about to hang up the phone when:
“It won't be the same, but, we have someone, John. There's things we can do.” John didn’t say anything.
John had taken up consulting now, he didn't know how this would all go over. "It'll take time to set it up."
“It's been done. We've been working on it for some time, getting it all into place. You know, getting acquainted.”
‘Well, I wanted to help,’ he complained to himself in his head. “So... when do I start?”
“Monday. I’ve already gotten clearance to start it back up, well something like it. It was hard convincing them, but then I showed them every case we solved front to cover (which took awhile). They caved. Told me that if I had that much persistence, then I’d pick a good group of people. I’ve got their trust now.”
John sighed. He didn’t know if he was relieved or not, but he was glad that Bailey had called. Course he'd work with him again.
Monday is two days away...
*********
“Dammit,” John hissed as he picked up the soap bar he had dropped in the shower for the third time in a row.
He placed the bar of soap back on the small soap shelf and turned off the water. ‘It’s gonna be a long day,’ John predicted. He opened the curtain and wrapped a white towel around his waist as he stepped out.
Monday morning had come so quickly and yet utterly slow. All John wanted to do was see his old boss again. He didn’t exactly understand why; but at the same time, he did.
John put on a pair of black pants over the boxers he had lazily placed on. Then he absentmindedly put on a beater and over that, a white, oxford, buttoned-down shirt. He exited the bathroom and headed for his bedroom, where he put on a pair of socks and fitted his feet into his shoes. He inserted his wallet in his back, right pocket and his keys into his front, left. He put on his watch as he grabbed a tie and headed straight toward the front door. He got second thoughts about the tie and tossed it upon the hall tree before exiting his house, his nerves starting to get the best of him.
He arrived at a rather nondiscript building in London proper, stone and metals rising to meet the grey of the sky. Once he made his way in and was herded to the lift and hte proper floor, his nerves had calmed a bit. This was Bailey, maybe more of the team. He'd heard from George often enough, worked with him some, the only real mystery was why the FBI would open something in this country. Ok, so it was a bit weird Bailey would take up his old job as if nothing had happened. Questions went through his mind about who he could be working with, what they actually would be doing. So he was gathering a bit of wool when the lift stopped and he was faced with a foyer that showed a meeting room dead ahead. A metting room where Bailey had just made eye contact and was waving him in.
As soon as he got near the door, he spotted George and felt a bit more relief fill his gut. He actually cracked a smile when Bailey spoke. "So... John... Know anything about Torchwood?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s me.”
John sat up. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t heard from this guy in a long time.
It had been five years since the Violent Crimes Task Force located in Atlanta had disbanded. He'd moved to another country and had a life started. A Wife. A family. And now, his former boss Bailey Malone was calling him. ‘Why?’
John cleared his throat. “Bailey... ho... how are you?” John closed his eyes firmly, and opened them again, slowly taking in the sunlight just beginning to peep inside his room and the alarm clock that blinked 6:27 am.
Bailey ignored John’s question. “How would you feel about restarting the VCTF?”
“As great as that would be,” John said, “we don’t have a profiler. Thanks, but call back when you do...” He was about to hang up the phone when:
“It won't be the same, but, we have someone, John. There's things we can do.” John didn’t say anything.
John had taken up consulting now, he didn't know how this would all go over. "It'll take time to set it up."
“It's been done. We've been working on it for some time, getting it all into place. You know, getting acquainted.”
‘Well, I wanted to help,’ he complained to himself in his head. “So... when do I start?”
“Monday. I’ve already gotten clearance to start it back up, well something like it. It was hard convincing them, but then I showed them every case we solved front to cover (which took awhile). They caved. Told me that if I had that much persistence, then I’d pick a good group of people. I’ve got their trust now.”
John sighed. He didn’t know if he was relieved or not, but he was glad that Bailey had called. Course he'd work with him again.
Monday is two days away...
*********
“Dammit,” John hissed as he picked up the soap bar he had dropped in the shower for the third time in a row.
He placed the bar of soap back on the small soap shelf and turned off the water. ‘It’s gonna be a long day,’ John predicted. He opened the curtain and wrapped a white towel around his waist as he stepped out.
Monday morning had come so quickly and yet utterly slow. All John wanted to do was see his old boss again. He didn’t exactly understand why; but at the same time, he did.
John put on a pair of black pants over the boxers he had lazily placed on. Then he absentmindedly put on a beater and over that, a white, oxford, buttoned-down shirt. He exited the bathroom and headed for his bedroom, where he put on a pair of socks and fitted his feet into his shoes. He inserted his wallet in his back, right pocket and his keys into his front, left. He put on his watch as he grabbed a tie and headed straight toward the front door. He got second thoughts about the tie and tossed it upon the hall tree before exiting his house, his nerves starting to get the best of him.
He arrived at a rather nondiscript building in London proper, stone and metals rising to meet the grey of the sky. Once he made his way in and was herded to the lift and hte proper floor, his nerves had calmed a bit. This was Bailey, maybe more of the team. He'd heard from George often enough, worked with him some, the only real mystery was why the FBI would open something in this country. Ok, so it was a bit weird Bailey would take up his old job as if nothing had happened. Questions went through his mind about who he could be working with, what they actually would be doing. So he was gathering a bit of wool when the lift stopped and he was faced with a foyer that showed a meeting room dead ahead. A metting room where Bailey had just made eye contact and was waving him in.
As soon as he got near the door, he spotted George and felt a bit more relief fill his gut. He actually cracked a smile when Bailey spoke. "So... John... Know anything about Torchwood?"