Title: Closing Time
Notes: John Bosworth has made a long journey: from sitting comfortably behind his desk barely moving a muscle bar for licking up to Cardiff, to defending Joe in a physical confrontation at a strip club and taking the fall for the sake of all, confessing to fraud and hacking. If he's involved so much it's because he cares, right?
Disclaimers: Lee Pace, be mine. Okay, pull the other one. This is for enjoyment only.
Genre: H/C; Friendship. Traditional SICKFIC where the plot suffers for the sake of the genre.
Rating: T
Summary: It is John Bosworth's last night of freedom before having to report for his four years of incarceration in a Federal Correctional Institution in the morning. His point of call is his old office at Cardiff where he has a couple of things to take care of.
Set: Middle of season 1 finale, the night after the coders jump ship.
Pairing: Eventual Joe/Cameron.
Characters: Joe Macmillan, Cameron Howe, John Bosworth.
Warning: Unless you like pure, unadulterated hurt/comfort for the sake of it, it's unlikely you will understand the point to this fic. Grounded in my stomach fetish.
Mood: Tired.
Chapter 1: Yours Truly
John Bosworth was taking his time making it up to level 5 where Cardiff Electric's executive offices were. Despite what he knew they've accomplished and was proud to have had a part in, nothing much changed in the appearance of the building or interior furnishings, something that was surely going to be altered soon to complement the company's new-fangled status and impress valued visitors. But for the time being, turning corners and pressing the faded number on the elevator button felt very familiar, as did the feeling of belonging and bittersweet contentment that hit him despite circumstances while ambling through the empty hall of developers towards his former office. He will not spend much time there, he was just hoping Joe didn't change his desk either, nor opened the secret compartment under the table top.
Mercifully, the door was not locked. Not that it ever has been, but John wasn't quite sure what to expect from the new vice president who had obviously followed him on the ladder. He had found the discreet side lights switch as well and was not majorly surprised either to sight Joe sleeping on his couch. John had done it many times himself. Ignoring the presence, he walked over to the bureau, his well versed hands going to the exact spot the small compartment hid. It was intact and he had the keys.
Joe shifted at the sound of jingling and brought a hand up to his eyes, peeking out from under them suspiciously. "John?" He asked, taken aback.
"I'm surprised you never opened this," the old school businessman sat down on his old chair, having dislodged his box of possessions from under the desk. "You did know it was there, right?"
"I didn't think whatever you keep there would be of much importance to the company's present and future," Joe sat up with a groan, rubbing his temples. "Dirty laundry from before my arrival should stay in the washing basket."
"It's not dirty laundry," John turned the box in his hands, content with its feel in his possession and leaned back to appreciate the moment. It was almost like old times when he ran the place and no arrogant surrogate executive was spitting in his lukewarm, but pleasant tasting soup. There was a time when there was no need to set things on fire, but the ex senior vice president had recently come round to appreciate triumphing in matters that he thought very unlikely to happen before. "Congratulations on securing a market for the Giant by the way. Do you have any of my old bourbon left so we can celebrate?"
"It's there," Joe made a noncommittal gesture, "I'm not much of a drinker."
"Well, if you'll excuse me," John stepped to his drinks cabinet and opened it, "it's my last night of freedom for a while," he poured some of the amber liquid into a glass and held it up towards Joe questioningly, "sure you don't want to join me?"
The younger man shook his head, "'m sorry, too tired," he mumbled. He didn't look like he'd properly woken up, still.
"Well, didn't I tell you people not to live in the office!" His ex boss admonished, "at least the girl doesn't, now." He settled back into his chair with his drink. Joe blinked at him as if pained, biting the inside of his lip. His expression confused the balding man, not to mention the lack of word vomit, cockiness and attitude. "For somebody who has just achieved their goal for coming here, pulling everything to pieces to do so, you don't look overly pleased." Then on a hunch, he added, "where's Cameron?"
Joe leaned forward, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Let me guess, she had her own ideas?" John laughed deeply, tickled and somewhat satisfied, then furrowed his brows intrigued when the other suddenly jumped to dash into the wastepaper basket's direction and threw up. "I thought you didn't drink?" The older man commented.
"I don't," Joe grumbled, wearisomely making his way back to the couch with the bucket and flopping down to lie down, visitor be damned. He groaned, despite himself, curling his arms around his midsection.
John raised his eyebrows. "I take the fall so I can see my company succeed. I come here out of nostalgia and see the individual responsible for the way my life turned out miserable and sick. I should be happy, right?" He quipped.
"And you're not?" The younger man sighed. He was too dizzy for this conversation.
"I'd still like to strangle Nathan for pulling the funding when it really mattered and offering me up as sacrificial lamb as if working for him and earning his ready money for 23 years meant nothing. Which is why I want to ask you, any way you have some more tricks up your sleeves that would do him in for good?...Joe?" He inquired a bit disconcerted now that the only answer he got was some more retching into the basket. "Son, I have to present myself at the gates of the West Tower Detention Facility in a few hours, I don't have time for this," he stood to near the ailing man, curious."Is this contagious? Would be a nice howdy present for the other inmates."
"I really don't feel good," Joe established, though he seemed to be talking more to himself than anybody else.
"No shit." John deadpanned, then rolled his eyes, "I can't believe I'm spending the last few hours of my freedom hauling your sneaky bastard ass home." He shook his head, sighing.
Tbc