Part 6 - The Immortal Prat
The walk back to main HQ seems to drag on endlessly, Rory feeling lighter for having finally spoken about the viral attack to someone that hadn't been involved, and yet, still burdened with the knowledge that he had killed someone while possessed. It is something he will never be able to forgive himself, despite the circumstances of the situation. A man that dedicated himself to saving lives could never be okay with the thought of taking them, no matter what the circumstances. It's wrong, in every way, and if he ever -does- get used to it, he knows that he will no longer be himself. In the end, that is probably the one thing he fears most; losing himself in the midst of everything that is going on around him.
After all, having watched Jack for a year, and heard some of the stories of what the Immortal Captain had done before Rory arrived, he has seen the differences in the man and knows that no one comes out of an institute like Torchwood, or S.H.I.E.L.D. for that matter, unscathed. But at the same time, one can still retain a piece of their humanity, a piece of -themselves-. Or so he hopes.
"Excuse me .. Mr. Williams?" The timid, feminine voice catches Rory off guard as he enters back into the main building, his entire body tensing visibly. It's hard to come down from giving orders and making demands in that soldier way, to remembering that he is more of a nurse than a soldier these days. He clears his throat, forces his wiry, sinewy limbs to carefully relax, and then turns to face the speaker. She's shorter than him by almost half a foot, with fiery red hair, dimples, and thick 'nerd' glasses that seem to somehow make her all the prettier.
"Yes, ma'am?" He tries to remember to use the American vernacular of ma'am rather than the pronounced mom that has become associated with the British vernacular. The woman offers up a sweet smile, though there is a note of nervousness to it that sets Rory on edge. He doesn't know the woman personally, but everything about her bubbly, happy appearance says that she isn't easily made to be nervous or anything, so it must be something important. And he has a feeling that whatever it is .. he's -really- not going to like it.
"Uhm .." The sound is a soft sigh out of her as she glances nervously toward the door that Rory had just come in through, and then toward a door that is settled toward the back of the building. "Mr. Harkness .. er, Captain Harkness .. just came through here in a tear, sir. He was .. well, pissed off and glowering is the only way I can describe it. He barked at a few people that got too close and tore off, down to the firing ranges below. Everyone's too afraid to go down and talk to him. Could you .. maybe ...?" Rory groans softly, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. Great. He's being asked to go down and get Captain Strange out of a funk? Do -any- of these people realize just how impossible that is!? And yet, in sending the kind woman to ask, they had ensured he would do it .. because it's better him than someone else try to deal with the prat.
"Alright, ma'am. I'll go and see to him." And holy hell, but if Jack had -heard- Rory refer to the situation that way, there would be one hell of a fight about to happen. Of course, there's a chance there will be a fight anyway, given the fact that neither of them are very good at interacting with each other when they're angry. In fact, he knows that if he were a little smarter, he'd turn around, apologize to the woman and be on his merry so that he wouldn't get caught in the middle of whatever has pissed the Prat off. Well, Amy had always accused him of lacking a certain amount of smarts, so it's no surprise when he turns and trudges in the direction of the firing range. Great .. The Captain, Rory and guns .. never exactly a good combination given their anger issues with one another, but still .. better him than anyone else. Someone else might get it wrong.
And my oh -my- but did that sound arrogant for some reason! He didn't mean to imply, even if only to himself, that he was the only one capable of dealing with the irate man, but he knew that of everyone here, he is actually the one Jack was least likely to hurt if he could help it. And that just made Jack sound like a monster or something, and Rory knows damn well that isn't the truth, either! Jack had one hell of a big heart and a really cool, old soul, but sometimes, he just snapped. And Rory would -never- be able to blame that on Jack. No, he blames it on the Captain's strange, fucked up past with that terrible, sorry excuse for an -Agency- that had produced people like 'John Hart,' a man he hoped to -never- come face to face with again, or one of them would NOT walk away from the encounter. Jack had stopped him from pulling the trigger once, but never again. Hart is a dead man, he just doesn't know it yet.
Rory can feel every muscle in his body beginning to tense, roiling and trembling beneath his skin as he tries to tell himself that everything is okay. After all, even with the fights he and the Captain often got into at Torchwood, he had never seen, or even heard of the Captain barking at other members of the team if they didn't deserve it, so to know that he had been abrasive to anyone as he passed is reason for concern, reason for the ex-Soldier to be on guard. Not that he wasn't usually on guard when Jack was around, or somehow involved, but at the moment, he almost feels hyper-aware.
Sight, sound, smell, and vibration are the first four senses that immediately pick something up due to his aware state. First, the strange, gritty taste of gunpowder in the air, the oily smell of gun-smoke as it dissipates into a thin, filmy mist that rises. The quick, metallic thunk of a gun kicking, followed by the thud of a bullet burying itself in the target .. and there is a sort of .. vibration in the air. A metallic resonation that mixes with a sense of anger that is almost more acrid, percussive, and intrusive than the gun itself. In fact, it causes Rory to shudder a fraction, though he is doing everything in his power to keep his reactions under wrap. He doesn't want to give any indication of his true, deep discomfort away to Jack. The Captain could resist many things .. just not temptation. He had told Rory as much on many occasions.
Another heavy kick of metal, whiz of a bullet and the sickening sound of it embedding in something. Rory reaches up, runs his fingers awkwardly through his red-brown hair, fighting down the desire to turn tail and run. No. He had not run when facing down Caesar's enemies, when dealing with ravenous, cruel aliens that wanted a planet that didn't belong to them .. he was -NOT- about to do so just because the Captain is in a bad mood! So, he takes a few more moments to steel his resolve before he strolls toward the sound of the commotion.
He's not really expecting the scene he comes across! It seemed as if he hadn't seen Jack laid back, comfortable or even really -human- seeming in quite some time. So, to round the corner and see his signature military cut great coat slung across a chair, his sleeves unbuttoned and shoved up to his elbows, braces hanging down on either side of his hips ... even his -hair- is a right mess! It just seems so .. un-Jack-like. Whatever irritated comment or question Rory had been preparing to put Jack on edge so that they could do what they always do, argue until the problem is solved, dies almost instantly. Instead, he feels his throat constrict a little, and a sort of .. weary sadness settle heavy in his heart.
"What do you want .. -soldier boy-." The nickname is spoken with biting venom, and Rory can't suppress a wince. Again, he feels that urge to turn and run, but the ground that would be lost doing so would be too much. It's a loss he would regret forever.
"I want you to pull your head from your ass, adjust your attitude, and act your damned age!" The words come out of nowhere, snapping, biting, verbal venom that catches both of them by surprise. So much so that Jack's hands jerk, his last shot barely winging the target. He carefully lays the firearm down and turns to face Rory, steel blues narrowed, clouded with unreadable emotion. His lips peel back in a way that almost resembles a wild animal's snarl.
"Don't pull that authoritative voice on me, soldier. It's never worked and it ain't about to start to. You don't boss a Boss, babe." His words are nearly flippant at the end, and he turns, preparing to pick up the gun once more.
"You're not my Boss anymore, Harkness, remember? You're just another grunt, same as me. So don't pull the Boss BS, and I won't pull the commanding officer voice." Rory's words are clipped, emotionless, and that is almost as dangerous as Jack's own venomous tone. They had a way of pushing each others buttons with the slightest provocation, and it seemed to be proving rather true in this moment. "And if you pick that gun up, you will regret it." Jack's hand jerks back before he can even think about the action, and that pisses him off to no end! He's not used to -listening- when given an order/threat/reprimand/etc, but he finds himself doing just that. Because he knows that Rory will not back down .. that they will butt heads again and again until it turned into an out and out fight with screaming, painful words and even threats of violence, though he cannot think of a single time that a fight had actually turned violent between them. Heated, angry, passionate, but never physically violent. Thank the -Gods- because he has a feeling that such a thing would bring down the entire world if they weren't careful.
"Is there a particular reason you're down here, soldier-boy, or are you just here to annoy me?" Jack shoves away from the counter, turning after a moment to lean against it, propping himself on his arms. Rory half expected him to shove his big arse up, onto it as he had a habit of doing back at the Hub and what not. He shakes his head just a bit to clear that thought, his lips pursing into a scowling frown that only barely manages to hide how truly annoyed and angry he is at the moment.
"For a reason. Some nice lady with a bit of a harrowed expression came up to me and told me that you -tore- through the area, barking at people and being a general ass to everyone. Apparently, they thought -I- was the one to come down here and talk to you. Why, is beyond me." Rory frowns, his hands having migrated behind him, clamped in a basic parade rest stance that always put Jack on edge for some reason. Probably because it was so impersonal and just .. wrong, coming from the usually warm, charismatic man. Jack shifts a little where he's leaning, trying so hard to keep from saying anything mean, rude, or generally undeserved that he knows would be nothing more than a reflection of his own state.
"... damn it. Why the hell is this suddenly so hard?" Jack mumbles the words acerbically under his breath, not even caring at this point if Rory hears them or not. Though he knows, with his luck, the perceptive ex-soldier would hear him with no trouble.
"I have no clue, but we've talked about it before ... about how mixing at work doesn't work." Rory's tone matches the same acidity level as Jack's, though there is also a tone of tiredness in the words. The Captain at least has the good grace to lower his gaze and look at least slightly chagrined. Yes, they have had this discussion and frankly, there is nothing Rory can say or do that will change his mind ... though, he has to admit, if only to himself, observing Rory with Hawkeye -really- hadn't settled well with him. And that is -not- something he is used to!
"You're right. We have. Which is why I was just a little .. surprised (angry) to see you so cozy with Hawkeye in the sniper's nest. Actually -flirting-." The word flirting is a whisper, a crack in Jack's voice that may as well have been the beginning of his entire, controlled facade cracking to the very foundation of what he tries to be. Rory takes a step back, his eyes widening a fraction of an inch before snapping closed with a look of confusion and wounded something, though Jack can't quite read it.
"Jack .. that .. that wasn't what it looked like, I'm sure! Agent Fury sent me in to talk to him ... because we had something sort of similar happen. I .. you had to have heard. I just, I ... I reverted to what I remembered from Rome! Battlefield flirting was natural, commonplace, and it was great for putting a traumatized soldier at ease. It worked .." Rory's own facade has begun to crumble as well, cracking down the seams as his hands fall from behind his back. The familiar stance that he took to close himself off and put the Immortal Prat off guard falls to shambles and he feels himself beginning to physically and emotionally deflate.
"I've got no problem with battlefield flirting, Williams. Hell, been there, done that, a lot of times. Too many wars to keep count of at this point!" Jack pushes himself out of his lean and snaps around on his heels to grab up his revolver and check it over. Giving his hands something to do so that he does not turn and beat the hell out of the room in some archaic need to release the overwhelming, -ridiculous- anger stewing inside of him.
"Jack .." Rory speaks the name softly, though it nearly sticks in his throat as he struggles to get it out without letting it be colored by the tears that are stinging the backs of his eyes. He hates crying! Before Rome, he was a man of obvious sentiment and emotion, but now? He has a right reign on such things! Unless, of course, it involves Jack. His weak point.
"It doesn't matter ... 'soldier-boy.' Just .. don't matter at all." Jack's icy tone is enough to stun Rory, but it's the emphasis of soldier-boy that turns his feet to cement, stuck to the place he's standing as Jack brushes past him and out of the room. That's all it boils down to!? Soldier-boy .. he had called Mr. Barton Soldier-boy, and in the end, that is what irks Jack the most? Rory exhales sharply, wishing Jack had left the revolver behind so that he could annihilate a target!
"This is going to be a long afternoon." He sighs the words to the silent room around him before he turns and trudges from the practice range with Jack's coat folded haphazardly across his arm, dragging himself back toward the sterile safety of his exam room.
