In which John realizes he's an idiot and Jack agrees with him.
[Well...I wasn't gone for four months this time? That counts for something, right? Anyways, no Starbucks or bees this time, just some abuse of good whiskey and coffee. ]
John sank down onto the couch, not taking his eyes off the door Rose had disappeared through. In just a few minutes he had managed to completely demolish the relationship, both professional and personal, he had been building with Rose and all because he didn't want to admit that he was willing to build any sort of relationship.
The truth was Rose had gotten closer to him, had gotten to know him better in a handful of days than anyone had in years, even Jack. His friendship with the other man was definitely less contentious than what he and Rose had but it was also more superficial. Jack let him sidestep questions and didn't push issues because he didn't want to answer personal questions either.
Rose though, Rose pushed and questioned and argued and John was so unused to anyone trying to get to know him without ulterior motives that he had pushed right back, had lashed out and driven her away.
He wanted to be mad, wanted to be seething at her accusations and aching to pace the flat and maybe throw her coffee mug at a wall. He wasn't though. He just felt empty, like some part of him had walked out of the door when she had.
It didn't make sense. She was always just going to be a temporary partner, a fleeting presence in his life. Why should he care that they parted on less than cordial terms? He had his cut of the money and two impressive heists to add to his CV. He did not need Rose or her approval or good opinion. After all, he'd made it very clear to her before she left that he had no desire to continue their partnership or listen to her advice.
John propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. There was no way around the knowledge that he'd fucked up. All the words he'd spat at Rose kept echoing in his head, making him cringe. Looking back it was obvious that Rose had been trying her best to not bring up his past and tiptoe around volatile subjects the entire time they'd been working together. She'd pushed trust because that was something that was both relevant to their situation and important to her and he'd even snapped at her for that, had betrayed the trust she offered him time and time again.
He wasn't going to magically become an open book just because she looked at him with those big brown eyes but he could see now that he had made things much more difficult than they needed to be. And by failing to realize this until the middle of their argument and then refusing to budge on his point even when he knew he was wrong, he had essentially killed any chance of ever having Rose in his life again.
That thought made the emptiness he was feeling intensify, made him ache. He barked out a strained laugh. Wasn't this just great? He had been the one adamant that this be a walkaway and here he was, distraught that he was never going to see his blonde partner again.
Jerkily, he stood up and strode towards the kitchen, ignoring her half-full coffee mug still on the counter. Foregoing his own mug as well, he grabbed the coffee pot and snagged the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and headed back to the couch to drink both of them. There was no way he was going back to his room where the sheets still smelled like her, like them, even if passing out in bed and avoiding reality for the rest of the day sounded like a fine option. The couch would have to do.
John opened the whiskey and poured until the ratio in the coffee pot was somewhere near half coffee, half whiskey. He recapped the liquor and set it on the floor. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself, and then took a drink from the pot. He swallowed the concoction with a grimace. It was caustic and a crime against both good coffee and good whiskey but it was exactly what he deserved this morning.
He took a second sip and hoped that the vile mix would distract him from the ghosts of the words she had said to him as she walked out of his life that still lingered in the air.
John was a quarter of the way through the pot and well into tipsy territory when there was a knock on the door. He was considering the merits of getting up and answering the still unlocked door when the telltale scratching sound of someone picking the lock reached his ears.
There was only one person he knew that would knock before proceeding to pick his lock. John put the coffee pot on the floor and hid his face in his hands. How the hell was he going to explain this mess to Jack? He had no illusions about whose side the man would take. He was closer to Rose and even if he wasn't, John was pretty sure he was firmly in the wrong here. Not completely and solely at fault, but definitely in the wrong.
John heard Jack curse when he realized that his lockpicking had only succeeded in locking the door instead of unlocking it. "You lovebirds better be decent by the time I get in there," he called. "On second thought, no need for that. I've been trying to see both of you naked for ages so please don't get dressed on my account."
There was a small sound of triumph as the lock back and Jack swung the door open. "I brought pastries since I figured the two of you wouldn't want to lea-" he cut off when he caught sight of John and his dejected position on the couch. A quick glance around the room revealed a nearly empty bottle of whiskey next to a coffee pot that was about two-thirds full and a conspicuous absence of one blonde thief.
"What the hell happened?" Jack asked finally, taking a few steps into the sitting room.
John raised his head just enough to make eye contact with Jack. "I fucked up," he said bluntly.
Jack took in the hacker's bloodshot eyes and the way they kept skittering away from him like he was afraid to make eye contact with Jack for too long. "At least you're admitting it," Jack said with false cheer. "With the job or with Rose?"
"With Rose. Job went perfectly, told you that already."
"Just checking," Jack answered, suppressing a smile at the tiny hint of John's normal arrogance. He moved to put the bag of pastries on the coffee table and moved to grab a barstool from the kitchen. "Nice touch with the business cards by the way. No idea what "Team TARDIS means or where the two of you came up with those names but the cops are very confused and I can only imagine that the Agency is as well."
"That was the point," John answered absently. He'd almost forgotten about the cards and remembering the meaning of the acronym on them and the argument that had led to it being created made the emptiness in his chest ache again.
"I'm guessing they were Rose's idea? Seemed like something she would come up with." Jack asked, grabbing the pastries as he sat in the barstool he'd dragged into the sitting room. He pulled a chocolate croissant out and bit into it while waiting for John's reply.
"Yeah, she came up with them."
"So, the two of you had a lover's spat this morning?" Jack queried, broaching the topic at last. He knew both of his friends could be hot tempered and wasn't too surprised that they were clashing wills again.
"I'm not sure 'spat' covers it," John admitted, running a hand down his face.
Jack raised an inquiring eyebrow, mouth full of flaky pastry again.
"Was more like a knockdown, drag out shouting match," he explained with a wince.
That earned him a hard stare as Jack swallowed his bite. "Start from the beginning," he said, voice hard.
John swallowed hard and took a slug of his coffee/whiskey mixture and started telling Jack about the fight. He gave a brief rundown of their previous fights about trust and sharing and working together and then moved onto that morning's event. He didn't look at Jack as he outlined the argument and some of the things that each of them had said.
"I knew I'd lost the argument about halfway through," he said when he'd finished the rundown. He ran a hand back and forth over the top of his head. "I knew that I should concede the point and stop talking but I didn't. I just kept making it worse and wouldn't admit that I was wrong at all and she left."
"You're an idiot," Jack said, anger bubbling under his steady tone of voice.
"I know."
"Like a massive idiot. She was completely right to walk out on your sorry ass."
"Jack, I know." John stood up, unable to contain his frustration any longer. He started pacing as he talked. "I fucked it all up and I've spent all morning moping and sulking and drinking because I'll probably never be able to fix it. Probably won't ever see her again and even if I did I don't know how to apologize or if she'd even let me."
He took a deep breath, trying to think past the buzz of alcohol in his head and kept talking. "I was the one who kept insisting that I didn't want to see her again, didn't want to work with her and I think I knew it was a lie but I fought against it and did this," he swept his arm out to indicate the empty flat and the shouted words that seemed to float like tangible specters in the air. "I pushed her into leaving and now I can't stop thinking about how much I wish she was still here because I feel empty and it's her fault."
He kept pacing, not noticing the expression on Jack's face shifting or that he was getting up. "I'm a bloody mess, Jack. I'm half drunk and it's not even noon and I just want to tell her that I was wro-"
He was cut off by Jack's fist making contact with his jaw.
John stumbled back a few paces and pressed his fingers to the tender spot that was bound to bruise in a few minutes. He levelled a glare at Jack. "What the hell was that for?"
"Because you really, really deserved it and I needed you to shut up for a minute."
John couldn't argue with the logic of either of those reasons.
"Now, you know you were being a right ass to Rose," Jack started. "You probably were pretty much the entire time you were working together except when you were flirting. It sounds like Rose called you out on it multiple times."
He waited for John to nod his head in confirmation.
"Apparently though, her yelling at you today got it through that thick skull of yours that you were wrong about at least some of your asshole behavior and your rambling about wanting to fix it and see her again is the only reason you're only getting punched once."
John swallowed hard. "That's fair," he said finally after meeting Jack's gaze for a few seconds and seeing nothing but honesty in them.
"Damn right it is. Now, I don't want to leave when my two best friends are on the outs with each other, not when there's the potential for the two of you to be friends and having lots of sex instead. You did have lots of sex last night, right?"
John just glared at his friend, not wanting to dignify that with an answer.
"Spoilsport. Anyways, I'd much rather leave at a time where I can imagine gorgeous images of the two of you together instead of having to wonder if you've killed each other."
"Don't you leave tomorrow?" John asked.
Jack nodded.
"No offense, Jack, but it would probably take a miracle for Rose to even halfway forgive me before tomorrow."
"I'm somewhat of an expert at miracles," Jack said with a wink.
"Fake miracles don't count," John shot back, knowing exactly what past con Jack was referring to. He'd been roped into helping with that one somewhere along the line. "Even if they are verified by the church. Still fake."
"Do I need to call you a spoilsport again?"
"Seriously Jack, I don't think you can manage to orchestrate a reconciliation between me and Rose before you leave."
"I think the two of you just need to have it out again and you're probably going to need to grovel. A lot. Lots of groveling. But I think it can happen."
John just looked at him skeptically.
"What? Rose is stubborn but she does tend to listen if you insist upon it. She's forgiving, she might give you another chance."
"I insulted her in just about every manner possible and she sounded like her mind was made up when she said she was done with me," John argued, unable to resist playing devil's advocate even though he desperately hoped that Jack was right.
"Do you want to give up without even trying?"
"No," John admitted grudgingly.
"That's settled then," Jack said brushing his hands against each other.
"What exactly is settled?"
"That you're going to talk to Rose and beg forgiveness for being an ass and picking fights with her all the time."
"She's not going to let me if I just show up at her place. Which I don't even know where said flat is, actually." John pointed out.
"Well, I'm about to go take my best friend some pastries and probably listen to her yell and comfort her since she's likely upset because her partner was an absolute dick to her. If I happen to be followed by a certain hacker, it's not my fault that I led him straight to her door."
Said hacker rolled his eyes. "You actually think this will work? Me showing up unannounced and trying to convince her that I know I was wrong?"
"Maybe," Jack answered in an overly cheerful voice. "I live in eternal hope."
John narrowed his eyes. "Just how likely do you think this plan is to work?"
"Umm, 65%? Maybe 60?"
"Encouraging," he said dryly.
"But the odds are still in your favor so that's good."
"Might as well get it over with," John decided. He moved over to the couch and picked up the liquor bottle and coffee pot and took them back to the kitchen. He set them on the counter and then walked towards the door and picked his leather jacket up from where it had been discarded in the entryway the previous night.
"Alright, give me at least fifteen minutes with her before you come in," Jack said, raking a critical eye over John. "I'll clear out within a few minutes once you do come in so that the two of you can work things out on your own."
John nodded sharply and tugged on the lapels of his jacket. He wanted another sip of the whiskey he'd left on the counter but his head was almost clear again and he needed it to stay that way if he was going to face Rose.
Plus, there wasn't much left and he was going to need every drop of it later if Rose told him to piss off as she was likely to do.
Here goes nothing, he thought as he followed Jack out the door, locking it behind him. This visit was likely going to save him or destroy him and it was all in the hands of the big, bad wolf.