[Jack Harkness and John Hart: Captains]

[more_flexible]

Jack stepped out of the SUV and onto the Strip. Owen's coordinates had been dead on. Jack could almost taste the energy left hanging in the air from the fracture. He looked around, far enough down the Strip that there were no casinos. Just dive bars that advertised dancers of all levels of dress, tattoo parlors, and wedding chapels

Comments

[captainjohnhart]

The place was dead-bloody-deserted, though traces of life remained. And traces of the end of it, as well. Glass was shattered, flooring was marred, and the body of a twenty-something girl lay motionless and bleeding from a hole in her head. It was beautiful, really, and the colors were sharp like they were tampered with in a photo editing software.

Red and sharp as the blood that crept its way outward on the hardwood flooring was the jacket that the man wore the way some wore a badge. The gold cord spoke of his status as captain, and the braiding that wound the chest told that it was from the Napoleonic War. Italian leather boots were propped on the metal of the footrest that ran across the bar, and English were the movements and mannerisms that made up Captain John Hart.

Shot number three in a line of about 15 was down the hatch. He was waiting. The squeal of tires told him that his wait was over, and without turning toward the noise of it, he smiled, and the smile stayed through the consumption of the fourth shot.

[more_flexible]

Jack approached the door, then hesitated. He knew, just knew who was waiting on the other side. Hesitated, waited for the bullet to come tearing through the wood and glass. Devious bastard.

Long enough. Long enough to not get shot, that was all he waited, then he pushed open the door and stepped inside. His greatcoat fell open as he spread his feet and stood like a wall as cowering people crept out behind him, heading for the safety of some other bar where there wasn't a madman dressed like a relic.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

This had been a long time coming.

[captainjohnhart]

The last of the civilians were out, and in place of an eager swing of the neck came a slow, slight tilt in Jack's direction. He still had the coat. And John still had his. My, my, how things were not fit to change.

Jack stood tall like a superhero in period dress, and in lieu of laughter that would certainly break the American West-style showdown that was about to take place, John, curled the corners of his mouth into a sick smile. The only sound that could be heard in the bar was the click of really fucking nice shoes moving to the center of the room, and the snap of John's dual holsters opening.

Captain Jack Whatever He Was Calling Himself. How a Vortex Manipulator was never wrong.

[more_flexible]

It would have been impossible not to watch him, the way he moved with that predatory grace and confidence of someone who simply Did Not Give A Fuck. There was only one thing in his way.

Snap-snap, Jack's eyes darted down to the holsters. Two to his one, and autos to his revolver. Stupid. Stupid to think he was going to leave this bar with the secret in tact.

He pushed his coat back, hooking it behind his own holster, looked Captain John Who Should Have Stayed Away over, head to toe, and started walking toward him with the confident stride, the implied swagger, the billowing wool...

And he knew this time the crowd of one wasn't going to yield an inch.

Meanwhile...

[more_flexible]

Tosh: *sighing* It doesn't mean you're small.
Owen: I know that. Just don't want no nasty rumours going 'round.
Toshiko Sato There aren't any rumours, i'm sure
Owen Harper, M.D. *frowns down at his beeping Palm pilot and hits a few touches* Did you see the activity on the rift last night?
deense: Tosh Yes. *yawns* I've barely slept because of it

Re: Meanwhile...

[more_flexible]

Toshiko Sato *glaring at him and yet pretending she'd never lagged behind* I don't know. I want to

[torchwood_twat]

A quick phone call landed Owen, Tosh, and Suzie in front of a bar, silent and plotting. Wordless was the key. For all Owen liked to talk, he was second in command, and he knew that stealth was important. And he was a little bit less than sober. Really, he'd had an unnecessary amount of lager, but he was standing up, thinking clearly (well, as clearly as was permitted) and he was signaling for Tosh to follow around back.

The sound of gunshots and a calling out were what brought Owen out from behind the wall, gun drawn, and he expected Tosh to follow. He was all business as he sidled up closer.

"Alright, Jack?" He looked to his left and saw a dead girl. Instinct had his legs itching to go toward her, but he stayed as he was, gun trained on the oddly-dressed stranger.

[no_cell_made]

Tosh did follow, her gun out, not knowing what to expect. What she hadn't expected was this, not the dead girl, or the bar that had been trashed, those were commonplace. It was the man with Jack...

Tosh felt her attention drifting toward him and snapped back to attention, her gun pointed up, looking from Jack to Owen, and not at the other.

[more_flexible]

Suzie came in from the back, solid and strong with the grace of a dancer. Her gun was level, steady, and there was no doubt about it...she'd shoot without feeling. She might even get a chance to try the glove again.

Jack stepped forward and held out his hands to both sides. "It's okay," he barked, a little irritated that they showed up late...more irritated they'd come at all. Still, his team was his team and he knew what to expect from them.

"It's all right, put them down." Then more firmly, begging no arguement, "Put. Them. Down."

[captainjohnhart]

John reached for his other gun and had one trained on each side, sure he was quick enough to take down the one with the frizzy hair (she would look good naked) and then the other two without a--

"Well," he said to Tosh, offering a charming smile. "Aren't you just the prettiest thing I ever did see?" She was shy. Vulnerable. Prone to deception. The Agency Textbook Definition of a target. And she was gorgeous.

Jack's response to them had John smiling. Grinning. It was terrifying.

"This your team? You've got a team? Wonder how you pay 'em," John said, not daring to lower his guns. "It's sweet. Almost as sweet-looking as her. What's your name, gorgeous?" He addressed Tosh, but deigned a look to Jack.