alphalogs | operation: oh, yeah, it totally happened

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operation: oh, yeah, it totally happened

WHO: Jack Harkness, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, and open options coming
WHAT: the three watch news of the riot be suppressed, and do something about it
WHEN: daycycle 127 & 128
WHERE: the clubhouse, the Teela show, other places

Jack watches, waits, expecting to see something about the riot. Nothing comes. So he continues to wait. He asks around, vague enough to keep himself off the radar. He hopes. No one is talking about it. Not really. He waits through two days of nothing, and then he reaches out. To Clint and Natasha. Which... all right, they could blow him off, they have no reason not to. They don't, though. They meet with him, listen to his idea, and are actually game. Which is one of the best silver linings Jack's had in a while.

They work out a rough plan, take the next day to perfect it, and then it's go time. Ready or not, they need to move. Every day that passes, the riot gets closer to being something no one will care about, the violence against them gets closer to being something no one will care about.

It's a pretty solid plan, he thinks. Well, it's the best they can come up with, and it might actually work.

OPEN OPTION

On Daycycle 128, Jack is to the hospital after he collapses during the interview with Clint and Natasha. When his doctors insist on knowing what's happened to him, he will begrudgingly admit that the injuries he sustained during the riot turned out to be more than he could handle and he was too embarrassed to seek treatment. His doctors patch him up, and he's sure that some version of his story is being relayed to Friend Computer. He just hopes he's thought of every angle, that it holds water, and that he'll be able to keep CLint and Natasha from getting into trouble if it doesn't.

From about 1400 on, he's given a positive prognosis and cleared to be able to receive visitors. Given that most of the Specials have no idea that he did this all to himself, he's prepared to field some concerned friends and already thinking of ways to assure them that he's all right. Morgana in particular. Part of him wishes he could have told her, but a much larger part knows she's safer not knowing. He still hates to do it to her. She deserves a better friend than him. Clint and Natasha may stop by. It was supposed to be a surprise to them, too, after all.

[[OOC: If you have any questions about what went down, as it's still being written out, feel free to ask them here and I will get right on that. Also, if your character would come to visit Jack, please let me know what time they would get there so I can figure out the timeline. Thanks!]]

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It’s taken them longer than Jack would have liked to find the time to prepare for this, but he’s pretty sure they’re ready. Clint and Natasha agree that they’re ready. So it happens tomorrow, before people forget entirely, before the media blackout of the incident makes it as though it never happened. They’re in danger. Real danger. If they don’t have the average citizen on their side, they won’t survive. They certainly won’t escape. So it’s necessary. Which makes it easier to commit to.

They’re done for the evening, as ready as they’re ever going to be. Which, in Jack’s opinion, is pretty damn ready. He’s almost forgotten, these last few decades, how wonderful it is to work with such truly capable people. Natasha leaves first, at Jack’s suggestion that they stagger. That’s not what he’s after, though, and once she’s gone, he taps Clint on the shoulder. “One more thing from you, if you don’t mind.”

Clint fully agrees with staggering their departures, it being something he’s recommended (and practiced) himself, and he’s planning to use the time to check over the weapons stash that’s slowly been accumulating box by box in the Clubhouse. Most of it’s stored in old REDimeal boxes along one wall, a sure problem if the space is discovered, but this is ~~almost~~ the most secure area in Alpha for Specials and they need to be available to all. If the place is found, they’re pretty much all dead anyway, at least.

He doesn’t manage to get far - a couple of steps at most - before Jack is tapping his shoulder and he turns back to the media personality. Media personality, god, what is his life. “What is it?” he asks, not agreeing to anything yet; never say yes before you know what someone wants. He’s got the feeling Jack will understand that, though.

“After this happens… I don’t think Teela will let them pull us entirely. She won’t have anything prepared,” Jack is going to make sure of that. “And she won’t want dead air. The second we’re clear, though, I’m going to be taken to medical. They’ll want to know why this happened, and they won’t accept it if they can’t find a cause. I need to be hurt. Really hurt.”

He glances at the door Natasha just went through. “I need you to hurt me, and I need you to not tell Natasha until we’re finished tomorrow.”

The next morning, Jack feels a little bit like roadkill. Which is a good thing, considering what’s supposed to come next. He puts on a fair amount of his stage makeup himself, doing his best to cover the split lip and the scar on the eyebrow. He knows they’ll still show up on camera. Where he really focuses is the massive bruise on his cheek. That one is key.

He changes alone, before Natasha and Clint show up. When they do arrive, he’s ready, and greets them as though he hasn’t had any real time to speak with them in days. “Perfect,” he gushes. “Right on time, thanks so much. You guys got the list of possible questions I sent you, right? I’ll try not to throw you any curve balls, but we’ll see how the audience responds and what answers get the best reaction and adjust on the fly, all right? Just be yourselves, don’t be nervous, it’s going to be great.”

Of course, nothing that he’s saying has any consequence. It’s all for the benefit of the people around them, the ones who will now make his guests camera ready. This carefully planned and organized and choreographed interaction needs to look entirely spontaneous, starting now, before they even get on stage.

Clint’s been asked some weird things in his life - par for the course with S.H.I.E.L.D. Hell, this won’t even be the first time he’s had to beat up a partner (or potential partner in Jack’s case) to make a more convincing argument; he’s even made the same request himself once before, awhile ago. The whole thing makes sense, but there’s a few questions or remarks filtering through his mind, so he’s gonna ask them before he agrees to go through with it.

“How’re you gonna explain it, then? Because you know she’s gonna put it together that something happened, and she knows how I hit people.” Really indelicate way to put it, but it’s true. “It’s been two days since the riot and medical forces were on the scene almost immediately, so why’re you still untreated when you’re a big… celebrity… around this place? How’re you gonna explain to the people you work with why you’re suddenly walking around with fresh wounds? Nat’s gonna notice it, too, since she just saw you. What’s the cover story?”

Clint’s already had a more exciting morning than anyone had planned on, since he’d been selected for the duty for the day and had had to get it done before this appearance. Fighting off psychotic animal robots isn’t exactly something he’s done before - but hey, he’s done something like that before, and at least these things weren’t intelligent. Given his marksmanship skills, it hadn’t been all that difficult or taken nearly as long as some people probably thought it would, but when he walks in he’s still got three scratches down his arm from one of the petbots that got in close in what was almost a zerg rush. It’s the only injury he’s sporting, though.

It’s Jack looking so pulled together that it’s almost like he was never injured - not to mention the “go over” they’d done on him the night before - that every claim he’d made about being able to hide what he wanted or act his way past it is automatically vindicated. While Clint isn’t able to think of him as “inner circle” yet, Jack’s performance has put him firmly in “ally” territory. Settling into one of his normal roles as “everyday guy” is easy for Clint, and he looks around the studio with a mildly confused expression as if he’s never seen any of this stuff before. Of course that’s a lie, but they’re going for normal, approachable - having one of them be just a little off-kilter and unsure about this whole thing, all this attention, makes it look more authentic, and it’s not like he hasn’t pulled this role a lot in the past. “Yeah, we got it - jeez, you really work here? This is kind of crazy.”

Morgana didn't often pay much mind to the "shows" on their devices and otherwise unused screens that were littered throughout the Complex, especially not of late with her work so far beyond her skill level it wasn't even funny anymore. Sometimes she catches a minute or two, some overly sweet endorsement of the Computer's favourite person today, or the shops that sprang up from time to time. Occasionally her friends were roped into doing something for the entertainment of the Complex.

And then there was Jack, who seemed to find himself more and more time on that woman's show. Usually, she just listens, comforted by the familiar tone of his voice as she sorts through equipment she doesn't understand or even know how to properly name, glancing up at the flickering screen now and then.

But he looks off, today... and then he collapsed, and so did the pile of (thankfully metal) containers she was holding.

If she had her way, she would've been out of her job on the spot, but the Computer was somewhat insistent about getting the plants to be more productive, so it's only when work is done she can manage to sprint her way from Hydroponics to the hospital, stopping for a moment in orange to make sure he wasn't tucked away in there somewhere by then.

Jack wasn't, of course, but he was at the hospital and she nearly bowled over a couple of nurses finding his room, stopping at the threshold all of a sudden because this is much too familiar these days. This couldn't keep happening. It was ridiculous. Her friends were good people, none of them deserved this. Not even a little.

'Jack?' was the only tentative word that came out of Morgana's lips as she slowly took one step, then another inside the room, almost afraid of what she might find this time. Steve had been okay, but that was Steve, he was stubborn enough to survive almost anything with a smile. Jack seemed more like a gamble, somehow.

Edited 2017-03-08 06:02 (UTC)

“After the riot, I refused medical treatment. I didn’t need it, others did.” Jack shrugs. “I haven’t done anything too strenuous since then. Lifting Natasha, that’ll be what sets it off. She’s heavy enough, people will buy it. I need you to puff up the cuts on my lip and eyebrow, because they can’t cover those with makeup, and I need a good bruise somewhere on my face. That’s not what I’m talking about, though.”

He plucks at the unflattering bright orange of his jumpsuit. “These hideous things finally come in useful, and no one has seen me naked. I’ll tell people I didn’t want to admit the failing, that I didn’t want to seem… weak. The people that I work with? I guarantee they’ll buy that. Everyone just waiting for the first hint of blood in the water. It’s sick. They might think I’m stupid, and that’s fine, but they won’t think I’m lying. Don’t break skin. Deep tissue damage. If we don’t tell Natasha what you did, she won’t have to make the choice of whether or not to hurt me. I don’t think she’d hesitate, but this way she won’t have to take that on.”

Jack was not actually that high any more, but he figured he should be. He wasn't sure how much the doctors here knew about him, what his body did. He didn't want to open that particular can of worms if he didn't have to. So he grinned slowly at Morgana and held out his hand. "Don't frown, baby girl. You'll give yourself wrinkles. I'm fine. Everything is fine."

He would have found it very strange if no one was watching him right now, so he laid it on a little thick. "They took great care of me. You wouldn't believe how good they are here. I feel fantastic. Promise."

The eye-roll that “no one has seen me naked” prompts isn’t something he hides, because even though Clint doesn’t get into the gossip and all that crap, he’s heard enough - he’s read enough thanks to that message board-type post that ran around the Specials network a couple weeks back - to know that that line is ...well, probably not a lie, but definitely a rarity. Jack seems to really enjoy taking his clothes off according to just about everyone, but right now that’s not at all important in the grand scheme of this particular scheme.

“Media,” is all Clint says in response to that little speech, but with the inflection that he knows possibly more about the sharks that trend towards jobs in the news or entertainment than he lets on. Those comments about Nat he tucks away for later, though, because that’s kind of an odd thing to say about his partner. Not that he doesn’t agree with Jack’s assessment, but the fact that he doesn’t want her to “take that on…” Interesting way to put it. But for now, he reaches down to pull the baton out of his boot, flicking his wrist to extend it to full length. It’s a good match for the pipes the attackers were using in the actual riot, which is part of why he’d been less worried about himself after that than the people toting around clearly non-regulation firearms. “Long as you’re willing to put up with it, okay. What do you want where, or should I just pick a place and start?”

Jack chuckles a little, and begins unfastening the top of his jumpsuit. When Clint’s expression shifts slightly, he clicks his tongue. “Easy, tiger.” Bare from the waist up, he stops, tying the sleeves loosely around his waist. There are very faint healing bruises on his skin, mostly on his back from protecting Prim, and he turns to show them to Clint. “Go over these bruises again. The footage of the fight hasn’t surfaced, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone. Any injury I have, they should be able to trace back to the riot.”

It feels like her heart has been paused in her chest for hours when he finally smiles and speaks to her. Only then does she really take a breath as the slow walk turns back into a jog as she crosses what little remains of the distance between them and she takes his hand in hers.

'What happened?' There are a million questions that float in her head. Who did this to you?, How?, Why go on that stupid show if you weren't well? but they stick to her lips like honey that's been left out in the cold. Jack had his reasons for going on the television programme like that, he had his reasons for almost anything - aside, perhaps, from the soft affection he showed.

That didn't mean Morgana didn't worry, or that her free hand doesn't go to his face, to brush gently along his cheek. Too many of them were getting hurt of late, it had to stop before they were outright murdered in their beds.

The only reason Natasha had even agreed to this mess was because Jack sold it well, and she's sticking to that story. It has nothing to do with the fact that she's seen the world that he comes from now, and seen pieces of his humanity that he seems to purposefully keep to himself for the sake of appearance. It has nothing to do with the fact that she finds him so relatable, after that. Nothing at all.

She's noticed the scratches on Clint's arm but she's also aware that he was called for a mission that morning, and if anything serious had taken place she trusts that he'd tell her. If he didn't, well… either it wasn't that important, or he has a damn good reason to hide it. Very few people have earned the right to escape Natasha's questioning, but Clint is certainly one of them. Jack, however, is not, and when she first sees him, the split lip is a glaring red flag. For a moment she gives him a look - one that says 'what did you do' - but she says nothing aloud. Now isn't the time. They're here to do a performance after all, in more ways than one.

"Whatever questions you think are appropriate, we're just here to follow your lead." She responds cordially with a warm smile, and when Clint comments about their surroundings she takes that as a cue to let her eyes wander as well. "This is all so exciting," she admits, a completely faux undertone of eagerness in her voice, and when her eyes move back to Jack she gives a well humored wrinkle of her nose. "I'm kind of nervous." God, this is already making her sick.

"Knock, knock!" Izzy bumps her knuckles against the door of Jack's room lightly before walking in, her eyes seeking out the familiar face of the charismatic man that she's definitely already managed to form a fondness for. Unlike a lot of the people whispering in the hospital, she didn't see what happened on her PDC. She was a little bit too focused on the bodies that have piled up here recently, going over the results of the testing that she's done, and trying to figure out what she's missed....and what the person that she stepped in to help might have been missing before her

Then there's the fact that she can't seem to quite...remember exactly who she was helping. It's the strangest feeling, like a name is on the tip of her tongue, and the remnants of a personality feel familiar. It lets Izzy know that she's missing something, that something's been done to alter her memory. And she doesn't like it, but there's not much of anything she can do about it right now, instead focusing on Jack--the talk of the entire hospital.

"Every other little birdie in the hospital was talking about you being here, so I thought you could use a familiar, friendly face." Izzy comments as she approaches the bed, putting her hand on Jack's arm, automatically as she takes in his appearance, with concern, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to his forehead as both a greeting and because she can't quite help but be fond of him. Plus, seeing that he's okay....it's a relief. Granted, there are more advanced medical practice at work here that she hasn't even had the chance to look into yet, but right now Jack's a little more important than that. Checking on him, despite everything else that's on her plate is kind of a necessity at the moment, even if it's before he's really been given the okay for visitors. There are some perks to being a staff member in the hospital. This is definitely one.

And even though Izzy has more to say, she holds back. After all, you don't come in full-force when someone's in the hospital and hurt. Even though Iz has definitely heard more gossip throughout the hospital that she plans to share. And she definitely has more to say.

Edited 2017-03-10 04:25 (UTC)

“Excellent!” Jack claps his hands together and rubs them. “That’s the spirit.” He hasn’t missed Natasha’s glance at his face, or the question she didn’t ask. “You’ll get used to it, I promise.” He directs this mostly at Clint, but includes the both of them. “Everyone here is wonderful, and we just want to put on a good show for our audience. They deserve the best from us, after all.” He introduces them to hair and makeup people with thoughtful personal details.

Then he leans in closer to the mirror, dabs a bit of additional concealer on the line of broken flesh that extends just beyond his lip. “I feel like this is going to show up on camera no matter what we do.” His tone is upset, a touch remorseful. “I’m so sorry, Marcia. I just keep making your job difficult, don’t I?” He may be speaking to his makeup woman, but the quick glance at Nat, then straight to Clint’s hand, hopefully conveys his meaning. Have to make it look good, by which he means bad.

He squeezes her fingers between his, trying to be encouraging. "I got hurt during the riot and I pushed myself too far. It was stupid. I didn't want to let anyone down. I'm sorry." She's such a sweet girl. "Come here." He holds out his arm, motioning her toward him for a hug. One, because he knows it will make her feel better, and two, because it'll let him whisper something in her ear with the certainty he's not being overheard.

The specific injury aside, this whole situation was such a repeat of Steve being in the hospital that it feels almost like deja vu. Morgana swallows, fingers tightening around his for a few moments, and like she had with Steve, she hesitates - if only still for a second.

Izzy might have been right in that she couldn't be sure she would see these things coming if she had her horrible dreams back, but it's possible she could have which is enough to stir the embers of guilt in her heart back to a low flame. She hated this place, hated home, hated her powers, hated not having them... it seemed even as she sunk down into his arms that she would never be satisfied, and the people she cared about would never be safe.

'You never said you were hurt enough to collapse.' she said quietly into his shoulder. There had been enough injuries to go around, but she would've hoped he wouldn't be quite so stupid as to risk hurting himself more. Not so soon.

There’s another eyerolling at Jack’s quip, but by now Clint’s got the idea that although a lot of that flirtatiousness is a real, genuine part of Jack’s personality, it’s also somewhat of a cover for other things. What those things are, he’s not sure yet, but in the long run it doesn’t matter: Jack wants out of here as badly as they do, and is willing to work to achieve that goal. He lets the comment go by without saying anything, judging those bruises and wondering how often Jack had thrown himself in front of pipes in that riot. Score another point for him: he was willing to take the blows for other people. That or he’s just really bad at getting out of the way of an attack, but that didn’t fit with what Clint himself had witnessed. He’s judging the bruises with a professional eye, pulling up his memories of Jack from the fight, short as they were, and placing him in the layout of the commissary in comparison to the cameras in the area. “Were you buried under anyone in the fight, or were you always visible?” If there was a point, even a short one, where Jack hadn’t been seen, they could take advantage of it. “And I’m not gonna hit you in the face with this - cheekbone’s gonna be the best place for that, you’ll still be able to talk and it bruises really spectacularly. But I can punch you, elbow you, or knee you there. A baton’s just too risky on a bone that fragile.”

“Ahh, you’ll be fine, Nat,” Clint says, reaching for her hand to give it a quick squeeze before he allows himself to be manhandled around the area to some degree, going where Jack steers him and submitting to the demands of the hair and makeup people who at least don’t seem like insane chatterbots. Maybe a little overenthusiastic, but nowhere near as bad as Teela - he’d pretty much clammed up in the self-defense session she’d purchased in the auction at the ball, since she’d kept asking him question after question after question he wasn’t willing to answer. He’d mentioned it to Jack the night before, but now he wonders if Teela had mentioned it (or complained about it, more likely) herself. That could be interesting, how she deals with seeing him again…

But for the moment that’s moot. Clint always avoided cameras at home as much as he could, even (or especially) after he became an Avenger, but the process is not unfamiliar to him even if Nat’s a lot more used to it. In his persona of “everyman” he puts up a token protest about the on-camera makeup but ends up “caving” relatively quickly, letting the girl working on him put on the stuff that honestly makes his skin crawl a little. He plays that up, making a face - partially to hide his reaction to Jack’s quick glances. It’s insanely obvious - to them - what he’s talking about. “You get that in the riot a few daycycles ago?” A natural introduction to the topic, giving Jack another stage to perform on.

“I figure we can get away with two good hits the cameras won’t be able to find. Don’t want to push it. Plans for those, though. I kept my joints pretty well guarded, and I think a knee buckle is a good way to go for falling with Natasha. Something for internal damage, too. I’m thinking a kidney?” Though he’s open to suggestions. “To reopen my lip and eyebrow and get some swelling going, we could maybe brace the baton against them and you could give it a good hit with the flat of your hand. Don’t need much there. Cheekbone is probably best with a fist. I got hit in the face a few times.”

He looks back over his shoulder at Clint. “Is this making you uncomfortable? I can’t do it myself, but I can… try to figure something else out.” He knows he’s asking a lot, and an uncomfortable lot at that.

At Clint's reassurance Natasha gives him a smile, one filled with affection that, ironically, she's only given to Clint and only when they're performing in this sort of situation. "At least you're here, I don't know if I'd be able to do it alone." No, really. She feels sick.

She follows Jack to hair and makeup with Clint, sitting in the chair that she's guided to, and when Jack gives that glance (obvious… it's so obvious to her what he means) there's a slight touch of heat to her next smile. She doesn't need any more information than what was just given; Clint split his lip, he's probably responsible for the eyebrow as well and the very slight change in Jack's gait. The idiots worked together to give Jack a proper beating. She isn't sure if she's more angry at the stupidity of it, or proud of the underlying brilliance.

It isn't hard for her to play her part, Natasha's played this game dozens of times before. She gives Clint an excited little tap on the arm when she 'realizes' that she's about to get a full makeover, and she lovingly scolds him every time he makes weak protest or face while their makeup is being applied. It doesn't take long for her to reach over, her hand resting on Clint's arm to 'relax' him, and it stays there as her eyes move to look at Jack in the mirror. "I think that it looks alright," she comments hesitantly, eyes then moving to the woman doing her makeup. "Is it more obvious on camera? I barely noticed it."

Jack hums his agreement. “That sweet girl, Prim. She got cut off from the exit. I didn’t have enough free hands.” He looks at Natasha in the mirror, smiles. “You’re sweet to say so. I thought it was getting better, but I fell asleep face down.” He speaks to the two of them as though they aren’t surrounded by people he knows will gossip. “Better me than her, but I could have done without the whole thing.”

The entire process is relatively painless, although Natasha would have done her makeup and hair differently, and she properly sells how excited she is to look so good despite the fact that this is the first time since the dance that she's even managed to get makeup and it's all wrong. "How do I look?" She looks at Clint directly with a playful wink before her attention turns back to Jack. "What now? Do we go to the set?"

“Too many things can go wrong with kidneys - do you still have a spleen, or an appendix? The medical team here can probably fix anything wrong, but I’d rather not risk it if we can help it.” This is going to be a delicate job, and Clint’s taking a long moment to study the bruises on Jack’s back, the direction they’re angled, the depth they reached. “You’re really lucky you didn’t crack the tenth thoracic vertebra, you know that? One of those assholes may’ve hit your pancreas, too. Hope you made them pay.”

Nodding at Jack’s suggestion about locations and degree of injury, Clint starts to raise the baton for the first hit - before he’s interrupted by Jack’s question. There’s a moment of quiet as Clint process that rather odd question before just going for the blunt answer. “No. Look, you’re doing it for all of us here, right? You’re trying to keep everyone safe. If you get hurt, you get hurt, and if getting hurt means that things’re better for someone else, you’ll do it. Right? It’s better to get me to do it than someone who’s not used to this kind of thing. Long as it’s not some kind of fetish thing, it’s no problem. Ready?”

Jack chuckles and turns back around, bracing one arm on the wall. “Oh, no, that involves a lot more leather. Maybe a ball gag. Definitely more time than we have now.” He’s not sure if Clint intentionally gave him the opening to take a poke at him, but if he did, it’s sweet. Most people would be pretty nervous about this. It’s a natural response. Most people have a life they can actually lose. Jack is not nervous. Pain and death are familiar, and have lost their sting. “We can talk additional hits when we’ve covered the bruises I do have. A lot depends on how much more I can take.” Not because he thinks there’s a limit, but people like to hear that. Though, Clint might be special in that regard, too. Jack supposes he’ll find out.

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Page 1 of 3

operation: oh, yeah, it totally happened

evening of 127, for Clint

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daycycle 128, for Natasha and Clint

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~ 1620 on 128?

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Day 128 Prior to Visiting Hours

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