operation: oh, yeah, it totally happened

[fixedpointintime]

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!]]

Comments

[pretendtoneedme]

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.

[fixedpointintime]

“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.”

[pretendtoneedme]

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?”

[fixedpointintime]

“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.”

[pretendtoneedme]

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?”

[fixedpointintime]

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.”

[pretendtoneedme]

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.”

[fixedpointintime]

“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.

[pretendtoneedme]

“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?”

[fixedpointintime]

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.

[pretendtoneedme]

That opening definitely wasn’t intentional as Jack would likely figure out by Clint raising his off hand to smack his forehead. He should’ve guessed, he really should have. But too late now, and anyway it doesn’t matter. Maybe he should be nervous about this, but Clint’s been an agent too long to not recognize the benefits that a little playing to expectations brings with it. If people underestimate the Specials - or just have the wrong view of them entirely, given how many of them have some form of martial training or military-type history - it’s all for the best. Distract them, throw them off the scent.

“All right, brace up.” Because he’s not going to be pulling his swings too much. Hopefully Jack will grab onto something, because Clint doesn’t hesitate to bring his baton in in a fast arc to hit the first of the bruises, with the exact angle and direction the faded pattern reveals to him. He doesn’t leave much time between hits either, since it often hurts more (or at least feels like it does) if the pain fades away before getting started again, rather than just blurring into one whole. He resets his feet, angles his hand a different direction, and swings for the next bruise.

[fixedpointintime]

Jack grits his teeth as the first blow hits, plants his other hand against the wall, too. The second blow has him cursing, as does the third. “Not yelling at you,” he bites out. “Just-- Son of a bitch.” He laughs darkly and shakes his head. “You’re too fucking good with that.”

It’s necessary, and he’s not going to blame Clint. He’s just doing what Jack asked him to. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to get called some nasty names in the process, because there’s no one else to direct the anger at, and he hates that this is something he feels like he needs to do.