Sam kept distance between them, lingering back by some trees and trying to make sure he wasn't too close to him. He had an emergency text alert on his phone so if he didn't reply in 30 minutes, Jack would know where he went and who with. He didn't trust Barty, not even for a second. He didn't know what would happen but he really hoped today was the day his power reawakened. If anyone got hurt... he didn't know what he'd do.
"I just... I just wanted to see you." Barty was not used to sounding uncertain. But then, he also wasn't used to rejection or to caring. He noted the bags under Sam's eyes. Wrinkled shirt. He definitely hadn't been sleeping much or well. He assumed it might be because of him and there was sadness and satisfaction at once.
He got up and took one step closer, but then he stayed there. "How's it going? You look good."
There, small talk. No orders, no instructions. He could communicate like a normal person.
"I have work in an hour and this is my jogging time I'm losing so I'm a little annoyed." What was Barty doing? He knew that Barty liked him, for some fucked up reason, but they couldn't do this. Talk like this. Be friends or whatever the fuck he wanted. Well, he knew what he wanted. He wanted a lover. And Sam had fought his way out of that, why the fuck would he go back? Why was he even here?
"How are you, Bartemius?" It was funny sometimes to full name him. He knew he didn't like it. But there, pointless small talk. That's what he wanted apparently.
"I don't know. Lonely, apparently." Bill kept pointing that out, it was kind of starting to feel like a slam. "A bit peeved by whatever your workplace thinks they are doing."
He liked that it made Sam focus on him, of course. He didn't particularly enjoy the feeling of being tracked otherwise, not in any way. "I'm a bit hungry too, I haven't had breakfast yet. Er."
He didn't usually use filler words, but he was trying now. Would it work? He needed to word this well. Not force him. He was trying to not put any force into it. "There's a stand over there. I could buy you coffee. Do you--" He cut himself off, because that didn't always work. If he worded it as a question, it was taken as intent. So he trailed off and simply gestured to the stand and raised his eyebrows.
"Not really, no." He was just being honest. This was free will, whether Barty liked it or not. He was allowed to not want it, even if he saw how careful Barty was. It was just impossible. To get close, to accept things from him. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to be around someone who left him constantly on edge. How was he supposed to handle it?
And there he was, being all careful and he hated it, he fucking hated it, because he didn't know. He didn't know if he liked him or not. He didn't know why he felt bad for him. Why he liked him? It was a mystery. Seemed fake, honestly.
"You can buy breakfast, I can walk with you. It's a compromise." There. He could meet him in a middle. "I don't drink coffee until I'm at work anyway, I always have to have one there. Two close together is bad for the heart."
"Let's do that then." And then they were doing that and Barty realised belatedly that maybe he had made him. Damn, this was so annoying. He rubbed his neck and got in line behind people to get breakfast. He really hated lines. He never bothered with them. But here he was, ever so patiently tapping his foot as he crossed his arms.
"That's what people do. Get coffee at work. Then complain about it being bad." He'd heard that around a lot, anyway. "Do you like your work? I miss the uniform..." And the handcuffs. Those two. But, damn, the uniform. Shame Sam got promoted so quickly. "Do you still get a badge at least?"
"I miss my old job too but you sort of soured me on it." Given all the ways they had kinkily ruined the uniform and all the illegal shit that Barty had made him do, he couldn't even set foot in a police station any more. He had blood on his hands because of Barty and Barty didn't even care. Of course he didn't, he had no fucking moral compass. "I have a badge. I help people. As close as I'll ever get to what I had once."
And it was still nowhere close. There was one guy ahead of them now and he was taking his sweet time with his order. He wondered how long Barty could stand it. Waiting. When would he snap? "The coffee at work is good, actually. The guy in charge of the admin stuff is super into coffee as an artform."
"That makes a lot more sense than being into admin stuff." He had to say that. "I tried latte art once. There was a set for it at this place I stayed at."
Not that he knew how good he was at it, but he'd managed a smiley and also a penis, so that was a success as far as he was concerned. He turned to Sam to try and look him in the eye and speak as sincerely as possible. "I'm glad that you get to help people, Sam. You are a good person."
And Barty, of course, was not. But he could be. He could show Sam. Turning his head he watched the guy ahead of them add something else to his damn order and he breathed out slowly through his nose. Calm. Collected. Patient.
"No, I'm not. That's the thing. I'm not. You made me that, remember?" He wasn't a good person. Nothing could make him feel like a good person any more. He always said he had to be whiter than white or no one would trust him, that being a policeman meant nothing unless you were strict. And Barty dragged him so far through the mire that he was more grey now. "It's hard to take back bad things, Barty. You can't just declare yourself a good person and it makes the past go away."
Not for him, not for Barty. They were fucked. He looked at Barty, finally, and met his eyes. He wondered if he had any awareness of that or if he just assumed it was another one of Sam's little pedantic things. "I'll always help people. If they want it and they can accept it, I will help."
"Then you are a good person! You have to-- Fuck!" He cut himself off before he ended up ordering Sam to do anything, pushing past that asshole ahead of him instead. "Cheers, mate. Take your time, why don't you?!"
He wasn't sure whether that would be seen as any kind of instruction. Wasn't as if anyone would be able to tell, anyway, given that this man was already the slowest person in the world. Still, he was now moving his cash into his wallet extra slowly and that had to mean it was taken as an instruction. Either that or the bloke was taking the piss. Either way, Barty turned away and stalked off a few steps, raking his fingers through his hair to try and get a hold of himself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
Why did Sam always get to him like that? Also, the world. People just really loved pissing him off. He checked to see whether Sam had followed him and shrugged. "I didn't mean that."
"You have the patience of a toddler." Sam informed him before rolling his eyes and coming closer to Barty. What the fuck was he supposed to do. "I mean, he was taking the piss but some people do. That's life. That's freewill. And it sucks, Barty, it sucks that idiots are slow and people break laws and the moron who lives next door to me won't stop smoking weed, despite me telling him!"
That was just life and if Barty couldn't tolerate it, what was the hope? "You breathe, you think 'fucking hell' and then you get on with it. You can't meltdown all the time."
With a sigh, he reached out to Barty because all habits died hard and touched his shoulder. "He's gone. Hurry up or you'll have someone else cut in before you."
"It's fine. I'm not that hungry." And he had Sam's hand on his shoulder right now and he barely even dared to breathe because that might end it. Walking away from it just to get some likely unsatisfying pastry? Unthinkable. "I don't melt down. It's just you-- I don't think there's anyone as good as you. Not anywhere."
So he didn't like hearing Sam argue the point and that had not helped his patience in that moment. "Your work. Your people. Wha--" Damn. Couldn't ask a question, might force him to answer. "I reckon they aren't after killing me. That'd be easy. People are never after killing me or I'd be dead."
"Probably not, no. Which is why you shouldn't be in Cardiff. Moron." He wasn't going to let this stupid breakfast thing go because he waited in line so he was having it. He gripped Barty's jacket and yanked him away from where he was standing, shoving him back towards the counter. He looked at the woman and offered her a half smile. "He wants coffee. Dark roast, almond milk."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out some change and gave her the money for the coffee and the extra went into the tip jar. Maybe if he got him a coffee and reasoned with him, Barty would just fuck off and then he didn't have to think about him.
Yeah, right. As if that happened. As if that could ever happen. "Go back to London, drop the bloke off that you're with and stay away from him."
"It bothers you that I have someone." He made it as neutral a statement as he could. "Thanks for the coffee." Barty smiled at him brightly, while wondering whether there was a small part of Sam that was bothered not just because of the danger Bill may or may not be in, but that was bothered because he was jealous. He rather liked that idea.
He took the coffee and thanked the barista politely, then he stepped away. "I don't think that your team would stop tracking me just because I go to London. So I'd rather they track me somewhere closer to you."
"Yes, it bothers me. Leave the boy alone." He wasn't jealous, he was concerned. Of course he was. It was so complicated. He didn't wish isolation on Barty, it wasn't his fault but he didn't want to deal with him, he didn't want the burden and he couldn't stand the idea of anyone else suffering it. "You loved me and you hurt me, imagine what you'd do to anyone else. And yeah, sometimes you didn't know but you fucking knew other times."
Barty wasn't naive and especially by the end, he had been controlling and cruel. Desperation was no excuse to how he acted. "His name is William Priest. He was in the system for years, has a criminal record. Lovely lad. Nicking traffic cones, getting into fights and drug possession. He's not -- not got the best psychological profile." There, he said it as tactfully as he could. "You'll be bad influences on each other."
"He's nicked traffic cones?" Barty had to laugh at that. What? It was funny. "What's the point of that?" He'd have to ask Bill about it, the mental images he was coming up with were already very amusing. Just Bill with a traffic cone on his head. Nicking them and apparently getting caught. He shook his head, still amused, the sighed.
"So, what? Because he's had a rough life I can't be with him? They were bashing him when I found him, Sam. They were beating on him for being gay. So I took him from that. Is that bad?" He didn't get it. "I haven't hurt him. Not once."
"It's not about if you hurt him or not. It's about being responsible. You're older, you have more experience. What you did was great but you know you're in danger, that you are dangerous, you can't bring people into it." He didn't think Bill was bad as a person, just a bit of a knob from the sounds of it. He just didn't want a boy like that to end up tangled in Barty and Torchwood bullshit. "I won't make decisions for you. You make your decisions but I advise that you make sure the boy is somewhere safe and leave him alone."
There. That was it. He held up his hands to show he was done discussing it and didn't want to fight over it. "That's my professional opinion."
He exhaled and shoved his hands back into his pockets, looking off in the other way. "So you saved him... what did you do to the people bashing him?"
He took a sip of his coffee and sighed, nodding his head. "As you wish. I'll send Bill off then." The thought hurt more than he'd have thought. He liked Bill's company. He liked not waking up alone. He liked how desperately Bill was trying to understand him, how much he felt for him. How sweet he was. He got Sam's point, however. Being near him was dangerous.
"Well. I let them do what they wanted to do. Free will and all that." And those thugs clearly felt like bashing someone, why not let them bash each other? It felt like justice to Barty. Clearly, Bill had agreed. Had called him a legend. He could already guess that Sam wasn't about to praise him for it.
Suddenly focusing entirely on Sam, he asked a question. "What do you want for me, Sam Tyler?"
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I simply want to meet you.
I want to share some things.
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I saw the footage.
You never change.
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I haven't made him do anything. Aside from not smoking.
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You make everyone do what you want. It's Barty's world and we're all just toys.
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You won't even let me show you. I've been so good.
I told you. I'll behave.
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I'm close by but I'm not moving any closer until you tell me exactly where you are and what you're standing by.
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There's some crows. Or whatever black bird. Two old ladies walked by a minute ago, I wished them a good morning.
Riveting.
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Sam kept distance between them, lingering back by some trees and trying to make sure he wasn't too close to him. He had an emergency text alert on his phone so if he didn't reply in 30 minutes, Jack would know where he went and who with. He didn't trust Barty, not even for a second. He didn't know what would happen but he really hoped today was the day his power reawakened. If anyone got hurt... he didn't know what he'd do.
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He got up and took one step closer, but then he stayed there. "How's it going? You look good."
There, small talk. No orders, no instructions. He could communicate like a normal person.
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"How are you, Bartemius?" It was funny sometimes to full name him. He knew he didn't like it. But there, pointless small talk. That's what he wanted apparently.
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He liked that it made Sam focus on him, of course. He didn't particularly enjoy the feeling of being tracked otherwise, not in any way. "I'm a bit hungry too, I haven't had breakfast yet. Er."
He didn't usually use filler words, but he was trying now. Would it work? He needed to word this well. Not force him. He was trying to not put any force into it. "There's a stand over there. I could buy you coffee. Do you--" He cut himself off, because that didn't always work. If he worded it as a question, it was taken as intent. So he trailed off and simply gestured to the stand and raised his eyebrows.
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And there he was, being all careful and he hated it, he fucking hated it, because he didn't know. He didn't know if he liked him or not. He didn't know why he felt bad for him. Why he liked him? It was a mystery. Seemed fake, honestly.
"You can buy breakfast, I can walk with you. It's a compromise." There. He could meet him in a middle. "I don't drink coffee until I'm at work anyway, I always have to have one there. Two close together is bad for the heart."
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"That's what people do. Get coffee at work. Then complain about it being bad." He'd heard that around a lot, anyway. "Do you like your work? I miss the uniform..." And the handcuffs. Those two. But, damn, the uniform. Shame Sam got promoted so quickly. "Do you still get a badge at least?"
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And it was still nowhere close. There was one guy ahead of them now and he was taking his sweet time with his order. He wondered how long Barty could stand it. Waiting. When would he snap? "The coffee at work is good, actually. The guy in charge of the admin stuff is super into coffee as an artform."
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Not that he knew how good he was at it, but he'd managed a smiley and also a penis, so that was a success as far as he was concerned. He turned to Sam to try and look him in the eye and speak as sincerely as possible. "I'm glad that you get to help people, Sam. You are a good person."
And Barty, of course, was not. But he could be. He could show Sam. Turning his head he watched the guy ahead of them add something else to his damn order and he breathed out slowly through his nose. Calm. Collected. Patient.
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Not for him, not for Barty. They were fucked. He looked at Barty, finally, and met his eyes. He wondered if he had any awareness of that or if he just assumed it was another one of Sam's little pedantic things. "I'll always help people. If they want it and they can accept it, I will help."
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He wasn't sure whether that would be seen as any kind of instruction. Wasn't as if anyone would be able to tell, anyway, given that this man was already the slowest person in the world. Still, he was now moving his cash into his wallet extra slowly and that had to mean it was taken as an instruction. Either that or the bloke was taking the piss. Either way, Barty turned away and stalked off a few steps, raking his fingers through his hair to try and get a hold of himself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
Why did Sam always get to him like that? Also, the world. People just really loved pissing him off. He checked to see whether Sam had followed him and shrugged. "I didn't mean that."
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That was just life and if Barty couldn't tolerate it, what was the hope? "You breathe, you think 'fucking hell' and then you get on with it. You can't meltdown all the time."
With a sigh, he reached out to Barty because all habits died hard and touched his shoulder. "He's gone. Hurry up or you'll have someone else cut in before you."
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So he didn't like hearing Sam argue the point and that had not helped his patience in that moment. "Your work. Your people. Wha--" Damn. Couldn't ask a question, might force him to answer. "I reckon they aren't after killing me. That'd be easy. People are never after killing me or I'd be dead."
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He reached into his pocket, pulled out some change and gave her the money for the coffee and the extra went into the tip jar. Maybe if he got him a coffee and reasoned with him, Barty would just fuck off and then he didn't have to think about him.
Yeah, right. As if that happened. As if that could ever happen. "Go back to London, drop the bloke off that you're with and stay away from him."
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He took the coffee and thanked the barista politely, then he stepped away. "I don't think that your team would stop tracking me just because I go to London. So I'd rather they track me somewhere closer to you."
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Barty wasn't naive and especially by the end, he had been controlling and cruel. Desperation was no excuse to how he acted. "His name is William Priest. He was in the system for years, has a criminal record. Lovely lad. Nicking traffic cones, getting into fights and drug possession. He's not -- not got the best psychological profile." There, he said it as tactfully as he could. "You'll be bad influences on each other."
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"So, what? Because he's had a rough life I can't be with him? They were bashing him when I found him, Sam. They were beating on him for being gay. So I took him from that. Is that bad?" He didn't get it. "I haven't hurt him. Not once."
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There. That was it. He held up his hands to show he was done discussing it and didn't want to fight over it. "That's my professional opinion."
He exhaled and shoved his hands back into his pockets, looking off in the other way. "So you saved him... what did you do to the people bashing him?"
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"Well. I let them do what they wanted to do. Free will and all that." And those thugs clearly felt like bashing someone, why not let them bash each other? It felt like justice to Barty. Clearly, Bill had agreed. Had called him a legend. He could already guess that Sam wasn't about to praise him for it.
Suddenly focusing entirely on Sam, he asked a question. "What do you want for me, Sam Tyler?"
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