"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?"
It was a difficult question and he spent some time just looking at Barty before he turned away, not sure what to do or say. He came over to the bench Barty had been on and sat down, running his fingers through his hair. "I don't know." What was he supposed to say? What answer should he have? "I liked you from the start, I really did. I think I did. I don't think you put that there, I think I like it. The spark, the rebellion, the playfulness and disorder. You weren't like me. Sometimes I need it."
And he liked that a lot at first. That Barty made him late, played around with how he dressed, made him break routines and live differently. He made him like that he was special, that he had powers no one else did.
But then, it wasn't that simple. Nothing was. "But you are you. You can't always control it, sometimes you can but not always. And you make me do things. You hurt me in ways I can't even begin to describe. You took my career from me. My freedom. My power..." He sighed and put his head forward, putting it into his hands. "I'm--"
He cut himself off, wanting to edit it away but he knew it would do no good unless he properly communicated with Barty. So he looked at him, hurt and tired. "I'm scared of you, Barty."
"Yeah. I know you are." It wasn't anything new, was it? Everyone had always been scared of him. Scared and fascinated, in case of his parents. Scared and fascinated in case of a lot of people. Not Sam, of course. He was scared and repulsed and the urge to tell him to not be scared was so strong inside him right now. He looked at him on that bench and he wanted to take his fear away. He wanted to take him into his arms and kiss his cheeks and see him smile.
That was normal, wasn't it? People wanted to be happy with the ones they loved.
"I love you." He said it and it felt forlorn and pathetic even to his own ears.
"I know you do." It was obvious, wasn't? Why else would he still be following him after all of these years. Texting him, meeting him, still looking for validation. "I care about you because... it would be weird if I didn't." After all of those years, he couldn't just forget it. He knew about Barty's childhood, had heard him scream at night, and he knew it wasn't Barty's fault that he had no morality. It also wasn't his job to give him any.
"I miss when you didn't scare me. When you didn't play with my head, like you started to do. I just don't get why you couldn't let me do what I want if you loved me so much." Something as simple as letting him cut his hair, listen to his music or watch football - was that really so bad? "If you love someone, you tolerate the parts you don't like."
"I tolerated stuff." He just looked stupid with his hair this short, was that his fault? He also felt that if Sam didn't realise how much he tolerated, he should really ask someone else what they thought of his habit of tossing his socks bloody everywhere. "I don't always think about it," he finally ventured.
He shrugged. "The world goes the way I want it to. Always has." It came like breathing. How could he know where to draw the lines when he couldn't even see the lines?
"I've gotten better though, haven't I?" He smiled suddenly, wanting to make this less depressing. "I didn't do it at all now. The whole time we've talked."
"That's not proof of change, that's one instance of good behaviour." It didn't mean it was all gone and the problems were resolved.
Life wasn't nearly that simple. "Do it a couple more times and maybe I'll believe you. Stop taking justice into your own hands, stop hurting people and maybe, just maybe, you can exist in my world but you have to -- God, why am I even saying this?" He couldn't be in his world, why was he doing this to himself? He always did this to himself. But it was more terrifying to think of Barty hurting others than hurting himself. At least there, Barty has some empathy.
"Don't hurt anyone. It's a simple code. Self defence doesn't involve serious injury. You can call the cops on people. You can stop bad things without hurting. All you have to do is not hurt people." That was all he was asking for here. "Can't you try that?" Shit, he was going to regret this but... "For me?"
"For you?" That did kind of sound like a deal of some kind. An exchange. Barty didn't think it would be too difficult not to hurt people. He didn't hurt people that often, did he? Not in the grand scheme of things. Not the way he saw it, anyway. "Fine. I won't hurt people. For you."
What did that mean, for him? "Then I can be with you." That was what had been implied, he felt.
"No! No, that's not-- it doesn't work like that. It's not a reward for being a good person. It takes a lot to be -- it's not--" Fuck. He exhaled and then lowered his head back, putting his hands over his eyes. This was not a job for him, he couldn't handle that. How did he manage Barty? "We're not dating again, I don't trust you. You ra-- you messed with my head."
And he didn't want to rush back into any of that. Even a couple of years wasn't enough. He just wanted Barty to be a better person. "Maybe... friends." Distant friends.
"Friends. Right." Well, he knew what that meant. There was that sting again and the crushing emptiness beyond it. Rejection. "You don't want me to have anyone." He didn't even say it accusingly, it was a conclusion more than anything. The person he loved wanted him isolated from everyone. Probably locked away.
Kind of funny how life went. Kept repeating itself. Barty finished his coffee and stared at Sam. It was nice to be close to him, if nothing else.
"No, I want you to have someone. Even if it's just a friend. No one should be alone, especially not you." He assumed that isolation caused this mess so maybe he did just need a friend or something. He just didn't want it to be some young punk. He sighed and shook his head, not sure what to say. "Just because I don't want to date you right away doesn't mean I'm trying to make you miserable and isolate you. I just don't want to do that right now. Remember last time we dated? Nothing has changed and it would be insane to just start that again." Nevermind the whole terrifying nightmare that was Barty on a bad day.
"I wish you could be happy. I wish--" He exhaled, annoyed and tired. "I wish you lost your powers, like I lost mine. I know you think it'd make you miserable but it might make you safe. Not for everyone, for you."
"I don't know what it'd make me. Do you have any power repressors around?" Barty laughed, highly doubting that. Also highly doubting any power repressor's ability to control his power for long, not after all the enhancement that had been done. He rubbed the back of his neck and thought of Giac.
"Your power's not lost. Just suppressed." He could still sense it beneath the surface. He'd not want to call it forth for Sam, but he knew it was there. "Twins. Is that it? Your organisation. You've started looking into twins."
That explained some things. "They should drop the investigation. Only trouble that way."
"They always pick twins. We have to try and prevent it before it escalates. If we can track the pattern, we can prevent what happened to you." Which did pose the question of did Barty have a twin? He knew he had a family. He had hinted at a sibling. Was he involved in this sort of thing? "Jack won't drop it. Trust me."
That man let nothing go. Ever.
"Look, I have work soon and I can't stay long but... are you staying in Cardiff?"
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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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And he liked that a lot at first. That Barty made him late, played around with how he dressed, made him break routines and live differently. He made him like that he was special, that he had powers no one else did.
But then, it wasn't that simple. Nothing was. "But you are you. You can't always control it, sometimes you can but not always. And you make me do things. You hurt me in ways I can't even begin to describe. You took my career from me. My freedom. My power..." He sighed and put his head forward, putting it into his hands. "I'm--"
He cut himself off, wanting to edit it away but he knew it would do no good unless he properly communicated with Barty. So he looked at him, hurt and tired. "I'm scared of you, Barty."
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That was normal, wasn't it? People wanted to be happy with the ones they loved.
"I love you." He said it and it felt forlorn and pathetic even to his own ears.
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"I miss when you didn't scare me. When you didn't play with my head, like you started to do. I just don't get why you couldn't let me do what I want if you loved me so much." Something as simple as letting him cut his hair, listen to his music or watch football - was that really so bad? "If you love someone, you tolerate the parts you don't like."
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He shrugged. "The world goes the way I want it to. Always has." It came like breathing. How could he know where to draw the lines when he couldn't even see the lines?
"I've gotten better though, haven't I?" He smiled suddenly, wanting to make this less depressing. "I didn't do it at all now. The whole time we've talked."
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Life wasn't nearly that simple. "Do it a couple more times and maybe I'll believe you. Stop taking justice into your own hands, stop hurting people and maybe, just maybe, you can exist in my world but you have to -- God, why am I even saying this?" He couldn't be in his world, why was he doing this to himself? He always did this to himself. But it was more terrifying to think of Barty hurting others than hurting himself. At least there, Barty has some empathy.
"Don't hurt anyone. It's a simple code. Self defence doesn't involve serious injury. You can call the cops on people. You can stop bad things without hurting. All you have to do is not hurt people." That was all he was asking for here. "Can't you try that?" Shit, he was going to regret this but... "For me?"
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What did that mean, for him? "Then I can be with you." That was what had been implied, he felt.
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And he didn't want to rush back into any of that. Even a couple of years wasn't enough. He just wanted Barty to be a better person. "Maybe... friends." Distant friends.
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Kind of funny how life went. Kept repeating itself. Barty finished his coffee and stared at Sam. It was nice to be close to him, if nothing else.
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"I wish you could be happy. I wish--" He exhaled, annoyed and tired. "I wish you lost your powers, like I lost mine. I know you think it'd make you miserable but it might make you safe. Not for everyone, for you."
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"Your power's not lost. Just suppressed." He could still sense it beneath the surface. He'd not want to call it forth for Sam, but he knew it was there. "Twins. Is that it? Your organisation. You've started looking into twins."
That explained some things. "They should drop the investigation. Only trouble that way."
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That man let nothing go. Ever.
"Look, I have work soon and I can't stay long but... are you staying in Cardiff?"
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