capeandcowllogs | Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse

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Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse

WHO: Jack Bauer and Geddoe
WHERE: One of the bars Geddoe goes to that doesn't mind sword-wielding medieval mercenaries as customers.
WHEN: Evening of the 21st.
WARNINGS: Discussion of violence.
SUMMARY: Jack and Geddoe decided they needed to do something together that didn't involve killing people for once.
FORMAT: Paragraph.

Jack needed a break. Vulcanus, the riot aftermath, the Black Tear Rebellion, the Mayor's assassination, these new kidnappings- it didn't stop, and the continuing tension was starting to get to him. Even if it was just for a few hours, he needed to take some time to do something that wasn't reacting to a crisis.

But he'd always had trouble walking away from his work and its demands, and tonight was no exception. Even going out to a bar on a Sunday evening had a professional angle to it: Jack and Geddoe kept ending up fighting alongside each other, and even though the merc wasn't a cop they worked damn well together. Geddoe was maybe a friend, but definitely an asset, one he wanted to cultivate and learn more about so he could use him better. Maybe Jack would actually manage to relax in the bargain, but as always personal considerations were secondary for him. When he showed up at Geddoe's bar to meet him for a drink, he might as well have still been in the office.

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Jack chuckled to himself. He didn't know what the story with the Fire Bringers or the Harmonians was, but he understood what Geddoe was talking about. Misjudged threats, deep cover roles, missions against targets that weren't what they seemed. "How'd you handle it?"

"It was the perfect excuse to go into the Grassland and warn those who needed to know," Geddoe freely admitted. "It was the reason I chose to work for Harmonia in the first place. I was a step ahead of them at every turn, so that when they revealed their intentions, the resistence was already in motion."

He took a deep swig of his ale and set the tankard down. "But enough of my exploits. They can't be that exciting. I get the sense you haven't always been merely law enforcement."

Geddoe had been a mole, then. But one on the right side, from the sounds of it. Jack took a drink from his own beer, buying time to think of how to explain his career to someone who might not yet know what 'CIA' and 'DOD' stood for.

"I joined this country's Army when I was pretty young," he said. "I ended up an officer in an elite unit, one that carried out high-risk missions. Not too different from what the SFDF did for Harmonia, I'd say. I've worked for a lot of different groups, but always doing similar things. Everything since then has been a result of that experience."

He paused. He had to give Geddoe more than that, but there were things about his life that he didn't want to share too much about. So he rolled down his sleeve to show Geddoe one of the blue tattoos on his inner forearm. "I might have left the military, but it's still with me."

Geddoe had not had the opportunity to really talk to a military man from this world, or a similar one at least. Jack's explanation made complete sense to him even without knowing the full structure of the policial and civilian units. His eyebrow only twitched a little at the tattoo. "That, at least, seems to be universal," he murmured. "Men who choose to serve their country, whichever country it is, can never really stop doing so." He smirked over the edge of his glass. "At least, those who get to leave the battlefield alive have the choice."

He mulled it over while he drank. "An officer. Then, it seems we have similar backgrounds after all."

"Never, huh." Jack grunted. He rolled his sleeve back down and rested his arm on the bar counter, then looked at a wall very intensely for a few seconds, focusing on something far away. "I wish I could agree with you about that, I really do."

He paused and looked back to Geddoe. "Then again, maybe the people I'm thinking of never really made the same choice I did." Believing that would make it easier to deal with the things they'd done when they turned traitor.

Geddoe raised an eyebrow at that. "Maybe I'm generalizing too much. You must know of some exceptions, then."

He cocked his head sideways in a sort of shrug. "It's easy for me to say. I'm loyal to no country. A man with no home has the freedom to choose his allegiances."

"You have no idea." Jack winced. One of those exceptions had murdered his wife. Another had been his mentor, and responsible for the murder of his friends. Another had been the President of the United States. If he got started on them, he knew he'd never stop, so he changed the subject. "You must be loyal to something besides money, though," he said, half-smiling. "Otherwise you wouldn't keep ending up in the same messes as me."

Geddoe sighed. Was he? He placed his faith and loyalty in people for certain reasons, and revoked it just as easily if betrayed. "I don't know," he mused. "Freedom, I suppose. I put my life on the line for a confederation I didn't belong to because I didn't want to see them end up conquered and enslaved. That's something, isn't it?"

"That's more than something." Jack nodded. "Some people would say it's everything." At the end of the day, the motivations of people like Jack and the people he worked with tended to boil down to one thing they had in common- they didn't want to see other people get hurt.

He took another drink. "So how'd you end up like this? Putting your life on the line for strangers, for money, for the SFDF. Is there a story there, or did you just do what you had to do?"

"No story," Geddoe assured, folding his arms on the bartop. "Not for the latter, anyway. Becoming Fire Bringer..."

He looked away absently, as if trying really hard to remember - or forget. "...that was for a friend." His right hand, still gloved, tightened into a fist.

Jack saw the fist, the way he looked away, and he understood. "Deep cover isn't easy," he said. "You're willing to do a lot for your friends."

That situation was much more complicated than that. For once, Geddoe felt he needed to explain. "The three of us were guerilla fighters for almost twenty years. I didn't join for the cause, but I adopted it as mine after I saw what the alternative would be." He took a sip to cover the awkward. "I was older and wiser, there was no running away from the invasion. I had to fight."

"You did what you had to do." Jack sighed and took his own sip. "I understand."

He set the tankard down. "That's more or less how I ended up as C.P.D., actually. I was retired when the Porter brought me here. I didn't want to give it up, not for a place I'd been kidnapped into. But when I saw the things that happened in this City, things I knew I could help stop..." He shrugged. "It stopped being a choice."

"Retired." A vague sort of smile crossed Geddoe's face. Something he would never be. "No, I suppose none of us can sit idly by in this place, no matter what we might want." He tipped his glass in a tiny salute. "There may be more than one person around here who's glad you didn't decide to stay retired."

"Yeah, well I'd definitely hope so," Jack said. "It's hard, but at the end of the day I know there are people who are alive because of what I've done here." He nodded and looked into space. "I think that's enough. Doesn't matter what they think about me personally, really."

He looked back at Geddoe and raised his glass. "Here's to all the people who can't sit idly by."

Geddoe lifted his higher and knocked it against Jack's. "May they all be able to get a drink when they really need one," he added to the toast, and then took a deep drink. Enough to finish his off - time for a second. He flagged the bartender with one gloved finger.

"I don't mind the quiet stretches," Geddoe added, making idle small talk until his drink came. "Now that I've been here long enough to know what's possible."

Jack drained his beer, and let out a long, satisfied sigh as he set it down. He was starting to relax a little. This was good, this felt right. The things he'd learned about Geddoe so far had only helped to build his confidence in the man, which meant he could treat this a little more as an outing. He signaled for another drink shortly after Geddoe did.

"Yeah, same here," he said. "Whenever it's quiet, it's like a sign that me and the others are actually managing to get something done. It's nice. Of course, we get paid the same whether or not there's a crisis."

"What, no hazard pay?" Geddoe smirked; he, too, was clearly relaxing around a colleague. "I will give you that. Law enforcement is a steady paycheck, unlike the mercenary business."

He may have had about fifty years on the other man, but he still appeared the younger, aside from the wear and tear. He didn't mind, and would likely answer any questions asked now that they had established a rapport. The quality ale helped, too.

"Hazard pay on a CPD salary would be redundant," Jack cracked. His beer arrived, and while he was taking his first draught of it something clicked in his head.

"Twenty years as a guerrilla fighter," he said, eying the seemingly younger man. "That must have been rough. Did you join when you were young?" Somehow, Jack didn't get that feeling from Geddoe.

Geddoe lowered his gaze, almost coyly. At this point, it didn't matter if he told Jack the truth, though he was aware that it might come as a shock. Thus, he allowed a brief pause of silence to give the appropriate weight of suspense and preparation. "I'm one hundred and thirteen years old," he said plainly, and then took a drink.

Jack had the poor fortune to be taking a drink when Geddoe spoke. There was a bit of sputtering.

"A hundred and thirteen?" He stared at Geddoe and set his drink down. Given the people he worked with, the first explanation that came to mind was: "Are you not human, then?"

Geddoe shook his head. "Plain old human. This..." He lifted his right hand and waggled his fingers to indicate the Rune inside it. "...gives me eternal life."

He couldn't help but crack a wry little smirk. "I figured maybe it was time you knew just how much experience I had."

Jack managed to smirk back. "It explains a lot, really. The way you handle yourself, the way you fight." He looked at the hand, thinking about what it meant. "You're really going to live forever?"

"That depends." Geddoe made a bit of a face. "I can still be killed easily. Swords and arrows - and firearms, I suppose - will prove my mortality. I simply don't age, and don't get ill. Barring a mistake in battle, I could conceivably just keep on living."

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Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse

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