bakerstreet | More than just a job

More than just a job

MORE THAN JUST A JOB

It's only business, nothing personal...at least, that's how it started. You were pegged as the right one for a job that involves this person; your task could be positive, such as protecting them with their consent or without it, guiding them from point a to point b, and the like - or, as seedier transactions tend to go, it could be negative. You have to take them back to a place they really don't want to return to, you have to be a jailor, or you even have to be their assassin. At the very least, helping or hurting, you'll be compensated generously (by money or, you know, by not being killed off). And that was all that mattered.

Until they mattered.

They could have shown you something you never knew existed in the world or in yourself. They could have done any number of things, yet they've won you and your feelings over. Your priorities just may shift because of this, but will their view of you do the same as soon as they learn why you were around them in the first place? For your own gain? Will they be able to forgive you?

Even if they can, will they be able to see you the way you see them?

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roaring 20s au??

[ooc: Either / or.]

"So we'll be there by tomorrow, right?"

Kirk looked over at Logan over the fire, trying to ignore the oppressive pressure of the air or the pull of gravity. It wasn't all that much heavier than Earth's, but it was enough to make the daily treks taxing, and he looked forward to the nightly stops to rest and sleep. Not that he was shying away from this challenge. Far from it - he embraced it, especially with the chance to get away from New York Town. He had been going a touch stir crazy, waiting for the new Enterprise to be completed, but unwilling to be put to work beneath another captain ( not to mention he was sure that no other captain wanted him on their ship either, given his reputation ).

So here he was, on a remote planet with only Logan for his companion. Clandestine was not in his usual back of tricks, but he suspected that was why Star Fleet had chosen Logan to accompany him. Saving the world multiple times earned you a ship, but it also earned you a babysitter, it turned out. But truthfully he had come to like Logan, found himself smiling at him over the fire or as they made their way over lush terrain towards their goal.

"Not that I don't like food packs, but I'm starting to miss the replicator, just a little."

"Mhmm." Man of few words, Logan. Not necessarily stoic just- quiet. Easier to keep an ear on their surroundings, keep an eye out for danger when he's not preoccupied with conversation. No one else he got set up with protecting seemed to mind it. They understood what his job entailed and what it didn't. Playing babysitter didn't mean making friends.

But James Tiberius Kirk was a force of nature wrapped up in blue eyes and the devil's own luck. Logan, so far, had a simple enough time of it. Get him where he needed to go, keep him alive, easy. A few scuffles here and there, unremarkable, kept him from getting bored. But there are some things he'd rather not have the fleet notice about him-

And as Kirk was fleet? That meant being careful. "Don't know why. Everything out of those tastes like plastic."

If Kirk was honest, he had to admit that the admiralty sending Logan along with him was a good idea. It was not that he tried to get himself into trouble, it just managed to pop up around him (even though he could admit he did poke his nose into some situations, but with good cause). Still, those situations led him to trust Logan, to believe that the man was actually looking out for him even if it was only by Star Fleet's orders. Even so, he had come rather like Logan's penchant for grunted answers or one-syllable replies. Refreshingly simple, that.

"I will accept plastic over expired chemicals," he grimaced. "At least they didn't screw up the coffee packets."

At the mention of- Logan nudged the pot on the coals with the toe of his boot, testing the heat. Took a slow inhale of the smokey air and- yeah, that's about ready. Folded over rag to keep him from burning himself and he pours them both out a cup in the same tin mugs they'd been using since they landed. Roughing it as far as the Fleet was concerned. For Logan? It was damn near a luxury tour. A casual stroll across the wilds in relatively pleasant company.

Pretty pleasant company.

"Think we got a few packets of creamer left." Somewhere.

Normally someone sniffing to deduce if the coffee was prepared or not would seem perfectly logical. Except Kirk had spent the better part of the past several weeks with him, and he has to wonder just how much Logan relied on scent. His escort seemed to do it a lot, between quick little huffs and the longer inhales. None of which was enough to make his suspicious of anything, other than perhaps Logan might not be human, just humanoid.

Well, no matter. Star Fleet had not chosen to enlighten him and up to this point neither had Logan. He didn't want to dash whatever relationship they were building up by pressing on something that at the end of the day, except for perhaps a medical emergency, was merely inconsequential and piqued his curiosity. Strange that he should choose to follow the age old adage now when before he had ignored it with near relish. He stowed away the notion for later, when he could better judge Logans mood for the evening.

"Logan, now you're just spoiling me," Kirk clicked his tongue, but around the noise he's smiling and holding out his hand for the coffee sack to root around for these elusive packs.

"You're a black coffee sort of man, am I right?"

The corner of Logans' mouth pulled up in what could be half smile- more than most ever got out of him. Something Kirk managed to prompt on a regular basis once the first few days settled them into a steady routine of walk, talk/listen, walk, make camp. Their time together was winding down and for the first time in a long, long while- Logan felt he might miss his charge. A little. Maybe more than a little. Kirk asked questions that weren't invasive, didn't expect much of anything he didn't feel like giving. Didn't pry, didn't make too much trouble.

Well.

No more than most made. He didn't get saddled with the easy cases for a reason- whatever got thrown at them? He could handle.

Right now keeping Kirk safe was easy enough. "Black or with bourbon. Not drinking on duty, though. Maybe when we get you where you're going."

When Billy had been sprung from jail, he'd been unable to believe his good fortune. He'd been pinched for murder, after all. And given the fact that he'd bumped off a good-ole boy and wasn't exactly one himself, he'd assumed the chair would be in his immediate future. Instead, he had been handed over to a man named 'Capone' and given the dubious honor of guarding one of his best rumrunners. One that, he'd thought at the time, probably didn't need a guard if the rumors he'd heard were anything to go by.

But still, a job like this was better than jail or death, so he figured this was an improvement. And Goodnight Robicheaux had been easy to like, all things considered. Of course, he wasn't exactly the easiest person to protect. Especially in moments like this.

"Just leave the car," he hissed, turning around and leveling his chopper at the sounds of police closing in on them as Goodnight and he ran toward the damned parking spot instead of toward the much safer option of the dark alleyway. All because Goody had a damned fetish for the damned thing.

A bullet zips past his ear and for a heart-stopping moment he's sure it will hit the man he's trying to protect. But it seems to skim past the both of them just leaving a burn and some blood behind on his clipped ear. He pulls the trigger and unleashes a stream of bullets that takes the one cop down and holds the rest off for a bit longer.

"Goddamn it. Leave the car."

Edited 2016-11-06 19:51 (UTC)

"Oh? I did wonder if I saw a little something hidden in your pack," his eyes glittered with a hint of mischief over the rim of his cup.

Slowly he drank, grateful that coffee was one of the few items that never took on too horrible a taste while in the packets. It really brought up the spirits, and the bitter aroma was a sharp contrast to the mix of sour and fragrance that permeated the landscape they walked through.

"Speaking of -" He lowered his cup, looking at Logan a touch more seriously, though his smile was still in place, if a touch softer at the edges. "Thank you for accompanying me. I realize you're paid to do this, but still. I know I tend to, ah, make things more interesting that most people are expecting on missions."

"Nah." Yeah, but the innocent look offered is less innocent and more stoic, save the lilt of his brows. Wry amusement never looked so grizzled. "Just regulation supplies in there."

It's what they gave him, what he carried. Keeping anything extra would be broaching the terms of their agreement. Cut into his pay or worse, get him fired from this weird contracting position he'd managed to wrangle with the Federation. Long as they kept the credits and jobs coming? He didn't mind it.

Especially when shit became interesting.

"Probably gonna have a three page debrief with our contact. Most? One paragraph." Boring trips with boring people.

"Is that a compliment or a complaint?"

Wry amusement is met with open laughter as he pushed up from his mossy seat, crunching his way out of the immediate ring of light cast by the fire. He paused within eyesight (even if he did wonder how much Logan really relied on that particular sense), cradling the last bits of coffee and looking up at the canopy.

"Can we put the fire out early tonight?" He asked over his shoulder, squinting up into the dark. This planet was not terribly dangerous in terms of fauna and flora, but there were always risks to be considered in the dark. Risks Logan was here to assess and deal with, or so command had told him.

Whatever he hoped to see he could not, not with the fire burning at his back warm and bright as a sun in their lush surroundings. His shoulders dipped in a disappointed huff.

"Compliment. This is the most interesting assignment I've gotten." Protecting the kelvin baby, the hero of earth, their pride and joy and occasional pain in the ass- he'd gotten paid extra for it. But he'd also gotten more fun and more interesting memories than he could've hoped for. Kirk was fun.

Something that was rare for Logan the past few years.

He followed Kirk with his eyes, flicking to the perimeter he'd established. It seemed solid enough. Safe enough. Without answering he kicked dirt over the ashes, dousing the light immediately. In the darkness he moved silently, coming up to stand at Kirk's shoulders, waiting for his eyes to adjust. "That work?"

"Perfect. Just give it a minute."

He kept his eyes turned upwards, tapping his nail against his cup in a soft staccato rhythm. One minute. Two. The moments seemed to stretch and Kirk wondered if his guess had been wrong, lips screwing at the thought of making a fool of himself in front of Logan.

Three.

Kirk sucked in a soft breath, releasing it in relief and awe as above them the canopy came to life. Orbs of color formed - red, blue, purple, green, a soft white-blue. They varied in size and color, some connected by thin strings, others floating by themselves, and still others gathered together in little bushels. The lights reflected in his eyes as he gazed at them, soaking it all in - a canopy of earth-born stars. He wouldn't get another chance to commit it to memory.

"I didn't think there would be quite so many colors."

Goody hadn't been too happy when Capone had called him into the office up in Chicago. He had been less happy to have been given some trigger man. It was insulting. Insulting to his car and insulting to him. It was like the Boss had known that he had lost his taste for violence. He had been insulted but he had put up with it.

Glad he had too, because Billy had been a godsend. He made those long stressful drives with hooch in the back a lot easier. Most of the time, he could drive away from problems. His car wasn't just some jalopy. It was one of the fastest cars out there. It might not look like much, but that was just part of the charm. He had built it himself after all. Which is why he was so damn attached to it. Didn't really help in situations like this though.

"I am not leaving her behind!"

Bullets are flying. His heart is pounding. That sound. He hates that sound so much. The sound of the tommy gun. It scares him more than the sound of sirens. In fact, if it wasn't for that damn car, he would have been cowering behind Billy instead of scrambling towards where the sleek black vehicle is parked.

"Just get ready to get in!" He calls as he continues to run though with the cops shooting back now, it's getting a lot more dangerous. "Hold on, baby. I'm almost there!"

"Going to die for a damn car," he growls as bullets kick up brick dust as they tear into the building wall beside him. "Fuck!" Reaching out, he grabs Goody's arm and yanks him in front of him. Making himself the living, breathing shield for the more valuable man he's meant to be protecting. Turning around is a risk. He needs to stop running to do it. But it will give Goodnight more time. So he braces himself and faces the impending cops before opening a hail of fire that has them all in a fast retreat to get behind the corner of the building for cover. It's going to give them maybe an extra three minutes, but that might just be enough.

He turns the minute his gun clicks empty, fumbling to reload it. The car is up ahead and Billy hopes to God that it's not going to be the place he dies. He hates this damn car. Goodnight would happily use his blood-stained shirt to buff out the scratches in it. Probably with zero regrets.

His curses turn into hisses as he gets himself situated and pauses to cover Goody right by their likely hearse. "Get it started," he yells as the bullets start up again. Billy fires back, more contained. He won't have time to reload, this time. This time, he's aiming to take the cops out.

"Don't you insult her or I'll leave you here!" he yells over the sound of gunfire. The insults to his baby are enough to keep him focused and not panicking at the sound of guns and cops. He needs his wits about him if he's going to be doing the sort of driving he means to be doing.

He dives for the vehicle, getting the door opening and then crawling in. He keeps himself down. Only the top of his head is visible in the windows. There's the sound of keys jingling, giving away his shaking hands. "Don't rush me!" There's a couple moments where the engine coughs and sputters as he turns the key once. Twice. "Come on, baby. Don't listen to the bad man. You're a great car." The engine revvs to life with a roar. "That's a girl!"

He gropes behind him for the back door and throws it open. "Get your ass in and hold on!"

Billy hissed a curse as a bullet grazed his arm. He took that particular copper out with a shot to the leg, but that didn't stop him from being in pain. Blood pooled up between his fingers as he clutched the wound, trying to make sure he had really only gotten clipped. He could check that in the car, though. Diving into the back seat, Billy laid himself down flat and slammed the door behind him, shouting, "GO, GO!"

And after that it was mostly just curses. His arm is coated in blood and, pulling the sleeve up, he can see it wasn't really a gaze after all. He'd gotten hit, but thankfully it was a shallow one and the bullet is easy to pull out, falling on the floor of the car as he rips a piece of his shirt to make a tourniquet for the wound.

"I don't want to hear a goddamn word about bloodstains," he growls between his teeth. "I will shoot you myself if you complain about even a drop." Sitting up, he starts reaching around Goodnight's suit, looking for his flask with the sort of familiarity the two had with one another, at this point.

"Going to get an infection and die. Hope the car was worth it."

He makes a small sound that might be a terrible whine, because yeah, there's blood in the back seat of his car now and that's going to take weeks to scrub out. But he's got more important things to worry about, like driving.

There's a reason why Capone kept him on even after he became useless as a torpedo. And that reason was there really was no man who could drive a car better than Goodnight. He was probably be best brakeman East and West of the Mississippi. No one could shift smoother or react faster.

He floors it and the car tears away from the scene. For something that looks like an old hunk of rusted junk, it moves like no one's business. Even if the old bulls gave chase, he would leave them in the dust, tearing down side streets and manouvering the car into and out of areas where it shouldn't have even fit and not at that speed.

"Just shut your yap and hold on..." He feels the hidden flask of hooch get stolen and he hopes to god that Billy is going to drink it and not dump it out onto his wound AND the upholstery of his vehicle. "Things are about to get a might bumpy and you'll bite of your damn tongue." A might bumpy means tearing down a railroad track at truly ridiculous speeds.

And that on coming train. Goody's about to play chicken with it. Because he's sure he can swerve in time. The cop cars behind him, not so much.

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More than just a job

LEONARD SNART ( CAPTAIN COLD ) | DCTV | OTA

Billy Rocks | Magnificent Seven | M/M

Grace Ford | OC | m/f

paige matthews ( charmed )

Medjine Adaar | DA:I | OTA

because we clearly don't have enough

Rey | SW: TFA | OTA

Logan | X-Men | OTA

Kirk is the protected, I mean naturally lol

But of course

Re: But of course

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Can't stop won't stop.

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