sciencesaggressively

Entry tags:

chuck,
owen

bonding

A jaeger pilot and a leading K-scientist walk into a bar... and Newt doesn't know how this joke ends because he's already three shots and two beers deep with Chuck at a place he's already forgotten the name of, and they're both shouting things at each other, competing to be heard over whatever awful music is playing overhead. It had started out a little rough because what could they possibly have had to talk about other than, well, world destruction. But it turns out that it's not an exhaustive topic.

Newt leans in and pokes Chuck's shoulder, dangerously close to spilling his beer all over himself. "We did it, y'know," he reminds him for the fourth time, except now with a little more of a slur, "we saved th'world. S'like... if you didn't like, die or whatever, and I didn't fuck m'self up with the awesome kaiju drifting, world be prob'ly be, y'know." He slams his free hand onto the bartop. "It'd be gone." He shouts it this time. "I'm a rock star! We saved the world!"

Newt gestures to the bartender for two more shots and hopes that Chuck doesn't have any other plans for the night. He needs this. Newt suspects that maybe they both do, even if it means that he'll be spending tomorrow morning getting intimate with his toilet seat.

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The first couple of times, admittedly, the reminder had been more than a little grating. For all that Chuck is beyond relieved to know that the plan worked, that they managed to stop the kaiju and close the Breach, he's had too much time in his own head since he showed up here, thoughts of what he did in the name of saving the world always present. Of course, before tonight, all he'd been able to do was hope that it would be for the best, but even so, he knows what happened to him. He doesn't need to have it brought up again, or to celebrate a victory he'd have otherwise been dead for.

Except that it is a victory, and that was a few drinks ago. Now, it's just the saving the world part that matters. He's alive now, after all. What's more, this isn't something he'd ever really been able to do before. He's gone out drinking, sure, but instances of it have been few and far between, the need to be ready in the event of a kaiju attack outweighing by far the need to get drunk. Right now, he thinks he must have been missing out. The more he drinks, the more relaxed he gets, enough so that he doesn't even mind when Newt pokes his shoulder. It doesn't matter. Neither does the fact that this is the only place he'll ever be able to celebrate their winning. He should get to celebrate, to enjoy the fact that he helped accomplish what he spent his entire life working towards. That's the important part.

"We saved the goddamn world," he says, grinning, half-incredulous, louder than he means to but not caring. Newt's enthusiasm, as it turns out, is strangely infectious, and it's not like he gives a damn what anyone else has to say about it. "And hey, you know, if it had to happen like that, at least I went out in Striker, right? And with the best record in the PPDC."

Newt nods emphatically, swinging his body around to hold his glass up at the rest of the people at the bar. "Hear that? We're heroes, we're so badass." He turns back to Chuck, eyes a little glassy but grinning like an idiot. Somewhere in his head, there's a little voice telling him to shut the hell up because they're both still pretty new to this town and nobody likes a braggart. But it's in Newt's nature to tell everyone in a twenty-mile radius about this achievements because more often than not, they've made a significant contribution to the scientific world. In this most recent case, to the entire world itself.

"Dude, you were like, the bes' Ranger in th'Corps. I'm a scientist, okay, so you know s'true. And, and, hey." Newt thinks it's possible that he might be a little cross-eyed right now, but he's drunk and that's always the best time to be sincere. "You were always m'favorite Austr'lian Ranger. Don't tell Herc."

"Couldn't even if I wanted to," Chuck assures his new friend, hand resting against Newt's arm as he speaks as if that will somehow emphasize the truth behind the words. "Old man's not here for me to tell." Were Herc around, he probably would have anyway, but that's not the point, and it isn't a hypothetical he likes to entertain. Mostly, it just ends with him kind of wishing he were, and even admitting that just to himself doesn't feel right. He smiles now in spite of that, almost like he's just told some kind of a joke. With Newt going on like that, it would be difficult not to. He might not need to hear it, well aware that he was the best Ranger they had, and plenty of people's favorite, but that doesn't make him enjoy it any less. "And you — you drifted with a kaiju. Twice. You know how many other people would've done that? None, probably."

Newt glances down at the hand on his arm and if this had been back in the 'Dome, he might have been really freaked out but it's not the 'Dome, so he gives Chuck a dimply smile. "You are so right, but it's fine. It's all fine, dude, we're just two awesome guys who do awesome things. Like save the entirety of the human race!"

He swings his arm out at that last part and only becomes aware that the majority of his beer has sloshed out of his glass and onto the guy next to him when he looks up to see said guy towering above him. He makes a face that he hopes really reads the oops of the situation and shrugs. "Sorry, sorry, just got a little excited." He gestures between Chuck and himself. "We're heroes, we're rock stars."

He doesn't expect the guy to grab him by the back of his jacket and shove him face first onto the bartop and wow, this is getting serious really fast, he hopes that doesn't bruise. Newt's mind is fuzzy from an abundance of alcohol and not quite enough food, so he just barely processes it when the guy actually seems to growl at him, what the hell, seems like a bit of an overreaction.

It's going to be a long night.

Edited 2013-10-13 07:24 (UTC)

"Oi!" Chuck shouts, his easy, relaxed mood from a moment earlier gone in the blink of an eye. While he can understand perfectly well getting upset about being on the receiving end of a spilled beer, certain that he wouldn't have taken to it well himself, there's a far cry between an accident and this, the guy's reaction, in his opinion, totally uncalled for. Even if that weren't the case, he still wouldn't be alright with it. Newt is his friend now; what's more, just like he's said, he's a hero, a rock star, partially responsible for closing the Breach and ending the war with the kaiju. No stranger in a bar gets to treat him like this, especially when Newt's been quick to offer an apology for the spilled drink.

Hopping off his bar stool and to his feet, he takes a step forward, shoving the guy away from them both as he does. "You don't push him around, right? This man —"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," the guy cuts in with a dark, utterly amused laugh, the mockery in his voice clear when he continues. "Saved the world."

That, Chuck won't stand for. No one here — well, no one else, now — gets it, he's known that since the day he arrived. Maybe this frustration has been building up inside him since then, even having gotten confirmation now that what he did wasn't for nothing. Or maybe it's just that he's always been quick to anger, something the amount he's had to drink probably hasn't helped with. Either way, it doesn't matter much. Not hesitating a moment, he throws a hard punch, fist colliding with the man's jaw.

Newt's chest feels tight, it reminds him of how he'd felt when Hannibal Chau had stuck a knife up his nose the first time they'd met but somehow, he doesn't think this adventure is going to end as awesomely as the last one, so he's endlessly relieved when Chuck pushes the dick away. His hands are trembling a little, and he's mad at himself for it because goddammit, he'd faced off with two kaijus and lived to tell the tale, so why is he so shaken up from some random asshat who can't handle it when people are better than him?

He finds himself hovering a few inches behind Chuck, rubbing at the side of his cheek that hit the bar and trying to adjust his glasses because damn, they feel a little off, he's going to have to fiddle with his frames after this is over. The guy continues to be a disrespectful douche, and Newt almost wishes they were in a kaiju world because he would not have hesitated to offer him up to Otachi. Then all of a sudden, hell is breaking loose and Chuck is throwing punches and okay, if this guy's got friends as big as him at this bar, they might be in a lot of trouble.

"Dude," he starts, his eyes darting around the room as he reaches out to place a hand on Chuck's shoulder, tugging at his jacket a little. "Maybe we should get out of here."

Owen happens to be at the same bar tonight, waiting on Tosh to turn up-- he reckons she's gotten caught up in some bit of works-- when the fight breaks out. He lets out a long and drawn out sigh at first, because he honestly doesn't understand why people can't be sodding adults and just have their drinks.

He looks in the direction of the commotion, and immediately recognizes the two men at the center of it. Darrow newbies, both. He's got a pretty good idea why someone might want to be one of them up, but the one who'd been whinging about his ID being from the future seemed alright.

Either way, Owen's not looking to get involved in a fight that's not his. At least, not until he sees a large, angry bloke come up behind Newt, with the obvious intent to catch him off guard. Something tells Owen that he's probably not the best in a fight.

Quickly, he gets up from the table where he's sat— which is thankfully not too far away— and puts himself between Newt and his would be attacker.

"Oi!" Owen shouts, and punches him directly in the throat, watching as he staggers back a few steps.

Chuck means to respond to Newt, he really does, but too quickly gets distracted, dodging one hit of the other man's only to get the full force of a second. It hurts, even throws him a little off-guard, but he's taken worse. There's no way in hell he lets himself be deterred by that. If anything, it just makes him all the more determined to kick the guy's ass, something he knows he'll be more than capable of. This guy might have some idea what he's doing, but not nearly enough to be any kind of match for him.

The problem just is, there's only so much he can focus on at one time. Though he does his best to keep Newt out of the line of fire and not to step backwards into him, just like replying falls by the wayside, so does keeping an eye out for anyone else. He doesn't notice the other guy who's joined the fight at all until someone's already decked him — someone, he realizes in the glimpse he manages to get, being the guy who looks like Hermann Gottlieb that he'd met his first night here. "Nice one," he says, half-breathless. At least this fight is going better than his last one. "You alright, Newt?"

Newt's officially ready to freak out because what the actual hell, Big O is suddenly all up in this business and chopping throats and Chuck's getting hit the face and wow, they're never going to be allowed in this bar again. He hovers behind Chuck and Harper with his fists up in the air, bouncing on his heels and looking a little too much like Kangaroo Jack--which Chuck probably hates because Australia pride or whatever, so he puts his hands back down and shouts encouragement instead.

"I'm good, you got this, guys!" Useless, so useless. It's when he sees a couple of what has to be the asshole's friends approaching the scene that he realizes shit might be getting a little too real. One of the guys come up on Harper's left, but Big O is still focused on Dickhead Numero Uno, so Newt instinctively kicks out, managing to get the guy at the kneecap and effectively knocking him down. "Hell yes!"

He thinks he should probably be concerned about how good that felt, but he doesn't have time because another guy is stepping up to the plate. He steps over the moron on the floor and holds his arms out. "Come at me!"

It's been a while since Owen's been in a fight, at least not since that one bard with Mark Lynch, but it's not as if he's forgotten how. Use your opponent's aggression against them, let them make the mistakes. The first man is sat on the floor, both hands round his neck as he lets out a hoarse sort of noise, but one his mates isn't far behind and catches Owen off-guard with a punch straight to his jaw.

He staggers, vision swimming for a moment, but dodges a second blow, pushing the man along with the momentum of his fist so that he crashes headfirst into the bar. Owen's not far behind, and grabs a half-full beer bottle from the surface of the bar to hit him with.

It's not a film, it doesn't shatter, but it feels good anyway. Though something tells Owen that the other man probably doesn't share that sentiment.

Still engaged with the guy who'd picked the fight in the first place, Chuck has to wonder just how many friends this asshole has, all of them probably just as eager for a fight as he is himself. Either way, though, he doesn't think it matters. He feels better now than he has since the day he arrived here, both for every hit he lands and every one he takes. The guy's a fucking amateur, anyway, someone who thinks he's tough probably just because most of the people he's attempted to start brawls with have backed down before. That sure as hell isn't going to be the case now. For his own part, Chuck's always been more about aggression than technique, though he's as well-trained as anyone else who went through the Jaeger Program. Now, just having an outlet for that does wonders.

"Watch it," he manages to half-shout, a warning to that guy who looks like Dr. Gottlieb, though there's not much time that goes with it. Finally having gotten close enough to again, he slams the face of the guy he's been fighting into the bar, spitting blood onto the floor a moment later with a wild grin. "That's four down. So who's next?"

Between Chuck and Big O, Newt is starting to realize that any attempts he's making at being useful in this fight are futile. This is further confirmed when he lets himself get distracted by Chuck smashing the face of guy who'd started the trouble in the first place onto the bartop and ha, it all comes full circle. But he's stopped paying attention to the rest of the action and that's what lets another guy nail him with a fist to the stomach then catch him in the eye on his way back up hard enough to knock his glasses off. He can already feel the blood dripping from a cut under his brow, this one's definitely going to bruise.

He's not entirely sure if he's dizzy from the hit to the head or the abundance of alcohol he's had tonight or, more likely, a decidedly terrible combination of both, but he's glad to see that in the time it has taken him to recover from the blows, his assailant has already been knocked down to the ground. He bends down to pick up his glasses and through his haze, he can hear the bartender shout that he's going to call the police. Time to get the hell out of here.

He tugs at Owen's shirt this time, more urgently than he did with Chuck, as he puts on his glasses--and holy hell, the lenses still aren't shattered, this is something he'll be celebrating later--and gestures at the bartender, who's already on the phone. "Dude, we need to get out of here before the cops show up. I know you guys are like, totally having a great time or whatever, but I am so not down for spending the rest of this night in a cell."

By the time Newt's on his feet, Owen's taken out the guy who punched him, stomping down on his shin at an angle that he's sure is going to a bit of damage. "You'll want to set that as a precaution," he says to the man holding his leg, though he's trying to catch his breath as he says it.

In all the commotion, Owen's forgotten that this isn't Cardiff. If he's arrested, he can't just say he's Torchwood or call Jack and get out in ten minutes. He'll actually have to spend the night— at the very least— in a holding cell for this. Though, he's not sure if Darrow treats bar fights the same way they're treated back home. He glances toward the bartender when Newt mentions him, then turns to the third member of their party.

"Hey, Australia, we need to go!" Owen calls, and he's already heading for the door, grabbing the collar of Newt's shirt to drag him along before someone gets to their feet and likely kills him.

Christ, It's a good thing this isn't one of his usual drinking spots, because they're most definitely going to be barred for life.

Any retort Chuck would have made about being called just Australia is cut off by the fact that he knows they've got to be right. It's a little disappointing, actually, when he's got plenty of fight left in him, half-tempted to stay and give the same treatment to anyone else who'd try to fuck with him right now, but for all that he'd like to say he doesn't care whether the police come or not, that isn't strictly true. It would just be inviting a kind of trouble that he doesn't really want and he knows it, no matter how primed he is to kick some more asses.

"Alright, I'm coming, I'm coming," he calls, exasperation heavy in his voice, though he doesn't waste any time in starting for the door after the others. There's blood still in his mouth, some on his cheek trickling down from a cut, but he can deal with all that later. If anything, there's something refreshing about the familiar signs of a fight, though he'd be hard-pressed to explain exactly what that is. There wouldn't be any sense in hanging around to do so, anyway, when they're much better off booking it out of here.

Newt's already running for the exit when Chuck and Owen finally decide that it's a good time to bail, and he's got his back turned to the outside as he holds the door open for them. "Okay, I know you guys are like all badass macho men or whatever, but I don't want to get arrested so let's hurry the hell up, please." He knows what happens to little guys like him in prison--well, he's regular size, okay, but compared to most, he can admit maybe he's a little smaller--his tattoos would totally get ruined by someone needling my bitch on him or something, and he doesn't have time for that.

With Chuck and Big O on his heels, he pivots out the door and is immediately greeted by a handful of cops. He really doesn't think five cars are necessary but there they are and a few of the cops push past them to take care of business in the bar but the rest are just staring them down. "It wasn't us?" Newt offers weakly, but he's bleeding from the eyebrow and nose and his cheekbone is probably bruising up already, not to mention what Chuck and Owen must look like right now.

One cop rolls his eyes and steps forward, and Newt really wants to look over his shoulder at Chuck to see what the hell they should do, but he figures it's pretty over at this point. The cop already seems bored, almost like he's disappointed that there hadn't been a chase, but he glares down at Newt as he pulls out a pair of cuffs. "We're going to have to take you boys in."

Newt sighs, defeated, and holds his hands up to show that he's going to be cooperative. He does look over at Chuck and Owen now, very clearly fifty shades of put out, and sighs. "This blows, dudes."

"Shit!" Owen exclaims, and he stops short, seeing the officers stood there in front of the bar. He might've tried to just walk away and play innocent, but Newbie here has basically admitted to their wrongdoing already. That, and he definitely looks like he's been in a fight. this isn't one he's been able to come out of unscathed, so there's really no arguing at this point.

"Next time I try and bail either of you out of a fight, remind me what a fucking horrible idea it is," he says, and before he knows it, one of the coppers is already putting a pair of cuffs on him, being a little rougher than he needs to be, considering Owen's coming along without a fight.

"Alright, alright. Jesus," Owen says to the officer, annoyed. Christ, he hates local law enforcement.

"Oi, fucking watch it," Chuck all but growls, putting up considerably more resistance than either of the other two. It becomes abundantly clear from the way they handle him that the officers aren't thrilled about it, but he's not just going to stand there and put up with all of this, either. It's the last thing he needs right now -- a stupid argument, probably, but an honest one even so. "I guess it doesn't matter that we aren't the ones who started it, then, does it? If there's anyone you should be bringing in, it's the other guys."

He thinks the cop twists his arms behind his back a little harder than he really needs to, but Newt's not exactly in a position to tell him to stop being a dick. It's not until they're shoving him in the backseat of the car and he smacks his head going in--he swears that was on purpose, too--that he makes another complaint. "Dude, seriously? I get my face slammed onto a bar and you're arresting us, that's kind of backwards, don't you think? You could at least be gentle with me."

The cop doesn't even answer, just rolls his eyes which Newt had pretty much expected because clearly these guys don't have their heads on very straight. He heaves an irritated sigh as he shifts in attempt to get comfortable on the seat, ending up with the back of his head against the window as he watches Chuck and Big O get subjected to the same treatment.

He leans to the side a bit to get a better look at both of them and all of a sudden, the whole situation seems nothing less than hilarious. He snorts, ignoring the looks of ire that are coming his way, and offers a dopey smile. "Thanks for a great night, guys."

"Cheers," Owen practically spits, wedged into the backseat of the car, in the middle. He's annoyed— beyond it, really— but at least he knows that whenever they're allowed a phone call, he'll be able to get ahold of Tosh to come bail him out. If they do that sort of thing in Darrow. it seems like a normal sort of thing when it comes to rights, but fuck knows how Darrow operates. After this, he'll have to look into it a bit more, just so he's sure how this sort of thing goes.

Not that he's planning on jumping into anymore bar fights or getting arrested again any time soon.

He scowls the whole car ride, oblivious to whether or not Newbie spends it prattling on about whatever it is he normally prattles on about. In fact, it's not until they're being shuffled into a holding cell that Owen says much at all, even as the cop decides he'd rather ignore all of their protests, shutting the door behind them.

"We're supposed to get a phone call!" he shouts at the door, then kicks it in frustration when no one on the other side answers.

"At least you have someone to fucking call in the first place," Chuck says, the bitterness in his voice utterly unrestrained. With his adrenaline having waned, he's taking to this even worse than he was already, which is saying something. He didn't even really start the fight to begin with. None of this seems the least bit fair, and he thinks these cops have got to have something against them for not being from Darrow, just like the guys in the bar must have, which is utterly ridiculous. They didn't ask to be here, can't help that they are.

They can't help this now, either. Though it's sorely tempting to shout an obscenity after the cop, he just manages to bite it back, having sobered up just enough to suspect that it would only make this worse. If they have to sit around here much longer, though, he doubts he'll still care. "Christ. They better have gone back for those other guys."

What Chuck says keeps Newt quiet for at least three and a half minutes as he peers through the bars of their cell because they're in the same boat in this godforsaken place. He hadn't had many friends back at the 'Dome but at least he'd known that if he ever got into any kind of trouble, the PPDC would be there to bail him out. He'd been valuable there, unexpendable to protecting the fate of the world; here, he's some guy who gets arrested for getting blindsided by an asshole in a bar. He'd even take being back in the midst of a kaiju war than being here right now, at least that way he'd feel more than useless.

He sighs heavily, crossing the cell to lean back against the wall, offering them both a small smile. "We could call for a pizza," he jokes weakly. "That would go over well, I think."

"Good fucking luck with that, mate," Owen replies, bitter, impatient and well pissed off at this point. It wasn't his fight in the first place, he's not drunk, and as far as he can tell, there should be several other people tossed in with them as well.

Though, he's willing to bet a few of them had to be taken to the hospital instead. As a doctor, he shouldn't be proud of the fact, but he is.

"Oi!" he calls through the bars again, "We've got fucking rights, you know!"

Christ, he misses the days when just saying the name Torchwood could get him out of spots like this.

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