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Canton thought he would kill the next jerk who brushed against him at the bar. For fuck's sake, he'd just put his partner in the ground, couldn't these assholes let him drink himself into a coma in peace? He held the glass of whisky against his forehead for a moment before sending a mental "bottom's up, love' and tossing it back, the burn having become less intense by the fifth shot.
He signalled the bartender for another and the man poured it, although his glare told Canton if he wanted more, he'd have to go elsewhere for it. He swallowed it just as quickly and went to pull out his wallet.
"I'll get it," came an even tenor voice from behind him.
Canton turned his head and, once the room stopped spinning, he could make out the shape of a man, average height, brown hair, blue, blue eyes, bulky coat that he'd obviously bought at a military surplus store. He had the military bearing to go with it, though, and Canton flipped him off. "Can pay for my own drinks," he slurred.
Military man snorted and handed a card to the bartender. The bartender ran it and brought the slip back to be signed. "Take your friend home," he said as the slip was handed back to him.
"On it."
"You're not on anything," Canton said, sliding off the stool and nearly falling on the floor. Military man caught him and hoisted him up and against his side. Canton tried to pull away but the man was surprisingly strong and Canton was not surprisingly very drunk.
"Just come with me and I'll explain everything," the man said quietly as he led Canton outside and to a black Chevy parked at the side of the curb.
Canton had no choice but to get in the car, if he swung a punch right now, the best he could do was break his hand on the car; no way he could hit a person. He swore under his breath and settled in, the sound of the door closing especially loud in his ears. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, wondering if he was the most well behaved mark this man--who was probably a government assassin--had ever had to deal with.
He was very surprised to have an open bottle handed to him. He peered at the label--Macallan aged 25 years--and drank deeply until he passed out, the almost empty bottle rolling out of his lax grip and onto the floor.
When Canton drifted to consciousness, he wished he'd died alongside his partner. He couldn't ever remember a hangover this horrific, and he reached out and blindly groped on his side table for the weapon that should be there. A bullet to the head would do nicely right about now. When he didn't find his weapon, he cracked one eye to attempt surveillance, only to groan loudly and pull his outstretched hand back to cover his eyes.
"What the hell did I do last night," he croaked.
He jumped straight up, hangover be damned, when a voice replied, "Drank a bottle and a half of scotch."
"Who the fuck are you," he demanded, searching for his missing weapon.
"Looking for this?" The man--Military man, Canton remembered--said, smirking as he held up Canton's gun.
Canton glared as fiercely as he could while wishing the bed would swallow him up and end his misery. "What do you want?"
"Easy, Canton," Military man said, holding out his hand, placating. "We have a mutual friend."
"Do we."
"The Doctor."
Canton blinked. The Doctor. He'd never expected to have anyone other than Nixon ever refer to the Doctor again. "How...how do you know the Doctor?"
Military man smiled knowingly. "He and I go way back together. Let's just say I ran some missions with him. I'm Captain Jack Harkness, by the way."
"Did he send you?"
"Not as such," Jack replied, looking away for a moment. "But I need some help and your name came up as a possibility. I figured if you've dealt with the Doctor, then you know what I'm up against doesn't necessarily have to be from this planet."
Canton nodded once, slowly, head swimming from adrenaline and dehydration.
"Why don't you have a shower and I'll make some coffee. We'll talk later."
"All right." Canton watched Jack walk out of his room like he owned the place and tried to let what little he knew settle in. His partner was dead. He'd tied an amazingly huge one on last night. He'd been taken from the bar and allowed to further drink himself into a stupor on the way home. A man he'd never even seen before had stayed in his house watching over him until he was somewhat lucid again, and now he was supposed to carry on getting ready for the day like nothing had changed. Typical G-man shit, then. At least until the Doctor's name had come up.
Canton had to admit he was curious to find out what Jack needed him for. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to stand, wobbling before he got most of his balance back. Captain Jack Harkness of the bluest eyes. This could get interesting.
***
Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and with minty fresh breath, Canton cautiously entered his kitchen. True to his word, Harkness had made coffee, and Canton finished buttoning up his shirt as he crossed to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup.
“You didn’t have to do that for my benefit,” Harkness said, smiling.
“What?” Canton glanced at the other man, his brow arched in question.
“Your buttons.” The smile widened to a grin. “I’d be fine if you wanted to unbutton again.”
Canton’s eyes narrowed. “Was that...” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Were you just, um...”
Harkness chuckled and held up his hands. “Just stating a fact.”
“Here’s a fact for you, Captain. Yesterday I put the man I’ve loved for the past ten years in the ground. So if you’re looking for a roll in the hay, you’ve picked the wrong time to hint around for it.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “I--I’m sorry. I didn’t know--”
“Well now you do, so stow it.”
Jack nodded, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Let’s talk.”