Challenge 809 - Grassed up
Apr. 21st, 2024 03:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
m_findlowTitle: Grassed up
Character: Jack, Bernie Harris
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 200 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 809 - Grass at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
torchwood100
torchwood100Summary: Bernie's mates have sold him out. A double drabble.
‘Oh, fuck,’ Bernie Harris muttered as he opened the door of the grungy Splott apartment.
‘Flattered,’ Jack replied, leaning casually in the doorframe so Bernie couldn’t slam it back shut, ‘but you’re not really my type.’
‘I didn’t do nothing, I swears,’ Bernie said, his forehead already breaking out in a sweat that had nothing to do with the hoodie pulled up over his head on a Cardiff day that Jack would have described as positively balmy.
Jack took another step inside the doorframe, filling it so that Bernie’s only option would be to run for the back and not try and jostle past him out the front. ‘So if I say, tell me what you know about someone shifting party drinks around the local nightclubs, of the neon blue, highly hallucinogenic and somewhat dangerous for your average human physiology to ingest without rotting their insides persuasion, you’re going to say “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bernie shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Jack grinned. ‘Thought so. Except we already paid your buddies a little visit and they grassed on you. So, what’s say you offer me a cup of tea and we talk?’
‘Oh, fuck,’ Bernie Harris muttered as he opened the door of the grungy Splott apartment.
‘Flattered,’ Jack replied, leaning casually in the doorframe so Bernie couldn’t slam it back shut, ‘but you’re not really my type.’
‘I didn’t do nothing, I swears,’ Bernie said, his forehead already breaking out in a sweat that had nothing to do with the hoodie pulled up over his head on a Cardiff day that Jack would have described as positively balmy.
Jack took another step inside the doorframe, filling it so that Bernie’s only option would be to run for the back and not try and jostle past him out the front. ‘So if I say, tell me what you know about someone shifting party drinks around the local nightclubs, of the neon blue, highly hallucinogenic and somewhat dangerous for your average human physiology to ingest without rotting their insides persuasion, you’re going to say “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bernie shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Jack grinned. ‘Thought so. Except we already paid your buddies a little visit and they grassed on you. So, what’s say you offer me a cup of tea and we talk?’
