Sam won't be able to help on the plague front. It's not exactly his area of expertise.
He may, however, be able to distract Jack from worrying until he can actually do something about the situation at hand.
The thing about the basement is that there's not far you can prowl without retracing your steps a couple times, unless you just want to keep going down the endless hallway - which gets a little boring, and pointless after a while, once you get to rooms that haven't been filled. So Sam's noticed the prowling, and after a while decides to intercept him.
"Are you looking for someone?" Or just wandering for the sake of wandering? Not that Sam can blame him if he is, but if he can help... Well. Pacing people get on his nerves, when it's not him doing the pacing.
Jack doesn't actually jump. Just thinks it. He'd forgotten how... unobtrusive Sam could be.
"In particular?" he asks. "Not... particularly." He glances around at the room--oh, the problems he never had to deal with in the Hub--and, upon seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, lowers his voice. "Looking for something constructive to do. Not much I can, until Martha gets me more information."
Sam can understand that. He's not able to offer any help, but he wishes he could. "You're going with her when she comes back?" It would make sense - if there's the possibility of a plague, you send people who aren't going to get it... or at least, if they do get it, will without a doubt be fine eventually.
For a moment, he's silent, considering, and then Sam adds, "Where do you need me?" He can't imagine he'd be much help, but if there's some reason for him to come along, he will.
Far away from the bloody plague, is Jack's get response. That's not really a viable option for anyone in Torchwood.
"Here," he says. "Looking after the civilians. We're probably going to have to close the basement off, and I can imagine the sort of atmosphere that will breed." He looks grim for a moment. Babysitting. Babysitting a bunch of frightened people, no doubt. "Not the best job I can offer, but."
Then again, the last time he was called in for plague assistance, it was to use him as a living petri dish. And that's quite probably the worse end of the scale.
Sam's lips twist into a wry smile. It's what he expected. It's where he'll be most useful. That does not mean he's at all looking forward to it, sitting down here with a group of restless, scared people for an indefinite length of time, and all of the people they tend to look to as leaders gone. That's going to be fun.
"Of course." He studies Jack for a second, lips pursed. "I don't suppose you have any medical experience at all?"
He's not sure what he's looking for. Some idea of how good their chances are at sorting this out, maybe.
"Mostly response training," he says. "...though I know my way around a plague or two."
He grimaces. Yes, because Lusuosa is really something he needs to be reminded of, right now. Though, if he's keeping tags on last time, they've already hit horrible monsters from beyond time, getting stranded together, and a plague. That's faster than he and his own Sam moved.
"And I'm immune to most everything, even without--" He waves his hand. You know, the immortality thing. "For all I know, I might be a walking cure."
Of course, isolating and synthesizing that cure is another matter altogether.
Sam nods slowly, because he'd more or less expected that too. "Useful to have you around. If nothing else, they could try and use you as a test subject... though I can't imagine it would be pleasant."
Yes, Sam, you're so very encouraging. Then again, we're not sure encouraging is what he's going for. What he is going for... is anyone's guess.
Sam pulls a face that indicates his imagination just went to an unpleasant place he'd really rather it didn't.
"Please don't tell me whatever story is attached to that comment." Because he's certain there is a story attached. His own imagination is unpleasant enough, really.
"Hey, at least you didn't have to live through it," Jack says. "And believe me when I say that 1934 did not exactly offer the universe's most wonderful bedside manners. You think Owen is bad." He pulls a face.
"I think that if I were dying of a plague of any sort, bedside manner would be the least of my worries, but I'll keep that in mind should I ever find myself in 1934."
Yeah, Sam caught that nuance of meaning. And glares a little.
"Well, as long as I make an effort to not get hit by a car any time soon..." Or jump off a roof. Or have a crazy Time Lord shove you back in time. Or... you know what, Sam, you're just screwed.
"I usually do," Sam says pointedly, just so Jack doesn't think this is something that happens to him all the time. Not that Jack wouldn't know, probably...
He may, however, be able to distract Jack from worrying until he can actually do something about the situation at hand.
The thing about the basement is that there's not far you can prowl without retracing your steps a couple times, unless you just want to keep going down the endless hallway - which gets a little boring, and pointless after a while, once you get to rooms that haven't been filled. So Sam's noticed the prowling, and after a while decides to intercept him.
"Are you looking for someone?" Or just wandering for the sake of wandering? Not that Sam can blame him if he is, but if he can help... Well. Pacing people get on his nerves, when it's not him doing the pacing.
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"In particular?" he asks. "Not... particularly." He glances around at the room--oh, the problems he never had to deal with in the Hub--and, upon seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, lowers his voice. "Looking for something constructive to do. Not much I can, until Martha gets me more information."
Not on the plague front, at least.
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For a moment, he's silent, considering, and then Sam adds, "Where do you need me?" He can't imagine he'd be much help, but if there's some reason for him to come along, he will.
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"Here," he says. "Looking after the civilians. We're probably going to have to close the basement off, and I can imagine the sort of atmosphere that will breed." He looks grim for a moment. Babysitting. Babysitting a bunch of frightened people, no doubt. "Not the best job I can offer, but."
Then again, the last time he was called in for plague assistance, it was to use him as a living petri dish. And that's quite probably the worse end of the scale.
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"Of course." He studies Jack for a second, lips pursed. "I don't suppose you have any medical experience at all?"
He's not sure what he's looking for. Some idea of how good their chances are at sorting this out, maybe.
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He grimaces. Yes, because Lusuosa is really something he needs to be reminded of, right now. Though, if he's keeping tags on last time, they've already hit horrible monsters from beyond time, getting stranded together, and a plague. That's faster than he and his own Sam moved.
"And I'm immune to most everything, even without--" He waves his hand. You know, the immortality thing. "For all I know, I might be a walking cure."
Of course, isolating and synthesizing that cure is another matter altogether.
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Yes, Sam, you're so very encouraging. Then again, we're not sure encouraging is what he's going for. What he is going for... is anyone's guess.
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Which is probably more than any of us, narration included, needed to know.
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"Please don't tell me whatever story is attached to that comment." Because he's certain there is a story attached. His own imagination is unpleasant enough, really.
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Oh, come on, Jack, that wasn't even a "Your life now that you're in Torchwood," that was a "Your life specifically, Sam Tyler. Hardly fair.
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"Well, as long as I make an effort to not get hit by a car any time soon..." Or jump off a roof. Or have a crazy Time Lord shove you back in time. Or... you know what, Sam, you're just screwed.
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