SFB: IV
This meeting is in a warehouse in the industrial part of the city, instead of an upmarket hotel. No reason had been given for the change of venue, and Theirn is willing to bet that there is something rather unpleasant planned, whether for them or for the rival criminals. Either way, he and Marcus are once again in the limousine, heading for a meeting with Perez and whoever else happened to be there.
Marcus leans back in his seat, stretching out his legs, a perfect picture of the relaxed minor mob boss as he looks out the window into the rain.
He's not fiddling with the cane, not today; instead it's held tightly with both gloved hands.
It always seems to rain in this city, Theirn muses. That or overcast skies. It's no wonder, really, he's been vaguely unsettled even before the charade began; he's never liked this sort of weather. It suits the assignment, though.
They're about five minutes away from the warehouse, if he read the maps right back at the house. He's uneasy going unarmed, but it would break their cover if he had a weapon on him.
"Are you ready, mon petit?" Marcus asks, tone careless, without looking away from the window. "Ready to look pretty for our friends?"
"If that's your desire," Theirn answers quietly, almost automatically.
He hates that name.
"Oh," he says softly, voice dangerous, "but what if it isn't about my desires, mon petit? What about our friends? Are you ready to fulfill their desires as well?"
Still, Marcus doesn't look away from the window and the downpour outside it, as they draw closer to their destination. Not long now at all.
"If that's what you wish me to do."
Alarmingly easy, to answer like this. Alarmingly easy to fall back into the character of the meek, submissive pet. He'll be worried about that later. Right now there's no room for worry in his mind, not with planning and apprehension and trying to work out what Perez's next move will be.
"Very good, mon petit."
He smiles, slightly, and it's not a very nice smile, as he reaches over to the younger man, sitting on the floor of the limousine, and strokes a hand over his hair lightly.
Theirn closes his eyes, not leaning into the touch but not leaning away from it, either. His face is expressionless; he's always been able to do that, and he's thankful for it now.
He doesn't think he ever wants Marcus to see the sort of dislike that he's feeling right now.
The limousine turns the corner into a parking garage, and Marcus relaxes minutely, settling his hands on the cane again. They pull to a stop, and after a brief moment the driver opens the door for Marcus.
He doesn't wait for Theirn as he exits the car, striding over towards the stairwell and calmly descending. He doesn't wait for directions from the driver, either, for that matter, before turning south on the first basement level and crossing the length of the garage to reach the entrance to the warehouse.
Theirn gets out of the car and follows Marcus, shivering slightly. It's far from a warm night and he's dressed for appearance, not warmth.
The man standing by the entrance gives them a perfunctory nod and moves aside.
The end of the cane catches at the side of his neck, not quite pressing into it, and Marcus stares at him until, after a brief moment, he swallows hard and opens the door for them.
Marcus smiles, icily, and tips his hat just barely before entering the building.
It's fairly obvious where Perez is; the corridor is deserted, but a light at the end shows where the meeting is to take place. The man at the door murmurs, "they're ready for you, sir."
It is... perhaps amusing, as well, but perhaps more likely simply fitting that Theirn's boots make more noise than Marcus's shoes as they make their way down the hall, although the staccato clicking of Marcus's cane (an affectation, yes, of course, but still a suitable one) interrupts.
There is no doorman at this door, and so it is Marcus's gloved hand that turns the knob, and he pushes the door open and studies the scene before him before entering the room.
Only three of the men who were at the first meeting are here; Daniels and Stewart, sitting at the table, and Perez, who is standing at the far end of the room, hands behind his back, calmly waiting.
"Mr. Goldberg. I'm pleased you could join us."
"I'm sure you are, Mr. Perez," says Marcus, with the same faint cold smile.
Perez picks up a manilla folder from the table, flicking through the find a piece of paper, and smiles coolly.
"Do come in, please."
He does, and calmly takes a seat, fingers laced around the silver head of his cane.
"Your toy suffers no further ill effects from our little demonstration, I trust?"
"Nothing to permanently lessen his value, at least," Marcus drawls, settling back and stretching out his legs. "So kind of you to ask."
Perez puts the paper back in the folder and slides it across the table to Marcus.
"This is the dossier of one Mr. Patrick Wrede. My colleagues and I are of the opinion that if you do intend to join us, you might show your willingness by dealing with him."
"Well, well. And what would I have to lose?" he murmurs, softly, reaching over to take the folder. "Let me guess, my dear Mr. Perez... you're leaving this to my discretion?"
Perez's smile brightens. "Of couse. There are... details, that should point you towards the wisest course of action, but we do have every confidence in your abilites, Mr. Goldberg."
Daniels laughs and mutters something under his breath to Stewart, but quiets at a stern glance from Perez.
Marcus smiles, blandly, and looks at neither Daniels nor Stewart. "I'm afraid it would appear that your companions fail to agree with you."
"Oh, we have confidence in your abilities," Stewart drawls lazily. "It's your willingness to do what it takes to take Wrede down that we're worried about."
"And whyever would that be?"
Daniels just laughs again and lets his gaze rake over Theirn.
Marcus watches Daniels, as he lazily raises one hand over his shoulder and gestures Theirn forward.
Theirn quietly moves forward to stand beside Marcus.
"I think, perhaps, Mr. Stewart, you underestimate me. I told you, did I not, that I protect my investments?"
"You did, yes," Stewart allows, steepling his fingers.
"Did you not think, perhaps, that mon petit here is more than simply a toy?"
"I'm sure you'll enlighten us."
He runs one gloved hand slowly up Theirn's arm, over his shoulder, and lets it rest between his shoulderblades, pushing him forward, down, against the table.
"He's very well-trained, you see. And incredibly loyal to me as well, aren't you, mon petit?"
Theirn doesn't resist, closing his eyes briefly.
"As you say, sir."
Marcus' hand continues to slide down his back, slowly. He's not holding Theirn down, not anymore, as his hand dips out of sight of the other men in the room, just briefly. Theirn doesn't move.
It's half a moment, at most, that his hand isn't visible, but that's long enough for the slender blade to appear in his hand, without even a telltale flash of light. Not from Theirn's outfit-- for one couldn't really call what he was wearing clothing-- but then, his sort of magic isn't known on this world, and the man trailing the tip of the knife lightly over Theirn's back is hardly the sort to avoid pressing any advantage he could.
The knife is sharp; sharp enough that, with the slightest of twists, he could cut this ridiculous outfit from Theirn's body without batting an eyelash. Instead, he reaches forward swiftly and plants it in the middle of the table, just next to the manilla folder, and then calmly picks up the folder and opens it, still watching Daniels.
"Mon petit here is a very valuable tool, Mr. Stewart. I don't appreciate your little attempt to hurt him, to frighten me into joining you."
"Hardly an attempt to frighten you, Mr. Goldberg," Perez says. "You don't strike me as the sort of man to frighten easily. We do however like to warn those we work with that we mean business, and will take any measures to see that what needs to be done gets done."
Theirn still hasn't moved, forcing his breathing to stay even, eyes closed.
"Ah. How reassuring," Marcus says dryly. He glances down at the contents of the folder, skimming rapidly for a few seconds before glancing up at Perez again. "Was there anything else you wanted, or would you rather watch your companions continue to underestimate me?"
"I believe our business for the night is done."
"How lovely. Do you plan to give me a time frame, then, or is that also to be left to my discretion?"
"Soon. That is the only time frame we require."
Daniels leans back in his chair. "Does he always look afraid, Mr. Goldberg?"
Marcus smiles, slowly, hand resting on Theirn's shoulder for a moment before he reaches again for the knife in the table, tugging it free. "Isn't that a nice touch?"
"Interesting, certainly."
There's a faint challenging look in Daniels' eyes, but he doesn't say anything else
The knife disappears again out of view, and Marcus stands. "Come now, mon petit, we mustn't take any more of the nice gentlemen's time."
Theirn straightens and takes a step back, glancing briefly at Daniels.
Perez smiles coolly. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Goldberg."
"I'm sure I could say the same."
Marcus's smile is a perfect match, and he does not look at the two henchmen before he turns and leaves.
They aren't stopped as they go back out to where the limousine waits, and the man by the door simply nods and keeps watch.
The driver opens the door, again, and Marcus waits until Theirn gets in before following him.
The gloves come off quickly, and there are a few quietly whispered words before the car starts, and then Marcus sags back against the seat again, silently.
Theirn rests his chin on a drawn-up knee, gazing out the window at the rain.
"Do you want to read it, Theirn?"
A very subtle accenting on his name.
"I suppose I should."
"That's not technically an answer to the question I asked," Marcus murmurs, but he passes the folder over anyway. He picked up enough to last him for now, and would much rather keep an eye on the slick streets outside the window, instead.
"I'm sorry."
It comes out almost automatically, as he opens the folder and starts to read.
"Neither is that," he adds absently.
"I don't particularly want to know the sordid details of this man's life, no, but I should. Unless you think it'd be more convincing if I didn't."
That last part is said in a different tone than the one Theirn usually uses. Not quite sarcastic or bitter, but... different.
"Your choice, of course," Marcus says, lightly. "More convincing if you don't, perhaps, and perhaps safer if you do."
Theirn doesn't answer, continuing to read.
By the time he's done he looks vaguely ill.
Marcus is much more relieved than he shows, when the limousine pulls up in front of the house again. For all of that, it takes a fair bit of concentration to wait for the driver to come open his door again, and he does not delay as he goes inside.
The house is warm, comfortingly so, as cane and hat and gloves are deposited again on the hatrack just inside the door.
Theirn waits just inside the door for Marcus to say whether it's safe to drop out of character or not, shivering a little. What he's wearing isn't exactly conducive to keeping warm in the rain.
The set of Marcus's shoulders further relaxes a moment later, as it appears he is listening to something, and he reaches past Theirn to close the door before speaking softly.
"Take off your shirt, Theirn, I'd like to make certain whether or not I scratched you."
He hesitates briefly, a bare half-second, before starting to unbutton the shirt, shrugging it off.
'Shirt,' of course, is being generous.
Marcus pulls the shirt back off his shoulders, baring his back, and studies the pale skin so revealed, not touching Theirn.
A few faint red scratches, yes, but nothing that broke the skin, and so he hands Theirn the scrap of cloth again and turns away, making his way towards the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No, thank you. Do you mind if I go change?"
The French accent is all but gone from his voice by now.
"No, that's fine," Marcus replies, voice slightly raised so that Theirn can hear him. "I may do the same myself, in a few minutes."
Theirn goes into his room and changes the leather and silk for jeans and a long-sleeved shirt - about the only clothing here that isn't specifically designed to make its wearer look like a rent boy. He sits on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair and swearing softly when he notices the shaking.
It's perhaps ten minutes later that there's a quiet knock at his door.
"Theirn?" Marcus calls, softly.
"Just - just a minute."
He curses again; the tremor in his voice is clearly audible.
"Theirn, may I come in?"
"As you like."
Marcus opens the door, quietly, and it's clear that Theirn was not the only one who changed to step away from his role. For that matter, their garb is nearly identical; Marcus leans against the doorframe in black jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt, his hair loose for once.
"Are you... I won't ask if you're all right, but are you okay?"
"I'll be fine."
He isn't looking up.
"Theirn..."
Marcus moves, quietly, and drops to his knees on the floor in front of the bed.
"Not really what I asked, you know."
"No. I'm not, really."
"Is there anything I can do to help, my friend?"
"I don't know." He runs his hands through his hair again, closing his eyes. "The longer I spend in a role..."
He reaches up, catching at one of Theirn's hands, holding it lightly.
"You know that you don't have to go with me to all of these meetings, Theirn."
"Too late now. They'll know something's wrong if I stop." He laughs quietly. "Besides, the Goldberg who runs crime in this city is never without his faithful pet."
"You may be right about that, but... at the very least you might take a break, soon."
"Are we going to take out Wrede?"
It's an obvious subject change and he knows it.
"Yes."
A simple response, quiet and soft, and not, perhaps, reassuring.
"How?"
It's a stupid question. He's read the dossier, he knows how they're going to do it.
That doesn't mean he doesn't want Marcus to tell him he's wrong.
"You'll play bait, and Perez will think you are the trap as well, and then I will take care of our friend Mr. Wrede."
The detail is missing, but there is perhaps enough of it still there to fill in the picture.
"When?"
He's still not looking at Marcus.
Marcus reaches up with his free hand, lightly touching Theirn's cheek.
"Will you look at me, my dear?"
He does, slowly. There's something unreadable and not at all good in his eyes.
Marcus rises, careful to hold Theirn's gaze, and sits next to him on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, far closer than the Goldberg who runs crime in this city would allow of his faithful pet, toy or tool or whatever other role Theirn might play.
"We will deal with him when we deal with him, but it will not be tonight, and it will not be tomorrow, and it will not be the day after," he says softly. "I cannot say if it will or will not begin three days from now, but until then I intend to stay in this house, and I intend to give you as much time as I can to remember yourself."
Theirn buries his face in Marcus's shoulder, shivering. "I'm sorry. I know I agreed to this."
"Shh, my dear," he whispers, one hand smoothing over Theirn's hair. "You need not apologize. No-one would have expected things to develop this way."
"I can do it." He sounds almost as though he's trying to convince himself. "I'm not backing out now."
Marcus presses a kiss to his forehead, gently. He does not say that he thinks it would be better for Theirn if he did, any more than he says that it would be best for the mission if he didn't.
It would be best for the mission if he didn't, and that's why he won't.
That doesn't mean he's not shaking right now, and almost afraid to let go of Marcus.
He pulls away from Theirn, slightly, although he doesn't let go of him; instead, it's just enough to shift on the bed until he's sitting back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, and then he tugs slightly on Theirn's hand, pulling him closer again.
Theirn is rather too tall to curl up in someone's lap like this, really.
"Daniels scares me."
Marcus doesn't seem to mind, rubbing a hand soothingly over Theirn's back.
"I won't let them hurt you again, Theirn."
"I know."
It's not like he didn't know what he was getting into, agreeing to this assignment, this charade. But it's different seeing it on paper and living it.
"I'm sorry," Marcus murmurs softly.
"It's not your fault."
"It's close enough."
"How?"
"Because at one level, I'm the senior agent, and responsible for you."
"I knew what I was getting into."
"Doesn't mean I'm supposed to let you get poisoned, Theirn..."
"You hardly stood by while they jabbed me with a syringe, Marcus," he points out. "Neither of us were expecting it."
"No... but I should have been."
"They hadn't given us any reason to think they might try anything. You're not perfect, nobody expects you to be."
"Not quite, at least," Marcus says with a bittersweet smile, but this is an old wound, and he dismisses it again soon enough with a sigh. "They're lords of the criminal underworld, Theirn, and surely that is reason enough to be suspicious of them."
"I suppose."
He's quiet for a few minutes, just breathing evenly, eyes closed. He doesn't think he'll ever feel safe in this world, but this is probably the closest he'll get.
Eventually Marcus shifts again, pulling Theirn closer, and pressing another kiss to his forehead.
Theirn leans up and kisses Marcus.
Not on his forehead.
Some analytical portion of Marcus's mind points out that really he ought not to have been quite so surprised as he is, but the rest of him is simply caught off guard and returning Theirn's kiss.
He shifts in Marcus's lap, deepening the kiss.
One hand slips under the hem of Theirn's shirt, resting at the small of his back, as the other finds itself tangled in his hair, and Marcus pulls back just enough to whisper "Theirn..." against his lips.
A soft half-whimper escapes his throat as Marcus pulls back, even just that small amount, and one hand fists in the older man's shirt.
"Marcus... please..."
"Anything, my dear," he murmurs, pulling Theirn closer. "Whatever you want."
"Help me." His voice is barely audible. "You taught me this dance. Help me remember myself."
"Of course," he says softly, hardly more than a whisper, and then he smiles against Theirn's lips before kissing him again, slowly and deliberately and thoroughly, hands dropping to Theirn's hips, pulling him closer still.
Theirn closes his eyes, sliding his hand under Marcus's shirt and slowly up his chest, deepening the kiss.
Marcus sits up, breaking the kiss long enough to pull his shirt off and drop it on the floor out of the way, hands catching at the hem of Theirn's shirt as well, pushing it up slowly, hands trailing over his skin as he goes.
His room isn't exactly cold but it's far from hot, and Marcus's skin is warmer than the surrounding air. He runs his free hand into Marcus's hair, nipping his lower lip gently.
A low, soft sound slips from Marcus' throat, and he deepens the kiss abruptly. Rougher now, quicker, as his hands keep trailing over Theirn's back, and he pushes his shirt out of the way impatiently, breaking the kiss with a quiet sound of frustration and seeking bare skin immediately as a replacement.
He drops his shirt to the floor beside Marcus's and shifts a little, kneeling with his knees on either side of Marcus's thighs and leaning in to skate his hand across Marcus's chest.
Marcus smiles a little against Theirn's shoulder, nipping lightly at his collarbone, trailing kisses up along the side of his neck. His hands drop again to the small of Theirn's back, although they don't stay there long, wandering from hips to shoulders and back again.
He makes a soft half-whimpering sound in the back of his throat, pressing against Marcus.
"Marcus, please..."
"Told you," he says softly, lips brushing against the side of Theirn's neck still, "anything you want, my dear..."
"Help me remember." His eyes are closed, his voice soft. "That night, at your house. As much of me as anything else. Help me remember myself."
"Of course I will," he repeats quietly, and catches Theirn's lips in another kiss a moment later.