Mycroft Holmes

He understood the grace of Mycroft's words in a way that others wouldn't: putting his professional tasks aside to spend time with Jasper was a significant sign of his value for him and their relationship, even if it might be considered something to be expected. Hearing it sustained the smile on his face and made him look forward to the rest of the evening even more than before. "Thank you, dear. I'll put dinner on and meet you at the table when you're ready, hm?"

Cooking for someone was something Jasper had actually come to enjoy. Mycroft didn't dole out compliments willy-nilly, and so it was fulfilling when he managed to construct a dish to his preferences and earn himself one, especially considering it was a skill added to his repertoire quite recently. (He didn't always aim for praise, some days simply not having the mental energy to do more than keep things edible, but the satisfaction of someone enjoying something that he made was a significant motivator.) Tonight, his hands and body moved about the kitchen with tamed glee in anticipation of sharing a meal with his beloved after his time away; cheerful humming could be heard as he did so alongside the clanking of dishes, cutlery, and cabinet doors.

Quickly, the home filled with the delicious scents of cooking meats and breads. With the final step involving the oven, Jasper took the time to pour Mycroft and himself a drink that would pair well with the meal, the glass waiting for the man once he descended to the dining table.

#toprotectandscrve #queued;#roast works! Nice and traditional #Mycroft drinks pretty much anything classic tbh

From the scent drifting upstairs, Jasper had elected to go all out and make a roast dinner. The realisation made Mycroft smile. That was a lot of effort to go to, especially if it wasn't already planned. With such an unquestionable demonstration of devotion, it was impossible not to feel anything in response.

Of course, the decision also benefited Mycroft in terms of his unending professional life too. A roast dinner took quite a while to make, which left him more than enough time to make a few phone calls, respond to emails, and tidy up a few remaining loose ends.

Internal timer ticking away in the back of his mind, he slipped out of the study and returned to the kitchen around the time he estimated that Jasper would be making the final preparations. Unsurprisingly, Mycroft's instincts proved to be correct. He arrived just in time to see the other man place a glass of wine down on the table. Red was a given considering the meal, and though he hadn't seen the bottle's label, it felt safe to assume that Jasper's good taste was once again on display.

"You didn't have to go to so much effort," Mycroft said as he approached. "You know I would have been perfectly happy with something simple."

His hand wanted to reach out for the glass, but first he needed to give Jasper his present. The box was wrapped, as any good gift should be, and Mycroft handed it over to the other man with a fond smile that made his appreciation for everything being done perfectly clear.

A gift he'd like. Well he should hope so! The description made him tilt back his head, open his mouth in a silent laugh, and tap Mycroft on the chest in amusement. He then began walking away from him toward the kitchen where he was wanted.

Domestic life was something that Jasper was still getting used to. At his old employ, where he'd also lived, he would do the unpacking, order the cooking, and oversee the tidying and decorating; it was the level of understanding, of control, that he was used to. Being equals with a partner was different, but in some ways the same. He had to remind himself here and there that Mycroft was not above him in status in such a way, but also that he couldn't simply impose his will upon Mycroft freely. (Such are the ways of a working partnership, of course.) In many ways, though different, they were both learning.

"Very well," he said, stopping a moment so their conversation could continue facing one another. "I understand if you'd like some time to yourself tonight, too—although I did miss you," he tacked on. Traveling could be so tiring, even in such comfort as Mycroft could afford; he was happy enough to have the man's presence sleeping beside him in bed again, if nothing else.

(Speaking of, Jasper was looking a bit tired as well—Perhaps the lonesome nights had affected him more than he thought.)

#toprotectandscrve #queued;

It was nice to see Jasper laughing. It would have been nicer still to hear it, but Mycroft was not going to complain either way. In many ways, they were both peculiar men, though they were lucky in that their individual peculiarities often lined up with each other. Neither of them were particularly vocal. Laughter - proper laughter, at least - was not a common thing in their home, though it wasn't due to any kind of unhappiness.

As Jasper started to walk, Mycroft stayed where he was. If the other man didn't pause, then he would follow, but, knowing him, he fully expected him to stop for a second first. As predicted, that was exactly what happened. That was good, of course. It would have seemed rather rude were he not follow to finish the conversation if Jasper hadn't stopped!

"I missed you too," Mycroft replied, words automatic but not dishonest. Now he had something to come home to, being away felt difficult for reasons more than a simple distaste for breaking his deeply ingrained habits. Being back again, with Jasper fussing over him, brought a sense of quiet peace that he hadn't quite found anywhere else before.

"I need some time to myself to make a few phone calls, but they can wait. I have time for you first, should you desire it."

While Mycroft was tired (and from Jasper's appearance, he seemed the same), it was hardly as though their evening would be particularly rambunctious! That was another one of their aligned peculiarities. They were both perfectly content with the simplicity of little more than each other's company.

livedtough

He was, for whatever it may be worth, putting genuine effort into this new life. It may not be what he wanted, certainly wasn't what anyone here wanted, but there was no use in sulking. He was a smart man, as Mycroft observed, and he had always been the kind to pick himself up than allow himself to call victim to his own self-pity. If there was a problem, he would solve it, and if there was a responsibility to honor, he would damn well honor it.

Besides, if this was going to be his life, and if it would be more trouble than it was worth to get out of it, then maybe all there was to do was accept it and move on. No use for any of them to spend the rest of his life miserable. The home was beautiful, the grounds were stunning, and both staff and family alike seemed made of good people. He had no more desire to play pretend with his life than Mycroft did. He would simply have to make the best of it. Part of which included taking Mycroft on a walk around the grounds.

Which did all mean that he appreciated the compliment. It may not have been glowing, but it was appreciated nonetheless. "I appreciate that," he said, giving a small nod. It may have been only a small comfort, but any comfort was welcome. Matthew was certainly not the type to dismiss.

He had not spent quite as much time as he may have liked in the gardens, but he wasn't going to complain about what he had seen. It was a wonderful place, vast and beautiful. "There's a meadow of wild flowers nearby that I thought I would show you. It's quite lovely."

A flower meadow? How... Quaint.

Well, no, Mycroft supposed he shouldn't be mean. A flower meadow was nice. It was not the type of place he tended to spend time, but he supposed he couldn't deny that the visual of such a thing was rather pleasant for a limited amount of time.

"That does sound very nice," he said anyway, as it was what he was supposed to do. If anything, It would give him extra information on the layout of the grounds. Did Mycroft think that knowledge was going to be particularly useful? No, he did not, but one never knew. While Mycroft didn't expect a flower meadow to suddenly become important, stranger things had happened in his line of work.

He motioned for Matthew to lead the way - in part because it was the expected behaviour from a polite guest, but also because, of course, he did not yet know the direction they needed to head in.

"Are you a fan of flowers, then?" Mycroft asked in addition. "There's a whole language around them, you know. It'd be unusual for you to be subjected to it nowadays, but I suppose you never know. Perhaps you could use it as a weapon in your arsenal to capture the attention of the Earl's daughters."

That was a joke, though perhaps a weak one. Whether or not speaking the language of flowers would actually impress a young lady, Mycroft dd not know.

#livedtough #queued;

He smiled at what he read to be a hidden request for some dinner. While he'd enjoyed time to himself the last few days, not having someone else to regard and care for had been lonesome, boring, and caused a sort of mental friction that inhibited Jasper's acclimation to their cohabitation. In this way, it pleased him for his acts of service to be wanted. Just as he was to ask of Mycroft's dish preference, however, the shiny word 'gift' distracted him.

"Oh?" He smiled up at his partner. While Mycroft's gifts were not always personal, they were often expensive and practical, and Jasper genuinely looked forward to receiving them once announced. "I can certainly oblige that. What sort of gift?"

#toprotectandscrve #queued;

"A gift you'll like."

Well, one Mycroft hoped that Jasper would like, anyway. The logic was sound, especially considering that he wasn't officially expected to bring back a gift. Then again, though, it did seem to be one of those irritating little unwritten rules of relationships. Mycroft did his best to navigate such things (and nowadays, he thought he did a rather good job of it!) but he did so wish these things could be better defined sometimes.

Of course, he could just tell Jasper what the present was, but that rather defeated the point of bringing home a surprise, didn't it?

"It's in my suitcase. I'll need to unpack to get it." Plus, Mycroft was naturally keen to get everything back in its proper place. That was a trait he and Jasper shared, though they did disagree from time to time on where exactly that proper place was. Thankfully, that typically wasn't the case when it came the the sort of thing one would find in a small luggage bag. Worn clothes needed to go into the laundry basket, unworn clothes needed to be replaced in the correct drawers or have the creases from travel ironed out of them, and his laptop and other work equipment would be returned to his study, where they could subsequently be packed into their typical briefcase for tomorrow's day at work.

"It shouldn't take long. Why don't you starting putting the dinner on, and I will bring the gift to you in ten minutes of so? Have you eaten yet yourself?"

bertievi

The King offered a chuckle for the suggestion he could use Mycroft as an excuse to leave the dining room or the rest of the family gathering early should his youngest daughter prove too excitable. The truth was he never would, he relished every minute spent with his family and he knew Mycroft knew that too. In Bertie's eyes the offer was just a tease and not completely genuine.

"She may follow me if I were not -careful," not that he would mind though he was fiercely protective of his duties, Elizabeth would have to learn sooner or later and Margaret would have some hand in that learning, after all he was not the first in line for his father's throne, nor was his father. However, she was still young and carefree and he would prefer to keep her in such insulation for at least a little longer. Besides, Mycroft had surely been joking in the first place.

The polite dismissal was not questioned and was met with a nod of understanding, whatever it was that was happening, if it didn't need his personal touch or intervention then he would take the opportunity to rest and enjoy thinking of other things besides matters of state, domestic and beyond. "I -trust you will," he said for Mycroft's reassurance that he would come and find him if needed.

His friend turned a little more pensive and Bertie observed him quietly, glad in some way he was not being encouraged or at least as much as one could encourage a king to leave without overstepping a mark in his own home. If anything it gave him more excuse to linger and check that Mycroft would eventually fall for his ploy of putting the food within reach and the smell making him aware of his hunger enough to at least pick at it.

"I find it -true that life sometimes -gifts us -good friends and on unfortunate occasion -proves supposed -good faith in them was misplaced," he mused back though he was of course thinking of his brother and a handful of ministers who had crossed his path over the years. Selfishness was rife but he supposed that people simply had different priorities. "I do not think it is the --case for us," he smiled after a moment, realising how it might have sounded had he not followed up. "Matters of state are demanding," and remained mostly with him having the final say and he saw it all cross his desks, he would read every single page though. "Though I wonder of our friendship if we had not been brought -together under a sense of duty to the -country. I -cannot imagine you would be nearly so -tolerant of my early morning demands for a -shoot."

Mycroft did a good job of not allowing his expression to fall into a frown in response to the other man's comment about misplaced faith. For a very fraction of a second, his mind raised the question of whether the King was attempting to make a point about their own friendship. This thought was immediately dismissed, though. It didn't make enough sense to be worthy of consideration. Were Mycroft to be under suspicion of anything, there was little chance he would have still been invited to stay. An excuse would have been made to rescind the offer - and should that somehow not have occurred, he wouldn't have found himself being treated with direct kindness from the King himself!

So, it wasn't something personal to them. If it was being mentioned, though, it was presumably on the other man's mind. Was something happening that Mycroft was not aware of? It seemed unlikely, especially considering their friendship, but it wasn't impossible. He would have to ask about it. That could come later, though. Eventually, a opportunity would no doubt arise to subtly slip it into the conversation.

Confirmation of the lack of accusation came quickly, and Mycroft responded to it with a small smile of his own. This was followed by an understanding nod at the comment about the demanding nature of the world they both inhabited. Very few men, if any at all, knew that fact better than them. Still, it was what it was, and it was hardly like Mycroft would want to change it. His work demanded his entire life, but he thrived on that. It gave him a sense of purpose and constant activity that he very much doubted he'd find anywhere else.

"Yes, I think you'd find I had regular excuses to exclude myself from such things were that the case," Mycroft said with a small chuckle. "And I suspect you would not find me such good company without that shared connection either. We can be honest with each other; I am not somebody that most people actually want to spend time with."

That was quite alright, of course. Mycroft knew he wasn't exactly the friendly sort. To be quite honest, having always been quite the misanthrope, he wouldn't have it any other way.

"It is perhaps fortunate that we didn't have to spend time in close quarters in our younger years. I very much doubt we would have got on past the required social niceties."

#bertiev #queued;

A mix of deer made sense for such an estate he supposed, though he wasn't one to go shooting himself, he was not of the right class to merit it even with his fortunes and personal friendships, Moriarty had never much found the appeal in it. He was much more comfortable shooting people point blank as necessary in order to get his way, animals did not have the same pay off as people did in his opinion.

Surprised that his hobby of feeding the pigeons came up directly, he paused in his walking and glanced back to Mycroft once again, it wasn't accusing but it was cautious, of course that was how Sherlock had discovered his red book, he'd told him as such.

"My garden wasn't safe for them," he said instead, "they would have fallen prey to the cats and the foxes. I reserved their feeding to public spaces, it did not then limit where it was I could indulge." Moriarty had on very rare occasion still utilized messenger pigeons but he did indeed enjoy the little birds, thinking them rather cute and pretty in their own way. Which made him all the more surprised and admittedly touched at the offer to be able to feed them while he was staying with Mycroft.

"I do," he confessed honestly, "for so long they were the most essential part of our long distance messaging. I also enjoy the iridescence of their feathers in certain light. They are intelligent in their own way and seemingly still very loyal to people while they remain in our company whether people appreciate them or not." A short but heart felt little ramble about them. "I would like to feed them if that is possible," he confirmed for the offer in the end, why ever would he pass it up? "I assume you would not enjoy them being fed in the gardens here though?" So would they be heading into a more built up area? He hoped so.

Mycroft could not disagree with the other man's admiration for the humble pigeon. Of course, it was far from his favourite bird. In a world of hawks and owls, who would develop a preference for pigeons? But they were interesting creatures, as was the history around them.

Still, feeding them? It was a quirky habit that he didn't see himself indulging in. However, it was relatively harmless. If Moriarty wanted to indulge, then why not allow him that little treat? If anything, it may promote the continuation of the good behaviour on display!

"You can feed them in the gardens if you would like. There might be some around who are interested, and I hardly think one or two feedings will cause a problem in the long term."

If the pigeons started hanging around and somebody decided their presence was an issue, well, that wasn't anything the gamekeeper couldn't quickly solve. After all, it was hardly like pigeons were an endangered species, was it?

"We can potentially set something up in London, too. Under supervision, of course."

Just because Moriarty wasn't trying to cause mischief in that very moment did not mean he could now be trusted. There were a whole range of ways he could try independently reconnecting with his old world were he left to his own devices, even somewhere as innocuous as a park. One didn't need to be a genius to know that; spy media (and history) was full of such scenes. So, obviously that wasn't going to happen, but on occasion with with somebody to keep on eye on him? That seemed like something which could be arranged.

While he couldn't say for himself whether or not the natural talents of those most self aware were becoming rarer, he just nodded along to show understanding rather than full agreement, he was simply too busy to be involved in hiring processes outside of his direct team to have a real say or understanding on any noticeable decline.

Theo had to accept that the British had a longer history in espionage than his countrymen but he still smiled as he responded, respectfully, "Well, we did start off as a British colony, it makes sense we would have our systems based upon yours." He cracked a careful laugh, "why not copy from the best if you have the opportunity?" He was still mindful in the delivery of his words, it was a compliment but still a defence of his own country and his work. The CIA and military undoubtedly relied on international cooperation as such but the FBI being domestic was quite inwardly focused. "In any case I can always be glad that our countries have such a relationship, if it helps to protect democracy and the people of both our nations then prosperity is of course the right path to take."

Life experience did make a difference at least and Theo did not shy away from the comment, he had certainly lived and gone through much for being stubborn about continuing to live. Mycroft was correct in that it had served him well and the reveal that Mycroft had his own lived experience somehow brought some comfort to him that he was not in some way being judged, the paranoia subsiding a little at least. Though now he was of course curious about what Mycroft had endured on the field, he did of course think of the typical British Spy dramas in the back of his mind.

"Training offers a safety net that means mistakes can be made," Theo agreed, "out in the field a mistake can end your life, there's simply no room for them but not everyone is cut out for that world and training I believe separates the cream from the milk." He certainly thought so too anyway, he stayed on the field because he was good at it and because he knew it motivated his team to know he had their back both physically and otherwise. "I have seen agents thrust into high stakes decision making situations in training and pass with flying colours but people like you and I understand that does not translate to the field. I've seen those same trainees freeze up when faced with an unscripted, uncontrolled situation against someone who sees them as being in the way or a threat rather than someone learning their way."

He took a moment to consider his own last statement, he'd had no training when pushed into Delta Green, at least when he had been old enough the FBI training had significantly improved his chances of survival while simultaneously putting a target on his back. "If I may, how long were you in field work? I agree with you, I feel what happens out of the office really can define us."

The difference between a training scenario and reality was one that anybody with a single ounce of sense of was aware of, but, as had already been said, how well an individual performed when it came to the latter was something that could never be fully predicted ahead of time. Mycroft had also seen a number of potential assets perform well when presented with a situation with guardrails, only to faulter in the face of something real. The intelligence services and the FBI both suffered from the complication of being seen as 'cool', with candidates not always being cut out for the actual work once they were presented with it.

For a brief moment, Mycroft had to consider exactly how much he wanted to say to Beneventi. On one hand, the information was obviously classified. On the other, considering that he wanted to keep the man on side, was it really wise to refuse to answer a man with a proclivity for paranoia? They seemed to have built up an element of trust with one another. It would be a shame to destroy that so soon.

He'd already decided that he would give a little information, but the internal debate was part of the performance too. Mycroft made sure it was clear that he was calculating how much could be revealed. This, he hoped, would give his answer an edge of reassurance. Beneventi was smart; he'd know there was more left unsaid. This way, he could at least have the reassurance that the obfuscation was nothing personal. After all, if Mycroft hadn't trusted him at all, then he wouldn't have given away any little clues hinting at anything at all, would he?

"I can tell you that it was a period of less than ten years, and that I ultimately shifted focus due to a serious incident resulting in injury," Mycroft carefully replied. "I can also tell you that official reassignment does not mean that circumstances never demand a temporary return when occasion demands it. Of course, you'll understand that I would rather you didn't repeat any of that to anybody."

Admittedly, he was a little surprised that the angry rants had reduced instead of increased, evidently he was not causing as much trouble for M as he used to but then again he supposed it helped that he was so far away and M didn't have to actually scold him in person when he was angry with him.

"I can't say if that's a good or bad thing, maybe I should test out what causes the rants and you can feed it back to me?" He only really half joked, he knew the longer he was on M's mind the better, if for nothing else for more missions or at least for keeping a sharp eye out of keeping his cover.

Edgar had to consider the offer of help from Mycroft, he knew it was most likely directed at his condition and his folded arms shifted a little. He wasn't sure there was anything Mycroft could actually do to help in the moment. But the quick clarification that followed earned him a little amused and careful chuckle as he brought up how he had helped him once before.

"I've patched up the worst of it, but some painkillers and some water wouldn't go amiss?" He asked and then eyed him, "or a whiskey." Best medicine right, he paid no heed to the risk of mixing the two.

Though he assume it wasn't serious, Mycroft's eye still twitched at the suggestion that Edgar was considering purposely sparking up tensions. Of course, he surely knew that such behaviour would not result in a detailed report of the result, but rather some stern words that hid nothing of ire he'd caused. Considering that, Mycroft felt as though no comment was necessary. Even if Edgar was somehow unaware of how badly his idea would be received, the look he'd received in response to it would have surely been enough to make it obvious.

It had been entirely possible that Edgar may reject the offer of assistance. To be quite honest, Mycroft wouldn't have blamed him if he had - after all, were the shoe on the other foot, he couldn't gaurenteed that he would have agreed himself! Whatever the case, he was glad to be met with something other than outright rejection, and he swiftly nodded in response to the request.

"I can do that, yes," he confirmed. "I'll be right back."

In typical Mycroft fashion, he didn't waste time dawdling. The biggest delay occurred when he paused to consider which drink to bring Edgar but, in the end, it didn't matter, Mycroft electing to get him both a whiskey and a glass of water. As an adult who could make his own decisions, and a man with a questional past when it came to risk taking and drinking habits, giving an option of both seemed like the optimal solution. Personally, Mycroft thought the water was a good idea, but he couldn't deny that he saw the appeal in the stronger drink too, and while he knew that painkillers and alcohol shouldn't be combined, he was not foolish enough to think Edgar had never done such a thing in the past, nor was he in ocent of such an offence either.

"Here," Mycroft said upon his return, placing the two glasses and a packet of painkillers down on a table next to Edgar. "I would have liked to have picked a tipple that complimented the pills well, but alas, I must confess that even my vast library of knowledge does not go as far as having an answer to that particular combination. So, with that in mind, I just picked your favourite instead. It was obvious from the placement of the decanter."

livedtough

Mycroft laughed, which he thought was good. Really, even if he had been serious, perhaps especially so, he would not have expected anything else. He hardly knew anything about spies, or those who thought themselves spies, but he was certain that they did not admit to it. Though he was sure that Mycroft was a far more calculating man than Matthew was. Even as a lawyer, he had worked fairly and openly. He had never been one for underhanded tactics, and, frankly, had always looked down on those who employed them. It was for the best that Mycroft kept his opinion to himself. Not because Matthew would have been uncivil, of course, but neither of them needed that discomfort.

Whatever the case, though, it was unlikely that Matthew would turn him away, at least not for that. It didn't matter now, anyway. Mycroft made an interesting point as he continued, one that Matthew certainly agreed with. He hummed softly, giving a small tilt of his head. "I see your point." He did want to fit in here, wanted to find a way to make sense of this life that he was being put into. "I confess, I never considered fitting in quite as much as I do now."

But he was right about more than one thing, too. He didn't have much more to say on the topic, and it wasn't exactly moving to a comfortable place. "I do feel better prepared, for what it may be worth." Which was true. Still, he agreed. Best to move on. "I have. Not to the extent I may like, but what I have seen is lovely. I'll show you something pleasant."

Fitting in was, in Mycroft's opinion, not particularly difficult to do. One only needed to observe and mimic. An understanding of the behaviours on display was helpful, of course, but it was in no way necessary. Yes, it was harder, but plenty of individuals managed it. Matthew seemed smart for an average man - his career (or rather, former career) alone suggested that. Mycroft felt as though he should be capable of the same were he to put his mind to it.

As it was, though, it seemed he was making a genuine attempt to learn the ropes of his new life. Considering how he appeared to be planning on making the most of his situation, that was for the best. A man could pretend to fit in, but would grow tiring to spend his life that way. Mycroft knew that more than most. There were multiple element of life that he was making a conscious decision not to partake in, telling himself that it was in the name of his career, while knowing deep down that it was because he didn't want to have to play pretend every moment of every day.

"For what it's worth, I think you're doing a reasonably good job of fitting in so far. All things considered, of course." Mycroft complimented. That was simply what one was expected to do in such a conversation, no?

"Yes, it all does look rather lovely," he then said in reference to the gardens, making a point of looking around again. It was nice. Mycroft liked it. Of course, he preferred his own family home's grounds, but who wasn't biased towards what was familiar to them?

"What is it you're going to show me?"

#livedtough #queued;

Edgar stayed still, chin in his hand as he let Mycroft see the weave of his shirt, he was laying out the breadcrumbs for him and he could see how he'd hooked him. He did not enjoy playing something of the role of entertainer but given Mycroft was injured and if it persuaded him to remain in the hospital a little longer then he would swallow his pride and do it.

"Oh yes," he confirmed for the sightseeing and interesting surroundings. Edgar actually enjoyed history after all and while he would no doubt be indulging in any and all things local and luxury where he went, he would enjoy some time to be able to examine some of the historic sites. "There's plenty to look at from a good few thousand years of history and the culture is a lot to learn about," he offered as another breadcrumb for him.

Edgar moved his hand from his chin and let it rest on the arm of his chair again, a subtle little gesture to suggest that there was nothing more to learn from his shirt sleeve at least.

"It all depends on how effective the mission will be, I'm really rather hoping my subjects decide to engage in their operations at these sites, for nothing else as to have a glance through the halls." That was not really useful information, but a hot country with thousands of years of history that Edgar would be interested in and a separate culture might provide enough to oil the cogs, so to speak.

Another clue, but Mycroft still couldn't come to a conclusion. For a moment, he was frustrated, but then he came to a realisation: yes, he was bored without anything to work on, but wasn't the quiet nice?

That wasn't the audible quiet, of course. Hospitals were terrible for that. Mycroft was constantly being subjected to the beeping and hum of machines, the sound of footsteps passing by, and nurses nattering away to each other as they gossiped about their latest patients. The noise in terms of information, however, was reduced.

Of course, it was still there in the background - Mycroft was just noticing less of it, and what he did notice wasn't leading to a chain reaction that grew louder and louder. If it were a permanent turn of events, he'd be distraught at the loss of what he considered to be his main driver of worth. That wasn't the case, though. He'd been reliably informed that the slowness was only temporary, so for now, why not indulge in a little peace for once?

Still, despite that, Mycroft would like to solve a puzzle. He had never been good at letting questions go unanswered, especially when they'd been presented to him like a challenge.

"Mm, yes, I suppose that does sound ideal," Mycroft agreed. "I must admit that I am glad to not be going myself, though. It will be far too hot for my liking. As you may recall, I burn terribly easily."

It was a probably they'd come across a few times over the years. One hint of sunshine and Mycroft was in trouble.

"I had no idea you were such a fan of history. Do try not to destroy any of those historic sites you're hoping to visit, hm?"

🏹 Mycroft and Arthur in the past?

Old Meme. Mycroft is shot with an arrow.

Arrows were expected on the battlefield, lethal, horrible things but it wasn't often though really should have been anticipated, that an arrow would be fired while simply walking the walls of Camelot with Mycroft.

He heard it before he saw it, the familiar and gut wrenching thunk of an arrow hitting a body. Arthur couldn't feel the arrow in him though, he'd been hit before and he'd always known about it. Which made his heart sink as if it wasn't him, then it could have only been Mycroft.

Arthur turned and made to catch Mycroft as best as he could, both to stop him from falling and potentially making the wound far worse and to get him to the cover the walls provided in case of another shot. He gently pressed a hand against Mycroft to keep him upright and behind the cover of the wall.

"Let me see," he demanded as he looked for the arrow and where it had landed trying to assess if it was something he could do anything about or if Mycroft would surely die. "I have you, I'll see you safe," he promised as he tried to assess him, he was no doctor, Mycroft had a much better chance of looking after people after being shot with an arrow but what happened when he was the one shot?

Despite popular belief, Mycroft was not, in fact, omniscient. He did, on occasion, miss things. Usually, they weren't big things. They weren't important, or he he could account for the missing information through other means. For once, though, that was not the case. In fact, considering the arrow sticking out of his shoulder, to say it was not the case was most likely an understatement!

Mycroft could still die. It was difficult, but it was possible. Over the many years, he'd had a few close scrapes, accumulated knowledge giving him an unfair advantage which ultimately helped him to come out on top. Most of those moments had been high pressure and dramatic, though. This? This was embarrassing. if Mycroft was to die, he did not want it to happen at the hands of an unexpected arrow!

If it weren't for the initial shock of the assault, he'd have been muttering curses to himself about the audacity of the situation. As it was, though, Mycroft was silent as Arthur caught him and pulled him behind cover, momentarily deadweight before, a few seconds later, managing to regain control of himself.

As he motioned to his shoulder with an uncharacteristically shaky hand, the arrow still embedded in the flesh there, Mycroft also looked to it to assess the damage. It was hard for him to see it properly, but he was certain it didn't look good. Whether it would kill him remained to be seen. It didn't seem like irreparable damage, but wounds could so easily become infected, and the archer was still out there.

"Don't pull it out," Mycroft warned Arthur, his hand moving to grab the other man's wrist just in case he decided to ignore the instruction. "It's too risky here, and we don't have the correct tools." Nor did they have anybody suitable for the job. Mycroft wasn't going to be up to it himself - it would be too hard to position himself correctly, even without the lingering tremor still on display - and while Arthur was a man of many talents, arrow removal was not one of them.

"Which of us do you believe was the target? It seems more likely that it was you, but we cannot rule out the possibility that the arrow hit its true mark."

Manhatta was at least acceptable and even better that Mycroft had heard of it. Theo nodded his acknowledgement of the choice and secured their files in a locked case and opened a locked drawer in his desk to put them in when he heard the compliment towards Andrea. "She does," he agreed and clearly had a fond smile on his face, head over heels in love with her at even her mention. Mycroft was right that the compliment towards her went down very well with Theo.

He secured the drawer and held onto the key before standing. The idea of allowing Mycroft to pay set off paranoid alarm bells for him though and for a moment he hesitated where he stood and watched him. "There's no need, if anything the FBI has a business card for late night work and collaborative meeting spaces." He tried to suggest as an alternative, "I hear conversion charges can be pretty brutal too." An attempt to dissuade him further. "Thank you for the offer though."

Theo knew he might have been less than subtle and turned to hide his annoyance at himself while he went to collect his coat and pass Mycroft his in turn. "It's a nice place to eat in any case and the staff are professional," he smiled again as he pulled on his coat, "maybe a little over friendly and attentive to what you might like from what I understand from other English visitors."

If the other man wanted to charge their meal to the FBI, then who was Mycroft to complain? He could live without being owed a favour. While such a thing would usually be beneficial, here it was quite the opposite. It would linger, the question of when he'd call it in throwing doubt over everything Mycroft said and did. Beneventi's habit of paranoia was unfortunate when it came to such matters, but it was not the end of the world. If Mycroft ever did want something from him - something unconnected from what they were officially doing - he'd just have to go about it in another way.

"Well, I suppose this does count as a business dinner of sort," Mycroft replied, putting forth no further argument. If he were back at home, he would have attempted to insist on paying at least once more, following the socially expected back and forth of polite society. Here, though, he'd made his attempt, and considering how he was hungry, in another country, and talking with a man who was likely to start double guessing his motivations, there seemed little reason to continue that dance.

With his own coat over one arm for now, as well as his ever present umbrella in hand, Mycroft followed Beneventi. "Mm, the whole service industry in this country can be too friendly for our liking," he agreed. "it feels terribly false to us, and we tend to prefer to be left unbothered when we are attempting to eat."

Mycroft had always found business dinners - actual ones, where he was attempting to slip a deal of some sort into the discussion or dig up information - a nightmare in America. Just how was he supposed to have a proper conversion when the waiter insisted on constantly refilling his water and checking if he was okay? Honestly, considering the things people in such roles must overhear, it was a wonder there weren't more problems with leaks coming out of Washington and the other big cities!

"Not to worry, though," Mycroft then went on to say. "If the staff are as professional as you say they were, they'll hopefully realise quite quickly that it's best to leave us be."

While Jasper was aware of many intricate eccentricities of Mycroft's personality, the man's muted ability to pick up on sarcastic under and overstatement was one he consistently forgot about, no matter how often he was reminded. Of course his journey had been horrid. He'd gone to France, and the act of traveling was, itself, horrid—something the two men easily agreed on. Had it been offered, Jasper wasn't even sure he'd have chosen to accompany him.

"Oh yes, yes," he answered, shifting his weight to his toes so he could plant a kiss to Mycroft's cheek as was the appropriate greeting for just such a reunion. One could always count on Jasper to keep busy in some functional form or another: Mycroft would find his home quite clean and tidy, although with a bit of decor and some other things moved in ways that were decided superior in the absence of his express opinion. "Only a bit lonely. I'd love to hear the details of your trip, when you aren't too tired—

"Oh, and were you wanting dinner? I couldn't get ahold of your driver to see if you'd eaten."

#toprotectandscrve #queued;

It hadn't been a particularly interesting trip. Of course, if Jasper really wanted to know the details, then Mycroft would give them to him. Still, he didn't personally see why the other man would want to know that his hotel had been rather nice but not as nice as home, the food had been fine but not to his preferences, and the work had gone well but was classified and thus couldn't be discussed. It had to be a desire for idle small talk, no?

Were it anyone else, Mycroft would have refused to indulge such a thing. Jasper was an exception, though. The fact that he'd managed to establish himself as such a thing was the cornerstone of their relationship, and though Mycroft was not going to admit it to anybody outside of their four walls, it was something he found himself quietly grateful for. His life was undeniably better now. The stress and pressure of his work was still there, but he had a reason to go home at a reasonable time, and it felt as though he had something more to his life than duty and high expectations.

While he didn't kiss Jasper in return, Mycroft was affectionate in his own way - allowing a glimpse of a small smile, and lightly resting one of his hands on the other man's waist. "If dinner is a possibility, I certainly wouldn't complain about it," he replied. Truth be told, he'd expected that Jasper would offer. In fact, Mycroft had been looking forward to it. After being away from home, the prospect of food made by familiar hands was almost as exciting as Jasper's general presence.

Hand remaining where it was, letting the touch linger for now, Mycroft subtly began to glance around, sharp eyes looking for anything different. If he could, he would find an opportunity at a later time to reset a number of the adjustments Jasper had made during his absence. He would leave some as they were, though. It was a silent compromise that, if done correctly, would leave them both feeling as though they got their way.

"If you would like, I could trade you dinner for a gift I have bought you?"

The gift was not overly exciting - only a pair of slippers. Mycroft had wanted to make an effort, though, and he felt certain Jasper would understand the affection behind it. Slippers were, after all, both practical and an item that would boost the other's comfort. What better sentiment could there be?

"Did you have a horrid journey?" -Jasper

It wasn't, in Mycroft's opinion, a particularly sensible question. Of course he had a horrible journey. He always did. Travel had never been something he was fond of. The noise and the uncomfortable bumping around of it could be reduced, but it was never entirely eliminated. Even if it could be, there was still the disruption of it all. Quite the creature of habit, Mycroft was naturally adverse to way travelling broke his well worn routines.

However, despite his thoughts on the matter, he knew better than to voice them. The journey may have been horrid, but returning home to Jasper was not, and making the other man think otherwise would only result in being given the cold shoulder for the rest of the evening. So, Mycroft managed a small smile as he shrugged off his coat and hung it up by the door.

"It could have been worse," he diplomatically responded. The implication was still that it wasn't a pleasant journey, but Jasper surely knew that already anyway. "It wasn't too long, at least. Still, I am glad to be home."

He'd only been to France for a few days. A trip across the channel was hardly time consuming, though he wasn't in a hurry to do it again any time soon. Unfortunately, however, Mycroft rarely had a choice in these matters. He wasn't currently scheduled to go abroad again for a few weeks, but that could always change in the blink of an eye. It was rather annoying, really.

"Have you been quite alright while I've been going?" Mycroft then asked. "I assume you've been keeping busy?"

#toprotectandscrve

senatus-romanus

No interest in feeding the public in some way didn't surprise him, Romulus just took quiet note of it instead and reassured himself that he had truly been better than what society claimed to be in the modern day. He asked for a bottle of traditional Roman wine and Romulus chuckled again. "Of course, though should you receive one perhaps be sure that you limit your intake, it might shock you." People could certainly drink more wine now, back in his time wine was for the calorie intakes and yes, well getting drunk was just a bonus for some too.

Mycroft had his curiosities though and Romulus considered himself for a moment, swirling the wine in the glass again absently while he thought about the different aspects of development he might have been talking about.

"When the Empire was active, I could see no end in sight to what it was that might one day emerge from it. Much like our mutual friends I considered myself truly immortal," he was of course, given he was still around but his Empire was long gone and it still confused him. "I saw developments come and go," he cracked a smile, "I saw the spoked wheel emerge and stick around for so long that when tyres appeared, even I did not think they would become what they are today." He mused for a moment and switched hands for his wine glass, using the other now to adjust his seat to be more comfortable, leaning back, one ankle landing on the opposite knee and his gaze off to the corner of the room to the left of Mycroft's head.

"I technically even saw the first steam engine, however at the time I and countless others could not see its potential, then eventually, along came the trains and the ships no longer relying on the wind or oars. I do not begrudge progress, innovation is actually something I take a great interest in. However, I miss much of the old ways, they are homely comforts for me, if I could get away with it, I would comfortably return to my single roomed mud hut on Palantine Hill." He shrugged, "Alas, it is only the post holes that remain now. Do not mistake me, I enjoy the indulgence of modern day," he pulled absently at the lapel of his suit jacket. "The changes matter, though when you are watching them emerge, I can never really tell which will be the sort that revolutionise or in some cases cause stagnation. I am sure should you find yourself immortal one day, you will miss the taste of your wine and the long for the sound of your current music and language."

Luckily, Mycroft was under no illusion that apparent immortality meant the continuation of everything he'd spent his working on would continue, even within his own lifetime. Things could still go wrong. Complete collapses could occur. Romulus himself was testement to that, though it was something Mycroft had been previously aware of too. After all, it just made sense, didn't it? One look at history told him that there'd be no logic to the situation otherwise.

Well, there'd be less logic to it, anyway. Romulus and his kind's mere existance saw to it that the whole thing would never make complete sense, no matter how hard Mycroft tried to understand it all. To human eyes, they were, at their core, impossibly illogical beings.

It was interesting to hear the other man talk of history, even as lacking in detail as his words were. Mycroft imagined he could spend a great deal of time indulging in questions of the specifics were he allowed to, but alas, he couldn't envision that happening. Romulus seemed perfectly keen to talk about the past - he was even smiling as he did so! - but Mycroft was a busy man. If he weren't waiting on a response issuing instructions for what he should do about the other man's presence, an impromptu conversation like the one they were having certainly wouldn't fit into his tightly planned schedule!

Which wasn't to say he had no free time at all, of course. Sometimes, usually an evening, he managed to find a few hours for himself. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he could arrange for a longer conversation then? It wouldn't be inappropriate to do so, Mycroft didn't thing. It wasn't like he would be asking questions about anyone he had personal links to (lest he find himself on the receiving end of some strong ire as a result), and with his observational abilities, he'd undoubtedly find himself picking up some useful information outside of personal indulgences throughout the conversation.

"I pray to whichever gods deemed most appropriate that I never find myself in that situation. While I'm sure I could do some good work with endless time at my hands, I do not believe myself suited for immortality. I fear it would drive me to insanity before long."

Between actual noise and the information he was rapidly processing from all directions, life was already too loud for Mycroft. Presumably, it would only grow worse as time went on. Subjecting himself to that was far from something he longed for.

"As you have no immediate plans to leave the city, perhaps we should meet to talk properly another time. I would love to discuss the intricacies of some of these things you've witnessed with you, but, as I'm sure you can imagine, now is not the time for details. We could meet for dinner, if you would be willing?"

#Queued;#Senatus-romanus

stagborne

Perhaps Will doesn’t mind the egregious manipulation because it serves him this time. He does smile of his own volition this time; his mood always drastically improves when he thinks about the things he cares about most, the prospect of bringing a piece of that here. But in the end, he cared most for his dog's happiness. He was always willing to provide the best care and make the best decisions for their care, with that in mind. It’s why he settles on just Winston.

Will was the type to let the dogs in the bed. Truthfully, he most often resided long-term in his family home that wasn’t in the Capitol. It allowed the space and privacy to do so. They had enough space to roam freely, unobstructed by the rules or the firm grasp on civility, where they were allowed to merely be dogs. Relatively well-behaved and trained. But still tracked their muddy paws on pebble-stone entrances or roughhousing when they didn't expend their energy often enough.

“Chaotic is one way to put it,” He says, “They’re well trained, but as you can imagine when you have many, it doesn’t matter how well trained. It is noisy; they all have their personalities, and their dynamics are constantly evolving.” He enjoyed it, but he could understand how some didn’t. “They’re far less complex than the animals that circle parliament. The real chaos is there.”