Three’s A Crowd
il--dottore:
silvasboys:
Marcos’ eyes flicked over to Matthew, though he barely turned his head. He’d stayed seated when the others were dismissed, but was beginning to wish he’d been standing. It was true that the mission had gone well, and he’d enjoyed - if you could use that word in the context of a mission under BLI orders - the chance to work with Matthew. It was rare for Marcos to see Matthew in a professional setting, which was perhaps explained in part by the way the Exterminator had repeatedly assigned them to opposite locations in the party’s radius. It was nice to have a friend on the job.
Now, though, he was reminded of the last time he and Matthew had spoken of Giovanni, and he was not at all confident in how, exactly, Matthew would behave. Trying to catch the medic’s eye, he said, “I think I’m okay. It barely stings. I can meet you out in the hall in a few.” He just seems tired. I’ll be fine, whatever he wants to tell me shouldn’t take long. Let’s just get out of here as soon as possible and go get food.
Giovanni watched as Matthew’s eyes flicked briefly to Marcos, with an almost detached sort of interest, as if he’d walked into a room with something unexciting playing on television. Then they were back on Giovanni, and they burned suddenly like acid.
“Shut up, Silvas. Callaghan, Leave.” Giovanni was immediately aware of how petulant it was, how Matthew would see through it, and he scowled at the involuntary redness which bloomed at the tips of his ears. How dare Matthew. How dare he pull this in front of Marcos, of all people, whose use to Giovanni hinged entirely on Giovanni’s ability to intimidate from a high, untouchable place.
But now he was angry that Matthew was doing this, angry that Matthew had been playing him all day, angry that Matthew had clearly decided to punish him for some imagined slight which Giovanni hadn’t the foggiest idea of. He’d had the nerve to be worried, enough to put Matthew on this team when he had no such qualifications, just to see him and be close to him.
“Go wait in the hall, if you’re so impatient. That’s an order.” It was almost worth it, seeing the angry flush spread over Matthew’s face.
“Oh fuck off.” The venom tasted good in his mouth. Matthew began to cross the room to Marcos, Giovanni a vibrating, fiery beacon in the peripheral of his awareness (always), an anxious pit in his stomach, but belated fury sizzled around it. He positioned himself between the Exterminator and Marcos. His back felt naked.
Matthew’s fingers fumbled numbly with the clasp of his satchel. He could feel Giovanni’s eyes on him, though no retort was forthcoming; he was no doubt deliberating between embarrassing himself further and some other unknowable plot. Don’t always have a comeback, now, do you.
“Let me see it,” Matthew muttered, this time to Marcos, though the wound danced red-hot in front of his eyes. He blinked, frowned down into the contents of his kit.
