I am aware that none of you follow me for this, but if you happen to like Sneaky Pete, I have a humble offering for this tiny fandom. If you don’t like Sneaky Pete, go watch Sneaky Pete!!
Here’s chapter 1, the rest is being uploaded to my ao3 page:
The next time Marius pulls onto the farm’s long driveway, he hesitates before opening the car door.
If Marius is anything, it’s a fast learner- he bounces back quickly from mistakes and never forgets them, making every job just a little better than the last. It’s unfortunate that the rate at which he learns is often outpaced by his exponentially growing ambition, and increasing lack of resistance to temptation. He likes a challenge and when he keeps getting better- well, the challenges have to rise to meet him.
Returning to the farm might be one of his greatest challenges yet.
Mostly, he’s thinking about what he’ll do if Julia tries to ram his car again. He’s not expecting it- he was invited, after all, and even Julia isn’t deranged enough to drag him out here, only to run him over- but he can’t help the muscle memory that has him bracing for it.
As far as he knows, Julia’s the only one here today. She could’ve lied, of course, but given that there are no other cars beside her beat up truck, he doubts it. Stashing the cars just to ambush him seems like a bridge too far; though, with this family, it’s not out of the question.
He rubs a hand over his face, mildly curious why this feels worse than having a gun to his head. It’s depressing to think that he might just be more used to the guns.
The door to the house creaks loudly as he pulls it open, and he makes no effort to stifle it. It’s almost irritating to see it unlocked- after everything in the last month, they still don’t take any precautions- but it summons Julia, as he hoped, and she leans around the entryway to wave him in.
She looks stressed, if marginally less so than she was after being pulled out of a crate. “You’re late. Would it kill you to set an alarm? It’s not like you’re busy, you could at least—"
“What am I here for, Julia?”
The lack of purpose makes him anxious. When one spends a lot of time predicting other people, the rare gaps in perception become all the more off-putting. Being anxious is a good way to get killed, in his experience. So is being cocky- but that lesson isn’t as easy to stick to.
“To clean, I guess?” She waves the spray bottle she’s holding, by way of explanation, “I need an extra hand and I figured you owe me one.”
“You’re going to spend that favor on cleaning?”
Julia gets that expression- flat, her annoyance hidden just under the surface- the kind he’s started to associate with selling him out to high profile investigators or asking him to convince her kids to eat their waffles. “I just wanted you back at the house, alright? Cryptic bullshit about favors was the only way I could think to get you out here.”
He’d known that. He’d known that she didn’t really want anything, that she would’ve been more specific if she did, but he answered the text anyway. Out obligation, or some other sentimentality that’s going to run him into the ground someday. “I thought you wanted me far away. My car door is still fucked, so I’m getting mixed messages here.”
She throws up her hands, which looks ridiculous with the spray bottle, and marches into the next room. It’s hard to tell whether he’s meant to follow, but it’s not like he can just drive away now. He tells himself it’d be a waste of gas.
She’s started rubbing at a spot on the kitchen counter with a rag, looking very much like someone who’s returned to this exact spot several times and determined, in no uncertain terms, that it isn’t going anywhere. She doesn’t look up at him for a long moment, before her aggression, aimed at the counter, seems to dissipate.
With her back still turned, she mutters, “My kids are- they keep asking me about card tricks. I don’t know how to do any fucking card tricks.”
“You want me to teach you card tricks?” Marius, in the business of solving problems, doesn’t understand this one. There’s no hook, no angle. It’s too simple. “Don’t you have a smartphone—”
“It’s not that, you idiot, it’s— you’re a part of this now,” at this she gestures between them, then to the room, “My kids are asking about you. There’s a place for you set at Sunday dinner.”
“That’s only because they don’t know who I am.”
“They do know. I told them.”
He shouldn’t be surprised by that, but it stings. It’s just as well that Julia told them- probably better, honestly, that he wasn’t around for the immediate fallout- though he thinks, somewhere deep down, he wanted to do it himself. Maybe it’s the regret that he didn’t follow through on the beach, maybe it’s some misplaced impulse to make this right, maybe he needs to get his shit together and get over it.
He doesn’t know where they stand now that he is himself. He had imagined, even planned for, being chased off the property if it ever came to that.
Julia’s watching him, obviously waiting for a reaction, and when she doesn’t get one, she scoffs, “You made a mistake getting yourself involved in this fucked up family.” There’s a stack of dishes on the counter that she’d clearly been meaning to dry and she sends them a glare now, as if they’re the problem in this conversation. “You’re stuck with us now. These are the kind of people that drive across the country or hold smugglers at gunpoint to go after you.”
“I didn’t have a lot of options at the time,” he gives her a sidelong glance, conceding her point, “Maybe I should’ve shopped around for the other inmates’ families and found something a little less crazy.”
Julia snorts at his joke and shakes her head, disappointed that it made her laugh. “Guess you didn’t have that kind of time.”
“I was busy with my own family.” He frowns, at himself. It’s not a slipup, necessarily. He’s tired and he doesn’t have a good reason to hide anything from her- so what if Julia, a bondwoman from Bridgeport, knows who he is? “Brothers and crime lords- you know how it is.”
She pauses, not sure how to take that. “Was— was the story you told me about your brother true?”
He doesn’t say anything. He’s been told that sometimes silence is the best answer. It’s a suggestion he rarely follows- except, apparently, when he’s speaking with his fake cousin about his very real brother.
“So that’s what the money was for the first time,” she looks down, piecing together the timeline, “Was it his trouble or your trouble?”
“Both. Mostly mine. He lost a toe.” It hurts to remember, to hear it out loud. He’s reminded that the reason Eddie is in Vegas is not entirely a selfless one.
“Jesus. Why didn’t you tell us? Wouldn’t that have—I don’t know, made us more sympathetic?”
“I’m sure you would’ve been much more receptive to me showing up at your door with a price on my head. Even Audrey would’ve preferred Pete.” He shakes his head, trying not to imagine how he’d play that. It isn’t often that honesty comes into the equation. “The risk outweighed the reward.”
“The risk of what?”
Putting aside the assumption that they’d believe him, and that they’d care about a complete stranger, and that they could even help. “You getting involved. Knowingly.”
“Little late to worry about us being accessories to a crime.”
There’s no use in telling her that he thought they would get in the way. Inexperienced people are difficult to control- even if he can admit they did pretty well with Johnson and Kilbane. Better than expected. Hunting skips could be more effective training than he thought.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Julia crosses her arms, good-naturedly exasperated- a look he doesn’t receive often, in this line of work. “Make the rest of us wait while you figure out what piece of the truth you’re going to give us.”
“I’ll try to make it faster, next time,” he can’t help smiling at her scowl, but adds, before she can protest, “I was just thinking I’ll consider that dinner. If the offer’s still on the table.”
“Wow,” she says, “I didn’t think you’d actually—"
“I don’t have to come.”
“No, no,” she’s smiling. It’s nice- he forgot how much he missed this. “Carly might finally stop bugging me about it.”
He tries not to look tense, telling himself that it cannot be more stressful than the dinner with Pete- real Pete. At least he’ll be able to use his real name, and drop the grandmas and grandpas.
The cleaning supplies sit forlorn on the counter, abandoned and unlikely to regain their attention. He can think of a dozen things he’d rather do than clean Audrey’s kitchen.
“Here,” he says, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs. He waits for her to tentatively take the seat he offers, then takes the one opposite her. “I’ll show you a trick before I have to go.”
As he pulls out a deck of cards, conveniently stashed in one of his many coat pockets, she laughs. It catches both of them a little off-guard. “You just keep those on you?”
“You never know when you’ll need them.”
“Name one situation where you’d need a deck of cards.”
“Bored at an airport. Unexpected babysitting duty. An elaborate distraction involving a magic show.” He interrupts, before she can ask, “I’ll tell you the story next time. The cards will take long enough.”
“Next time?”
He deals out the cards, just shy of the finesse Eddie manages, to distract himself from what he’s agreed to. It’s as close to a genuine promise as he ever gives.
Now that Julia will find out the truth about Marius and I think that she will be the only one for a while to know..... I feel like the build for Julia and marius will start... yup still shipping them
