Synopsis: You’re a law student who performs shows at night, and you catch the eyes of a group of dangerous men.
CW: May contain mature content, poly relationship, afab!reader, very suggestive themes.
Bonus : Laces
They all stared at the laced underwear, delicately displayed on the glass table. Kyle spoke first.
“The most honest thing to do is to give it back to her. No bad conscience—“
“I’ll take it.” Johnny said, reaching forward, the other three men stood abruptly and Kyle blocked his way.
“Get off me,” Johnny pushed, “you said you didn’t want it.”
Kyle shoved him back.
“I never said that.” He defended
“You did.” Simon lied,
“I heard it too,” John nodded.
“Oh, fuck off!” Kyle exclaimed.
“I s’pose it leaves the three of us.” Johnny said ignoring him.
“I only said we should be correct about this,” Kyle cut in, “besides, I’m the one who found the thing, shouldn't I be the one to keep it?”
“You lost that advantage when you made it a group meeting.” John shrugged.
“You should have kept it for yourself, mate,” Simon added.
“I would’ve.” Johnny said, then took a frighteningly serious tone as he continued, “She always lets Simon in her room. He can steal one whenever he likes. Leave it to us, eh?” He pleaded.
“No.” Simon replied, they all glanced at him.
“You’ve stolen one before, haven’t you?” Kyle asked, Simon remained silent but Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “How many?”
“This one’s used.” Simon stated avoiding the question.
“Aye right, you can fuck off! That leaves us two. Price,” Johnny said. John’s hands fell on his hips, waiting for his proposition, “I’ll nosh your knob for it,”
“Come off it, you’ve done it for free,” he dismissed,
“I’ll suck harder—“
“We’re not fucking teenagers, are we? It’s a bloody pair of panties, we’re better than this.” Kyle tried to reason. Johnny looked almost offended.
“Speak for yerself mate, I’m fuckin' disgustin'. I'll take the fuckin' thing and have a wank over it!”
“Any other use would be a disservice, really.” Price nodded.
Simon hummed.
Kyle chewed on his lip, sensing he would lose to the three bigger men in front of him. He really should have kept this to himself.
“Well, I’m a decent bloke,” he started, “I’ll do the right thing and bring it to her” he lied, reaching for it, but was immediately blown off.
“Ye’d love that, huh, ye cheeky cunt,” Johnny snarled, his accent getting thicker as he got more riled up.
“Come on! it’s mine!” He finally admitted,
“She don' even fuckin' like ye!” Johnny yelled out frustrated.
“Should I remind you who’s currently higher on her shit list, Mr. Emotional?"
The upstairs door creaked open, and they heard footsteps as you skipped down the stairs.
Before anyone could react, Price reached forward, fingers wrapped around the lace, shoving it in his pocket right as you turned the corner.
“Hey, you guys seen my—“
Shocked by his own speed, John was unable to keep his victorious smile hidden.
He spun on his heels instead facing the window, his finger rubbing over his mouth silently laughing.
Kyle clicked his tongue, pushing off the table.
“Fuckin' bastard,” Johnny muttered furiously.
Simon, however, was the same stoic looming man, waiting for any inquiry you could have.
"Looking for something, dove?" He asked.
"My study book..." you trailed, a frown forming on your face as you took in the odd scene in front of you.
“What is going on?” You asked, instinctively looking at Johnny, his gaze softened when it met yours but you quickly looked away.
Realising you didn't mean to talk to him first.
“Did something happen?” You asked, this time to no one in particular. John finally managed to regain his composure.
“Nothing Doll, just business being…erratic this morning, I’m sorry,” John said as his fingers ran through his beard.
“Oh, I thought that maybe you'd found something…” you muttered disappointed.
John walked closer, “No, but rest assured, your issue is at the top of our priorities.”
“It's fine, I understand you have your…jobs on the side.” You said, glancing around the room hesitantly.
“What is it?” Kyle asked. You rolled your eyes, but answered anyway.
“I need to go shopping.” You said.
“With the amount of clothes you already have?”
“Not—" you sighed, "Don't be weird about it, but I need to go shop for some underwear…I was sure Simon brought a bunch but, ugh—whatever, is someone free to drive me?”
John bit his lip, turning to Simon, who held the most unbothered expression. Before he could say anything, a smile spread on your lips.
“Oh, the gentle giant’s free?” You asked, to which he tilted his head, unused to a positive nickname from you.
“Oh fuck off,” Johnny scoffed. You lost your smile, and he quickly retracted “Not you–”
“I’m sorry, didn’t want to impose.”
“You never impose,” Simon replied, immediately stepping closer.
“At least you’re always sweet,” You smiled softly.
Johnny rolled his eyes so hard he almost got a headache.
“It’s the least he can do,” Kyle muttered bitterly.
John cleared his throat, swallowing a laugh. “Sorry, love, we still have things to discuss. How about you get ready? Simon will take you out, yeah?”
“Yeah…okay...Thanks again!” you said, confusion plastered all over your face.
After you disappeared in your room and shut the door.
They all turned to the masked man.
“I think we’ve gone overboard with the stealing, haven’t we?” John said, raising a brow at his second in command.
“My mistake, I might have lost count.” He replied
“You lost count?!” Kyle yelled, “You absolute scumbag!” he walked out outraged.
Summary: You stop by the club to watch Alessia perform and a very handsome stranger approaches you. Kyle gets to work using his interrogation skills.
CW: mdni, complete series warnings
AN: i struggled with this part and the next parts pacing and length, and decided on combining some things and doing two kinda shorter chapters. You just get extra time with Kyle.
“This seat taken?”
At first you didn’t bother to look up. In the months that you and Alessia had been living here you had been a ghost, you had run from your past and you were happy living in obscurity. And when the man asked again, you turned your body as if still not believing that he was talking to you. However, a quick look to your left told you that he was very much talking to you.
“Oh, sorry, no, the seat’s open.”
That seat as well as a handful of others on either side of you were open, but the man chose to sit next to you.
You shifted around to see him better, eyes following his movements as he tugged off a red scarf, and shimmied out of a very lush looking wool overcoat, revealing a white button up shirt with multiple buttons undone revealing a swath of warm brown skin that begged to be touched. Next off was his winter hat, which he shoved into the pocket of the jacket before running a hand quickly over the tight black curls. He tossed the coat over the seat back and slipped in next to you, his body close enough that you could feel the cool breath of night air that still clung to him.
“Any recommendations?” he asked, pulling a menu towards himself and running a long finger down the list as he read.
You laugh, looking at his finger hovering over some fruity cocktail that would surely have you waking up with a migraine. “Call me a basic bitch, but I’m good with their beer shot combo.”
He smiles, and god is that the kind of smile you expect to see on the cover of a magazine, all lush lips and white teeth.
“Got it, I'll just pick something out.” He studies the menu until the bartender returns, ordering a drink at random.
When the bartender brings him the drink you can’t help but laugh at the frozen pink concoction, there is an honest to god piece of cotton candy as the garnish. Something you would expect a bachelorette party or a gaggle of kids to buy.
“Don’t laugh, it might be the best thing I’ve ever tried.”
You watched in slight horror as the man leaned forward, taking the pink straw between his lips, cheeks hollowing out as he sucked. His nose scrunching up the moment the concoction pooled in his mouth.
“Oh, mmm, scrummy.”
“Don’t lie, it's horrible?”
“Yes, god, that's vile. Who drinks this kind of thing?”
As if summoned, a group of girls pushed into the other side of the man, all fake lashes and tiny tops. You had spotted them here before, they were harmless, newly legal and had more money than sense, but they tipped well so you ignored their catty banter. Mostly because it was never directed at you.
“Oh my god, look, he’s got the Cloudy Skies, we have got to get a round of Cloudy Skies,” one of the girls said, already leaning forward to wave down the bartender before her friends could reply.
Subtly, but not subtly enough that you didn’t notice, he turned his body so that he was faced away from the group to his left, leaving his full attention on you.
“Okay, you win, maybe basic bitch is the right way to go.”
You turned back to your own drink, picking absentmindedly at the label on the bottle of beer. You were out of practice, small talk with strangers at a bar used to be so easy for you, before and after Brad. The time in between the Brad-less eras of your life there hadn’t been talking to strangers at bars, especially once you had revealed to Brad your thoughts on your gender. No amount of explaining to him made him understand that you didn’t like women just because sometimes you didn’t always feel like a woman yourself. His brain seemed to equate any feelings towards masculinity to mean that you were going to cheat on him with women.
Brad had been deeply insecure.
The man next to you didn’t seem insecure as he continued to sip on the disgusting pink drink, something Brad would have never been caught with..
“You don’t have to finish that,” you offered.
“Thank god, because honestly, it's vile.” He looked at your beer, with the label picked away he could clearly see the way you had drained the drink. Nerves getting the better of you. “Are you, and I’m sorry if this is forward, but are you waiting for someone?” he asked.
“Not exactly, I’m here for the show.”
“Show?”
“Yeah,” you turn to look at the stage, they should be starting soon, but sometimes during the week the schedule was a little off. Alessia had explained it to you once, but you hadn’t been paying attention. It didn’t really matter to you if they started late, it wasn’t like you had other places to be. “Should be starting soon. My friend is one of the performers.”
“Brillio, can I get you a drink then? Another beer and a shot?”
Your gut reaction is to say no, you are here to see Alessia then go home, but it's been a while since you’ve let loose, and you know the club is a safe space. Alessia wouldn’t work here if it wasn’t, plus Sami was on soon, Alessia's cousin had always looked out for the two of you.
“Sure.”
“I’m Kyle, by the way, figured you should know the name of the bloke buying you a drink.”
He offers up his hand, you take it, his fingers are warm as they wrap around yours. You give him your name.
When the drinks finally come the two of you clink the shots before downing the whiskey. Kyle explains to you that if they gave you proper pints you could have dropped the shot in and done the whole drink in one go. You let him explain a Boilermaker to you, as if you had never been to a proper pub before.
The two of you chat up until the moment the spotlight flickers on, lighting up the small stage and muting all of the neon that cages it in. Alessia usually tells you the order of the acts each night, but you hadn’t told her you were coming tonight. On the one hand, it would be a nice surprise, on the other, if she didn’t know you were here she couldn’t con you into staying out late.
You had decided to dress up, feeling that rare itch to don something more feminine. The body suit clung to you like a second skin. The black lace created the idea of modesty but really, not much was covered up. It had been a gift from Alessia, after the breakup, she had called it your revenge bodysuit and you would pair it with ripped jeans and tiny skirts and baggy cargos, and it always did the trick. But you had retired it after moving until tonight, when the flash of black lace had caught your eye, tucked away in the back of a drawer.
It seemed like the revenge bodysuit could still work its magic, whether you were ready for it or not.
With the show underway you almost forgot about Kyle, the man sitting behind you just as ensnared by the performers. When Alessia had stepped on stage you had tapped his knee and whispered into the shell of his ear that she was who you were waiting for.
By the time the show was over the bar area was packed, bodies pressing against you to wave at the bartender. This was typically when you called it a night.
“That was amazing,” Kyle said, leaning in close to you so that you could hear him over the raucous crowd.
“It always is. If you didn’t know about the show, why did you come here?”
“I was just looking for a place not to be alone, you know?”
You nodded. You did know. You knew that feeling very well.
“Would you, and you can totally say no, but would you want to maybe go somewhere quieter? There’s a few dives nearby?”
Kyle couldn’t believe his luck. Ghost and Soap had spotted you leaving your apartment, hair styled down, flowing wide leg pants and a bodysuit that they had only peaked a glance of before you were bundled up against the brisk wind that plagued the city. Kyle had studied the footage of you entering and exiting the office, he knew the gait of your steps, the way your shoulders sloped when no eyes were on you, the way your eyes closed when you took a drag from a cigarette before climbing back on your bike and riding off into the abyss of the city.
The 141’s own personal herald of doom. And you didn’t even seem to know it. Or you were an incredibly good actor and hid your involvement well.
That was what Kyle was here to find out and the fact that you were asking him to go somewhere quiet made his job that much easier.
“Would love to, I know a place nearby.”
Kyle slid a few notes across the bar, easily enough to cover their drinks before slipping back into his own jacket while you tried to tell him he didn’t need to cover your drinks. He also didn’t need to help you into your leather jacket, but there he was, pulling the supple leather up your bare arms before wrapping his scarf around your neck when he realized you didn’t have one of your own.
Once out of the street the world quieted. It was cold enough that most people walking weren’t lingering the way they normally would. It gave Kyle a chance to study you as they walked. You followed alongside him at a brisk pace, hands shoved into your jacket. You allowed him to lead you with very little pushback, smiling as he told you about the bar they were heading to. Keeping to himself that it was operated by the 141, the bartender had already been briefed that if Kyle made it there with you that he was to get only water and that you were to be plied with alcohol. The plan was to get you drunk and talking, most people didn’t need much encouragement from there when they felt safe and free of inhibitions.
Kyle had drank enough to make the ruse believable that he felt the warm glow of the alcohol sink into his bones, keeping his steps light as he guided you through the quiet basement bar towards the far corner.
“I’ve never noticed this spot before, it’s cozy,” you said, turning on your stool to look around the sparsely decorated space.
“Just one of those places I suppose,” he replied, waving over the bartender.
Kyle ordered a vodka soda for himself, and when he offered to get yours you told him you’d do the same. Perfect, really, because then you could get those extra potent drinks and he would be sipping soda water.
“So tell me, how did you end up in town? Your accent is a dead giveaway.”
“Is it? I thought for sure I was starting to blend in more,” you said with a smile. “My friend, from the club, she moved here to pursue theater, I just kind of tagged along.”
“Roommates?”
“Former, we decided our thirties was old enough for our own places. Plus she can afford a way nicer neighborhood.”
Kyle frowned, “not to judge, but on a performer's pay?”
“No, not on a performer’s pay, but that’s her business not mine.”
Interesting, he thought, adding it to his mental list.
“Aw, come on, now I need to know,” Gaz pouted, laying it on thick.
You laughed, patting his knee. “Sorry, puppy, maybe when you’re older.”
“Fine, then what do you do?”
“Nothing as exciting as being a lounge singer. I’m a bike courier.”
There was no hesitation as you answered his question, peppering in your own about his job. Kyle gave you his PR answer, he was a contract negotiator, worked with businesses, individuals, the works. Whenever he used that official cover he made sure to make it sound as dry and boring as possible. People usually asked less questions.
By the time the conversation had reached college trysts (all of Kyle’s were fake stories, while you were in college he had been enlisted). You told him about trying and failing to seduce the DJ at the college bar so you could get free entry.
Kyle had laughed at your antics, slipping you another shot that you took without question, grinning at him. It wasn’t hard to redirect the conversation back to your job from there. It was clear to Kyle that you weren’t some kind of mastermind, at most a puppet, but he knew intuition wasn’t enough for John to let it die.
“So what’s the weirdest thing you’ve had to deliver?”
You scrunched your face, every emotion flitted across your features, so open, so trusting.
Kyle leaned forward for the answer, as if you were his co-conspirator.
“Mmm, okay, so it’s not so much what I was delivering as much as it was who was receiving it. You know that neighborhood by the fancy park?”
Kyle nodded, he knew the one, he knew the one very well.
“So it was a bunch of paperwork, I get those sometimes, and for this one it was a special request, get the paperwork signed and return with it. Should have been standard, but the guy who needed to sign answered the door wearing only a women’s silk robe. Dude was packing. That thing was swinging around the whole time I was there.”
Kyle was mildly horrified. Sure he had seen worse things in his line of work but full frontal nudity wasn’t an everyday occurrence.
“That has to be sexual harassment or something.”
“Maybe,” you said with a shrug, “but he gave me a trip ‘for my troubles’ and I’m not gonna say no to cash.”
He stored that away as well, maybe you had been bribed to deliver the threats.
“That the only weirdo?”
“No, lots of people are weird when you think about it, especially when you’re going to their apartments and homes. There is this one guy, big, beefy, kinda guy you would expect to see as security at a club or something. Always wears a mask, doesn’t say much and gets these weird envelopes.”
“What’s in the envelopes?”
“One was a postcard with some weird Latin on it. I didn’t stick around to see what it was about. The guy has murdery eyes.”
Kyle couldn’t stop the laugh that fell from his lips. Ghost would love that when they debriefed.
“You know what I mean, he’s all,” you furrowed your brows and stared directly into Kyle’s eyes, covering the bottom half of your face with your hand. “Like that.”
“Sure, very scary. Wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark street alone.”
Kyle knew exactly what Ghost alone on a dark street could do.
“Yeah, I’ve been avoiding him.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can try, sometimes if he’s the only job on the routes I’ll just take the afternoon off. It’s nice to just do things for me, you know.”
“No bosses telling you what to do?”
“No bosses, no roommates, no stupid boyfriends.”
Adding stupid boyfriends to the list.
“So you’re single,” Kyle asked, leaning closer so that his breath ran over the exposed skin of your neck, goose pimples breaking out in its wake.
“Yeah,” you turned to him fully, a goofy smile plastered on your face, the drinks more than doing their jobs.
You wake up groggy. The pain of the pounding on your head is what wakes you up. You groan, curling up into a pillow in your bed.
There’s something wrong with the smell of your pillow. And the bed feels more stiff than usual. Your discomfort adds in to your foul mood and you finally give up and blink your eyes open. There’s a soft light that takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. And then the details come in.
Details you don’t recognize.
There’s a fireplace across from you, lit and crackling the soft warm glow. Next to it is a mini library with a cozy chair in the corner. There’s a man in the chair.
Everything comes back to you.
The shooting. The ambush. The gunshot. The body.
A churning twists the bottom of my stomach. The man in the chair comes forward, acting quickly to offer you a small bin. You take it just in time as the burning bile comes forward.
There’s a murmur behind you, “Isn’t vomiting a bad sign--“
“Shh.”
The man in front of you stays close, but gives you your space. “How are you feeling, princess?” One of the men from the diner.
You’re finally able to focus into the present. In the unknown bed and the unknown room. You try not to move quickly, every motion causing a strong dizziness when you do. But you’re able to see the other two men on the other side of the room. There is one face, well half a face, you recognize, Simon.
You’re still jarred, your entire life changing in an entire night. “Simon?” Your voice is rough and scratchy in its disuse. The man next to him, Johnny, noticed you rubbing your throat, feeling like you’re swallowing dry rocks.
He jumps up, a bit too fast for you to not flinch, and offers, “I’ll get ye some water, hen.”
He leaves without an affirmation, completing a mission of his own. The other two men in the room don’t follow.
The man next to the bed places his hand on the edge of the mattress, moving slowly and orchestrating his movement on the bed. You scootch away, not to make room, but to keep space. “You hit your shoulder pretty hard, love.” He tells you. “Are you feeling alright? Does anything else hurt?”
When you take inventory of your body, you realize your shoulder is aching and your head continues to pound from a headache. You try to lift your arm, but a sharp pain zings down your shoulder “Pain medicine?” You wince.
The man on the bed glances towards Simon, a silent conversation come and gone in a moment. He smiles, soft and disarming, “Of course, princess.” He gets up, the bed shifting back to its original level as your eyes stay on the man when he crosses the room.
Its silent as he leaves. The click of the door a finality. You tense, your guard up.
The only man left in the room, Simon, is quiet, not providing any context on what’s happening. His gaze was solid, focused on you, but there wasn’t emotion there from what you can tell. This is the moment you realize, the strange customer, the one you were crushing on like a school girl, is not who you thought they were. Whispers of scoldings gain momentum in your mind, raising your anxiety to only one conclusion.
Summary: You avoid taking another job delivering to John Price, then you meet up with a friend for drinks.
CW: mdni, complete series warnings
You weren’t lying when you had told the weirdo in the mask that more of your deliveries had been contactless in some way or another. It had been almost two weeks and you hadn’t had a single pop up on the marketplace that wasn’t contactless, always at the pickup and sometimes at delivery. You weren’t going to complain too much because the money was good. But you kind of missed the flustered moms with the babbling babes and the little old ladies who dragged you into their well loved apartments to get a snack because you must be so tired from picking up her prune juice.
You weren’t tired but you wouldn’t say no to fresh baked cookies.
This week had turned out to be much of the same, pickups from lockers across the city with deliveries to mailboxes, drop boxes, doormen. When you opened the app that morning it had been another list of the same. You had considered just closing it and taking a day off but your bank account was begging for the funds.
Once you were suited up in joggers, a turtleneck because fall was in full effect, your boots, leather jacket, vest and secure messenger bag you wrestled your bike from your apartment and into the rickety building elevator.
Early on in your adventure as a bicycle courier you had invested in an e-assist bike which worked wonders while you were scooting around the city but was a bitch to bring up to your apartment at the end of everyday. You had read too many horror stories of people’s bikes being stolen or stripped for parts so you lugged your baby up and down the elevator that you refused to use otherwise.
By the time you were settled, bag secured across your chest and phone secured in the holder on your handle bar there were still only contactless jobs in the queue. Most were straightforward, but one jumped out at you.
Locker pickup. Direct drive. Delivery to concierge for the one and only Mr. Price.
It wasn’t the same building that you had made the other deliveries to, this was a residential building, in a very fancy neighborhood. You considered accepting the job, the price was right and you wouldn’t have to see the masked man if the delivery was to the building concierge, but you had delivered that strange postcard to his office last week and if you played your cards right someone else would except that job and you wouldn’t have to.
By the end of the day you almost regretted not taking the Price delivery. Faceless delivery after faceless delivery had left you irritable and you blamed the dark cloud that had settled over you for the moment of weakness when you called your one and only friend to get drinks.
“Bitch, you couldn’t even bother to dress up?”
You roll your eyes, pulling Alessia into a tight hug.
Alessia was the reason you lived in a new city and subsequently your only friend. When she had decided she wanted to pursue theater you had followed her to be her support system. It didn't matter that the two of you were a bit old to be chasing dreams of stardom, Alessia always got what she wanted.
And you needed a change. You were just another corporate cog in the machine, spending your days being talked down to by men who didn’t know how to attach a PDF and refused to not reply-all to every email. It was tiring.
“I was at work, these are my work clothes,” you say, waving a hand over yourself.
Alessia pouts.
“Everyone is going to think we are here together and I’m going to have to pay for all of my drinks.”
You ignore her pouting, noting the espresso martini that already sits in front of her with a number written on the napkin beneath it. You climb into the stool next to her, waving over the bartender and ordering a drink.
Alessia looks out of place in this dive. Even when you were poor college grads living off of ramen noodles and cheese toasties she had always been perfectly put together, clothes perfectly tailored and ironed, hair and makeup pristine, perched demurely on your worn out couch that you had paid some teens to lug up to your apartment.
Before moving Alessia had found a studio for herself in a safe neighborhood where her doorman knew her name and people walked fancy purebred dogs and children wore clothes more expensive than your whole wardrobe. She had been very cagey about how she had afforded the apartment at first. Finally she had brokedown and told you about her ‘friend’ who financed her new fancy lifestyle.
You had thought she was joking when she said she was going to sign up for a sugar baby app.
“You can afford it. Plus, I didn’t ask you to come out so I could watch you flirt.”
She sighed dramatically, turning in her seat to face you.
“And how is my favorite cyclist?”
“Fine, bored. Also, courier, not cyclists. I’m not a masochist riding for pleasure, it's work.”
“You could always come work at the lounge, Sami is always looking for bartenders.”
“Sami is not looking for someone who is happy doing vodka shooters and drinking Miller Lite to bartender. No amount of begging is going to make him hire me.”
“You don’t know that. You might be a secret bartending savant.”
You snorted into your drink.
“Give it a rest, Alessia, it's not happening.”
“Fine, tell me about work then.”
You could tell that Alessia's eyes glazed over almost as soon as you started complaining about the types of jobs you had been able to get. You couldn’t really blame her, she was chasing her dreams, singing professionally for the first time since college and auditioning for musicals. It was more than you could say, if asked you weren’t even sure you had dreams let alone a five year plan.
“And after I made that delivery he pushed me over his desk and had his way with me.” You finish, Alessia nodding her head as if she had been diligently listening before her eyes widened, realizing what you had just said.
“Shut up, there's no way you did that.”
You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink.
“Guess you’ll never know.”
“Puh-lease, I know you, chickadee, you would never. When was the last time you even got laid.”
You frowned, this was a sore subject. You had dated in college, casually hooked up with men and women in shady bar bathrooms, in dorm rooms, frat houses, the works. After graduation, when you and Alessia were living paycheck to paycheck you had met Brad, he worked across the hall in your office, different company. It hadn’t been a whirlwind romance or anything like that, but it was comfortable and safe, until it wasn’t. Until you started to realize you weren’t always comfortable in your own skin but Brad, Brad liked you the way you were, his perfect date to work events, borrowing clothes from Alessia to make sure you fit the brief.
Cocktail dinner with investors.
Post work drink with the boys.
Meeting his parents at a Michelin star restaurant.
New year's dinner followed by dancing at a fancy rooftop.
The list went on and on, until you realized you were molding yourself into what he wanted until there was very little of you left. Then came the break up, and the rebounds, and the finding yourself. And somewhere along the way you realized maybe you weren’t what you thought you were, maybe you had been doing what was expected of you, dressing and acting the way you were expected to long before Brad came along.
Alessia, to her credit, had been there through every step. Every messy chaotic step. So when she asked you to move with her it had been an easy decision. The move was a chance for her to pursue her dreams and for you to start over.
Then came the dry spell, your hermit era. The first couple of months you had spent job hunting, chasing down leads, going to interviews, trying to figure out who the new you was. Then you came across Hermes, bought a bike off a kid in your building and started a new life as a bike courier. And you had loved it at first, you still wanted to love it, but you were wondering if the cold weather and endlessly faceless deliveries would bring you the same joy.
“Let's not talk about my love life.”
“Not your love life, your sex life, but okay, we can talk about mine.”
Alessia turned in her seat, digging into her purse until she produced a small black leather book.
“No.”
“Yes. It's been so long, I have to catch you up.”
“I feel weird knowing so much intimate shit about a man I’venever met.”
Alessia pursed her lips, placing the notebook on the bar between the two of you in order to take a sip of her drink. The book taunted you. It was a reminder of how Alessia was everything you couldn’t be. Pursuing your dreams in your thirties seemed normal, deciding your gender was wrong and running from everything that reminded you of your old life seemed far more childish.
“He’s just a guy, use your imagination.”
“I don’t need to use my imagination, I know he has a mole on his left ass cheek. I think I have a pretty good idea of what he looks like at least from the waist down.”
Alessia downed the martini and waved over the bartender for another.
“Yeah, okay, fine. He likes to keep private, it's not a big deal. I don’t ask questions and he makes sure I have money for all the pretty things I need.”
“So why do we need the book?”
You eyed it wearily, in a previous life you had had one of your own, and the two of you would huddle up every couple of weeks to review them. It felt like a lifetime ago, like another person's memories.
“So, last weekend we went to this spa, super private, with champagne, light bites, massages, hot baths. You know? And after we were all loose and relaxed, I pegged him.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yup, popped his anal cherry. He came so hard.”
“We are in public,” you whined, eyeing the couple sitting next to you. They didn’t seem to be scandalized yet.
“Whatever, people are such prudes, let me tell you about the setup.”
You weren’t sure what was worse, the thanklessness of delivering packages to faceless destinations all day or listening to Alessia explain in detail what kind of a strap on she had purchased for her sexcapades.
And you realized at some point between beers that you couldn’t tell her about your masked weirdo and the delivery requests to Mr. Price. She would worry, she would tell you it was unsafe, she would beg you to take her up on her offer to work at the lounge and then you would be nothing more than a moth following the brightest light around you.
And so you listened, nodding along and being properly scandalized as she talked. You could tell her about work another day, you didn’t need to worry her.
Summary: The 141 meets John MacTavish and Kyle gets the latest updates on their latin problem.
CW: mafia, military inaccuracies, adult situations, mdni complete series warnings
AN: canon? what canon?
Kyle Garrick was amused by the Scot currently sitting outside of Price’s office pouting like he had been sent to the headmaster’s office. Kyle only knew the other man in passing, had heard rumors about him during his time in the service, a young upstart with a penchant for blowing things up and an irascibility that had him bouncing around commands until Kyle had left the service and no longer cared about those inconsequential rumors.
However, Kyle had been surprised by which MacTavish was darkening their doorstep; he had expected the ornery Fergus MacTavish, current head of the Scots, not his nephew. The 141 hadn’t had much reason to do business with the Scots since Kyle had joined. He had only seen the other man when the families had to play nice, fundraisers, weddings, funerals. Fergus was always there, thick moustache wagging as he yammered on in a broken English that put Ghost on edge. MacTavish had been trying to ‘turn over a new leaf’ as best as Kyle could understand it.
“The feck ye lookin’ at, mate?” The Scot grumbled, shoulders tensing as Kyle eyed him.
Kyle rolled his eyes, immature twat.
He knocked on the door once, John’s gruff voice calling him in. Ghost was already sitting in one of the chairs by John’s desk, wide body dwarfing the seat. His mask was on and he was eyeing the door warily as it shut.
“What’s up with the brat?” Kyle asked, dropping down in his own chair happy to sit after a morning spent training at the gym. His day to day might not have been as physically demanding as it had been before, but he had to keep up with his workout if he wanted to stand a chance out there.
“John MacTavish, Iain MacTavish’s kid. His uncle sent him down, kid was ‘misbehaving’ and not good for their ‘image’.”
“Fucking idiots, the lot of them.” Ghost grumbled, his mouth barely moving behind the balaclava.
“Aye, but we are playing nice and fostering him, so to speak, till things cool off.”
“And what did he do to deserve a cool off?”
“You remember him from the service?”
“A bit.” Kyle says noncommittally, the rumors he remembers the most vividly aren’t exactly what John is looking for. At the time he couldn’t have predicted that rumors about the other sergeant would be useful.
“I remember when he was a kid, I was already a teen when he was born, wild thing being raised by some old hags out in the highlands. Should have been him taking over the family, but Iain died when he was just a kid, he enlisted the first chance he got. There’s a story there, I just don’t know it.”
“So he doesn’t understand the family business?”
“Didn’t know he knew proper English until I ran into him on base.”
“The fuck we gonna do with ‘im?”
Ghost asks the important question, the one Kyle is thinking as well. They are about the same age, MacTavish and Kyle, both too young to have retired from the service. Kyle knows how and why he left, but the Scot outside is a mystery and the 141 has enough of those at the moment. They don’t need to be babysitting some out of control Scotsman.
“MacTavish!”
John used his captain’s voice, the Scot opened the door, pout replaced by a deep scowl, undoubtedly having learned no manners during his time in the service.
“Aye?”
“Why are you here?” John asked.
Not mincing words then.
“Ahm in timeout, ah suppose.” He replied, accent heavy as his eyes darted around the room, surveying his surroundings. It seemed he still had those military instincts.
Smart.
“Why?”
“Did Fergus tell ye?”
“No.”
The Scot bit his lip, shifting from foot to foot as he considered the question. Kyle knew there were a lot of secrets even between allies, whatever he had done was not something that was public knowledge.
“Ah dinnae think Ahm supposed te say.”
John studied the Scot, brows furrowed, running a hand over his overgrown beard. In the 141 loyalty was earned, they weren’t a blood family and even though John had taken over from his own father he had shaped the organization anew. They didn’t have to trust the Scot, but he also didn’t have to trust them. Kyle could see John considering his options, the Scot was too skilled and too connected to the Scots to not keep an eye on.
“Tell Ghost, he can keep a secret, he’ll decide if it was worth it.”
The Scot looks over at Ghost, a man like Ghost doesn’t need introduction, despite the anonymity the masks offer him. The second in command and former lieutenant had made a name for himself in the field and then again when the two had left the service. Ghost drags his gaze over to the Scot, their eyes meeting for the first time. Ghost’s eyes narrow while the Scots widen slightly before he squares his shoulders and moves further into the office, leaning forward and cupping his hand over where Ghost’s ear should be beneath the balaclava. He doesn’t always wear the full getup, it seems like greeting their guest was the right occasion.
Gaz is struck by how comical this moment is, the other John whispering a secret to their oversized lieutenant, like two mates swapping secrets on the playground. And when the Scot finally steps back, running a hand nervously through his overgrown mohawk, Ghost just stares up at him for a moment before nodding at Price.
“Alright, Ghost, the Scot’s yours for the day, get him out of my sight.”
Ghost doesn’t wait for further instructions, unfolding from his chair and towering over the Scot as he grabs his shirt and drags him unceremoniously from the office. Kyle can still hear the Scot’s indignant complaints after the door has snicked shut.
“Just what we fuckin’ needed right now.”
“That could have gone worse, ‘least he isn’t afraid of Ghost.”
“Should be,” John says with a frown, likely thinking of all the other ways the Scot is fearless or, in actuality, reckless. “Ghost met the courier again.” John finishes with a heavy sigh.
That got Kyle’s attention, he leaned forward in his chair. John passed the new postcard across the desk. Kyle held it gingerly, knowing Ghost would have already had it tested before handing it off to John. The back had a different latin phrase, the words unfamiliar to Kyle.
What is familiar is the cabin, his breath catching in his throat as his finger traces over the scene. He remembers this night, the cabin was thick with the smell of fire, the roast in the oven and something that was so uniquely John. He can see John in the picture, his back to the window and knows that behind that bulky back is him, knelt on the bearskin rug, John’s thick fingers in his mouth.
Kyle knows it's that moment, their packs are still out on the low porch, Ghost hasn’t yelled at them yet to get more wood for the fire, ending the intimate moment that the three of them would rekindle later that night, after a hardy meal, in the glow of the embers of the fire.
The cabin is their sanctuary, on paper it doesn’t exist, the land is privately owned under a name not associated with any of them. Someone had followed them, someone had encroached on the one place they could relax, the one place they could just be. Someone was threatening them.
But they already knew that, they just didn’t know how close they had been.
“What happened when Ghost saw him?”
John debriefs him on the encounter, Ghost’s suspicions, his distrust of your appearance, the fact that you knew the Latin phrase.
“Doesn’t mean he’s involved.” Kyle hedges, Ghost can be suspicious at best, paranoid being his default
John shrugs, “Ghost isn’t taking any chances, had the boys put a tracker on the bike. Shouldn’t be too long before he has more info.”
“And we are still doing this by the books?”
“Aye, whoever is doing this has to know we are looking into it, but we don’t want to tip anyone else off that we got problems.”
Kyle nodded, flipping the postcard over again and tracing the words. Contritium praecedit superbia.
“What’s this one, then?”
“Pride comes before the fall.”
“Bit on the nose, that one?”
John laughs, “certainly received much more straightforward threats in the past.”
“You think we can trust the kid?” Kyle asks.
John’s gaze drags over to the door, then back to Kyle.
“Time will tell. I want you to take him tonight to the pickup. It’s low stakes, Laswell signed off on the supplier. We’ll see how he does.”
Kyle spent a lot of his time as the face of their more public and legal businesses, he was a natural charmer and that came in handy during negotiations. It also helped that he had a pretty face and didn’t immediately scare people off like Ghost, or ooze dominance like John. But he was still a lethal asset in the field and to keep him sharp he did still step out occasionally on his own, or in this case with a partner. John was right, low stakes was a perfect way to get a feel for MacTavish. In the field, as sergeants they would have had to blindly trust that they had each other's back, but this wasn’t the military, their allies were allies until they weren’t. And MacTavish would need to prove himself.
