(fic takes place approximately a year before the events of the Playroom)
Finn is in the middle of pouring out a measure of brandy in his study when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Then the door closes and the lock clicks.
"Hello, Joe," he says, taking another tumbler. He fills it twice as much as the first.
The Irishman turns around and offers the second glass of brandy to Joe. The older man is not five paces from him; Finn heard nothing when he came home earlier, sensed nothing amiss about his own space. He doesn't know what that says about him and Joe's relationship. "For old times?"
The gun that's pointed at him doesn't waver. Joe appears stoic, but there's a hint of regret when he says, "I don't want to do this."
"That why you haven't killed me yet?" Finn smiles, downing the drink, and sighs. He is so tired of this life. "They really don't want the deal to happen, huh."
Joe remains very still. "Call it off. I can negotiate a way out for you. You just need to cancel it."
"I can't," Finn admits. "I'm stuck. I have to see it through." He sets down the tumbler and in a flash, his trusted butterfly knife is in his hand, he's rushing Joe, his momentum driving the bigger man into the door behind him. They crash to the floor in a tumble.
There's a brief moment when Finn thinks he's stabbed Joe, but before he can thrust the blade deeper, his wrist is caught and twisted; the older man's eyes are dark, nearly emotionless, as he breaks Finn's wrist and drives the knife into his right shoulder, before he pulls the blade out.
Finn gasps in pain. He knees Joe in the side and struggles sideways, blood already soaking into his shirt and dripping onto the hardwood floor. He tries to stand, then hears a loud shot before he realizes Joe has fired the gun. His ears ringing, Finn loses his balance and falls to one knee, then crashes to his side.
Joe is on his feet, quicker than the injured Irishman, his gun once again aimed at Finn's head. His grip is steady.
Finn looks at Joe. With a small, pained grimace, he says, "Don't kill Karl or Luke."
Closing his eyes, Finn lets himself relax. He smiles. "Joe?"
"I love you." It's a confession over ten years late, but better late than never.
Joe doesn't reply. Finn hears only metallic clicks, but he's too cold and nauseous and tired to give a fuck.
Finn wakes up. That is a surprise in itself.
The second surprise is that Joe is sitting by his bed, reading John Grisham.
"Congratulations. You're still stupid," says Joe. He closes his novel and stands up. "Deal's fallen through. You're leaving Japan tonight with me."
"Again with the amazingly dumb insights." Even as he says this, Joe's lips curl in a small smile. He bends over and kisses Finn's forehead. "I love you too, you bastard."
Finn is too sore to laugh. "Fuck you. I take it back." He can move his uninjured arm, currently hooked up to a drip, grasping weakly at Joe's sleeve. "Karl and Luke?"
"Anderson's guarding the door, Gallows is taking a nap after stitching you up." Joe smooths back Finn's hair. "Sleep, dumbass. You have a new life to build soon."
