Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Is this seat taken?”

Branzy looked up, twitching slightly as he fumbled to pull his headphones off.

“Uh- yep. I’m not waiting for anyone.”

He nodded, smiling, headphones resting uncomfortably around his neck as the stranger smiled, and dropped their bag on the floor, taking the seat opposite him.

Their eyes were mismatched. That was the only thing that made Branzy’s thoughts linger on them, for a moment. Orange and blue. Not exactly striking, not at a glance, but noticeable.

It was entirely black outside the window. This was the last train back into the city for the night, and it was almost deserted. Truth be told, Branzy had been worried he was going to miss it, and spend the night in the airport. But he’d been lucky, and he was more than happy to extend some kindnesses to stranger right now.

“Thanks.”

They smiled, and Branzy nodded again, already moving to put his headphones back on.

“So, what brings you to the last train at midnight?”

Branzy’s heart sank. Just his luck to end up with someone he wanted conversation. He just wanted an evening to be a little bit miserable, a little bit jet lagged, and a lot worried about how much Ivory was going to complain at him about vanishing to another country for a week with hardly any warning.

“Oh, I- I’m just back from a flight.” He smiled awkwardly, slowly lowering his hands back to his lap. “You?”

He was just about clinging onto his manners, indescribably tired, but not wanting to spread his ridiculous problems any further than they needed to go.

“Just travelling for work.” They smiled again, leaning back to stare out the window. “Nice night.”

“Mhm.”

“Where was the flight from?”

“Uh- France.”

“Nice. Holiday?”

“…yeah. Sort of.”

Not really. Branzy stared out the window too, into the impenetrable darkness the stranger seemed captivated by. Their eyes reflected back, washed out by grimy glass, but still sharp.

“Oh? What else?”

“Kinda… finding myself. Y’know?”

The stranger made a small noise of interest, even as Branzy felt a heat creep into his cheeks, along with a certain irritation. He didn’t want to be talking to anyone right now.

Then the stranger shifted, and his jacket rode up for half a second, revealing a gun tucked into his waistband.

Branzy’s heart skipped a beat.

Was he going to die? No, surely not, they’d have killed him already. Maybe they weren’t even planning to use it. Maybe he should just stay calm, pretend he hadn’t seen anything at all.

“I- I haven’t got a job.” He was rambling already, and forced himself to pause, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I’m just… exploring my options, I guess. And- and my sister’s at college, so- she wants me out the house-“

No, actually, Ivory was always irritated whenever he left, and wouldn’t help her pay rent. But she was fine without him, and Branzy got claustrophobic easily, walking around that apartment and scrolling useless job listings endlessly.

“I get it.” The stranger’s lips quirked, hit it didn’t reach their eyes, so it wasn’t quite a smile, not this time. “Employment difficulties. Got a degree?”

This conversation felt like it was taking a weird turn, but Branzy was just waiting anxiously for his stop, so he could get away from this stranger with a gun and a dangerous smile.

Still, there was something about their voice. Hypnotically low, walking a tightrope between lighthearted and threatening, with an edge that was something neither hoarse nor smooth.

Branzy swallowed, and nodded.

“Yep. Computer science.”

“Nice. You seem the sort.”

“Uh- thanks?”

Shit, too aggressive. Branzy waited apprehensively, hoping beyond hope the stranger wouldn’t take it as an insult. But they just laughed, a soft, almost grating chuckle that made the hair on the back of Branzy’s neck prick up.

“Sounds like you shouldn’t have a problem getting a job, then. Unless there’s something else?”

Well, there wasn’t. Not really. He could have, for sure, he could have graduated and grabbed the first software startup job he’d seen. And gotten some shitty salary, and be boxed into non-compete clauses and five-year contracts for the rest of his life. Branzy just didn’t feel like he was made for the corporate world, much to Ivory’s continued annoyance.

But he was trying. If he could just make his own way, in some form, do something that felt special and important and his, Branzy was sure he’d manage to settle down.

It just… hadn’t happened yet.

And, while his inheritance was still plenty enough to support his and Ivory’s little flat, and his occasional excursions to the mainland, it couldn’t last forever.

Like this train journey, which Branzy was regarding the end of with increasingly nervousness.

“No. Not- not really.”

Nothing at all. Except his own distaste for the system, and a certain energy that made him both too hard and too easy to work with. He’d been pushed around enough in school to know he might want to find some self-confidence before venturing into the real world.

Hence, the wanderlust. Anything, really, as long as it got him away from what he knew.

“Huh. Well. What’s your name, by the way?”

Oh, shit. Branzy’s eyes flicked from the stranger’s face, to the gun, to his own reflection in the darkened window. He caught their mismatched eyes, and froze, breath catching in his throat. They tilted their head, smiling softly, waiting.

“B- Branzy.”

Mistake. He was going to die. Fuck, he’d just got back from France and he was going to die before he even saw his sister.

“Well, Branzy. Don’t worry. I’ve got some employment eccentricities of my own.”

The stranger pulled out the gun, and Branzy audibly squeaked, flinching away as they examined it with a disinterest gaze.

“Secret service.” They glanced up at him, smirking. “Technically an assassin, but they got me on payroll. You can keep a secret, right, Branzy?”

Branzy swallowed, and nodded frantically, eyes not leaving the gun.

“Cool. No need to use this then.”

The stranger twirled the gun expertly in their fingers, then slipped it back into their belt, adjusting it so it was no longer visible at all. Branzy relaxed, just slightly, but was still on the edge of panicking.

“Relax.” They laughed again, rolling their eyes. “We’re both tired. And this is my stop.”

It was his too. But Branzy found himself nodding, silently, staring as the stranger got to their feet, swinging their bag over their shoulder as they stood and waited for the train to stop.

They looked down at him, smile softening.

“I didn’t meant to scare you, Branzy. I really do wish you all the best.”

“Th- thanks.”

Branzy tried a smile, and they returned it, just as the train screeched to a stop.

For half a second, Branzy nearly stood up. Admitted he was meant to get off here, leave himself at the mercy of following or being followed by the stranger.

But they just nodded, and left the carriage without another word, leaving Branzy staring dumbly into space.

Only when the door swished closed again, did the tension leave his body, and Branzy had to fight the urge to scan the platform as they pulled away.

That had been weird.

Already, it felt like a bad dream, or something his memory had exaggerated. But Branzy was going to remember. He hadn’t even caught their name. Only that they thought he should have a job, they allegedly worked for the secret service, and they had eyes that lingered on the back of his neck.

He stayed frozen, until the train dinged again, and he stumbled to his feet, grabbing his own bag mostly in a daze and half-tripping onto the platform. He hadn’t gone far. It would just be a bit of a longer walk back home. He should text Ivory.

Branzy fumbled his phone out, clutching it like a lifeline, feeling his own pulse reverberate through his body. Ivory. He’d just text her, and remind himself that he lived in the real world, not some kind of twisted fairytale where gun-wielding spies wished him luck with his career in midnight trains.

Branzy the Crafter: hey, missed my stop

Branzy the Crafter: I’ll be a few minutes late

Ivory’s favourite Cello is typing…

Branzy looked up from the screen, nodding to a ticket guard as he scanned his pass. There was no one else in this whole station, it seemed. Just him, his sister three miles away, and security guards looking bored out their minds.

Ivory’s favourite Cello: ok. Be safe

Branzy the Crafter: when am I not

Ivory’s favourite Cello: all the time

Branzy the Crafter: see you in a few minutes sis

Ivory’s favourite Cello: don’t die

Chuckling, Branzy turned his phone off, but kept it in his hand.

As he left the train station, he couldn’t stop himself looking around, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie as anxiety crept up his neck again. They wouldn’t have followed him. Surely not. That would be insane.

And, indeed, they didn’t seem to have. Branzy giggled, under his breath, allowing doubt to creep in. Secret service, yeah, right. Probably just some madman with a gun, pretending to be something important.

Maybe he should call the police. But Branzy really had no idea what he’d say. Someone on the train threatened him at gunpoint? Or that he’d seen an armed madman? Was impersonating a spy a criminal offence?

Honestly, who cared? He was alive, he was tired, he just wanted to get home without getting shot or mugged.

Branzy the Crafter: so how’ve things been back in England

Branzy the Crafter: sis?

Branzy the Crafter: almost home

Sighing, Branzy put his phone away, instead looking around. It was probably better to be vigilant anyway, at this time of night.

Not far now. His feet hurried a little, almost tripping over each other as Branzy tried to act casual. It felt like there were a thousand eyes on him, from every angle, and like he was entirely alone at the same time, the only, lonely soul in a big, abandoned world.

It was strange, really. The only connections he had left to the world beyond him and his little sister were fading school contacts and the strangers he scammed online for what could hardly be called a living.

It felt like he was fading into obscurity, not that he’d ever had much to his name, and the darkness was beginning to lick at his heels, no matter how far he ran to try to escape it.

Eventually, he’d reach the finish. He’d find somewhere to be himself someday. Hopefully.

Anyway. He really was almost home now.

Branzy pulled his key out of his pocket, where he’d actually had the forethought to put it so he didn’t have to get Ivory out of bed at midnight. He twirled it between his fingers, idly trying to replicate the fancy trick that stranger had pulled with the gun.

That was probably weird. But Branzy couldn’t get them out of his head, even as he walked down his street, humming to try to distract himself. Something about their eyes, too, deeper than the unnatural colours. Something dangerous.

He was always a sucker for a man who made him feel fear. Women too, especially if they could kill him. Ivory mocked him for it mercilessly, and, in fairness, it was deserved. There wasn’t really a way to say he enjoyed the thrill of fear in casual conversation, and it had caused a truly surprising amount of problems in the few relationships he’d attempted.

One night stands, those were fine. You could find some weird sucker who’d do anything to you so they could hit. But Branzy had never been particularly good at holding down a relationship, not once they got close enough to get sick of his wasted potential and puppyish lifestyle.

Branzy hummed a little louder as he buzzed open the apartment door, trying not to step too loudly on his way upstairs. He didn’t need to worry about dying alone tonight, thank you.

The key went easily into the lock, just as Branzy started to become very aware of just how tired he was. It was funny, whenever he was travelling, it felt like his sense of time was on pause. Then he’d been rather running on the adrenaline of fearing for his life for the last half hour or so.

“Hi, Ivory!”

Branzy made sure to call out softly, as he locked the door behind him.

“Hi, Branzy.”

Ivory sounded considerably unimpressed, chair scraping as she stood up, walking over to him with a vaguely irritated expression. Hands on her hips, she stared up at him, and Branzy dared for a small, exhausted smile.

After a minute, Ivory relented, and smiled slightly, hugging him for a few seconds.

“Missed you. How’d it go?”

“Oh… not so bad.”

Should he tell her about the stranger? Branzy considered it, amidst the enjoyment of just being able to hug his sister in person, before she pulled away, scoffing in slightly teary exhaustion.

“Fine. Tell me in the morning, ok?”

“Yeah. Nice to be back.”

“Go to sleep, Branzy.” Ivory giggled, then yawned, then smiled. “I’ll hear your stories tomorrow.”

“Today now, I think.” Branzy checked his watch, chuckling. “But yeah. I’ll sleep.”

“‘Night, Branzy.”

Ivory walked off, turning off the light as she headed upstairs. Branzy watched her go, in darkness, his smile slowly slipping into nothing.

Another trip wasted. Another empty feeling, as he stood in the apartment he’d be in until he died, feeling like he was waiting for the universe to hand him an opportunity.

Branzy sighed, hefted his bag, and followed his sister upstairs, trying not to linger on the painful feeling in his chest.

It was good to be home, at least.

Chapter Text

So, funny thing.

Getting threatened at gunpoint appeared to be the most interesting thing that had happened to him in his life.

Branzy couldn’t quite stop thinking about it.

He’d been up most of the night, unable to get his heartbeat to calm down quite enough to speak, thinking back to the train journey. He should have followed them. He should have asked for their name.

But he hadn’t, and now he was back in a mediocre flat, with his sister already getting ready for school down the corridor.

Yawning, Branzy practically rolled out of bed, falling onto the floor- which, it turned out, didn’t have nearly as thick of a carpet as his rented studio apartment in France had. He really needed to stop getting used to things.

“Shit…”

He sat up with a slight groan, still feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. At least he’d put on something different last night, so he could eat breakfast without getting changed. Small mercies.

Branzy stretched, getting to his feet a little unsteadily, but already dragging himself around to the idea of consciousness. He wasn’t exactly a morning person, but he wasn’t the worst either. Just average, like everything else.

Which, wow, was an astonishingly painful thought to wake up. Branzy tried to shake it off, but it followed him like a dark cloud as he entered the kitchen, gloomy and still exhausted.

Ivory was gathering her school stuff, and looked up at him with something approaching pity.

“Go for a walk. You can’t just stay here all day.”

“Watch me.” Branzy tried for a playful smile, but it came out miserable. He sighed, and waved vaguely. “Have fun. I’ll be fine.”

Ivory’s eyes lingered on him for another few moments, but she just shook her head, making guilt twinge in Branzy’s throat.

“I’ve got work this evening. I’ll be home late.”

“Nice. I- I mean- have fun. Yeah.”

Ivory gave him a small smile, then headed out, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

Branzy watched her go, and felt like he was watching a life he could have lived leave with her. It was stupid, and selfish, but the loneliness that crept in as soon as his sister was out of sight felt suffocating in the worst ways.

He hadn’t been bad at school. But she was good, better than him. She had her life planned out. Work as a cleaner for now, learning on the job from the gardeners and butlers she met, then go on to something more. Music, maybe. Funny how any career seemed reasonable in the face of her quiet determination.

He stood like that for a while. There was nothing better to do with his life. He wasn’t going anywhere, didn’t have the spine to dedicate himself to some wild ambition.

At least, until his phone buzzed in his pocket, and Branzy was reminded that he did, in fact, have something better to be doing with his life.

It might not be honourable, scamming the shit out of strangers on the internet, but Branzy liked to think he was teaching them a valuable lesson about the modern world.

Besides, he wasn’t one of those call centres that dragged thousands out of retirees. He just made a few false listings, occasionally faked an Etsy shop, had even hacked a few legitimate ticketing websites and the like to siphon off their profits. It was amazing, really, what you could do with a hacked laptop, a cloaked internet connection and a healthy disregard for the law.

Branzy didn’t tend to think about it in terms of morality. It didn’t feel like he was doing anything evil, after all, as he grabbed a slice of toast and his laptop, settling at the kitchen table. Just... a few lines of code, a few messages to people whose faces he’d never even seen.

This was the world they all lived in, after all. He was just some nobody college graduate, just like Mike on Facebook was probably some nobody suburban dad, looking for the dresser Branzy claimed to be selling. Really, he’d stolen the photos from some old listing, and was currently bullshitting some measurements for Mike’s sake.

And, maybe, Branzy enjoyed it. Maybe he’d been the one to hack their grading system back in uni, thrown administration into chaos with the help of shady upperclassman Cube. Maybe he liked the chaos, just a little bit. The anonymity of the screen. The power at his fingertips.

Branzy wouldn’t claim to be a good person. No one was, these days. But, as he scattered crumbs across his laptop, and made a muffled noise of irritation while brushing them away, he couldn’t help but feel that good and evil were outdated concepts.

Like that stranger, on the train last night. Who he just couldn’t get out of his head, no matter how hard he was trying.

Branzy frowned, huffing slightly and accidentally spilling more crumbs onto his mousepad as he squinted at the screen. Anything to get his mind off them. He just fixated on danger, was always drawn too close to the flames. He should count himself lucky he hadn’t burnt himself last night.

Unfortunately, Mike from Facebook didn’t take up nearly enough brainpower to keep his thoughts away from the gun-wielding stranger. So, Branzy was forced to come to a few conclusions.

They were attractive. That was fine, he could admit that. Yeah, sure, it was weird to be turned on by a dude with a gun, but Branzy had plenty of other problems to keep himself awake with.

Secondly, they were interesting. For all it seemed improbable, they certainly had acted sort of like a spy, and it wasn’t impossible. Wasn’t impossible at all.

Branzy frowned. He’d had an idea, which was always a bad start. Ideas were what had kept him from doing something with his life after college, what kept calling him back to his converted workshop-room that was meant to be devoted to Ivory’s piano and school supplies.

But… he had seen their face. Maybe, maybe, there wasn’t much you could do with just a physical description, and he wasn’t about to mess with the Secret Service’s databases themselves. Not when he was running several low-level fraud schemes on this exact laptop.

Worth it to try. He had nothing better to do today.

Actually…

Branzy looked up, around the apartment he was just now remembering he’d promised to clean, as payment to Ivory for skipping rent for the last month. His heart sank. He wasn’t exactly feeling productive today. But he’d promised Ivory, so he’d do it. Or see if he could afford to pay someone to do it.

And he had to go for a walk. And unpack. And maybe eat, if he had time.

Maybe his mysterious stranger could wait. It was nice to have a busy day, for once. And Branzy knew that if he tried to work on one of his drones, he’d just end up breaking something from sheer idleness.

Sighing, Branzy reached out, and closed his laptop.

“Sorry, Mike. I’ll be back.”

Alright. Ivory kept a fairly clean ship- as he’d expect, with her being, you know, a cleaner- but there was always more to be done. And Branzy, as the resident unemployed older brother, felt it was his responsibility to at least try to help.

Well. Nothing to do but make a start.

Branzy stood up, and began to drag himself around the apartment, putting away the remains of Ivory’s breakfast and organising the clutter that accumulated on what was meant to be their bookshelf. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with her notes, so settled for tapping them into a neat pile, and leaving them on the edge of the kitchenette counter, just by the door.

Then he turned to the box by the stairs, where he had a tendency to let electronics accumulate, and was greeted by a neat, faintly peevish note.

please put these away. I’m studying politics, not illegal engineering

Branzy grinned, grabbing a pen and scribbling out a reply.

not illegal. not if it works :)

Then he picked up the box, and grudgingly carried it down the hall, to his little lab. Well, he called it a lab. It was meant to be a laundry room, or something like that, and, indeed, half the walls were Ivory’s floor-to-ceiling shelves for storing every part of her life.

But the other part was his domain.

Branzy whistled to himself as he sat down at his desk, shifting the framework of his latest drone aside with the same care he’d move a lazy kitten. These things were his babies, after all, and he had no intention of hurting them. Not when he’d spent months of his life just making the right lights light up at the right time.

Now, the drones weren’t actually for anything illegal at all. They were the result of one of his longest-standing hobbies, and a rise in hobbyist engineering materials going on the market recently. The hobby, incidentally, was surveillance.

Branzy wouldn’t call himself a paranoid sort of person. But the world was a scary place, and it had long fascinated him, the idea of being able to control something, anything, at a safe distance, observing people in a controlled environment. He was a scientist at heart, after all. Not a great one, but science was all about learning as you went.

Spinning in his chair, Branzy rummaged through the plastic box, humming a cheerfully tone-deaf tune as he picked through what he was realising was the various packages he’d ordered, forgotten about, then emptied into here.

“Now you can go there…” He leaned forward, setting a simple circuit maker refill kit under his lamp, next to his goggles. “And the rest of you…”

Hugging the box, he spun a full circle on his chair, eyes narrowed as he scanned the room.

Under his desk it went. He kept it fairly tidy around here, actually, and it was unusual for him to have a half finished project lying around. All that stuff was still in the bags anyway, and he’d do a proper refill of all his supplies later.

Later. God, he was always thinking about later.

Not now. Branzy sighed, standing up, pushing down the painfully squirmy feeling in his throat. Not now. He was home, he was happy, he was going to go on a walk.

Maybe he’d see if anyone from school was in the area.

Maybe he’d spend the rest of his life in this place, making gadgets his sister would carefully dust and never understand, and talking himself and Mike into circles until neither of them knew what they were looking for.

Branzy walked through the apartment quietly, still humming, but only so he didn’t have to listen to the silence. He grabbed his bag, a simple leather satchel that had been their dad’s, still smiling as he ran his hand over the flap.

“Sorry, sis. Better get some fresh air, right?”

His voice was quiet, with just an edge of the boundless energy that made him a headache and a joy for all who crossed his path. Branzy chuckled, under his breath, and unlocked the door, checking his phone as he locked it behind him.

There weren’t many people who might text him. Ivory was the obvious one, and anyone he happened to be scamming at the time. Then there were a couple of old friends, the ones how bothered to keep in touch, when a puppyish positive attitude was no longer needed in their boring, real lives.

Nothing. Branzy smiled sadly to himself, and slipped his phone into his satchel, skipping down the stairs two at a time. He’d go to the park. No chance of existential dread, no chance of guns on midnight trains.

Still. No reason not to think about them.

Branzy nodded to their neighbours as he headed out, waving a cheerful good morning with a smile. He rather prided himself on being friendly, and it wasn’t like it was hard.

Then he was outside, and spent a moment to bask in the weak, springtime sun, until he made himself laugh when he realised he looked like he’d never been outside before.

But it was nice to be outside. The cracks in the pavement were the same ones he’d grown up with, but there was still something new in every bit of graffiti he saw, every taxi that drove by, carrying countless stranger to countless destinations.

Branzy realised he was skipping down the hill, grinning like a madman. Maybe he was. But it felt good, it felt nice, to be able to walk outside and know he was still free, still a part of this world.

Maybe this was all worth the crushing doubt. The ability to leave his house- well, his flat, but a guy could dream- and breathe fresh air, free from the weight of corporate responsibilities.

It would all be fine. There, then, Branzy was surer than he’d ever been.

He’d be fine.

And, in this spirit of good humour, Branzy pulled out his phone, just as he rounded the corner into the park.

Branzy the Crafter: Hey Rek

Branzy the Crafter: you free to meet up?

Rekrap was, admittedly, one of his more embarrassing friends. Most people from school were hanging out with friend groups their own age, and here Branzy was, with his closest friend being an underclassman by three years, and his old mentee from one of those ridiculous programs that had given him exam credit.

Then again, Rek was a prodigy by any standards, and Branzy was occasionally still surprised he bothered to keep in touch. Rek had basically ended up schooling him, after they both realised Branzy couldn’t teach for toffee, but was more than happy to watch Rek work with amazement and emotional support.

Branzy seated himself on nearby bench, glued to his phone screen, but looking up when a pigeon came pecking near his feet.

“Hey little guy…” Smiling, Branzy leaned down, holding out his hand slightly. “Bet you’re happy. No thoughts, just… peck.”

It did, indeed, nudge curiously at his hand, then cooed, and flapped away. Branzy watched it go, and felt his phone buzz.

Rekrap2: Yep happy to. When?

Branzy the Crafter: Cafe?

Branzy the Crafter: this time next week?

Rekrap2: Need to check my diary. Busy time at work rn

Honestly, Branzy couldn’t quite remember what job Rek had landed, in the end. That kid could have had anything the world had offered him, but he had a funny feeling Rek had settled for some random marketing job, or something like that.

Branzy the Crafter: no problem

Rekrap2: I’ll try tho

Branzy the Crafter: thanks

Branzy the Crafter: see you soon! :D

Chapter Text

“Clown?”

A steady hum of static in the back of his mind. Aware, always aware, but distracted, now, for the first time in a long time.

“Clown! Pst- earth to deadly assassin?”

He couldn’t concentrate. He could still hear the rocking of that train.

“Clown.”

Kaboodle punched him. Clown flinched, snapping back to awareness and mentally over halfway to stabbing her before he relaxed, scowling behind his mask.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Stakeout.”

“No you weren’t, you were thinking about something.”

There was something frustrated and triumphant in Kaboodle’s voice, all at once, which Clown decided he didn’t like, at all. His partner didn’t need to start thinking she understood him.

“I wasn’t. We’re doing surveillance.”

“I’m doing surveillance. You look like you’re lost in that messed up head of yours.”

Kaboodle, to their smallest credit, didn’t touch him to make the point. Clown was rather grateful for that, actually. They were already being forced to share far too cramped quarters, in this small nook where they had a clear view of the dockyard, and he wasn’t exactly having fun with the arrangement.

“I’m not.”

That was all he gave her, and fully intended to let the conversation die from there, and they could both get back to what they were meant to be doing.

But Kaboodle didn’t let it go.

“Come on, Clown, you can’t just zone out on the job. Concentrate, or…” She laughed softly, dangerously. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Wordlessly, Clown shifted, repositioning his rifle out of the opening in a silent answer.

“Alright. At least you’re back on the job.”

He wasn’t thinking about anything anyway. It was just… thoughts. Everywhere. Feeling like static, crowding logic out of his mind.

Branzy. The name still felt strange, even only in his mind. Clown could hear it in his own voice, in Branzy’s voice, saying it so nervously. He’d looked like a scared rabbit, or a stray dog, brushing against something with claws.

What would it be like, if it was Branzy next to him, instead of Kaboodle? More tolerable, certainly. He’d seemed funny, in a genuinely endearing way, perceptive enough to be useful, trustworthy enough for Clown to fully concentrate on the job.

He was becoming a distraction.

Clown moved again, almost restless, staring but hardly seeing at the boats moored in the dockyard. This wasn’t his usual mission. He was an action agent, dropped into the field at the perfect time. Something like this, a boring stakeout, it wasn’t his style at all.

A few years ago, no one could have forced him to do this. He hadn’t taken orders, he’d lived by his own terms, killing who he wanted when he wanted, for money or sheer reputation.

Then he’d been made an offer.

And fucking somehow, they’d got him on payroll.

After that… well, Clown could hardly walk away, after he’d had the power of a country at his back and immunity from any sort of prosecution. He still worked on his own terms. He just got mission briefings, instead of mercenary requests. They were all the same anyway.

The people were fine. They weren’t who he was here for, but they were perfectly tolerable. Kaboodle was all he could really hope for in a partner, focused, a little too cheerful at times, but professional when it mattered. He didn’t know many of the others.

He didn’t keep in touch with his old contacts. Not after Leo had turned on him instantly, trying to leverage Clown’s new position into inside information. That alone had been enough for him to cut ties, with him and Minute and anyone else he might have known while freelancing. This job had given him new contacts. He didn’t care. He didn’t do this for the society, to put it lightly. His name carried enough stake these days to get him anything he wanted.

The pay was terrible, but he didn’t do it for the money either. He had a studio apartment near the office, another on the other side of the city, and several more scattered about the country. Wouldn’t do to be unprepared. His salary supported the half dozen or so meagre rents, bills for whatever apartment he lived in at that moment, his rather limited groceries, and left enough over for him to save up for various illegal weaponry. That was plenty, in his books.

However, Clown most certainly didn’t do this to be bored, which he was increasingly becoming. As he shifted again, Kaboodle actually hissed at him, and Clown realised he’d been getting twitchy.

“For god’s sake, calm down. Do you need a break?”

“No.”

“Well you seem pretty distracted if you ask me, so either you sort yourself out, or I’m telling the Second Desk.”

“You do that. See what they’ll do to me.”

The answer, incidentally, was precisely nothing. Clown knew how valuable he was, and exactly how much they didn’t want him going rogue. He could ask for the moon, and they’d hand it to him with full declassification included. Lucky for them, he didn’t see much point in leveraging an advantage too far. Street missions and clearance levels, that was all he asked for.

Kaboodle paused, although she’d certainly sounded like she meant to go on, and Clown saw her press her fingers to her comm, then sigh.

“Pack up, Clown. We’ve been called in.”

“Why?”

“Target spotted elsewhere. This was an offchance anyway.”

“They put us on backup?” Clown couldn’t quite hide his indignation, voice hoarse with how long they’d been crouched here, whispering.

Kaboodle leaned back, straightening for the first time in hours as she shook out her blue hair. Blue hair. Why would a spy dye their hair blue? Honestly, some questions Clown was sure he’d never get the answer to, and didn’t quite dare to ask his partner.

“Suppose. Oh, well. I’m not complaining.”

Clown didn’t have to snap back for it to go unsaid that he most definitely was, and might actually take that complaint all the way to Second Desk himself. He didn’t take kindly to being written off, and he was sure they could have found something actually practically for him to do, instead of crouching in a disgusting hole for five hours.

He got up without Kaboodle’s help- she’d learnt better than to offer it, at this point- and stood stiffly for a few seconds, glaring at the dockyard like their target might magically materialise.

“They’re not coming, Clown.” Kaboodle sounded like she was adjusting her gear, already pulling out their car keys. “Ready to go?”

Clown nodded, trying not to scowl. It happened. Sometimes, missions just ended quietly. He just didn’t like it happening to him, when he had other things to be thinking about than a useless stakeout.

Like Branzy.

Still in a sullen cloud of indignation, Clown followed Kaboodle back to their car, thoughts jumping between frustration and the white-haired stranger he’d met just two days ago.

Well, if they wanted to set him to the side, he’d be more than happy to return to his more personal projects.

——————

“Sir.”

The title came out stiff, insincere by the mere merit of Clown being the one saying it. It was formalities like this that he hated so much about this job, the inflexible chain of command, and crushing feeling that he was part of a machine.

“Hi, Clown. Sit down.”

Second Desk gestured vaguely, not looking up from his monitor. The disregard only made Clown seethe more, but he kept it to himself, trusting his mask to maintain his facade of indifference.

Still, he did take a seat, sitting straight up across the desk from his superior. Another thing he hated having. At least this one didn’t actually try to control him.

“I have… a complaint.”

“And I have a meeting with a school friend I’m trying really hard to organise right now, so give me a sec.”

Clown’s fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, eyes narrowed to slits as Second Desk clicked around on his monitor for another few minutes.

This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be sitting in an office, at the behest of a man the same age as him, if not younger. And Clown knew age hardly counted for anything, around here, but experience certainly did, and he had more than half the agents in this building combined.

After just a few minutes of tense silence, Clown broke it, in a terse, frustrated tone.

“Rekrap. You can’t believe it’s doing anyone any good to put me-“

Second Desk held up his hand, and Clown curled his fingers into fists, physically restraining himself from strangling the head of the Secret Service.

For six more minutes- Clown counted, staring in utter hatred at the clock on the wall- Rekrap continued to do what appeared to be absolutely nothing, occasionally humming, switching between screens, even glancing down at his phone.

Then, finally, he closed the window on his monitor, and looked up at Clown, smiling apologetically.

“Right. Sorry. What were you saying?”

Clown was practically beside himself with withheld anger at this point, but he forced himself to be civil, to take a deep breath, and keep his voice flat as he responded.

“You hired me to kill people. I haven’t, in case you haven’t noticed, killed anyone in several weeks.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Rekrap’s voice was level, his tone casual as if they were discussing the weather. Clown mimicked his informality, trying to remain calm.

“You know who I am, Rekrap. What’s the point in keeping me out of action?”

“That’s between me, the Prime Minister and First Desk, and you know it.”

“As the person currently working for you, I think I have a right to know.”

“You’ve just got back from an away mission, Clown.” Rekrap turned back to his monitor, bringing up a file Clown recognised as his own, even from across the desk. “Why not take a break?”

“I don’t take breaks, Rekrap.”

“Shame, I get my best work done when I’m letting myself relax.”

This really was an institution of unhealthy work-life balances. Still, Clown could hardly mock the Second Desk, when he hadn’t, in fact, take a day of holiday in all of the last two years he’d been working here.

“Alright, Clown. Here’s a deal. I’m meeting a friend next week- he’s just got back from travelling again, and-“

“Is this anything to do with me?”

“I’m getting there.”

The smile Rekrap gave him was enough to make Clown consider murder for more reasons than the usual, but by some miracle, he kept then to himself.

“So, I’m taking a break. That means you have to too. Go prepare your gear, or just relax. But you’re not getting another mission until you fix whatever been distracting you.”

Branzy. No. Clown bit back a hiss, at war with Rekrap and his own mind. That was acceptable terms, really. He shouldn’t be too aggressive.

“Fine.”

“Or you can help Kab with some of her stuff. I’ll have something for you… in a few days. How does that sound?”

“Perfectly acceptable.” Clown spoke through gritted teeth, trying to smooth out his voice into something assured.

“Great. You’re dismissed.”

Maybe it would be something to do with Branzy. Which he didn’t want, actually, he wanted it to be Rekrap putting him back in action, but it was an addictive enough idea to drive Clown to stand up, preparing to leave.

“Close the door on your way out?”

Without looking back, Clown walked out, letting Rekrap’s door swing back open and hit the wall.

Chapter Text

file not found

Branzy was really starting to miss having Rek around. It had been so useful, having a friend who could probably hack the government and speak for it the next day.

Still, he had determination and conviction to his name, even if his reservoirs of both were running a little low.

Sighing, Branzy shuffled in his chair, glaring at his computer screen like it had personally offended him. He was good at this. He was meant to be good at this. It was, like, the only thing he had going for him, in the whole downward spiral that was his life.

Still, hacking the Secret Service may be proving to be a little beyond his abilities. Just a little. And it was a temporary setback.

Maybe he’d ask Rek about it. Branzy checked his phone again, waiting on his friend’s reply. It had been a day. How long did it take one prodigy to check his calendar?

In fairness, Branzy could hardly complain, given he was still utterly failing to remember what Rek did, these days. Maybe some political thing, something he’d never really paid attention to. The country seemed to be surviving no matter who was in charge, and Branzy was quite happy to carry on living in his little corner of it.

Maybe he could ask Rek for a job reference.

Now that was something Branzy was regarding with increasing despair, the crushing weight of reality slowly lowering around his ears. He didn’t want to tie himself down. He didn’t want to end up nowhere, doing nothing, being just another name on a roster.

He could work for someone, sure, he’d be more than happy to be helpful and for that to be it. But he wanted to help something worthwhile. Something he’d cared about, something that seemed interesting.

Which he hadn’t been able to find, so far.

And he’d tried. Let no one say Branzy hadn’t been trying, no matter what Ivory said. He’d looked, he’d asked around, he’d searched for something that sparked something.

It just… didn’t seem for him.

And that was beginning to become pathetic, really. Twenty-seven years old, no job, a degree gathering dust, nothing to say for himself aside from a spiralling fixation on a certain spy.

Well, he had that going for him, at least.

Look, Branzy liked a challenge. Even if it just ended in humiliation—and it normally did, with his overconfidence—he liked throwing himself at something head-on and hoping he didn’t hit a wall.

He liked working for something, he liked feeling like he was doing something, and somehow, still, he loved learning. Loved the thrill of getting something wrong- loved the disapproval a little less, but he’d learnt to work with it- and even loved working back through his mistakes. At least in theory. Coding had taught him not to wish for too much backtracking, but it remained a small joy of his.

Maybe it was a sex thing. Everything seemed to be, sometimes, for him. Maybe he liked the sharp sting of humiliation when he got something wrong, the constant sense of inferiority as he struggled to keep up with the tutorials he followed.

Who knew. Who cared, really?

He sure didn’t. If it turned him on, that was just motivation, as far as Branzy was concerned. Although, maybe he should be a bit more professional. Maybe that was why he could never quite stomach submitting his rapidly-weakening résumé to a recruiter.

Pulling up another program, Branzy stared at his code in pure frustration, trying to pick out the one line where he’d probably misspelled a variable name, and now it was messing everything else up.

This was normal behaviour. For sure. What else was he meant to do? Find a stranger who’d threatened him with a gun?

God, that had been hot.

This, however, was going nowhere.

Branzy stood up, running his hands through his own hair and doing that one breathing exercise that always helped him remember where he was. Which was everywhere. All the time, his thought were scattered to the winds, gathering in little eddies to fixate on the strangest things.

“I hate this…”

Eyes closed, Branzy hissed through his teeth, trying to focus on the actual feeling of his fingers against his skin, not the itching underneath. It felt a bit like impotence, and wasted potential, and the ever-present fear that if he ever tried to prove himself, all he’d end up proving was that he was no good for anything.

Deep breaths.

Focus.

Branzy stared blankly at his cork board for a minute, hair frazzled and mind feeling twice that. His mouth was slightly open, barely thinking about if he was breathing or not.

Then he closed it. Thought for a moment.

And bolted down the hallway to his bedroom before motivation deserted him, grabbing his phone.

He had better things to try to hack.

And yes, he hated leaving a problem unsolved. But this was just a really quick distraction, then he could get right back to it. He’d just remembered that you needed permits to fly drones these days, and he honestly had no idea how to get one of those, so disconnecting the thing from any sort of monitoring system should work just as well.

Branzy walked back into his office with a new sense of purpose, picking up his drone and flipping it over to get at pretty much the one bit of original machinery it still had on it.

Then he sat down, grabbing a screwdriver and slowly removing the tiny screws from the electronics box. He’d found a YouTube video on how to do this, it shouldn’t be too hard.

In the corner of his eye, his still-open laptop screen flashed.

Branzy glanced at it, frowning. For half a second, he had the ridiculous notion the stranger had noticed him trying to get at their file. Not that there seemed to be one.

Nothing. He scanned his code, but there wasn’t anything obviously wrong. Then again, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d notice.

Shrugging, he turned back to the drone, carefully removing the back panel.

What if Rek didn’t text back?

Branzy fought to keep his hands steady, as he placed the panel on his desk, and began poking through his own soldered wires and the one chip he was looking for.

What if he’d fallen asleep on that train, and the stranger had never existed?

It was tied to navigation, or something, that was why he hadn’t removed it already.

What if he was alone?

What if he messed this up, and killed himself somehow, and no one would find him until his sister came to organise her notes?

Branzy blinked hard, setting the drone on the desk. Even he could admit when he needed a break. To just stop doing anything, before he broke anything else.

He could text Chief. Or Skip. Or anyone, really. See what they were doing. See if they felt as useless as him.

He wasn’t stupid. That was all he could say for himself, the one ember of furious resistance against the tide of insignificance he fought with every step. People thought he was stupid, thought he was some kind of idiot just because he didn’t bother to understand the world.

But he understood computers, and he understood people well enough to know when they didn’t want to bother with him anymore, and he understood when he just needed to lie down and not think about anything.

Which was now. Which was always, really, whenever he let his thoughts get away from him.

Maybe that stranger was out there somewhere, doing their job, a real job, thinking of him. Branzy hoped they were thinking about him. He wasn’t sure he could bear to be forgotten.

Maybe the drone would outlive him. His little machine, with its blinking lights and guys spilled across his desk, maybe it would do something more special and smart than any of the potential his teachers had teased him with.

Potential. Always potential. But potential meant nothing if it was a word dropped in one of those after-class chats, one that weighed heavy in his heart for a few weeks before fading back into insignificance.

Sometimes, Branzy wondered if he really could have been something. An inventor, maybe. A programmer, an entrepreneur, someone, something. He could have. He could have done anything. He could have been on a spaceship right now, watching this lonely planet fade to nothing, and know he’d be unique amongst the cosmos.

Skip had asked him to get married. That half-remembered holiday, when neither of them had anything better to do than meet in the middle of their two universities and pretend nothing had changed.

Branzy had laughed, and pretended to consider it, and thought he was too good for the marketeer who worked two jobs for his tuition.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said no. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to Chief either, before he moved away, out of the city, to somewhere he could make his name. Maybe he should have stuck close to his friends, to the bubble where he was likeable and liked, where everything had seemed like a game and recess never ended.

Maybe he was never meant to be anything more than an unemployed graduate, another struggling young adult in a world that seemed to big.

Branzy stared at his drone, eyes aching with how long it had been since he blinked. He hadn’t changed. He was sure, even now, if he saw any of them, from Skip to Rek, he’d still be the same lively, painfully naive and foolish person he’d always been. Always the weak one. Always the one who had to rely on his charm, because he had nothing else exceptional to his name.

Picking up his phone again, Branzy scrolled through it numbly, barely seeing the cascade of notifications for nothing at all. Emails from streaming services. Apps he didn’t remember downloading. So many ways he’d tried to drown out the sensation that he was drowning, in an ocean that had run dry of possibilities a long time ago.

He could still be something. The light at the end of the tunnel never quite went out. But it never felt right. It always felt like he was waiting for something bigger, like he’d betray anything he promised himself to for the next chance at something special.

Being a spy would be cool. If the stranger had even really been a spy. Branzy couldn’t quite make himself doubt it. Besides, it had been the Secret Service, not a spy. That sounded even better.

But opportunities passed him by like trains in the night, and Branzy was sure he’d never hear that accented, twisted laugh again.

Rek would call him a lover boy again. Branzy smiled to himself, imagining his friend’s voice, laughing on every other word with a freedom that could never be contained.

as long as you’re happy, Branzy

just don’t lose yourself in something you’ll never get

Rek always had a bit of a way with words. Not necessarily a good one, not quite like how Branzy had always found they came so easy. But he said what he meant, and he said it in a way that made you believe he knew what he was talking about.

Rekrap. Parker. Valedictorian-to-be, the first-year that had sent Branzy up a tree in the first fifteen minutes of knowing him. That was the chaos he’d always wanted, in a way. The confidence, the assuredness that came with capability and ambition.

He was getting distracted. Ivory would be home soon. Maybe. Branzy didn’t really know her timetable. He’d never been that sort of brother.

But his head felt clearer, and a certain weight had lifted from his chest. Which was silly, really, he hadn’t done anything except think, which historically had done no good for anyone.

Still, it had given him breathing room, and Branzy felt himself smiling, in the messy, strange way he did alone as he reached forward. No practised grins or laughter now. Just a quirk in his lips, a child’s delight at a fantasy. He could be a spy, if he wanted. He could be anything, in his bubble that had shrunk to just him and his wild schemes.

He still had space to dream.

Chapter Text

Rek had texted back.

Just a few lines, most of them apologies for the wait, and Branzy had tried not to let it show he’d been working himself into a panic over how long it had been.

But everything was fine, and he was seeing his friend today, and he could forget all his existentialism and attractive strangers on midnight trains.

Very attractive.

Anyway.

Branzy was currently overthinking what was appropriate to wear to a coffee meet-up with an old friend. Nothing fancy. He didn’t have anything like that either, except the suit he’d worn to his parents’ funeral. Which felt… a little inappropriate, to say the least.

A hoodie would probably do. But which hoodie? He had his old university one, he had that one from the tech conference he’d awkwardly gone to a few years back, he had a black one with this neat cyber design in blue and purple.

That one would be fine. Branzy pulled it on, relying on the chill that had been lingering in the air to justify the excessive layers. Spring was always unpredictable like that. Watery sunshine, morning fog, petals poking out around puddles. He quite liked it, to be honest.

Hoodie, acquired. Sister, eating breakfast. Breakfast… not eaten yet. Shit.

Branzy hesitated, glancing at his bedroom door towards the stairs, wondering if it was worth eating breakfast when he was leaving as soon as possible.

Probably not. He wasn’t too hungry anyway.

Bag. Bag. He needed a bag.

Branzy heard himself singing, as he reached for his satchel, some stupid little ditty about bag-packing he was making up as he went along. It was stupid. It was stuck in his head.

Phone, charging pack, charging cable, gum, a pen… would a laptop be overkill? A laptop would probably be overkill.

God, he overthought everything. It was just coffee. And it was just Rek. Branzy could hardly think of someone who’d forgive more of his social blunders, if he even made them. Which he would. Of course he would.

He stopped by the mirror Ivory had put up in the hallway, checking his outfit again. He’d probably be too hot. But he ran cold, so he might get away with it.

He was kind of hungry.

Nope, no time. Except he had plenty of time. Except he didn’t care anymore, part of him just wanted to be there already so he’d stop thinking about it.

Nodding firmly, Branzy reached for the door handle, and paused, then cursed.

Keys. He needed his keys. Where were they…

There. Branzy snatched them off the end of the kitchen counter triumphantly, grinning as he left without sparing even another glance. He’d be fine. It was Rek.

Skipping down the stairs- lift was still broken, it seemed- Branzy wondered, idly, what it would be like to live somewhere else. Not that he had any plans to move. God no, he wasn’t going anywhere. This was the place his parents had left them, and he’d be damned if he’d force Ivory to accommodate anything else about his sporadic lifestyle.

But. It was an interesting thought. Say, if one of them found someone. Someone with a real house, maybe. In the countryside, or deeper in the city. What it would feel like to wake up next to someone, in a real bedroom, not the same one he’d slept in since he was a teenager, and their aunt had still looked after them, before she’d moved away too.

It was nice, to imagine. Making breakfast for someone. Being hugged by someone who didn’t say be quick, getting to talk to someone he wasn’t trying to get money or personal information out of.

Sitting next to someone with eyes he could get lost in, with words sharp enough to slice him to pieces, who would never force him to be honest or stay the same.

Branzy could dream.

He could also get his phone out, and actually figure out how to get where he was going. You’d think, after living here for the last dozen years, he’d actually know his way around. But no. Not him. His mind was taken up with better things, he liked to think.

Which cafe even was it? Fluffy’s, or something. Puffy’s. That was it. Nice place. Branzy punched it into his search bar, glancing down the street to make sure a motorcycle wasn’t about to plow him down as he set off down the hill.

Then he stopped dead, huffed, and turned around, heading in the exact opposite direction. That was smart. Way to let Rek know he’d grown and matured since university.

Then again, had he? Really? He was still the same, really. A small name with big dreams, a moral compass long since thrown to the winds and a fascination with mischief that would be the death of him, if he wasn’t careful.

And what was Rek? Branzy didn’t even know, had hardly bothered to keep up. Maybe a politician. He certainly didn’t keep a close enough eye to know for sure. Or something else, something even more impressive and intimidating. Maybe he was a spy.

Branzy laughed under his breath, one hand on the strap of his bag, the other clutching his phone in case of muggers. Rek, a spy. Maybe his fantasies were getting away from him.

Seven minute walk. He walked almost exactly average pace. Another of those irritating things, that made him so frustratingly normal.

But now wasn’t the time to wallow in his own insignificance. As he walked, Branzy let his mysterious stranger slip to the back of his mind, in favour of fishing up everything he knew about his closest friend, who he hadn’t seen… well, since before he’d gone to France, at least.

So. Parker Two. No, Branzy still didn’t understand the surname. It was weird. He’d accepted it.

Parker, top of his year, playing truant and teacher’s pet in equal measure. Rekrap, who’d taught himself, then Branzy, urban parkour in his free time, who always wore the same backpack with the same array of notebooks, slung over a hoodie. Rek, the capable, confident underclassman Branzy had never thought would be in the front row for his graduation. He’d been there for Rek’s too, of course. He hadn’t had anything better to do.

It must have been Christmas, last Branzy had seen him. Rek made a habit of giving all his closest friends something during the holiday season, in person if he could make it. Branzy had tried very hard to bite back an invite to his and Ivory’s little Christmas party, likely to be just the two of them, and someone she’d met at school. It had been, in the end. Rek had probably had somewhere else to be anyway.

Two minutes. Branzy grinned to himself, undeservedly happy just to be seeing his friend. There was no dishonesty to it, no half-truths or selfishness or utilitarianism. Rek was just nice to be around. He was just nice.

There was the cafe. Branzy tried not to look like he was running, as he made his way down the street, eyes locked on the sign hanging into the road. He was excited, ok? Rek understood. They shared a Machiavellian zest for life, and a stubbornness that made them incapable of giving something up, once they’d tossed it back and forth between them long enough to sink their teeth in.

The bell jingled as he pushed open the door, one hand resting on his satchel, his hair bouncy around his neck, his eyes bright and searching for his friend.

Rek was sitting in the corner by the window, laptop open on the table in front of him, half drunk coffee beside him. His chin was in his hand, his hair a little more tamed than it used to be, but wearing the same style of unzipped hoodie he always had.

Branzy grinned, making a beeline for him.

“Hey, Rek!”

“Hi, Branzy.” Rek didn’t even flinch at his enthusiastic greeting, closing his laptop as soon as Branzy got close and standing up with a smile. “How’ve you been?”

Difficult question. Definitely a hard one, to start with. But Branzy took it in stride, nodding cheerfully.

“Pretty good. Yeah. You?”

“Not bad. Busy.”

Same thing he’d said over text. Branzy tried not to think about too hard, but it was hard to keep his worries at bay. What if Rek was too busy for him? It wasn’t like he really understood the professional world. Maybe he was being annoying.

They were silent for a few seconds, and Branzy felt his throat twist slightly as he felt Rek’s familiar gaze, affectionate and calculating.

Then Rek leaned forward, and Branzy didn’t hesitate before hugging him back, grinning to himself as he squeezed his eyes shut.

It was ok. It was all ok. It had always been ok. It would always be ok, with them.

“So, how are the drones?” Rek pulled away, grinning as he sat down, and gestured for Branzy to do the same. “Or have you found something else now?”

That was another thing Branzy loved about Rek. He was never on his case about getting a job, settling down, wasting opportunities. He just was. Some kind of force of nature, one Branzy was continually amazed he wasn’t bowled down by.

“Still on the drones, yep.” Branzy sighed self-deprecatingly, trying not to immediately fidget as he settled on the wooden chair. “They’re going pretty well though. One of them nearly flew last week!”

Rek laughed, and Branzy suddenly remembered how much he’d missed making someone laugh.

“Nice. Classic Branzy. Glad you’re doing well for yourself.”

“Yeah.” Nodding, Branzy wondered just how much Rek meant that. But he had better things to ask about. “So… job? Work? Good?”

That was smooth. Branzy cringed internally, but even more so at how he really didn’t remember what Rek did, and his friend had remembered his offhand comment about the drones without any difficulty.

“Yep, it’s… going good.” Rek shrugged, brushing non-existent dust off his laptop. “Been having a few problems with coworkers recently.”

“Oh?”

He was interested. He really was. He just… didn’t exactly know what Rek or his coworkers did. Could Rek tell?

“Nothing major.” Rek waved his hand dismissively, always avoiding conflict. “Just someone who thinks they deserve more than what I’m giving them. They’re capable, just… well, they won’t take their own breaks. I’m trying to make them find something better to do with their time than work.”

“Honestly, some people just like work.” Branzy pretended to shudder, then flashed a grin. “Not me. But maybe they’re having fun?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Rek took a sip of his coffee, and pulled a face. “Ew. Anyway. They seem happy as they ever are- which isn’t very- but still. I get it, I love going to work too, but I don’t think it’s healthy for them.”

Classic Rek. Branzy felt his smile softening, as he stayed quiet too long. Always worrying about people. Always trying to make sure everyone was happy.

“Good luck, I guess. They could try travelling?”

Both of them laughed for a moment, but Rek had a genuine look in his eye.

“You know… they’ve just got back from working abroad, and they have seemed- different.”

“Oh? Met anyone?”

“Not sure.” Rek grinned. “Not really allowed to ask. But you never know. Why, Branzy, did you meet someone in the city of love?”

Branzy opened his mouth, then closed it again, feeling his cheeks start to burn. Which wasn’t helping his case, because he wasn’t embarrassed. Not like that. No, he was just mortified the only thing on his mind for the last few days, aside from a vague sense of self-dissatisfaction, was a stranger with mismatched eyes and a gun they seemed to know how to use.

“Oh, Branzy…” Rek laughed, and it wasn’t mean at all, even as he leaned forward, waiting eagerly. “You have, haven’t you? Do I get to meet them?”

“No.” Branzy winced, backpedaling instantly. “I- I mean- we’re not together. I just- saw someone.”

“Oh, another fling?”

There was something almost disappointed in Rek’s eyes, the lover boy he was, at heart. Branzy shifted uncomfortably, staring at the table.

“No… I- I met them on the train back here. We- we just talked. I don’t even know their name.” It was to keep himself from whining, but in fairness, it was annoying. Rek would sympathise. And now he’d started talking, Branzy wasn’t sure he could make himself stop. “But they were-“

Then he did stop, very suddenly, because how was he meant to say they’d been dangerous? Fascinating, in a morbidly curious way. The same way a dog would chase the sparks from a fire, just to see what it would feel like to taste light.

But there was a funny look on Rek’s face too, somewhere between confusion and a slight irritation. Like he was trying to pin down a stray thought, and was annoyed he hadn’t had it sooner.

“Branzy…” Rek spoke carefully, eyes fixed on his laptop, like he was itching to open it to look for something. “The train- the train back here? From the airport, to here?”

“Uh- yep.” Branzy smiled nervously, worry shining in his eyes. “They- they got off at my stop. I… didn’t.”

“Did you see their eyes?”

Branzy’s thoughts short circuited. He didn’t need to answer. He didn’t need to say anything, to understand what Rek was saying.

“Y- yes. They- they weren’t the same. B- blue and…”

“Blue and orange.” Rek’s voice was quiet, but quietly delighted, in a wary sort of way. “They didn’t say their name, did they?”

“N- no.”

Branzy couldn’t quite think straight. Did he actually have a chance with them? And why would Rek, of all people, know them? Maybe they was a contact from school. Someone shady, who’d only gotten shadier.

“Good. Jesus- Branzy, so-“ Rek laughed, breathlessly, baffled and amazed in equal measure. “So you remember the coworker I was just telling you about?”

“What? No- no way.”

“I think so.”

“They- they had a gun.” Branzy couldn’t help his voice rising this time, slightly hysterical wonder making his throat tighten. “And- and they said they were a spy.”

Rek had gone very quiet again. And again, Branzy felt a prickling on the back of his neck, but this time he didn’t know what fresh wrecking ball he was about to be struck with.

“Rek? They- they were lying, right? A- a fake gun?”

“They weren’t lying, Branzy.” Rek spoke softly, almost a murmur. “They were being rather unprofessional, but I don’t know what I expected.”

“WHAT?” Branzy half-stood up, then suddenly realised he’d just yelled in a rather quiet cafe, and flushed crimson, dropping to a hoarse whisper as he sat back down. “Rek- Rek, you- no, what-“

It wasn’t making sense. Or- it was. In the blindingly obvious, impossible way that made Branzy curse himself for being an idiot and the world for throwing him such a curve ball.

He’d thought Rek would go into politics. He’d thought being a real, actual spy was a child’s dream, one that real adults never actually did. In the same way no real adult would travel the world and build drones.

Maybe Rek was more similar to him than he’d thought.

“…wow.” Branzy felt his heart finally begin to settle, staring at Rek with fresh wonder. “Wow. Fuck. Do- do you have a gun?”

“Yes. A few.”

“Oh my…” Branzy giggled, only a little hysterically, to his credit. “My best friend’s a spy…”

“You can’t tell anyone, ok?” Rek leaned forward, eyes wide and sincere. “Anyone. At all. I’m going to have to talk to Cl- him about this already, I can’t have two covers blown by this. But you deserve to know, if they- if they told you that much. And I wouldn’t be saying that for anyone else. I trust you, Branzy. Can I?”

That was a lot of pressure. And, for anyone else, Branzy would have laughed in their face. But it was Rek. Rek, looking at him with that wide-eyed, dangerous sort of determination. An edge, to his calculations and awareness, that was so obvious now.

Branzy nodded, once he’d gotten his breath back a bit, fighting back a wide grin unsuccessfully.

“Oh, you can trust me, Rekrap. I’m not turning down the chance to know something this cool.”

“Didn’t think you would.” Rek seemed to relax slightly, sitting back with a breathless little laugh. “Ok. I- ok. That was unexpected.”

“You’re telling me. Is that- is that spy stuff?” Branzy nodded to the laptop, suddenly intensely suspicious of everything on Rek’s person. “Are you doing spy stuff like- right now?”

“Yep. It’s not quite as interesting as you think. And keep your voice down, please.” A hint of anxiety edged into Rek’s voice, and his eyes darted in a quick scan of the cafe that seemed to have forgiven Branzy’s outburst. “A lot of mission coordination.”

“Wow.”

Branzy didn’t ask to see. He knew the limits. And he wasn’t testing the rules, not with someone that felt this special, like the first interesting thing that had happened to him.

“So you- you know- whoever I met on the train?”

Maybe he was willing to test that limit. Besides, Rek seemed game, just still a little shell-shocked.

“Yep. Actually, y’know- he told you who he was, you get to see his file. Don’t tell anyone I did this, ok? I am being so serious right now, Branzy.”

“Of course.” Branzy nodded piously, already bouncing slightly in his seat. “When am I not serious?”

Opening his laptop, Rek paused for a moment to give Branzy the most deadpan stare over the top of his screen. Then he sighed, and shook his head, smiling as he punched in his password.

“You met Clown. One of my best operatives. Well- the best, actually, but you can’t tell him that.”

That implied Branzy might actually get to see him again. Which- no, he wasn’t unfairly excited about. Not at all.

Rek spent a few more moments clicking, before he spun his screen around, carefully shifting to hide it from the rest of the cafe.

“Here we go. Jesus- this is so confidential Branzy, you have no idea-“

“Yes, yes, I’m special and amazing, trust me, I know.”

“I was going to say if you tell anyone about this you’ll probably get killed, but stick to that, I suppose.”

“…right.” Branzy swallowed, a slight thrill going through him at the entirely unsubtle threat.

Their file- Clown’s file, whatever sort of name that was- seemed to involve a lot of redactions. That was the first thing Branzy noticed, after the conspicuous lack of a photo.

“Huh. Doesn’t seem like I’m seeing much anyway.”

Rek half laughed, half sighed, moving his mouse to bright up the alt-text under the missing picture.

“Clown’s… difficult. We’re luck to have him, really, but he doesn’t make it easy for us.”

“Can he do that? Like- redact his own file?”

“No.” Rek hesitated, then seemed to give up, shrugging and circling the whole block of black text with his cursor. “That’s actually a security thing. He comes from freelance work, and he’s got contacts very capable of hacking our databases. And none of us want them to get any information, particularly not on him.”

“Whoa. That’s- kind of cool.”

“Sort of. As I said, we’re lucky to have him at all. Anyway, his full file is in my office, unredacted, but we’re always more paranoid about what we upload.”

“Seems fair.”

Seemed very fair to him, actually, given he’d been the last person to try to hack these files. Which Branzy suddenly felt very weird about, and utterly unable not to bring up.

“Did you, uh- did you get anyone trying to hack you recently?”

He tried to sound casual, but there was a sharpness in Rek’s eyes that said he’d failed, as his friend glared at him.

“Yes. Branzy, what did you do?”

Branzy felt a bit like sinking into his chair, but also felt the familiar hum of triumph, like when he’d seen the entire university’s grade database fill his screen, all those years ago.

“Uh… tried to access these files?”

“Branzy…”

“Look, he didn’t tell me his name, and I’ve been really bored recently, and-“

“Hold on.” Rek switched tactics without warning, expression flicking from exasperation to intrigue as something seemed to click. “Branzy. We thought that was- Minute, or someone, not…” Something dawned on his eyes, and Rek turned to him in genuine disbelief. “Branzy, you- you literally hacked the Secret Service.”

“Oh.” That was all he could say for a moment, then, slowly, Branzy tried an innocent smile. “Cool?”

Rek was still staring at him in something rapidly swerving too close to fascination, and Branzy began to feel a little nervous. He hadn’t been trying to do anything fancy. It was impressive, sure, a stretch of even his abilities, but it hardly seemed the most pertinent thing on the table right now.

“Yeah… pretty cool, Branzy. Jesus. Yeah. So- Clown, right?”

“Mhm…”

Caught a little off guard by Rek’s turn of conversation back onto the path, Branzy couldn’t help his thoughts lingering for a few moments.

He’d impressed Rek? Maybe dreams could come true.

“He’s-“ Rek cut himself off, and took a deep breath, giving Branzy a reassuring glance. “Sorry. That- that surprised me, a bit. Don’t worry about it.”

“I- I won’t.”

He would. He was going to go home tonight, and add spy with Rekrap to the list of failed potential careers.

“Ok. Clown is- very capable, very dangerous, and- ok, Branzy, are you listening?”

“Hm?”

No, actually. He really hadn’t been. He’d been distracted by Clown’s kill list, for rather terrifying reasons of length. Rek followed his gaze, and chuckled, opening it to full screen.

“Yep. And these are only his ones with us.”

“Wow.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Can- can I meet him?”

“Well, if you’re the reason he’s been so distracted recently, then I think you might have to.” Rek grinned, and Branzy felt something fluttery in his throat. “I’m sure I could get you two a date, if you really wanted.”

“A- a date?”

He sounded incredulous. He was incredulous, to be honest, barely believing the universe would hand him such a perfect opportunity on a silver platter.

“Yep. I can do that, Branzy.” There was a glint in Rek’s eyes, something wild and still so free, that reminded Branzy he’d always been destined for something special. Then it hardened, and Rek’s expression softened, into almost worry. “If you want me to.”

“Why- why not?”

Branzy was almost beside himself with eagerness, and no longer bothering to hide it. Tact never lasted long around Rek, but something in his friend’s serious expression brought him back down to earth a little.

“Because he’s dangerous.” Rek spoke softly, still like he was worried Branzy was something he could break. “And I wouldn’t want to force you to do something you’ll regret.”

“Rek- I have never been more certain about anything in my life.”

“But are you sure?”

“Yes.” Branzy didn’t know how to put any more emphasis on his answer, mind clear and logical, even as his hands were shaking a little. “Trust me, Rek, I- I can handle this.”

Rek studied him for a moment, and Branzy was reminded that to his friend, he was something to be protected.

“…alright.” Rek smiled softly, closing his laptop. “I’ll set something up for you two. But you let me know if you want out, ok?”

“Will do.” Branzy nodded firmly, quietly vowing he wasn’t backing out of the best opportunity he’d had since Cube made him that offer. “Thank you, Rek. A lot.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Branzy.” Rek laughed, looking over his shoulder. “I’ve got to run. But- well, nice seeing you. I’ll text you, once I’ve talked to Clown.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Rek stood up, glancing down at him. And for a moment, Branzy saw himself in his friend’s eyes. Naive, full of not-quite-wasted potential, innocent in a way that should be protected. He swallowed hard, and waved.

“Bye!”

“See you soon, Branzy.”

Rek left without looking back, and Branzy couldn’t help but watch him until he vanished out of sight.

Chapter Text

Clown wondered, purely academically, for any of the trackers they’d no doubt planted about his person, if it would get him fired to shoot a poison dart into his boss’s neck.

“…what did you say?”

His voice was deadly calm, purely for the sake of civility with his partner. Kaboodle shrugged, pulling on the bunny-eared beanie she wore to go meet her girlfriend.

“Second Desk wants to see you. Thanks for the help by the way.”

“You owe me.” Clown waved his hand dismissively, even if Kaboodle narrowed her eyes in irritation. “Did he say why?”

“Nope. And I thought it was a favour-“

“It wasn’t.” Clown shut her down firmly, adjusting his mask. “Did he say anything?

“Look, I told you what he said.” Kaboodle held up her hands, after sliding her phone into the pocket of her jeans. “He wants to see you before you go home.”

Clown considered for a moment, and tried to be objective about it. It might be a real mission. Not this stupid partner-work he’d been stuck with. Or maybe Second Desk had gotten wind of his obsession with a civilian, and wanted to call him up on it.

After a minute, he nodded curtly, and strode past Kaboodle, who gave him a mildly incredulous look.

“Bye? I guess? Have a good weekend?”

“You too.”

Let it never be said he wasn’t mildly attached to his partner. Clown didn’t turn around from where he was gathering his things, as Kaboodle sighed, and the jingling of the bells on her hat sounded as she left their office.

Clown got his affairs in order, and Kaboodle's affairs he’d been taking care of, leaving it all in neat piles to come back to tomorrow. He didn’t do weekends. He just did days of the week he did assigned missions, and days of the week he did unassigned missions. Normally, whatever he was working on required overtime anyway, and that was more than fine by him.

Then everything was sorted, and there was nothing left for him to do but check his gun as he left, his other hand making sure his keycard was still strapped into the armband Parrot had rigged for him.

Clown made his way to the elevator with his back straight, checking over his shoulder every fifth step, both sides. His mask had small mirrors in it, giving him just enough view to see if someone was coming at him from behind, but it paid to be paranoid.

Even at this time of night, when the ding of the elevator button was the only noise in the building. Clown preferred it to be empty, but he also knew it was when he had to be on even higher alert.

Despite his precautions, he had never been attacked while at work. Clown liked to think it was because, crediting his continued survival and sharpness to the way he scanned the entire vicinity as he waited for the elevator. But, if he was being objective, which he was trying to be, this place did have security nailed. Mostly.

Clown’s hand rested on his gun as the door slid open, but the elevator was entirely empty, and he walked in, making sure to check the ceiling and the button panel before punching in Second Desk’s floor. Then he turned to face the doors, standing dead still as they closed.

This could be actually worth his time, if it was about another mission. If. Clown didn’t have so much faith in the system, but he always surprised himself with how much faith he had in Rekrap. Not trust. But faith. The knowledge that he’d do his job, to the best of his impressive abilities.

Clown knew he wouldn’t be able to do what Second Desk did. It was something he valued about himself, his impartial self-appraisals. He wasn’t quite made for that sort of command. He could handle practicalities, but people were another issue, even more so when he couldn’t physically threaten them into line. One of those problems he couldn’t kill. Like an obsession.

It was an obsession, annoyingly. Clown had impressive self-control, but it had taken lengths, even for him, not to add stalking to his repertoire over the week since he’d met Branzy. Seen. Not met. Just seen. And heard.

The elevator doors opened, and Clown walked out, robotic in that way Kaboodle described as ’creepy’, and he called efficient. It meant no one could identify his footsteps. Even if they were silent anyway, thanks to his custom-designed boots, ones he’d had since his freelance days. Like the mask, they were a part of who he was.

Exactly like respect for authority wasn’t, as he impatiently rapped on Second Desk’s door, and heard his own breathing fill his mask as he waited.

“Come in!”

Clown was really starting to despise Second Desk’s verve. It was like him, on a killing high, if he’d been consistent and irritatingly good-natured with it.

At least it meant he could relax a little, and push open the door, shutting it behind him for the sake of diplomacy and stalking across the room to stand in front of the desk.

Clown didn’t see it necessary to deign to say why he was here, or announce himself. He’d been called for. He owed nothing more than his presence.

Rekrap glanced up at him, after a moment, and Clown saw something sharp in his eyes. Not quite professional, but a far cry from the casual atmosphere in which he’d last been dismissed.

“Sit. I need to talk to you. Not as an operative, but as a person.”

Well, he wasn’t going to be very good at that. Still, Clown took a seat, wondering if he was the only person Rekrap spoke to on this regular of a basis.

“You’ve just got back from working abroad, right?”

“It’s been a week. If you’re worried about me not being fit for action, I am.”

“I wasn’t. Did you happen to meet anyone on your way back?”

Yes. But Clown held his tongue. Rekrap might be testing him. Maybe he’d be assigned to a foreign operative, one who’d somehow followed him on his way back to the country.

“No one of note.”

Rekrap raised his eyebrows slightly, and Clown saw him actually make a note, on a pad hidden behind his monitor.

“White hair? Grey eyes? Almost lilac?”

Clown froze, entirely, his breathing slowing to shallow inhales and exhales.

“…yes.”

“His name’s Branzy.”

“I… know.”

“He wants to meet you.”

Clown refocused on Rekrap, who slid a scrap of paper across the desk, smiling tightly.

Then, he looked down at the note, entirely silent.

It was a printed address, and a date. And, written underneath in Rekrap’s familiar neat lettering, a dress code.

Clown looked up again, impassive, while his mind raced. There was the logical explanation, the one that fit the facts. Or there was the logical argument, which said this was Rekrap hazing him, for some idiotic reason.

“What is this?”

“From him? A date.” Rekrap smirked, and there was a second where his eyes softened. Then they hardened again, and he leaned forward, entirely serious. “From me? A warning. Do you even remember him?”

“Yes.”

“Oh? Why?”

Clown felt a heat rising up his neck, humiliation creeping up his cheeks at Rekrap’s questioning. He didn’t need to justify himself. He couldn’t even justify himself to himself.

“Is that your business?”

“Yes. In more ways than one.”

“He was interesting.” Clown tried not to snap, he really did, but Branzy’s name had put him on high alert, and Rekrap’s strangeness wasn’t helping it. “Is he the friend you mentioned?”

“Yes. Would you hurt him?”

“What?”

“I’ve found its best to be direct with you, Clown.” Rekrap narrowed his eyes, but his suspicion had ebbed, just a little. “I doubt threatening your job would have any effect, so I’m threatening you, and any part of your reputation or equipment I can get my hands on. Would you hurt my friend?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I like him.”

“How much?”

“Not your business.”

“So, enough.” Rekrap sat back, vaguely satisfied, but still deadly serious. “You knew his name?”

“He told me.” Clown was quick to justify himself on that one, irritatingly quick. “I haven’t been- trying anything.”

“He has.”

“What?”

That was three times now, that Rekrap had caught him off guard. Clown seethed about it, while also trying to restrain his excitement.

“He hacked us. Or tried to.” Smiling, Rekrap jotted something else down, and Clown resisted every urge in his body to snatch the notepad away from him. “He might be better than your old crowd, if it had worked.”

Clown processed for a moment, surprised with himself for being surprised. He knew he had good taste. He knew, because Branzy was the first person who’d passed his apparently very high standards of a radar check.

“But that’s all you’re getting. Kab’s going with you, to the restaurant. My orders, don’t blame her. But...” Rekrap shrugged, and Clown felt a tension he didn’t often feel. “You passed. Good luck.”

“Why is she-“ Clown stopped himself, composed his thoughts, and tried again, with only an edge of murderous intent. “Fine.”

He couldn’t bring himself to ask if she’d be coming inside. His pride wouldn’t let him, and his growing hatred for Rekrap’s superiority wouldn’t either.

“No thank you?” Rekrap raised his eyebrows, long enough to let Clown’s gaze settle on him in more hatred than he’d given assassination targets. “Kidding. Go have fun, Clown. Be safe.”

Clown nodded, standing stiffly, trying not to leave the office too fast. He paused at the door, took a deep breath, and spoke without turning around.

“What… did he say about me?”

That was all the vulnerability he was allowing today. Clown waited, tense beyond belief, for Rekrap’s response, which came with uncharacteristic softness.

“He thought you were cool. He’ll tell you more himself. Be careful with him, ok?”

Clown nodded slightly, and walked out, closing the door carefully behind him.

He paused, for just a second, one hand lingering on Second Desk’s door as Clown let himself close his eyes, focusing on keeping his breathing in time to his internal metronome.

He’d had a feeling. He’d known, from the moment Branzy missed his stop to avoid following him, he wouldn’t be able to just move on. He could never just leave things in the past. They dragged behind him, a thousand ties to a thousand lives he’d lived.

Clown looked down, turning the card over in his hand. He knew that restaurant. Parrot’s something had taken him there, or something like that. He didn’t pay much attention to office drama. Spoke had once hissed to him that Parrot was dating First Desk, then laughed, and dashed off, so excuse Clown if he didn’t take everything seriously.

But it was nice, he knew that much, and the note on dress code confirmed it. That left the date, which Clown stared at for a moment, considering walking back into that office and stabbing Rekrap in the gut.

Two days. He had two days to find a suit, and the possible training needed to actually interact with someone whose day job wasn’t murder.

He’d done worse, with less time.

Nodding to himself, Clown folded the note neatly in half, and tucked it alongside his keycard, heading straight for the elevators.

A suit. He could do that much. He might even have one, from something undercover. He nearly found himself wondering if he could ask Minute, before he caught himself, and sighed. No communicating with his old team. He’d get one, then. He’d find a use for it anyway.

The elevator ride was uneventful, aside from Clown’s sudden and unnerving realisation halfway down that he’d forgotten to check the ceiling. A date was no excuse to let down his guard.

A date. The weight of that hit him without warning, and Clown forgot all about his paranoia. He had a date. With a person. Who he liked- whatever him liking someone meant. Probably nothing good.

Maybe he should stay away entirely, and let Branzy move on to someone who didn’t change address every other month and owned more guns than decent ties.

Or maybe he was selfish. Maybe his hand drifted back to his armband, and the card, as he left the building entirely, mask covering his face and armour under his work clothes. Maybe Clown knew two days was actually far too long to wait, and his patience was going to be seriously tested.

Still, he’d bear it. He knew he could.

He had something to look forward to, after all.

Chapter Text

Branzy was beginning to regret every single one of his life decisions.

Well, not regret. More like… regard with increasing nervous apprehension. And excitement. A lot of excitement.

If he didn’t adore Rek, Branzy would be vowing his death right now. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t know what a gift his friend had given him until this evening.

Or he’d be dead by midnight.

“Lift your arms.”

Branzy did as he was told, letting his sister step between him and the mirror, eyes sharp and focused as the pins she was wielding.

He was, to be clear, intensely uncomfortable right now. But this waistcoat had belonged to their father, and Ivory had insisted on altering it before he ’wore it anywhere socially relevant’. As if they still lived in a society where ’society’ mattered.

Still, Branzy was grateful. He wanted to look good. Even if he didn’t really know what that was going to mean.

He didn’t really know what was going on with any of this, to be honest. It felt like a whirlwind of a fever dream, bombshell after bombshell from Rek, and somehow he’d ended up here, just a few hours away from meeting someone who was an actual, real spy.

On a date. Now, Branzy went on dates… reasonably often. Sometimes just as a formality before one of them went home with the other, sometimes out of a genuine desire for connection. But no one ever seemed to quite get him. Which sounded stupid, and selfish, but he got to be selfish when it came to his own love life.

Clown had got him. Branzy bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying not to fidget as Ivory moved to his other side. Somehow, Clown had seemed to understand him on sight, like it was nothing at all.

Maybe it had all been in his head. Maybe he was going to turn up at this really nice restaurant tonight, and either get shot or rejected. He wasn’t sure which would hurt more.

Probably getting shot. Branzy sighed internally, and tried not to laugh at himself. He’d been rejected enough. Getting shot would be something new, and not something he intended to try any time soon.

“Nearly done.” Ivory sounded vaguely amused, vaguely exasperated, and made Branzy feel vaguely guilty for bothering her. But she had offered to do this. “You’re lucky I love you. And you have good proportions.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Turn around.”

Branzy lowered his arms back to his sides- they’d dropped to his shoulders anyway- and turned to face away from the mirror entirely, giving him the opportunity to let his nonchalant facade drop.

He was terrified.

Rek had hardly told him anything, just texted him a link to the restaurant and asked when he was free. He’d chatted, sure, then gone quiet for a few days, and come back just to say that Clown was coming.

Frankly, Branzy was still getting over his fact his closest friend was part of the Secret Service. That was cool. He was allowed to be a bit star-struck by that.

Also, he was meeting with another spy, who apparently not only remembered him, but wanted to see him. Which was… a lot of pressure, which Branzy wasn’t particularly used to anymore.

If this had still been school, he’d have been fine. Someone else to charm, another chance to make people laugh and smile at him in that way that made him glow inside.

But now, he was out of practice, and terrified that he wouldn’t be able to keep up the same likeable nature that had been so magnetic years ago.

“Hm. Ok. Done. Give me a few hours, it fits you pretty well.”

Ivory took a step back, folding the waistcoat carefully over her arm, all professionalism and patience.

“Thanks.” Branzy swallowed, smiling at his sister in real gratitude. “Ivy- should- should I do this?”

“I don’t know, Branzy, you haven’t told me anything.”

Branzy bit his lip, nodding slowly. That was true. His sister was absolutely within her rights to be glaring at him like that. But it felt like an omen, the fact he’d forgotten to fill Ivory in on what she probably deserved to know, a glaring warning sign that said he should run far away before he ruined a relationship that existed better in his dreams.

“I- do you remember Rek?”

“Oh- Parker? He’s everywhere. His graduation speech is still on the website.”

“Yeah. He, uh- he’s set me up with someone. But they’re…”

“Too good for you?’

“Hey!”

Branzy narrowed his eyes at his sister, swatting at her playfully.

“Joking!” Ivory held up her hands, giggling as she ducked. “Ok. Who is it?”

“Someone… well, I don’t know if you deserve to know anymore.” Branzy crossed his arms, making a point of looking superior and older-brother-y. “If you think they’re too good for me.”

“Fine. Insult your sister when she’s designing your outfit. See how far that gets you.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Now it was Branzy’s turn to mock-surrender, grinning like an idiot. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. And if it goes really well , maybe you won’t have to deal with me freeloading anymore.”

He made it like a joke, but something flickered across Ivory’s face, and her eyes softened.

“Don’t say that. You’re working. You’ll get there eventually, ok? And… I’m proud of you. For doing this at all.”

Without warning, she hugged him, still holding the waistcoat, and Branzy hugged her back on instinct.

Then she pulled away, grinned at him, and hurried off to her room where she kept her sewing supplies.

Branzy watched her go, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Silly little sister. Silly little sister going places so much further than him, with such potential she was far too smart to waste.

Nothing to do now but wait.

Actually, he could carry on overthinking.

Branzy wandered around the kitchen, running his hand over various surfaces, murmuring vague reassurances to himself that tonight wasn’t going to end with him dead in a ditch.

Was this how normal people met? Was there any chance, any at all, that this ended well? Was Rek just pranking him?

No. Rek wouldn’t do that. And Rek wouldn’t send him to see someone who’d actually murder him. Or maybe he might. Maybe Branzy would like that.

No, he didn’t want to die. Not tonight, not like this. He genuinely wanted this to go well. For what felt like the first time since university, Branzy actually cared about something, properly.

He should distract himself. It was still a few hours, and he knew he’d just work himself into a panic if he carried on pacing like this. He trusted Rek, and he trusted Ivory. No one else, but those were the only two he had to rely on today anyway.

Branzy grabbed his laptop with perhaps a little too much force, and sat down, timing an inhale and exhale to him opening the screen.

Mike. Hi, Mike, how’s the family? He was fine, no need to worry about him. Just going on a date with a murderer with a history of violence. Mike, did you fancy giving him a lot of money?

Branzy was overthinking.

Just out of idleness, he pulled up the code he’d been trying to write, and squinted at it. He’d made this? It looked pretty incomprehensible now.

Wow, he felt stupid. Maybe Rek was pranking him, or this was some elaborate way to set him up with someone actually normal, and sensible.

Seemed likely, since Branzy couldn’t even read his own code, which just felt ridiculous. Then again, he must have been fuelled by something more than sheer nerves to even try to hack the Secret Service.

Honestly, he didn’t even recognise half of this. The things love drove him to do. If love was what this was called. Obsession? Maybe? Or just a desperate kind of loneliness. That seemed more like him.

It would do him good to get out a bit. Maybe Clown would inspire him to do something with his life. Preferably not murder, but Branzy was more accepting than Ivory would like to think.

Besides, even if this went to absolute hell, going to hospital for bullet wounds might help excuse the gap on his CV.

And this wouldn’t go badly. Branzy could feel it, feel the hum of something good in the making. To anyone else, this was a terrible idea, but to him, it felt like hope. Real hope, of what he’d been looking for for years now.

Resting his head in his hand, Branzy opened Mike’s chat again, genuinely smiling for the first time in a while.

——————

Clown’s phone rang, and he nearly cleaved through it with a decorative sword he’d needed to get rid of for years.

Instead, he snatched it up, taking a deep breath and trying to smooth over his voice into something low and composed.

“Yes?”

”Heya. Nearly ready?”

Clown sighed, and pressed his phone between his ear and his shoulder, smiling slightly to himself as he moved around his studio apartment.

“Yeah. Ten more minutes.”

”Good. I’m waiting.”

“And you know how I hate to keep you waiting.”

Kaboodle made a huffy sort of noise, and the line went dead without another word. Clown slipped his phone into his pocket, and stopped in front of his mirror, checking everything he had on him.

Phone, check. Mask, check. Clown had accepted he’d have to take it off in the restaurant, but Branzy had seen his face already, so it was mostly for Kaboodle’s benefit. Gun, second gun, and knife, all check. Thin body armour under his shirt. A taser, courtesy of Parrot. Car keys. Flowers?

Flowers would be weird. Clown hadn’t gone on a date in… well, ever. Literally, ever. But flowers felt weird.

What would Branzy like? Clown surveyed anything he had that might qualify as a gift.

Branzy might like a knife.

Clown nodded to himself, grabbing one of his medium-favourite knives that he could bear to part with, and slipping it into another hidden holster in the suit he’d had made for him back with Minute and Leo.

His old teammates had been so particular about appearances. They’d like this place they were going to tonight. Clown decided not to dwell on that thought.

With nothing left to check, and a phone he could feel about to blow up with Kaboodle’s texts, Clown took a deep breath, and scanned his thumbprint to unlock his door. He invested in biometric security in all his apartments. Saved the vulnerability of carrying a key, and more secure.

He closed his door with a click. Quieted the nerves in the back of his mind. Walked into the elevator, hit the button unnecessarily hard, and stared at the doors as they slid closed.

This wouldn’t be an ambush. That would be stupid. Branzy barely knew who he was.

Shit, Branzy barely knew who he was.

What if he saw what every normal person had ever seen in Clown? A monster, a psychopath, a killer who took more than a grim satisfaction in slaughter as his day job and plotting murder through sleepless nights.

Clown suddenly felt like this might be a very bad idea.

But the elevator doors opened, and he walked straight out of his building, giving a curt nod to Kaboodle, who was leaning against the wall and chewing something obnoxious.

She perked up on seeing him, holding up a hand and taking a step back.

“Looking good!” She nodded in approval, and punched his arm affectionately. “Seriously. Wait- how many guns have you got? Second desk asked me to check.”

“…One.”

“So, I’m going to double that, which is still below the limit!” Kaboodle gave him a thumbs up, grinning. “Just so you know, I have- so many questions about this thing, but I’m going to save them until we’re both actually on the clock.”

Clown nodded, and gestured to his car.

“Can we go?”

Kaboodle followed his gesture, and her eyes visibly widened, drawing Clown’s attention to the scarlet contacts she was told to take off most of the time in the office. That, and her elaborate blue braid, and the jumping-ear-hat with the squeakers tossed over her shoulders, made her look like she was just a favour running an errand for a friend.

Not accompanying one of MI5’s deadliest employees to a blind date at the direct behest of the second-in-command of national security.

“Jeez, Clownie, that’s your ride?”

Clown hummed assent, ducking into the driver’s side and hitting the button to open the passenger door so Kaboodle could get in. She immediately ran her hands over the dash, whistling under her breath.

“Wow. Whoever you’re meeting, he’s a lucky guy.”

“How do you know he’s a guy?” Clown’s foot found the pedal as he set up the navigation, shooting a glance at Kaboodle.

“Clownie, it’s you.”

“…Right.”

Clown drove fast. Not too fast, he stuck to the clean side of the law these days, but fast enough to make Kaboodle clap in appreciation. The roads were emptier than usual today, and Clown genuinely wondered if Rekrap had somehow cleared the roads just for this. Ridiculous, of course, but everything about this seemed to be.

They didn’t hit much traffic at all. A few lights, one particularly bold electric car that Clown would have put a bullet through the windshield of, if it hadn’t been central London and the one time ever he had someone else in his car.

Which was unnerving him, actually. Even if Kaboodle was mostly on her phone, occasionally glancing at him warily, Clown felt like he was being surveilled. Which he didn’t appreciate.

He wanted this to go well. He genuinely, actually liked Branzy, maybe more than would have been healthy. He couldn’t even say it was to spite Rekrap, because that would have been petty. Clown just, on one of the rare occasions in his entire life, had genuinely found himself… wanting something.

He pulled in just outside the restaurant, and was slightly surprised not to see Rekrap waiting outside anxiously.

Clown waited for Kaboodle to get out of his car, then followed suit, locking it with a key he slipped securely into one of his inside pockets.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. He pulled out the note Rekrap had given him, double-checking the date, and time, and yes, he was exactly on time.

“Uh- hi! Are you-?”

But apparently Branzy was early.

Clown turned around, smiling despite himself as he saw Branzy.

He was wearing a neat waistcoat, one that looked almost tailored, and a shade of violet that played off his eyes beautifully. Silver earrings, horseshoes in each ear, half hidden by his hair falling to his shoulders. A nervous smile, worried eyes, and a bouquet of flowers.

Clown’s heart stuttered. Blue and orange flowers. That matched his eyes. Perfectly. Blue rhododendrons, orange begonias, and a smattering of white oleanders.

“I’m going to go.” Kaboodle patted his shoulder, and nodded cheerfully to Branzy. “Good luck!”

She slipped away, and Clown’s hands moved immediately, unbuckling his mask as quickly as possible. He breathed out heavily when he got it off, like it had been restricting his breathing, and clipped it to his belt.

“…it is you.” Branzy grinned, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I- I was worried. Nice mask.”

“Thank you.” Clown hesitated, a heat growing inside him. “You look… amazing.”

“Uh- flowers. Have flowers. These- these are for you.”

Branzy held them out, blushing, and Clown took them carefully.

“This… mostly just means caution.”

“I- I thought it was appropriate. And I- I might have got them on the way here.”

There was something incredibly apologetic in Branzy’s eyes, a shining anxiety that made Clown smile, and nod.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Th- thanks for- for this.” Branzy looked around, fidgeting furiously with his hands. “I- I didn’t think-“

“I really didn’t either. Inside?”

“M- mhm. Inside is good.”

Clown nodded, then paused, and went back to his car quickly to put the bouquet down, grabbing the knife he’d brought on his way back.

“I… have something for you too. It seems a bit weird now, but…”

Clown held it out with both hands, smiling awkwardly, and Branzy froze.

“O- oh my god…” He took a small step back, then wavered, and stepped forward again. “You are- exactly like how I remember. Holy… th- thanks.”

He took it quickly, turning it over in his hands. Clown grinned, watching the wonder morph into fear, then back into amazement. He had put a little thought into it, at least. A silver knife, with an amethysts set down the handle, well crafted but not the work of an expert. Just a nice knife. But Branzy held it like it was made of gold.

“Ok. Ready now?”

Branzy nodded, slipping the knife nervously into his pocket.

“So ready. I- never mind. Sorry. Yes.”

Clown didn’t press it, just heading in, and giving his own name to the maître de, because he didn’t think Rekrap would stoop quite that low.

She looked at him, then down at her reservation list, then over his shoulder.

“With Branzy Craft?”

Clown silently cursed Rekrap to many places. Then sighed, and nodded.

“Yes.”

“Did Rek book it?” Branzy grinned, nudging Clown’s elbow playfully. “He always does stuff like this.”

“Does he.” Clown rolled his eyes, and let a waiter take them to a table at the back of the restaurant, leaving them with menus, water glasses, and an awkward offer to take non-existent coats. “Actually, Branzy.”

“Mhm?”

Branzy sat down, arranging his napkin and glass in a way that told Clown this wasn’t his first time in this sort of establishment.

“How do you know Rekrap?”

He knew. Of course. But he wanted to hear it from Branzy. And, maybe, find out something about Rekrap that would be fun blackmail to have on Second Desk.

“Oh, from uni.” Branzy waved his hand vaguely, then hesitated, and carried on with a grin. “I was meant to tutor him, as an academic sanction, but he was like- a prodigy, so I was pretty useless. He taught me to do parkour.”

Clown raised his eyebrows, not even looking at the menu.

“Parkour?”

“Yep! He is- terrifyingly good at jumping over things.”

“Well. I’d never have guessed. What did you get a sanction for?”

Clown hadn’t gone to university. Hadn’t seemed worth it at the time, and he was already firmly ensconced in what any reputable academic institution would have called the wrong crowd. But Branzy had that energy, a wayward genius sort of charm.

“Hacking.” Branzy grinned across the table, fiddling with the corner of the menu. “Changed my grades. Only didn’t get worse for it because the faculty liked me.”

“I can see why.”

“Why?”

Branzy looked so worried, his emotions switching on a dime, but still fuelled by a manic sort of energy, that Clown couldn’t help but laugh, softly, picking up his own menu.

“You’re likeable, Branzy. And cute, and funny.”

“I- I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

Clown glanced up, and caught Branzy staring at him with an almost unnerving intensity.

“Hm?”

“Sorry. I just- I thought you should know. I- I haven’t been in love for a while, and I-“

“Are we in love now?”

Branzy froze. Turned visibly red. Made a shrugging sort of motion, then seemed to go quiet.

“I- I am. I- think. I just- I do it badly. Sometimes.”

“Then I’m in love too.” Clown smiled, meeting Branzy’s eyes gently. “And you’re not going to do it worse than me. Branzy, my only hobby is murder. I haven’t gone on a date since primary school.”

Branzy smiled, genuinely grateful, eyes flicking from the menu to Clown.

“I- I think that’s hot. The- the murder. Does that make me weird?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Good. The- the gun was hot too. Everything everything about you is…”

Clown smiled, feeling oddly warm, not looking at Branzy.

“Thanks.” His voice was soft, softer than he’d heard it for a long time, and he finally glanced up. “Know what you want?”

“Uh- nope. Not at all.”

Branzy turned his attention to the menu, and examined it for a few moments. Clown had pretty much glanced at it, seen steak, decided that he’d be paying anyway so he didn’t care, and gone for that as the easiest option.

Branzy, however, seemed to be putting genuine thought into it.

“I… might have the pasta. Pasta-thing. Sorry, it’s been years since- since I was somewhere like here.” Branzy laughed nervously, but his voice cracked. “Are we doing starters?”

“Don’t mind.”

Clown probably wouldn’t. He ate strangely anyway, mostly energy bars at whatever hour of the day he happened to be vaguely hungry and in range of food. But he wanted Branzy to do whatever the hell he wanted.

“Nah. I’m fine.” Branzy set his menu down, and picked up the other menu Clown hadn’t noticed from the middle of the table. “Do you, uh- drink?”

“Not… normally.”

Not somewhere like here. Not when he wasn’t either alone, or with someone he trusted. Which didn’t happen very often. Clown had once been tipsy with Kaboodle, at a Christmas dinner she and Spoke had somehow convinced him to go on, and sorely regretted it. Parrot would have stopped him, but Parrot hadn’t been there, for some reason Clown couldn’t remember now.

“They have nice mocktails.”

Branzy passed the menu, pointing to a corner with a grin. Clown raised his eyebrows, and tried not to laugh.

“I might just… stick to water.”

“Seriously? This is a really nice place, you can’t just have water.”

“Hm, can, and will.” Clown set the menu back in the middle of the table, shrugging. “Have you been here before?”

“Nope. Nowhere like this since-“ Branzy cut himself off, and Clown felt something shift slightly, as his voice dropped to a quiet sort of lighthearted. “Well, since- since my parents.“

“Oh. Branzy… I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It was- years ago. You don’t need to hear my whole tragic backstory.”

Branzy waved vaguely, wiping his eyes on his sleeve just as the waiter reappeared.

“Ready to order, sirs?”

Clown nodded to Branzy, who looked back down at the menu like it was his first time seeing it.

“Yes, uh- could I have the pasta, please? The- the chicken and cream pasta.”

The waiter nodded. Branzy looked to Clown.

“The steak, please.” Clown paused to give the waiter time to write it down, then carried on. “Rare, with salad.”

“Of course. Any starters or drinks?”

“No starters. Water for me, and… Branzy?”

Branzy looked vaguely embarrassed, as he looked over the drinks menu again, but looked up at the waiter brightly.

“Could I have a- a virgin Piña Colada?”

“Absolutely. Is that everything, for now?”

“I think so.” Clown checked, then nodded, internally proud for pulling that one off without a hitch. “Thank you.”

The waiter took their menus, and headed off, leaving Clown far too satisfied with his performance for a man who’d planned and executed flawless assassinations.

“You good?” Branzy was grinning, clearly having noticed his moment of triumph.

“Yeah. Social interactions are hard.”

“Real.” Branzy nodded sympathetically, then brightened. “Ok! So, conversation. Tell me about your job. I have been- so curious, you have no idea.”

“Oh, my job?” Clown was grinning, even as he panicked slightly. But Branzy had said he didn’t mind, that he liked it, so maybe it would be alright. “Ok. This is going to be like- national secrets, ok?”

“Whoa. I feel special.”

“You should.”

They both laughed, and for a moment, Clown wondered if other people found everything this easy. He hadn’t had a conversation like this in years.

“Ok. So, MI5.”

“The Secret Service, yeah. I- I didn’t believe you, by the way. I thought you were just- some maniac, with a gun and a story.”

“Well, I suppose I am.” Clown rested his elbows on the table, not caring much for etiquette anymore. “I didn’t always work with MI5. I started with… well, criminals. Assassins for hire, mercenaries, bounty hunters, all of that.”

“Wow… did you get caught?”

“Sort of.” Clown had never liked this bit of the story, but now it seemed to come easy, because Branzy wouldn’t judge him for showing weakness, or for betraying his teammates. “Someone got in contact with me. Made me a good deal. I started giving them information about my team. Not too much, but enough that was playing both sides.”

Branzy nodded, captivated. Clown couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked this much about himself.

“Then, when I blew up, they were there first to offer me a new job. I was worried about what my old team might do to me, so I said yes- with conditions- and I’ve been playing it clean since then.”

Clown shrugged, and the waiter appeared with their drinks. Clown got a sensible glass of water, and a beaker for refills for him and Branzy. Branzy, however, got the most ridiculous looking thing Clown had ever seen intended to provide hydration.

“Stop staring.” Branzy giggled, taking a sip through the straw they’d had to give him. “It’s nice, really. Want to try?”

He passed the glass over, and Clown did try it, much to his resignation. Then he hesitated.

“That’s… actually quite good.”

“See?”

Humming, Clown gave Branzy his glass back, and glanced around the restaurant while he was at it. No sign of any sort of trouble. Rekrap probably had a security detail lingering outside, just to be safe, but Clown didn’t intend to let his own guard down either.

Branzy sighed, and Clown’s attention snapped to him.

“What?”

“What are you looking for?”

Branzy had all the tired air of someone who’d been Rekrap’s best friend for apparently longer than he’d run half the country, and Clown glared back.

“Checking our surroundings.”

“Fine. But who’s going to jump us anyway?” Branzy rolled his eyes setting his ridiculous glass down. “You don’t look like a spy, and no one’s going to care about me.”

“Always better to be paranoid.”

“You sound like Rek.” Branzy rolled his eyes, and idly bit into the lime that had been in his drink. Then promptly pulled a face. “Ew.”

“Oh, good, he’s intelligent.”

Despite the jab, Clown couldn’t take his eyes off Branzy. Something about the way he carefully placed the lime on his side plate, the one Clown didn’t even know what they were meant to do with. The way he’d arranged his napkin over his lap. The way he hadn’t batted an eye at any of this, really, or at least less than Clown would have expected.

It tasted like genius. Like a sort of disconnect from normality that fascinated Clown, an intrinsic understanding of how the world worked and how to use that to his advantage.

“…Clown? All good there?”

Branzy was smiling, and Clown was no longer focusing on how cute he looked, but how confident he looked, in a a waistcoat and styled hair, more at home in this establishment than Clown felt anywhere.

“You are… something else, Branzy Craft.”

“Aw, thanks. You seem pretty terrifying too. In a good way.”

“No, I mean…” Clown struggled with it for a moment, trying to put into words the way he was captivated by everything from the breathy way Branzy laughed, to the look in his eyes when he said he liked danger. “You seem special. How has no one hired you already?”

“Never fancied it. I don’t like-“ Branzy pulled a face, and shrugged. “Desk work doesn’t sound very fun.”

“Same here.” Clown nodded in understanding, then spoke without thinking. “Why don’t you work with the Service? There’s no way Rekrap never offered.”

Branzy hesitated. Glanced at his glass, then if the waiter was approaching, then sighed.

“I- I’m not that sort of smart. I live with my sister, and I- leave drone parts at our kitchen table, and I scam people on- on freaking Facebook Marketplace for a living. Besides, I didn’t know what Rek did until like- a week ago.”

That caught Clown off guard, but not as much as everything else Branzy had said.

Before he could say anything, the waiter did appear, setting their dishes in front of them and asking if everything was to their liking. Clown just waited until Branzy dismissed him, then leaned forward.

“Branzy, I didn’t think I was the spy work sort.” Clown felt like this was important, in a way he didn’t quite understand yet, and something about the apprehensive reluctance in Branzy’s eyes only encouraged him. “You can do anything. Seriously.”

“…thanks.”

Branzy didn’t meet his eyes, and Clown felt the horrible feeling that he’d said something wrong as he turned his attention to his steak.

They ate in silence for just a few seconds, and Clown had just about convinced himself that it was his fault, because he’d managed to find someone who didn’t immediately look at him in disgust, and he’d insulted their life choices before anything else.

“You’re right.” Branzy spoke quietly, but there was a hint of a smile, in a sad sort of way. “I- I’m just scared, I guess. Everything seemed easy in uni. Then it was over, and I- my friends all found better things. I just- I never really knew what I even wanted.”

“Branzy…”

Clown was trying for sympathetic, but there was an edge in Branzy’s eyes, when he looked up, swallowing hard.

“I- I know. Thanks. It- it’s really cool. What you do. You shouldn’t feel weird about it.”

For a moment, Clown hoped he’d say something else. Break the weird tension between them. But Branzy didn’t, so he just offered a small smile.

“Alright. I feel… kinda awful, now.”

Branzy laughed, genuinely, covering his mouth where he’d taken a pre-emptive bite of pasta.

“Don’t. At least you didn’t cry about my parents. Trust me, I need someone to make me- I don’t know, do something with my life.”

“You can do me.”

Branzy laughed harder, and so did Clown, chuckling under his breath. But after a moment, Branzy got a more serious expression, and Clown had to bite back a real smile at the whiplash.

“Can- can we? It- it won’t be weird, or- I won’t cause you problems, and you- you actually want this?”

“Branzy, I have literally not been able to get you off my mind since I met you.”

“But-“

“And no. You won’t cause any problems.” Clown grinned, already thinking of blackmail. “In fact, you’d probably get me on Rekrap’s good side.”

“He doesn’t have a bad side.”

“Oh, he does.” Clown raised his eyebrows, gesturing significantly with his fork. “Trust me.”

“…ok.” Branzy’s voice went weirdly soft again, and Clown remembered they were meant to be working out if this was really love, or just jet-lagged fascination with something both of them thought might kill them. “I- I think I’m good with this then. We- I don’t care about- the details, or whatever. But this. You. I like this.”

Clown held Branzy’s gaze for a long moment, smiling more than he had in weeks.

“Honestly, I think I like this too. But we’ve still got dessert.”

Branzy smiled, and looked away, and Clown glanced over his shoulder before carrying on.

And froze.

“Branzy, get down.”

Chapter Text

Branzy hardly hesitated. There was something in Clown’s voice, in his eyes, and all Branzy knew was that he’d ducked before the first gunshot rang out, sliding under the table as his throat started to tighten.

“Clown- what-“

But the assassin didn’t join him. Instead, Branzy watched as platform boots pivoted, then flinched, as gunshots rang out directly over his head.

“Hi, Clown!”

Clown growled something. Branzy didn’t hear it, as his thoughts damn near blanked out.

What was happening? He’d almost let himself forget who Clown was, and where he came from, but this was bringing it home in an alarmingly aggressive manner.

More gunshots. Branzy tried to go for his phone with trembling fingers, not sure even why. It wasn’t like he could do anything here. He was trapped, and really hoping he could actually trust Clown as much as he had been.

Beside him, Clown moved, and Branzy caught a glimpse of him drawing his own gun. He nearly called after him, but his voice stuck in his throat.

“Hello. Branzy, right?”

Someone was crouched next to him, dressed all in black with sharp eyes and a gun in his hand.

Branzy stared, and nodded, feeling dizzy. He was going to die here. He was actually going to die, and he was going to kill Rek, because his best friend would die of guilt over this.

“Minute. Nice to meet you.”

Minute held out his hand, smiling. Something smashed, very near to them, and Branzy flinched.

Shaking, he took Minute’s hand, and Branzy didn’t have time to scream before he was being wrenched upright, and dragged backwards into the open.

“Leo!” Minute’s voice rang out, now cold. “Got him.”

Leo—that must be the other one, in a white suit, the one currently in some sort of standoff with Clown across the restaurant—looked over, and nodded.

“Wh- what the fuck…” Branzy giggled, only a little hysterical, mind racing. This was what he got, for not finding himself a normal life. “I- I’m gonna die.”

Minute didn’t say a word to him, as Clown looked over, and froze dead. Branzy could see it, the way his whole body stiffened, and real panic flashed across his eyes.

“Minute! You can let him go.” Clown got to his feet, all attention off Leo, and raised his hands slightly. “He’s not involved.”

“I don’t know, Clown, he seems to be getting to you.”

A gun pressed against his temple, and Branzy swallowed hard, trying his absolute best not to cry. He should have gotten a job. He should have found a normal life. He should have told Ivory he loved her.

“Let him go, Minute. You’re fighting me, not civilians.”

That was kind of rude. Branzy had been really hoping he was more than a civilian, to Clown. Besides, he knew Rekrap, and apparently that was pretty impressive around here.

Maybe now wasn’t the time to nitpick. Not as Minute pressed the gun harder against his head, and Leo took over talking.

“Look, Clown, we just want you back. We’re doing great, but we miss you.”

“I’ve seen your recent activity, Leowook. You’d sell me out.”

“Or we might actually want to work with you again.” Minute’s voice was a fraction less confident than Leo’s, or maybe Branzy was just hearing it more closely. “We’ve been trying to talk to you for months.”

How had they known where to find him? Branzy was still trying to keep his breathing steady, no sudden movements, no need for a bullet in his skull today, thank you. But there was into so much sheer terror his body could take, when they weren’t even talking to him. He had to distract himself with something.

Probably some fancy spy thing. These guys seemed professional, if the suits were anything to go by. But Clown was professional too, and something about the alarm still visible in his eyes made Branzy think he hadn’t known anything about this.

“Now you’ve spoken to me. And I’m telling you to leave me alone.”

“Don’t think we will, actually.” Leo stepped forward, and fired above Clown’s head casually. “Who’s the dog, anyway?”

Was that him? Branzy was becoming more offended by the second, and that drove him to actually speaking aloud, albeit in a whisper, daring to tilt his head so Minute knew he was addressing him.

“H- how did you guys find him? Just- just curious.”

Clown wasn’t responding to Leo, and Minute managed to tear his eyes off him, looking down at Branzy in confusion.

“Shut up? I… I have a gun to your head.”

Branzy shrugged slightly, shifting his weight. He wasn’t denying that. But his curiosity needed to be sated, and if it kept his mind off a panic attack, all was well.

“I- I’m not going anywhere, d- don’t worry. But- he’s good at this, right? How’d you find him?”

Maybe that blue-haired girl Branzy had spotted him arriving with. Maybe she was working with these two.

“I guess…” Minute had dropped his own voice, still not moving his gun from Branzy’s temple as they watched Clown and Leo try to glare each other down. “Someone was trying to access his files. They gave us a back door. Someone high up put a note on him for his partner, saying he needed to be accompanied here.”

Branzy felt very, very cold. He nodded, shakily, and tried to keep breathing. Had that been him? He’d certainly been trying to do that. And who else could it be?

“H- hey, I- I think that might have- have been me…” Branzy giggled, head spinning as his vision went slightly blurry. “Funny, r- right…?”

Minute paused. Shifted his gun a little, as he tried to get a better look at Branzy’s face. Probably trying to figure out if he was lying.

“That was you? The one hacking?”

Trembling, Branzy nodded, and watched Clown get a bullet in Leo’s shoulder, crossing the space between them. He was terrifying, when he was moving like this. Almost like a cat, fluid and deadly as he stalked the white-suited man into a gilded wall.

“…Wow.”

“Y- yeah. Wow… wow, he- he’s really- wow.”

Minute nearly cracked Branzy’s skull, with how hard he shoved the gun into the bone next to his eye. There was something in that, Branzy decided, something that made him warm with possessive superiority. And warm with the heat of Minute’s gun, which was absolutely terrifying, and definitely the thing he should be paying attention to.

“Leo?” Minute was ignoring Branzy, now, which he would have giggled at, if he wasn’t in the process of feeling his knees give out slowly. “Leo, watch out!”

Leo wasn’t watching out. He was struggling to raise his own gun, only to have it swatted out of his hand by an approaching Clown, and kicked against the wall.

“Shit…”

Between one instant and the next, Minute had dropped Branzy, and was bolting for his teammate. He moved like Clown. It was scary, really, seeing the same prowling, pouncing movements in someone who’d just been holding a gun to his head.

Branzy felt his knees hit the ground, and something jarring painfully, nearly dragging his attention away from Minute grabbing Leo’s collar, and dragging him away from the fight.

Words were said. Yelled, more like, mostly between Clown and Leo. Clown wasn’t killing them. Branzy really didn’t know why Clown wasn’t killing them.

His head was spinning. That was nice, he’d always wanted some near-death experience to put on his CV. Maybe he’d get a trauma payout.

Minute finally succeeded in throwing Leo halfway towards the door, and Branzy didn’t quite see what else he might have done, as everything started spiralling into black and red and gun metal and cream menus and notes from his sister he should have responded to.

His head hit the floor only a few seconds after his knees had, and Branzy was almost relieved to feel it all fade to black.

——————

“You’d better go, Minute.”

Clown tore his eyes away from Branzy, who he’d just witnessed faint only a few metres way from him, and glared with deadly calm at his former teammate.

Minute stared back, gun steady in his hand but eyes betraying something else. He was always so bad at hiding things from Clown.

Outside, Leo had started screaming. That, more than anything, seemed to push Minute into action, before Clown finally found his nerve and pulled the trigger.

“Minute! Minute, get-“

“Hey, Clownie! Out here now, please!”

Clown met Minute’s eyes again. And for half a second, another life flashed before their eyes. One where they ran away right now, forgot everything that had come before or after, and never had to deal with their respective idiots ever again.

Clown slammed his gun into his former teammate’s jaw, and followed the same way Leo had. Branzy would be safer if he lured them all away from here. He hadn’t gotten hurt. That was the important thing, and it was Clown’s job to make sure he stayed safe.

Outside, Leo and Kaboodle were wrestling in the paring lot. Literally. Clown sniggered, just a little, as he made a beeline for Leo, wrenching him off his partner and just missing his foot with another bullet. Clown would almost have felt something approaching guilt, if he didn’t know Leo could take a lot more than a bullet and keep being a bitch about it.

Minute went for Kaboodle, apparently, judging by her aggrieved squawk, and Minute’s subsequent hiss of pain. Clown was busy keeping Leo pinned to the ground, mind racing as he tried to figure out the best way to diffuse the situation.

Physically, this was fine. He could take either of these two in a fight, especially with Kaboodle by his side. Clown was just worried about getting the public involved, and maybe even Rekrap, if this went badly enough.

In a brief pause, Clown managed to get his mask on, sensing approaching authorities. He grabbed Minute by the neck, hissing in a voice too firm to be anything less than objective recommendation.

“You need to go. Now.”

Minute hissed right back, and bit at Clown’s hand as he wrenched away.

“Fuck you, Clown. We can go whenever-“

“Min, we’re leaving.”

Minute fumed silently, and Clown laughed, just softly, as sirens approached. He wanted the two of them to go, and soon. For everyone’s sake. He was far from forgetting about Branzy, but absolutely not about to drag him back into this.

“Better run along. Don’t hijack my date again, boys.”

Minute looked vaguely murderous, and Leo just smirked, his impatience showing in his fidgeting.

“Come on, Min, you heard government-issue loverboy over there. We gotta run.”

Finally, Minute seemed to relent, and strode off after Leo, head held pointedly high. Clown watched, a smirk lingering on his lips, even as his chest ached. He’d lost something, in them. They’d always know it. There was always an ache, of a path that could be, if he hadn’t let himself get tied up.

“Clownie, you- you have a lot of explaining to do. Or a lot of cupcakes to buy me.”

Kaboodle’s hand found his shoulder, as she sighed heavily, like that had been anything more than a mild dogfight. Clown’s smile softened.

It wasn’t all that bad. He’d chosen all this for a reason. If he hadn’t gone this way, he wouldn’t have met Branzy.

Branzy.

“One second.”

Clown darted inside, rushing to beat any authorities going through the disaster zone that was the restaurant, and crouched down next to Branzy. Impressively, he was halfway to conscious. Impressively, and worryingly, for the part of Clown that was twisting with the reminder that he should have been protecting him from the start.

“Hey, Branzy… still me. Just had to scare them off.”

Clown hadn’t done much scaring, if he was being honest. It was impossible, with those two. Maybe Minute could still be scared of him, but not to the levels of intimidation Clown normally relied on.

Branzy groaned weakly, and Clown’s instincts sharpened instantly.

“You’re hurt.”

That was meant to be a question. Clown cursed himself, uncertain whether it was allowable for him to touch Branzy, at this point. Just to check for injuries.

Branzy seemed either too unconscious or too overwhelmed to give him any sort of response, so Clown just turned to face the police that had entered, and didn’t move an inch away from him.

“Hands in the air! No sudden moves!”

Clown raised one hand, the other calmly laid on Branzy’s shoulder.

“The people who did this are gone. He needs medical attention.”

Kaboodle had better get in here, and show these people her badge before Clown had to panic too much about the idea of them accidentally shooting Branzy. It seemed improbable, but he didn’t trust standard authority as a matter of course, and especially not with something this important.

“Both hands, in the air.” One of the figures moved forward, and Clown gritted his teeth. “Move away.”

No. He wasn’t doing that. He was safer for Branzy than any of them—or he would have been, if he’d actually protected him when he should have—and Clown had no reason at all to give these people an inch.

Clown didn’t respond. He did look over his shoulder, and was soothed by the glimpse of blue hair. Kaboodle might be detained in her own right. He needed to stay calm, and not cause a bigger issue than had happened already.

“Move away, or we will use force.”

At that, Clown looked back at the officer. He tilted his grinning jester’s mask, fingers stained with Leo’s blood drumming lightly on Branzy’s shoulder. In a small concession, he placed his gun to his side, but pointedly not out of reach.

The poor officer looked slightly faint. Clown would have grinned, if he hadn’t been a lot more scared than he’d like to be, entirely because of Branzy. He was dealing with more than himself here.

“No.”

Before Clown could dig himself any deeper into this standoff, Kaboodle came trotting up behind the officers, spinning handcuffs around her finger.

“Officers.” She nodded cheerfully, handing the handcuffs to the one who’d been addressing Clown. “Me and my partner need to go now. Our superiors can send you any documentation you need.”

If they’d been nervous around a masked jester covered in someone else’s blood, the sight of his slightly bruised partner with an almost disturbingly delighted attitude, a blue war braid and bunny ears seemed to do it for the police. They exchanged glances, and stood down, to Clown’s mildly cynical surprise.

Kaboodle looked over at Clown, who tapped Branzy’s shoulder in a silent request for help. She nodded, and dropped to her knees beside him, opening his eyes gently.

“If you can wake him up, I’ll get the car closer.”

Clown nodded. He was done with talking. Kaboodle could do that for him, he had other things to take care of.

Like the rising ringing in his ears, setting in deeper the longer his adrenaline died down. Minute and Leo had been a distraction. A relic of his past, blinding him to what mattered here and now. Clown shouldn’t have let himself get distracted by them.

He shook Branzy’s shoulder gently, leaning down.

“Hey, Branzy Craft… you need to wake up.”

Strictly speaking, he didn’t need to. Clown could probably carry him to the car. But he needed the peace of mind, even if he was clinging onto the certainty that Branzy hadn’t gotten hurt, he didn’t look hurt, so he wasn’t.

“I- Ivy?” Branzy’s eyes fluttered, and his lips twitched slightly, as Clown went briefly dizzy with relief. “Y- you were right…”

“Right about what, Branzy Craft?” Clown was moving his hands gently, voice soft, trying to keep Branzy talking just long enough to get him on his feet. He didn’t know who this Ivy was, though.

“He- he’s w- way out of- of my league…”

Branzy giggled, somewhere between hysteria and delirium. Lightheaded, Clown had just about gotten him upright when he went limp again, breathing levelling back out.

Inside himself, Clown felt like he might be on fire. Branzy’s voice was fanning the flames of his own frustration and impotency, and the heat was beginning to drown out almost everything else.

Not now. He could control himself, and he did, all the way out to his car, which he only realised far too late that Kaboodle shouldn’t have been able to drive.

“You stole my keys.”

It wasn’t a question, as she rolled down the window, looking around cheerfully.

“Yep! Get in.”

“I’m… a top agent.” Clown shook his head, sighing to himself as he guided a mostly-unconscious Branzy into the back seat, going through doctors he knew were on MI5 payroll, or adjacent thereof. “You’re a problem.”

“I’m your partner.” Kaboodle spun the keys around her finger, grinning up at him as Clown ducked into the passenger seat. “So I’m driving?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Clown really would have put up more of a fight, if Branzy hadn’t stirred a little in that moment, and he realised he might not be in a fit state of concentration of handle roads at the moment. Not that that usually stopped him, but Kaboodle probably wouldn’t give up the wheel without a fight, and that wasn’t something he had patience for right now.

Besides, she seemed as responsible as Clown would have been, as she screeched out of the carpark, straight past a police car parked badly enough to neither allow traffic past nor actually block the entrance.

“Where we going, then? Your place? He doesn’t seem in much of a state for it.”

Kaboodle smirked into the rear-view mirror, somehow just her normal self, even as they technically kidnapped someone. Clown huffed, sliding down in his seat a little and pulling out his phone.

“There’s someone at the hospital by the river.”

“Hm?”

She’d gotten that from him. Clown spared a moment for grief, if Kaboodle was picking up mannerisms from him, then got back to business.

“A doctor. He won’t ask questions.”

“Oh? Do you have friends now, Clownie?”

“He’s not a friend.”

Almost the opposite. Clown was a little apprehensive going to him, actually, because the same cheerful disregard for the law lent this particular individual to a history of working with the likes of Leowook. Who was about the last person he wanted to see more than once in any given day.

“Clownie, I’m asking who they are, come on. Help me out.”

“You can find out when we’re there.”

“Where?”

“Next left.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m wonderful.” Clown smirked, and turned around, watching Branzy’s eyes flutter again. There was no way he was actually that injured. He might be faking it. “Hold on. Branzy?”

“Mhm…?”

“Hospitals, good or not?”

Branzy shook his head weakly, and there as something in the way he moved for his leg that made Clown’s eyes narrow.

“Not? Your leg’s hurt.”

“They’re… yeah, th- they’re fine… I have… insurance?”

“This is England, Branzy. Don’t worry about it.” Clown caught himself smiling, and wondered how Branzy could pull that out of him, after they’d only really known each other for a few hours. “Stay still, ok? You’re gonna be fine.”

“Mhm… great. Love being- being rescued by- by attractive people. Feel special.”

Branzy rolled over, groaning again, and Clown wondered if Minute had actually given him a concussion.

The his eyes focused back to the road, and he glared at Kaboodle in the corner of his eye.

“Kaboodle.”

“Hm?”

“Next left. Now.”

“Yeah, yeah, one sec…” Kaboodle held off signalling for far too long, then flicked it down, and twisted the wheel like she was in an action movie, whooping. “Live a little, Clownie! This is fun!”

Clown was fairly sure Rekrap was going to have to deal with a concussed friend and a dead employee by the morning. Maybe two, if Kaboodle didn’t get her act together and give Clown a chance to kill her slowly.

Still, she made the turning, somehow, and Clown began to relax, as they pulled into the hospital car park.

It was as busy as could be expected but, for some reason, people cleared out of the way when Clown helped Branzy to the door. Funny what a terrifying mask and a spitfire menace with blue hair could do to queues.

Kaboodle went for the front desk. Clown was happy to stop Branzy from panicking. He seemed a little unsteady, to say the least, looking around and frowning too many times to be normal.

“Wait… wait, where- where are we?”

“By the river.”

“There’s a- a river here? Huh…”

Clown had no idea how Branzy could look this disoriented and this cute at once. His eyes were drifting, and he was only putting weight on one leg, and he was still adorable, even with his hair a mess and gun residue smudged across his cheeks.

Adjusting his grip, Clown wiped Branzy’s cheek gently, feeling violet eyes fix on him in wonder as his glove wiped away powder.

“Wow… you’re… I- I might… die…”

“Not yet, Branzy Craft.”

“Holy…” Branzy’s voice trailed into pure, joyful silence, almost like a prayer, as he stared directly into Clown’s soul, somehow going straight past his mask. “I- I was so right. You’re- you’re so-“

“Clown! Who’s this doctor you wanted?”

For maybe the third time today, Clown cursed Kaboodle to every realm. Still, he turned to her, meeting the gaze of a receptionist doing a remarkable job of remaining calm. Then again, Clown could see someone actively throwing up into a plant pot in the corner of his eye, so maybe they weren’t the weirdest thing they’d dealt with today.

With a sigh, he dragged himself and Branzy a little closer, making sure the receptionist could see the bloodstains on his mask, as he drummed his fingers against his leg.

“This… needs discretion.”

“I understand, sir. If you want to request a particular resident doctor, I’ll need their information.”

Clown closed his eyes, and braced to have to take every precaution he knew just to make it through the rest of the day. His paranoia might not be able to take this.

“…Zam. I want Zam.”