Chapter Text
JOHN reclined on the stone bench in the small square full of trees and flowers a few blocks from the restaurant. His body was tired from the quick run up there, and as a result of the arduous last-minute workday, his knees and arms were sore. A puff of hot air came out of his lips, causing a small curl of smoke, and his eyes were fixed on the almost cloudless starry sky. The night was beautiful, and his heart was calm and unrepentant. If Leclair wanted to destroy his reputation, so be it, but he would never remain silent in the face of injustice.
König was still sitting quietly beside him, his body bent forwards and his hands firmly clutching an untouched glass of camomile tea, which was gradually beginning to cool. The Austrian blamed himself for what had happened, both for the feedback on his plate and for simply having ruined the unprecedented and private conversation. It was obvious to anyone how difficult it was for him to interact with the public, especially under the predatory gaze of a food critic. John preferred to stay silent for a while, just giving König his company, after all he also had a lot to digest.
At other times, the scene of them alone amidst the nocturnal noise of cicadas and beetles and the lights of fireflies might have seemed like a romantic encounter to anyone who saw it. But for both of them, a pity party would be a better fit. John wasn't worried about anything, if it was to be it would be, they fought with the weapons they had, and were a team to the end, no one should take the blame, since the man had never been pleased with anyone's food so far.
But John felt his heart break when he heard König's pained whimper again, snapping his mind out of its daze. He had managed to get him to calm down, but now it seemed that the pain had returned. John pursed his lips in a grimace, not of disgust, but of empathy, mixed with the bitter poison of anger. König unintentionally dropped the teacup because of his shaking, slack fingers, and was about to start another endless list of apologies before John tangled his fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and made him gasp in surprise. John guided his face to the curve of his shoulder and forced him to stay there.
"It's all right. Let it go...'' König let out a shy, choked sob and immediately wrapped his long arms around John, pulling him close and holding him in a tight embrace. John didn't complain, settling into the seat to accommodate them better, as he imagined it might take a while, and he didn't mind. König kept his hands wrapped around John's jacket, certainly damaging the expensive fabric.
''Heinz...'' John tried to call out to him, to make him face him in the eyes, but the red-haired man avoided it, burying his bare face deeper into the other man's neck, finding the comfort he needed in the warmth of his skin. John felt stupid for not having foreseen this and prevented König from going to meet Leclair, but one side of his mind told him that John couldn't just protect König from God and the world, the redhead needed to confront his fears from time to time, so even though he was mad, he understood that this was what should have been done. But, oh, how he hated how scared and hurt König was, having him shaking and crying in his arms was something that made his stomach turn and his teeth grind.
After a relatively long time, König finally stopped soaking his clothes with salty tears, and now only gave little sighs and mumbled apologies. John gave in to the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance that he still insisted on apologising for something that was out of his control, and that anyone else would have been shaken by or worse. John whispered compliments and encouragement in König's ear while he stroked his hair with one hand and circled his back with the other. When his breathing seemed to return to normal and his body was stable, John insisted again.
"Heinz, look at me..." John made a point of putting a firm, harsh tone in his voice to force him. After a few seconds, König grudgingly raised his face. John almost hissed when he saw the disastrous state of his face, red nose and eyes, as well as lips cut by bites. König looked away from him, focussing his eyes elsewhere. The hand holding his hair moved to cradle König's cheek, subtly turning his face until their eyes met.
König swallowed dryly when he dared to look back into the blue eyes that tormented him so much. They were dark, pupils dilated, injected with a controlled fury that would explode if he wasn't careful. König was so absorbed in sadness that he barely noticed how close they were, so near that he could admit that John's appearance was nothing more than divine. The moonlight that surrounded them couldn't even compare to the immensity of the glow that was John MacTavish's eyes.
"Come on, follow me...'' That was all John said after giving his face a gentle caress and withdrawing his hand. For a moment, König didn't understand, missing the comforting warmth, but John disentangled himself from his arms and stood up next to him on the bench, raising his hand and waiting for him to take the last step. A mute request for König not to ask questions but simply to take his hand and follow him to who knows where. Well, John wouldn't have to ask twice.
When König hesitantly put his hand over John's, he smiled, and König barely had time to admire him before John started pulling him out of the park. And the redhead followed him like a puppy, on wobbly legs and literally with his heart in his hand.
A pile of yellowed, aged paper envelopes was thrown onto the table, making a hollow noise. Shepherd looked at the pile with a disinterested look, and bit down a little harder on the base of his cigar, soon inhaling and releasing a soft smoke with a lingering smell. Graves didn't need to say what it was, the man already knew very well what his right-hand man's abrupt entry into his office at that time of night was all about.
"We need to talk about Ghost.'' Straight to the point as always. Shepherd sighed quietly and stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray, and the whole little show grated on the dirty blond's nerves. His boss was known for being ruthlessly impassive, not caring whether something or someone might get hurt or lose out if it interfered in his personal business. The only thing that mattered to Shepherd was an occasional fuck, a wife who kept up appearances but spent money like a maniac, and of course, new digits in his bank account. And to keep his lovely life always exquisite, some jobs had to be done.
Shadow Company was a ridiculous name, but it would serve as a front for his parallel businesses, after all, it's very difficult to be an honest politician in a foreign country. Sometimes all we can do is walk a little outside the law, don't you think?.
"The day is coming?...'' He already knew the answer, but he asked the question anyway. Graves merely nodded in confirmation.
''Honestly, I hardly thought he'd last four months, but look at that?. The kid's been here for years and he's like a bloodthirsty machine.'' The man laughed lightly.
''I followed his terms because they seemed irrelevant to me at the time. I expected him to die or something in the middle of all those animals, but somehow he's still standing and has lived up to his codename. He never complained. Never missed a day. He's never been any trouble. It's definitely impressive...'' Shepherd relaxed in his seat and swivelled a little in his armchair, then looked at the envelopes again.
"What is this?. The clauses I need to burn?...'' Graves almost laughed at the sarcastic remark, but held his tongue and just smiled in delight. Because in fact, the contents of the folders amused him. Genuinely.
"See for yourself, sir..." Graves hummed and prostrated himself against the table, his hands on either side of the furniture, and approached with a devious smile that would freeze the bones of any unsuspecting person, but not Shepherd. Since he was the creator of that trained rabid dog, and if he wasn't careful, it would bite him. However, he was still too cowardly for that.
Shepherd raised an eyebrow in curiosity and began to open them. At first, he flicked through the report sheets with disinterest. Every week a report on Ghost's wanderings was delivered, but he stopped reading them years ago because the boy never did anything interesting, so he changed the dates to every six months of the year, as well as passing the job on to underlings. But now they were here, the latest investigations, and he didn't seem the least bit surprised, and Graves laughed when he noticed.
''Turn to page 7...'' The man stared at him, and begrudgingly made the request. His icy eyes were fixed on the photo that was attached to the page with a paperclip. And next to it, several paragraphs indicating that Ghost was apparently meeting someone. Shepherd flicked through again and more photos appeared, from different angles and different dates and places. Yes, it really was something. And given the way the camera caught Ghost's gaze on the smiling stranger, it definitely wasn't just something casual, it seemed special.
''Well, well...'' Was what Shepherd said when his eyes landed on the name scribbled at the end of the report.
''Ghost is too precious to go away like a little bird released from captivity... We swallowed his shit for too long because it was convenient and filled our pockets. Now the bastard is almost finished with his debt, it's quite commendable, I have to admit. But God forgive me for being such a dedicated businessman...'' Graves said, his voice sounding excited by the discovery, and Shepherd knew very well where this was going.
''A scare won't make him give up, I'm sure. So how about something else?...'' Graves turned away and began to walk round the room, pretending to think of something. Shepherd hated his theatre, but in a way it was fun.
"What's on your mind?...''