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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ballack/Frings, Deco/Giuly, Pirès/Henry, Lehmann/Van Persie.
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: This is absolutely fiction and not real and I don’t know these people at all. Any resemblance to any real-life record company is completely accidental.
Notes: Titled after the song by Jonny Lang.
Summary: The crazed Frenchman effect. Jens doesn’t get it. Andriy does, and wishes he wasn’t stuck with the other insane Frenchman.
***
“You know, these days I don’t even jump when someone knocks on the door,” Michael mused. He stared lazily up through a few wisps of hair that wouldn’t flick out of his eyes. Admittedly he could just push them out of the way with his hand instead of weakly rolling his head around, but that would require work. And today was his off-day. And Torsten liked the bangs.
Torsten had gone a bit stiff on Michael’s chest. When Michael looked down, the other man grunted and turned his head to the side. His hand opened and closed against Michael’s shoulder, then twisted around to flatten its palm against Michael as Torsten sat up. “You really shouldn’t say that sort of thing.”
“Why? All right—” Michael stretched out his arm and knocked on the end-table “—and I know, I know, it’s not like things haven’t still been happening. But not in the studios, or with the computers. It’s all been with the agents and they’ve pretty much kept it out of the office.”
“Lucky you,” Torsten said.
Michael snorted and sat up, reaching for the other man, but he let his hand fall when he saw Torsten’s expression. “What? I thought you said the finances haven’t even been that bad, aside from having to move up Cristiano’s tour.”
“They aren’t.” Not that Torsten sounded very convinced of himself, and he looked even less so as he flopped back onto the mattress. He sighed, then stretched one arm over his head. “No, really, you’re right. Things have been pretty quiet. But that makes me nervous now that you’ve mentioned it. It’s almost like…like a jinx…”
“Oh, come on. And you say I’m too jumpy. This isn’t a movie, and—”
The door banged open. Then banged shut to avoid the thing Michael had reflexively thrown at it. Which had clattered and snapped, and God, he really hoped that that hadn’t been his PDA. But shit, was it a burglar? “Torsten, where’s that cricket bat of yours?”
“I can’t believe you would keep a cricket bat around for self-defense,” Jens said, opening the door again. He swept his gaze over the bed, then looked down at his feet. One eyebrow rose. “Michael, I hope that wasn’t your PDA.”
Torsten had bounced up and off the bed in surprise, and was now trying to scramble to his feet. He paused, half-slung over the edge of the bed, and then dropped back behind the bed with a groan. “Why? Did you send an email?”
“No. This isn’t the sort of thing I want to disclose over email, and your phones were off.” Jens walked into the room, apparently unconcerned about Torsten and Michael’s state of undress. “I have a situation with Giuly and I need to know that the office will be taken care of while I’m dealing with it. Michael, I know it’s your off-day and I apologize, but I need you to help David run the office.”
At least he wasn’t completely naked, Michael thought as he frantically scrunched sheets over his legs. He glanced over at where Torsten had fallen off, then looked back at Jens when he realized the other man had stopped talking. “What? Wait, doesn’t Thierry—”
“I need Thierry.” A faint tinge of amusement came into Jens’ eyes. “No major policy decisions should be coming up, so it’s only making sure that the daily chores get done. You’ve basically been doing that for months without me asking.”
“Oh. Oh, well, I just thought—people weren’t working efficiently, and…” Gradually it penetrated Michael’s brain that Jens was complimenting him. He rubbed at his temple, trying to get over the fact that his boss…wait. “How did you get in here?”
“It’s a company-owned building and he’s got a master key,” Torsten grunted, slowly pushing himself up. While he’d been down on the floor, he’d managed to get on his jeans and also pick up his shirt, though instead of putting that on, he just stared irritably at Jens. “Who’s in the hospital now? Have you called Raúl yet?”
Jens stared back. “Hopefully no one, and I am not calling Raúl for Kahn. If it comes to that, Kahn’s got his own doctor and health benefits plan.”
“Kahn? What the hell is going on?” Torsten snapped. His irritation hadn’t precisely gone away, but he’d definitely lost the blasé tone to it. He stalked around the bed and out the door, throwing on his shirt, while Jens followed at a more sedate pace.
Michael took the chance to wrap the top sheet around himself, since he had no idea where he’d left his trousers. Then he went to go after the other two, only to find himself facing a smugly arched brow. As Michael tried not to punch Van Persie in the face, the other man flicked his fingers at the floor. “Isn’t that your PDA?”
“Oh, for—” At first Michael bent to pick it up, but when he saw how broken it was, he just kicked it aside. It was annoying, but he’d synced it just an hour ago, so it wasn’t like he’d lost too much info. Probably he could even pull that much from the chips later. Once he’d finished running the goddamn office, and good thing Cristiano was out of town. It wasn’t that Michael didn’t think he could handle the job—he already had, and hadn’t fucked it up—but he didn’t count Cristiano as part of that. Not without a much bigger holiday bonus. “Why are you here?”
Van Persie rolled his eyes, then nodded towards Jens’ back. He looked annoyingly pristine compared to the way Michael felt, what with having not showered yet. Perfect as a mag cover, right down to the cufflinks.
Michael blinked. “Why are you wearing a suit?”
Halfway through his second eye-roll, Van Persie abandoned it for a sneer and a sharp pivot on one heel. “For God’s sake, Ballack. Don’t be prissy.”
“He’s not being prissy, he’s being sensible. You usually only wear those when you’re trying to make nice with me, or you’re about to do something stupid,” Jens said. He’d apparently finished his conversation with Torsten, who was even more unhappy than before, and now came back to take Robin by the arm before the other man could walk away. “I’ll be in touch with David at hourly intervals, but if anything comes up, you can call me. If it’s not wrapped up in forty-eight hours, I’ll come back in to give you further instructions. All right?”
“I’m wearing a suit because you made me, you bastard,” Robin mumbled, jerking half-heartedly at his arm.
Shit. This was really bad if Lehmann was taking Robin around on purpose. Forty-eight hours…well, Michael didn’t have anything major on his schedule, and if he remembered right, it was a light week in the studios. Timo and Bastian were both in post-production, Lukas was out of town on family business, Phil didn’t have Cristiano to work on. That left Lionel, but that was more like taking his roommate out for lunch and figuring out what Michael had missed with—Michael looked up just in time to see Jens flex his fingers impatiently on Robin’s arm. “Oh, yeah, I think I’ll be fine. If not, call you. Right. Okay.”
“Thank you,” Jens said. Then he stood there for a moment longer, looking oddly pensive. Maybe he was going to thank Michael again.
Well, they’d never know, since Robin wiggled once too often or something and Jens swung the other man towards the front door, then followed more sedately as Robin just kept himself on his feet. Michael automatically looked away, not wanting to catch those two in a—a moment—and then noticed a piece of his PDA’s casing on the floor. He sighed and stooped to pick it up, and when he stood up again, the front door had slammed and Torsten had his head tipped at nearly forty-five degrees to the left.
“When did I do that?” Torsten asked, pointing to something on Michael’s leg.
The bedsheet had slipped, and Michael could feel the blood rushing into his face as he yanked it back over his thigh. Then he realized how stupid that was, given only Torsten was around, and shook the folds out of his fingers. Goddamn it, he thought he’d gotten rid of all the social awkwardness at this point. “I don’t know…the shower? When you put your knee on the soap?”
“Ah,” Torsten said. He was still looking at Michael’s leg, a satisfied air surrounding him. But then some noise came from the hall and they both startled. Then Torsten sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. He smelled them and wrinkled his nose. “Damn. Micha, you mind if I get the shower first this time?”
“Nah, it’s fine. I think I left my jeans in the kitchen anyway—you want me to start the coffeemaker while I’m there?” Michael began shuffling that way, then paused to grab Torsten’s shoulder as the other man passed him going the other way. He briefly squeezed it, then grinned when he felt something pat his ass. “Where’s my shirt?”
“In the bathroom. I’ll pick it up off the floor for you.” Torsten lazily waved one hand over his shoulder, forestalling Michael’s thanks. He must not have done up his jeans, since they were half-way down his hips…and now they were all the way down as he agilely stepped out of them.
Damn it, Michael regretfully echoed. He gave himself one shake, then another as he reluctantly turned towards the kitchen. His jeans were there, and they looked clean enough so he stuffed them up under his arm.
He was in the middle of measuring fresh grinds into the coffeemaker when a thought sideswiped him and then quickly drove off, before he could do more than freeze in place. Something was weird about this whole situation—weird beyond its inherent weirdness—and now it was going to bother Michael to death till he got exactly what it was. But…the damn coffee wasn’t going to make itself. He swore and dumped the spoonful into the top.
* * *
Andriy put one arm up against the jamb for support while he rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. He was fluent enough in Italian to even think in it, but when he was tired enough—and digging a baggie of cocaine out of a man’s rectum without resorting to surgery would do that—sometimes the Russian got in the way. “What?”
Lilian stared at him through those dark-tinted lenses of his, lips tightly pressed together, as usual. “Where have you been?”
“My job?” Andriy suggested, leaning harder against the doorway. He pulled at his collar, then couldn’t help a grimace as a waft of his odor came up to his nose. He’d been too damn tired to crawl past the couch, and clearly he hadn’t washed himself well enough at the restaurant. “You know?”
“No, I don’t,” Lilian said in clipped tones. He’d been out of town since last week, and actually, Andriy hadn’t thought he’d be back till tomorrow.
Not that Andriy even tried to keep tabs on the man, but that had been the kitchen gossip and the cooks should have some idea, given that one of them was always fired whenever Lilian returned. Of course that wasn’t too much of a concern to Andriy, but they liked to talk and he didn’t mind listening. It was a harmless way to pass the time. “Well, I was at the restaurant, like usual, and I had to work on some of the pups, as usual, and then I came home. As usual.”
The other man continued to stare at Andriy, which was both unusual and unnerving. Normally Lilian betrayed at least a hint of irritation at any derogatory reference to his men, and on top of that, he generally acted as if merely looking directly at Andriy was too much of a disappointment for him. But here he was, a day early, staring. Suit slightly wrinkled, as if he hadn’t even changed after getting off the plane and that was very unlike him as well.
“You can ask the man in the front lobby, and then the people at Monaco,” Andriy finally added. He pushed himself off the doorway and slightly back into the room before dropping his arms, getting them out of the way if he needed to kick the door shut.
Andriy knew very well everyone thought of him as a careless lightweight, and he was perfectly happy for them to have that impression. At one point in his life he’d had the unfortunate experience of being thought otherwise, and while he didn’t underestimate his weaknesses, he did think he’d learned better than to try that again. But even older, maybe smarter, certainly warier, one couldn’t rid oneself of some habits, and once upon a time Andriy had been the kind who couldn’t leave a mystery unsolved.
Medicine, he thought sourly. He should’ve been a lawyer—his mother would’ve been unhappy either way, but maybe he’d still be able to look her in the eye. “If you’re going to doubt me, then you might as well come in and not scare the neighbors.”
Lilian finally blinked. Then he slowly put one hand up to his face, as if he had forgotten Andriy was there while staring at him. He blinked again, then squeezed his eyes slowly shut and open. “Andriy,” he said quietly. “I can’t get to Ludo.”
“What?” Andriy repeated. Then he put up his hand, and gave his head a hard shake. When the world stopped spinning, he still had Lilian in his doorway, and the man had just called him by his Christian name. “Wait. Giuly? I don’t know where he is. I never know—”
“I know you don’t. But no one else knows yet, and no one can,” Lilian said. His voice hardened considerably, but at the same time he took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “He gave me a strange call, no one else, and he’s been out of reach since.”
Andriy had never actually seen Lilian with his glasses off. They were such little, pretentious things, those dark lenses, but it was such a transformation nonetheless. From precisely icy to…to a tired man, and suddenly Andriy had to laugh. Even though it made Lilian look sharply at him, and he knew damn well the other man would never forget it—laughing was Andriy’s fucking reaction to the truth. “You know I’m not this kind of doctor, don’t you?”
“I didn’t come here for—”
“I know,” Andriy snorted. The humor went as quickly as it’d come, and as Andriy stepped back into the room, another old reflex made him hunch his shoulders against a chill that trembled across them. “Come in already and do whatever you are going to do. You know where everything is. I’m going to use the bathroom, and then I’m going back to bed.”
He heard Lilian’s footsteps follow him, then pause. The door shut, and Lilian walked towards the left as Andriy kept on walking. As he went into the bedroom, he heard a plastic click as Lilian picked up his phone off its cradle.
* * *
“I don’t—” Thierry’s head disappeared again amidst furious rustling “—not a good idea, Bobby.”
The light turned green and Robert coughed into his hand to give the other man some notice, then pressed down the accelerator as gently as he could. At first the car inched gently forward, but suddenly the tires caught on some crack, throwing them sharply forward. Robert had to jam his arm across the wheel to keep from smacking his chin on the rim.
Wincing, he pushed himself up and then started to glance into the backseat, but had to abandon that when an SUV driving with its headlights off loomed up out of nowhere. He suppressed a few choice words as he stepped on the brake and let it cut into their lane, then tried to make out Thierry in the rearview mirror. “Are you all right? I’m sorry, there was a—”
Like something out of a horror movie, a hand suddenly lunged over the top of Robert’s seat, seizing its “shoulder.” Then it disappeared and Thierry’s large, round eyes shone in the reflected light from the street-lamps. For some reason Robert thought of the nature special on seals they’d had on during dinner two nights ago. “No, I’m fine, I’ve just lost my shoe. Did it slide up to you? No, stupid question—don’t look down, I’ll just…”
Thierry disappeared again and Robert belatedly returned his attention to the road. “Titi? I do understand that this is an emergency, but I really think we could’ve taken five minutes for you to dress—Titi, that’s my foot.”
“Sorry,” drifted up from the floor. The hand removed itself from Robert’s heel, then batted at Robert’s other foot before withdrawing amid a flurry of thumps and curses. A few moments later, Thierry slung his arm over Robert’s seat and pulled himself up, irritably rubbing at his head. “No, I know you know, but you don’t really…listen, I don’t even know where Jens is right now. And he didn’t want to discuss what he was going to do over the phone, and Robin’s worried and Freddie’s in Portugal and he took the most efficient assistant in the office with him—”
“I thought that was Cesc?” Robert asked, deftly inserting the question into the slight raggedness of Thierry running short on breath.
Thankfully, Thierry couldn’t change subjects without taking a proper breath, and in the process, seemed to discover he wasn’t quite so rattled as he was making out. At least, he was speaking at a rate that someone besides a teenager would find reasonable. “Oh. Well, I suppose actually, it’d be a bit like comparing apples and oranges, but anyway, I can’t call Cesc. He’s dropped a few hints that he’s having family issues, or that Raúl is having them, and I don’t think it’s wise to expose him to the, ah, seedier side of the business for a while. Besides, I need him to be my assistant. If I call him, God knows when Jens will let him go.”
“And there’s really no replacement for Freddie if he flies back from Portugal, I take it.” Robert felt something flap at his shoulder, but ignored it as he was in the middle of a turn. Once he’d completed that, he looked back and found Thierry just tightening his tie-knot. “A little left.”
Thierry glanced to the rearview mirror, then followed Robert’s advice. He smoothed the tie down his front, then yanked at something below Robert’s view. “No. I think Robin said they were going to Frings’ flat, so Jens is giving Ballack the office for now. So that only leaves Ruud, and for obvious reasons we’re not sending him to Portugal.”
“Are you at least telling Freddie? I don’t know if he’d be too happy about being kept out of the loop,” Robert said.
“Bobby, if I tell him, he’ll get on the first plane back,” Thierry snapped, brows arching in disbelief. He adjusted his collar, frowning. “After killing Larsson for getting in the way, and Larsson makes him calmer so that would be a shame.”
Robert was silent. He hadn’t been told anything either and was mainly reacting to Thierry’s reactions, and he wasn’t particularly pleased about having to work in the dark. But by now he knew he’d be told whenever people stopped running around or Lehmann decided it was useful, and at least he was at ground zero. He could make some judgments based on how frantic Thierry was. And he was also a little more insulated from the situation, since he worked with instead of for Lehmann and consequently he didn’t have nearly as much on the line as Ljungberg or Thierry.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t…I don’t even know what’s going on,” Thierry suddenly said, reading Robert’s thoughts. The other man slumped against Robert’s head-rest, curling one arm over his head so his face was mostly hidden. “I’d explain better but honestly, I can’t make sense of anything till I find Jens or Robin.”
“Jens tells Robin his plans now?”
Thierry lowered his arm so the rearview mirror showed him blinking in confusion. Then he pinpointed his error and laughed quietly at himself. He put his arms down, just clinging to Robert’s seat with his fingertips. “Oh, well, you know Jens. So not really. But I think he does tell Robin a good bit these days, and also Robin’s rather good at guessing at the parts Jens leaves out. You know, I’d never really thought much about it, but I should—” his face darkened again, and he pushed himself into the back “—never mind, I can’t really have lunch with the man till I find him. And tell him first to stop doing this to me.”
FC’s towers loomed up as they rounded the last bend, then disappeared behind the hulking parking structure. “We’re here,” Robert said, in case Thierry had lost a shoe again.
The other man pulled himself forward, then nodded and vanished into the backseat again, knocking about the floor while Robert swiped his ID card and pulled through the security gate. At this time of night, they had their pick of spots and Robert decided the extra minute was worth driving right up to the elevators.
“Wait,” Thierry said as Robert started to get out. “You don’t have to come in yet, I don’t think. I don’t even know…”
“I know, but I’d be up anyway, and I might as well get some of my workaday items cleared off in preparation.” Robert shivered at the cold air, then took a moment to zip up his jacket. He’d not grabbed a suit to take with him and so he was only in track-pants and a t-shirt. When he caught Thierry glancing him over, he grinned a bit and reached past the other man to close both car doors. “Oh, I’ve got a spare suit in my office closet. Unlike you.”
“I do have one. I’ve just not replaced it because I needed it…” Thierry’s defensive tone trailed off as he watched Robert lock the car. His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. It wasn’t so cold that his suit shouldn’t have been enough protection, but his shoulders hunched, and then he put his arms up around himself. “Robert. You don’t…I would tell you if I could. I will tell you—”
The other man’s voice was rising, a sign of another nervous ramble coming. But instead of wincing, Robert took Thierry by the arms and pulled him in for a short kiss. More of a reassurance with the mouth than anything else; their lips were cold and Thierry’s lower one was chapping a bit, probably because he’d been chewing at it again. Still, Thierry shivered even harder, and then dragged his shoulders down with a jolt as he breathed in deeply.
“Try to call me before something important happens,” Robert said. He rubbed his right hand up and down Thierry’s bicep, then touched the man’s cheek before stepping back.
Thierry smiled, the relief shining from his eyes as bright as his teeth. “Bobby.”
“I really shouldn’t have to tell you my loyalty is always to my client, whatever the situation.” Robert smiled himself, glancing down at the keys in his hand. He put those in his pocket, then raked one hand through his hair as he turned towards the elevators. “Titi, I love you but stop worrying about me and go find your damnable boss. You know you’ll feel better.”
“I know,” Thierry admitted. He paused, then leaned awkwardly forward. At the same time he took a strong step towards the elevator.
The combination made it no more than the brush of lips just a moment before, but Robert felt a bit better about the line of Thierry’s back, the set of the man’s shoulders. He let the other man go ahead, just to make sure, and then followed in time to catch the same elevator.
* * *
Rubbing at a fresh razor-scrape on his cheek, Andriy wandered out into his living room to find Lilian hadn’t done anything to it save to take up part of his sofa. His phone was even back in its cradle, with the other man preferring his own mobile to Andriy’s ground line that he’d probably personally tapped.
When Lilian glanced up, the hand he had on his knee tightened and pulled up his trouser-leg to show his sock. Then the fingers released the cloth and it fell in a slightly more wrinkled line back down his shin. He looked away, not having slowed a beat in his conversation.
It was in French, of course, and too rapidfire guttural for Andriy to make any sense of it even if he’d wanted to. He went on into the kitchen and opened his fridge, hoping he’d stopped over at the market even though he didn’t remember doing any such thing in the past week.
Fortunately, it didn’t appear that he’d been home for meals much either, and he found enough to throw together something edible. It wasn’t anything nearly as fancy as even the leftovers at Monaco, and for a moment Andriy actually felt disappointment at himself. Then he rolled his eyes, since he’d trained himself to live on much worse, and concentrated on getting the meat done without burning it.
“Why aren’t you worried about losing your employer?” came a harsh demand from the doorway. “The way you left Russia, you’d be very much for the worse if you lost Ludo’s protection.”
Startled, Andriy dropped the panhandle. Then he cursed and grabbed for it, just preventing the whole production from being wasted on his floor, which he knew for sure he hadn’t cleaned in several weeks. “Goddamn it, could you let me eat first?”
“How can you?” Lilian asked. He gestured futilely with his mobile, his voice growing surprisingly raw. “How can you stand there, and…”
“Because I am a human being, and we get hungry even when we’re in mortal danger, all right?” Andriy steadied the pan on the stove, then jiggled it as he noticed that the meat was beginning to stick to the bottom of the pan. He shifted the pan to his other hand so he could get a spatula off the counter. “For God’s sake, you’re a gangster. Don’t you fucking know how to deal with emergencies by now? Why the hell are you panicking?”
Lilian’s eyes narrowed and for a moment, Andriy thought the man was back to his usual self. But then Lilian grunted under his breath, choosing to tip his shoulder against the doorway instead of stalking back into the next room. He looked away, then back at Andriy, drumming his mobile against his thigh. “Ludo’s not a gangster.”
“Pardon? I thought we were past pretending. I am old enough for vodka.”
“This is not the time to be snide,” Lilian snarled. He even jerked forward, coming as close as Andriy had ever seen him to losing his temper, before falling back. He lifted his hands and looked at them as if he’d never really seen them before, then bit off his sigh. “Listen. Ludo isn’t. He plays the role of a gangland boss because that is the only way he can have the power to do what he needs to do, but his heart has never been in it. He’s never…no, that’s incorrect. He does care about the crime, the hits, the money, but in the same way you would care about finishing a crossword you’d started.”
It was on the tip of Andriy’s tongue to inform the man that he disliked crosswords, but something besides consideration—which he doubted he had these days—held him back. Perhaps it was the fact that Lilian hadn’t put his glasses back on, and without them, the weary pinched wrinkle between his brows showed prominently.
“They’re means to an end. And the end is benevolence, of a sort.” After a moment, Lilian pressed his hand over the side of his face and onto the back of his head. He cupped his skull, staring at the far wall, then swung his arm sharply down so his hand smacked the jamb. He didn’t seem to notice. “He’s a romantic. He can’t resist trying his hand at turning around a lost cause—and he’s quite good at it. You may not consider gangland to have any redeeming attributes, and there is something to that, but there is also something to taking lives not even the street would tolerate and…and making them believe they have value. To someone.”
“I’m their doctor,” Andriy finally said. He gave the pan’s contents a last toss, then turned off the heat and flipped out the food onto a waiting plate. Then he looked up, but Lilian either had suppressed any temper flare-up or hadn’t had one. “I know how much I get paid by him to put them back together. Oh, shut up. I’m listening. But he didn’t save me, so don’t think I give a shit the way you do.”
At first it seemed like Lilian was going to continue anyway, but in the end he buttoned up his lip over the reprimand he was dying to give and just looked at Andriy, solemn and knowing and so damn condescending. He didn’t know half of what he thought he did—maybe not even that much, given the bullshit he’d just given Andriy, like it was made of the purest gold. And here Andriy had thought at least Lilian wasn’t crazy.
“Did anyone ever try with you?” Lilian abruptly asked.
The pan in Andriy’s hand to Lilian’s skull—Andriy squeezed his eyes shut against the flash of rage, knowing he was too tired these days to go past what he knew. He took a deep breath, and then put the pan down before he opened his eyes.
He’d missed the sink by a few centimeters. Andriy moved over the pan, then stepped back from the sink, swinging his hands behind his head. He clasped them over the back of his neck, then pulled down on his arms. “Look, you ever wonder why he runs his business from a restaurant? Why so many damn gangsters do—the smart ones, anyway. It’s because you need to eat. You can’t do anything if you can’t eat. People get too cocky, they think they can and then they get into heroin and alcohol and sex, and then they die. They starve to death. So have dinner.”
With that, Andriy took his arms down and pushed the plate across the counter towards Lilian, who snapped his eyes to it and then didn’t move. The steam rose off the food, smelling tempting and good, and the man just stared at it.
“I can cook,” Andriy said. He half-turned to reach into a cabinet, where he got himself another plate. Then he glanced at the statue in his kitchen. The urge to throw something at Lilian rose, crested and collapsed into a bitter, familiar feeling of resignation. “You gave me a cup of coffee one time. That’s about it. Everyone else, it wasn’t about saving me. It was about wanting to save whatever they thought I should be.”
Now Lilian raised his head. He looked hard at Andriy, because he didn’t remember. A cup of coffee to him was a cup of coffee.
Eventually he tired of trying to remember, and began to open and shut drawers. When Andriy gave him a fork, the man muttered half a thanks, but waited for Andriy to serve himself first. Then Lilian stuck the fork in a chunk of meat, raised it towards him and abruptly put it down to look at Andriy again. He remembered.
“You weren’t a junkie or a whore. You’ve never let me treat you so I don’t know what your arms look like but I don’t see that,” Andriy couldn’t help observing.
The corner of Lilian’s mouth curled, but too little to say whether it was a smile or a frown. Then he bowed his head, and took up a bite with almost violent quickness, a far cry from his usual elegance. “You’re surprising and then you lack imagination.”
“I don’t want imagination.” The vehemence of Andriy’s tone startled him; he thought that part of him had ossified by now, if not completely disappeared. He needed a moment to swallow. “I don’t want to know. I know enough. Who wants to know everything?”
“Philosophers. The angry and the forsaken.” Lilian shrugged. He ate his second bite more slowly, but with a little more relish. “Thank you for dinner.”
Andriy flinched. Then he put down his fork, his appetite suddenly gone. He leaned his hip against the counter and pressed at the side of his face, wondering just why life was so stubborn and hard. Even when he didn’t try, he—he shook off his hand, then snorted. “You know, if you want my opinion, it’s that old lover of his.”
Lilian frowned.
“Yes, that little. Or that much. I don’t know, I never thought anything of Deco, even when he was trying to use me to spy on you all, but Giuly seemed upset about him,” Andriy said carelessly, giving up a final time. He picked up his fork to poke at the food on his plate.
“He told me he was letting Deco go,” Lilian slowly replied. “And Deco isn’t even in the country. We tracked him that far before Ludo said to stop…unless you’re suggesting…”
“Oh, no, no. I believed that, too. And I believed him when he told everyone that Deco didn’t want to be associated with them anymore. But just because you allow someone to leave you doesn’t mean you let them go.” All that ranting before about Giuly, and Lilian couldn’t understand. People honestly boggled Andriy so much of the time. “I know you think he’s God and all, but Giuly’s crazy.”
“I never said he wasn’t.”
“Well, then stop thinking he’d give up on someone he thought well enough of to let go,” Andriy sighed. “That’d be sensible.”
Lilian stared at him again. The man’s lips parted, then pressed tightly shut as Lilian pivoted slightly left, then twisted back. His hand clenched around the fork, and then he looked down at the plate. After a moment, he picked it up, and reached under it to shove Andriy’s plate at Andriy. “Eat.”
“Don’t be a fucking bastard,” Andriy snapped. “I’m trying to be nice, so—”
“I’m not trying to be nice.” In one step Lilian had crossed the intervening space and was crowding Andriy against the corner, all hesitation shaken off his tall, intimidating frame. The mere tilt of his head made it clear how he would take a second refusal. “Eat. Then we’re leaving.”
Andriy had seen that coming, but even so, he couldn’t help the bitter sting in his tongue. He didn’t even bother to ask about the ‘we,’ but just took up his plate. As Lilian took his glasses from a pocket and unfolded their armpieces, Andriy made himself choke down his food.
* * *
“Nah, I just woke up with the answer to this problem that’s been bugging me in my head, and wanted to—Thierry!”
“Michael!”
“Thierry?” Lionel blinked, looking at yet another odd late-comer. As far as he knew, he and the janitorial staff were supposed to be the only ones around at this hour. It was the weekend, and after a slow week. “What’s going on?”
Thierry and Michael didn’t seem to hear him, what with the intense staring and brow-wriggling and frowning they were doing at each other. And Michael had hickies on his neck, and Thierry’s suit wasn’t the same one he’d worn when he’d left work. Something was up.
Something was up, and Lionel’s first reaction was to curse because it’d been slow at work but a total mess at home, and he’d been counting on work to keep his mind off it, but not in an omigodwe’reallgoingdown kind of way. And for God’s sake, what was Michael doing with time to mess around when he wasn’t even home enough to notice Lionel and Ronnie had finally, actually broken up?
Lionel winced, hurriedly pushing that out of his mind. It’d had to be done and eventually he’d be glad he did it instead of letting it drag out, but right now he just didn’t want to deal. “Micha?”
“Oh. Oh…sorry, I got lost in—”
“Thierry? Listen. I can tell something is going on but I just…really…can I just go back to my studio and shut the door?” Lionel asked.
“Listen, Leo, I don’t…oh.” Thierry blinked, then slouched back with a quick, relieved smile as his hearing caught up with his public-relations reflexes. “Oh. Oh, of course. I’m sorry we bothered you.”
Michael looked sharply at Thierry, then started to say something but changed his mind, so he had to cough awkwardly. He rubbed at his mouth before gesturing for Thierry to wait a moment, and then he went after Lionel, who’d been trying to sneak off. “Er. Leo.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ll find out from Cesc if it’s really important,” Lionel said, trying to wave off the other man.
Weird hunched-shoulder grunt from Thierry, who promptly pretended to admire the freaky deconstructed pizza boxes that were this month’s featured art gallery. After a long look over his shoulder, Michael gave himself a shake and turned back to Lionel just in time to stick out an arm, keeping Lionel from running off. “Wait, wait—Leo, I think I’m going to be really busy for a while, so I just wanted to ask if everything was okay.”
“Okay? Everything’s okay. Why would everything not be okay?”
“You’re imitating Cesc,” Michael said after a moment, squinting disbelievingly at Lionel. “Not very well, either.”
“Well, it’s not…” Lionel exhaled and pushed both hands through his hair, then dragged bunches of it down into his eyes. For a moment he wondered if he could make his studio door, if he just sprinted—no, Michael was way too good at intercepting panicky people these days. Probably why he was the one showing up with Thierry. “Look, I broke up with Ronnie.”
At some point Lionel really needed a haircut, but right now it was probably a good thing all his hair kept him from seeing Michael’s face. “But…I thought you couldn’t track him down?”
“Well, I did and I broke up with him, and I don’t really want to talk about it right now. Okay? I’m gonna go do my stuff now,” Lionel snapped. He yanked his hands out of his hair, then started to turn. Then he realized he didn’t remember which way to go, and couldn’t see, so he irritably shoved his bangs out of his face. And in the process saw Michael’s chagrined face, and felt bad since the man had been a good roommate up till recently, and even then Lionel couldn’t really blame Michael for taking advantage of the once in a blue moon time he and Torsten’s schedules were in sync. “I…I just don’t want to talk about it, Micha. But I’m fine. Really. Just…just don’t punch anyone.”
Michael snorted, then threw an embarrassed glance off to the side as he rumpled at his hair. “Oh, I’m going to try really, really hard not to. But look, I’m sorry I didn’t…when’s the last time we got lunch?”
He was trying, but…yeah, he really hadn’t been around, and he couldn’t change that short of going back in time. Still, it helped to know that not everyone had been oblivious to Lionel’s problems, even if they hadn’t had time. “Micha. Seriously. I just need to work, and you need to go…go stop whatever it is that’s making Thierry so twitchy.”
The other man blinked, then looked over his shoulder just as Thierry started jiggling two cell-phones in one hand. Grimacing, Michael pulled at the back of his neck. “Okay, but—”
“I’ve broken up with people before, you know,” Lionel sighed. He took a step back and Michael didn’t come after him, though the other man looked quickly his way. Lionel took another step, then stopped and sighed again. “It’s okay. Really. I’ll be okay—I know I will. But it just…not now. Now I just kind of want to work and forget about it, and Micha, I can’t do that if we’re melting down. We’re not, right?”
“No,” Michael said sharply. Then he lifted his hand and shifted back, as if he was going to recall his words. He didn’t—instead he set his shoulders more firmly, and spoke slower but with more certainty. “No, I don’t think so. But listen, if you’re still around when I get done, I’ll come and give you a ride home. That way you aren’t sleeping on my desk.”
“I only did that twice—” Lionel had already seen in Michael’s eyes that he was fighting a losing war “—all right, all right.”
For some reason Lionel’s giving in seemed to make Michael relax, and it lasted even as he went back to Thierry and began discussing whatever it was with him. He had his head up and was walking confidently along, and he really did look like he was going to take care of things.
Good, because Lionel had been serious: he really could not deal with losing his work right now just because somebody fucked somebody that they weren’t supposed to, or whatever it was this time. His issues aside, he had some great stuff in the pipeline and was on a good groove, and he wanted to keep that rolling, at least. It was proof that something in his life was working out.
Possibly the only thing, he thought when he turned the corner. Lionel jumped back in surprise, then glanced around for a way out before he could stop himself. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and slapped his hand against his forehead.
“Leo?”
This was stupid. This was stupid and embarrassing. This was stupid and embarrassing and cowardly—Lionel made himself put down his hand and open his eyes. “Hi, Rafa.”
Màrquez looked…not angry. Not that surprised either, though that might’ve been because Lionel had taken so long to look up.
“Oh, I forgot. You work here—you told me,” Màrquez said, gazing around.
Or that, too. God, this wasn’t Lionel’s day. “Um, yeah. I…um, sorry. I just need to go this way…to my studio…”
Lionel awkwardly pointed, then sidestepped right against the wall, even though there was plenty of space in the hall for him to pass the other man. He pulled at his hair again.
“You look well.” Then Màrquez cleared his throat for no reason. He put his hands behind his back, oddly formal. “I…it’s nice to see you, Leo.”
“Thanks.” Which was a weird thing to say, but Lionel couldn’t think of anything better just then, and he had been brought up to thank people for their compliments. If that was a compliment. Oh, why the hell did he even bother with dating? “I—er, heard you’re working here now. I hope it’s—it’s nice.”
“It’s been interesting so far, and I like learning new things,” Màrquez said a little more firmly. He glanced down, then back at Lionel. “Well, good evening. Good luck with your work.”
“Oh. Oh, thanks,” Lionel replied. He blinked a few times while Màrquez hesitantly edged off, then turned around himself. After a step, he looked over his shoulder, but the other man was already walking away.
First Lionel called himself fifty different kinds of stupid for how he’d handled that, hurrying the rest of the way to his studio where he could shut the door and have his face burn in peace. Then he threw on his headphones, and started adjusting mixes, and eventually he calmed down. That hadn’t been too bad, actually. He’d survived. It was a start.
* * *
Andriy drained the rest of his coffee and hastily refilled his cup, only to have half of it slop over his hand when Lilian snagged him by the arm on the way out of the door. Cursing, Andriy switched his mug to his other hand and shook his tingling, maybe half-burned one till Lilian whipped a handkerchief at him.
It was good linen, and a little bit of a shame to stain it. The coffee was also good, best Andriy was probably going to get tonight, and when he saw that they were heading downstairs towards the front, he drank off what he still had as quickly as he could. “I thought you said telling everyone wasn’t a good idea.”
“It may have been in other circumstances, but right now I think they all deserve to know. They feel like I do about Ludo, and it will be easier to do what needs to be done with more eyes and ears and hands,” Lilian told him. The crisp, commanding voice had returned, as had the habit of looking faintly disgusted by Andriy.
“Sorry, but you gave it to me,” Andriy said, handing back the wet handkerchief.
Lilian dropped it onto a table that they passed, then took Andriy’s mug from him and left it on the next table. Then they were outside, a chilly gust of wind freezing the feeling from Andriy’s face. The breeze blew up in the wake of a big, beautiful black car that someone had just driven up, the kind of car in which one might drive from a meeting with the devil.
One of the young Frenchmen levered himself out of the driver’s side and came around to open the passenger door. Then he made as if to go back, but was stopped by Lilian, who took the keys from him. Upon the young man’s protest, Lilian turned a hard shoulder to it and pushed Andriy towards the passenger seat.
Andriy wasn’t any more willing, but neither was he interested in a stand simply for the sake of principles, or for faking what he didn’t have. He had seen this scene enough times—had orchestrated it once—and he knew what they were risking, and it wasn’t fear that made him reluctant so he wasn’t going to plead that. Even if that might have been the only thing that might have gotten through to Lilian; the man had odd glimpses of honor alongside his practical streak, and both would have argued against taking along someone whose mind wasn’t in it.
Heart, on the other hand…Andriy flopped into the passenger seat. He idly looked about, noting as a matter of reflex the fine leather tooling. Another gust of wind made him shiver and the door rock, and after a glance at the arguing Frenchmen, he reached out and pulled that shut. Then he pushed his coffee-stained cuff up to his face, but it’d already been stripped of any residual heat, and in fact felt even chillier than the air.
He was putting his arm down when the driver’s door opened and Lilian got in. The other man started the engine and pulled the car out into the lot, narrowly missing the unhappy young man who’d refused to move a decent distance away.
“I’m just a doctor,” Andriy sighed.
“Don’t tell me your ethical code would prevent you from providing whatever treatment is needed. I cannot believe that you would have qualms about thwarting the wishes of a suicide.” Lilian spoke just as harshly as he had inside, informing the others in cold precise words exactly what was happening and what was required of them, without any tolerance of any silliness or any reaction, really. For someone who’d once accused Andriy of not caring, Lilian could do a much better job of disregarding others.
Andriy glanced over, then swallowed a hiss and shoved his hand into the seatbelt hanging to his left as they nearly ran over a corner. The belt began to slip and he wrapped a couple rounds about his fingers before finally pulling it over his lap and buckling it. “I don’t have my stomach pump with me, and I am a doctor but I am not a brain surgeon.”
“I doubt that you will need either.” A bank of streetlights flashed their light in diagonal stripes over Lilian’s face before he turned his head, looking out his window. “Being French does not mean that we are all prone to cocktails of absinthe and tranquilizers. And Ludo would have better uses for a bullet than his own head.”
“Was that a joke? This is what it takes for you to have a sense of humor? I think there’s something more wrong with that than there is with me,” Andriy snorted.
Then he looked over, and saw that Lilian had turned his head forward again. The man’s lips were pressed flat and his eyes were narrowed so the light, what little there was, didn’t reach them. Ebony would have been envious of the rigidity his face had.
“I really…” Sighing, Andriy pushed himself back in his seat and draped his arm over the windowsill. He watched the buildings pass them for a few moments, then exhaled irritably and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I had one good thought. Doesn’t mean I’ll have more.”
“Andriy, you do not know how to lie,” Lilian said. Each word was as hard and razor-edged as a perfectly-cut gem, but Lilian’s fingers rippled on the wheel as he spoke. He suddenly jerked his head to the side, making the bones in his neck crack loudly, then just as suddenly returned to his former erect posture. “Ludo isn’t balanced, but he does want to do right by what he considers his lights. Even when he’s trying to leave. He does not want what he has done to fall apart, and so he left me in charge. That was why I was the only one he called.”
The other man was using the exact same tone that he used to break down exactly why someone was about to be fired, or thrown into a car trunk, or otherwise dismissed from Lilian’s attention. It seemed inappropriate, given that they’d just come onto the freeway and Andriy could hardly leave the car. “Well, you don’t have to lie when no one listens to you.”
Lilian glanced over, then looked out the windshield again. The car sped up.
“So you’re in charge. Great.” Andriy twisted about till he could lean his forehead against the window. “Great. Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be good.”
“I don’t intend to stay in charge for very long. I did not want this, and I am only accepting it on the condition that it will help greatly in bringing Ludo back to his—his senses.” The corner of Lilian’s mouth jerked. Then he rubbed at his lips, pushing his fingertips deep into his flesh. “You still annoy me. I think I understand you better, but you are…frustrating.”
“Am I?” Andriy asked absently.
They were going so fast that the wheels’ whining was beginning to penetrate the car’s interior. The freeway was mostly empty, so Lilian was free to hurl them on into the darkness without consideration of anything else.
“Thank you,” Lilian said.
Andriy frowned, not understanding that. He shifted in his seat again, then started to ask Lilian what he’d meant and just as quickly abandoned that for staring at the window again. Not outside—he couldn’t see a thing, between their speed and the night—but at Lilian’s dim reflection in the glass. Ramrod straight, features steel-cut but then blending confusingly with the dark.
“I just want some sleep at night, that’s all. That’s all you need to know,” Andriy mumbled to himself, and closed his eyes.
* * *
Jens stopped mid-stride and looked down at his empty hand. Then he turned around to find Robin’s chin jutting a challenge out at him. He sighed, then lunged, but for once Robin was focused and dodged—though not quick enough to keep his laptop cord out of Jens’ reach.
The moment Jens’ fingers closed on it, Robin froze. Then he snarled and slapped down the top of his computer, stepping up all stiff and grudging. “For fuck’s sake, if you pull that then I really don’t know why you bothered to drag me out here with you. I can’t run this off the battery.”
“Then keep up,” Jens suggested. He held onto the cord but didn’t take up the slack. “If you didn’t—”
“Then just fucking send me home already. I don’t know—” Robin jerked his head aside, cutting himself off. Then he put his hand over his forehead, his fingers curling up over his hair. They dug down into his scalp, flexing so hard that Jens began to reach for them, then slid sideways as Robin turned to stare at the wall. “Jens. I’m not a fucking…I know, all right? I know how this works now, I know what you don’t want me to do, I know not to be that fucking stupid. You don’t have to handcuff me to a goddamn pole.”
Jens released the power cord and stepped back, looking over the other man. He pursed his lips, then grimaced as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He put his hand down, then looked up; when he saw Robin hadn’t noticed the call, he slipped his hand into his pocket and maneuvered the phone open. “You’re not handcuffed to anything, though you’re tempting me.”
“Oh, for…you bastard,” Robin muttered. He looked up almost disbelievingly at the ceiling, a smile straining back his lips, before abruptly kicking at the floor. “You know what I mean.”
“And if you do know what’s going on, then you know this is very—”
“I know we both could do a lot more if you weren’t hanging around trying to keep tabs on me, like I’m going to…I don’t know, go to Kahn’s house and kill him before Giuly gets there. Jens, I’m not that stupid!” Robin twisted about to stare at Jens with wide eyes that mixed pleading and forcefulness. He started to gesture as well, but nearly dropped his computer; he steadied that without looking away from Jens. “I can’t do what you want me to do nearly as fast here. I could if I was home, but you can’t go home because you have to talk to Kahn. But you can’t do that with me tagging around, and do you see how fucking stupid this is? Can you just, I don’t know, believe that I’ll be okay by myself?”
“I do,” Jens said after a long moment.
The other man snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. And the suit when I don’t even need to be seen—you’d be better off with me not seen—and taking me to Ballack’s with you when—”
“Robin.” His voice sounded a little curt, since he’d said that on the tail-end of a breath. So Jens finished the exhale and then inhaled for proper support for his words, and then…he looked at Robin.
Robin looked back. He was trying to calm himself, and for him he was doing a reasonable job of it. His breathing had gone ragged but he’d smoothed it, and he might have been standing as stiff as iron but he wasn’t fidgeting. Even the long fingers he had folded over his laptop were still.
They twitched a little when Jens touched one. Then jerked and spasmed a little, indecisive about loosening when Jens tried to pull them up. Eventually the hand came and then Robin cursed as the laptop wobbled, throwing himself forward to trap it between himself and Jens. His eyes followed it when Jens grabbed it and moved it to the side, then went up to question Jens.
“Robin. I know you looked into what happened the last time I dealt with Giuly, even before I told you,” Jens said. He dropped his eyes from Robin’s face to the man’s fingers, watching them curl uncertainly over the side of his own index finger. “Did it slip your mind already?”
“No.” Robin arched his brows, going for ironic, but merely ended up highlighting the shiver that went through him. “I don’t forget anything about you. Seeing I don’t get much of that anyway, it’s pretty stupid to.”
“Well, you don’t think about it much, it seems.” Jens couldn’t help a brief smile when Robin compressed his lips. “Robin, last time Giuly went out of his way to take away the…I wasn’t in love with Christoph but I was attached to him. I prefer not to see that bit of history repeat itself.”
This time, Robin looked a little more genuinely bemused. “Jens. I help you with your dirty work. I’m not about to get disgusted by it and leave.”
“No, you’re merely going to be stupid, despite your protests to the contrary,” Jens snapped. Then he grimaced. He tightened his grip on Robin’s hand to cut off Robin’s response. “Simple words, then—Giuly chooses his methods according to the situation. With Christoph, it was disillusionment. With you…I’m not allowing it to get to that point. I refuse.”
“You almost sound frightened of Giuly,” Robin said, tone needling.
Jens was silent for a moment. He took another breath, and then smiled at Robin. “I am frightened of him right now, and you’d be an idiot if you weren’t. It is not stupid to appreciate how far a man may go, and…you do mean that much to me. He wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t if I was him.”
Robin ducked his head almost in the moment that comprehension came into his eyes. He jerked it back up a second later, but then looked away, and then down, between them. His hand squeezed brutally tight around Jens’, then loosened as he let out an odd, raspy sort of exhale. That was followed by a chuckle; Robin’s shoulders jerked before he abruptly threw his head back, staring defiantly at Jens. “Jesus. God…do you always have to fucking do it like this? Can’t you—for once can’t you just…I don’t know, tell me over breakfast?”
“Robin, if I told you over breakfast, you wouldn’t hear me. At that time of day you tune out everything that doesn’t have to do with computers, sex or what gets between us and sex,” Jens snorted.
“I do—do not. Shit.” Suddenly Robin was gasping, and then laughing, and then doing both. He shook his head, then sucked in air through his nose, which sounded stuffed even though Raúl had seen him only a few days ago and pronounced him in perfect health. His hand clenched around Jens’ fingers again, and then he leaned forward to press his face into Jens’ shoulder. “Shit. You fucking bastard. I love you, you…you goddamn motherfucking headcase. Shit. Shit…” he dragged back his head just as Jens was about to speak “…no. No, look—you wouldn’t think that much of somebody who couldn’t outthink some crazed Frenchman. I know, I know, Giuly’s great and whatever but I’m fucking good too. I am, or you wouldn’t…so listen to your own opinion, would you? Even if you won’t listen to me.”
Jens needed a second to understand what Robin was saying, first because the man’s voice had suddenly turned so broken and second because of the one-eighty in topics. “I’m not saying you’re incompetent. But right now I don’t even know where Giuly is, or what he’s even thinking right now, aside from wanting to get at me, and—”
“And you can’t know about that and know where I am, too. Jens, you have to—Jens, I’m—” Robin shoved, then twisted hard and quick to free himself from Jens’ grip. He stepped back out of Jens’ reach, though at the same time he kept leaning forward. “Listen. I’m going straight back home. I’ll get the information, and stay there. You can send Thierry or somebody over if you want, but you have to let me go do that, damn it. It’s not going to kill me. Giuly’s not going to kill me. You are—you are so not fucking getting rid of me like that, all right?”
“I know,” Jens said. He pressed his lips together, till it hurt, and then let them part in a sigh. “I haven’t lost my brain, Robin. And I’m not sending Thierry. You heard me on the phone with him—I need him elsewhere.”
That staggered Robin for a moment. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he flipped up his laptop, and in a flurry of motion got it shut down and the power cord wrapped around it. Once it was safely in his bag, he half-turned and then pivoted sharply back to grab desperately at Jens’ arm, although Jens hadn’t moved at all.
“Listen,” Robin said. His mouth stayed open for a second before he swung himself into Jens, pressing his frustrated snarl against Jens’ lips. His arm went over Jens’ neck and pulled down so hard Jens had to stoop to relieve the pressure.
Then it jerked to Jens’ shoulder, and then off till Robin only had his hand here. The other man slowly pushed himself out at arm’s-length, his lips working as if he wanted to smile—or perhaps grimace.
“You gave me a knife, remember?” Robin said. He nodded before Jens could show any response. “It’s inside my sleeve. I’ve got it, all right? I’ve got it.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Jens finally said. He looked at Robin’s hand on his shoulder, then reached up. He let his fingertips rest on its back for the space of a breath before he pulled Robin’s hand off.
Before his arm had dropped, Robin was out the door. Jens watched the door swing into the wall, then shudder back from the impact. He absentmindedly put his hand into his packet, then remembered as it hit his phone, which he took out. After another moment, Jens turned around and began dialing his voicemail as he started to walk away.
***