by Kara Greenan
"So," Sebastian starts, slanting London an unreadable glance as he settles back against Hale. "What's the actual plan, then?"
"Oh, right!" Frankie fiddles with the remote. Amelia leans over and presses it with one long-nailed finger until the blueprint is back on screen. "We all know that during a function, security is extra tight. It’s a special evening, everyone’s on their best behaviour after all. We also know that the weakest point is always when goods are in transit."
London nods and pointedly ignores Sebastian's incredulous gaze. "You want to steal the hundreds, maybe thousands of diamonds on the way from the vault to the event downstairs?"
"Nope," Frankie says. "By the time they open the viewing cases downstairs, we'll have exchanged them with plastic beads instead."
It’s fun watching Sebastian try to contain his confusion. "But didn't you just say that the vault is basically impossible to break into?"
"I did," Frankie agrees, rolling on the balls of her feet. “The codes are kept twenty stories above the vault, in a private office of the local CEO. He likes to feel in control, so he keeps them stored in a safe there.”
“So not only will we need to break into the vault, but a safe, too?”
Frankie grins. "Exactly! And safes can be cracked. Especially with the ace we’ve got up our sleeve."
"And what’s that?” Sebastian sounds more sarcastic than London has ever heard him before. He can’t help but wonder if this is closer to his real personality. “Do we have a team of secret agents at our disposal?"
"Nah." Frankie brings up the floor schematics of the twenty-seventh floor. "We have something much better. We have London, who can get past any walls, and Hale, who can clear his way once he’s there."
And if London looks smug under Sebastian's dubious look then so be it.
"The office is here.” She points it out. “He's got the safe in there, and in that safe is an external hard-drive which carries all combinations to the vault for the coming week. Also, there's an overwrite for the safety deposit boxes inside the vault, which holds the actual diamonds. Hale?"
"If you get me that hard drive, I'll have that combination in approximately eight minutes."
Frankie nods. "London?"
London leans forward as though he's examining the floor plan. He doesn't need to, not only has he seen it before, but he's also gotten detailed information on the make, model and age of the safe. No, this is all for show. "Seven minutes to crack the safe. Plus, how ever long it takes to send it down to Hale via the lift."
"Can you get out undetected?"
London grins. "There’s a window, isn’t there?"
“It’ll need to be timed, of course. Make sure no one sees London coming down. Amelia, I want you with Hale, gather the diamonds while he does his thing.”
Thirty minutes later, everyone has agreed to the basic plan and they're hashing out the details. Everyone, except for Sebastian. He’d grown increasingly quiet, watching them talk and lay down the specifics. London had refrained from looking at him consciously, but he hadn’t always succeeded.
He’d expected that, at least in part. Sebastian has always been able to draw his attention effortlessly, even as the youngest member of their team, just starting to make a name for himself. That first night, in the warehouse in Venice, it had taken all his self-control not to stare. He’s distracted, trying to keep his focus on Hale and his other friends. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice Sebastian cornering him in the small kitchen on the other side of the office until it’s too late.
He’s just put the kettle on and hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter when – “Oh.”
“Hi,” Sebastian says tentatively. London wonders how long he practiced that chagrined tone in front of a mirror. He doesn’t reply. “Okay, I see you’re not speaking to me.”
He shrugs. “Got nothing to say.”
Sebastian actually looks hurt at that. London has to restrain himself not to kick out to give the expression a just cause.
“It’s good to see you again.”
He sounds so earnest that London can’t help but snort derisively. “Sure, whatever makes it easier for you to work with me.”
“I’m not –” he breaks off, smoothing down the front of his expensive looking shirt and picking some imaginary lint off his sleeve. “I took the job because I wanted to see you again.”
Liar.
“Well, you got your wish, didn’t you?”
Sebastian looks around, like he’s grasping for a topic of conversation, like the current one embarrasses him. That more than anything else convinces London that he’s lying, that this is just another con for him. Sebastian doesn’t do embarrassed, and the day he runs out of schmoozing topics will be the day London retires to raise alpacas.
"The plan is a bit absurd," Sebastian says, smiling hopefully.
If he thought that topic would be a good icebreaker, he definitely never understood London, not even a little.
“Frankie doesn’t think so.”
“Well, don’t get me wrong, but she’s kind of a nutter.”
London feels his hackles rise and his eyes narrow. These are his friends. And yes, they might all be a bit on the eccentric side, but that doesn’t give anyone, especially not this arsehole, the right to judge them.
"Watch it, Walker. That’s my friend you’re talking about," he says coolly.
“Well, yeah.” There’s more frustration shining through the cracks now and London likes that, likes making it hard for Sebastian to maintain one of his ridiculous personas, especially here.
“Just because you lost your sense of adventure doesn’t give you the right to judge my friends for theirs.”
“What does my sense of adventure have to do with this?” Sebastian asks, clearly peeved now and gearing up for an argument. “What does it have to do with anything? Even you can't get to the twenty-seventh floor of that building! Not on a day when security will be extra tight."
He runs his hand through his hair, and London very much does not notice that it’s shorter than the last time.
"I get that you don’t want to work with me – well, I get that now. But this feels like active sabotage because you don't have your ego under control."
London jumps off the counter. “Excuse me?” He takes the two steps into Sebastian's personal space and pokes his index finger against his chest.
"Don't make assumptions about either my skills or my ego. You clearly have no idea what you're talking about with regards to either."
Sebastian narrows his eyes. He takes a step closer, forcing London to pull back his hand or end up sliding it all over his chest.
"It can't be done. It’s a pipe dream, a child's ploy that no crew can pull off. There’s no real plan. I mean, I heard you four were into the crazy stuff, but this is career suicide. You can’t work from inside a prison, after all."
London widens his stance and realises too late that it actually makes him appear even shorter. The subtle, sardonic smirk playing on Sebastian's lips suggests that he's noticed, too.
"Why don't you worry about your job in all this?"
"I studied the jobs you did. I know you’re escalating the danger. But this is too much, London, you might as well walk into a police station and turn yourself in."
He’s not even done with the sentence when London stops listening, his heart suddenly hammering. "You kept up with my work?"
Sebastian shrugs, like that’s an explanation at all. "At least what the gossip mill churned out. And you know how we like to gossip.”
Oh, London knows. His friends had known not to talk about Sebastian but London can’t think of a single person he’s worked with over the last year that hadn’t had an opinion on Sebastian Walker: racking up the cons and doing so in style.
"You," he says through gritted teeth, walking right up to Sebastian and shoving him, hard. "Need to leave me the fuck alone."
He can’t handle this. The frustration, the anger and the sheer pain of seeing Sebastian
again. He makes an about turn and leaves, tea long forgotten.
For the first time in his entire life, he actually thinks about dropping a job.
Some things just aren’t worth it.
Venice, almost a year ago
“Fucking gondolas, I swear!”
Sebastian recognises the voice immediately, even if he only heard it in a handful of clipped sentences last night.
“Shouldn’t be called boats, treacherous things they are.”
He slows his casual stroll down the Piazza San Marco, searching for the speaker, searching for London. He finds him, along with Potmore, enjoying a cappuccino in one of the restaurants overlooking the square.
“Not discussing anything secret out in the open, are you?” They both stare at him like he’s just appeared out of thin air. He lets them stare and listens to the pigeons behind him take flight. It’s probably another kid running through them, enamoured by rousing the huge number of birds into movement.
Potmore, in accordance with his role as the mastermind, finds his tongue first. “Sebastian! Come join us.”
He does, stepping over the low hanging rope separating the restaurant from the square. As he does, he sees London giving Potmore’s shin a hard kick under the table. Sebastian pulls a chair from a neighbouring table closer and joins them, sitting down right next to London. He looks different somehow in the mid-morning sun, smaller and less threatening than last night.
“So,” he starts when the silence stretches. “What’re you two up to?”
“Just an early lunch, trying to catch up,” Potmore tells him while London leans back, crossing his arms and eyeing him carefully.
“Ah,” he says, slowly, giving himself time to think about his words. “It’s still breakfast time for me. I stayed up rather late last night, it – it was quite illuminating.”
Not a muscle on London’s face moves. Sebastian is further convinced that his show last night was not for the stars alone.
“Want me to get the waiter?”
“I’m quite content, thank you.” Sebastian reclines, pouring all his aristocratic breeding into the move. He lowers his sunglasses onto his nose and angles his face towards the sun. He knows he looks good, he made damn sure of it this morning before leaving his hotel. It’s not even because London has sparked his interest, which is fleeting as hell, he well knows. No, Sebastian just enjoys making a production of it; he enjoys standing out from the crowd simply because of his clothes and mannerisms. The practiced move has the lovely side effect of drawing London’s eyebrows together in a poorly disguised scoff. Not a frozen statue without expression, after all. Sebastian gives him a slow smile, before stealing some garnish from his plate.
“You really should let William get the waiter. You seem hungry.”
“That’s alright,” Sebastian says easily. “But thank you for offering.”
London stays quiet after that, until Sebastian starts snagging pieces of cucumber from his plate.
“William is already finished,” he says, pointing at Potmore’s cutlery, neatly placed on his pushed away plate. “Maybe you can eat his food, instead of mine?”
Sebastian looks at Potmore’s plate, at the identical garnish and the side salad he left untouched. He snakes out his hand and grabs a piece of carrot from London's plate.
“I don’t want Potmore’s,” he says, eyes trained on London.
All he gets in response is another scowl. It mostly hides the faint blush that’s creeping up London’s cheeks.
He smiles to himself, chewing obnoxiously. Then he decides to concentrate on the third member of their party. “Anything for me to do, Potmore? I’m terribly bored on this job.”
“Not right now, not besides the work you’re already doing.”
By work he means more boring recon, and in the evenings too. The last time he had an evening off was much too long ago.
“Has he at least got you doing anything fun?”
“Me? Oh yeah,” London agrees. “Keeps me busy at night.”
That isn’t really the sort of innuendo Sebastian likes to hear, so he plays dumb instead. “You’re also free during the day? Then we should go do tourist things. Maybe not gondolas, I hear you aren’t a fan.”
“Can’t.”
“Oh, you’re busy today? We can do it tomorrow.”
“Can’t,” London repeats, standing up. Sebastian doesn’t even pretend not to check him out. He’s got nice legs, not particularly long, but well shaped. “I have to go to Treviso tomorrow, might have to stay the night.”
“You do?” Potmore is suddenly all ears. “You didn’t tell me.”
London glares at him. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
Maybe that’s just what he does to people - pretend to be prickly and distant. Sebastian doesn’t mind, he’s grown bored of people always fawning over him. “Now if you two would excuse me, I have shit to do. Far away. Alone.”
They both watch him leave.
“Shit, you sure press his buttons.” Potmore says.
Sebastian leans back, face turned back towards the sun. He smiles.
“That’s the plan.”
Two days later, after spending his entire evening bored out of his mind doing recon and then reporting back to Potmore, Sebastian is heading to the next water taxi stop when he sees a familiar figure at the hotel bar. London is sitting alone, holding an empty glass in his hands and looking off into the middle distance. He changes course and surreptitiously makes sure his clothes aren’t rumpled. Deciding that undoing another button on his shirt has never hurt, he slides onto the adjacent barstool. London doesn’t even glance at him.
“Let me buy you a drink,” he says softly.
London startles out of his reverie, his eyes wide. They narrow when recognition hits, Sebastian gets the feeling London is too tired to be his normal, irate self. He motions to the bartender for two of London's drinks, settling in comfortably.
When London just stares at him, Sebastian asks, “How was your visit to Treviso?”
There’s more animation on London’s face than he’s ever seen before. He’s not surprised, considering he’s heard word of a botched theft attempt at the Chiesa di Santa Caterina in Treviso. He’s not sure why London decided to work a side job during the bigger heist or what happened during it. Hell, he’s not even sure if London really was trying to steal something, but right now, he doesn’t look in the mood to discuss it.
“Don’t think we should be seen talking together. It might look suspicious.”
Sebastian shrugs easily, still intrigued as to why London is so opposed to his advances. “It’ll look suspicious if I don’t flirt with the hottest guy at the bar.”
“You’re weird.”
“I’m not weird. I’m charming.”
“And humble, too.”
Sebastian smirks. “I do try.”
London snorts, taking the fresh glass from the bartender and watches as Sebastian pays for the drinks. London can’t seem to look away from his fingers as he pulls the money out of his wallet and slides it across the bar. It could be that he’s staring at Sebastian’s fingers, long and elegant as they are, a lot of people tend to. But he’s also a thief, so he could also be looking at the rings he’s wearing.
“They aren’t worth all that much,” he says, wiggling his fingers as the bartender leaves. “And it’d be hard to steal them. Most are quite heavy.”
“That’s not it,” London says, shaking his head. “Just haven’t seen a man wear quite so much jewellery.”
“Are you calling me weird again?”
London shrugs. “I should, ‘cause you are.”
He takes one of Sebastian’s hands between his two smaller ones, turning it over to see the tattoo of the free-flying birds on the side of his wrist. He stares at it for a long moment, the dim lighting of the bar transforming his already stunning, elf-like looks into something entirely otherworldly.
He presses Sebastian’s drink into his palm before breaking all contac
t.
“Look,” London says, sounding like each word is thoughtfully chosen. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Sebastian takes a sip before setting the glass back down and wiping the condensation absentmindedly from his palm. “Why ever not?”
London gives a chuckle, a sad little sound that doesn’t fit with the person Sebastian has him pegged as at all. “I steal, you grift. It’d end in disaster.”
“Doesn’t have to,” he replies, trying not to sound like he’s begging. “We aren’t our jobs.”
“Aren’t we?” London asks, holding up one of Sebastian’s rings, letting it glint in the weak light.
His gaze flicks to his fingers where – yes – the ring on his index finger is missing. He hadn’t even felt it.
“Well, they do keep telling me you’re the best.”
London lowers his voice, making sure the bartender and the patron at the far side can’t listen in. “I’m not the best pickpocket. Always felt it was too out in the open, too exposed.” He softly lays down the ring between them. “But I still do it sometimes. When I’m bored, when I don’t get to do what I really enjoy.”
“What do you enjoy then?”
London looks at him for a long moment, and, without turning his head, pushes the ring towards him, until it’s jammed under his fingers that are lying relaxed on the wooden surface. Sebastian can feel the familiar shape under his fingertips, he can feel where the ring widens around a coat of arms that is as much his past as his future.
London is still staring at him, leaning in until he almost topples off the barstool. He catches himself with a steadying hand on Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian can’t say he minds.
“I mostly enjoy my job,” London whispers, right into his ear.
Sebastian hasn’t had to suppress a shiver in years, but he does so now. He reaches out, to touch London, feel him under his fingertips, the reality of him.
But London is pulling back, adjusting his seat on the barstool and taking another sip of his drink. “It would be a terrible idea.”
Sebastian’s shoulders twitch in a disinterested shrug, belying how frazzled he is by the interactions with this man. He’s nothing like the stories Sebastian has heard, or maybe he’s just more.