by Kara Greenan
"A note? You didn't leave me a note you piece of shit, you left me the word 'sorry' scrawled on hotel stationery."
“Yes, and that was selfish, wasn’t it?” London is so taken aback at that, he forgets to be angry. “I selfishly wanted it, that perfect memory. Because those days we had, they were perfect. They showed me something I thought had died in me a long time ago. I didn't want to mar that with the inevitable awkwardness of saying goodbye, maybe worse, of us fighting. I wanted it to stay perfect.”
“And you thought just leaving would preserve that?” he asks incredulously.
"I know." Sebastian seems to be struggling with the words, something London has never seen him do before. “I wanted a clean, surgical cut instead of the rusty butcher's knife technique. And – I was selfish back then. Hell, I probably still am, maybe always will be."
For a moment, he’s stunned into silence.
And then the laughter bubbles up.
“What?” Sebastian asks, looking hurt.
“Nothing, it’s just –” London hiccups a laugh. This entire situation can’t be real. “I feel like that’s the first time you’ve been honest with me.”
“I don’t lie to you.”
"Yeah, sure," London says, brushing it off. "You're a gigantic idiot, though."
He’s surprised when Sebastian reaches out, his palm sliding over London’s stubble, brushing against his jaw until Sebastian’s fingertips tangle in his hair. He closes the distance between them and tilts London's face back. They stare at each other for a long moment.
When London opens his mouth to speak, Sebastian interrupts him.
"Hush now," he says, voice soft. "Let me just –"
Their lips connect in a gentle brush. London exhales brokenly, a soft shudder travelling up his body. He leans in closer, the pressure of their lips firm, until he opens his mouth and pushes his tongue past Sebastian's lips. But for once, Sebastian doesn’t meet his demand for urgency, doesn’t ramp up the tension between them. They’re left with something fragile and soft, something that is both alien and scary at once. Sebastian slides his fingertips along London’s jaw, letting them dance along his cheekbone. His other hand is on London’s shoulder, maybe the most innocent touch between them to date.
It’s soft and crisp and monumental, all rolled up into a single kiss.
“I want you,” Sebastian murmurs and London’s knees threaten to give out.
He doesn’t know what he wants.
No, that’s a lie. He wants Sebastian. He doesn’t want to get hurt again.
And he can’t compromise on neither.
Sebastian’s hand falls to London's hip, fingers curling underneath the jumper and pressing into his skin like a brand, like he’s erasing Wyatt’s touch and replacing it with his own. London groans, low and throaty, his fingers curling around the front of Sebastian's shirt.
Two loud, precise knocks echo through the room.
Sebastian jumps back like he’s been caught doing something wrong, his eyes wide and young. London would like to think it’s because for once, Sebastian let himself go, that the surprised expression on his face is due to the wonder of a new experience and not at being caught.
But, London realises with a sinking heart, that’s entirely unlikely.
"Come in," he says, taking a step back.
Wyatt enters, big, friendly smile on his face and an even bigger bag over his shoulder. He heaves it onto the bed. It bounces.
"Got everything you needed."
"Even my extra clothes?" London asks.
"Yup." Wyatt grins, rolling on the balls of his feet. He looks adorable, like a huge teddy bear.
Wyatt raises his eyebrows at Sebastian. "Uh, right. He was just leaving," London says quickly.
"I can stay," Sebastian says quickly.
"No, that's fine." London grabs his elbow and drags him towards the door, pushing him bodily into the hallway. "I've got things to prepare, speak to you later. Bye now."
The room door slams closed behind him and London leans against it heavily.
“Wow,” Wyatt says. “He’s got you well fucked up, hasn’t he?”
London groans, dragging his hand down his face.
“He’s – he’s young and confused. Initially wanted me due to some misguided form of hero worship. And now I think it’s mainly because I keep saying no.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. He looked proper invested to me.”
London strides into the room, patting Wyatt on the chest. “Don’t take this the wrong way, big guy, but the subtleties of human interaction never were your strong suit.”
“Nope,” Wyatt agrees cheerfully. He pulls London into a lose hug and ruffles his hair. “That’s what I have you for, isn’t it, Shrimp?”
They've been sitting in a stuffy van for almost two hours and London is getting antsy.
"We could be doing anything right now," Sebastian complains from the seat next to him. His bare feet are propped up next to a blinking red light. It had started up half an hour ago but since everyone, including Hale, had left by then, they had no way to figure out its purpose.
London lets his legs slide off the chair, stretches them out in front of him. Okay, he's bored, he'll bite.
"Like what?"
"Anything but this," Sebastian groans, closing his eyes. "At the Louvre, viewing da Vinci's Bacchus."
"You seem more like the type to stare at Michelangelo's statues."
Sebastian smirks but doesn't rise to the bait. "I could be playing golf. Or cooking."
London raises an eyebrow. He isn’t surprised about the golf, not one bit but, "Cooking?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty good at it. And it's fun."
London's idea of a home-cooked meal involves a frozen dinner and, if he's lucky, a microwave. "Do you bake too?"
Sebastian's smile is genuine. "Yes of course. Chocolate biscuits and red velvet cupcakes and peanut butter brownies."
London looks at him before shaking his head. He takes a drink from his water bottle and glances at the monitors. The security guards haven't moved and no one has been in or out. He hates reconnaissance like the fucking plague. It’s sweetened however, by the idea of the Sebastian Walker standing in a kitchen, cracking eggs with a smudge of flour on his cheek. The image is so preposterous he can’t help but smile.
"But you spend so much time in hotels all around the world, that must cut into your baking time?"
Sebastian sits up, taking the bottle of water from London to drink from. He grimaces at the lukewarm temperature but doesn't say anything. Instead he pulls his hand through his hair, dragging it in a deep side part, fine white blond strands falling into his face. "Sometimes I go into the kitchen and ask to use their oven."
A laugh escapes him. "In hotels?"
"Yeah," Sebastian agrees and he can just imagine him puttering down to the kitchen, bags filled with ingredients in his hands and a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression on his face. "They usually have a free corner and I do choose times when the hotel guests are sleeping. I don't want to inconvenience them."
"Of course you don't." London doesn't say it but he's terribly endeared by the idea of Sebastian in a kitchen at half two in the morning, the nightshift staff staring at him like he's an exotic animal.
London shakes his head, unable to hide his smile. They fall silent after that. To his surprise, the silence isn't awkward, more of a shared respite. Visions of Sebastian wearing nothing but an apron and a huge smile while standing in a big, homely kitchen pop into his head. It's the sort of thing he wouldn't mind waking up to.
No.
He nips that thought in the bud. For all his domestic tendencies, Sebastian doesn't seem like the type of guy to settle down, not yet. And it makes sense. He’s young, has the world at his feet. So why should he? And if his comments over the last few days are anything to go by, he'll most probably settle down with a pretty girl, the kind that can give him the brood of kids he so obviously desires.
A vision of his siblings rises in Lo
ndon’s mind. His mum had emailed him photos of them. It was to an address he made when he was twelve at one of the foster homes that hadn't minded him using their internet. There’s no sure way of knowing how she found out about it, but by then he’d been making regular deposits into her bank account, ensuring that his younger sisters had everything they needed and that they wouldn’t end up in foster care too. The most recent picture is of twins, a boy and a girl looking small and wrinkly and happy.
"Hey, London?"
He’s startled out of his reverie; he doesn’t often let himself think about the family he doesn’t know. It makes him defensive, shows in his tone when he says, "What?"
Sebastian frowns at him before nodding at the monitors. "They're patrolling again. Two."
London takes the chart next to him and diligently adds in the exact time. Sebastian is flipping through another chart, comparing the security guys on screen with the roster Hale printed for them.
"It's Dubois and Lefebvre."
London notes that down as well, all thoughts of the family he never was a part of pushed to the back of his mind. Due to some technical detail that Hale explained at length but London didn't listen to, the van is parked in the glaring sun. Over the next two hours it heats up considerably and they pass the time by playing tic-tac-toe on the back of Hale's print out. It keeps his thoughts from going maudlin while he scratches away on the piece of paper, listening to Sebastian recount playing the game in class in spite of the teacher’s admonishments.
“It sounds like a fun childhood.”
Sebastian shrugs. “It was. I mean, my parents weren’t around much, so they put a lot of money into making me happy. ”
London grins, but not in a mean way. “Spoiled little rich kid. Why am I not surprised?”
Sebastian gives him a flirty look. “That’s why I like all the attention on myself.”
“Are you speaking the truth again? Stop it, it’s weird.”
Sebastian licks his lips, drawing attention to them. Crafty bastard.
“I’ve been telling you only the truth.”
“Mhm,” London hums. “Sure.”
“My mum died when I was twelve. Cancer. My dad remarried almost immediately, getting to work on starting a new family when it became clear this one wouldn’t pan out in the way he wanted to.” Sebastian rushes out the words, like he might not say them at all otherwise. “I’m sure Hale can do a background check.”
Hale probably did, but London hadn’t bothered to ask.
“Is Walker even your real name?”
There’s a beat of silence. “No.”
London looks up sharply. He doesn’t know why the next question is so important, but somehow it is. “What about Sebastian?”
“It was my mum’s choice,” Sebastian says.
“And your real surname?”
Sebastian nudges his knee. “Going to tell me yours?”
“Can’t,” he says, glancing at the monitors. “Don’t know it, do I?”
Sebastian laughs, but when London doesn’t join in he sobers. “What do you mean?”
“Know my mum’s maiden name, know her name now that she’s married. But I have no idea who my dad is. Since I don’t know his name, I can’t really choose which one to take, can I?”
“So now you’re just London.”
He nods. “Yes.”
Silence descends for a while. “Surely Hale can find —”
“He’s tried,” London interrupts. He wants to change the subject. “He can’t find anything.”
“But I thought he’s good?”
Hale isn’t good, he’s the best. If he can’t find his dad, the man probably doesn’t exist, nothing more than a ghost. He has been about as substantial to London’s upbringing as that, so the analogy fits. “It doesn’t matter.”
Sebastian frowns. “Have you asked your mum?”
London flinches like he’s been slapped. He’s never talked to his mum, not in person. She sends him updates in the emails, but they haven’t spoken, ever. “Leave it be.”
“But she could —”
He grabs Sebastian’s hand, squeezing it between both of his.
“Please,” he says, angry at the pleading note in his own voice. “Leave it.”
Sebastian looks at him for a long moment. He nods slowly, entwining their fingers and giving them a good squeeze. “Okay.”
They go back to studying the monitors after that, the silence between them changed, more familiar somehow. When Hale and Amelia relieve them from their shift, his shirt is sticking to his back. Sebastian's hair is curling at the ends in the muggy heat and London can’t help it, he has to tug on a strand.
Sebastian gives him a slow, blinding smile.
They step out into the sunshine, blinking and disoriented.
"Fuck," London exclaims, pushing the van doors shut behind them and leaving Hale and Amelia to their fate. "It's cooler in the direct sunlight than in there. I think I have heat stroke. Or whatever you get from loads of heat but no sunlight."
Sebastian pulls his shirt away from his skin, wincing as it unsticks. "I need a shower. Or a bath."
"I’d take a pool, too."
Sebastian's face brightens. "I think I have just the thing for you then."
It's probably the fact that the heat managed to fry his brain inside his skull, but London goes with it, letting himself get dragged to the closest cab. The air-con is on full blast and it's a shock to his system, but a welcome one.
He rests his head back and watches through half-closed eyes as Sebastian leans forward and gives the driver instructions. His shirt is stuck to his back too, and London watches his muscles shift. He is his charming self and London wonders how he doesn't have half the world at his feet yet.
He watches city life flash by with bleary eyes, blinking slow, heated eyelids scratching. He must have dozed off, because the next time he opens his eyes they've left the city centre. The roads are wider and the houses have actual gardens, with broad gates and high fences affording them privacy in their homes, set far enough away from the road as to not be bothered by it.
"Where are we?"
"Neuilly-sur-Seine," Sebastian informs him. London's looks at him blankly. "At the north-west edge of Paris."
Sebastian looks at another mansion they drive past. The cab is starting to slow down, finally stopping in front of huge wrought iron gates. "Looks like an expensive neighbourhood."
"It is."
A thrill of anticipation shoots through London and he glances at the cabbie. He reaches over and slowly spells the word 'steal' onto Sebastian's thigh, ending it with a big question mark. When there's no answer, he glances over. Sebastian's eyes have gone dark, his gaze fixed on London's face. Shit. He didn't mean it like that! He pulls his hand back, but Sebastian is faster. His hand wraps around London's, clamping down firmly. He drags it up higher, higher, his eyes never leaving London's face.
London swallows. His little finger brushes the unmistakable bulge in Sebastian's trousers. He yanks his hand back violently, simultaneously opening the cab door. The heat hits him like a punch but he staggers outside regardless.
Sebastian has too much power over him, that's the problem. He has too much power over anyone, sure, but London is invested on a level he'd rather not be, one he knows Sebastian doesn't share. If they have sex – again – it'll just send the wrong message. And London won't be a repeat booty call, dropped for the next interesting piece of arse that crosses Sebastian's way. He won't.
While the cab drives off, Sebastian crouches down by the nearby hedge, sticking his hand into the soil. After a bit of digging, he pulls out a key, dangling off a dirty string. He wipes it clean and heads for the side door, the one-person entrance next to a huge gate wide enough for trucks.
The door swings open and Sebastian doesn't even turn around. "You coming?"
London does and after closing the door again they fall into step, heading for the huge Victorian mansion. It's painted completely white, large window
s installed to give it the impression of open space. The garden around it is well taken care of, but not styled within an inch of its life. Instead, there's dandelions sprouting in the grass and the flowerbeds are more suggestions than anything.
"This one of your ex's place?" A muscle jumps in Sebastian's face and London thinks he's hit the nail on the head. "Are you sure they aren't home?"
Sebastian doesn't look at him. "The house is empty."
"Well, if you're sure."
It takes them another minute to reach the house itself, the long driveway ending in a circular cul-de-sac by the main entrance door. London peers through the frosted glass on both sides of it and freezes when he catches the telltale blinking red light.
"Do you have the combination for the alarm?"
Sebastian slides the still muddy key into the keyhole. "I do."
London shoots forward, hand stopping Sebastian's from turning the key. "What if he changed it?"
A crease appears on Sebastian's forehead and his dimples disappear. "Who?"
"Or she, I don't know! What if the owner of this house changed the combination and we trigger the alarm?"
"No one changed the sequence."
London glares. "People lie, Sebastian! You should know all about that."
"Fine," Sebastian says, his tone supremely unperturbed. He wriggles his fingers in London's hand and smiles. "The keypad for the alarm is on the left wall, right after the Monet. There's a vanity side table under the painting, the right drawer has scissors and pliers inside. The alarm has a 45 second delay. You're good at this, right?"
Before London can say anything, Sebastian twists the key, forcing London's hand along with it. The door swings open and the telltale beep of the engaged alarm system sounds.
For a moment, London is frozen to the spot, speechless.
Sebastian is fucking insane.
But London must be too, because next thing he turns to sprint into the house, not away from it. Under one of Monet's water lily paintings he finds the chest of drawers, yanking the top one open while peering at the keypad. It's a Honeywell. He can't make out the model but that shouldn't matter, manufacturers tend to stick to what works.