Fic: The Baltimore Run
Title: The Baltimore Run
Authors: i_m_pk & venilia
Team: Romance
Prompt: Covers, Smirk, Lies
Word count: ~650
Rating: PG/PG-13
Warnings: None, really.
Summary: This is a prequel to a Leverage AU/Fusion fic that venilia and I are working on. Familiarity with the Leverage universe is a plus, but not necessary. Suffice it to say that the inception gang are very good at crimes in real life, too.
Arthur’s not surprised when he recognizes the first FBI agent they lead into the room. In fact, his first instinct is rise from his chair and lunge at him fist first, but the Baltimore PD wasn’t taking any chances after he disarmed three of their men while he was waiting to be processed. The chains clink mockingly as Arthur stays put, his chair the only furniture in a grey and intimidating cinderblock room. The orange jumpsuit is definitely the worst part of this indignity; they made him strip, afraid that there would be some sort of weapon or gizmo hidden in his clothes. Too many James Bond movies tended to make police paranoid.
“This is definitely our man,” the agent breathes, walking a slow circle around him, scrutinizing every hair on his head. “He looks like he’s had some work done. Made himself look younger, but this is definitely him.”
The paunchy Baltimore detective’s sigh of relief is almost audible. “We’ll get started on the transfer papers, Agent Belville.”
“Excellent. Agent Miles will help you. We’d like this process to be as expedited as possible, you understand.”
Belville’s New England accent grates on Arthur’s nerves. He’s been avoiding looking at Agent Miles, but his eyes flick over the second agent’s face, hoping for, but not expecting, the stoicism it finds there.
Agent Belville’s expression sours when he notices Arthur’s attention elsewhere. He stops pacing right in front of his prisoner, bending over so their faces are almost level. No one else can see when Belville winks, full lips twisting into a mischievous smirk. Arthur hates when he does this, because it really makes it hard not to kiss him.
“You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? Terrorist scumbag. I am going to crush you under the heel of American justice like a juicy little cockroach.” To illustrate, he grinds the heel of his oxford into the floor. “Squish.”
The detective snorts, forgetting himself until Agent Miles lifts an eyebrow at him. “Gentlemen, if you’d follow me to my desk. The sooner we get started, the sooner he’s your problem.”
---------
Three hours later, Arthur’s seated on the uncomfortable bench of an unmarked transport van, uncuffed and rubbing his wrists to restore some of the feeling. Across from him, Eames watches him roll his shoulders and pop his joints. Eames is still in his FBI jacket, fake badge winking at him from the lapel. It’s all so formal that Arthur feels like he’s still in jail.
“I brought you a present. It’s under your seat,” Eames says.
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Arthur replies, pulling a garment bag from under the bench. “Cobb had a plan.”
From the driver’s seat Cobb calls, “Eames was my plan.”
Eames smirks, and Arthur again can’t decide if it’s charming or infuriating.
“Do you mind?” he snaps, turning to strip out of his jumpsuit.
“Not at all.”
Arthur snorts, and pulls the grey suit from the garment bag. He can feel the prickle of Eames’s gaze as he shrugs on his shirt, as he slips the little mother of pearl buttons through their buttonholes.
With a sigh, he turns back to the other man. “I owe you.”
“I know.”
Their eyes meet, and Arthur can see the flash of uncertainty in the other man’s face. “You don’t think I’ll make good.”
Shrugging, Eames digs a poker chip out of his pocket. He flips it over his knuckles idly, never taking his eyes off Arthur. “You’re a thief, darling. Not the most honest of professions.”
Arthur’s nimble fingers fasten his cufflinks, but he pauses, weighing the links his hand. “Take these. You have a year to cash in the favor, or I will come and get them.”
Eames leans forward to take the links from him, and when their fingers brush, Arthur could swear he sees the hint of a smile.
“How can I be sure of that?” Eames asks, making quick work of his own cufflinks and passing them over.
“Yours are from the local department store. Mine are Cartier.”
Authors: i_m_pk & venilia
Team: Romance
Prompt: Covers, Smirk, Lies
Word count: ~650
Rating: PG/PG-13
Warnings: None, really.
Summary: This is a prequel to a Leverage AU/Fusion fic that venilia and I are working on. Familiarity with the Leverage universe is a plus, but not necessary. Suffice it to say that the inception gang are very good at crimes in real life, too.
Arthur’s not surprised when he recognizes the first FBI agent they lead into the room. In fact, his first instinct is rise from his chair and lunge at him fist first, but the Baltimore PD wasn’t taking any chances after he disarmed three of their men while he was waiting to be processed. The chains clink mockingly as Arthur stays put, his chair the only furniture in a grey and intimidating cinderblock room. The orange jumpsuit is definitely the worst part of this indignity; they made him strip, afraid that there would be some sort of weapon or gizmo hidden in his clothes. Too many James Bond movies tended to make police paranoid.
“This is definitely our man,” the agent breathes, walking a slow circle around him, scrutinizing every hair on his head. “He looks like he’s had some work done. Made himself look younger, but this is definitely him.”
The paunchy Baltimore detective’s sigh of relief is almost audible. “We’ll get started on the transfer papers, Agent Belville.”
“Excellent. Agent Miles will help you. We’d like this process to be as expedited as possible, you understand.”
Belville’s New England accent grates on Arthur’s nerves. He’s been avoiding looking at Agent Miles, but his eyes flick over the second agent’s face, hoping for, but not expecting, the stoicism it finds there.
Agent Belville’s expression sours when he notices Arthur’s attention elsewhere. He stops pacing right in front of his prisoner, bending over so their faces are almost level. No one else can see when Belville winks, full lips twisting into a mischievous smirk. Arthur hates when he does this, because it really makes it hard not to kiss him.
“You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? Terrorist scumbag. I am going to crush you under the heel of American justice like a juicy little cockroach.” To illustrate, he grinds the heel of his oxford into the floor. “Squish.”
The detective snorts, forgetting himself until Agent Miles lifts an eyebrow at him. “Gentlemen, if you’d follow me to my desk. The sooner we get started, the sooner he’s your problem.”
---------
Three hours later, Arthur’s seated on the uncomfortable bench of an unmarked transport van, uncuffed and rubbing his wrists to restore some of the feeling. Across from him, Eames watches him roll his shoulders and pop his joints. Eames is still in his FBI jacket, fake badge winking at him from the lapel. It’s all so formal that Arthur feels like he’s still in jail.
“I brought you a present. It’s under your seat,” Eames says.
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Arthur replies, pulling a garment bag from under the bench. “Cobb had a plan.”
From the driver’s seat Cobb calls, “Eames was my plan.”
Eames smirks, and Arthur again can’t decide if it’s charming or infuriating.
“Do you mind?” he snaps, turning to strip out of his jumpsuit.
“Not at all.”
Arthur snorts, and pulls the grey suit from the garment bag. He can feel the prickle of Eames’s gaze as he shrugs on his shirt, as he slips the little mother of pearl buttons through their buttonholes.
With a sigh, he turns back to the other man. “I owe you.”
“I know.”
Their eyes meet, and Arthur can see the flash of uncertainty in the other man’s face. “You don’t think I’ll make good.”
Shrugging, Eames digs a poker chip out of his pocket. He flips it over his knuckles idly, never taking his eyes off Arthur. “You’re a thief, darling. Not the most honest of professions.”
Arthur’s nimble fingers fasten his cufflinks, but he pauses, weighing the links his hand. “Take these. You have a year to cash in the favor, or I will come and get them.”
Eames leans forward to take the links from him, and when their fingers brush, Arthur could swear he sees the hint of a smile.
“How can I be sure of that?” Eames asks, making quick work of his own cufflinks and passing them over.
“Yours are from the local department store. Mine are Cartier.”