Fic dump: In Arcadia, Welcome to the Punch, A Song of Ice and Fire
Here are several ficlets - I don't want to say drabbles because I'm terrible at writing drabbles - that I wrote over the last weeks. I only posted them on tumblr because I hate to spam LJ with mediocre 4am-ficlets, but I figured it'd be nice to have them all in one place (and tumblr just sucks for fics). One of them is ASOIAF (Stannis/Sansa), two of them are Welcome to the Punch (Jacob/Max), and three are In Arcadia, a.k.a. our fake Bond movie (Marius/Adam is the best thing ever). The first four were written for this tumblr meme, the last two for a simple "give me three words and I'll write a ficlet inspired by them" meme. God, I'm sorry the formatting is such a mess, LJ hates me today.
Sansa smiled when they put her child in her arms, but at the same time tears welled up in her eyes again. A healthy little girl, Your Grace. The words sounded oddly ominous to her ears.
Sansa had always wanted daughters. Sons, too, of course, because she knew that no matter whom she would marry, every man wanted sons. But privately she had always dreamt of having girls as well, children who would belong more to her than to their father, little princesses whom she could teach about all the things she loved, about songs and embroidery and poems and dancing. She loved the little girl in her arms as much as she had loved her two sons the moment they were born, but her chest was tight with a fear she hadn't felt anymore since her first son had been born. She had never expected to tremble at the thought of facing her husband again after that, but now she found herself hoping he would not come to visit her just yet. The king was always kind to the Princess Shireen, and Sansa had realised over time that in his own way he did love her, but he was far more awkward and distant around her than around his two sons - not to mention that Sansa had never heard a single good word spoken about Stannis' marriage to Shireen's mother.
Despite her hopes to be left alone the king came to see her only minutes later - he had probably spent the day pacing in front of the birthing room again, just like he had the first two times. Sansa could not bring herself to look up at him. She held the babe in her arms, touched the smal tuft of black hair, looked down into wide eyes that were a brighter shade of blue than her brothers' even when they were born. Tully more than Baratheon eyes.
“My queen,” Stannis said when he stopped beside her bed, his voice gruff with concern. He hesitated, awkwardly, then sat down on the edge of the bed. She hadn't flinched under his touch for years, but she did now when she felt his large hand on her bare arm. Even without seeing him she could feel his frown deepening. “Sansa?”
“I'm sorry, Your Grace,” she said quietly.
“For what?” He sounded genuinely confused. Sansa wondered briefly if he didn't know yet, but surely the maester had already told him that it was a girl.
“That I didn't give you another son.” She bit her cracked lips, still not meeting his eyes. She didn't like him seeing her like this, sweaty and messy and exhausted. She had minded less the first two times, when no worries had troubled her heart, but now she was suddenly afraid that he would … disapprove of her. She knew he would never hurt her, but the thought that he would not care for her anymore was worse.
“The maester said the girl is healthy.” Stannis hesitated again before he let go of her arm and brushed his thumb carefully over the babe's cheek. He pulled back quickly again, like he always did, as if he was afraid to hurt such a small frail thing if he wasn't careful. “I have two sons, both of them healthy and strong.” He scoffed. “And nobody questions that they're mine.”
Sansa finally dared to look up, and to her relief there was not even a hint of anger in his eyes. If there was disappointment, he hid it well, and she even thought there was just the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She did not doubt that he would have preferred another son, but he seemed far less displeased than she had expected.
“I thought you would be angry at me, Your Grace,” she said. It was not something she would have admitted just a few years ago, but these days she knew that Stannis only cared for the truth. He nodded simply, as if he was barely surprised to hear that. For a moment he looked somewhat contrite, but she knew better than to expect apologies from him. To spare him the awkwardness of having to think of something to say, she added, “What should we call her?”
Stannis only thought about that for a moment, eyes downcast now, then said, “My mother's name was Cassana.”
Stannis never talked about his mother, even less than about his father, and Sansa never pried. So she simply replied, “It's a beautiful name.” When she smiled at him he almost smiled back this time, just the faintest twitch of a muscle in his jaw.
“You should rest, Sansa.” His thumb brushed over the little girl's cheek again, then he touched Sansa's forehead as if to feel for himself that she wasn't feverish. His hand lingered for a moment longer on her skin than on his daughter's, but he quickly tore himself away and got up. “I will visit you again tomorrow. There are … Council matters that can't wait any longer.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Thank you.” She wished he could stay, but she loved him for his devotion to his duty as much as for his kindness to her, so she would not ask him to neglect the realm for her sake. It already warmed her heart that he barely ever worked when she was in labour - Jon had told her that the first two times the king had been so restless that he had been incapable of focusing on his work, and neither Sansa nor Jon had been able to think of anything else that would ever tear Stannis away from his duties. She couldn't wait to see Jon in the morning - she was sure that he had been with the king, but waited outside for the sake of propriety -, and for little Steffon and Ned to meet their sister, but her worries had been the only thing keeping her awake despite her exhaustion, and she was grateful when the nurse took the babe from her arms so she could sleep.
* * *
Max woke up handcuffed to a narrow pallet in a dark, small room. His leg was throbbing, the way it did when he didn't drain it for too long, his head was hurting even worse, but the pain in his shoulder from where he'd been shot only a few days ago was surprisingly bearable. Whoever had handcuffed him had taken care not to put any unnecessary strain on his injured shoulder. Max still groaned in pain, tried to shift awkwardly.
“Finally awake?” A deep voice, not a voice from his nightmares because Sternwood had never really had a voice in Max's nightmares, he had always been quiet, as if that bullet to the leg was the only thing he had to say to Max. Max's vision was still a bit blurry - had Sternwood knocked him over the head? had he fallen down and hit his head on something? - but he managed to focus when Sternwood sat down on the edge of the pallet. Green eyes looked down at him, so much lighter than Max remembered from that night in the tunnel. Gentler, too.
“Where the fuck am I?” Max pulled on the handcuffs as if to make a point, but he regretted it immediately when pain shot through his shoulder. Suddenly he felt Sternwood's hand on his chest, pushing him down.
“Don't hurt yourself.” Condescending, but not malicious. It still made Max clench his jaw. He strained to remember, the prison transport, the explosion, the shooting, but there wasn't much else. He frowned. “Did you break me out of prison?”
“Technically I broke you out of a van.” Sternwood looked … smug was maybe the right word. Proud of himself. A lot of things had happened over the last few days that Max had never expected to happen to him, but this was the most unbelievable part so far.
“But why?” He had stopped struggling, although it made his skin crawl to be tied down while Sternwood just sat there, looming over him.
“You let me go, I owed you.” Sternwood shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And it didn't seem right, me going free while they lock you up.”
“You could have just turned yourself in, you know?”
Sternwood actually laughed at that, a soft, warm sound, and his eyes crinkled. Max was disturbed by how … nice he looked. Like a regular, decent man, not a ruthless career criminal.
“Wouldn't that have defeated the purpose of you letting me go?” He was still smiling. “It wouldn't hurt you to thank me, by the way.”
“For what, making me a fugitive?”
Sternwood's smile turned into a frown, although he looked more annoyed than angry.
“They would have crucified you, you know that. Made an example of you, shown the whole world that they're not going to be merciful to a dirty cop. They were pinning multiple murders on you, including your boss and your partner. That's life in prison. Not that cops in prison live very long.”
Max looked down. He knew that, had known that even before his lawyer had told him there was nothing he could do, but that wasn't the point. The point was that you didn't just run away from the consequences of what you had done. The point was that the law was there for a good reason, and even suffering from its mistakes was still preferable to flouting it. But he knew there was no way a man like Sternwood would ever understand that. Max swallowed.
“So you decided to kidnap me for … for what purpose exactly?”
“I don't know, we did make a pretty good team, don't you think?” Sternwood was smiling again. It was infuriating.
“Do you really think I'm going to rob banks with you?” Max snapped.
“Can't say it wouldn't be fun ...” Sternwood laughed when Max glared up at him, but then he added more seriously, “I'm getting you out of the country, and I'll provide you with new papers.”
“Fake papers,” Max interrupted him.
“I promise you won't be able to tell the difference.” Sternwood lifted the bandage on Max's shoulder to glance at the wound, but he seemed satisfied with the healing process. “What you do after that is up to you, but … you're welcome to stick around.”
Max wasn't sure if Sternwood was making fun of him or not. His head still hurt too much to come up with a plan of how to get out of here and back to London - or were they still in London? He had no idea how much time had passed. His head even hurt too much to figure out if he wanted to get out of here or if maybe, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let Sternwood help him. After all, running from crimes someone was trying to pin on you was hardly the same as running from crimes you had actually committed. He groaned softly, allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment.
“Can you at least get me out of these handcuffs?”
“I will, once we're out of here.” He shrugged when Max opened his eyes again to glare at him. “What, I simply don't trust you not to change your mind about letting me go. Some of us are not actively trying to spend the rest of our lives in prison, you know?”
His hand was back on Max's chest, pushing him down when Max started struggling against the handcuffs again. The pressure of his palm was warm and gentle, and despite his words the look in Sternwood's eyes was surprisingly concerned.
Look at you, Max, getting Stockholm Syndrome after just a few minutes. That's probably a record.
“Get some sleep, will you?”
Max obediently closed his eyes, and just before he fell asleep - had Sternwood given him some pain meds, that sleep came so easily? - he thought how odd it was that Sternwood's hand still lingered on his chest.
* * *
Max dreamt of angry green eyes and a dark suit and a gun pointing down at him, still pointing at him after the shot and the horrible flare of pain and he had never thought that getting shot would hurt that much, still pointing at him while that face he had obsessed over for a year stared down at him, frown deepening as he seemed to debate with himself whether to kill Max or not -
He wokeup, like he always did, sweating and breathing heavily and with his leg throbbing worse than at any other time of the day, although it was nothing compared to the pain he relived every time in his dreams. There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. A warm, gentle hand. No leather gloves here, not like in the dream. Max looked up into those same green eyes, only they were lighter in the early morning light than they had been in that tunnel, and they were concerned, not cold. He shrugged the touch off angrily, looked away when Jake - Sternwood, dammit - frowned.
“Are you all right?” Max ignored the question and sat up, grabbed a sterile syringe from the nightstand and rammed it almost angrily into his leg, and of course he regretted that just a moment later. He was still naked, but that didn't bother him anymore. At first he had wanted to hide that scar, that ugly, repulsive leg that had kept him seeking out anyone's company for years, afraid of the stares and the questions, afraid of being treated like a cripple when he just wanted to forget about his failure - and he hadn't wanted Sternwood to see it either when they first slept with each other, terrified of being rejected by him, of all people, by the man without whom that damn scar wouldn't even be there. But Sternwood had never minded, had merely frowned when Max tried to stay half-dressed in bed.
At some point Max had given up on hiding, so he had started flaunting it, almost angrily. He had made Sternwood look at it when they were together, so he would see what he had done to Max, and he wasn't sure if the gentle touch of those long fingers on that ugly scar was reassuring or sickening.
Max drained the fluid from his leg, carefully, then dropped the syringe. Went for his cigarettes next and lit one. Jake didn't mind that Max smoked, but he didn't want him to do it in the bedroom. He hated the smell clinging to the sheets, he hated the taste of smoke on Max's lips. Max hated that he knew those things about him. As petty as it was, imagining the light wrinkle of Sternwood's nose made the cigarette taste even better. He had almost stopped shivering.
Max could feel Jake looming behind him, tall and lean and Max had never expected him to be so well-muscled underneath that damn suit of Max's nightmares. He didn't do or say anything, he just stayed quiet. Jake was good at being quiet. Sometimes it was infuriating as hell, when he only met Max's anger with a deep frown, but there were moments when Max found it reassuring. Jake was like a rock, calm and controlled and in his own way incredibly reliable.
Yeah, why don't you marry him, Max?
He scoffed at himself, but more because they had actually become like a fucking married couple in a disturbingly short amount of time. Arguing, bickering, hating each other, but not really wanting to leave the other anymore. Although Max wasn't sure if married couples still fucked that much.
“I was dreaming of you,” Max said finally between two lungfuls of smoke.
“I take it that's not a romantic confession.” Jake's voice was dry, amused. He was so close that Max could feel the warmth of his body against his back.
“I may have gone insane, but not so insane that I'd believe you shooting me was your way of saying you like me.”
“Not killing you was.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
But Max laughed, because the situation was just so fucking absurd. Sitting in bed with the man who had destroyed his life, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere because Max had become a wanted fugitive, bantering about that shot that still made Max whimper in pain on bad days, as if it had been some silly little prank between friends.
Warm arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him close, and this time Max gladly sank back against him. He took another drag from his cigarette, then let the smoke out slowly.
“Your cigarette stinks,” Jake commented. He turned his head and buried his face against Max's shoulder to avoid breathing the smoke in.
“Yeah, and my leg fucking hurts, so deal with it,” Max snapped back, but he couldn't quite keep the grin off his face. His nightmares hadn't stopped since Sternwood had basically kidnapped him - to protect Max from his own stupidity, he still insisted - if anything what had happened in London had only given him more things to haunt his dreams. And they still always ended with Sternwood staring down at him and contemplating to pull that trigger a second time.
Max had no idea what the fuck was wrong with him, but waking up next to the man who had shot him calmed him more than anything else had over the years. Sternwood was still a murderer and a criminal, not to mention an infuriating asshole, but they were in this together, and Max wasn't going to deny himself the small comfort of leaning back against him.
He considered lighting a second cigarette right after the first, just to annoy Jake, just to see if he'd get it snatched from his fingers, but instead he got distracted by the light press of lips and stubble against his neck, by the tightening of Jake's hands on his hips, from a lingering caress to something more demanding. Part of Max felt like he should say no, to piss Jake off, or just because sleeping with the man minutes after dreaming of that night should be fucking weird. Except it wasn't.
That alone should probably freak him out, but Max freaking out would lead to Jake giving him that infuriatingly calm glare, and then Max would have to punch him in the face, and his leg was still hurting too much for another fight. So he didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and relaxed as Jake's hands roamed over his sides, his thighs, down to that fucking scar, careful fingertips retracing it, and fuck, if Jake got some weird kick out of thinking that he had somehow marked Max as his, then Max could still punch him for that later.
* * *
Marius managed to stop himself the moment before he kissed Adam. They were so close that he could smell the cheap aftershave Adam insisted on using, taste the clean mint of his breath. Adam's cheek was smooth under his hand, just the barest hint of stubble at the end of the day. He wanted him. Wanted him more than he had wanted anyone since he had been a young man and far more inclined to indulge his whims. Marius was not a particularly passionate man, he considered sex a simple physical necessity, something to be done regularly to keep his body healthy and his mind focused. He enjoyed it, of course, but he would never risk doing something stupid out of base desire.
But this was more than that, which was probably the problem; the only reason he was even considering something so irrational and unprofessional, the only reason he was standing far too close, the only reason he was touching something he shouldn't allow himself to have. Adam was looking at him out of those ice-blue eyes, hard eyes that were always more vulnerable when they were meeting Marius', almost afraid right now. Marius and Adam were the same height, but somehow Adam always seemed to be looking up at him.
Marius shifted only the smallest bit and found his lips brushing against Adam's, and he flinched away as if he had burnt himself. He made a step backwards, and for once in his life he could not bring himself to meet Adam's eyes, to see the pain his rejection had caused.
"This is a bad idea." It was the truth, it was what he was supposed to say, but the words made his stomach churn. "Considering our respective positions, it is ... inappropriate."
"Inappropriate?" Adam's voice sounded disbelieving. He didn't touch Marius without invitation, but he stepped closer again, breached what bit of distance Marius had tried to bring between them. "I always thought you just didn't want to, but then you …"
Marius swallowed hard, still looking down. He felt ... embarrassed. It was not an emotion he was familiar with, no more than he was used to doing anything he had not carefully calculated and planned. God, of course he wanted Adam, he had eyes in his head, and no matter what most people thought of him, he also had a heart in his chest. He had many men in his service who were loyal to him, but Adam was more than just loyal; he worshiped Marius. The thought made his heart race, and he forced himself to focus on the facts of the matter, not on the distraction of emotional attachment.
"You work for me, Adam," he reminded him. "I saved your life, I gave you life. And I still pay you. Don't you think that -"
"Don't treat me like I'm some intern looking for a career boost," Adam snapped. Marius looked up in surprise - Adam never interrupted him, just like he never invaded his personal space so insistently. There was an almost mad glint in his eyes, anger and hurt and still that lingering fear of rejection. It didn't scare Marius, never that. He knew Adam would rather rip out his own heart than hurt him, no matter what happened. "After everything you've done for me, sir, you can't think our 'positions' are even comparable to that of an employer and his employee."
Adam licked his lips nervously. His hand hovered over Marius' hip, still reluctant to touch him without permission. But Marius didn't back away this time, he even turned his head a little until his forehead brushed against Adam's. Adam sighed softly, and when Marius didn't say anything he continued:
"You don't understand just how much you've done for me, sir. You were there, of course, but you don't know what it means that you got me out of there. You can't even imagine what exactly you saved me from." He swallowed hard, tensed and shuddered at the thought of things that were best not spoken of, nor even remembered. "If you had got me out of there and dumped me in the street, I would have already owed you my life, but you did so much more than that. You gave me everything. You gave my life more purpose, more value than it ever had before. You allowed me to stay by your side, to be with you every single day. I don't work for you, sir. I belong to you."
Every last bit of anger had seeped from his voice. Adam was simply stating a fact, something as unchangeable and obvious as the sunrise in the morning. Marius had never even dreamt of getting this kind of devotion from anyone, but Adam had offered it freely from the start. It seemed to give him a sense of peace and belonging he desperately needed. Marius had always thought that most men were happiest when they served and obeyed, but men like Adam, who wanted to put their entire lives in somebody else's hands, were far rarer. Far more valuable. And he kept him for his value, after all, not out of mere personal fondness - even if he sometimes had to remind himself of that these days.
"Adam," he said quietly, still hesitating. He knew that he would not be forcing Adam into anything, and yet he was not sure if he could trust his mind when his heart wanted one answer so much more than the other. How could he rationally decide if sleeping with Adam would be a risk to their working relationship if he desperately wanted it not to be?
Adam shook his head when Marius didn't say anything else; the look on his face was pained when he made himself step backwards.
"If you have changed your mind," the soft reminder that Marius had been the one to start this caused an odd feeling of guilt in his heart, when he knew that Adam would never have dared to make that first step himself, "I will never mention it again. I am yours, no matter how you want me. But don't push me away just because you think this is inappropriate."
Blue eyes burnt into Marius', trusting and wide and honest. There was never any dissimulation with Adam, nothing he would ever hide from Marius. What was between them went far beyond the normal limitations of society, beyond the principles that governed Marius' life, that dictated how he dealt with others. In a way, Adam wasn't somebody else. Adam was part of him, as obedient, as reliable as Marius' own hands. And just like he would never ask himself if his hands were happy to do his bidding, he shouldn't be asking that about Adam. After all, Adam had chosen to be just that, Marius' right hand. He served him not simply out of gratitude and a sense of obligation, but because there was nothing he'd rather do. Marius had hesitated because he had wondered if Adam truly wanted this, but only that half-angry, half-hurt look in Adam's eyes made him realise that while Adam would do anything Marius asked of him even if he didn't want to, without the smallest complaint, he would never lie to him and pretend to want something he didn't want, unless Marius told him to.
Marius realised he had been quiet for too long, for he saw the faint hope burning to ashes in Adam's eyes, the searing pain of someone who had made his bid and who realised now that he was losing.
"I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have presumed."
And Marius could see in his face what he was about to say next, that he would ask if he had lost Marius' trust and his respect, ask if Marius wanted him to leave, when they both knew that Adam would rather kill himself than live without him.
He raised his hand up to Adam's face and, before Adam could turn away, pulled him closer. Adam's entire posture spoke of uncertainty and even fear, but he was still pliable under Marius' hand and turned towards him, his head bowed slightly.
Maybe this was irrational, Marius thought. Adam was not quite stable, his devotion had firmly passed into the realm of obsession long ago, considering that he had insisted on sleeping on Marius' doorstep every night until Marius had given him a bed in the room next door, that he became restless whenever Marius forced him to take a day off and relax. There was absolutely nothing healthy about this, about the way Adam looked at him, about the blissful smile on his face when Marius' fingers just lightly caressed his cheek, as if that was the only thing he wanted in life.
But it wasn't dangerous. Marius did not lead a normal life, so he did not care for whatever a normal relationship was supposed to be like. In the life Marius had chosen for himself, with the things he planned to accomplish, he could not wish for a better companion than Adam. And when he had already broken every other rule there was, in his thoughts if not yet in action, why cling to some arbitrary difference in status when the trust between them had long ago made such distinctions irrelevant?
"Come here, Adam," he breathed, and he felt him shudder slightly. Adam hesitated before he raised his hand to Marius' face, carefully mirroring his gesture, the touch of his calloused hand nothing if not reverent.
"Sir?" There was an insecurity in Adam's voice that Marius never wanted to hear again. He curled his fingers at the back of Adam's neck, holding him in place, feeling the muscles relax under gentle pressure. Adam could kill Marius with his bare hands without even breaking a sweat, but he'd let Marius strangle him if he wanted to. The thought sent a rush of power and lust through Marius' body.
"You're mine," he stated softly, breath ghosting over Adam's face. "And you're right, why would I let anyone tell me what to do with things that belong to me?"
There was more to it than that, but Marius had learnt that it was often best to speak to Adam in a language he understood, and Adam's world was made of loyalty and orders and obedience, not of free will. Adam would rather be told what to do than be asked to make decisions of his own. The relief that washed over his face was almost tangible; he bowed his head even further under the touch of Marius' hand, and Marius kissed him lightly on the forehead.
Adam looked up again, just the barest hint of a smile on his lips, but his eyes were gleaming, the way they had when Marius had allowed him to stay with him even when he slept, or when he had taken a bullet for Marius and Marius had come to visit him in hospital. It was how Adam looked when he felt like he had truly found his place in the world.
This time Marius did not force himself to hold back anymore, but leant in to kiss him, more lips than tongue or teeth, but not any less hungrily for it. Adam's hands were resting lightly on Marius' hips, not daring to grab him yet - he knew how Marius was about his suits - but still holding on to him, and he returned the kiss with a desperate, impatient need, as if he wanted to savour every second of this for as long as Marius was willing to grant it.
Mine, Marius thought as his fingers tightened on the back of Adam's neck. Mine more than anything else I own, because he chose to be.
(tbc)
* * *
It is Marius who tells Adam to sleep with Bond if Bond makes a move, as another sign of just how desperate Adam is for forgiveness, for redemption, a sign that he would do anything just for the chance to come home. It may not be unavoidable, but it might be helpful, and Marius has never asked anything less than full commitment to the cause from his employees. He shouldn’t be wasting a single thought on whether or not Adam wants to - Adam who would never even consider letting another touch him without Marius’ permission. But he feels vaguely sick by the time Adam leaves again to return to Bond’s side, and it takes him the rest of the night to realise he is jealous. Not jealous that Adam might prefer someone else, never that, but merely the possessive jealousy that burns through a man who is forced to share what is most precious to him.
The thought makes him pause. What is most precious is the Plan, it’s his work, it’s the greater picture. He has long given up trying to repress his growing attachment to his right-hand man, but Adam, like everyone else, like Marius himself, is still a tool, a small wheel in the machinery of Marius’ great enterprise, not to be spared out of base sentimentality.
But the look on Adam’s face still haunts him. The clenched set of his jaw, the light trembling of his lips, the disgust in his eyes. Almost four years in prison, and Marius knows that the worst thing he could ask of Adam is this, to put himself at the mercy of another man, of anyone who is not Marius. Years ago this could have served as the ultimate test of loyalty, but he doesn’t need to test Adam these days. Adam does not object, he does not beg Marius to change his mind, does not even look angry. Doing this might be harder than killing all those men Adam has killed and will kill for Marius, harder even than dying or enduring torture for him, but Adam will do it nonetheless. He is so loyal he would let Marius break him again, since it was Marius who put him back together in the first place. So Adam simply nods, says he will do whatever is necessary to make Bond believe and trust him, and leaves.
Marius misses him. Over the years he got used to having Adam by his side most of the time, and every time he sends him off on a mission he longs for Adam’s solid presence by his side. Marius had planned to kill Bond himself - the man was a nuisance, and Marius had been looking forward to putting a bullet through his head. But remembering that look on Adam’s face, a look that had changed nothing about his unquestioning obedience, Marius thinks that he will leave that honour to Adam. It would be more fitting, he thinks, to have Bond killed by someone who used to be so much like him. And instead of thinking about Adam in Bond’s bed, suffering through whatever needs to be done, he simply reminds himself that Bond had been doomed the moment he had started trusting Adam.
Above all, Marius considers himself a problem solver. That is what his whole plan is about, solving the problems of the world, the big and the small ones, eradicating every imperfection. Every problem requires a different approach, and a noble goal justifies whatever it takes to achieve it. And if the easiest way to Bond was through his bed, then that was the approach that needed to be taken. Adam understood that. Adam believed in him, believed in the higher purpose of everything Marius did. Marius only hoped that would make it easier for him.
* * *
Even before he had been left to rot in a prison in some shit country in Africa, Adam had been through hell for Queen and Country. Between training courses that sometimes led to casualties, bullet wounds and bomb splitters on missions, whiplashes and waterboarding and whatever other torture devices his captors came up with that one time he got captured before, there had been few ways in which he hadn’t suffered. But he had never questioned his calling, had never wanted to retire from active duty after an injury. He hadn’t broken under torture, because he knew that someone was coming for him. They had saved him after three days in Afghanistan. In Africa, days turned into weeks turned into months until even his captors lost interest in him and left him to rot, and finally he realised thathis own people had abandoned him. Plausible deniability, diplomacy, avoiding international incidents, all those things that were far more important than the life of one soldier - he knew the drill, knew it was part of the job desription, but somehow he had never thought they’d just leave him. He was too valuable to give up; his country had put millions in his training, and he was one of the best they had ever had. He had always expected to die for Queen and Country, and that thought had actually made him proud. But as weeks turned into months he realised that neither Queen nor Country gave a fuck about him, that for all the money they had put in him, he was ultimately worthless. He had not expected much in return for his service, but he had expected more than this. They could at least have sent a colleague to put a bullet through his head instead of leaving him like an unwanted dog.
Adam had no qualms when Marius asked him to turn on all those he had once fought for. Marius was different. All the politicians and generals that Adam had thought were as devoted to a higher cause as he was, they were nothing but power-hungry opportunists who only cared for their own advancement. But Marius was an idealist, a believer. Marius had a vision. He was like a god, ready to create a new world, a new paradise, but first the ruins of the old world had to be torn down and destroyed; the work of the old god and the parasites He had created needed to be razed before Marius could create something better. Adam was all too willing to be the hammer in Marius’ hand and smash the old world that had betrayed him. He knew he might die for Marius, but he also knew that Marius would never abandon him. Marius valued him.
Adam had lost his devotion to Queen and Country some time in the first year of imprisonment, and what made the following three years all the worse was that he had nothing left to believe in. When Marius saved him - freed him and healed him and gave him a new purpose, a new value - he had shown Adam a higher cause, something that deserved his devotion and loyalty. Marius made him feel as if he had only just opened his eyes for the first time. Marius’ words gave him a glimpse at his vision, a vision so grand that it made everything else Adam had ever believed in seem small and insignificant and unworthy.
One day, sitting in Marius’ light-flooded office and watching him work, his eyes studying the quick movements of Marius’ long fingers and the perpetual frown on his face, Adam found himself thinking that he should maybe thank Queen and Country for abandoning and betraying him, or else he would have never seen the truth.
Sansa smiled when they put her child in her arms, but at the same time tears welled up in her eyes again. A healthy little girl, Your Grace. The words sounded oddly ominous to her ears.
Sansa had always wanted daughters. Sons, too, of course, because she knew that no matter whom she would marry, every man wanted sons. But privately she had always dreamt of having girls as well, children who would belong more to her than to their father, little princesses whom she could teach about all the things she loved, about songs and embroidery and poems and dancing. She loved the little girl in her arms as much as she had loved her two sons the moment they were born, but her chest was tight with a fear she hadn't felt anymore since her first son had been born. She had never expected to tremble at the thought of facing her husband again after that, but now she found herself hoping he would not come to visit her just yet. The king was always kind to the Princess Shireen, and Sansa had realised over time that in his own way he did love her, but he was far more awkward and distant around her than around his two sons - not to mention that Sansa had never heard a single good word spoken about Stannis' marriage to Shireen's mother.
Despite her hopes to be left alone the king came to see her only minutes later - he had probably spent the day pacing in front of the birthing room again, just like he had the first two times. Sansa could not bring herself to look up at him. She held the babe in her arms, touched the smal tuft of black hair, looked down into wide eyes that were a brighter shade of blue than her brothers' even when they were born. Tully more than Baratheon eyes.
“My queen,” Stannis said when he stopped beside her bed, his voice gruff with concern. He hesitated, awkwardly, then sat down on the edge of the bed. She hadn't flinched under his touch for years, but she did now when she felt his large hand on her bare arm. Even without seeing him she could feel his frown deepening. “Sansa?”
“I'm sorry, Your Grace,” she said quietly.
“For what?” He sounded genuinely confused. Sansa wondered briefly if he didn't know yet, but surely the maester had already told him that it was a girl.
“That I didn't give you another son.” She bit her cracked lips, still not meeting his eyes. She didn't like him seeing her like this, sweaty and messy and exhausted. She had minded less the first two times, when no worries had troubled her heart, but now she was suddenly afraid that he would … disapprove of her. She knew he would never hurt her, but the thought that he would not care for her anymore was worse.
“The maester said the girl is healthy.” Stannis hesitated again before he let go of her arm and brushed his thumb carefully over the babe's cheek. He pulled back quickly again, like he always did, as if he was afraid to hurt such a small frail thing if he wasn't careful. “I have two sons, both of them healthy and strong.” He scoffed. “And nobody questions that they're mine.”
Sansa finally dared to look up, and to her relief there was not even a hint of anger in his eyes. If there was disappointment, he hid it well, and she even thought there was just the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She did not doubt that he would have preferred another son, but he seemed far less displeased than she had expected.
“I thought you would be angry at me, Your Grace,” she said. It was not something she would have admitted just a few years ago, but these days she knew that Stannis only cared for the truth. He nodded simply, as if he was barely surprised to hear that. For a moment he looked somewhat contrite, but she knew better than to expect apologies from him. To spare him the awkwardness of having to think of something to say, she added, “What should we call her?”
Stannis only thought about that for a moment, eyes downcast now, then said, “My mother's name was Cassana.”
Stannis never talked about his mother, even less than about his father, and Sansa never pried. So she simply replied, “It's a beautiful name.” When she smiled at him he almost smiled back this time, just the faintest twitch of a muscle in his jaw.
“You should rest, Sansa.” His thumb brushed over the little girl's cheek again, then he touched Sansa's forehead as if to feel for himself that she wasn't feverish. His hand lingered for a moment longer on her skin than on his daughter's, but he quickly tore himself away and got up. “I will visit you again tomorrow. There are … Council matters that can't wait any longer.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Thank you.” She wished he could stay, but she loved him for his devotion to his duty as much as for his kindness to her, so she would not ask him to neglect the realm for her sake. It already warmed her heart that he barely ever worked when she was in labour - Jon had told her that the first two times the king had been so restless that he had been incapable of focusing on his work, and neither Sansa nor Jon had been able to think of anything else that would ever tear Stannis away from his duties. She couldn't wait to see Jon in the morning - she was sure that he had been with the king, but waited outside for the sake of propriety -, and for little Steffon and Ned to meet their sister, but her worries had been the only thing keeping her awake despite her exhaustion, and she was grateful when the nurse took the babe from her arms so she could sleep.
* * *
Max woke up handcuffed to a narrow pallet in a dark, small room. His leg was throbbing, the way it did when he didn't drain it for too long, his head was hurting even worse, but the pain in his shoulder from where he'd been shot only a few days ago was surprisingly bearable. Whoever had handcuffed him had taken care not to put any unnecessary strain on his injured shoulder. Max still groaned in pain, tried to shift awkwardly.
“Finally awake?” A deep voice, not a voice from his nightmares because Sternwood had never really had a voice in Max's nightmares, he had always been quiet, as if that bullet to the leg was the only thing he had to say to Max. Max's vision was still a bit blurry - had Sternwood knocked him over the head? had he fallen down and hit his head on something? - but he managed to focus when Sternwood sat down on the edge of the pallet. Green eyes looked down at him, so much lighter than Max remembered from that night in the tunnel. Gentler, too.
“Where the fuck am I?” Max pulled on the handcuffs as if to make a point, but he regretted it immediately when pain shot through his shoulder. Suddenly he felt Sternwood's hand on his chest, pushing him down.
“Don't hurt yourself.” Condescending, but not malicious. It still made Max clench his jaw. He strained to remember, the prison transport, the explosion, the shooting, but there wasn't much else. He frowned. “Did you break me out of prison?”
“Technically I broke you out of a van.” Sternwood looked … smug was maybe the right word. Proud of himself. A lot of things had happened over the last few days that Max had never expected to happen to him, but this was the most unbelievable part so far.
“But why?” He had stopped struggling, although it made his skin crawl to be tied down while Sternwood just sat there, looming over him.
“You let me go, I owed you.” Sternwood shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And it didn't seem right, me going free while they lock you up.”
“You could have just turned yourself in, you know?”
Sternwood actually laughed at that, a soft, warm sound, and his eyes crinkled. Max was disturbed by how … nice he looked. Like a regular, decent man, not a ruthless career criminal.
“Wouldn't that have defeated the purpose of you letting me go?” He was still smiling. “It wouldn't hurt you to thank me, by the way.”
“For what, making me a fugitive?”
Sternwood's smile turned into a frown, although he looked more annoyed than angry.
“They would have crucified you, you know that. Made an example of you, shown the whole world that they're not going to be merciful to a dirty cop. They were pinning multiple murders on you, including your boss and your partner. That's life in prison. Not that cops in prison live very long.”
Max looked down. He knew that, had known that even before his lawyer had told him there was nothing he could do, but that wasn't the point. The point was that you didn't just run away from the consequences of what you had done. The point was that the law was there for a good reason, and even suffering from its mistakes was still preferable to flouting it. But he knew there was no way a man like Sternwood would ever understand that. Max swallowed.
“So you decided to kidnap me for … for what purpose exactly?”
“I don't know, we did make a pretty good team, don't you think?” Sternwood was smiling again. It was infuriating.
“Do you really think I'm going to rob banks with you?” Max snapped.
“Can't say it wouldn't be fun ...” Sternwood laughed when Max glared up at him, but then he added more seriously, “I'm getting you out of the country, and I'll provide you with new papers.”
“Fake papers,” Max interrupted him.
“I promise you won't be able to tell the difference.” Sternwood lifted the bandage on Max's shoulder to glance at the wound, but he seemed satisfied with the healing process. “What you do after that is up to you, but … you're welcome to stick around.”
Max wasn't sure if Sternwood was making fun of him or not. His head still hurt too much to come up with a plan of how to get out of here and back to London - or were they still in London? He had no idea how much time had passed. His head even hurt too much to figure out if he wanted to get out of here or if maybe, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let Sternwood help him. After all, running from crimes someone was trying to pin on you was hardly the same as running from crimes you had actually committed. He groaned softly, allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment.
“Can you at least get me out of these handcuffs?”
“I will, once we're out of here.” He shrugged when Max opened his eyes again to glare at him. “What, I simply don't trust you not to change your mind about letting me go. Some of us are not actively trying to spend the rest of our lives in prison, you know?”
His hand was back on Max's chest, pushing him down when Max started struggling against the handcuffs again. The pressure of his palm was warm and gentle, and despite his words the look in Sternwood's eyes was surprisingly concerned.
Look at you, Max, getting Stockholm Syndrome after just a few minutes. That's probably a record.
“Get some sleep, will you?”
Max obediently closed his eyes, and just before he fell asleep - had Sternwood given him some pain meds, that sleep came so easily? - he thought how odd it was that Sternwood's hand still lingered on his chest.
* * *
Max dreamt of angry green eyes and a dark suit and a gun pointing down at him, still pointing at him after the shot and the horrible flare of pain and he had never thought that getting shot would hurt that much, still pointing at him while that face he had obsessed over for a year stared down at him, frown deepening as he seemed to debate with himself whether to kill Max or not -
He wokeup, like he always did, sweating and breathing heavily and with his leg throbbing worse than at any other time of the day, although it was nothing compared to the pain he relived every time in his dreams. There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. A warm, gentle hand. No leather gloves here, not like in the dream. Max looked up into those same green eyes, only they were lighter in the early morning light than they had been in that tunnel, and they were concerned, not cold. He shrugged the touch off angrily, looked away when Jake - Sternwood, dammit - frowned.
“Are you all right?” Max ignored the question and sat up, grabbed a sterile syringe from the nightstand and rammed it almost angrily into his leg, and of course he regretted that just a moment later. He was still naked, but that didn't bother him anymore. At first he had wanted to hide that scar, that ugly, repulsive leg that had kept him seeking out anyone's company for years, afraid of the stares and the questions, afraid of being treated like a cripple when he just wanted to forget about his failure - and he hadn't wanted Sternwood to see it either when they first slept with each other, terrified of being rejected by him, of all people, by the man without whom that damn scar wouldn't even be there. But Sternwood had never minded, had merely frowned when Max tried to stay half-dressed in bed.
At some point Max had given up on hiding, so he had started flaunting it, almost angrily. He had made Sternwood look at it when they were together, so he would see what he had done to Max, and he wasn't sure if the gentle touch of those long fingers on that ugly scar was reassuring or sickening.
Max drained the fluid from his leg, carefully, then dropped the syringe. Went for his cigarettes next and lit one. Jake didn't mind that Max smoked, but he didn't want him to do it in the bedroom. He hated the smell clinging to the sheets, he hated the taste of smoke on Max's lips. Max hated that he knew those things about him. As petty as it was, imagining the light wrinkle of Sternwood's nose made the cigarette taste even better. He had almost stopped shivering.
Max could feel Jake looming behind him, tall and lean and Max had never expected him to be so well-muscled underneath that damn suit of Max's nightmares. He didn't do or say anything, he just stayed quiet. Jake was good at being quiet. Sometimes it was infuriating as hell, when he only met Max's anger with a deep frown, but there were moments when Max found it reassuring. Jake was like a rock, calm and controlled and in his own way incredibly reliable.
Yeah, why don't you marry him, Max?
He scoffed at himself, but more because they had actually become like a fucking married couple in a disturbingly short amount of time. Arguing, bickering, hating each other, but not really wanting to leave the other anymore. Although Max wasn't sure if married couples still fucked that much.
“I was dreaming of you,” Max said finally between two lungfuls of smoke.
“I take it that's not a romantic confession.” Jake's voice was dry, amused. He was so close that Max could feel the warmth of his body against his back.
“I may have gone insane, but not so insane that I'd believe you shooting me was your way of saying you like me.”
“Not killing you was.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
But Max laughed, because the situation was just so fucking absurd. Sitting in bed with the man who had destroyed his life, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere because Max had become a wanted fugitive, bantering about that shot that still made Max whimper in pain on bad days, as if it had been some silly little prank between friends.
Warm arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him close, and this time Max gladly sank back against him. He took another drag from his cigarette, then let the smoke out slowly.
“Your cigarette stinks,” Jake commented. He turned his head and buried his face against Max's shoulder to avoid breathing the smoke in.
“Yeah, and my leg fucking hurts, so deal with it,” Max snapped back, but he couldn't quite keep the grin off his face. His nightmares hadn't stopped since Sternwood had basically kidnapped him - to protect Max from his own stupidity, he still insisted - if anything what had happened in London had only given him more things to haunt his dreams. And they still always ended with Sternwood staring down at him and contemplating to pull that trigger a second time.
Max had no idea what the fuck was wrong with him, but waking up next to the man who had shot him calmed him more than anything else had over the years. Sternwood was still a murderer and a criminal, not to mention an infuriating asshole, but they were in this together, and Max wasn't going to deny himself the small comfort of leaning back against him.
He considered lighting a second cigarette right after the first, just to annoy Jake, just to see if he'd get it snatched from his fingers, but instead he got distracted by the light press of lips and stubble against his neck, by the tightening of Jake's hands on his hips, from a lingering caress to something more demanding. Part of Max felt like he should say no, to piss Jake off, or just because sleeping with the man minutes after dreaming of that night should be fucking weird. Except it wasn't.
That alone should probably freak him out, but Max freaking out would lead to Jake giving him that infuriatingly calm glare, and then Max would have to punch him in the face, and his leg was still hurting too much for another fight. So he didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and relaxed as Jake's hands roamed over his sides, his thighs, down to that fucking scar, careful fingertips retracing it, and fuck, if Jake got some weird kick out of thinking that he had somehow marked Max as his, then Max could still punch him for that later.
* * *
Marius managed to stop himself the moment before he kissed Adam. They were so close that he could smell the cheap aftershave Adam insisted on using, taste the clean mint of his breath. Adam's cheek was smooth under his hand, just the barest hint of stubble at the end of the day. He wanted him. Wanted him more than he had wanted anyone since he had been a young man and far more inclined to indulge his whims. Marius was not a particularly passionate man, he considered sex a simple physical necessity, something to be done regularly to keep his body healthy and his mind focused. He enjoyed it, of course, but he would never risk doing something stupid out of base desire.
But this was more than that, which was probably the problem; the only reason he was even considering something so irrational and unprofessional, the only reason he was standing far too close, the only reason he was touching something he shouldn't allow himself to have. Adam was looking at him out of those ice-blue eyes, hard eyes that were always more vulnerable when they were meeting Marius', almost afraid right now. Marius and Adam were the same height, but somehow Adam always seemed to be looking up at him.
Marius shifted only the smallest bit and found his lips brushing against Adam's, and he flinched away as if he had burnt himself. He made a step backwards, and for once in his life he could not bring himself to meet Adam's eyes, to see the pain his rejection had caused.
"This is a bad idea." It was the truth, it was what he was supposed to say, but the words made his stomach churn. "Considering our respective positions, it is ... inappropriate."
"Inappropriate?" Adam's voice sounded disbelieving. He didn't touch Marius without invitation, but he stepped closer again, breached what bit of distance Marius had tried to bring between them. "I always thought you just didn't want to, but then you …"
Marius swallowed hard, still looking down. He felt ... embarrassed. It was not an emotion he was familiar with, no more than he was used to doing anything he had not carefully calculated and planned. God, of course he wanted Adam, he had eyes in his head, and no matter what most people thought of him, he also had a heart in his chest. He had many men in his service who were loyal to him, but Adam was more than just loyal; he worshiped Marius. The thought made his heart race, and he forced himself to focus on the facts of the matter, not on the distraction of emotional attachment.
"You work for me, Adam," he reminded him. "I saved your life, I gave you life. And I still pay you. Don't you think that -"
"Don't treat me like I'm some intern looking for a career boost," Adam snapped. Marius looked up in surprise - Adam never interrupted him, just like he never invaded his personal space so insistently. There was an almost mad glint in his eyes, anger and hurt and still that lingering fear of rejection. It didn't scare Marius, never that. He knew Adam would rather rip out his own heart than hurt him, no matter what happened. "After everything you've done for me, sir, you can't think our 'positions' are even comparable to that of an employer and his employee."
Adam licked his lips nervously. His hand hovered over Marius' hip, still reluctant to touch him without permission. But Marius didn't back away this time, he even turned his head a little until his forehead brushed against Adam's. Adam sighed softly, and when Marius didn't say anything he continued:
"You don't understand just how much you've done for me, sir. You were there, of course, but you don't know what it means that you got me out of there. You can't even imagine what exactly you saved me from." He swallowed hard, tensed and shuddered at the thought of things that were best not spoken of, nor even remembered. "If you had got me out of there and dumped me in the street, I would have already owed you my life, but you did so much more than that. You gave me everything. You gave my life more purpose, more value than it ever had before. You allowed me to stay by your side, to be with you every single day. I don't work for you, sir. I belong to you."
Every last bit of anger had seeped from his voice. Adam was simply stating a fact, something as unchangeable and obvious as the sunrise in the morning. Marius had never even dreamt of getting this kind of devotion from anyone, but Adam had offered it freely from the start. It seemed to give him a sense of peace and belonging he desperately needed. Marius had always thought that most men were happiest when they served and obeyed, but men like Adam, who wanted to put their entire lives in somebody else's hands, were far rarer. Far more valuable. And he kept him for his value, after all, not out of mere personal fondness - even if he sometimes had to remind himself of that these days.
"Adam," he said quietly, still hesitating. He knew that he would not be forcing Adam into anything, and yet he was not sure if he could trust his mind when his heart wanted one answer so much more than the other. How could he rationally decide if sleeping with Adam would be a risk to their working relationship if he desperately wanted it not to be?
Adam shook his head when Marius didn't say anything else; the look on his face was pained when he made himself step backwards.
"If you have changed your mind," the soft reminder that Marius had been the one to start this caused an odd feeling of guilt in his heart, when he knew that Adam would never have dared to make that first step himself, "I will never mention it again. I am yours, no matter how you want me. But don't push me away just because you think this is inappropriate."
Blue eyes burnt into Marius', trusting and wide and honest. There was never any dissimulation with Adam, nothing he would ever hide from Marius. What was between them went far beyond the normal limitations of society, beyond the principles that governed Marius' life, that dictated how he dealt with others. In a way, Adam wasn't somebody else. Adam was part of him, as obedient, as reliable as Marius' own hands. And just like he would never ask himself if his hands were happy to do his bidding, he shouldn't be asking that about Adam. After all, Adam had chosen to be just that, Marius' right hand. He served him not simply out of gratitude and a sense of obligation, but because there was nothing he'd rather do. Marius had hesitated because he had wondered if Adam truly wanted this, but only that half-angry, half-hurt look in Adam's eyes made him realise that while Adam would do anything Marius asked of him even if he didn't want to, without the smallest complaint, he would never lie to him and pretend to want something he didn't want, unless Marius told him to.
Marius realised he had been quiet for too long, for he saw the faint hope burning to ashes in Adam's eyes, the searing pain of someone who had made his bid and who realised now that he was losing.
"I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have presumed."
And Marius could see in his face what he was about to say next, that he would ask if he had lost Marius' trust and his respect, ask if Marius wanted him to leave, when they both knew that Adam would rather kill himself than live without him.
He raised his hand up to Adam's face and, before Adam could turn away, pulled him closer. Adam's entire posture spoke of uncertainty and even fear, but he was still pliable under Marius' hand and turned towards him, his head bowed slightly.
Maybe this was irrational, Marius thought. Adam was not quite stable, his devotion had firmly passed into the realm of obsession long ago, considering that he had insisted on sleeping on Marius' doorstep every night until Marius had given him a bed in the room next door, that he became restless whenever Marius forced him to take a day off and relax. There was absolutely nothing healthy about this, about the way Adam looked at him, about the blissful smile on his face when Marius' fingers just lightly caressed his cheek, as if that was the only thing he wanted in life.
But it wasn't dangerous. Marius did not lead a normal life, so he did not care for whatever a normal relationship was supposed to be like. In the life Marius had chosen for himself, with the things he planned to accomplish, he could not wish for a better companion than Adam. And when he had already broken every other rule there was, in his thoughts if not yet in action, why cling to some arbitrary difference in status when the trust between them had long ago made such distinctions irrelevant?
"Come here, Adam," he breathed, and he felt him shudder slightly. Adam hesitated before he raised his hand to Marius' face, carefully mirroring his gesture, the touch of his calloused hand nothing if not reverent.
"Sir?" There was an insecurity in Adam's voice that Marius never wanted to hear again. He curled his fingers at the back of Adam's neck, holding him in place, feeling the muscles relax under gentle pressure. Adam could kill Marius with his bare hands without even breaking a sweat, but he'd let Marius strangle him if he wanted to. The thought sent a rush of power and lust through Marius' body.
"You're mine," he stated softly, breath ghosting over Adam's face. "And you're right, why would I let anyone tell me what to do with things that belong to me?"
There was more to it than that, but Marius had learnt that it was often best to speak to Adam in a language he understood, and Adam's world was made of loyalty and orders and obedience, not of free will. Adam would rather be told what to do than be asked to make decisions of his own. The relief that washed over his face was almost tangible; he bowed his head even further under the touch of Marius' hand, and Marius kissed him lightly on the forehead.
Adam looked up again, just the barest hint of a smile on his lips, but his eyes were gleaming, the way they had when Marius had allowed him to stay with him even when he slept, or when he had taken a bullet for Marius and Marius had come to visit him in hospital. It was how Adam looked when he felt like he had truly found his place in the world.
This time Marius did not force himself to hold back anymore, but leant in to kiss him, more lips than tongue or teeth, but not any less hungrily for it. Adam's hands were resting lightly on Marius' hips, not daring to grab him yet - he knew how Marius was about his suits - but still holding on to him, and he returned the kiss with a desperate, impatient need, as if he wanted to savour every second of this for as long as Marius was willing to grant it.
Mine, Marius thought as his fingers tightened on the back of Adam's neck. Mine more than anything else I own, because he chose to be.
(tbc)
* * *
It is Marius who tells Adam to sleep with Bond if Bond makes a move, as another sign of just how desperate Adam is for forgiveness, for redemption, a sign that he would do anything just for the chance to come home. It may not be unavoidable, but it might be helpful, and Marius has never asked anything less than full commitment to the cause from his employees. He shouldn’t be wasting a single thought on whether or not Adam wants to - Adam who would never even consider letting another touch him without Marius’ permission. But he feels vaguely sick by the time Adam leaves again to return to Bond’s side, and it takes him the rest of the night to realise he is jealous. Not jealous that Adam might prefer someone else, never that, but merely the possessive jealousy that burns through a man who is forced to share what is most precious to him.
The thought makes him pause. What is most precious is the Plan, it’s his work, it’s the greater picture. He has long given up trying to repress his growing attachment to his right-hand man, but Adam, like everyone else, like Marius himself, is still a tool, a small wheel in the machinery of Marius’ great enterprise, not to be spared out of base sentimentality.
But the look on Adam’s face still haunts him. The clenched set of his jaw, the light trembling of his lips, the disgust in his eyes. Almost four years in prison, and Marius knows that the worst thing he could ask of Adam is this, to put himself at the mercy of another man, of anyone who is not Marius. Years ago this could have served as the ultimate test of loyalty, but he doesn’t need to test Adam these days. Adam does not object, he does not beg Marius to change his mind, does not even look angry. Doing this might be harder than killing all those men Adam has killed and will kill for Marius, harder even than dying or enduring torture for him, but Adam will do it nonetheless. He is so loyal he would let Marius break him again, since it was Marius who put him back together in the first place. So Adam simply nods, says he will do whatever is necessary to make Bond believe and trust him, and leaves.
Marius misses him. Over the years he got used to having Adam by his side most of the time, and every time he sends him off on a mission he longs for Adam’s solid presence by his side. Marius had planned to kill Bond himself - the man was a nuisance, and Marius had been looking forward to putting a bullet through his head. But remembering that look on Adam’s face, a look that had changed nothing about his unquestioning obedience, Marius thinks that he will leave that honour to Adam. It would be more fitting, he thinks, to have Bond killed by someone who used to be so much like him. And instead of thinking about Adam in Bond’s bed, suffering through whatever needs to be done, he simply reminds himself that Bond had been doomed the moment he had started trusting Adam.
Above all, Marius considers himself a problem solver. That is what his whole plan is about, solving the problems of the world, the big and the small ones, eradicating every imperfection. Every problem requires a different approach, and a noble goal justifies whatever it takes to achieve it. And if the easiest way to Bond was through his bed, then that was the approach that needed to be taken. Adam understood that. Adam believed in him, believed in the higher purpose of everything Marius did. Marius only hoped that would make it easier for him.
* * *
Even before he had been left to rot in a prison in some shit country in Africa, Adam had been through hell for Queen and Country. Between training courses that sometimes led to casualties, bullet wounds and bomb splitters on missions, whiplashes and waterboarding and whatever other torture devices his captors came up with that one time he got captured before, there had been few ways in which he hadn’t suffered. But he had never questioned his calling, had never wanted to retire from active duty after an injury. He hadn’t broken under torture, because he knew that someone was coming for him. They had saved him after three days in Afghanistan. In Africa, days turned into weeks turned into months until even his captors lost interest in him and left him to rot, and finally he realised thathis own people had abandoned him. Plausible deniability, diplomacy, avoiding international incidents, all those things that were far more important than the life of one soldier - he knew the drill, knew it was part of the job desription, but somehow he had never thought they’d just leave him. He was too valuable to give up; his country had put millions in his training, and he was one of the best they had ever had. He had always expected to die for Queen and Country, and that thought had actually made him proud. But as weeks turned into months he realised that neither Queen nor Country gave a fuck about him, that for all the money they had put in him, he was ultimately worthless. He had not expected much in return for his service, but he had expected more than this. They could at least have sent a colleague to put a bullet through his head instead of leaving him like an unwanted dog.
Adam had no qualms when Marius asked him to turn on all those he had once fought for. Marius was different. All the politicians and generals that Adam had thought were as devoted to a higher cause as he was, they were nothing but power-hungry opportunists who only cared for their own advancement. But Marius was an idealist, a believer. Marius had a vision. He was like a god, ready to create a new world, a new paradise, but first the ruins of the old world had to be torn down and destroyed; the work of the old god and the parasites He had created needed to be razed before Marius could create something better. Adam was all too willing to be the hammer in Marius’ hand and smash the old world that had betrayed him. He knew he might die for Marius, but he also knew that Marius would never abandon him. Marius valued him.
Adam had lost his devotion to Queen and Country some time in the first year of imprisonment, and what made the following three years all the worse was that he had nothing left to believe in. When Marius saved him - freed him and healed him and gave him a new purpose, a new value - he had shown Adam a higher cause, something that deserved his devotion and loyalty. Marius made him feel as if he had only just opened his eyes for the first time. Marius’ words gave him a glimpse at his vision, a vision so grand that it made everything else Adam had ever believed in seem small and insignificant and unworthy.
One day, sitting in Marius’ light-flooded office and watching him work, his eyes studying the quick movements of Marius’ long fingers and the perpetual frown on his face, Adam found himself thinking that he should maybe thank Queen and Country for abandoning and betraying him, or else he would have never seen the truth.