Pawn to King's Bishop Three
He's right, of course. I'll apologize to Harper when she gets back from the Dylan Melcross affair. We've grown apart, regardless - my control over her has always been personal. Perhaps that needs to be reasserted.
As for Percy... He's right there, too, but fuck me if I'm going to apologize first. I'm the Black King - he can apologize to me.
< HFC > Hellfire Clubhouse - Shaw's Office < HFC >
One entire wall lies shrouded in black velvet; whether the drapes cover only wall or windows as well stays hidden. A miniature marble obelisk, fully six feet high, guards a corner between the office's two doors, its sloping sides and pyramidal peak gleaming darkly pristine but for stray chips and scuff marks. The rest of the room is its own adornment: crown-molded white ceiling, pale-rose silk wallpaper, and lush black carpet interwoven with tiny scarlet diamonds.
"Bahir." Shaw is standing, back to the door, fiddling with glasses at the bar as a pawn lets the telepath in. "Thank you for coming." He turns, a pair of glasses in his hand - dark slacks, a deep red shirt rolled up to his elbows. No tie, and chest hair shows at his collar. "I know that technically, you're not supposed to drink... But I thought I'd offer bourbon." A beat, and then one glass is offered.
"You're welcome," Bahir says, courtesy rote. He stands a moment in the doorway, leaning on the prop of the handle, and then enters to close the door behind him. He taps it shut with a moccasined heel, well-worn denim scuffing over his shoes. His shirt is black, black, black: crisp and unwrinkled, but half-buttoned over the vivid green of the novelty t-shirt below, and untucked. To the drinking quip, he offers half of a very dry smirk, and takes the bourbon.
Shaw crosses to his desk, and as he takes a seat the chair creaks. "You've done well lately, al-Razi. I've been very impressed." A smile. "You've risen to the challenges in front of you, and that's something most people in your position would fail to do."
The bare curve of his lips fades away behind the lift of Bahir's glass. He does little more than wet his lips and mouth, and then swallow dry. He jams his hand in the back pocket of his jeans, posture settling slouchward. "Not a lot of choice. Rise or--" He tips his drink in mocking salute. "Good liquor."
"As your brother said," Shaw remarks, "I have money. I throw it at problems - like bad drinks." A thin smile. "Sit down, Bahir. Linden tells me your work in the last day has been admirable, and Talhurt -" his mind sours a little at that name "- is equally full of praise. As for the service you did me with Emma..." Shaw sips, watching Bahir carefully for a reaction.
Bahir sits on the edge of the offered seat. He does not make a show of relaxation, but rather leans forward. The angle of his body is sharp, even aggressive, and the glint of his eyes hard. Of praise from Knight and Bishop, he is mild-voiced: "I appreciate hearing that." He rests his forearms on his knees, glass cupped in his hands. "You would be better off not putting yourself in a position with her where you need that sort of backup. The surprise will not work twice."
Shaw nods slowly, sipping carefully at his bourbon. "Yes," he says. "I agree." A pause, and then he slides an envelope across the table carefully, thick with paper. "I can't imagine," he remarks quietly, "that that was easy, Bahir." A pause. "I want you to know that I know it wasn't easy, and that I don't like putting you in a place where you could come into conflict with your brother."
Baring teeth, Bahir's words snap out and vibrate with tension: "No, it wasn't." He lets one hand drop, bourbon cradled in his palm, while he scrubs at his face with the other. There are still signs of weariness around his eyes: skin dark and whites bloodshot. "Thank you. I am glad you can acknowledge that. I did not like striking against Emma, either." He drops his hand to mesh them over the glass in a vague gesture delineating bonds of mutual trust among "Telepaths."
"There was a time," Shaw says heavily, "when Emma and I had an agreement - she wouldn't use her powers on me." The White Queen springs easily to his thoughts, right now, and the pictures - a younger Emma, a younger Shaw, images of happiness, images of control. "That changed." A shrug. "And so we arrive at our present place, yes? Still... I want you to be aware that I value you." His hand leaves the envelope just in front of Bahir, and he taps it three times. "I've something I need from you; perhaps two somethings, though neither will start immediately."
Bahir continues to ignore the envelope; all too readily drawn by his curiosity, he leashes it to fix his attention on Shaw. "Funny how things change," he says in a light voice, very near a sing-song. A trickle of suspicion worms across his gaze. "Thank you. I feel valued. Enough with the carrot: where are you leading me? What do you need?"
Shaw smiles. "Open the envelope."
The snatch off the desk is too quick for the disinterest Bahir would feign, although he is slower, measured as he opens the envelope and pulls out its contents.
The Black King settles back in his chair with his bourbon as the envelope's contents are made plain to Bahir: a packet emblazoned with 'British Airways', and then two trifold sheets of paper which appear to have ATM cards attached. The first one is from Vierzebanc Suisse - the letterhead says Zurich, and the account statement shows 250,000 dollars with merely a number for the account statement. The second is from another bank, Monolith Financial, and the byline there shows 'Grand Cayman'. The account has a different number, but the money is the same.
Bahir draws breath to question and then closes his lips on words. The hook of a finger lying over his lips, he goes back over the pages. He looks at Shaw, chin lifting on the curious arch of his eyebrows. He doesn't ask the question, but he /looks/ it.
Shaw smiles. "The tickets aren't really tickets - vouchers, Bahir, two of them to Bahrain and back. The money in the Swiss account is yours - the Club," he says, "takes care of its own. The money in the Cayman account is for business." A beat. "And speaking of business..."
Naked longing lies revealed in Bahir's eyes for a heartbeat after 'Bahrain' and until he pulls his eyes away. He closes them, looking down at his hands as he folds them over paper neatly set on his lap. He says, "Thank you," in a thin, rough voice, and then clears his throat. His tone is brisk and leading as he inquires, "Business?" He turns the vouchers over in his hands.
"I know you could buy the tickets yourself," Shaw says. "But there's a reason I spend a few days a month in Pittsburgh. There's something," he murmurs through a sip of bourbon, "about home." A beat. "If you're going to take Adel, you'll need to wait til Emma is recovered, though." A shrug. "As for business... There are a lot of people in the city, and many of them are mutants. I'm not talking about the wealthy, the temporally powerful - I would be Sebastian Shaw X-Factor or not. I mean the guttersnipes, working dead end jobs if they're working at all. You know the sort of mutant I mean?"
"I can wait." Bahir's fingers close on those little scraps. He lifts dark eyes to meet Shaw's again, regard even. His smile is desiccated. He tips his head, and says, "I know the sort. I know many of the sort."
"You can bring Percy instead, if you want," Shaw says carefully. "It's up to you." A smile. "I want you to start finding out what they can do and how they can be of use to us, Bahir - discovering the ones that we can tap as unwitting pawns. Perhaps witting ones, if they are truly exceptional... But I would like aces in my hole, and right now all I have is you." A beat. "Use the money if that will help."
A minor twitch of negation dismisses the notion of taking Percy over Adel. Bahir will wait. He smoothes his fingers along the talisman of paper. "I can think of several potentials," he says slowly, gaze abstracted in calculation. "It would help if I had Adel's assistance in this. Do you want this kept from White?"
Shaw smiles. "Until Emma recovers, there's not really another color in the Club, Bahir." A pause. "I'd like this to be a Black project - so if Adel helps, it's with the clear understanding that Black has pick of any potential pawns, large 'p' or small." A pause. "Percy can help as well, if you need it... But this is your project, Bahir, not his. The buck stops with you."
Bahir nods, but distantly. "I don't need Adel's help," he says, a thread of bright subconsciously weaving through his posture to pull his spine straight out of his slouch. "I assume you want them to know as little about the club, about /you/, as possible. What sort of abilities are you looking for? Information gathering? Trouble starting?"
"Either. Or." The Black King's smile is a little feral at that. "I'd like them to know nothing at all about the Club, Bahir - their trails should lead back to you for the moment. I trust your discretion in that, and if you find the right sort - the sort that is interested in coin, of either the fiscal or ideological sort - well..." He leans back, and the chair creaks a little.
"Don't trust idealists." Bahir closes his fist on that gesture, discarding it. "But money, other bartering chips -- I trust that. Telepaths are uniquely placed to find out what the best leverage is." He rolls his glass between his hands, and then lifts it to take a long drink. He sits back in his chair. "I will think on this. It is nothing I would want to move quickly on, especially--" He pauses, teeth flashing a razor-edged white. "--being set up so that all trails lead to me. Are you calling that incentive, or threat?"
Shaw spreads his hands a little. "Neither, Bahir. It's a risk, is what it is - I'm not going to lie to you." A pause. "You are, at the end of the day, a pawn - my most valuable pawn, but... it's the circle I'm concerned about. Emma's already led too many things towards the Circle, and we can't be careless. If it comes to you, I will protect you." A pause. "Fealty goes both ways, Bahir."
Bahir closes his eyes over a softly breathed sigh, thick eyelashes feathering against his cheek. "Ah. Incentive, then." He licks his lips, finishes off the glass, and leans forward to set it on the edge of Shaw's desk. "No. We really can't be careless. I'd rather not get deported." He is slow to address the last, shifting minutely in an uneasy fidget, but finally he nods. "Good."
"Do you want citizenship?" Shaw asks, focusing on the last for a thoughtful moment. A beat. "There's another thing I'd require of you - this, however, is optional."
Scuffing a hand through his hair to tangle where it is tied back, Bahir blinks mildly. "I just don't want my student visa revoked. Citizenship might help, but the mutant issue...." He trails off, thumbing sliding over his knuckles as he laces his fingers. He sets the topic to the side on the tip of his head. "What is the other thing?"
Shaw finds a folder, this time, and holds it close to him on the desk. "Your brother was in federal custody for several days," he says. "The interrogator was... less kind to him that Emma's captors were."
Speaking of the mutant issue-- Bahir's expression walls off, brick by brick, and becomes tightly controlled. "Yes. I know."
"I want to know what that interrogator learned, if anything," the Black King says quietly, his fingers now drumming on the folder. "Oh - and I don't really want the interrogator to be much use to anyone when you're done. Not traced to us, of course."
Bahir bites his lower lip, and his fingers tighten on Bahraini vouchers. "Easy enough to find what he learned." He looks down at his hands, turning back the bent corner under his thumb. He licks his lips, and firms the set of his mouth. "It would work best if you could arrange some sort of accident with head trauma, after. Cover."
Shaw shrugs. "Can you just arrange a car accident?" he says. "The man falls asleep at the wheel, or some such."
"I've never arranged a car accident," Bahir says irritably. "You do it. I'll scramble his head, fine, but it will look suspicious without a ready excuse. Which you -- or your Knight -- can provide far more readily than I."
Shaw nods. "I'll have Linden put someone down there," he says. "He can work with you." A smile, an honest desire to soothe Bahir. "If you don't want to do this," he says. "You don't need to. I wasn't sure if you'd want to get into the business of revenge." That's a lie - he remembers Magneto.
Bahir makes a sharp negating gesture. "It is not a question of will, it is a question of experience and skills. I don't even know which one is the brake and which is the gas."
Shaw laughs. "I figured if he blacked out when driving," the Black King says, "he'd handle the car accident all himself." A beat. "But I'll let Linden handle it. He's more professional, you're right."
"Too many variables if he just falls unconscious." Bahir smiles slightly. "Not to be difficult. I will find out what I can and then--" He breaks off, fingers frittering away a vague gesture. Hard notes of gray glint within darker brown eyes. "Thank you for the opportunity."
The Black King's file is slid across the table. "This," he says, "is what we have." A pause. "I think that's everything, Bahir. Thank you for your time." A beat. "And, oh -"
Bahir tugs on the file to add it to his others, a rapidly growing collection that he hugs close to his chest. He pauses in the motion, looking at Shaw. "And?"
Shaw's purse. "Percy is very upset about recent developments. He's said some things..." Frustration, anger, a little rage starts to rise. "I am inclined to overlook his indiscretions. I am inclined to give him a free pass for the duration of this affair, given his emotional connection to Melcross." It is clear that inclination comes from reason, not emotion. "However... watch him, Bahir. Let me know if he is coming close to a line. If he is going to do something stupid - and I think he may - and we catch him before it happens, then all will be well. However..." Eyes flash a little. "If he is not caught in advance, I am not going to be particularly receptive to apologies after the fact. I'm your - and his - ally in this, but only if you keep me in the loop."
Bahir draws a careful breath and then, slowly, releases it. He inclines his head in acknowledgement, but not without reservation. "You hit him. I would imagine you must have been upset as well." The slight curve on his lips tips cynical. "Like when you strangled Emma. Upset, right? You need to watch your temper, Shaw, especially dealing with Percy, because of the nature of his mutation." He folds his hands over papers and vouchers and files. "I will watch him."
A wry smile. "I hit Harper earlier today, Bahir. I do, sometimes, have a temper..." A pause. "Though Percy - and Sal - are different than with Emma. That woman..." Again, there is a powerful flicker of images from years of relationship; the White Queen was really just a girl, and she became a woman of Shaw's making. "Emma brings it on herself, Bahir." Mind hardens into the comfortable mien of the abusive partner. "It's the only way to get through to her - all she knows."
"I have a temper, too. The difference: I am not in a position of authority over the people around me," Bahir snaps irritably. "Take up yoga if you have trouble controlling it." He is markedly silent on Emma. The cynical light behind his eyes only settles a bit more firmly in place.
Shaw's previously friendly mental landscape is clouding rapidly. "Someone shot Emma," he says flatly. "Someone shot Emma, and that someone wasn't me."
"Was it Percy?" asks Bahir, equally flat. After a second, he even remembers to ask, "Was it Harper?"
Shaw looks away at this, and with a lumbering sound he rises. "You're a better bishop than your boytoy, Bahir," he says. "Percy suggested I wasn't concerned for Emma. Harper suggested that vengeance was not my right." A deep breath, and then the nearly shouted, << I created her! She's /mine/ to do with, to kill or hit or cherish as I please. >>
Bahir's lips curl back from his teeth in an unfriendly expression at 'boytoy', fixing in a grimace at the loud tone of Shaw's thoughts. He winces away from them, and the heat fades from his words -- slightly. They remain warmish. "I like vengeance. But vengeance has to come after thought, not on a whim. /You/ taught me that. And you seriously need to watch your fucking temper."
"If you knew your family was going to die, would you be very likely to take a pistol to me - even if you, Bahir, had no desire to live?" Shaw's question is direct. "Tyranny might drive you to suicide - but could you sacrifice Adel when your brother is living a happy and fulfilled life?"
Bahir tips his head. "You phrase that as though it were a threat, but I don't think you mean it as such. The question is invalid give the link Adel and I share. For one of us to suicide is nearly to murder the other."
Shaw smiles. "It's only a threat if you plan on shooting me, Bahir - and the truth is, I've been shot before. My particular physiology makes it inconvenient, but hardly crippling." A beat. "I think family is the ultimate leverage, and perhaps our pawns have forgotten that. If Sabitha Melcross thought that her brother Dylan's happy life was going to end in an orgy of blood and fire because of her folly... Perhaps she would have reconsidered."
Bahir smiles too, just a little. "I wouldn't shoot you," he says with no particular emphasis. "She might have reconsidered, or she might have taken the tame to make certain she succeeded. It is a two-edged sword."
"It is - but that's why I'm acting, and not someone of Emma's. Kill one monarch and the Circle survives," Shaw says. He shrugs. "I shouldn't have hit Percy." The comment is flat. "But the gall... to judge me. I've known Emma longer than anyone, and while we've had little ups and downs..." A wry smile. "Me beating her senseless, her hiring hit men to kill me - Well." A pause. "Time builds bonds."
Looking up at the ceiling, Bahir chirps a breath, "Ah, youth. Beating each other, hiring hit men: it's so romantic, the way you and Mom courted. Really." He glances back down, hands spreading in a minimalist shrug. "If you are apologizing, apologize to Percy. Otherwise, just try to rein in your impulses a little more. You achieve nothing."
Shaw's response is flat. "We're done." A beat. "Watch Talhurst. I don't want to have to take corrective action you'll regret."
Anger lights Bahir's expression as he stands. He jerks a perfunctory nod at Shaw. "Fine. Good evening, Shaw." Dismissed, he takes his things and leaves; his shoulders are set in a tense line.
As for Percy... He's right there, too, but fuck me if I'm going to apologize first. I'm the Black King - he can apologize to me.
< HFC > Hellfire Clubhouse - Shaw's Office < HFC >
One entire wall lies shrouded in black velvet; whether the drapes cover only wall or windows as well stays hidden. A miniature marble obelisk, fully six feet high, guards a corner between the office's two doors, its sloping sides and pyramidal peak gleaming darkly pristine but for stray chips and scuff marks. The rest of the room is its own adornment: crown-molded white ceiling, pale-rose silk wallpaper, and lush black carpet interwoven with tiny scarlet diamonds.
"Bahir." Shaw is standing, back to the door, fiddling with glasses at the bar as a pawn lets the telepath in. "Thank you for coming." He turns, a pair of glasses in his hand - dark slacks, a deep red shirt rolled up to his elbows. No tie, and chest hair shows at his collar. "I know that technically, you're not supposed to drink... But I thought I'd offer bourbon." A beat, and then one glass is offered.
"You're welcome," Bahir says, courtesy rote. He stands a moment in the doorway, leaning on the prop of the handle, and then enters to close the door behind him. He taps it shut with a moccasined heel, well-worn denim scuffing over his shoes. His shirt is black, black, black: crisp and unwrinkled, but half-buttoned over the vivid green of the novelty t-shirt below, and untucked. To the drinking quip, he offers half of a very dry smirk, and takes the bourbon.
Shaw crosses to his desk, and as he takes a seat the chair creaks. "You've done well lately, al-Razi. I've been very impressed." A smile. "You've risen to the challenges in front of you, and that's something most people in your position would fail to do."
The bare curve of his lips fades away behind the lift of Bahir's glass. He does little more than wet his lips and mouth, and then swallow dry. He jams his hand in the back pocket of his jeans, posture settling slouchward. "Not a lot of choice. Rise or--" He tips his drink in mocking salute. "Good liquor."
"As your brother said," Shaw remarks, "I have money. I throw it at problems - like bad drinks." A thin smile. "Sit down, Bahir. Linden tells me your work in the last day has been admirable, and Talhurt -" his mind sours a little at that name "- is equally full of praise. As for the service you did me with Emma..." Shaw sips, watching Bahir carefully for a reaction.
Bahir sits on the edge of the offered seat. He does not make a show of relaxation, but rather leans forward. The angle of his body is sharp, even aggressive, and the glint of his eyes hard. Of praise from Knight and Bishop, he is mild-voiced: "I appreciate hearing that." He rests his forearms on his knees, glass cupped in his hands. "You would be better off not putting yourself in a position with her where you need that sort of backup. The surprise will not work twice."
Shaw nods slowly, sipping carefully at his bourbon. "Yes," he says. "I agree." A pause, and then he slides an envelope across the table carefully, thick with paper. "I can't imagine," he remarks quietly, "that that was easy, Bahir." A pause. "I want you to know that I know it wasn't easy, and that I don't like putting you in a place where you could come into conflict with your brother."
Baring teeth, Bahir's words snap out and vibrate with tension: "No, it wasn't." He lets one hand drop, bourbon cradled in his palm, while he scrubs at his face with the other. There are still signs of weariness around his eyes: skin dark and whites bloodshot. "Thank you. I am glad you can acknowledge that. I did not like striking against Emma, either." He drops his hand to mesh them over the glass in a vague gesture delineating bonds of mutual trust among "Telepaths."
"There was a time," Shaw says heavily, "when Emma and I had an agreement - she wouldn't use her powers on me." The White Queen springs easily to his thoughts, right now, and the pictures - a younger Emma, a younger Shaw, images of happiness, images of control. "That changed." A shrug. "And so we arrive at our present place, yes? Still... I want you to be aware that I value you." His hand leaves the envelope just in front of Bahir, and he taps it three times. "I've something I need from you; perhaps two somethings, though neither will start immediately."
Bahir continues to ignore the envelope; all too readily drawn by his curiosity, he leashes it to fix his attention on Shaw. "Funny how things change," he says in a light voice, very near a sing-song. A trickle of suspicion worms across his gaze. "Thank you. I feel valued. Enough with the carrot: where are you leading me? What do you need?"
Shaw smiles. "Open the envelope."
The snatch off the desk is too quick for the disinterest Bahir would feign, although he is slower, measured as he opens the envelope and pulls out its contents.
The Black King settles back in his chair with his bourbon as the envelope's contents are made plain to Bahir: a packet emblazoned with 'British Airways', and then two trifold sheets of paper which appear to have ATM cards attached. The first one is from Vierzebanc Suisse - the letterhead says Zurich, and the account statement shows 250,000 dollars with merely a number for the account statement. The second is from another bank, Monolith Financial, and the byline there shows 'Grand Cayman'. The account has a different number, but the money is the same.
Bahir draws breath to question and then closes his lips on words. The hook of a finger lying over his lips, he goes back over the pages. He looks at Shaw, chin lifting on the curious arch of his eyebrows. He doesn't ask the question, but he /looks/ it.
Shaw smiles. "The tickets aren't really tickets - vouchers, Bahir, two of them to Bahrain and back. The money in the Swiss account is yours - the Club," he says, "takes care of its own. The money in the Cayman account is for business." A beat. "And speaking of business..."
Naked longing lies revealed in Bahir's eyes for a heartbeat after 'Bahrain' and until he pulls his eyes away. He closes them, looking down at his hands as he folds them over paper neatly set on his lap. He says, "Thank you," in a thin, rough voice, and then clears his throat. His tone is brisk and leading as he inquires, "Business?" He turns the vouchers over in his hands.
"I know you could buy the tickets yourself," Shaw says. "But there's a reason I spend a few days a month in Pittsburgh. There's something," he murmurs through a sip of bourbon, "about home." A beat. "If you're going to take Adel, you'll need to wait til Emma is recovered, though." A shrug. "As for business... There are a lot of people in the city, and many of them are mutants. I'm not talking about the wealthy, the temporally powerful - I would be Sebastian Shaw X-Factor or not. I mean the guttersnipes, working dead end jobs if they're working at all. You know the sort of mutant I mean?"
"I can wait." Bahir's fingers close on those little scraps. He lifts dark eyes to meet Shaw's again, regard even. His smile is desiccated. He tips his head, and says, "I know the sort. I know many of the sort."
"You can bring Percy instead, if you want," Shaw says carefully. "It's up to you." A smile. "I want you to start finding out what they can do and how they can be of use to us, Bahir - discovering the ones that we can tap as unwitting pawns. Perhaps witting ones, if they are truly exceptional... But I would like aces in my hole, and right now all I have is you." A beat. "Use the money if that will help."
A minor twitch of negation dismisses the notion of taking Percy over Adel. Bahir will wait. He smoothes his fingers along the talisman of paper. "I can think of several potentials," he says slowly, gaze abstracted in calculation. "It would help if I had Adel's assistance in this. Do you want this kept from White?"
Shaw smiles. "Until Emma recovers, there's not really another color in the Club, Bahir." A pause. "I'd like this to be a Black project - so if Adel helps, it's with the clear understanding that Black has pick of any potential pawns, large 'p' or small." A pause. "Percy can help as well, if you need it... But this is your project, Bahir, not his. The buck stops with you."
Bahir nods, but distantly. "I don't need Adel's help," he says, a thread of bright subconsciously weaving through his posture to pull his spine straight out of his slouch. "I assume you want them to know as little about the club, about /you/, as possible. What sort of abilities are you looking for? Information gathering? Trouble starting?"
"Either. Or." The Black King's smile is a little feral at that. "I'd like them to know nothing at all about the Club, Bahir - their trails should lead back to you for the moment. I trust your discretion in that, and if you find the right sort - the sort that is interested in coin, of either the fiscal or ideological sort - well..." He leans back, and the chair creaks a little.
"Don't trust idealists." Bahir closes his fist on that gesture, discarding it. "But money, other bartering chips -- I trust that. Telepaths are uniquely placed to find out what the best leverage is." He rolls his glass between his hands, and then lifts it to take a long drink. He sits back in his chair. "I will think on this. It is nothing I would want to move quickly on, especially--" He pauses, teeth flashing a razor-edged white. "--being set up so that all trails lead to me. Are you calling that incentive, or threat?"
Shaw spreads his hands a little. "Neither, Bahir. It's a risk, is what it is - I'm not going to lie to you." A pause. "You are, at the end of the day, a pawn - my most valuable pawn, but... it's the circle I'm concerned about. Emma's already led too many things towards the Circle, and we can't be careless. If it comes to you, I will protect you." A pause. "Fealty goes both ways, Bahir."
Bahir closes his eyes over a softly breathed sigh, thick eyelashes feathering against his cheek. "Ah. Incentive, then." He licks his lips, finishes off the glass, and leans forward to set it on the edge of Shaw's desk. "No. We really can't be careless. I'd rather not get deported." He is slow to address the last, shifting minutely in an uneasy fidget, but finally he nods. "Good."
"Do you want citizenship?" Shaw asks, focusing on the last for a thoughtful moment. A beat. "There's another thing I'd require of you - this, however, is optional."
Scuffing a hand through his hair to tangle where it is tied back, Bahir blinks mildly. "I just don't want my student visa revoked. Citizenship might help, but the mutant issue...." He trails off, thumbing sliding over his knuckles as he laces his fingers. He sets the topic to the side on the tip of his head. "What is the other thing?"
Shaw finds a folder, this time, and holds it close to him on the desk. "Your brother was in federal custody for several days," he says. "The interrogator was... less kind to him that Emma's captors were."
Speaking of the mutant issue-- Bahir's expression walls off, brick by brick, and becomes tightly controlled. "Yes. I know."
"I want to know what that interrogator learned, if anything," the Black King says quietly, his fingers now drumming on the folder. "Oh - and I don't really want the interrogator to be much use to anyone when you're done. Not traced to us, of course."
Bahir bites his lower lip, and his fingers tighten on Bahraini vouchers. "Easy enough to find what he learned." He looks down at his hands, turning back the bent corner under his thumb. He licks his lips, and firms the set of his mouth. "It would work best if you could arrange some sort of accident with head trauma, after. Cover."
Shaw shrugs. "Can you just arrange a car accident?" he says. "The man falls asleep at the wheel, or some such."
"I've never arranged a car accident," Bahir says irritably. "You do it. I'll scramble his head, fine, but it will look suspicious without a ready excuse. Which you -- or your Knight -- can provide far more readily than I."
Shaw nods. "I'll have Linden put someone down there," he says. "He can work with you." A smile, an honest desire to soothe Bahir. "If you don't want to do this," he says. "You don't need to. I wasn't sure if you'd want to get into the business of revenge." That's a lie - he remembers Magneto.
Bahir makes a sharp negating gesture. "It is not a question of will, it is a question of experience and skills. I don't even know which one is the brake and which is the gas."
Shaw laughs. "I figured if he blacked out when driving," the Black King says, "he'd handle the car accident all himself." A beat. "But I'll let Linden handle it. He's more professional, you're right."
"Too many variables if he just falls unconscious." Bahir smiles slightly. "Not to be difficult. I will find out what I can and then--" He breaks off, fingers frittering away a vague gesture. Hard notes of gray glint within darker brown eyes. "Thank you for the opportunity."
The Black King's file is slid across the table. "This," he says, "is what we have." A pause. "I think that's everything, Bahir. Thank you for your time." A beat. "And, oh -"
Bahir tugs on the file to add it to his others, a rapidly growing collection that he hugs close to his chest. He pauses in the motion, looking at Shaw. "And?"
Shaw's purse. "Percy is very upset about recent developments. He's said some things..." Frustration, anger, a little rage starts to rise. "I am inclined to overlook his indiscretions. I am inclined to give him a free pass for the duration of this affair, given his emotional connection to Melcross." It is clear that inclination comes from reason, not emotion. "However... watch him, Bahir. Let me know if he is coming close to a line. If he is going to do something stupid - and I think he may - and we catch him before it happens, then all will be well. However..." Eyes flash a little. "If he is not caught in advance, I am not going to be particularly receptive to apologies after the fact. I'm your - and his - ally in this, but only if you keep me in the loop."
Bahir draws a careful breath and then, slowly, releases it. He inclines his head in acknowledgement, but not without reservation. "You hit him. I would imagine you must have been upset as well." The slight curve on his lips tips cynical. "Like when you strangled Emma. Upset, right? You need to watch your temper, Shaw, especially dealing with Percy, because of the nature of his mutation." He folds his hands over papers and vouchers and files. "I will watch him."
A wry smile. "I hit Harper earlier today, Bahir. I do, sometimes, have a temper..." A pause. "Though Percy - and Sal - are different than with Emma. That woman..." Again, there is a powerful flicker of images from years of relationship; the White Queen was really just a girl, and she became a woman of Shaw's making. "Emma brings it on herself, Bahir." Mind hardens into the comfortable mien of the abusive partner. "It's the only way to get through to her - all she knows."
"I have a temper, too. The difference: I am not in a position of authority over the people around me," Bahir snaps irritably. "Take up yoga if you have trouble controlling it." He is markedly silent on Emma. The cynical light behind his eyes only settles a bit more firmly in place.
Shaw's previously friendly mental landscape is clouding rapidly. "Someone shot Emma," he says flatly. "Someone shot Emma, and that someone wasn't me."
"Was it Percy?" asks Bahir, equally flat. After a second, he even remembers to ask, "Was it Harper?"
Shaw looks away at this, and with a lumbering sound he rises. "You're a better bishop than your boytoy, Bahir," he says. "Percy suggested I wasn't concerned for Emma. Harper suggested that vengeance was not my right." A deep breath, and then the nearly shouted, << I created her! She's /mine/ to do with, to kill or hit or cherish as I please. >>
Bahir's lips curl back from his teeth in an unfriendly expression at 'boytoy', fixing in a grimace at the loud tone of Shaw's thoughts. He winces away from them, and the heat fades from his words -- slightly. They remain warmish. "I like vengeance. But vengeance has to come after thought, not on a whim. /You/ taught me that. And you seriously need to watch your fucking temper."
"If you knew your family was going to die, would you be very likely to take a pistol to me - even if you, Bahir, had no desire to live?" Shaw's question is direct. "Tyranny might drive you to suicide - but could you sacrifice Adel when your brother is living a happy and fulfilled life?"
Bahir tips his head. "You phrase that as though it were a threat, but I don't think you mean it as such. The question is invalid give the link Adel and I share. For one of us to suicide is nearly to murder the other."
Shaw smiles. "It's only a threat if you plan on shooting me, Bahir - and the truth is, I've been shot before. My particular physiology makes it inconvenient, but hardly crippling." A beat. "I think family is the ultimate leverage, and perhaps our pawns have forgotten that. If Sabitha Melcross thought that her brother Dylan's happy life was going to end in an orgy of blood and fire because of her folly... Perhaps she would have reconsidered."
Bahir smiles too, just a little. "I wouldn't shoot you," he says with no particular emphasis. "She might have reconsidered, or she might have taken the tame to make certain she succeeded. It is a two-edged sword."
"It is - but that's why I'm acting, and not someone of Emma's. Kill one monarch and the Circle survives," Shaw says. He shrugs. "I shouldn't have hit Percy." The comment is flat. "But the gall... to judge me. I've known Emma longer than anyone, and while we've had little ups and downs..." A wry smile. "Me beating her senseless, her hiring hit men to kill me - Well." A pause. "Time builds bonds."
Looking up at the ceiling, Bahir chirps a breath, "Ah, youth. Beating each other, hiring hit men: it's so romantic, the way you and Mom courted. Really." He glances back down, hands spreading in a minimalist shrug. "If you are apologizing, apologize to Percy. Otherwise, just try to rein in your impulses a little more. You achieve nothing."
Shaw's response is flat. "We're done." A beat. "Watch Talhurst. I don't want to have to take corrective action you'll regret."
Anger lights Bahir's expression as he stands. He jerks a perfunctory nod at Shaw. "Fine. Good evening, Shaw." Dismissed, he takes his things and leaves; his shoulders are set in a tense line.