Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Not every night had to be filled with heists or shootouts or even petty theft. Loath as he might be to admit it Graves was getting older. And with age came the knowledge that if you went out every night the cops could and would anticipate you.

So tonight Graves’ attention was on different things. Namely checking his hextech goggles, patching some holes in his suit and some basic maintenance on his frostarm.

A calm night. He was having those more and more these days. Before those were interspersed with nights of going out and drinking and partying. A calm night used to be synonymous with ‘Graves got too drunk to act like normal the night before and now has to deal an entire day with a horrendous hangover while T.F. is laughing at him, the sanctimonious prick’. The thought that a night at home could be as simple as actually being at ease was a revelation to Graves.

The random thoughts that kept popping in his head were a different headache.

For instance, the situation with T.F.

These days it felt like they were working towards something. After he had unwittingly helped T.F. out with that bad date rescue it seemed like another wall had been broken down. Graves had very carefully asked for some assistance in a few jobs were magic could make his jobs a lot more easy. In return T.F. every once in a while called to ask if Graves could make a distraction somewhere. Slowly they were going back to the old levels of cooperation.

And well, the debriefings afterwards. Graves grinned thinking back to those. Considering how regularly they discussed things naked and in bed or any other available surface – Graves' favorite kind of discussions – it really wasn’t any wonder he didn’t go out more often.

They probably should have a talk about it sooner or later. But for now Graves was actually content with their slowly repairing bond.

He glanced at his laptop. He still had those pictures of T.F. after that museum heist. His hand idly drifted downwards. Maybe…

Someone banged on the door. Cursing, Graves dropped his head back against the couch. Mood gone, just like that. Whoever was standing in front of the door pounded on it again. It sounded agitated and he knew for a fact he hadn’t been ridiculously loud.

Graves rose with a grumble. Who the hell could it be at this hour? It better be damn well important. He flung the door open, ready to yell only to freeze.

Tobias.

Tobias, clearly hurt, cradling his arm.

Blood streamed over his face.

He looked at Graves, one eye squeezed shut and said weakly: “I-I didn’t know where else to go…”

His other eye rolled close and he crumpled. Graves managed to catch him before he hit the floor. He tried desperately not to think about the expression ‘dead weight’.

Graves kicked the door close. He moved swiftly through his apartment, depositing T.F. in his bed. (A morbid part of his mind counted himself lucky that his bedding was dark. Made the bloodstains less noticeable.)

T.F. was still breathing. Good.

A quick check showed he wasn’t actively dying. Even better.

He moved back to his living room, searching for his hextech goggles. Graves shoved them on and tapped a few hidden buttons on the side. The thermal view sprung to life.

He looked down the floor, scanning the building looking for something out of place. He tried not to linger on the regular inhabitants lest he saw something he didn’t want to see. Again.

There.

The heat signatures of three men storming through the hallways, one clearly hurt judging from a leaking heat trail. Tobias had clearly given as good as he’d gotten.

They seemed to be following something. Tobias’ blood trail probably.

Graves calmly put on his suit, slicking his hair back and feeling the frost freeze it in place. He grabbed his frostarm and took up post at the door.

It would be rude not to… welcome his visitors.

Someone banged on his door, the sound echoing through his apartment.

“Open the door! Or we’re gonna make you regret it!”

Well now. Thank goodness Graves was such an agreeable fella. He reached out and unlocked the door.

The door swung open. The three men barged in, guns at the ready, screaming after Twisted Fate. They froze when instead of the hustler they were looking for they saw Black Ice standing there.

Black Ice bared his teeth in a furious snarl. His frostarm hummed into action.

“Aw shit,” muttered the fastest of the three.

Oh shit indeed.

T.F. waking up was heralded by a creaking bed and a low groan. Graves glanced sideways to confirm to himself that it was a ‘I regret being awake, everything hurts’ groan and not an ‘I’m deceased’ groan. He made a soft pleased noise at that and continued cleaning his gun.

Turned out it was remarkably difficult to get blood and bone-fragments out of the ridges in the stock of his gun. Who knew? Getting the remaining blood-splatters out of the floor and carpet was also going to be a challenge, but Graves had made peace with the fact that he wasn’t going to get his deposit back a long time ago.

He probably should stop snarling at his gun. He didn’t want T.F. to think that he was about to murder him. Again.

The sounds of movement continued. Graves glanced sideways just in time to see T.F. bury his face in his pillow, breathing in deeply.

“Mal… Malcolm?” he uttered dazedly.

“Right here,” Graves answered.

“Wha-? Where..”

“You’re in my apartment. And about the what, you’re gonna know that better than I do. I just opened the door and had you faint in my arms.”

T.F. clutched his head and tried to sit up. Graves was there immediately to support him. His gun fell on the floor with a solid thunk. Graves glanced a bit guilty at her. First beating someone to death with his Frostarm, now straight-up dropping her. She would deserve some tender care after. But first T.F.

“Easy there. Don’t hurt yourself,” Graves frowned. “Don’t hurt yourself even more,” he amended.

“Funny coming from you hotshot,” T.F. gritted out. He let out a sigh when he rested against the headboard. “Next time I get the brilliant idea to try to deal with 4 men at once head-on, just tell me I’m a moron.”

One killed and one badly wounded by T.F. Not bad for a guy who really didn’t do that well in melee. Now that he was certain that T.F. wasn’t going to drop dead the moment he’d stop paying attention there was one thing Graves needed to address.

“That does remind me of something,” he started, picking up and resting his frostarm against his legs. He turned towards T.F., cradling his cheek so he couldn't look away. “Who did this to you?” he hissed.

Graves wished that he didn’t recognize his own voice. Or specifically: the tone of his voice. It managed to shoot past angry and mad to firmly land on blisteringly furious. The last time he sounded like this half the city had been ablaze and he’d been about to murder T.F. before they’d gotten interrupted. (The ratio of villains and heroes was ridiculous in this city. You couldn't do a thing without stumbling over one or the other. At the time he’d been livid that some villains had fucked up his plan to kill T.F. only because he’d accidentally disrupted their plans to rob a bank. These days he was kinda grateful he had been interrupted before he’d done something he would’ve really regretted.

Don’t tell T.F.)

“Which one of those rat bastards went out and thought it was a good idea to try and end you when I have made it very clear to the entire goddamn underground that if anyone was going to murder you it was gonna be me!”

He must’ve overdone it a bit. Twisted Fate stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He swallowed heavily, his eyes twitching all over Graves’ face. “N-nobody,” he said.

“BULLSHIT!” Graves roared. It was bad enough that he was genuinely upset that T.F. had gotten hurt, but if the bastard now had the audacity to straight-up lie against him…

“Nobody important!” T.F. shot back. “Just somebody who got lucky because I didn’t see it coming.”

“You’re not making this sound any better Tobias,” Graves bit out.

“Remember the heist with the dagger? In the museum?”

How could he forget? Two hours ago he almost opened those pictures. The first time in ages they had managed to talk like regular people. And you know… other things. Graves grunted in assent.

“Right, so rightfully pissed as I was with the situation I decided to fuck my ex-employer over. Repay in kind and all. Spread around some things he really didn’t want people to know and stole the rest of my payment. You know how it goes. His wife wasn’t happy with him. His paramour even less so. Especially not after being dumped so that my ex-employer could make it up to his wife. Those guys after me were sent by him to steal the dagger back so he could use it to get back in good graces,” T.F. explained.

“Forthcoming lads,” Graves commented dryly.

“Well, they did manage to tie me up to threaten me, so I got the whole story. I shifted out the moment they weren’t paying attention and well… you know the rest. Took down one but the others were more persistent than expected.”

“You’ve still got that dagger?”

“What do you take me for? An amateur? I sold that thing the moment I knew he wasn’t gonna pay,” T.F. scoffed.

“Pity. Would’ve liked to use it to shank a bitch,” muttered Graves darkly.

“I’ll point you in the direction for the guys chasing me if I ever see them again.”

“Nah. No need to worry about those guys. Took care of them easy enough. The dumb bastard that send them on the other hand… You better point that fucker out,” Graves grumbled.

T.F.’s head shot up all of a sudden. He paled at a sudden realization. “I’m an idiot,” he said seemingly out of nowhere. Before Graves could ask for clarification he went on: “I led them here. They only wanted me and like a damn fool I led them straight to you.”

“T.F. -” Graves started a bit annoyed. The concern was nice, but unnecessary. Graves could take care of himself.

“What the hell was I thinking?! I should’ve managed this alone!”

Oh boy, he was spiraling. Never a good thing. Shit had to be bad if T.F. thought he could handle three guys in his lonesome when he was already hurt and about to pass out. Hell, even Graves had trouble with that at times, in this case the element of surprise really had helped. (Depending on context of course. At other times Graves could damn well handle three men if you knew what he meant.) Still, T.F. was winding himself up even more. Graves tried again: “T.F. -”

“Malcolm, I swear I didn’t mean to lead them to your hideout. I’m so-”

“Tobias!” Graves finally managed to interrupt, breaking off the apology. “Tobias, it’s fine. It was only them and they ain’t gonna do a lotta talking anymore. Hell, good luck even finding the bodies considering the plant lady from upstairs has dragged the remains away to use as fertilizer in her rooftop garden. Sure, the blood-splatters could still give it away considering the masked weirdo also livin’ on this floor had taken one look at them after the fight, called them amateurish but an honest expression of art and is now trying to frame them. But then people still need to get in the building to see those and good luck with that. So dun’ worry. We’ve got it under control.”

The speech must’ve hit the mark with T.F. He stared shell shocked at Graves. He seemed to soften up just the teeniest bit just before trying to speak, only to spasm in on himself with a hiss of pain. His hands flew back to his midriff, cradling the wounds that were there.

All of a sudden T.F. looked really tired. Graves cursed inwardly. For all that he wanted to remain grouchy, he really couldn’t.

“Alright, that’s it. Back down you go,” he said, pushing T.F. back down in bed. “You look like you’re about to drop dead and I haven’t put in all that effort to keep you alive only for you to pass out now.”

T.F. went nearly without a complaint. “Wait, this is your bed,” he muttered.

“Brilliant observation, T.F. This is why you always were the brains of the operation.,” Graves drawled.

“Shut’p,” T.F. answered, weakly slapping at Graves. “Where you gonna sleep?”

Of all the things to worry about…

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Oddly enough T.F. frowned at that. “Your couch is shit. ‘M not gonna make you sleep on that thing.” He tried to drag himself back up again, his arms shaking. Graves pushed him down again.

“You ain’t in a position to make me do anything. Go to sleep.”

“No.”

In hindsight, it really was a wonder they hadn’t killed each other yet. Graves felt his expression go flat. “Lay down, you idjit. You already passed out once and I ain’t havin’ it again. Especially not if it’s from something stupid as tryin’ to drag your ass to… wherever you tryin’ to drag it.”

T.F. didn’t listen. Graves rolled his eyes. And they dared to call him stubborn, good grief.

“Look, it’s a big bed. If I say that we share it are you gonna lay down? Or are you gonna freak out about that instead?” Graves asked.

He got a confused blink in return. T.F. looked as if he only just realized the size of the bed. (While Graves didn’t invite people over to his apartment, he had invested in a double. After years of sleeping on a cramped single mattress in the Locker he felt entitled to a big and comfortable bed.)

“Ain’t it going to be cramped?”

“No, it ain’t. C’mon, it ain’t the first time we’d share a bed.” For some reason, that was the appeal that hit. Finally T.F. slunk back onto the mattress. Only to try to crawl back up when Graves tried to leave the room.

“Now what?” Graves gritted out.

“You’re gonna pretend to get ready and then sleep on the couch anyway when I’m out an’ I ain’t havin’ it,” said T.F.

“I ain’t doin’ that,” said Graves who realized too late he could’ve done that. “I’ll leave the door open so you can see me get ready. Is that acceptable?”

“’M not fallin’ asleep before,” T.F. mumbled, sinking in the mattress again.

In the end Graves was forced to keep the door of the bedroom open while he got ready. Every time he passed by he could see T.F. stubbornly staring out of the door, eyes half-lidded. Graves decided to have some mercy and to not dick around too long in his apartment. He could still read or use his laptop in bed. He yawned. Or not. The brawl against T.F.’s assailants had taken more out of him than expected.

T.F. did relax notably the moment Graves closed the bedroom door behind him. Graves flicked the lights off and crawled into bed. The moment he laid down he felt T.F. carefully coming closer. He couldn't tell whether the slow movements were because he was in pain or so that he didn’t scare Graves off. Probably both. The moment he could Graves gently picked T.F. up, ignoring his soft gasp.

There was a pause where they both waited to see what the other would do. In the end they both settled, T.F. pillowing his head on Graves’ shoulder. Sleep followed soon enough.

“C’mon sunshine. Act natural,” said Graves gleefully.

“You are enjoying this way too much,” T.F. hissed back. Nevertheless he shoved his hand in Graves’ back-pocket.

For all that Graves wanted T.F. to stay with him in his apartment, it simply wasn’t feasible. But he was also unwilling to let T.F. go back to his own place all on his lonesome. So he magnanimously offered to escort T.F. over.

T.F. hadn’t complained nearly as much about Graves as a forced bodyguard which had been unexpected. What he had complained about was his outfit.

The normal fancy pants and vests that T.F. wore were covered in blood. And he hadn’t any back-up clothes at Graves’ apartment. So Graves had took it upon himself to find a set. And considering T.F. couldn’t fit in anything of Graves with the best will in the world, Graves had gone thrift shopping.

He had been nice. Truly. The jeans were dark and T.F. could still wear his boots in them. The t-shirt was a simple black one with short sleeves. Considering Graves remembered his size they even fit nicely. But T.F. had still looked at the clothes as if they’d personally insulted his hair-care regime.

The only reason why he wore the outfit was because Graves had pointed out that it was so out of character for T.F. that maybe he would pull less attention like this.

Graves might’ve made a tactical error though.

It was outright distracting to see T.F. sashay around in regular clothes. The jeans fitted distressingly nice around his ass and thighs. The short sleeves of the shirt made it so he could see T.F.’s tattoos lining his arms. Even the peek of his collarbones and the slightest hints of the tattoos on his chest made Graves’ eyes linger and those were also visible in his regular clothes. (Suddenly he felt very grateful he hadn’t bought the ‘my eyes are up here↑’ shirt. He already felt slightly called out.)

So yeah, he might’ve shot himself a bit in the foot. He was so distracted he didn’t quite hear what T.F. was moaning about. It sounded important though. (Although there was a very big possibility he was just complaining about how he never was going to get the blood out of his clothes. Seemed like the kind of priorities T.F. had.)

What Graves did notice was the way T.F. was walking. An almost imperceptible limp had sneaked into his gait. His face gave nothing away, but Graves knew all too well how he carried pain.

Graves stepped closer, wrapping his arm around T.F.’s back. In response T.F.’s hand caressed up his back, resting over his shoulder. He leaned a bit closer and Graves took the weight without any complaint. For all that the world was concerned they were couple walking along in a side-hug.

“Thanks,” said T.F. under his breath.

“Don’t worry about it,” was the just as soft response.

The remaining walk to T.F.’s place was remarkably silent. No complaints from T.F. despite his hidden winces with every step he took. No teasing from Graves. It was nice actually.

Graves felt out of place the closer they came to T.F.’s apartment. Technically he could afford to shop in the stores they passed by – crime did pay really well – but not a hair on his head considered to actually do that. With the life he lead there was always a good chance he’d ruin his clothes and that was a straight-up waste of money. T.F. could buy the fancy-schmancy clothes, Graves would choose for comfort.

The same went for their housings. Graves' was affordable and more importantly, his apartment block was filled with other ne’er-do-wells just like him. T.F.’s on the other hand was like an artwork made of glass and steel rising into the sky. And the bastard even had the penthouse which was even fancier and way too big for one person in Graves’ humble opinion. But hey, whatever floated T.F.’s boat.

“Think you’re gonna make it from here?” asked Graves after leading T.F. up to stairs in front of the entrance.

“Yeah. The elevators inside work, so I only have to fake it for a short bit.”

“Fancy,” said Graves while releasing T.F. from the side-hug. He felt all kinds of awkward all of a sudden. “I’ll just uh… I’ll let you be. Let you rest an’ all. Try not to do anythin’ dumb.”

But before he could trudge back down the stairs T.F. pulled him close again. Graves’ hand shot out, ready to support T.F. For a second it had looked like he had lost his balance, but he only grinned at Graves. “Nuh-uh,” T.F. said. “Live up to your roll before you go.”

Graves groaned annoyed. “What are you talking about?”

“Escorting me all the way to my apartment like a gentleman,” said T.F. ignoring the way Graves gagged at that last word, “only to leave me behind here just like that? Give me a kiss goodbye lover.”

It was straight-up provocation. And Graves had always been bad at ignoring those. He threaded his arm around T.F.’s waist and forced him close. (Not too forcefully of course. T.F.’s wounds still lingered in his mind.)

“If you insist,” Graves said, lifting his chin up.

T.F.’s hands were so warm on his torso.

Quickly tucking his hair behind his ear, T.F. met him halfway.

It started as a simple press of lips against each other. And then T.F.’s arms went around Graves’ shoulders, keeping him close. A finger started playing idly with a loose curl in his neck. Graves’ free hand caressed up T.F.’s back, coming to a warm halt between his shoulder blades. His other hand sneaked down, stealing a squeeze of T.F.’s ass. (Nearly non-existing, granted. But the thought counted.)

Graves had no idea who introduced tongue to the equation, but with it the kiss quickly devolved from ‘lovers-saying-goodbye ’ to ‘ I want to climb you like a tree’. He had missed this so badly.

The only reason they didn’t break any laws on public decency was the encouraging whoop of “Get it, sonny!” from a nearby old lady. They nearly jumped apart, faces burning.

T.F. coughed awkwardly, hands on Graves’ shoulder. “Might’ve overdone it a bit there.”

“Or some people could learn to mind their own business,” grumbled Graves, glaring at the floor. His cheeks felt like they were burning.

“Graves, she’s old and I’m willin’ to bet she ain’t got any hobbies. She ain’t gonna do that.”

“Well, maybe she should.” With a sigh he looked T.F. back in the eyes. “Old biddies aside, you gonna be fine? I dun’ wanna put the news on and hear you drowned in your bathtub or somethin’.” It was a valid concern in Graves’ opinion considering the baths T.F. took.

“I’ll manage. It ain’t that easy to get into my place.”

Which was fucking news to Graves considering he walked in there on a regular basis. T.F. caught the look he was throwing. “Not everyone has the gear you have, nor do they know me as well as you. Of course you get in with hardly any trouble.”

It did soothe Graves. But only a bit.

“Still, keep your nose down for a bit. I’ll keep an ear out if anyone else gets any smart ideas.”

For some reason that got him a wobbly smile. “I’ll do my best. Ain’t very eager to go out. My ribs still sting.”

“I’m holdin’ you to that,” said Graves, pointing his finger right up T.F.’s nose. He dropped said finger rather quickly, suddenly feeling very awkward. “I’ll go back to mine. Let you rest an’ all that.”

A hand twined itself through his chops again. When T.F. pulled him close he went without resistance. This kiss was a gentle press of lips. “Thanks again. Lemme know when you’re back home,” T.F. hushed.

“Can do.” Graves left before he felt even more awkward. From the corner of his eyes he saw T.F. hesitate before quickly disappearing inside his apartment block.

They really needed to address this whole mess. He trudged back to his place on autopilot.

Afterwards he’d have to admit to himself that he had been completely distracted with trying to figure out how to breach the subject. T.F. was an escape artist in the practical and social sense. But because Graves was so focused on how to corner T.F. with no way out of the much-needed conversation he hadn’t noticed the man sneaking up on him. He only had a second of warning before an arm wrapped around his mouth and something stung viciously in his neck.

Darkness soon followed.

Chapter Text

The first thing Graves did upon waking up was to puke all over one of his captors their shoes. Which required more aiming than anticipated. It didn’t help his situation at all, but it did made him grin to hear the disgusted and upset yelling.

He took a second to take stock of the situation.

First of all, he was sitting on a chair, his arms and legs bound. Felt like leather cuffs. Graves frowned at that, only to wince. The left side of his face hurt. He subtly tried to move his face to discover the extent. It didn’t feel like he was bleeding, it was simply sore. Anyway, back to the cuffs. He had expected ropes or handcuffs. Leather cuffs were an unusual choice. A quick snap of his wrist proved that they were secure, but given enough time he probably could break out. And something in his neck was itching like a bitch.

Not the worst he’d ever woken up.

He carefully lifted his head a bit, trying to figure out where he was. The people in the room seemed to ignore him for now. Most of them were talking to each other, surveying the perimeter and one guy was cleaning his shoes.

Right so, big, somewhat familiar room, tables and chairs pushed to the side. Booths on the other side. Dark wallpaper, covered up windows. A quick glance revealed a stage behind him, a pole still lined on it and -

Wait a goshdarned second, Graves knew where he was! This was the shut-down gay nightclub! He knew he recognized the room! He had been so upset when everyone involved in running the place had been arrested for whitewashing practices. Everyone has known the place was a front, but they had ran it legit anyway. After that police raid no one had picked the bar back up, letting it stand empty. Again a wonderful demonstration of how cops helped society, thanks a fucking lot.

(No, Graves still hadn’t gotten over the shut-down. The cocktails and snacks had been around the cheapest and still best tasting. He couldn't even find certain cocktails again in Valoran. He felt entitled to complain about that. And let’s not forget the eye-candy. He wasn’t blind.)

For all that he immediately wanted to stand up and run, tied to a chair or not, he couldn’t. There were an unusual amount of armed people in the room. All of them seemed to cluster around one guy. Graves focused. If that was the leader then that would be his prime target.

Only thing he needed to figure out was an easy way to deal with-

Graves’ insides turned to ice.

Tobias.

The leader of his captors was Tobias.

But why?! What had gone wrong? What- what had Graves done wrong? They were talking regularly again, normal even! Alright, some bickering, but nothing that would warrant this! Why would Tobias-?

It was the cold revenge seeker in him that called him to a halt before his heart could break again. It demanded that he slowed down, that he looked again. It would not be called to action without all the facts, not again.

Graves looked again, squinting his eyes in concentration, not really knowing what he was looking for. Something was wrong.

When had Tobias shaved his beard? Why would he even have done that? He was so proud of the thing especially after all his mishaps and failures to grow a mustache.

The man turned to talk to another henchman. This time Graves could see his face even clearer. The inconsistencies grew. When had the laugh lines around his eyes disappeared? He almost looked artificial like this, especially with the way light hit his light green eyes.

The despair dissipated instantly.

It wasn’t Tobias Graves realized. It was somebody who looked an uncomfortable amount like him. ‘There you have it,’ thought the urge for vengeance satisfied and started dozing off again. Never truly gone, but at rest until needed.

In his daze he hadn’t noticed that his captors had started to approach him.

For as much as he wanted to react, the problem was that Graves didn’t know what he was dealing with. The obvious leader was flanked by 2 armed men. Doable, the moment Graves could get his hands on a weapon. Going unarmed in a gunfight was asking for troubles.

The problem was that there were more armed men flitting by in the background and he couldn’t for the life of him tell if it were different men each time or a small number walking rounds. Maybe he needed glasses…

So he was tied up, unarmed and outnumbered. Not his best odds. Best to wait until he had a better view on the situation and until an opportunity came by. All Graves had to do was keep quiet and don’t say anything stupid. He could to that.

The obvious leader approached him with a disapproving look. “Why is his face all bruised?” he asked tapping his foot. “I thought I made it very clear I wanted him unharmed.”

“Sorry boss. We sedated him as instructed. But we kinda lost grip on him when he passed out. Brad got squished underneath him when trying to catch him and Francis was too late to prevent his head from bouncing against the pavement.”

“Are you guys calling me fat?” asked Graves scandalized. Everyone’s attention snapped on him.

Ah shit.

“Malcolm Graves, I apologize for my associates rough treatment of you. Do not worry, they will be reprimanded for this,” said the Tobias-lookalike suavely.

Oh fuck, they knew his name. Could mean nothing considering he used it in real life unlike T.F. with plethora of aliases. He even ‘worked’ - part-time – under it as a bouncer at a club. Graves plastered on his most charming smile.

“You can make it up by letting me go?” Graves tried hopefully.

The man snorted. “Look who has a sense of humor. But no, I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Graves sighed.

“There is no need to worry. As long as the backstabbing bastard that your lover is gives me what I want, you’ll be out in a day or two.”

What?

The confusion must’ve been clearly written on his face. The man laughed as if he’d unearthed an unusually juicy tidbit. “No… You’re telling me you didn’t know?” he asked gleefully.

“You’re telling me you don’t know? That your lover – what is he calling himself lately? Trevor, Timothy, Tony? - is a thief?” he asked gleefully.

Graves blinked. And then he blinked again. “What?”

“He’s not what’s he’s pretending to be. Even to you. He’s a thief. A crook, a grifter, a stain on society. One that is messing with my relationships. And I will not have that. Kind of ironic Twisted Fate would take a bouncer as a lover, but who am I to judge?”

Like lightning the understanding lanced through Graves’ brain. They’d kidnapped him not because they’d figured out he was Black Ice – as he’d feared -, but because they thought he was T.F.’s lover. (Also, he’s not who you think he is? If there was one person on the goddamn planet who knew exactly who Twisted Fate was it was Malcolm Graves thank you very much.)

“He’s probably only dating a big, strong man such as you because you can get him out of trouble. Sorry to say… you’re being used.”

Graves leaned forward, his arms straining under the little stretch the rope gave and laughed hysterically. God help him, the thought alone. Him getting T.F. out of trouble! It used to be the other way around! (Not that T.F. never dragged Graves along in whatever mess he’d found himself in. They both were trouble magnets, Graves was big enough to admit that. But that was the fun part.)

“Ah, he’s already upset. More than anticipated and easier than expected. Oh well. This is going to make manipulating Twisted Fate so much easier. You got the videocall ready?” the man asked over Graves desperately trying to gasp for breath. They way he heaved did sound a bit like he was having a panic-attack instead of laughing his ass off.

“Yes boss! I start whenever you want.”

You know what? Graves could work with this. He only hoped T.F. was going to be quick on the ball. And that he didn’t mind nicknames when other people were listening. Graves had no idea which fake name he’d used during the dagger heist for all that he was willing to put money on it that the initials T and F were involved. The man had an obsession, honestly. (Graves firmly ignored the fact that he was throwing stones in a glass house considering one of his fake names had been ‘Magnus Crypts’.)

The call was answered rather quickly. Although Graves suspected that T.F. had been tempted to simply not pick up.

“The fuck do you want this time, Giancarlo?” T.F.’s voice – sounding excessively irritated – drifted from the speaker.

Graves couldn't help the rush of absolute fondness at hearing T.F.’s voice. (Well fuck him, he really was gone on Tobias, wasn’t he?) Normally it took him ages to get him that worked up and this Giancarlo dude did it by simply calling. T.F. really was going to make him suffer.

“I just want to reopen our discussion over the ownership of the dagger,” said Giancarlo sweetly over a stretched-out groan from T.F. “Now, now, no need to be like that. I have some more facts to… encourage you to change your stance on the subject.”

“You know my answer,” scoffed T.F. “I can’t help it that lover of yours was dumb enough to try to cross me over and not expect any repercussions. And I can’t imagine what you have to change my mi-”

Graves was glad his captors couldn’t see the screen when they turned the phone towards him. It meant they didn’t saw T.F.’s annoyed and unimpressed expression turn crestfallen and fearful when it landed on him.

“Sunshine? These nice men keep claiming that you’re a grifter and a crook. Is- is that true?” asked Graves in a carefully modulated voice. He was especially proud of the tiny hitch he’d let out. His eyes never left T.F.’s even through the screen. “I have no idea what they’re on about or where I am or even what they’re plannin’ to do. I am gettin’ rather upset. What’s going on?” He hoped that they bought that he was scared and confused, because he was damn certain T.F. had picked up on his underlying ire at his captors. (And maybe even the worry. Graves was fairly certain he could break out on his own, but he was unarmed, surrounded and… He did not want to do this alone. Not again.)

All of a sudden shadows seemed to gather on T.F.’s face, obscuring it. His eyes flashed with that magical blue glow, giving a snapshot of two eerily blue rings in the darkness. Then it all pulled away, a ferocious expression being the last to be shoved underneath the blandly smiling look he preferred. (It probably was supposed to look reassuring. It really wasn’t.)

“Dearest,” he said, a tremble barely audible in his voice: “I’m so sorry. I will fix this.”

And just like that the worry was there in full force. Because Graves honestly couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen Twisted Fate angry. Upset, miffed, peeved? Sure. But angry?

“Promise me you won’t do anythin’ stupid!” he managed to yell before they turned the phone away.

“Yes Twisted Fate, promise your lover you won’t do anything stupid,” said Giancarlo smugly.

“Oh don’t worry. I won’t.” His voice sounded final. (Graves was dismayed to realize that T.F. sounded exactly like him when he’d gotten his mind set on something and that nothing would dissuade him. If this was how it felt no wonder T.F. used to be tetchy when Graves was in a mood. It was very unpleasant now the shoe was on the other foot.)

“Very well. You know what I want. I’ll give you 24 hours. Fail to comply and your lover here will pay for it. We’ll send you the drop-off point in an hour,” said Giancarlo and hung up.

“Well, that went smoother than anticipated. I should’ve done this earlier,” he said self-satisfied. He turned towards Graves. “Now, to deal with you.”

Graves shifted uncomfortably on his chair. This could easily go in two different directions. The other man drifted closer to Graves, almost posing before him. His hip jutted out as if to accentuate his figure.

“Do not worry. Unlike other people I do not treat the men under my -” he batted his eyes, “- protection badly,” he said in a low smooth voice.

Graves blinked owlishly.

This wasn’t happening. This was absolutely not happening.

Damn his sheer raw animal magnetism! Why was he so damn stunning and irresistible to people? It was a curse. (Unbeknownst to Graves, somewhere at the other side of the city Twisted Fate had a sudden urge to roll his eyes and smack Graves over the head. He cleared his head with a quick shake and focused again on his cards.)

“I can see why Twisted Fate would go for you. A man like yourself…” Giancarlo said, his eyes roaming up and down Graves’ body. “Makes me wonder. What do you see in him? You could do way better.”

Graves squinted up. Like this he could delude himself Giancarlo was T.F. Both of them extremely handsome. Giancarlo his expression was open and seductive. His finger resting teasingly underneath Graves’ chin. Like he could easily convince Graves to ditch T.F. for him. Like he was an upgrade.

Bad luck for him that Graves recognized backstabbing opportunists on sight.

“Believe it or not,” Graves said, “but turned out we have the same sense of humor.”

Giancarlo looked as if someone had slapped him in the face with a fish. He blinked incredulously. “What?”

Graves nodded seriously. “True story. We met at a party while raiding the buffet and ended up accidentally launching a chocolate covered strawberry in someone’s bosom. Instant friendship. And then things escalated,” said Graves in a summary extremely close to the truth. The party had escalated, but it had been their fault and they had also been trying to steal wallets besides raiding the buffet. Afterwards they had played some card games to decide who got to keep the loot which ended in a tie because they both had been cheating. Graves had been laughing too hard to be angry and T.F. had followed suit quickly enough.

“I guess there is no accounting for taste,” said Giancarlo slightly disapproving. “You can await his arrival alone and perhaps you’ll have something to laugh over afterwards. I hope for you he thinks you’re worth coming for,” he said, unwittingly hitting Graves in an extremely sore spot.

With a snap of his fingers several henchmen gathered. “Bring him to the room we have prepared. And make sure he has something to eat.” And then he strolled off dramatically.

The henchmen unclipped him from the chair but were smart enough to keep the cuffs on and to keep a gun aimed at him. Graves wanted to, he really wanted to, but knew it was best to keep his head down for now. Let them underestimate him, until he had a better opportunity.

When they poked him in the back with a gun he moved, allowing them to lead him to a door. It didn’t seem very different from the other doors, but what did he know?

“So, what kind of pizza would you like?” asked the henchman still holding the phone.

“Meatlovers?” answered Graves out of sheer bafflement at the non-sequitur.

“Yeah, of course you would want a meatlovers,” he muttered underneath his breath.

Graves felt very judged all of a sudden. But before he could retort he got shoved inside the room.

The door clicked shut behind him.

The worst part was waiting. The way minutes seemed to stretch into hours and hours into days and days into years and years into goddamn eons, only to realize only five minutes had passed. Graves let his head thunk back onto the sole bed in the room. He spent a second or ten hoping it was one that hadn’t been used during the shutdown and therefor sanitized. The dust and grime in the room kind of made it a non-issue.

The first ten minutes he at least been distracted by getting out of the leather cuffs. The following ten had been spent on investigating the room, seeing if they’d accidentally left the door unlocked – no such luck – and seeing how solid the furniture was. Eventually there had been nothing left to do except to sit down and wait. (He couldn’t even have a wank considering the one-way windows in the room. And while there was a tiny lavatory adjacent, he was pretty sure there were camera’s there. His skin started to crawl if he lingered there too long.)

It was probably weird for people to hear, but he didn’t have a problem with cuffs. Sure he had to wear them at times, but not nearly enough to have big-ass issues with it. Locked rooms on the other hand... Especially small rooms like the one he was locked in right now.

In the Locker the cells were shared. A case of too many prisoners and too few places. You had to spend day and night living in some random guys back-pocket. And Graves, menace that he was, had spent a lot of time in solitary confinement. Which on the one hand meant privacy, but on the other…

There were moments where Graves had thought that he was the only person left on the planet. Locked in a tiny room that had become his world. With his rage being his only companion. Sometimes he’d seen silhouettes of people, checking if he was still alive and shoving his food in his cell. But with how quick those happened those could’ve been explained as figments of his imagination.

He didn’t like locked rooms much these days. His own apartment he could tolerate because he had the keys. When it came to other rooms… No matter how often T.F. complained about him shooting out windows and doors he was going to keep doing it because that meant he had a certain exit route. (The fact that being locked up with T.F. wasn’t nearly as terrifying a thought than being locked up alone was a wasp nest he was going to smack another day.)

24 hours. That’s how long his captors had given T.F. to show up with the goods that he no longer had.

Which gave T.F. time to come up with a plan, because Graves would eat his cowl if T.F. would just snatch the dagger back up and hand it over. Not knowing where Graves was also wasn’t an issue. T.F. could get an extraordinary amount of info from his cards. They made him almost clairvoyant when it came to facts. (He didn’t doubt for a second that T.F. even would come for him. His expression while on call still ran through Graves' mind.)

24 hours.

Probably even less.

He could give T.F. that much.

Graves could handle that time locked up.

(After that he was going to break out even if it would kill him. Damn the unknown number of guys and guns. He’d beat the walls down with his bare fists if he would have to.)

At least they’d actually gotten him a pizza.

Graves felt the change before he could see it. The hairs on his arms and neck rose. An annoying headache started to form. He glanced up toward the ceiling wondering if he could-

There.

Normally the lidless eye was better hidden. Now it hovered in the middle of the ceiling, looking around nearly frantically. Luckily enough the place had high ceilings so Graves had a feeling not too many people would notice. And those who did would probably think they’d eaten something weird.

Graves couldn’t resist to wave when the gaze finally fell on him. The pupil widened.

And then the eye popped out of existence, only for a card pattern to appear on the floor. T.F. shifted into the room, attention riveted on Graves. “Malcolm,” he breathed, moving closer with only the slightest wince.

Graves swung his legs of the bed, moving to intercept T.F. “Sunshine, you’re still hurt. Don’t-”

He was interrupted by two hands grabbing his head, turning it side from side, checking it for wounds. T.F. ghosted a finger over the bruises on Graves’ face. “What have they done to you?” There was something in the way that T.F.’s pupils had turned to pinpricks that spurred Graves on to talk faster.

“They accidentally dropped me on the pavement after sedating me. Besides that and tying me up no one has even laid a finger on me. They’ve even given me food. I have been treated relatively well for a hostage.”

“They’d better,” T.F. hissed. “I should’ve dealt with this sooner.”

This was unusually emotional for T.F. Graves had to admit. It made him feel all kinds of woozy. (Graves tried to repress the way his mouth corners tried to twitch up in a dopey smile. He was damn sure T.F. wouldn’t appreciate it.)

“Only you could be held prisoner in an empty gay nightclub,” Fate continued grousing while checking Graves for further injuries. “I wasted an extra 15 minutes rereading my cards because I couldn’t believe the result.”

“It ain’t like I’m doin’ it on purpose,” said Graves catching T.F.’s wrists. His thumbs rubbed comforting circles on the available skin.

“I should hope you don’t,” he spat out. His shoulders slumped. “This should’ve never happened.”

“But it did. And I ain’t blamin’ you, sunshine. Just bad luck of the draw.” When T.F.’s shoulders dropped he added: “But if yer that broken up about it and do want to make it up to me, then get us out of here.”

“That I can do. Just waitin’ for our distraction.” He let out an annoyed sound. “If I could teleport the both of us this would’ve been way easier. But we gotta work with what we have.”

“It would’ve been easier. So what’s the plan? Fire? Explosions?” beamed Graves, mind already firmly on the potential chaos and destruction.

“Something like that,” said T.F. with a worrying little smirk.

They didn’t have to wait long before a wall did explode somewhere in the building. T.F. muttered something that sounded like: “She took her damn time.”, but Graves frowned. There was something off about the sound.

Graves was very familiar with explosions, in the ‘he caused them and he got caught up in them’-sense. Something was missing. Where were the after-explosions? The henchmen were yelling in a panic, calling out a name maybe? Their guns fired.

The bullets didn’t seem to hit.

All this was followed by impacts of something hitting the walls. T.F. didn’t seem all too bothered by this. His only concern was lockpicking the door.

Graves’ face dropped the moment he realized what those impacts were. “Tobias, is that the fucking Crimson Fist? Did the Crimson Fist just smash her way into the building?”

“Yup,” said T.F. whilst further trying to unlock the door.

“How did you-? Oh shit we’re in trouble aren’t we?”

“Nah, I know a few things she doesn’t want people to know. She’s helpin’ so that I keep my mouth shut.”

“Did you just blackmail the Crimson Fist? Tobias, the woman can punch you through several walls!” exclaimed Graves aghast. As if to punctuate his point the sound of another body hitting the wall could be heard outside.

“I prefer the term emotional extortion,” was the snippy response. “And honestly I don’t see the issue. I get you out of trouble and she gets to beat up bad guys. All like society intended.”

“Tobias, we are bad guys.”

“Semantics.” The door finally swung open. “C’mon, let’s get outta here. Little Miss Punch has got it under control.”

The actual escape went smoother than expected. Especially after the moment Graves decided he really couldn’t watch T.F. trying to hobble along and just threw him over his shoulders while breaking into a sprint. (The tiny squeak that came out of T.F. during that maneuver was way too adorable to Graves. He had to fight to keep his face neutral over the other man’s protests.)

He did allow himself a shit-eating grin when he saw Giancarlo in the distance who stopped to stare when he saw Graves running. Graves gave a cheerful wave. The man was confused enough to wave back.

T.F. was meanwhile making some very rude gestures at the man, unhindered by the fact that he hung over Graves’ shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

Graves did ran faster towards the hole in the wall when he saw fire flickering around the corner. He was not staying close for this, no sir. He did hear a gratified laugh from T.F. when Giancarlo was probably hit by the Crimson Fist. (Graves wasn’t certain but he damn well wasn’t turning around to check.)

The fresh air outside did wonders. The sense of unease that had been crawling underneath his skin finally started to settle. For a moment he basked in the sensations, ignoring the usual unpleasantness of a back-alley. T.F. gently patted him on his arm.

“There’s a bench not much further. Mind putting us down there for a bit? I do have to wrap everything up,” said T.F. apologetically.

And just like that his back went rigid again. The pats turned into soothing rubs.

“I know, I know. But trust me, she doesn’t know who you are and I ain’t about to tell her. For as far she knows you’re a civilian I care way too much about. We’re just gonna have a short check-in, I might get my ass beat and then we can go home.”

The outright admission that T.F. cared was the thing that got Graves moving towards the bench. A part of him yearned to ask if he meant it, but instead while depositing T.F. on the bench he said: “It would be funny to see you get your ass beat.”

“Oh, harhar.”

For a moment they rested, observing the abandoned bar, giving occasional comments on the fire or henchmen flying around. Eventually the chaos settled.

It was again the flickering of fire that heralded the arrival of the Crimson Fist. Graves swallowed heavily when he saw her approach. Fire-red hair swooping up, reminding him of a torch. The V on her cheek and chest. The flaming giant gauntlets. It was her alright.

“So,” she said, eyes locked on T.F., “what makes you think I’m not about to whoop your ass for dropping me into this mess?”

“Nothing really. I would deserve it,” T.F. admitted in an unusual honest tone. “But I would do it again without hesitation. I regret the measures I had to take. But I do appreciate the assistance.”

Oddly enough, she seemed amused by the admission.

“It could’ve been worse. This was actually fun, so you’re lucky for that. You’re off the hook for now. So,” said the Crimson Fist, grinning and tossing a quick nod at Graves, “this is your better half?”

“That reminds me: how is inspector Caitlyn these days?” T.F. sniped back. The Crimson Fist her grin seemed to widen even more at the response.

“All the answers I needed. And go fuck yourself Fate,” she said, way too cheerily. She snapped two fingers of those terrifyingly large gauntlets together and pointed them at Fate. “Are we still on for Friday? I’ve seen how the pre-match betting is already going and I’m not missing out on that.”

(Graves sidled a bit away. It wasn’t like he was scared or anything, but he had been punched with those gauntlets before. And while he had been able to get out of that mess by freezing the hole in the wall close and booking it – albeit wincing all the while – he really wasn’t eager to repeat the experience. The Crimson Fist might seem nice and co-operative, but you could never be sure with them hero-types.)

“You can count me in. Hell, I’ll even toss in an extra 10% in your direction as a thank you. Just this once though,” said T.F.

“I’m holding you to that. Now, as fun as mopping these guys has been I gotta go. The boss wants to do a full patrol of Valoran city tonight. Black Ice has been way to quiet for his liking. He thinks he’s up to something big.”

(Graves froze at that. He wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight anyway, but the unwitting heads up was appreciated.)

“My money is that he’s taking a holiday,” the Crimson Fist mused. “Ah well, duty calls. Stay safe, I’m not busting you out a second time. Best be on your way, the cops are going to arrive any second.”

“Thanks for the heads up. Have a good night though.”

The Crimson fist snorted. “Joker,” she said. And with a final salute she took off into the night.

Graves stared blankly and asked: “Tobias? Are you engagin’ in match-fixin’? With The Crimson Fist of all people?”

“It started as a nice way to make sure we wouldn’t screw each other over when we figured out who was who,” said T.F., shoulders hunched defensively, “We just… kept goin’ with it ‘cause the money was real good. Bein’ a hero ain’t a well-payin’ job. Who knew?”

Graves shook his head cursing rather dazed underneath his breath. A gentle hand on his upper arm snapped him out of it.

“But how’re you doin’? I- I’ve seen the place they dumped you in and… Do you need something?”

“I’m fine,” Graves said, forcefully ignoring the last jitters still running through his body. “But uh… just to be certain. You could escort me back. You know. Just to be sure some other schmucks don’t get the idea to kidnap me. Again,” Graves coughed.

T.F. looked at him, bright-eyed. And then with an easy smile he said: “Probably best to be safe. My place or yours?”

“Mine if you dun’ mind. My gun is still there. And that stupid teleport thing I’d nicked from hammer boy. I gotta learn to keep that on me,” It was the closest he could get to admitting he wasn’t alright.

“C’mon then. No need to linger here,” said T.F. He regarded the bar with distaste. “This place had always been overrated anyway.”

“Hey, you take that back. The booze here was fantastic,” groused Graves.

“That I’m willin’ to agree on. It was the five minute show I’d got before I even got my drinks that annoyed the crap out of me. Just stop flexin’ and give me my drink.”

“That was part of the appeal, ya dingus.”

“Then they should’ve had actual attractive men do that routine instead of the plastic boytoys they had behind the bar.”

“Your taste in men is weird, just so you know,” said Graves flatly.

“I dated you!” yelled T.F. exasperated.

Bickering with each other they went back to Graves' place. He was actually glad with the argument. It at least distracted him from the remaining jitters. Graves had no illusions that T.F. was aware of this and had actually started the argument for his sake.

The softie.

Eventually they got back to Graves' place after a lot of careful walking and squabbling. There was an awkward pause when Graves unlocked his apartment.

“Right,” said T.F. while twiddling his thumbs. “I’ll be goin’ then. Let you gather your bearings. I uh… you know how to contact me should you need anything.”

T.F. dithered. He actually dithered as if he knew he should leave, but really wanted to stay. The aura of self-sacrifice for Graves’ sake oozed off of him.

Yeah no, Graves wasn’t having it. His body thrummed with the need to have someone close by. (Most of his body. Everything under the belt basically went: ‘Look boss, the mind wants it, but we can’t get the engines running just yet. It simply ain’t happenin’. Get rid of most of the anxiety and try again tomorrow’.)

Graves grabbed T.F. by his shirt and dragged him over the threshold. He said: “Oh no, you ain’t leaving. Tomorrow, or worst case scenario later this week, I’m gonna ride you so hard that my bed breaks or until you go off so hard and deep that I can taste it. Ain’t really sure which one.” He inwardly preened at the shade of red T.F. had turned into and went on: “Just not tonight. I’m absolutely not up for it tonight. But yer getting’ your ass in here, no discussion. We can go to your swanky place tomorrow.”

“Move in with me,” burst T.F. out, seemingly out of nowhere. He seemed surprised at himself.

Graves stared just as baffled back at him, hand still clenched in T.F.’s shirt. “Whu-? Where did that come from?”

“Graves, you live in a dump.”

“Excuse you, this is a decent place for it’s price.”

“Oh yeah, the framed blood splatters in the hallway really elevate the place,” deadpanned T.F. waving towards the rather tacky gilt frames.

Graves winced. He did kind of had a point there. Taking advantage of the pause T.F. pressed on.

“Look I get that this place is the probably only thing you can get with your history – which is utter bullshit – but you don't have to stay here. You can't decently secure yourself here so if the cops find you with your frostarm in your living room you're fucked and didn’t you mention your neighbors were also villains?”

At Graves’s confirming grunt he went on. “If one of them gets found out and they decide to do a sweep of the building, you’re fucked. And the wallpaper is frankly offensive with how old it is.” That last one earned a snort from Graves. T.F.'s mouth corner twitched up and he made his plea again. “Move in with me. I've got a penthouse with three bedrooms, there is more than enough space for you there. You’ve seen the place, you know most of the security. And it has bulletproof glass, safes and air conditioning, if that's a selling point. Hell, I even have got a vault where you can put all your tech. It's paid off, but you can pay for the groceries if you want to contribute something. But then we can keep an eye on each other again. Make certain this mess doesn’t happen again.”

“M-move in with you. You want me to move back in with you. Permanently? After-” Graves waved his hands in an all-encompassing motion. “Are you certain about that?” he asked, unsure if T.F. knew what he was offering.

“Of course.”

Just like that. Simple and easy. Resolute. Of course.

Avoiding his look, Graves dragged T.F. towards the bedroom. “Lemme think a bit about it,” he said, shoving T.F. on the bed. He started to strip, T.F. followed suit, for once tossing his clothes aside without a care. “It’s been a shit day. So just let me sleep on it.”

T.F. crawled beneath the covers and held them up for Graves. They slotted nicely against each other. “Of course,” said T.F. again. “Take all the time you need. It’s an open invitation.”

As if it was the easiest thing in the world. Graves snuggled closer just to feel T.F.’s slighter faster than normal heartbeat. Arms wrapped around him, keeping him grounded. Graves hid a smile in the curve where neck met shoulder.

No question, no doubt.

Of course.