They acted like they had just met.
Like everything between them hadn't happened, like they didn't know everything about each other.
And they were good at it, exceptionally so, but spies had to be that good. Had to trick people, twist them to think they meant nothing to each other, to think their past didn't exist and in a sense, it didn't. They were different people, different names, new identities, different lives and new emotions, he had made his decisions to leave, and the other had let him go. So they meant nothing to each other, their characters they had created had no feelings towards his and that's how it would always be.
But it didn't stop the way the fit together perfectly. The way they could share a single look and communicate a thousand words, or the way they would lean towards each other while in the same room together, like magnets were pulling them together. It couldn't erase the years of familiarity and how they reacted as one, fought as one, lived as the other half to each other because they were.
He left. he had always wanted out, craved normalcy and fame. The life of a spy had never suited him well, he saved the world countless of times with no praise but a pat on the back and he hated it. Hated it like he hated the color of his eyes. Green wasn't his color, it never would be. He wanted fame and fortune, he wanted to be able to show his face in public and be thanked for his sacrifice because he had made so many.
And the other? He preferred the invisibility. Needed the fact that no one would be able to pick him out of a line up no matter how hard they tried. He left no trace, nothing could link him to a crime scene and had faked his own death more times than he could count on his hands. He kept his looks as average as he could, striving to look like anyone, you could pass by him on the street and never know that you owed him your life. He flourished in the shadows and didn't want to leave, so he didn't.
And he begged, promising a life where they didn't have to hide. A life where they could get married and he wouldn't stay up half the night wondering if he would make it back alive. In the end he couldn't do it, couldn't abandon everything he had trained for. He still had the little piece of paper, the one with the scribbled out phone number and the order "Call me if you change your mind." Because he still loved him, even if they choose different paths.
Years. It had been years. He had been 21 when he stayed, the other 20 when he left. He turned 28 a month ago, and knew his old love had turned 27 days before that. He had contemplated calling, whispering a "Happy Birthday." because he knew how important birthdays were. He didn't. Instead he bought himself a cupcake and wished him a silent happy birthday while he sat in his room alone (because no matter how many people he met they would never compare to his other half).
And then The World Grand Prix fiasco happened, and he was once again face to face with him, closer than they had been the weeks before he left, and it hurt. He still loved him, years later and he still loved him. Still felt his heart flutter when he came near, still felt his palms grow sweaty at the thought of holing hands with him, still felt the unyielding love when they held each other close. He still burned with passion and fear when he remembers the time they almost came back in body bags and he's grateful he got out. Grateful he saved himself, because if there was one thing he knew it was that one day he wouldn't make it out of a mission alive.
He was okay with that, but the thought of receiving the news that his love had come back without a heartbeat terrified him to this day. He understood his reasons for leaving, but it hurt that he wasn't enough to get him to stay.
So he faced him, and pretended his heart didn't heart every time he caught his eye (he wore blue contacts now, and he missed the green).
"McMissle. McQueen." Mater grinned, "McQueen. McMissle." He didn't need an introduction, he had kept tabs on him since his leave and knew he had done the same.
An extended hand and warm grin, he was keeping his cover well. He was always the best at that. Taking his hand lightly he felt the same electricity down his spine and knew the racer had felt the same.
"Glad to meet you." Lightning greeted cheerfully, as if this was another day.
"The pleasures all mine."
