"Boss Graham? You in here?"
With a heave, Shaft pushed to close the warehouse door behind him, fighting the might of the winter wind that tried to force it open. When it clicked shut, he leaned back against the wall and took several deep breaths. He lifted a trembling hand up and wiped his face, which was damp from the snowfall outside. His purple jacket, dusted with snow, glittered beneath the fluorescent lights of the warehouse, and the white clumps that had clung to his boots began to melt and stain the floor. Atop his disheveled locks of hair, he'd pulled his purple cap low over his face, which had numbed during his walk over. Entering the warehouse provided little relief from the cold, as the room stood at the same near-zero temperature as the outside.
"Someone forget to pay the heating bill in here?" Shaft asked, though he'd received no answer from Graham after his first question. It was more rhetorical than anything, though. He suspected Graham had once more let the financial upkeep of their meeting place fall by the wayside, which occurred anytime the man became distracted when entrusted with mundane tasks. It was exactly why Shaft had tried to maneuver himself into gaining responsibility over such aspects of their group.
Shaft let out a sigh. A full minute had passed and he'd heard none of Graham's chattering. The quiet alone was enough to tell him there was no way the man was in the warehouse. He'd never known his boss to go more than thirty seconds without spouting some incessant nonsense. Shaft swore under his breath. He'd been given a courier task that morning, and Graham had instructed him to return to the warehouse once he'd finished. With a glance at his watch, the man determined that he was likely several hours later than expected, as it was just past two in the morning, but unavoidable complications had arisen during his time out. And he'd assumed the orders still stood. That was mostly because if he didn't assume so and was wrong, he'd likely receive a wrench to the stomach, a wholly unpleasant punishment.
Blinking in an effort to force his eyes to adjust to the shift from the outdoor darkness to the artificial lighting in the warehouse, Shaft walked towards the center of the room, hands stuck in his pocket. Perhaps Graham had left him a note? It seemed improbable that the erratic boss would think to do something so rational, but it was worth checking. He scanned the area, all while wondering whether or not he should just return to his shoddy apartment for the night. Three days until Christmas, he noted without emotion, and it looked like he'd be spending it either holed up in his cheap residence or listening to Graham's rambles. Oh well, he thought, perhaps one of his other vessels would have a more interesting holiday, though this one was usually his favorite.
Suddenly, his musings halted, and he stopped walking and stood still. Was that breathing he heard? His eyes narrowed and shot towards the source of the sound, faint but distinct to his sharp ears. It seemed to originate from behind the stack of boxes near the left-most wall. In reflex, his lips tightened and his demeanor changed entirely. His face was a blank slate save for a sharp alertness, a readiness to attack. His muscles wound tight, prepared to spring if necessary, and he carried himself with steady shoulders and a rigid posture, confident and fearless. His fingers curled around a small knife stashed in his pocket. Unconsciously, the possibility of danger had brought about the true face of Sham, of the shrewd homunculus behind Shaft's persona.
"Who's there?" He barked, as he approached the source of the noise. He withdrew the knife from his pocket and rounded the corner to confront the wide space between the boxes and the wall. But as soon as it came into view, he froze.
After just a second, the traces of malice flooded from his face and he slipped back on the discontented weariness that was standard for the Shaft persona. It was strange to him, how the transformation felt less like putting on a mask, and more akin to slipping on a natural second skin. His hands slipped back into his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He shook his head, a frown cutting across his expression.
"There you are." He muttered.
Curled up on the concrete floor, Graham Specter had fallen asleep, his favorite wrench on the ground inches beside him. He must have found a pillow somewhere around the building, because his head rested atop one. His blond muss of hair spread against the pillow, but left his face relatively unconcealed.
Shaft deduced that his boss might have fallen asleep while waiting for his return. Either that, or he'd been around the warehouse for some arbitrary reason or another and had decided simply to sleep on the ground once he grew tired. With Graham, it could have been either with equal likelihood. It was not the first time Shaft had nearly stumbled over a passed out Graham, who'd apparently decided the middle of the floor made a perfect bed. On one particular occasion, Shaft had arrived at his apartment to find the locks dismantled on the ground, his boss sprawled out across his carpet.
As he did whenever he came across a sleeping Graham and others were not present, Shaft took a moment to study his boss's face. It was interesting to him, how different the man's face looked in that state. Graham's facial muscles were slack, making his skin appear smoother, younger. His lips parted just a centimeter, the only sound coming out the light breathing that matched with the slight rise and fall of his body. His form stayed still, except for a small shivering from the temperature. Such moments were the only time Shaft saw his boss in a manner that even slightly resembled peacefulness. Shaft enjoyed the study of contrasts, the range of the other man's emotions and related appearance. During his boss's slumber was also the only time Shaft could look upon Graham with appreciation without the fear of being randomly injured tainting the admiration.
It was not that Shaft particularly liked his boss. No, that would be too simple, too utterly typical. The man was a great source of frustration and pain (especially physically) for his right-hand man. And yet, as a person, Graham was fascinating. The combination of competence and instability, the strange conflict between his need to destroy and his avoidance of murder, the absolute unpredictability of any of his actions or words - Graham was a remarkable study. Sham had observed many people between his numerous vessels, and as a whole, he found humans to be droll and disposable. Some were more useful than others for his purposes, but aside from that, he saw little distinction between individual people.
And then there was Graham. There was a man besides Master Huey who finally caught his interest, whom he found himself enjoying observing. Shaft did not even begrudge him the ailments imposed at his service, for it was just those frustrations that made Graham appeal to his interest. And it gave him a new subject of study as well - the conflict between his like and his dislike for the man. The emotion resembled affection, with all its warmth and lightness, but with the heavy undercurrents of aggravation and exhaustion. He could not pin a name to the feeling, despite his range of human experiences. All he knew was that it lent him a certain, strange attachment to the man.
It was out of this affection, out of this attachment, that Shaft found himself taking off his coat. He knelt beside the sleeping man and covered Graham's body with the jacket, figuring it'd provide a bit of heat, at least. The urge to do so was an almost automatic reaction to seeing his boss laying on the hard ground, with nothing but his blue uniform to shield him from the biting cold. Shaft was unwilling to think too deeply into why he felt so compelled to assist, choosing instead to simply act in accordance.
He smiled a tad as Graham immediately took to the new blanket. The man clutched at it and pulled it closer to his body, the trembling ceasing. On a whim, Shaft patted a hand over Graham's hair, finding the tresses as soft as he'd imagined. Shaft did not have to worry about waking his boss; Graham was the heaviest sleeper he'd met, nothing able to perturb him when he was tied up in slumber. Once more, he shook his head.
"I don't understand you, Graham Specter." He commented. "It's as if you want to freeze to death. I do not know what you'd do without me."
Then, Shaft stood up and brushed off the dust from the ground that had spread across the bottom of his trousers. As he sighed, he could see the white mist of own breath in front of his face. He folded his arms across his chest as the cold began to hit him, easily cutting through the thin fabric of his shirt.
With a last glance at Graham, he turned back and walked out of the warehouse. There was no point in trying to wake the boss that night. Still, he frowned as he realized he would not be returning to his apartment that night. Competent as Graham was, Shaft still did not like leaving the sleeping man alone in an unguarded warehouse. It looked like he'd be spending the night in his car outside, where it was marginally warmer than the building. After a long day of travelling, he now had to try to relax in the back of a cramped vehicle, in the cold, with no jacket or pillow, all because of a regard for Graham that went far beyond his job description. All for the sake of a man who gleefully caused him pain on a regular basis. For a strange affection that he was still leagues away from rationalizing.
Yes, some days, Shaft had to wonder which one of them had truly lost their mind.
Author's Note: Hello, and thank you for reading! Let me give a brief synopsis of how I'm writing this fic: It's going to start out more like a series of one-shots, and then I plan to gradually move it into a more linear narrative. That's because these started off as one-shots before I decided to turn it into a story, and that's why there won't be a whole lot of connections between chapters at first. Anyway, I adore this pairing - and Sham/Shaft's character in general - and I hope you enjoy reading!