The one with the handcuffed fugitive (1/4) ● Huntbastian
Words: 9.983
Genre: General/Drama.
Triggers: None.
A/N: A multi-chapter fic inspired by the Huntbastian's theme week "not like me" (F.B.I Agent/Worldwide Criminal)
I
[Calling all units, wanted subject out of Mumbai for fraud…]
The moment he opened the door he saw everything darker at first, his blue eyes having difficulties to adapt at the abrupt change of light intensity, his features tightened by mere reflex; the fluorescent lamps held a prominent contrast with the relentless sun of Mumbai.
[plane suspected of carrying French citizen, Caleb Navarre…]
It didn't matter how fast he walked, the sound emerging from the improvised cubicles kept pursuing him. But he didn't give it importance, he walked through the narrow passages with an easiness that showed the times he has been working in the enclosed trailer.
[male white subject, early's 30's, 6'2", black hair …]
The beeping of the machines, the deplorable sound of the air conditioner that has its days counted, the old thing was already broken, the multiplied fans on top of the thin walls were proof enough of that, the voices of altered people, the mix of languages, the sound of the secretaries' heels rushing here and there…
Just any normal day in the improvised (and cheap) headquarters; the monotone voice that could be heard through the speakers kept alerting the persecution of the small plane that carried a worldwide contrabandist.
But he let the voice trail off inside his head; there were more important matters at the moment, like an unauthorized interrogation for example.
"Come on Clarington, give them the benefit of the doubt, they couldn't be so stupid and incompetent to ignore a direct order."
Without even considering the action of knocking, in a way than most would consider brusque, he opened the door that had a doorplate with the engraved words 'Interrogation Room.'
Two pair of eyes stared at unison at the person emerging from the door.
"Of course they did." Hunter thought with dry sarcasm, shoulders deflating imperceptibly.
None of the occupants of the room emitted a sound or moved a muscle when they received the piercing look coming from the door frame; they saw silently how those electric cobalt eyes changed drastically of intensity while they fixated on certain brunette, the frozen F.B.I agents shared a look and with just that exchange, both knew that they were thinking the same, surely those eyes would no longer be able to stare at anything else, in complete silence Wes turned his attention back at the one-way mirror at his front, while Duval directed a curt nod towards his colleague as a salute before redirecting his focus at the interrogation at display.
Is not like they didn't estimate their co-worker, (leader) is just that they knew that what was coming wasn't going to be pleasant and the only card they had to play was ignorance.
"Who authorized this?" If the stern expression wasn't a dead giveaway already, the dangerously stoic voice confirmed their assumptions.
Both agents cursed mentally their lucks.
They knew they had screwed badly.
Interrogating Smythe without waiting for Clarington was suicidal.
But they had to, they still don't have the real names of Smythe's clients, and the taller agent will hang them in their sleep if they don't have those names by the end of the day.
If it wasn't because it wasn't part of his image, the tall blond would have rolled his eyes; it wasn't a surprise for Hunter to hear Montgomery's always fake composed voice rushing to give an excuse.
"We had to accelerate the process, the local police are starting to get agitated, they want to know more things, we had to rush the process or we won't be able to control them, they are already too impatient, and we have to be in good terms with them or the local museums are going to confiscate the permissions…" The Asian was rambling the first words that crossed his incoherent mind.
Wes's voice started to fade inside his head, Hunter just made a noncommittal sound in acknowledge of the excuses and without separating his piercing eyes from the people at the other side of the mirror, specifically speaking of certain brunette, he dragged a forgotten stool and took a seat.
His body thanked him the gesture, given the rush of adrenaline he experienced minutes ago, trying to take down some contrabandists that were used as a barricade to let the small plane take flight.
He grunted internally, four years ago he wouldn't have sweated a single drop.
He had to increment the cardio in his routine.
In a matter of seconds, all his five senses were focused in what was happening, he was so immersed, mind deep in thought, that he didn't anticipate his colleague dropping softly a worn out folder a few inches from his face.
"A source working with Europol sent me this list; it has all the pieces of art Smythe could restore and transport to Navarre's base at Nepal."
Hunter subconsciously nodded at reading several pieces he already had in his personal list, rapidly memorizing the new ones to add later, and dismissing the ones that don't coincide with Smythe's taste.
Assuming that the dark blond agent had calmed, Nick exhaled and let his guard down, leaning against the door and daring to ask.
"What happened with Navarre? Could you guys identify the plane?"
The cold stare in those cobalt eyes verified that his assumptions were clearly wrong.
"We identified the plane but he rushed the flight, he must have paid the workers to carry everything in one shift." Hunter said barely moving his lips, making it clear just how much he enjoyed giving explanations of an unsuccessful persecution. "Did you end hacking Smythe's laptop?" Exhaling heavily, Clarington changed the topic by turning his attention at the black haired agent who was reading another folder with a serious expression.
At the abrupt question, Wes was taken by surprise, giving a sideway look at a pile of papers from where a laptop could be distinguished; the Asian internally winced while he cleared his throat.
Damn, damn, damn.
"I started working on it, but the equipment here is insufficient for…"
"Can you do it or not?" Clarington interrupted, voice lowering.
"Ye- Yeah, I have some things in the residence that could…"
"Then what the hell are you waiting for?" Clarington dared to look tired by massaging the bridge of his nose.
He can't leave them alone for one single morning.
From above the shoulder of his leader, Wes's dark eyes searched for Nick's hazel ones that squinted in his direction, like reprimanding and pitying him at the same time.
"I don't think I need to point out that by hacking that laptop we could have had the confirmation of the flight, and we wouldn't have lost that plane, and we definitely wouldn't be having this conversation at this moment."
Not so subtly, Wes nervously covered his mouth with his trembling hand, repressing his urges to slide by the chair and disappear with each word emitted by the ashy blond.
"Where is it heading?" Nick crossed his arms in concern; this just retraced the whole operation, who knows for how long.
"David confirmed the coordinates… Nepal." Clarington ran a hand through his messy hair, the strands damped with sweat standing out; he dropped heavily the folder away, a mere sign of his frustration.
Nepal meant no extradition.
What worried Nick the most was the mood of the division, they've been trying to solve this case for years, opening and closing it only to opening it again, the fraud of pieces of art, the black market in four continents, it was mostly thanks to a collective operation of several international agencies that they were able to centralize the operation in India, leaving the organization of Caleb Navarre with a smaller market.
They've been sent to this very improvised base in India eight months ago, finally after persecuting by all Europe the organized criminals.
They've been working nonstop, having results, but at a very slow pace.
After what happened in Edinburgh, Wes was degraded and Clarington was designated as the new leader, under his directions they've been able to expose several modus operandi of Navarre's operations, leaving him with just Nepal as his current hideout, Clarington had connections, military connections and he used them to neutralize the transport of the pieces.
The situation was tense because they were in a country were none of them knew the language or culture, the infrastructure was precarious, after Edinburgh their budget has been cut, leaving them with very standard weapons and equipment.
Also, he intuits that the fact that Hunter is the 'new one', the mysterious man that nobody knew nothing about, and the very important fact that he not only dropped out of the blue, but that he also is younger and less experienced than others like David and himself (not like he wanted to be the leader, he can't imagine himself leading with Thad or God forbid giving orders to Hunter.)
So for him, it was a mix of things, the weather, the foreign sensation, the tight budget, the consecutive confrontations with dead ends, the numerous discoveries of infiltrates (that Hunter took very well care of it) … It just…
Everything was boiling their frustrations.
They've been overtime for months.
Wes, Thad and him couldn't be blamed for centering all their hopes in their last night's arrest.
Sebastian Smythe.
Navarre's right-hand man.
He wasn't conscious when his eyebrows narrowed in apprehension; his detective side has been warning him that something wasn't right.
It has been too easy.
And if there was one thing he has learnt from these years chasing the green eyed brunette, is that nothing is what it seems when it comes to him.
Long ago he lost the count of how many times the twenty years old kid has made them look ridiculous, Wes has signed multiple 1077's only to make a 30 men unit travel around the globe so they could return with their hands empty, there were times when they returned with very well done replicas… The kid was evil.
"You should drop the attitude; I wouldn't be so haughty if I were you Smythe, look very well where you are."
Nick was pulled from his thoughts when Hunter increased the volume of the speakers and they were able to hear clearly what Thad was speaking with the Parisian conman.
He admits that he has his doubts with Thad being the one doing the interrogation, but Wes adamantly refused to be the one in the other side of the one-way mirror.
"And still, I look better than you, now; you should be the one that shouldn't be so arrogant, considering the embarrassment you went through at Saint Petersburg…" Nick swallowed forcefully at hearing the bad-hidden mock in the younger brunette, whose bored sigh is surely making Thad lose his mind.
And the poison kept coming.
"A whole month took you to realize that the Bacon's Triptych was fake… I still remember the face of the Senator in that museum's opening."
Nick couldn't stop fidgeting his posture at hearing the dry chuckles from part of the Parisian.
"This isn't good." Wes basically whispered their thoughts aloud.
"Is a surprise that someone as self-centered as you can hold information about others." With Thad's voice as a background, Nick saw from the corner of his eye how in their leader's forehead a small wrinkle started to appear.
Yeap, they were screwed.
"Is what I do" Nick didn't need to turn to know that the brunette was shrugging one shoulder, condescending look at maximum in those jades. "But you don't make it really hard; in fact, you make it kind of boring… with just looking at you I know that your parents must be from a different ethnicity mmm maybe Colombian? Chilean? You are close to your family, lots of brothers? Let me guess, you wanted to stand out, so you worked hard for this job… that's your biggest fear, to lose it and disappoint your family… that fear makes you commit mistakes… that's why you are never going to get a higher position, congratulations, you are going to win a 50.000 salary per year for the rest of your life… U.S I guess."
"It gives me chills." Wes muttered under his breath, Nick only nodded a bit baffled by what he was seeing, he knew he should wake up and interfere, but somehow his body didn't respond.
Thad's agape expression was gold in its purest form.
"You son of a bit…"
"That's enough Thad." Hunter's command resonated through the speakers.
No sound could be heard from both sides of the mirror that wasn't the screeching of the stool and the slam of the door.
"You should…" Nick started to say a few seconds later after the two of them were left alone.
"Yeah." With clumsy movements, throwing some papers in the process and raising a cloud of dust, Wes grabbed the forgotten laptop and left the room with a rapidness that one would think the devil has been chasing him.
Nick sighed tiredly, negating with his head, who could have known that all it required was a young man from Colorado to break the composed and noble surface of Wes.
Well, it shouldn't surprise him; after all they have messed with Clarington's orders... and they concerned his kryptonite, Sebastian Smythe nonetheless.
Because it wasn't a secret, not for him, he has noticed and paid attention at their leader, his stubbornness to keep working on the case even contradicting the orders that came from the other side of the world, his pursuit to end the other missions faster so they could return to Navarre's, his self-imposed mission to chase Sebastian Smythe, to turn it into the highest priority, insisting that it was him the key of Navarre's operation… Nick coincides with the military man in that matter, yes, Smythe is the key, he is the one that restores the pieces after all, he is the one with the charisma and ability to talk his way into the clients, and to lie his way out of trouble, he is the face of Navarre's operation… But what he has learned to notice was…that infatuation, that fixation; one would think that it was completely normal for someone as hard-working and disciplined as Clarington to obsess with the mission… that it was reasonable, that it was driven by the frustration of not accomplishing something, in the end, with just giving a quick read at Clarington's profile you could see that success accompanied him wherever he went and this mission became the one single stain on it… and all because of Smythe… whenever they were in the same room, Hunter's eyes would always be drawn to the brunette, if he was reading Smythe's profile, he would not pay attention at anything else, without mentioning the hours enclosed reading and untangling Smyhte's actions… It always leaded back to the green eyed brunette.
It started to reach a point where Nick would consider it unhealthy.
He'll just have to pay closer attention at those two.
Enjoying the precarious loneliness, removing the annoying dampness of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, with a tired sigh, Nick took a seat and directed his hazel eyes at the front.
"Huh, time for the show."
II
"Clarington, I had it all-…"
"Leave." Hunter didn't need to say another word, because the severity in his eyes was enough to make Thad rise from his chair, not without dedicating a pointed look at the younger boy sitting across from him.
Green jades that remained expressionless, just boredom plastered over them were all the answer Thad got before he leaved fuming, it wouldn't be a surprise if for the heat and ire, the Hispanic man started to expulse steam by his reddish ears comically, like a cartoon.
Before Thad stormed out, he walked past his colleague, with all the intentions to bump his shoulder forcefully, but he ended up bumping pathetically the toned arm, Hunter not moving even a millimeter, in other words, he just ridiculed himself even more.
Hunter just grunted while he stared at the retreating silhouette from the corner of his eye, ignoring the brunette that was watching the interaction with his head tilted in curiosity and an eyebrow slightly rose.
"Unbelievable." A huff almost escapes from Hunter's lips.
And then, they reclaim him that they are in a dictatorship.
Hunter was busy sending a final glare as a warning to the one-way mirror, that he didn't notice how pale olives were fixated on him, ranking his body from head to toe, and for the first time in the day, an alluring sparkle appeared on those green pools, reigniting to life.
Long time no see, grumpy superman.
"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite agent…" A lazy saccharine grin let visible a perfect row of pearly white teeth. Sebastian adjusted his posture, reclining his back against the metallic chair as comfortable as his height permitted him, knowing very well that whatever was going to happen wasn't going to be short or easy, he exhaled almost resigned. "I can see that your miserable salary keeps you as deplorable as ever..." His eyes appreciated the tall athletic frame in front of him, it didn't matter if it was uncovered of clothes' layers or was replete with them, there was something so magnetically strong about the agent's physical presence that he couldn't stop that sudden spike of envy to appear, he knew he didn't hold the same amount of intimidation as the blond a few steps from him did; of all the people he has met, he only knew another person that held the same natural influence, ironically, that same person was the reason behind all this. "... Or is it a mission gone wrong that has you like this?" A sly smile tugged the corner of his lips, knowing very well that the bad hidden treachery suggested that he knew exactly from where the mighty Hunter Clarington came from.
Of course he knew.
He knew damn well that Clarington had zero chances of catching that plane.
It was amusing how he wasn't conscious of how even his tone of voice sounded different, the boredom more fake, with a hinted shade of interest accompanying the omnipresent mischief.
Everything was different when it was about Clarington.
Who for some instants froze his movements of removing his jacket to stare directly at the mocking brunette.
He can't understand how is that he is surprised every time by the attitude of the brunette, is not like it's the first time that the Parisian fugitive is at the verge of being sentenced and still shows his complete lack of respect towards any authority figure.
The bastard must be expecting to elude everything as always.
He raised his chin, looking from above at those unreal green orbs boarded by long eyelashes, it downed on him, the time gap they haven't been face to face, it produced a estrange sensation of unsteadiness, to think every day, to study and to analyze a person for so long… it caused a phenomenon, that when you have only an arm length of distance… that person… it becomes real.
He had to harden his expression, his blue eyes unreachable. "Smythe." The name leaved his lips with all the dryness he could muster, making it clear just how he wasn't going to deal with Sebastian's well-known childish spoils.
"The one and only." Sebastian beamed in, if it wasn't because this definitely wasn't his first time in an interrogation room, everybody would be wondering how he could be so calm, it looked as if he was enjoying the situation, like a cat playing with a bird with a broken wing, making the agents miserable. "Problems in paradise?..." Impetuous jades stared not so briefly and not so subtly how the agent unbuttoned his collar, paying extra attention at the bronzed skin and the curve of the collarbone exposed, when the jacket was gone and the sleeves were rolled, he knew very well at which wrist he should look to find the tattoo of a Welsh word, the black tie didn't need to be loosened to distinguish the chain hidden underneath the white shirt, he knew the existence of that chain, he has had it in his hands, his fingertips had brushed the military dog tags that have been covered with two different types of sweat… in a blink, his attention and sly smile were back to place. Oh, the memorable times. "Just saying, if I let my subordinates walk over me like you do, I would also look so constipated all the time." He stressed the words, enjoying every second of this, the cat didn't have the intention to eat the broken bird yet; it was inevitable for him to not hold back his condescending tone.
Sebastian saw amused, tilted head to the side, how the distracted ashy blond continued breaking his always impeccable dressing code because of the heat emanating from every wall of the enclosed space.
He can sympathize with the man; the real torture was not putting a fan in the room.
"The day you have people obeying you under their own will, will be the day that hell, including this place, will freeze." Hunter practically threw the jacket to the chair before settling down... He was suffocating.
How the kid was so fresh was beyond any logic.
"I'm guessing you aren't enjoying Mumbai's summer…" Sebastian commented dryly, inhaling air before feigning being deep in thought. "It has some degrees of difference with… Denver is it?" The fake casualness accompanied the mischief and defiance plastered over his eyes.
Because yes, he knew, he knew damn well how much it drove Clarington freaking mad how much he knew about his life.
Because yes; he took pleasure in reminding the always perfect and stoic agent his mistakes.
Well, to be fair, it was only one.
One single night.
One single night Clarington dared to slip, and commit a mistake.
And he is making sure that he is going to pay it dearly.
It wasn't personal, he was just curious about if you could make a real life stone man bleed.
It was almost pathetically predictable how Clarington's chickens come home to roost at the mention of his white picket fence life.
At the mention of his homeland, in a millisecond, Hunter's jaw clenched tightly, veins of his neck tensing, the blood pulsating dangerously. But he kept his breathing under control though, the sudden impulse to eradicate that smartass smile at all cost, preferably via his fist was bit harder to resist; what he wasn't able to control or notice was the pigmentation of his stormed eyes, the dark turquoises turned oceanic.
Who that insignificant scrawny kid thought he was? To talk to him like that?
In a different situation, in a different time, as two months ago, Hunter would have grabbed that freckled neck and he would have made the brunette swallow his words and attitude with each oxygen molecule trapped in his throat, but he knows better now, the empty provocations hold no meaning to him anymore, so he took a seat with the confidence (arrogance) of a man that knows that he holds all the winning cards; the hollow defiance and impulsive recklessness coming from the boy that didn't know when to shut up ends today.
So he just leaned his arm on the metal table, forcing his body with all his might to lose as best as he could the tension on his shoulder blades, features neutral and voice detached, he unconsciously rested one foot over the thigh of the other, self-assured that Smythe's cockiness wasn't going to last. "It has its differences, here is bit more humid, hotter, the sky is clearer…" the sound of his knuckles against the metal table accompanied his words while he wandered his eyes in false distractedness "… perfect for flying." At his last words he stared directly at the green magnets of the Parisian, implicating him to talk about the plane…
… He should have expected the apathetic look.
When Sebastian Smythe takes things seriously?
The prodigy was just a kid full of himself and total disregard towards human empathy.
"Could you be any more boring?" Those huge green golf balls blinked a couple of times before their owner sighed in a longsuffering way, dropping his head as if it was heavy, as if talking with the ashy blond was a torture. "Are you seriously bringing me here to talk about the weather?..." The brunette talked in a bad hidden whining tone. "I always knew you were dull, but this is a new low… I rather prefer the Speedy Gonzalez one." The last words were almost muttered, Sebastian was leaning on his elbows on the table, hands supporting his head by the chin, the handcuffs didn't allow him any more movement, the chilling contact of the metal against his skin made him almost pout in indignation, after the last time, they just remove the handcuffs only when he is inside the cell. "Closeted kinky bastards." "If he wasn't so afraid of you, he and I could have had more fun."
For the observant eyes that were trained to read and interpret every sign of body language, it was easily detected the annoyance it produced to the brunette the handcuffs.
Hunter repressed the tug in the corner of his lips at seeing the angry red marks that adorned the slim wrists.
Yes, he has the keys in his pocket.
And no, he won't do anything to remove them.
"Fuck you Smythe!"
Hunter heaved a sigh, dropping his head slightly at hearing Thad's voice through the speakers, sometimes he wonders if his subordinates are truly the best at what they do, or Mr. Hoffman just tricked him to accept the position. Not daring to show any reaction, he calmly took the forgotten folder Hardwood was using and examined it.
"Let me inform you that you're stuck with me." He commented without removing his eyes from Sebastian's file, he uninterestedly read a paragraph emphasized in red, it was highlighted and underlined several times.
[… severely talented, impossibly narcissistic, borderline compulsive liar, harshly impulsive, yet effortlessly charismatic and unbelievable good at reading others people's emotions. Is recommended to deal with extreme car-…]
"So possessive" At hearing Hunter's deep baritone, the fugitive replied with a suggestive grin, any trace of boredom long gone in his eyes. "And we haven't even started to date yet, although we…"
The blond agent peered up, icy eyes unwavering.
This was just a game for the nuisance.
A contraband of artworks, trafficking millions of dollars, a worldwide mafia.
And it was just a game.
Hunter inhaled air almost exaggeratedly, nostrils expanding, chest widened.
He really hates when the brat tries to exasperate them until the point of controlling the interrogation with his antics.
"This is just a game for him, don't forget that, it always has and it'll always be."
Years of training allowed him to repress any mental image form the past, which his mind tried to trick him with, instants like this he hates his eidetic memory, not only through his mind flashed the images, but the sensations and every single detail that triggered everything, like a sudden wave trying to push you down, he reminisced the velvet sofa brushing his knees, the Edinburgh Castle peeking from a window in a starless night, the cold breeze that contrasted against his feverish back, soothing the red marks that made their way wherever blunt nails desired to go, the enticing rich taste of wine in swollen lips… Hunter swallowed tightly.
By how tense the blond was, and how laid-back the green eyed sat, it seemed as if the international fugitive was Hunter instead of Smythe.
"What about Montgomery?" The F.B.I agent came back to the present situation at the mention of the former leader.
Smythe's boyish features relaxed as he smiled, a dimple appearing on his left freckled cheek. "I promise that I won't make him cry so hard this time…." The mischief in his eyes reflected all the fun he had with just the memory of the last time Wes Montgomery was left alone with him, he really doubts the Asian has found his balls yet.
Wanting to entertain himself, Sebastian peered over the agent's shoulder to look directly at the one way-mirror. "Come on Wes! I will even tell you the code to decrypt my laptop! ..." The brunette beamed childishly.
Those words caught Clarington's attention in a matter of milliseconds. Despite all the words he had at the tip of his tongue, he kept them under control because of the greater good, it was wiser to play with Smythe's ego and let him give information… even if his men should have had it 12 fucking hours ago.
While keeping (poorly) his irritation at bay, Hunter saw with dreadful skepticism how the carefree prisoner started reciting. "If one traces the ancestry of any male bee –Hunter raised an eyebrow at seeing how the amused brunette started to use his fingers to point out the digits- he has 1 parent, 2 grandparents, 3 great-grandparents, 5 great-great-grandparents…" Sebastian puffed air in a way that his longish strands of hair flew haphazardly. "…rings any bell?"
Really? After all this time, still being a mouthy little shit.
Hunter blinked helplessly at not understanding one single word of what he just heard.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to repress the tic on his eyebrow. "Montgo-…"
The name died in his throat at being interrupted by the sound of Sebastian Smythe laughing. Yes, the brunette fugitive was laughing so hard that he weakened by it, the slim shoulders trembling slightly with each chuckle; it was an honest, twistedly spontaneous laugh.
No need to mention that his laugh wasn't contagious, although Clarington didn't notice how his anger drained inevitably.
"Oh hon, that stupid look it's awful on you… You are so sad-" Hunter was not thrilled by having to wait until the chuckles subsided; Sebastian dried nonexistent tears from the corner of his eyes with some difficulties because of the cuffs. "I feel sorry for you…" The entertained brunette studied the scowl plastered on the handsome features, and concluded that he loved the impatience reflected there; every emotion leaked from the perfect arrogant prick was always a victory. "Wes, search in Wikipedia what a Fibonacci sequence means." Commented placidly proud of himself the green eyed Parisian.
"Wes?" Hunter prompted through gritted teeth, merely turning his head to still keep an eye on the twenty years old nuisance.
After a few seconds in which none of the agents at the other side of the mirror replied, Hunter was once again questioning why he bothers with a team.
How is that a mere kid intimidates a group of F.B.I agents that are in their thirties?
"Wes left five minutes ago… I'll go to the residence and tell him." Shockingly, it was Thad who answered tentatively through the speakers.
Hunter repressed a sigh, feeling how the throb in his temple was turning into a headache. "Duval?"
"Yes?"
"Accompany him."
"Sure."
After hearing a door being closed, Sebastian's grin was back. "You really guys perfected the art of being good at nothing." Sebastian replied with a not so fake pity, his curiosity woke up when he sensed Clarington's energy and temper so tightly leashed, it was so uncharacteristic for the blond to have all that power passive… Sebastian wondered how much it would remain like that, he almost huffed internally; he knew it won't last, now that he finally got the two of them alone... now it was when the fun started.
Hunter's skin was crawling with so many things that he couldn't explain, he could feel his fingertips itching and tickling, his brain obviously urging him to do something, preferably drastic to end the charade. With the mission to obtain answers as fast as he could, he took from his pocket a folded photo.
"I know how hard is for your solely neuron to focus, so I'll make things easier for you –for the first time Hunter leaned his body closer- can you identify this airplane as the one of Caleb Navarre?" The agent pointed the small plane in the photo; the plane had already taken flight, but you could still distinguish certain details.
Sebastian leaned in conspiracy, biting his inner cheek to repress any sign of amusement; he contained his breath, only when he could distinguish the lively silver flecks on those implacable turquoises he dared to part his lips, finally seeming to cooperate.
In an instant, green jades glanced briefly at the photo, before their owner huffed in disdain as he leaned once again against the metallic chair. "Where is my lawyer? And what about my phone call?..." Sebastian's unquiet eyes wondered around the four corners that held him captive, he seemed to try to fold his arms unconsciously, but the cuffs didn't allow him, making him furrow his eyebrows in annoyance. "Why don't you have one of those spin chairs?... How poor are you? This place reeks of rat pee." Every word was dripping disdain in its purest form.
Hunter folded his arms while he inhaled; he smirked imperceptibly at seeing the small frown in those eyebrows, it almost made the whines bearable, almost. "Do you have a lawyer?" He asked already knowing the answer.
"No, but I would like to call one."
At the reply, Hunter scoffed in incredulity. "I thought you were going to use your phone call to tell Navarre that your plan to use yourself as bait worked impeccably..." He commented sharply, not letting the brunette to formulate any answer, he kept saying his thoughts aloud, his voice dropping and lowering, showing clearly that Smythe's games don't work on him, the moment he saw Smythe behind bars he knew that there was a reason behind it, he has no doubts in his theory, Smythe sacrificed himself to let Navarre escape.
The fool.
He didn't dwell on the fact that he didn't know why he was so angry.
At himself? For not intercepting the plane on time. At Navarre? For toying with a twenty years old kid. At Smythe? For not seeing that it was over for him.
He controlled his impulses to grab the kid by the shoulders, digging his fingers hard enough to leave physical bruises.
It was over.
"The only person I feel sorry for in this room is you. Tell me, after getting yourself here and letting Navarre escape what is your next plan? How do you plan to leave?..." He didn't realize that he was growling now, those effervescent jades lost every trace of amusement, as if a pail of cold water splashed over them, he saw how Sebastian swallowed, how his jaw clenched, surely repressing a sneer with hollow threats. Because that's the reality behind Smythe, he was hollow, behind that alluring exterior, the true was, that he was empty. "Your reckless childish behavior will always beat your rational side." He hated how he could hear in his own voice bad hidden traces of worry instead of arrogance, he had won, he finally had won, Smythe was trapped… but… he felt… actually, it was as if he didn't feel any satisfaction at all and even… disappointment with himself? As if he missed something, as if he didn't do something right… which was impossible.
At the ridiculous admonishment he received, Sebastian barely blinked, this time his features were blank, his hands were on top of his lap, maintaining as much distance as possible from the table and the agent across, just as he was before Clarington came in.
Does Clarington genuinely think that he can intimidate him?
He knows everything he needs to know about Clarington, but the agent doesn't have a freaking clue about who he really is, the man from Colorado knows nothing about his life.
"Give me a fucking break."
He dropped his eyes and stared from distance at the photo, his tone as derisively as he could. "That's a Beechcraft Super King Air; they are very popular here in India, good luck trying to find the one you are looking for, every rich person here owns one..." He knew how mad Clarington must be, he wasn't confirming or denying anything, he couldn't be incriminated by what he was saying. "I did my homework, may I be excused now?" The feign innocence made the agent's mouth curl up at the corner, as if Sebastian had said a joke.
"…I think we both know that you can give me more details."
Hunter noticed how the brunette strands forever trapped on long eyelashes, seemed to always fly away each time the Parisian scoffed in mock. "Fine… I'm starting to feel like I'm the only one that works around here… See how the wings are slightly brighter? As if they have been repainted? That's because there is a high chance that the wing front spars were reinforced, search for a company that offers that." The smug smirk was back in place.
Just as Hunter's scowl. "If you are lyi-…"
"Do you want me to pinky swear?" Sebastian even held his finger high, waiting for Hunter's to entwining it.
"You are insufferable."
"I, Sebastian Smythe, pinky promise to…"
"Could you jus-…?" Hunter closed his eyes praying for patience. "Stop? Any lie you say in this room will be considered as obstruction of justice." It was impossible, interrogating Smythe without physical torture was impossible.
Sebastian stared at the blond as if he was a dreadful creature that didn't speak the same language. "Honestly, do I look like I care about justice? If I see it, I wouldn't obstruct it; I'll give it space and let it walk by. "
"If you encounter justice, you wouldn't recognize it." Hunter couldn't stop himself from drawling his opinion, knowing very well that once again, the fugitive managed to dissuade the interrogation.
"Oh, so I've done some little things here and there… sue me." Sebastian replied with a dismissing shrug, it seemed that placing his hair behind his ear was more important than being accused of international crimes.
Hunter nodded in a mute signal of understanding, before he busied himself looking again at Smythe's file. "Little things you say? You are accused of age painting for forgery, of falsifying manuscripts, of forging several signatures as the one of the manager of the Scotland Royal Museum-"
"Ex-manager…" Sebastian interrupted inoffensively, immune to the glare. "… if I recall correctly."
Hunter rasped, clearing his throat before reassuming the paragraph. "-of forging the signatures of several ambassadors, of posing as a prince and a duke that had residence in Lake Como, of stealing and replicating the sculpture of Artemis and the Stag, valued in 28.6$ million, of forging certificates of Sierra Leone's diamond-
"I've never-" For the first time Sebastian snapped, losing his nonchalant act before his eyes widened at realizing his behavior, he licked his lips internally cursing at himself. "I've never trafficked blood diamonds."
Hunter didn't know how to process the soft mumble… He furrowed his eyebrows at perceiving the drastic change in the air, it turned tangibly thick, stifled with a seriousness rarely shown from part of Sebastian… The outburst leaved him with a contradictory and inexplicably thought of believing in the fugitive.
The American focused his eyes stubbornly on the list he was reading, refusing to acknowledge his delusional mind. "… without mentioning the forgery of the testament of the widowed husband of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, which implies that the actual Bloch-Bauer Portrait may be a replica, and the authentic one was stolen from the Nazis in Austria…"
"That's a very well-known rumor, even you heard of it." Sebastian nipped his inner cheek to repress a chuckle; he knew that if he went in front of a jury, he'll be found not guilty of those charges; all that arrogant mouth is reciting are nothing but mere allegations without solid evidence.
"Only because your name is at the top list of suspects." With a fluid motion, Hunter dropped the file on the table, if that rumor is true, which he knows it is, then the twenty years old dumbass is involved in stealing a 157.5$ million painting.
How a freaking painting can cost that much is beyond him.
"You don't have solid proof of any of those charges." Sebastian took charge of it personally; his favorite method is to use as many aliases as possible, not repeating a single one, and making sure that all possible leads revolve around the competition.
"But I have proof of the bond forgery you committed in Germany."
Oh.
Well… see, he didn't know that.
Because for starters, captain America's wannabe wasn't on his case at that time!
Sebastian's mind started racing, thinking in all the possibilities at the same time, analyzing how this new predicament changed the situation.
He licked his lips unconsciously, darting a quick look at the water drops sliding from the surface of a jug.
Savoring the moment, the composed blond kept talking, enjoying how even against someone as unpredictable as Sebastian Smythe, his plans always work on his favor. "What a causality, if I recall correctly, the CEO of that company is no other than your-"
"Alright, alright, peacock in steroids, enough." That venomous impossibly green glare could have turned Medusa into ashes.
Hunter just simply turned his attention at the old jug at his left and poured the translucent liquid in the two glasses over the small tray. "Water?" He offered with a self-sufficient smirk.
"…"
Taking the silence as a no, Hunter started drinking, his eyes still roving over the freckled face that stared at him skeptically with narrowed eyes. Hunter took longs sips on purpose, waiting to see how long it would be before the impatient fugitive caved. Just as he planned, he didn't have to wait long.
"That's tap water; do you have any idea of how many microbes are you drinking right now? We are in India golden boy, very far from your mothership West Point…" The freckled nose wrinkled cutely in disgust. "Congratulations, you just got Amebiasis…." At Sebastian's drawl, Hunter needed of all his self-control to not spit the water.
Oh God.
With a sonorous thud that resonated in the enclosed space, the livid blond placed down the almost empty glass.
"Before you go to vomit, I would like a macchiato." Commented placidly the brunette while he stared at how the shoulder blades shifted under the thin fabric of the white shirt as Hunter walked towards the door, in the spots where the sweat started to conglomerate, you could discern the bronzed tone of skin.
"Mumbai's sun has been good with you, superman."
Well, as good as you can look with those hideous suits.
Sebastian sighed resigned; the spicy food is finally affecting him.
He despises the man!
Hunter froze after opening the door, by the swift movement, the local police officer that has been guarding the entrance almost tripped in surprise.
He shouldn't leave the borderline sociopath nuisance alone… but…
With an intense glare he studied the Indian vigilant and his AK-47; the ashy blond didn't notice how the man trembled under the piercing scrutiny.
… There is no way, under any circumstances he'll leave the Parisian in the same room with a man and a gun.
Yes, Smythe is handcuffed, but despite his slim figure, he knows how that brunette is stronger than he seems. Without mentioning how manipulative, persuasive and damnably smart the bastard could be. And yes, he doesn't trust in anyone else to handle the criminal.
"You."
In just one move, he grabbed the trembling police officer by his collar and dragged him closer; he had to shake the man to make him open his eyes.
"No one enters and no one leaves, understood? "
He still isn't entirely sure if the police officer speaks English, but by the frantic nod he'll give the panicked man the benefit of doubt.
"Don't worry agent, if you bring me my coffee I promise that I won't bite him… much." The delightful sing-song voice echoed by the whole corridor, making some people stop and stare.
Muttering some growls under his breath Clarington leaved, not without locking the door and pushing the officer's back against the metallic surface in exasperation.
III
He has been resting his chin on his palm feeling his cheek squish, when he heard the door being opened. "Here." Clarington didn't sound as annoyed as his attitude might have implied. Sebastian saw the slight uplifting at the corner of his mouth while the blond man entered the room and placed in front of him the tiniest coffee plastic cup he has ever seen.
He couldn't help himself to lean imperceptibly to stare at the steaming beverage.
"You've got to be kidding me."
There were particles of 'coffee' still floating around.
"If you expect me to do your homework, the least you can do is to feed me properly."
Hunter ignored the spoiled sneer dripping with disdain while he took seat.
"Here is the deal Smythe," Hunter showed no problems to keep his voice and attitude as professional and composed as possible. He has been wondering for years how this conversation might develop, and a part of him still hasn't realized that this is finally happening, this will be over now, the restless nights, the years far from his country, the doubts and suspicion from part of his colleagues, the rumors will be over… for good. Although, he internally has to admit that there is something quite interesting (recognizable) in Smythe still behaving like the bastard he really is, he hasn't heard of someone that young that keeps his façade after knowing he is going to spend most of his life in a cell. "With the forgery of the German's bonds you got at least three, maybe four years of prison assured, but after I catch Navarre, all those little things you did in the past will appear again… and we'll be talking about decades instead…" As enjoyable as intimidating the kid would be, he would feel more satisfied if he convinces the troublemaker to come and ask for help on his own choice. He couldn't repress the tiniest smirk at that sudden thought. "So let me tell you what you are going to do, you are going to collaborate with us, and your sentence wil-"
"You think you got me all figured out don't you?..."
Hunter stopped, lips still parted while he encountered defiant jades staring at him back with irritation.
Apparently, Smythe's fame of being a prodigy just applies to artistic abilities.
The dumbass still hasn't realized that it was over, he has lost.
Sebastian huffed a degrading snort of laughter. "You really are pathetic." He drawled acidly. "I always knew you had an arrogance that equals with Caesar's, but now you are just ridiculing yourself. Do you want me to believe that you and your aged boy band are going to catch Caleb? Please, be realistic. And-" The brunette chuckled with a dry laugh that held an irritating hint of incredulity, Sebastian dropped his head slightly, negating with his head to snap out of his astonishment of the words that leave Clarington's mouth, his long strands moving messily. "And to think that I would ever collaborate with… well, you?!" The emphasis in the last word didn't hide all his disgust and animosity the mere thought provoked on him. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to pass, see, I don't work for the loser side." For the first time, Sebastian's real emotions came to light, his incredulity at the man in front of him, it seemed as if he was actually insulted by the mere proposition, everything was fueled by his raw animosity for the agent, the truth was, that he was scared…
… Scared shitless that for a damn millisecond he considered the offer.
So he just reacted as he always does at feeling cornered.
He hisses and lashes out until he humiliates.
Grumpy superman can stick his superiority and hypocrite offers right where the rays of the sun won't touch him.
Hunter saw all the signs, the subtle blush, the assault to a chewed bottom lip, the incessant twist on wrists, and those deathly green eyes, that despite maintaining their defiance, they weren't as calculative as usual. The nuisance will deny it until the end of times, but he knows him better than anyone… and to him, it was plain obvious that Smythe felt threatened, and he is conscious of how the Parisian isn't easily intimidated.
"Think harder golden boy, Caleb never makes a move without already having a leverage… he'll always be ten steps ahead of every self-sacrificing and sickly moralistic head of yours." Sebastian's words were said with a condescendence and pity that Hunter did an incredibly job to not outburst, in fact, he inhaled and exhaled confidence, he knew that Smythe wasn't an ordinary criminal, the refusal to even listen the proposal startled him, but he won't let it show.
"I already knew you were the bait." The blond commented with his well-known self-sufficient tone.
Sebastian rolled his eyes in mock, not believing the nerves of the man. "As if you-" the brunette leaned towards the table, the clink of the cuffs echoing when he placed his elbows on top, his eyes glinting in conspiracy. "-could ever resist the opportunity to finally catch me." He dropped his voice purposely to a purr, grinning when the tic on that blond eyebrow was proof enough that he obtained the desired result.
Obviously he still causes some effect in the agent, which wasn't really surprising, knowing the golden boy; the man is still punishing himself and is trying harder to be faithful to his perfectly boring American housewife.
"Shit." Hunter almost cursed aloud.
He already deduced that Smythe was the bait.
And the dumbass just confirmed it.
But something wasn't right, his instincts were telling him that something. wasn't. right. There were signs that didn't fit. For the first time he is seeing Smythe breaking his nonchalant façade, he feels threatened. If it was because of the German's bonds, the fugitive is surely smart enough to accept the damn proposal… but he refused to even hear it… because he is not thinking clearly, he is familiar with Smythe's lack of common sense, but this is ridiculous! There is bitterness plastered all over the brunette's behavior.
… Why?
He started to reckon what happened last night, how they captured Smythe… It has been too easy; he even reprimanded himself for feeling disappointment at the lack of challenge. He has always known that in his unit are infiltrates, and he has gotten rid of them… well, most of them, he strategically leaved some to get information from them without the retards noticing… There has been this particular agent… Jesse St. James, Thad told him that St. James supposedly was the next in line if Montgomery was dismissed from his former position, and when he took the responsibility and was assigned as the leader instead, it caused tension with St. James and the rest of the unit, because of his abilities and lack of hesitation to take risks, he let St. James take some liberties, dismissing as gossip Thad's comment about St. James always whining and complaining because of their salary. But months ago, since they've been in Mumbai, St. James started to act strange, St. James's roommate commented him that he started to go out without them, returning to the residence almost minutes before having to go to the headquarters, Jesse St. James, usually the center of attention… seeking loneliness? He told St. James's roommate to inform him when the man leaved the residence at night, and as he thought, it started to coincide with Navarre's landings. Not wanting to lose the advantage of practically having a living contrabandist's agenda, he decided to maintain St. James on his position, he carefully choose a selective group to keep an eye on him. Last night they were preparing to go to where they suspected was one of Navarre's hideouts at the limits of the city, when David informed him that St. James was heading downtown; St. James has been working with the forgery of S. H. Raza's 'LA TERRE'…He had to go after him, or the local police will be nagging in his office at first hours in the morning with another dozen of eviction notices.
What was his surprise to find Smythe taking a cab outside of the building where a half hour ago St. James was.
Just as he said… it didn't make a fucking sense?!
It has been too easy.
That's not Smythe's modus operandi, the Parisian has performed as bait before –god knows how well Hunter is aware of that- but he always leaves an intricate pattern of clues that at the end lead towards the competition, other organizations, and he would never get himself caught by taking a miserable cab, no, no, Smythe is too vain for that.
This plan… it has been too… floppy, if you analyze it in retrospect, it has too many variants, too many flaws, what if he just sent a small unit to go after St. James? He would have caught Navarre.
The plan wasn't as detailed and original as Smythe's plans usually are.
And what Nick told him… that the building's porter alleged that St. James just stayed in the lobby, drinking coffee and reading a British newspaper… He never even attempted to encounter Smythe.
Until now, he always has assumed that Smythe is who pulls St. James's strings.
But if St. James wasn't taking orders from Smythe… then…?
"No fuckin-." "He betrayed you?!" Ragged breath escaped from his throat in disbelief.
Shocked blue eyes saw how the distracted kid flinched in surprise, wide jades dropping until all he could see were freckled eyelids and long eyelashes.
"You shouldn't have drunk that water; you are starting to make no sense." He tried to make his voice sound as detached as he could, but it was kind of difficult when you couldn't control the impulse to bite your lip, he knew he had to keep at bay the curses he was profaning to himself inside his head.
Clarington might not know what a Fibonacci sequence is… but damn the man was an infuriatingly good detective.
He wasn't counting with the agent deducing the truth.
What if Clarington starts to think that he holds no influence anymore, he can lose his leverage, what if…?
"Stay calm, Smythe, stay fucking calm, don't you dare to have a fucking panic attack."
"Let's cut to the chase Smythe, Navarre set you a tramp, he sacrificed you."
A bit reluctant, Sebastian peered up again, jades pale and the bridge of his nose starting to flush. "So what if he did?" He replied with a simple shrug.
A dozen of Frenglish insults would have been better for the ashy blond, who saw red at the maddening calmness from the kid, agents' training thrown away, Clarington didn't give a damn anymore and let himself show his frustration, snapping, trying to make the boy understand just how unconceivable and stupid he was.
"What, what do you mean what? The man doesn't care if you reek in jail and you are still protecting him?!" Hunter's baritone dropped alarmingly to a growl. "I just offered you a deal to save your ass and you rejected it." "Tell me, do you find being an ass to people who offer you help somehow satisfying?" How Smythe could be so obstinate?
And, and for… Navarre?
The power the contrabandist has over Sebastian it has always puzzled him. How someone as smart and unbelievably… young and alive could take orders from a contrabandist?
How can Sebastian not realize that he was blindingly following a man that clearly was ruining his life.
What he saw on him?!
While Clarington was ranting at him, Sebastian feigned boredom and stared uniteresdly at a leak in the wall. "Oh, lucky me, goodie agent Clarington… to the rescue!" Sebastian's mordant grin made Hunter deflate his shoulder in a tired sigh.
"Why?" He only asked, knowing that Smythe won't need another word to understand.
At the sole word, and the implication, Sebastian narrowed his eyes in annoyance.
How he dares?
To treat him like a regular conman, offering him a deal.
How he dares to act like he gives a damn.
He hated when the blond underestimated him.
To think that he will fall for that cheap act was an insult to his intelligence.
What he learned last night is that people will always use you.
And the most talented you were, the more people needed you and the more you will be tossed like a piece of crap.
That's the reality.
And he knows that now that he has become Clarington's leverage, he is the one thing everyone wants and needs.
Clarington won't help him.
He just wanted to use him.
Like everyone has.
The moment he becomes no longer of any use, the moment the golden agent will send him to America.
He almost laughed bitterly at remembering Edinburgh, as if after all he did to the man from Colorado, the agent will ever forgive him, it was absurd, not even Clarington and his unbreakable moral compass can be that compassionate.
Maybe in the past, when Clarington was just a military brat, but now… he poisoned the man.
And obviously this was his revenge.
"I'll get over this, I'll escape from here, they can't do this to me… I'll get over this."
Sebastian accommodated lazily, showing how he wasn't going to be insulted. "Because the idea of seeing you work your way up to a stroke, it has become this new fantasy of mine."
Hunter parted his lips, already considering the idea of sending the ungrateful bastard to a local prison, at the mercy of the Indian government, wanting to see how much he was going to endure there, when the door opened hurriedly, emerging an altered David, who froze in the doorframe, realizing too late with whom his leader was… and immediately recognizing the sultry and oppressive air, it was almost tangibly dense how the silence wasn't going to last for long, the outburst almost inevitable. He assumed that the interrogation wasn't going well.
"Clarington… er, I got the coordinates." Thompson couldn't stop himself from staring briefly at the worldwide conman; he was perceptive enough to see an unusual frustration on those boyish features before the fugitive, at noticing him, returned to his usual laid-back self, winking an eye in his direction suggestively.
Feeling a sudden sensation of danger, David almost trips in his steps at seeing Clarington's glare towards him.
With David already on the hallway, Hunter walked towards the door, deciding to end for today the interrogation, he didn't feel like dealing any longer with the fugitive, so he was leaving with all the intentions of not dedicating another word, but he just couldn't contain his words any longer. "You are going to be held prisoner here until I decide to." He commented coldly, as if he was talking with the lowest subordinate, he looked over his shoulder and found those green jades full of hate. And he repeated to himself that it was satisfaction what he felt. "Oh… and that was the last time I offer you any sort of deal, from now on, any resistance to collaborate will be declared as obstruction of justice. Enjoy your stay."
He didn't wait to hear any response, and closed the door.
IV
(TBC)
A/N: Thank you for reading! But mostly, thank you for your patience. -_-Uu (levels of embarrassment at maximum over here)