A/N: Hi again! Luckily, I've found the time to complete this chapter rather quickly! Can't promise the following updates will be as quick, but we can always hope.
Let's dive in!
David had expected a large house. He still had no idea what Mycroft's job was, but his suit and entire demeanor made him sure he was well-paid. The chauffeur that drove them there certainly reaffirmed his theory. So he wasn't surprised when they arrived to the house – he was surprised when they entered.
The house was decorated in an old-fashioned way, in a Victorian style. The wooden decorations and furniture made it look more domestic than it actually was. David assumed the house was family heritance, but a little voice in his head told him Mycroft could certainly afford a country house on the outskirts of London by himself. What surprised David the most was the way the house was built – it had different levels, each leading to a different corridor. It was clear that you had to know the house in order to find your way around. David felt like he was in a large labyrinth, and assumed this was the original intent. It seemed that the Holmeses were never very hospitable.
Just when David thought the place couldn't surprise him anymore, they reached the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, it was completely neglected. The wallpaper was starting to peel of the walls, and the room was completely empty beside the absolute basics – a fridge, a tap, an oven, a stove, a microwave and three small cabinets. It was very clean, so Mycroft did spend some time there. The more David thought about it, the more he felt like Mycroft was purposely neglecting the room. That would also explain why he pretended not to be hungry when he obviously was.
Mycroft turned around sharply to face Rossi, distracting the latter from his profile.
"Are we done here?"
"I already told you, I'm not leaving till –"
"Yes, I know what you said," he interrupted, not bothering to mask his irritation. "But I was hoping that by now you would have realized that I don't need a babysitter."
"Then why did I have to promise you I'll leave you alone in order to convince you to eat?"
Mycroft didn't reply. He tightened his lips, as if he had to physically hold his words in. He only spoke after a moment.
"I'll pay you to leave."
Rossi snorted.
"It was worth a try," Mycroft muttered.
"Look, I promised Lestrade –"
Mycroft grunted and rolled his eyes. "What is it with people and promises? Do they make you feel special?"
"You don't appreciate promises? Fine. But I know you appreciate work ethics. My job here is to help Lestrade. That's it. He asked me to make sure you're looked after, so that's what I'm doing. Can you respect that?"
Mycroft considered it for a moment. "I don't need to be looked after."
"Then you're welcome to tell that to Lestrade once he arrives. Until then, I'm not going anywhere. Do you have anything to drink here?" David asked nonchalantly, ending the argument.
Mycroft gave him a long, unreadable look.
"Just water will do."
Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes. "The glasses are over there," he said tiredly, gesturing with his hand towards one of the cabinets.
David offered him a small grin and crossed the room to the cabinets. He opened one of them and found what he was looking for. He took down two glasses, which were in fact as dusty as they appeared. Rossi wondered when the last time Mycroft had had company was. He rinsed them under the tap to clean the dust, and dried them up carelessly before filling them with water. He handed one glass to Mycroft, who stared at it in disgust for a second before taking it. Rossi took a few sips. Mycroft emptied his glass with one gulp. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment.
"How about you give me the tour?" Rossi suggested.
"Oh, dear god," Mycroft muttered under his breath, exasperated.
"Fine, forget I asked. I'll find my own way around," he replied, knowing it would force Mycroft to come along.
"In case you haven't noticed, this house was built more sophisticatedly than what you're used to. It was designed to keep unwelcome visitors away from the important rooms. You will certainly get lost."
"Guess you have to join me, then."
If he hadn't known any better, Rossi would've thought Mycroft might just kill him the next time he opened his mouth.
"Fine. There are only two places you need to know the way to anyhow."
Without wasting another second, Mycroft set his glass down on a shelf near the fridge and hurried out of the room. Rossi was quick to follow, but still had to run a few steps in order to catch up with Mycroft. Judging by the way he walked, Mycroft could probably show him around while blindfolded just the same.
He was right, of course. Very soon Rossi realized that without Mycroft's guidance he'd never be able to find his way back. It wasn't that the house was too big or had too many doors – it just felt like a large maze, and whenever Rossi thought he could find the way back to the kitchen, he was proven wrong. Nevertheless, he had a feeling that Mycroft was just walking around in circles in some unconscious attempt to impress him.
"That's the bathroom," Mycroft said after a minute, gesturing towards a closed door that looked identical to all the ones he had seen so far.
For another minute or two, Rossi wondered what the other place he has to know the way to was. He didn't wonder for long – soon enough they reached the front door. He chuckled once, appreciating the humour behind the rude gesture.
"Alright, I get it. You want me out of here."
Mycroft raised his eyebrows in artificial innocence. "What makes you say that?"
Rossi's eyes scanned him for a second. Something about Mycroft seemed… unquiet. As if there was something he desperately needed to do but could only do it once Rossi left. The more he thought about it, the more concerned Rossi became. Mycroft had obviously gone through major trauma, trauma that he refused to talk about. Rossi knew little to nothing about Mycroft Holmes, but he knew one thing – he was human. And being human meant that he needed help and needed to be looked after. Mycroft certainly wouldn't look after himself, and it seemed that there were no other takers for the job.
Mycroft's expression changed, as he noticed there was something new on Rossi's mind. But just then, someone knocked on the door.
"Must be Lestrade," Rossi said, glad for the distraction.
A phone started ringing in the distance. Rossi's hand instinctively jumped to his pocket, where he found his phone. Must be Mycroft's, then.
"You can go ahead, I'll open the door," Rossi said, responding to Mycroft's hesitation.
"Will you be able to find your way back?"
"I guess we'll have to wait and see."
It was quite obvious that Mycroft didn't trust him on his own. However, he was too impatient to answer the call to wait any longer.
"Don't wander around," he said under his breath and turned sharply on his heels, heading to back to the kitchen.
Rolling his eyes, Rossi opened the door. Lestrade stood there, holding several shopping bags and looking quite tired. Rossi quickly took the bags from the DI's hands and put them down inside.
"Did you really come here all on your own?"
"Yeah," the DI sighed, "Mycroft made it quite clear that the less people that come the better."
"And you just did as he asked?" Rossi questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"And so should you, if you want him to tolerate you. To be honest, I'm not quite sure why you're still here."
"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that."
"Changed your mind?"
Rossi chuckled once. "On the contrary. I need you to ask me to spend the night here and make sure he stays safe until tomorrow. I'll tell him you said that anyway, so it might as well be true."
"Are you insane?" Lestrade asked, bewildered. "What person in their right mind would ask to be with Mycroft Holmes for so long? And when he's upset, as if his regular state isn't enough."
Rossi studied the DI for a moment. "You respect him, I can see that. But I can't tell what the other thing is. Do you hate him or do you fear him?"
"I don't hate him. He's not a bad man… I think. He's just very different."
"That leaves fear, then."
Lestrade chuckled awkwardly. "Mycroft Holmes is an intimidating man with more power in his hands than we both know about. I don't fear him, but I'm quite comfortable with being a safe distance away from him. Especially after what happened tonight."
"What happened?"
"Oh no, no chance I'm telling you that," Lestrade answered, shaking his head. "Everything that happened tonight is the business of the Holmes family and no one else. Well, John Watson too, but that's it. If you want to know what happened, you'll have to ask one of them."
Rossi knew exactly what that meant – he wasn't going to learn about Mycroft's trauma any time soon. He put on a small polite smile. "Thank you, Detective Inspector. Good night."
"Good night, Agent Rossi. And good luck with him."
Rossi shut the door. He picked up the full bags and hoped Lestrade got everything he asked. The Detective Inspector must have broken a few laws to get here so fast. Rossi wondered if he turned on the sirens to avoid traffic.
Letting his legs lead the way, Rossi eventually found his way back to the kitchen. He probably took a detour, but he was somewhat proud of himself for finding the way back. He had always had good instincts.
Rossi spoke the second he entered the room, before Mycroft could say anything. "You're not gonna believe it, but Lestrade just asked me to stay the night. Make sure you're okay and all. I tried to tell him it's pointless, but he insisted."
Then, he waited. It was a decent lie, one that could easily fool most people. Manipulating psychopaths was part of his job, so he was obviously quite good at lying. But judging by the way Mycroft had read him just from a single look when they first met, this wasn't nearly convincing enough to get past him. However, Rossi didn't need his profiling skills something was off about Mycroft. Even though he had only met him a few hours ago, it was quite clear that Mycroft was distracted. He watched him in anticipation, waiting to see just how distracted he was.
After what felt like forever, Mycroft groaned in agony. "I should have taken a bullet when I had the chance," he muttered to himself, far too loudly. "Did he also ask you to act like that, or is that just what you're like?"
"Act like what?"
"You know…" he said and gestured tiredly towards Rossi. "Emotionally."
"No, that's all me," Rossi replied with a grin, determined to remain calm despite of Mycroft's best efforts. About six sarcastic comebacks jump to his mind, but he keeps his mouth shut. Now was not the time.
"Lovely," Mycroft replied dryly. "I'll be next door if you need me," he mumbled and left, noticeably keen to get some privacy.
Rossi took a deep breath, already regretting his decision. Instead of treating this as a job or a mission, Rossi decided at that moment to treat it as a challenge. He could never turn those down, either because he was too ambitious or because he was too stubborn. It was probably a certain mix of the two.
Now, though, was his time to relax. Cooking had always been his therapy, his time to center himself. He could've made a wide variety of dishes, but he figured the simplest choice would be best – his famous spaghetti carbonara. He had never met anyone who didn't enjoy it, and Mycroft was certainly not going to be the first.
And so, he started. He didn't need to think about his actions – they all came naturally, flowing out ever-so-easily, giving him time to think about everything else. What was Holmes' landlady hiding? She obviously knew what happened, or at least some of it. Could she have stopped it from happening? What could've been bad enough to unnerve a man like Mycroft Holmes? Who was this John Watson Lestrade had mentioned? Sherlock's roommate, for sure, but how was he involved? What kind of man could share an apartment – and a life – with the Holmes family?
When he got back to thinking about his dream, he suddenly noticed he wasn't alone. Mycroft was standing there, some distance behind him. Rossi made an active effort to pretend he hadn't noticed him yet. It was like getting a wild and scared animal to trust you. If it approaches you when it thinks you're not looking, you make sure you don't scare it. The sudden distraction from his thoughts sent him back to reality, where he was almost done with the meal.
"Dinner's almost ready," he cried, loudly enough to convince Mycroft he thought he was still in a different room.
Intentionally not asking Mycroft for help, he started opening cabinets and drawers until he found two plates and two sets of cutlery. When he turned around to take them to the dining room, Mycroft wasn't there. He was already sat by the table, arms crossed. He went back to the kitchen to bring the pan – and a coaster, because Mycroft was definitely the kind of man to be finicky about that. He put down the coaster and gently set the pan on it with a satisfied grin, which grew bigger when he saw the way Mycroft was eyeing the food.
"Bon appétit," he said, sitting down next to him, knowing he probably expected him to sit at the other end of the table.
"I'm not hungry," Mycroft murmured, looking away from the food with a visible effort.
"Fine, then don't eat. I'll just put some on your plate," Rossi said and put a rather large amount of spaghetti on Mycroft's plate. "Now it's all your choice. Eat it if you want, or don't. Either way I'll know I did my best."
Rossi put some spaghetti on his plate as well and starting eating, ignoring Mycroft. Occasionally he glanced at him from the corner of his eye. At first, Mycroft looked at the food in front of him like it was his biggest enemy. After a few minutes, Mycroft made a move towards the fork, but then pulled back his hand. Rossi figured his attempt had failed, so he decided to focus back on his dinner instead of on the man in front of him. It wasn't his best dish, but it was certainly better than average.
He only noticed something had changed when he heard the unmistakable sound of a fork brushing against a pan. He allowed himself to glance up quickly, and saw Mycroft was refilling his plate. With a small satisfied smile, Rossi continued eating.
After a while, the pan was completely empty. Only then Rossi made eye contact with Mycroft, who seemed to somewhat regret eating so much, or at all. Nonetheless, Rossi got what he wanted.
"So, what did you think?" Rossi asked, pleased.
"The food was certainly much better than the company."
"It wouldn't kill you to be nice, you know."
"Oh, what's the point?" Mycroft snapped. "Why do you keep struggling and wasting your already worthless time trying to get me to be nice?"
"Because -" Rossi started, but was quickly cut off by Mycroft.
"No, that was a rhetorical question. You see, a clever profiler - if such thing even exists - would have realized that I'm not interested in any sort of communication with you and would have shut up."
With irritance starting to boil up inside him, David opened his mouth to reply, but was once again interrupted.
"But of course, I have nothing to expect from a man too stupid to move up the ranks of the FBI, and too useless to do anything else with his life other than write 'crime-solving for dummies'."
At this point, Rossi was properly annoyed. He fleetingly hoped that whatever happened that evening would somehow send Mycroft to jail. But for some reason, the more he grew to hate Mycroft, the more keen he was on staying with him and keeping an eye on him. Knowing that was bound to make Mycroft suffer was a bonus.
"Well, if that's the mood you're in, I think I'll head off to bed now," Rossi said with a calm smile and rose from his seat. "You must have a guest room here somewhere." As Mycroft quickly got up, Rossi raised a reassuring hand. "Don't trouble yourself, I'll find my own way. Best not to waste time with the dishes anyway."
The look on Mycroft's face assured Rossi that while he might get a death sentence for his actions, it would be absolutely worth it. "Excuse me?"
"I cook, you clean. Wasn't that obvious?" Rossi said with a sheepish smile, and used the time it took Mycroft to recover from his shock to leave the room.
Rossi had absolutely no idea where the guest room was. In fact, it wasn't too far-fetched to assume the Holmes family purposely didn't have a guest room. But he was far too determined at this point to find it, that he was certain that if necessarily, he'd create himself a guest room just to avoid proving himself wrong in front of Mycroft. Now that he was away from him, he tried to ease off of the anger that was gripping him. He found that it wasn't very easy to do when every step he took in that house made him feel like a mouse getting lost in a maze that was created especially to experiment on him.
At last, he found what he was looking for. One of the doors he opened led into a comfortable, dimly-lit room with a large bed and a small nightstand by it. A tall closet stood across from the bed, and a sofa laid by its side. Other than a small lamp on the nightstand, that was all the furniture the room held. There wasn't a single grain of dust in it, and yet something told Rossi the room had never been used. There was another door in the room that opened into a small bathroom with a toilet, shower and sink. It wasn't much, but he'd had much worse accommodations.
Regrettably, he didn't have any of his belongings with him. Even if he did, he probably would've slept in his clothes nonetheless. When he climbed into the foreign bed, fully-dressed, with no idea how tomorrow will go, he couldn't help but think back to his army days. He was going into war now, too.
He let his mind carry him through the days with his comrades in the tents until finally, he fell asleep.
A/N: And so Rossi survived his first evening with Mycroft. But neither of them knows what lies ahead...
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions! They really mean the world to me :)