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1. They’re in handcuffs.
“Where did you even leave them?” asks Conor, a bit exasperated at this point.
“I dunno,” says Thomas. “I think I threw them under the bed when they weren’t looking at me.”
“I can’t believe you did that. How in the world did you even succeed?”
“Er,” a crooked grin forms. “Would you accept it if I blamed it on adrenaline?”
Conor shakes his head. “You and I both know that would be a lie.”
He looks around the car, then down at their hands. They’re cuffed. Together. Conor sighs.
“They won’t have any incriminating evidence against you,” says Thomas. Always the practical one. “You saved the world.”
“And I did that by invading privacy,” retorts Conor. He doesn’t put much bite behind the words. His situation is pretty glum, and he knows he won’t come back from it unscathed.
“They don’t know that,” says Thomas, evading his eyes, and starts picking dirt from under his nails, pulling Conor’s hand along.
“Don’t they?” Conor leans against the car door, exhausted. “That malware was unbelievably hard to crack without any inside information. They drew their own conclusions, perhaps they were even right. I’m surprised it took this long to get me into custody, if I’m honest.”
Thomas looks up from the corner of Conor’s eyes, taken aback. ”What?!”
“The police aren’t dumb, Thomas,” Conor snipes. “It’s a miracle we haven’t seen the secret services around yet, with a case on this scale.”
Thomas stays quiet.
“Quite the miracle,” says Conor, and turns to Thomas, who is avidly avoiding eye contact.
“Thomas.”
“Fucking Christ, Conor, what do you want me to say?!”
“Are you kidding me?! Did you- You hacked the secret service to keep our involvement on the down-low?”
“I didn’t!” shouts Thomas, “I swear!”
“Then how are they involved? And how do you know about them?”
That shuts him up again, and Conor is fuming. “The truth, Thomas,” he says. “I trust you, as both partner in crime, and fiancé, but if you don’t return any of it I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”
Thomas flinches. “I wanted to keep you safe, over all else. Just- remember that.”
“Right.”
Thomas inhales, exhales, and goes back to picking his nails. Conor’s wrist moves with it, and he clenches a fist to keep himself from pulling it back forcefully. He loves this man. He loves Thomas, and now he’s going to give Thomas the chance to trust him back.
“I didn’t get into Elysium through friends,” Thomas starts, glances at Conor quickly, and diverting his eyes back to his lap. “Or, technically I did? But it wasn’t out of the kindness of my heart, that I joined the project.”
Oh God, Thomas, Conor thinks. Don’t say it.
“I was tasked with understanding the scope of the Elysians, and went undercover. I’ve been giving monthly reports ever since I joined.”
“Thomas,” Conor murmurs. “You didn’t-”
“I actively kept you out of the investigation. They shouldn’t have any leads concerning you as suspect.”
Conor slowly uncoils his muscles, and collapses against the car seat, thoroughly beaten. “I cannot believe you.” His fiancé, the traitor in Elysium? Conor needs time to process, but they’re both seated in a police car, waiting for interrogation. “I suppose I should thank you, for not ratting me out?”
“Never!” says Thomas, vivid anger in his eyes. Conor shrinks back. “Elysium is bad, Conor, really bad. You’re stealing from innocent people, and funding- Well.” Then, the rage subsides, and when he blinks, Conor painfully watches as his lashes dampen. “Your heart is beautiful, and you’re trying to be good to the world, and after we’ve finally saved everyone, got out, we’re taken in for questioning, of all things.”
It’s quiet, just for a minute. Conor is processing, and he imagines Thomas biting back the guilt on his shoulders he created himself, as he always does.
“So,” Conor says. However much Thomas has lied to him, he doesn’t want his fiancé to ever make that face. “Because we’ve been taken in for questioning, does that mean the MI6 don’t trust your reports any longer?”
Thomas freezes. “...I don’t know.” The guilt on his face is replaced with cutting fear. “I don’t-”
“Shh.” With the hand laid on Thomas’ lap, Conor entwines their fingers. “We’ll tell our planned story when they ask. This is what we planned it for, after all. We’ll be ok.”
The hand trembles in his own, but gently squeezes back.
After a short bit of comforting silence, they see the door of the office open, and a couple of people step out. Conor braces himself.
“They should be grateful, for what you’ve done,” says Thomas.
“You should be grateful I’m still tolerating you,” says Conor, raising their hands to his lips, but finally he’s able to muster a smirk. “You’re unbearably loud in this small a space.”
“I have opinions,” huffs Thomas, but he too is smiling. “I am allowed to express them however I wish. If that means throwing away an officer’s handcuffs under the bed, then so be it.”
“I would shut up if I were you,” says Conor, “or I’ll have to kiss that mouth shut myself.”
“Well then,” replies his lover, “what are you waiting for?”
They stare into each other’s eyes, just a moment, before the car door is pulled open, and one of the officers that had barged into their flat shows her face. Conor’s mood sours immediately.
“Conor Le? Please come with me, and do not attempt to run…” Her voice fades out to the wind they’re pulled into, and Conor squeezes their hands one more time. They’ll be ok.
2. They’re in Elysium
They’ve had regular correspondence for a while now, helping each other with small thefts and encryptions, and unofficial flirting (at least that’s what it feels like from Conor’s side), but it’s the first time they meet in real life when things really start to heat up. Conor’s nerves are on fire, and he keeps accidentally knocking into things and people as he’s lost in thought. Thomas is tired from a plane flight and finding his way to the railroad’s closest café. Thomas is late. Or maybe Conor is early, and time is moving slower than normal. He dressed his best, and tried to put on some of that foundation Kaitlin showed him, but his hands keep twitching towards his phone, itching for contact.
He’s nervous.
He really likes Thomas, likes him like he’s never liked someone before. He really doesn’t want to screw this up.
But he’s nervous.
So when a voice asks him, “‘xcuse me, are you Conor?”, he jumps out of his skin, and drops his coffee on his lap.
Fuck.
“Oh fuck, I am, so sorry!” the voice says, and someone starts leaning over him, grabbing the stack of napkins at the far end of the table, just as Conor tries to get up and rid himself of the burning heat on his thighs. Of course, they bump heads, and of course, Conor tumbles down onto the booth with a person on top of him, squeaking in surprise.
The person quickly scrambles up and away from Conor, and scooches over to the other side of the booth.
Conor gets up. At least it can’t get any worse than this. “Uh,” he tries. “Thomas?”
The person, a young adult male with a notably very cosy coat, jumps as if addressed. “Er, yes? Conor?”
“Thomas,” says Conor.
“Conor,” says Thomas.
“Th-” Conor coughs. “Uh, hi?”
Thomas starts laughing.
-
From there, luckily, it goes smoother. Thomas asks if he lives far, so that Conor might change out of his jeans, and so they head to Conor’s apartment. It wasn’t how Conor had imagined their first meeting to go, and the longer he wears the jeans, the colder his thighs become (it’s early spring Christ’s sake, it should not be this cold outside), but eventually they’re inside, with clean jeans.
“Do you do this with all the boys?” asks Thomas when he’s taken a seat on the sofa. The most comfortable one, as well - the corner closest to the window and the radiator. “Or just the ones you already know like you?”
Conor coughs. “I’m afraid you’re special,” he says. “Though it wasn’t solely my fault.”
“Ah yes,” says Thomas with a fond, teasing smile. “I say your name, and you decide to burn your lap with coffee. A true classic.”
“More like you scare me shitless, and then headbutt me when I try to get away,” says Conor. “Would you like anything to drink?”
A smirk sneaks onto Thomas’ face. “Perhaps some coffee? Do try not to pour it all on your lap.”
Unfortunately for Thomas, Conor knows his coffee preferences. “I got some instant, coming right up.”
Thomas blanches visibly, and tries to keep himself from asking any different by pouting. Proud fucker, Conor smiles.
He returns with drinks five minutes later, and sees Thomas viewing his collection of family photos. There’s some of his parents, some more of his sister, and a great many of him and Kaitlin together. Thomas is looking at one specifically; him pushing Kaitlin on a homemade swing in what looks like blistering heat. They’re both smiling as brightly as the sun in the corner, and an older lady is watching from besides the swing set.
“That your sister?” Thomas asks when he hears the footsteps halt. “Katherine, right?”
“Kaitlin,” Conor corrects. He’s said her name only once, he thinks back quickly, so it’s surprising Thomas remembered at all. “And my gran. We were on holiday in Vietnam, visiting family.”
Thomas nods solemnly. “You look happy.”
“It was fun,” Conor says.
Finally, Thomas looks up, then down at the tray in his hands. There’s no coffee in sight. Instead, he’s come back from the kitchen with two glasses gin-tonic. “To the future?” he asks, and holds up a glass.
Thomas blinks in surprise, but takes the other, and clicks it against Conor’s softly. “Cheers.”
--
Couple drinks in, and Thomas decides he’s never moving again. “I’ve been in a plane for-” he says, then pauses. “eight feckin’ hours. I feel like I really should be asleep right now.”
Conor does a mental calculation, but is vaguely aware that it takes him longer than it should’ve. “Uh, it's around 3 am in London. I think.”
Thomas voices his doubts. “I’d be awake still.”
“But you’ve also been in a plane for eight ‘feckin’ hours,” repeats Conor.
Thomas nods. “Yeah, that sounds right.”
Conor shivers. “Do you know if I turned up the heater?”
“No?”
“Why not?”
“You had coffee on your trousers.”
That sounds about right.
“Y’can borrow my coat?” suggests Thomas.
“But then how will you survive?”
“Not like I’m going anywhere. No need for coats.”
Conor nods. No need for blankets, either, with that cozy a coat. He wishes he had a coat like that. No one could ever hurt him.
“Do you think we’ll be caught, one day?” he asks.
Thomas hums thoughtfully. “I hope not. Y- we certainly don’t deserve it.”
Conor nods. They’re doing good. Good things. Not bad. Not evil. Good.
When he looks back up, Thomas is softy snoring from the seat at the window.
---
They wake up on a sunday, cold, mildly sickly, and generally chagrined. Thomas buries himself under blankets in the exact spot he’d claimed his the night before, and Conor busies himself with breakfast. It’s not as awkward as first-meetings ought to be, yet something unresolved is hanging tightly in the air.
When Conor enters the living room with fruits and oats, Thomas calls him a heaven-sent angel bringing him salvation, and even hugs him when he drops some paracetamol on the tray alongside the food.
Of course, as it is Thomas’ first time in New York, he longs to step out as a tourist for a bit, and they plan out a route easy to walk but fun to sight-see. Conor allows Thomas to claim the bathroom for himself for a bit, then leaves him in the living room to do his own thing. When he returns, he sees Thomas staring at the photos once again. His back is turned to Conor, pale and delicate figure contrasting brightly against the grey concrete wall.
He debates staring for a bit longer, but instead asks, “You ok?”
Thomas nods absentmindedly, and turns to face him.
The unsolved tension tightens. For the first time, Conor realises Thomas is really, truly, here, and he’s here because he wanted to see Conor. All for him.
He doesn’t exactly remember moving, but suddenly, he’s in Thomas’ space, whose eyes widen in curiousity. Then there’s just softness.
----
“So you like me, huh?”
“Don’t let it get to your ego.”
“I suppose I’ll have to postpone my confession. I’m being bullied. By the person who likes me.”
“Shut up.”
3. Thomas is invited to meet the parents
“I can’t meet your family! They’d hate me!”
“Hate you?” Conor raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Kaitlin would adore you. Ma would probably fawn all over you.”
Thomas shrugs helplessly. “At first maybe, when we tell them a lie.”
“We can’t stop them making assumptions, Tommy. I want to tell them, if you want to.”
“Of course I want to,” Thomas admits. “But they’re your family. What if...”
“What if they don’t accept you?”
Thomas picks his nails, avoids his eyes. “...What if they don’t accept you?”
Conor looks away then. Of course he’d thought of the possibility. Of course he’s terrified of what they’ll think. But.
“If they don’t accept me, then that’s their problem with me.” His voice is strong, but he knows Thomas catches the waver. “I’m independent, and don’t need you to fight my battles.”
“But-!”
“Thomas.”
“Conor!” Thomas shouts.
Conor takes a step back.
“I-” Thomas inhales shakily, then sighs. “Sorry. That was uncalled for, but. Conor, you and your family love each other. You shouldn’t have to lose that.”
“And maybe I won’t?” says Conor. “I know Kaitlin won’t mind. Maybe my parents won’t, either. And even if they do, then they don’t love me like I thought they did, period.”
Thomas stays silent.
“Thomas?” Conor asks.
“I don’t want you to lose them,” Thomas says. “You deserve better. I don’t want you to go through that.”
Conor sweeps him into a hug, which in turn embarrasses both of them yet they cling to each other tightly. Thomas feigns disgruntlement, grumbling about needing to feed Tova, but Conor doesn’t let him go.
“There’s two ways it could go,” he says softly, and Thomas stops his struggling. “Either I lose them, or you gain them.”
Thomas starts in his arms. “...Gain them?”
“Yeah!” says Conor, smiling bright as he releases his boyfriend to look him in the eye. Of course, this is the option he’s hoping for, for Thomas and his father and his mother and his sister- for all of them to get along and be happy. “You’ll have an extra set of parents! And an annoying little pseudo-twin sister. And me.”
“And you,” repeats Thomas. “Right.” There’s a moment of silence. Then, Thomas flees to the kitchen, saying something about feeding Tova. Conor watches him go.
-
“So what’s really upsetting you?” asks Conor when they’re curled up in bed around Tova, who’s taken most of the space next to them.
Thomas sighs. “Do we really need to-”
“Yes,” says Conor firmly. “It’s taking its toll on you, visibly. You’ve been morose since we left the living room.”
Thomas turns to him with a smiling huff. “You’re counting my smiles, mr. think-you’re-charming?”
“I’ve charmed you, haven’t I? But Thomas, c’mon. Spit it out.”
Thomas just pets Tova for a bit, concentrating on something out of Conor’s line of sight, and he’s about to give up and lie back down, when Thomas speaks up. “I haven’t seen my parents since university.”
O-Oh. Conor feels his face fall in grief for his boyfriend- his best friend. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
Shaking his head, Thomas places Tova on his lap, and sits up. “They died. Don’t have much left, other than a faraway cousin here and there. You get it now, don’t you?”
Conor does. “You’ve lost your family, don’t want me to experience the same.”
Thomas laughs humourlessly. “That. Definitely that. It sucks. But in a way, if they do like me, I-” he licks his lips, debates what to say. Conor waits patiently. “If- If they do, I don’t want to feel like I’m replacing my own.”
“What would make you think you’ll be replacing your own?”
“The fact that I haven’t visited since the funeral, mostly. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.”
Conor looks away. “It appears that’s not quite true, is it?”
With a loud thud, and a screech from Tova, Thomas falls back onto the pillows. “Guess not.”
--
The week before visiting New York, they head to Bournemouth. The week after, Conor loses his father’s love.
4. Thomas just. Blurts out Russian.
Conor dodges a blue shell aimed at his boyfriend, speedily passes him, and laughs as said boyfriend curses. “Gotta throw all you got at me, babe, if you still want to win.”
Thomas mutters something, in complete concentration. Something Conor, even though he heard him clearly, does not understand. It doesn’t matter much, because there’s now a mouth on his, kissing him silly. He gives in to Thomas without hesitation, and sinks further into the couch.
Unfortunately, in his distraction, he hears the victory jingle, and with a gasp he pushes Thomas away, who’s cheering. “I win! Did you see that?! I got you good!”
“What did you just say,” says Conor, bewildered.
“What,” Thomas blinks. “What did I just say?”
Conor scrunches up his nose as he tries to replicate the sounds. “Beet pai semo?”
“What?” Thomas looks as confused as he is. “What does that mean?”
“You tell me!”
“Wait.”
Conor waits.
“Er,” says Thomas, and frowns. “Did you mean bytʹ po semu?”
“Yes!” That was it exactly, Conor’s happy to hear. “What does it mean?”
“It’s, er, an idiom. A Russian idiom, meaning ‘so be it’.”
Russian? “Thomas,” Conor grins. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
Thomas blushes. “Yeah, well,” he huffs, and drops the controller. “It’s not like you speak Vietnamese around the house all the time.”
“But I do sometimes,” Conor says. “Like that time I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet.”
“Ah yes. How could I forget? That was some colourful swearing, and I can’t even understand the language.”
“Where did you learn? Scrap that, Russia, of course. When did you? How well can you speak it?”
“Conor,” Thomas laughs as he’s bombarded by Conor’s enthusiasm. “Chill. I learnt it when I went abroad for a while, to- yes- Russia. Spent some time there, had to find my way around.”
“For how long?” asks Conor. “If you were able to learn a whole language, it must’ve been at least two years.”
“Thereabouts, yes,” Thomas mutters. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“But I liked hearing your accent,” says Conor. “Sounded very flowey.”
“Flowey.”
“Yeah! Like a river? Your normal English one sounds more like a forest, don’t you think?”
Thomas watches him with a small frown, “a forest?”
Conor grins. “I think this is the most lost for words I’ve ever had you.”
“Shut up!” grumbles Thomas. He pauses, smirks, and says, “zamolči.”
“Mày câm mồm,” Conor retorts.
“Zhopa.”
“Dở hơi.”
Thomas grins, as if he knows exactly what’s being said. Which, Conor thinks, might even be the case.
“Solnishka.”
“Cún con.”
“Liubimyj.”
“Anh yêu em.”
Thomas looks surprised at the last one. “Yêu? Doesn’t that mean love?”
Warmth rushes through Conor’s cheeks. He looks away bashfully, and pouts at the floor. “Yes.”
“Did you just say you love me?” Thomas is grinning from ear to ear, by the sound of it.
“Well I didn’t expect you to actually understand it, did I?” says Conor in a rush, crossing his arms in his defence. It might’ve flopped out of his mouth unintentionally, but the more he thinks about it, the steadier the feeling becomes. “I love you.”
Thomas is about to say some joking retort, but all the words disappear from his tongue the moment Conor blurts it out in English. He sits up straight, and a look of wander passes through his eyes. He looks down, blushing, trembling. Trembling?
“Thomas?” Conor says, worried. “Are you ok?”
“I’m great,” says Thomas. “I’m fantastic. Thank you. It’s just- there’s so much going on, with work, with Elysium, this kinda came out of nowhere, and I-”
“Not really nowhere,” says Conor. He lays his head down on Thomas’ lap, huffing as he looks up at his boyfriend’s burdened face. “I love you. We’ve been in this relationship for a while now. You’re a smart boy, you should’ve seen this coming.”
Thomas barks a surprised laugh, and lets himself fall next to Conor, who scooches up the sofa. The Mario Kart music is still playing in the background, perhaps a bit too loud for it to be appropriate. Thomas watches Conor carefully, and Conor stares back.
A hand grabs his, and Conor hums his curiousity aloud. “Tommy?”
“Ja ljublju tebja,” says Thomas, softly, “bolʹše vsego na svete.”
Conor knows the first part, vaguely, from context clues and a small understanding of the Indo-European languages, but the fond, caring eyes Thomas is sending him truly tells him all he needs to know.
5. +1 truth
It’s midnight, and they’re in a park, somewhere. Thomas is slightly cold, having gifted Conor his coat for the night, but the scenery and company make it so he minds little.
They’re walking arm in arm, slowly making their way home, when Thomas looks up, and chuckles. No wonder it’s cold. There’s no cloud as far as he can see the sky.
Conor follows his gaze, and nudges him. “New moon,” he says. “‘s a good night to stargaze.”
“I will literally freeze to death,” says Thomas, but quietly agrees. It is a good night to stargaze, were they not in the heart of London alongside all her light pollution. “Do you know any constellations?”
“Just the big ones,” admits Conor sheepishly. “The big dipper, of course. Cassiopeia, but sometimes I mistake it for something else.”
“And ursa minor?”
“The little one? Not by heart. I know it points to the north star.”
“So does ursa major,” says Thomas. “Follow the line the outer two stars make at the box, up. That’s polaris.”
Conor is watching Thomas, even though Thomas has his arm outstretched to trace out the lines. He lets it drop uselessly beside him.
“What?”
Conor shakes his head. “We saved millions of people, tonight.”
Thomas nods. “You did.”
“It might get us into real trouble.”
“It won’t,” says Thomas firmly. He’ll make sure of it. “You saved them, Conor. It’d be unfair of anyone to get you in any trouble because of it.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I do.” Tightening his hold on Conor’s arm, Thomas confesses. “I’ll protect you.”
Conor says nothing.
“You did a good thing, stepping away from them. We don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes, and with crimes like this- it’d be unforgivable.”
“Would you have?” asks Conor.
“Would I have what?”
“Forgiven me,” is the clarification. “If I hadn’t stopped it.”
Thomas blinks, caught off guard. “I-” he starts, but finds himself unable to continue, no words catching him as his chest tightens and stomach drops. Would he have? Thomas doesn’t know. His life at MI6 has been about saving lives, choosing to act pragmatically, and giving his heart to Queen and country.
But he also loves Conor, with his entire being.
“I’ll take that as a no, then,” is all Conor says to his silence.
“I love you,” says Thomas. “But I don’t think I would’ve forgiven you.”
Conor huffs a laugh with no humour. “Why did you even join Elysium, if you didn’t like what they stood for?” he asks. “What was your aim? To help a cause you don’t believe in?”
“I believed in it then,” lies Thomas. “Goals change. Opinions change.”
“People change?”
The air is getting colder, now that they’re standing still. Conor is still the only one with the coat.
“People change,” says Thomas. “I don’t regret joining. Not if it meant meeting you.”
“Now you’re just buttering me up for something,” bites Conor. “What are you hiding, Thomas?”
“Hiding?” Thomas squeaks. “Are you kidding me?”
“You’re always hiding something. First your parents, then your adventures in Russia, are you some kind of- I don’t know, spy, gathering information on Britain? On Elysium?”
Oh, the irony. “I- Conor, no! I’m not a spy, and I’m not using you for information!” he shouts, perhaps too loud, but he doesn’t care. “I love you!”
“I love you, too!” Conor shouts back. “But why does it never feel like you trust me?”
“I do trust you!”
“I don’t believe you!”
Thomas’ chest freezes over, slowly but surely. He doesn’t beg. He won’t. But he is not going to lose Conor, not like this. “Marry me?”
Conor’s breath hitches, and he steps back. “What?”
“What?”
“You said..."
“I-” Thomas nods, bewildered by his own courage. “I did.” He laughs then, loudly. “I did. And I want to. Marry you, that is.”
Conor stands frozen, eyes wide and wet, but slowly, life and cheer return to his smile. “You want to marry me?”
“I do.”
“That’s what’s been eating at you all this time?” It’s the wrong conclusion, but Conor looks so happy, Thomas can’t help but nod along. “Tommy,” Conor croaks, and runs at him, picks him up, and twirls him around. “Yes! Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you, you big numpty!”
Thomas chokes out a laugh, and hugs his fiancé, his fiancé, back.
“Thank you.”