Chapter Text
Jonathan feels inexplicably restless. He shouldn’t. Not in the middle of a job. Not in the middle of this, this convoluted mess. He should be his usual calm, collected self. What was it, he said back in London, a couple of weeks ago? I am the man who will not explode.
Weeks that seem like half a lifetime. So many good people dead in between. Killed because he didn’t pay enough attention, wasn’t there on time, got them involved in the first place, couldn’t - he frowns and stops mid-motion, realising he’s been pacing back and forth in his hotel room for the last few minutes.
This won’t do. He needs to get a grip. He needs to stop thinking about - yeah, no, not again. Jonathan needs to be cool. So Matthew can be.
He decides to go for a run. Discover a bit of Medellín on foot. Blow of steam. He’s not sure Matthew’s a runner - he’s pictured him as a sophisticated gym goer so far. However, Hong Kong also comes with some of the most beautiful tracks and never-grow-old views for city runs. Victoria Park. The Avenue of Stars. The hilly trails around the Peak and on some of the outer islands. So yeah, Matthew can be a runner. Matthew will be whatever Jonathan wants him to be. He can infuse the backstory they established with some personal notes. He’s already tying his shoes, almost sprinting out of the door.
Alex ran. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, always along the river. That last run was more of a sprint, bordering on cathartic in a sense, but little did he know that the worst was yet to come. The world hadn’t been turned upside down yet. Rex. Waleed, Graham, Tony. Teddy hadn’t had them all killed, hadn’t blown up a hotel room in Spain. And they had never met on a tennis court in Colombia. Teddy-
So Jonathan runs. He doesn’t ease in, finding a demanding rhythm immediately. Grooves right into it. Feet pounding on the concrete sidewalk, circling through a small park, following a road uphill, evading traffic and pedestrians. He ignores the looks that follow him, lets them ricochet off Matthew’s snobby superiority, while he picks up the pace a little more. He wants this to hurt later. The worn-out feeling of a good workout in his muscles, seeping into his bones. A shower and then off to bed, fulfillingly tired, not thinking unwelcome thoughts, lingering on the verge of sleep, imagining - he stumbles over a piece of rock that should’ve been plain to see. Damn it. Get a fucking grip, Pine.
He refocuses on the task at hand. Run. One foot in front of the other. Another park, a massive church, some narrow back alleys. He only circles back to the hotel when he’s properly drenched in sweat. He slows down to a walk, deep breaths, the tropical heat hitting him hard, before he enters the lobby, embracing the stark contrast of cool, climatised rooms.
Once he’s in the shower, luke-warm water and the scent of expensive shower gel caressing his skin, he allows himself to replay the morning in his head. Latch onto details he might have missed, anything to use in the future. The tennis match, successfully contacting his mark. Teddy. After Rex, after Spain he expected to have the worst time sucking up to him, even as Matthew - who’s fresh in from Hong Kong, who has money to burn, who drinks too much and might, will flirt with abandon.
He should not have assumed. He was wrong. So very wrong. Teddy is, well, he’s - he seems to be a lot of things, and Jonathan’s, he’s not sure what he is, but at least he’s, well, reluctantly charmed. It’s good, he tells himself. It will make Matthew’s life so much easier than acting against a constant feeling of repulsion.
He adjusts the temperature, turning the water as hot as he can stand it, suddenly shivering, exhaustion taking its toll. He wraps himself in a fluffy white towel, the kind you only get in a hotel of this class, empties the contents of the minibar into the sink once more, scattering the now five bottles of gin - housekeeping was extra kind - on various surfaces all throughout the suite, and falls into bed just like that. He wakes up in the morning, towel scrunched up underneath him, the nightmares only a faded background noise for a change.
This could be worse. All he has to do is wait.
-~-
The fundraiser gala goes very much according to plan - until it doesn’t. Jonathan plays it cool in the impromptu - and in hindsight overly risky - debrief with Sally, fully knowing Roxana could have easily turned everything into a total shitshow. She didn’t. Lucky him. Lucky Matthew.
Is he though? He wonders that quietly, back in the relative safety of his suite. Housekeeping scented the whole place with something lavenderish when they came by for turndown service. It’s soothing.
He finally sheds the jacket and opens a few buttons on his dress shirt. He can breathe more freely now, but it’s not enough. Not yet. He contemplates going to the gym or dipping into the pool for a moment, but he isn’t keen on interacting with people again tonight. He would have to be Matthew. He doesn’t want that. He feels close enough to him though to break one of his golden rules and pour himself half a mini bottle of gin. He finds some tonic in the fridge and some ice in the mini freezer.
He sips carefully, savouring the taste. It’s good gin. He can appreciate it more than Matthew would, he thinks. He’s less used to it. So. Back to the question at hand. Was it a lucky night?
Some of it sure felt that way. Chatting with Teddy came to him, Matthew that is, almost ridiculously natural, falling into an easy pattern of small talk infused with an overly flirtatious vibe right from the beginning, quite blatantly checking each other out, adding some fleeting and even some prolonged touches. Matthew enjoyed those, warmth spreading all over his skin whenever Teddy came close. The beginning of a dance.
He’s not sure what to make of the end of it, how they parted, how Teddy felt about Matthew’s interactions with Roxana. He certainly hasn’t been called “old boy” by a potential - what? Jonathan stops in the middle of his hotel room. He’s been pacing again, the now empty glass in hand. He shakes his head as if to get rid of the lingering images. This is getting him nowhere. Time to go to bed. He has a lead for Teddy’s past. A solid one. One that takes him back to - no. This is where he will pick it up tomorrow.
He empties the remaining gin bottles including the half empty one into the sink, quickly sheds his clothes, leaving a purposeful mess on the bathroom floor for housekeeping to clean up, and turns the shower on. As he relaxes under the warm spray, the images return. Teddy in his dinner jacket. The way he moves. How he carries himself. Proud. Charming. The way his eyes light up when he smiles. How he talks. Velvety smooth. And that accent - shit. Jonathan’s cock is absolutely signaling its interest here.
He should think of guns and explosions and death. Because that’s who Teddy is. Richard Roper’s true disciple. His mark. The one he’s targeting, the one he only gets close to in order to stop a massive arms trade.
None of that is helping. For whatever reason. Well, he’s probably still channeling Matthew. Which is good. From an operational point of view. Jonathan’s very much in character here. Which might just save his life in the end. Still unwelcome right now.
He turns the tap, turns it all the way, cold, completely freezing, making him gasp. He stoically stands there for another thirty seconds, counting in his head, before he towels himself off and hops straight under the covers, shuddering.
He falls asleep quicker than expected after that - only to wake harshly at sunrise from a dream of a nondescript someone whispering Spanish nonsense to him. A male someone. Who purred a soft Jonathan right into his ear. Well, fuck.
-~-