Chapter Text
He finds Bandit in the workshop, three hours into his seemingly fruitless search of the base.
He nearly missed the hiding spot: it was only good observation crossed with a little bit of desperation that had led him to noticing that the inside of the workshop is several meters shorter than it appears on the outside. His suspicions were confirmed upon silently pushing his way into the ‘shop and padding his way to the storage area, to hear the quiet hiss of a soldering iron and a muffled curse coming from behind what appears to be the back wall of crates.
He grins triumphantly as he studies the shelves, trying to find the gap that Bandit must use to get behind them and coming up with nothing. The boxes are stacked carefully, their edges overlapping and suggesting that should he try to move any of them in the wrong way, the entire wall will come crashing down upon him.
Which isn't exactly ideal, he knows, because nothing will make Bandit angrier than the destruction of his hideaway, and making Bandit angry isn't Blitz’s intention at all.
The crates don’t yield their secrets to him, much to his annoyance, and he finds himself scowling at them as he sinks to the floor. Looking at them from a different angle doesn’t appear to change anything at first glance, but does succeed in making him feel rather stupid, and he finds himself hoping that nobody comes in now to see him pressed against the floor like an idiot.
The change in angle changes the shadows, though, and it’s that which reveals that a handful of boxes near the far corner are set slightly further back, as though they’ve been moved from the other side of the wall.
Blitz straightens himself up and internally congratulates himself; unless Bandit has a secret tunnel leading to the other side of the shelves (which, having heard some of the rumours floating around the base, isn't entirely unlikely), he reckons he's found the entrance.
There’s another muffled curse, and Blitz digs his teeth into his lower lip to try and figure out the best way to proceed. He can’t just barge in – from what he knows of Bandit, he won’t shout or storm; he’ll just be silently furious, which in Blitz’s opinion is far worse. Shouting at least airs the emotions and frustrations; silence allows them to fester until they’re explosive, and it’s too late at night for him to have the energy to deal with that.
So he screws up his courage, finds a solid looking metal crate that won’t collapse the wall when moved, and knocks on it before calling, “Bandit?”
The hiss of the soldering iron immediately falls silent as though switched off, and the room feels horribly big without the sound. There’s no sign of life on the other side, and Blitz finds that he has to force himself to exhale, the noise of it loud, and figures that Bandit’s probably holding his breath, too.
“It’s Blitz,” he says, in case his voice hadn’t given his identity away. “I wanted to talk to you about the mission.”
It’s a white lie – the last mission they’d been on had been a simple retrieval, which had proven Bandit to be exceedingly competent, and had left Blitz mostly useless in his wake. There’s nothing to talk about, other than Blitz’s curiosity about how Bandit learnt his trade, because he’s never seen anything like it, and he’s truly baffled as to why the others won’t work with him, because despite the hostility at the very start of the mission, Blitz had felt safe with Bandit at his back. The situation is as intriguing as it is infuriating, and in truth, Blitz just wants to understand why the base seems to hate the older man, why they refuse to work with him or be near him in any capacity at all, when he appears to be the most experienced and dedicated operator they’ve got. Blitz was able to trust him almost immediately, despite the hostility and sharp words, and he’s baffled by it.
Bandit doesn’t need to know that, though, and the lie pays off when there’s the sound of a stool moving and the crates on the end seem to slide back all at once to reveal a gap just big enough to fit through, and Bandit’s frowning face appears.
“What do you want?” he snaps, eyes narrowed dangerously and shoulders wrought with tension. It’s slightly unnerving to be looked at so intensely, so Blitz shrugs his shoulders and holds his hands up in surrender.
“Just to talk. I figured that since we’re partners, we should probably try to get to know each other a little bit.”
To his complete and utter surprise, Bandit looks confused - as though he’d expected to be attacked. The look takes the edge off his glare and Blitz relaxes slightly, but the fierce mask is back in place as quickly as it had dropped, as though it had never fallen in the first place.
“No,” Bandit says, which is less surprising. He doesn’t vanish back inside, though, which Blitz counts as a victory. “Fuck off, and if you tell anyone about this—" he kicks at the boxes to his left, “I’ll break your damn jaw.”
Blitz blinks at him, bemused. The threat seems genuine, but there’s a flicker of worry in Bandit’s eyes that takes away any fear he might have considered feeling. “Why would I tell anyone?” he asks mildly, truthfully. “It’s your space, I'm not going to take it from you.”
Bandit glares at him again and doesn’t speak for a minute, before throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Fine! Come in then, but don’t fucking touch anything.”
He vanishes back behind the crates and Blitz’s legs follow him before his brain can do anything to stop them. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy, if he's honest; he’d expected Bandit to leave after realising he was found out, at the very least; the last thing he’d considered was being allowed in.
Bandit is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and Blitz is intrigued.
The crates seem to be on mobile hinges, allowing them to rotate around and backwards to give access to the space, which is bizarre. Blitz watches, bewildered, as Bandit pushes them back in place before slinking back to his stool at a small bench against the brick wall.
There are no other chairs, so Blitz sinks down to the floor, crosses his legs, and watches as Bandit picks up the soldering iron again before turning back to the pile of wires on the bench. The floor is cold but not uncomfortably so – Blitz is quite glad it’s not winter yet, because he’s fairly sure he’d stick to the concrete if it was.
“Why are you here?” Bandit asks, breaking the uneasy silence that had wrapped around them, his face entirely expressionless. Blitz shrugs, and decides that honesty is probably his best bet. He gets the feeling that Bandit would know if he were to lie.
“I was curious,” he admits, pleased to note the pinch of Bandit’s brow at the words, though they smooth immediately. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, and nobody that I asked seemed to care that you had vanished.”
“Nobody put you up to this?” Bandit asks flatly, but Blitz doesn’t think he imagines the slight drop of his shoulders.
The question answers some of Blitz’s own, too. Bandit had looked like he was anticipating an attack because he was, Blitz figures, and from the way the others sneer and bitch about him behind his back, he wouldn’t be surprised if it hadn’t happened. The thought makes a seam of hot anger shoot through his gut, because that isn't fair.
“No, they didn’t. Just me,” Blitz confirms, and Bandit’s shoulders definitely drop this time. “How did you manage to make this? Surely someone noticed?”
Bandit snorts and leans back on his stool. “The Commander knows about it because I asked him about it,” he says. “I wanted somewhere quiet to work, where I wouldn’t be interrupted all the damn time.” He frowns slightly, but it’s not as fierce as before. “Clearly it isn’t as good a spot as we thought.”
Blitz tilts his head as he considers it. “I wouldn’t have noticed if the hedges outside hadn’t been cut,” he thinks. “The building’s a little bit longer outside than it is inside, but I would have written it off if I hadn’t looked everywhere else for you.”
“I’m honoured you care that much,” Bandit snarks, drumming his fingers upon the worktop. “Don’t bother, next time.”
“Don’t bother what, looking for you?” Blitz asks, slightly miffed even as his mind runs through everything’s Bandit’s said, trying to make sense of it all. Why would he be interrupted all the time whilst he was working, if all the base went out of their way to avoid him? “I thought maybe I’d gone mad, since the only time I’ve seen you in three months was for training, missions and briefings.”
Bandit cocks an eyebrow at him, as though Blitz is a mildly interesting piece of wiring instead of an intruder he’s let into his private space and was, until less than a minute ago, seemingly angry with. It’s more than a little bit weird, Blitz thinks.
“You’d be better off keeping it that way,” Bandit says, and turns back to his wires.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Blitz asks before he can stop himself, and Bandit’s shoulders tighten immediately. It’s satisfying, in a guilt-inducing kind of way, to get the reaction out of him; the careful blankness makes Blitz slightly uncomfortable. He’s used to being able to read expressions, to know what people are really thinking, but with Bandit he’s got nothing to work with outside of the slightest twitch of his eyebrows and the occasional glimpse of emotion in his eyes.
Bandit doesn’t look at him. “Surely you’ve heard the rumours,” he drawls, sounding bored. His face is as flat as marble, and Blitz hates it.
“Of course I’ve heard the damn rumours,” he says, forcing himself to not rise to what he’s fairly certain is bait. “I don’t see why I should believe them. Two sides to a coin, and all.”
“Then you’ll know I'm a cruel, selfish killer who has no morals and protects no one but myself,” Bandit says, as though Blitz hadn’t finished his sentence, as though he’s reciting the words from memory. “You’d do better by fucking off back to the rest of them, getting a new partner and forgetting you ever worked with me.”
It takes a moment for Blitz to realise his fingernails are biting into the skin of his palms from how hard he’s clenching his hands; he forces them to relax and forces himself to breath, because he’s definitely being baited into a fight, now, and he refuses to give in to it.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t deserve to be,” he says evenly, because it’s the truth, and he doesn’t really know what else to say.
Bandit snorts and rolls his eyes patronisingly. “Or maybe I'm here because they didn’t know what else to do with me,” he retorts tightly.
“I considered that, at first, and I’d probably believe it if I hadn’t worked with you in the field,” Blitz says, impressing himself with how mild he sounds, eyes studying every move Bandit makes to try and gage his reaction. He holds up a hand and counts down his fingers with his points. “You’ve covered me, listened to my suggestions, not put anyone in unnecessary danger, completed the missions quickly and efficiently, even when they were false alarms, and you know exactly what you need to do to get the job done. I don’t see what everyone’s problem with you is.”
“I’m just doing my job,” Bandit snaps, turning to look at Blitz with thunderous eyes, and Blitz has to fight back a victorious grin at having broken through the mask again. “It isn't my problem if they don’t like me, it just matters that we get the job done.”
“I know that,” Blitz snorts. “But why the hell do they have such a big issue with you if you’re just doing your job?”
Bandit looks dangerous now, his dark eyes glinting and fingers clamped tightly around his soldering iron. Blitz distantly thinks that he’s trapped himself in a small space with a predator, but he still feels safe, despite it all, and it baffles him.
“How the fuck should I know?” he bites out, eyes hard and mouth pulled up in a cruel snarl that would be more effective if Blitz couldn’t see what he’s certain is fear in his eyes.
“They’re scared of you,” Blitz hears himself say, mind racing to put the clues together, the answer clicking into place easily and making all the anger he’d felt drain away, leaving him feeling oddly sorry for Bandit.
“So they should be,” Bandit spits, but Blitz ignores him.
“They think you’re dangerous, and they go about provoking you to prove themselves right,” he continues, more to himself than to Bandit, who has frozen in place, eyes wide. “So you retaliate, because you’re human, and you’ve done whatever it is you’ve done in the past to fuck yourself up, and the cycle keeps getting worse.”
“You don’t know anything,” Bandit snarls and for a tense moment, Blitz thinks he’s going to leap up and hurt him, or storm away to be never seen again.
To his surprise, neither happen.
Instead, Bandit curls into himself like a puppet with its strings cut, dropping his head into one of his hands and tying knots in a piece of wire with the other. It’s painful to see, and Blitz wonders just how long it’s been going on for. It explains everything – the hiding and the fighting, the harsh words of the others, the dramatic rumours swirling around Bandit like fog, blurring who he really is, because while the rumours might have been true at some point, Blitz would bet rather a lot of money that they’ve been exaggerated beyond belief. The fact that he’s here with Bandit now alone proves that. It explains the hostility, the reluctance to take a partner, the masks he wears like a shield.
Blitz’s head hurts to think about it all, and they pass a few minutes in a not-uncomfortable silence whilst he tries to gather his thoughts.
“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy,” Blitz says gently, watching as Bandit’s back stiffens, as though preparing himself for another fight. “But I don't think you are. I don't know where those rumours came from, whether they're true or not, but I know I don't believe them.”
“You’re an idiot,” Bandit says, voice muffled where his mouth is covered by his hand.
“Perhaps,” Blitz shrugs. “But I’m right, aren’t I?”
He doesn’t expect an answer, but Bandit shrugs back, which confirms it just as well as anything else would. “You’ve seen my file,” Bandit sighs, straightening himself up and carefully schooling his expression. “You should really leave.”
“I’ll go if you want me to,” Blitz replies, frowning. “And I haven’t seen your file. It’s confidential; way above my paygrade.”
Bandit turns to look at him in surprise, before a myriad of emotions flash across his face, too quickly to read. “That old bastard,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand across his face and leaving a smudge of oil on his cheek for his trouble.
“What did you do?” Blitz asks before he can stop himself, because he’s been curious about it for weeks, now, ever since he was told he didn’t have access, and his intrigue about Bandit has only increased in the past half hour.
Bandit chuckles humourlessly. “You don’t want to know,” he says drily. “Undercover work, torturing people, the usual.”
And the words are mostly sarcastic, Blitz thinks, but that would explain everything.
“You should get a new partner,” Bandit says, quieter now, something unreadable glittering in his eyes. “You’ll last longer. I don’t get on well with people.”
Blitz studies him for a moment, remembers how well they’d fitted together on every mission they’ve run, be it training or not, and tries to decide whether this is a test.
“I’m sure we’ll cope,” he says nonchalantly. Bandit’s eyes widen minutely. “I’m good enough with people for the both of us, and I’m pretty sure I trust you far more than I’d ever trust those idiots, too.”
Bandit blinks at him once, then again, and to Blitz’s surprise the corner of his mouth twitches up in a half smile that transforms his face completely.
“To partnership, then,” Bandit says, standing up and holding a hand out. Blitz takes it, lets him heave him upright, and shakes it firmly. If it was a test, he thinks he must have passed it, and feels oddly relieved by the thought.
“To partnership,” he echoes, and Bandit’s smirk at the words is damn near wicked.