Chapter Text
The first time Minho had set eyes on Jisung, he had wanted the younger man gone.
No one who still retained a sparkle of innocence in their eyes should have been at Quantico, where justice came to rest and duty took its place. Minho maintained that belief up until the very minute he saw Jisung shoot a man dead between the eyes. Oh, he shook afterwards, trembled and cried as Minho did his best to cup Jisung’s pieces with sieve-like hands, but in that moment, Minho understood: even the most pliable sapling would topple the winds when the need arose.
(“When it came down to him or you,” Jisung whispered to him later that night, tucked away in a distant stairwell, “I would have chosen you every time.”)
So it was a single bullet that blew away all of Minho’s misgivings, and a single bullet that brought them all back. Armenia was risky territory at the best of times, and it was just their luck to run afoul of the local brotherhood. Minho’s memories of the fallout stick to the recesses of his mind, tacky with spilled blood.
He never lets himself reminisce too deeply, choosing instead to focus on how Jisung’s limp now in front of him is barely noticeable, how the substantial physical therapy after they were shipped home had recovered most of his mobility, even if he was permanently benched from SKZ-9 missions, branded a risk to himself and his teammates.
“Penny for your thoughts?” The man in question murmurs quietly, slowing down to walk beside Minho. Despite his visible nervousness, Jisung flashes that gummy smile that had won Minho over in the first place. All these years later, it still takes his breath away, and Minho can’t resist returning one in kind.
“Mm, just thinking about our first date.” The spluttered response Minho gets is everything to him.
“At a time like this?” Jisung hisses, tugging Minho back from turning the corner before even checking if anyone was coming. Not that Minho was a stranger to Langley at all, but Jisung was already apprehensive about this entire trip. Minho should be trying to flee the country, not break back into a military stronghold. “You should be thinking about not getting caught.”
Minho winks, slipping out of Jisung’s grasp with a pat on his butt to turn down the corridor. “When I could be thinking about you instead? Not a chance. Besides, Venice might have been romantic, but it was also far worse.”
Jisung shudders. Minho’s right, Venice was worse. He’s never seen jellyfish in quite the same light ever since, yet he can’t deny that he’s surprised at how blasé Minho is acting. As soon as they had entered the building, it was like all the tension had drained from Minho’s shoulders, replaced with a lazy confidence Jisung hasn’t seen in person since, well, since before Armenia.
“This is home territory for me, too,” Minho explained lightly, arm contracting tightly around an unlucky agent’s neck while Jisung punched the man’s assistant in the face. “I’ve never been more familiar with a location, and with all the turmoil, there’s no way they would have upgraded security yet.” The duo speedily tie the agents up, leaving the unconscious men and Jisung’s last concerns to languish in a small storage closet.
As fast as his heart was racing, there was still some small part of Jisung that reveled in their current situation, this pseudo-mission with his rightful partner by his side. It was soothing to know that despite the years of separation, the years of sitting on the sidelines while the rest of their team was dispatched, Jisung had been wise to keep his body in mint condition, coordinating perfectly with Minho as they handily dealt with the remaining agents unlucky enough to find them.
True, Jisung’s leg still gave the odd twinge of pain when he overextended it pulling off an acrobatic move Minho had taught him in the first place, but it was worth the jarring landing to see Minho’s stunned expression when he bounced onto the balls of his feet.
“Han Jisung,” Minho pronounces his name slowly, reverently. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
Jisung shrugs faux-modestly, resisting the urge to rub an old scar. “I learned from the best.” He lets Minho draw him in by the waist, one hand cradling his jaw and familiar, brown eyes searching his own.
“You know the team’s finished after we get to the bottom of this,” Minho whispers, warm breath fanning over Jisung’s lips.
“I know.” They had realized long ago that the slightest breeze could upend their house of cards, back when SKZ-9 had been formed, and the president’s assassination had been a maelstrom.
“And I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.” Even if they managed to clear Minho’s name, a lot of unsavory missions would be coming to light, and public scrutiny would be neutral at best.
“You were framed,” Jisung replies firmly, leaning into Minho’s touch. “And we’re going to find the real shooter.” It hurt that a teammate had so easily betrayed them, betrayed the country they had sworn allegiance to, but the relief of knowing he didn’t have to choose between Minho and his other loyalties outweighed all else.
Minho smiles softly. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “No matter what happens to me—”
“Which will be nothing,” Jisung insists, but Minho presses on, rubbing a thumb over full cheeks.
“If something happens, I want to know you’re safe.”
“The safest place for me is by your side.” Jisung knows what Minho is implying, and the rising sense of urgency pitches his voice up. “Minho, I let you into the building with my credentials. They’ll think I’ve gone rogue, too, so you can’t just leave me either.”
His fiancé stays silent.
“Minho,” Jisung repeats forcefully, voice cracking.
“Isn’t this exactly the sort of thing we prepared for?” Minho smiles sadly, eyes tightening with pain. “You’ve suffered so much for our lies, Sungie, I don’t want to throw away all that effort for nothing.”
Jisung shakes his head furiously. It hasn’t been that bad, really, just some gentle ribbing, longer counseling sessions, the odd promotion passed up while the others continued to think of him as emotionally compromised. “And what if something happens to you? I won’t be there to watch your back if you’re on the run alone.”
Minho hesitates, and Jisung’s sure he’s going to cave, but: “It’ll only be for a little while. I won’t leave you behind, you know I wouldn’t.”
Jisung wants to continue arguing, even if he knows Minho is right, but they have to move before they get caught. As if sensing his reluctance, Minho leans in to brush his lips gently against Jisung’s. “I’m sorry, Sungie,” Minho whispers. “You know I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”
Jisung leans into Minho’s touch before pulling away, nudging Minho gently towards the door. “I know. Now go, I’ll keep watch.”
Jisung drops into a crouch with a deep sigh as Minho disappears through the door, running one hand roughly through his hair. He only prays that the information they find will be worth this entire charade.
Minho heaves a silent sigh of relief as the light on the keypad beeps green. It’s not like he hadn’t wanted to take Hyunjin at his word, but it was nice to have a confirmation that at least one other person could be trusted. It doesn’t take long for Minho to find the right metal cabinet, but the files inside were disorganized enough that flipping through them distracted him from worrying about Jisung any further.
Their long-term plans had more than taken a toll on the younger, and Minho dearly wished he could do anything to shoulder some of the weight himself. With the state that Minho himself had been put in by whoever was conspiring against him, though, the best thing he could do was to get to the bottom of this and fast. Luckily, despite being named acting operations director, Jeongin hadn’t had the time yet to redact any of Minho’s files, and all the information he now sought was right at his fingertips, as long as he could read between the lines correctly.
Flipping past the heavily blacked-out pages of his own file, Minho turns to the newest ballistics report, the one conducted on the gun he had supposedly used to shoot the president. It was his registered Browning, fitted with a suppressor, this he already knew. A single shot through the back of President Bang’s neck from 50 meters away. His fingerprints found on the murder weapon. Damning, to be sure, but still nothing that ruled out the possibility of a coverup, although he’s sure any court he stood in front of wouldn’t see it that way. Minho’s eyes flick further down the page, and he pauses.
Additional prints found: 95% match — Seo Changbin.
Changbin? Their Chief of Staff? The one who shared identical political sentiments to their president, who for all intents and purposes, stood to lose the most from his party leader’s death? It was completely illogical.
Minho scowls in thought at the page before his eyes catch on a small signature at the very bottom. Each ballistics report in SKZ-9 was done by their internal team, but it was very rare for the field agents themselves to be involved in the forensics labs and especially rare for them to have anything to do with the paperwork.
So why had this particular ballistics report been filed and submitted by one Felix Lee?