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Phil had seen many things in his years in the foreign service, some good and some bad, but the sight of the British Ambassador ducking into his own residence with his chief spy wrapped around him in a more than familiar way was a new one. Jeezus - Phil had always suspected, there were all those rumours about Mark and who knew what Nicholas got up to in his spare time. Normally Phil would have said what two people did in the privacy of their own homes was up to them but they hadn't even waited until they were inside before Nicholas had his hand stuck down Mark's trousers. It was disgraceful behaviour; what happened if the press got a picture of them like that. Security was tight but with modern telescope lenses it was a stupid risk to take.
Well enough was enough. Nicholas might think he was above the rules and Mark certainly disregarded proper procedure often enough - it was time that they realised it could not carry on. Phil turned right around and marched towards where Mark and Nicholas had disappeared into the Residence. One inside it didn't take long to find them, Mark's muffled groan clearly coming from the closest room that could be reached. They really hadn't wasted any time, Phil thought with disapproval. Really! Was a little discretion too much to ask? He had thought both men far to professional for such childish behaviour.
Nicholas turned his head to look up at him from where he was kneeling in front of Mark when Phil stormed in. Even if Nicholas' body blocked Phil's view of what he was doing, and with Mark's trousers around his ankles Phil didn't really need to see, thank you very much, it was clear enough what was going on which made Nicholas' grim but totally unfazed expression all the more irritating.
"Good, you're here, I was just about to call you," Nicholas greeted him.
Phil gaped. Of all the things he had expected to hear, an invitation to join in their sordid little games was not one of them. Then Nicholas shifted and Phil could see the blood, dark as shame, covering Nicholas' hands where he pressed them against Mark's thigh. While he had expected to catch them red-handed that had not been the way he had thought it would happen.
"What the Hell happened?" he blurted, too surprised to even feel embarrassed at what he had been thinking.
Nicholas scowled, "Not now. Get me a first aid kit and then call the FBI and get George Blake. We have a dead body in the gardens and we have to keep this under wraps and out of the press until we have the full details."
"Mark?" Phil asked, concerned. Now he looked closely, Mark's head was lolling back slightly in a way that could be easily misinterpreted, his face was pale, his eyes slightly glazed and shock-y. He was alert though, and listening.
"He'll be okay," Nicholas assured confidently. "Just get me that first aid kit. I have the bleeding stopped but it needs dressing. Go!"
Phil jumped slightly. Normally he would have taken umbrage with Nicholas' tone but the urgency of it carried him away before he had time to think. So he missed the way Nicholas rested his forehead for a second against Mark's uninjured knee and said "Christ Mark, only you," in a soft voice and the small, slightly pained but equally fond smile that he got in reply. Indeed, by the time he returned, Special Agent Blake in toe, having sent Jennifer back with the medical supplies while he dealt with the FBI, Mark's wound was dressed and his trousers were firmly back in place, only a ragged, bloody tear revealing the bandage rather than leg which lay beneath. It was, of course, typical that Mark and George were arguing over whether Mark needed to go to the hospital, Mark assuming he knew best, and Nicholas hovering around like a very solid shadow, ready to back whatever Mark said. Phil just hoped that someone was dealing with the body and that they would hurry up and tell him what was going on. The world didn't just stop because the Ambassador got a bit scratched and he needed to know what to tell London.