Chapter Text
The ad that Billy Hargrove answered wasn't exactly all-encompassing when it came to duties necessary to the job.
"Your ad said nothing about angry Russians with guns, Professor!" he hisses from where he's hunkered down behind a shipping crate inside of a temple that appeared out of thin air. "This is crazy. You understand that, right?
"I'm not a professor." Harrington is attempting to peek out over the top of the shipping container. "It said 'security.' I think this qualifies."
There's the sound of boots, heavy on the stone floor. Billy gets a hand in the back of Harrington's shirt and yanks him back down behind the crate, clamping his free hand over Harrington's mouth before he can complain about ending up in Billy's lap. Normally, he'd enjoy this, but the situation isn't exactly ideal. For his part, Harrington gets a hand around Billy's ponytail and pulls, wanting to make his displeasure at this turn of events known, despite the footsteps, and Billy grits his teeth.
They both still as the boots come close, stopping on the other side of the shipping container.
Then, the boots start their trek back to wherever they were previously. When Billy judges them to be far enough away, he takes his hands off Harrington, helps him off his lap and back onto the floor.
Before Harrington can say anything, big brown eyes already narrowing like Billy's done something particularly offensive, Billy pulls out one of his revolvers and starts loading it, shaking his head. "What's in here that you need so bad, Harrington? Some kinda magic thing?"
"What?" Harrington looks offended that Billy even asked that. "No, of course not. Magic isn't real."
Billy stops loading his revolver to give Harrington an incredulous look. "Of course," he says sarcastically. "Temple appears out of thin air in the middle of some island in the Pacific, but magic isn't real."
"It's not," Harrington hisses. Billy would be lying if he said he didn't find it attractive, the way that Harrington's eyes lit up with determination. This boy's gonna be the death of him. "I told you, it's another dimension, the Upside-Down. It was always here, we just couldn't see it."
"Semantics," Billy replies, working on getting his second revolver. "What's here? What are we looking for?" Harrington hesitates long enough that Billy looks up at him again. "I gotta know if I'm gonna help you find it, Professor."
"Stop calling me that," he snaps, and then blows out a harsh breath, looking up at Billy like he's daring him to say anything. "It's a book."
New plan. Harrington isn't going to be the death of Billy, Billy's going to be the death of Harrington. "A book?!" Oh, he knows he says that too loudly. They both pause and wait, but there are no footsteps. When Billy speaks again, he makes an effort to be quieter. He has to admit, it's pretty hard. "We came all the way here to find a book?"
"Not just any book," Harrington whispers quickly. "This is the book that will save the world, Mr. Hargrove."
Billy isn't getting paid enough to do this. He thought he was. He's just decided he's not. "Of course it is. Okay. If you're going to get into the inner rooms of the temple, you're going to need a distraction," he says. "Stay close to the wall and behind as many crates as you can, alright? And then, while they're distracted, make a run for the next hallway."
"A distraction?" Harrington grabs at Billy's sleeve when Billy moves to get out from behind the crate. "What are you doing?"
He looks worried. Billy's a little touched. "I'm going to go talk to those nice Russian gentlemen," Billy says, sliding one of his revolvers back into its holster. "Kiss for luck."
"Kiss for-" Harrington doesn't get very far into his sentence before Billy's got a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It's supposed to be quick, but Harrington melts, and the kiss turns from quick and dirty to something longer. More meaningful.
Not what Billy bargained for at all.
He pulls away, keeps his hand on the back of Harrington's neck. "Stay down, and then run for it. I'll catch up."
"You..." Harrington looks a little dazed. "You speak Russian?"
Billy grins and winks as he pulls his second revolver out of its holster. "Oh yeah, watch." This time, Steve isn't fast enough to stop him as he goes around the crate and stands. "Hey, assholes!"
He sure hopes that luck holds.