Chapter Text
It had been a peaceful and well-rested morning until up this point. Funny enough Martín rarely ever experienced those anymore. On most days, the engineer would wake up at around midday, the sun hitting his face. Not in a beautiful and poetic kind of way, but in the "fuck-you-I-want-to-sleep" kind of way. His clothes would be sticking to his body. His sickly pale, skinny, and sweaty body. His vision would be blurred, his whole flat spinning in front of his eyes. His head would feel like someone ripped his brain out, pushed it through a grinder, and put it back in, hoping he wouldn't notice. His stomach would feel like it had been turned inside out and was having the shit beaten out of it. On those mornings, Martín would regret the night before. Though most of the time, he wouldn't even remember them. Maybe that added to the regret. With slow steps he would make his way to the toilet, kicking over empty alcohol bottles on the way. He would slide down on his knees. This was usually the moment he would find out if last night was worth the hangover or not. If his knees were sore, chances were high that he got to suck off some dude. The cold bathroom floor would somehow pull him back into reality a bit. Martín would be sick in the toilet and he would hate every minute of it. In his head, he would keep saying "this is the last time I'm drinking." and would chuckle to himself. Because every single day he would then get up and fix himself a coffee. An Irish one.
But this morning had not started like this. This morning he woke up at nine and when he opened his eyes, he smiled, because today, the room was not spinning. The only things moving that he noticed, were dust particles, swaying in the air, only visible in the direct sunlight. Calming. It was the first day in a very long time that Martín had woken up without a massive hangover. The only reason he didn't have one, was because the one he had the day before was so bad that Martín simply did not want to leave bed all day. So, Martín was pleasantly surprised, when he sat up and did not have to choke back down his vomit. Today felt different and he was going to use it.
Martín got up and made a few small and careful steps through his flat to his beloved record player. It hadn't been used in a while and when the engineer leaned down to blow away the layer of dust on it, he coughed. Over the years that he spent with Andrés his record collection had grown and grown and he was barely able to decide on one to listen to this day. When he finally did and started playing it, a satisfied smile appeared on his face. He turned and swayed the music and closed his eyes. He should not have done the latter, because as soon as he did, he saw Andrés in front of him. Dressed in a maroon suit, looking majestically powerful. His lips were pulled into a smug grin as he sang and danced to the music. Martín remembered exactly how it felt to hear him sing, to watch him dance. It felt like yesterday when it had been three years. The engineer was bent over his table, sketching, when the music had turned on. He hadn't even noticed Andrés arriving. When Martín looked up from his sketch, he felt the air being knocked out of his lungs. His friend was looking down at him so fondly as he started to sway to the music. Over the years the two had learned to read each other, but this look, this expression, was a precious gift every time, saved just for him. Andrés smiled and started singing along to the song. Martín didn't listen to the lyrics; he was too focused on how his best friend's voice gave him Goosebumps.
Martín opened his eyes again, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Quickly it was wiped away as if it never happened. If no one saw him break, it's almost like he didn't right?
Ever since he and his friend parted, his sense of fashion had faded more and more. His closet was nearly empty most of the time anyway, his clothes splattered on the floor. Today, however, Martín picked out a maroon-colored button-up shirt from the back of the closet. He let his silk sleeping robe slip off his shoulder and put it on. It still fit, stretching a bit in just the right places. He put on tight black jeans and tucked in the shirt neatly. A little smile made its way on his lip when he looked at himself in the mirror. Andrés would have been proud of him. Because he had already dressed up anyway, Martín made the impulsive decision to get out to get his coffee for once. So, he snatched his keys and left his tiny flat. When he stepped outside, he remembered that it probably had been months since he had seen Madrid in the morning. The city was beautiful, more silent than usual. The apartment the engineer was currently living in was small, but in the center of the city and affordable. Martín wasn't very fond of silence, it made him think. It made him remember. Without realizing he started to wander through the city, his feet leading him to all kinds of beautiful places he didn't know existed just around the block. Birds were singing, the sky was blue and the air was fresh.
Martín froze dead in his tracks when he noticed the huge building in front of him. Towering him. The royal mint of Spain. He remembered standing right where he was standing now, just with Andrés at his side. "I prefer our plan.", the latter had said, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his brown eyes darting all over the building. "Me too. I like the thought of melting gold with you.", the engineer answered truthfully, and without thinking too much about it. His friend had looked at him and chuckled. Just as he had wanted to ask why he was laughing, Andrés turned and started to walk away. Now as Martín was standing there again, he found himself drawn to the building. He crossed the street and walked towards the building. His eyes glided over the parking lot, stopping on a school bus for just a split-second. Perfect. With a confident grin he stepped into the building, but quickly changed into acting stressed as he walked up to the information outlet. "Miss? Miss. Pardon. I'm a teacher of the class that's having a tour here right now. I didn't hear my alarm go off and must`ve overslept, silly me. Could you let me through, por favor?", he begged with a pleading voice. The woman didn't even bother looking up from her computer as she waved him by. With ease, Martín slipped through the sensors. Sergio didn't want to have him included in the planning of the royal mint heist back them, but he had snooped enough to know what angles to avoid in order not to be detected by any of the cameras. The engineer mindlessly walked through the corridors, connecting the things Andrés had told him about the plan with the building itself. Minutes passed, maybe hours.
Gunshots fell.
Martín flinched and immediately scanned the room. He was scared, but he wasn't one to run around screaming. However, the people now running around screaming made it hard to leave. And that's all he wanted to do right now. Leave, go home and sleep. Don't get involved in whatever this is. He was tense as he made his way through the crowd. His heartbeat was quick, his lungs suddenly too small for his breaths. Thoughts flashed through his brain, long-lasting enough to acknowledge them, but too quick to process them. "Who shot?"; "Where are the people that are supposed to control situations like this?"; "What would Andrés do?" ; "Is the royal mint under attack?"; "Am I in danger?"; "Do I care if I am?" – The last one stuck. Martíns hand was trembling as he felt the fear rise.
The crowd yelped. They were cornered into the main hall by people wearing red jumpsuits and Dali masks. Martín was scared, but not panicky. He was on high alert and his eyes darted through the room, trying to find a way to escape. Scanning. Planning. Engineering. But it was hopeless. They were stuck. One of the attackers started yelling about a "little lamb". The term sounded familiar. She didn't fit in with the others, she wasn't wearing a red jumpsuit, but she was most definitely one of them. The two machine guns made that obvious. She ran off, cursing under her breath. The other attackers stood in the middle of the main hall. Six of them in red jumpsuits. Another woman without one. Calm and collected. Too calm, too calculated. The crowd started to grow silent in trembling fear. Weirdly enough the only thing calming Martín down were the dead stares of the Dali masks. Andrés loved the painter and in the past, they had often discussed his art together. Every time they discussed they'd get out their most expensive red wine and drink themselves tipsy. More often than not it was just Andrés talking about the paintings and Martín agreeing with everything just to see Andrés' smile and watch his eyes light up.
The first woman came back with a boy and a girl. They both looked frightened to the core. Somehow the girl looked familiar to Martín, but he simply couldn't place where he had seen her face before. The women then started to put black blindfolds over their eyes, possibly to hide the identity of the other attackers. His anxiety spiked when his vision was taken from him. He heard shuffling and assumed it was them taking the masks off.
"First of all- "
It was like Martín had been hit in the stomach with a bowling ball. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. Andrés. Finally, the pieces inside his head started to fit together. The little Lamb, Miss Parker. The engineer would have realized way earlier if it hadn't been for his fear. This was Sergio's heist. This was Andrés' heist. And normally this should have eased Martíns anxiety, but no. He felt like throwing up. He felt like exploding. He hadn't had any contact with Andrés for over a year now. Not since what happened at the Monastery. Just hearing his voice made his blood both boil and freeze at the same time. He was filled with so much rage and so much sorrow. Hearing his voice made him want to scream and made him want to cry. But he kept quiet, he wanted to listen to Andrés' words. He needed to hear his voice again. "Buenos Dias.", he said, his voice strong and confident, yet cold and distant. Martín didn't want to, but he just couldn't help but smile. "I'm the one in charge." He absorbed every word. "And first off I want to offer my apologies." He had always admired Andrés ability to stay so collected and polite in hard times. Martín was a hothead by nature. Swearing, smashing things, Violence. "This really isn't a good way to end your week." He wouldn't have known, the days off the week blur when your life consists of nothing but alcohol and sucking dick. "But you're here as hostages." Two of Andrés' people started to collect phones and matching passwords. They were younger, gentler. Boring. You could tell from the way they spoke to one another. "If you obey, I guarantee you'll leave alive." After that Andrés started to somewhat comfort a lady that was violently sobbing. A guy in front of Martín, Arturo Roman, revealed his Martín to the two young men. 1234. He couldn't help but grin. The two men laughed at him. One of them had quite a unique laugh and the engineer hold back from laughing with them. Andrés was about to say something else, but Martín couldn't make it out as one of the men spoke again.
"What are you laughing at?" Martín tensed up. Goosebumps made their way on his arm and neck. He didn't lift his head; he didn't say anything. He couldn't face Andrés right now. "Phone.", said the other one. The spoken to took a deep breath before quietly answering "I don't have a phone." It was the truth. Phones in his line of business were dangerous. Andrés taught him that. The first guy spoke again "Yeah right. Give me your phone or I will beat it out of you, understood?" All Martín could do was quietly repeat himself. He heard someone shuffle towards him, but then the second guy said something again "Denver. No." Right, Sergio wasn't a fan of real names. "What's your name?", the guy asked. He sounded nice and soft. Probably younger than Denver. Too gentle for this job. The engineer didn't want to answer, he didn't want to face Andrés like this. He could make up a fake name, but it would be of no use, at some point Andrés would notice him. "My name is Martín Berrote."
Silence. Deafening silence. All he heard was his blood rushing in his ears. Andrés had abruptly stopped talking and nobody dared to even move a muscle. The air was filled with thick tension. The two men whispered to each other. Martín could feel his heartbeat against his ribcage. His lungs were pounding because of the breath he was holding. After about a minute of complete silence, Andrés continued his sentence as if nothing had happened and moved on. Martín wanted nothing more than to take his blindfold off and look at his best friend's eyes.
He wanted Andrés to look into his eyes and show him what he did. He wanted him to see all the pain he caused. He wanted him to notice that the spark of life in his eyes has vanished. Andrés drained him that day at the Monastery. He gave him everything and more just to then take it all away again immediately. Martín still felt his lips on his. Still felt his strong and gentle hands cupping his face. Like the touch had burned itself into his skin. When Andrés had pulled away from their kiss, his hands lingering on his cheek, Martín had already known he had just lost everything. He had felt his world crashing around him. He barely remembered what happened next, his and Andrés' words blurring together. That evening, the love of Martín's life had left, looking powerful and beautiful to meet his wife. He probably hadn't spared a single thought on the man he left behind, sobbing. However, his "soulmate", as he had phrased it, had stopped crying soon after he left. Martín had felt numb and empty. His hands shook as he packed his things. "Te quiero, Martín." Repeated in his head over and over again. It meant nothing. They were nothing but empty words. Yet those words were the ones that hurt the most. For years the engineer wished he'd finally hear those words, but now, they were like knives twisting in his open wounds. Martín didn't own a lot of belongings; they had always considered most of the things at the Monastery as theirs. But that was alright. Andrés could keep the things they used to share. While collecting his stuff one by one, Martín's head was empty and clouded, as if his beloved friends had not only stolen his heart but his mind. Depriving him of making a single logical thought. After a while, he had gathered his things. One bag filled with the few items he considered his, one bag filled with nothing but Andrés' precious and expensive alcohol. With slow steps, Martín had left the Monastery, his home, behind. It wasn't until he had reached the city, that everything finally sank in. It had gotten dark outside and the streetlights cast an ugly yellow light on the streets. Tears had started to run down his face once again. The streets had been empty, only some loners wandering around aimlessly, just like him. Martín had tried so desperately to stop his hands from shaking. The surroundings had been quiet. Too quiet for his liking. Slowly but surely, Andrés' words had crawled back into his mind. Martín had broken down right there on the streets, balling, shaking, screaming. Now thinking back to it, he didn't remember much else.
But "I'm sure that one way or another, time will bring us back together" stuck out because apparently, Andrés was right.
A phone rang. "Miss Monica Gaztambide, por favor?" One of the hostages stepped forward, her heels making a sound on the polished floor. He took the woman to the phone and mumbled something to her, but the Engineer couldn't make it out. She picked up the phone and explained that the factory is having technical issues. Probably at gunpoint, assumed Martín. Slowly but surely the two younger men walked away, talking quietly to each other. Martín flinched when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. The grip was gentle but firm. Securing him. The touch was familiar but like a far-off memory. "With me.", muttered Andrés under his breath and guided his friends through the crowd and up the stairs. With one quick gesture, he then removed his blindfold. Martín blinked at the sudden light and then immediately spun his head to look at Andrés' soaking in every feature. His face had gotten less gentle. His eyes had turned sharper and colder. The other one seemed to very actively avoid looking at him when he said "I'm Berlin here. Only Berlin. You choose a city too." Berlin looked tense. Martín couldn't help but smile a bit. Andrés and he had met in Berlin all those years ago. "Palermo.", he answered, without giving much thought to it. It shouldn't have felt so easy to slip back into a conversation with Andrés, it shouldn't have felt so fulfilling to hear him talk again, it shouldn't have been so pleasing to see his friends spare a small smirk as he answered. "Good choice." Palermo was a beautiful city in Italy. They had visited it together plenty of times.
They entered a small room. It looked like it was some kind of a living area for the employees of the mint. The hostages' phones were stuck to the wall, their names written out beneath them neatly. The women that dragged in "the little lamb" and two young men, he assumed they were the ones collecting the phones earlier, we`re already in the room, talking quietly until Martíns friend interrupted them. "Put on your vests and get ready to go out. As soon as you're ready, we`ll activate the alarm.", ordered Berlin. The others didn't seem to listen, they were staring at Palermo, all of them visibly confused. He was too, to be fair. "Decided to give us your phone now?", taunted the slightly taller of the young guys, he was the one with the weird laugh. Denver. His face was sharp and his grin goofy. "He doesn't have one. He's with me.", answered Andrés strictly before Martín even had a chance to do so himself. "What do you mean he's with you?", questioned the lady. "Later. We don't have time for this now.", spat Berlin. The other three simply nodded, not daring to poke any further. The red telephone, which was sitting on the desk in the middle of the room, rang, and Andrés answered it immediately. The red complemented the red of the jumpsuits. Martín heard a familiar voice say "Berlin, prepare to open the doors." – "S-", he began but was cut off by his friend forcefully, "Yes, Professor." He hung up. Denver and the other two, put on their vests and left the room and so did Andrés. Martín didn't have much choice but to follow suit. At the top of the staircase, his friend stopped abruptly and turned on his heels. For the first time, he looked at Martín. Time felt like it was frozen still. Andrés' facial structures grew softer. His brown eyes softly piercing through Martín's blue ones. "Stay here, por favor.", he said before rushing down the stairs to the hostages. And Martín obeyed as he had always done. And suddenly, rage rushed through him, boiling in his blood. Andrés looked at him, not to reassure that he's safe, not to let him know that things are going well, but to make him obey, to make him listen. After almost a year, all it took is a quick gaze to have Martín tied up around his fingers all over again. Martín wished nothing more than to have the strength follow Andrés, to tell him off, to yell at him, to address what he felt, to make a scene, but he simply didn't right now. Andrés told him to stay. So, he stayed.
The switch from Andrés to Berlin was immediate. Martín could see it in his eyes, in his body language and in the way he chose his words. He had studied his friend for years, almost a decade. He could read him from Miles away. At least he always thought he could. Berlin yelled at the hostages, his voice loud and dominant yet somehow reassuring and calm. He and his team pulled their Dali masks over their faces and stood in front of the giant door, waiting for the police to arrive. Martín knew this part of the plan; they would pretend to try to escape when really, they just needed more time to print their own. One hostage, the man with the 1234 pin, sneaked a peek out of his blindfold. Martín merely chuckled. "Naive." he thought. Just like he thought, Berlin caught on immediately. So, he did what he is best at, show dominance and power through his charm, humor, and blunt honesty. It was another feature that Martín admired about his best friend. He noticed that there were a lot of things he admired about him. Suddenly the lamb-lady ran outside. "Tokyo! Tokyo! It's too early!" yelled the other young man that was collecting phones and followed her outside. Martín heard shots and screaming, mainly from the hostages.
Martín couldn't make out what happened, but something went wrong. Very wrong. Denver sprinted outside and so did Berlin after looking up the stairs for a split second. "RIO!", Tokyo screamed. From then on it was impossible to make anything out. The hostages screamed and the team fired everything they had at the cops. Only when a body was dragged back inside, Martín finally understood. Rio had been shot. Once inside Tokyo dropped on her knees next to him. They didn't even notice the door closing again. Then Denver started to yell at them, and Martín realized another thing: Tokyo had shot a police officer. She broke one of the first rules.
Have the public on your side. Get nobody hurt.