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1.
The first time Ives walked in on Neil and the Boss, nobody spoke. He’d stood there, clipboard in hand with a checklist of items needed for an upcoming mission. Items that were stored in this utility closet. The only utility closet on this entire fucking floor it seemed. He could even see what he needed from where he stood, behind the entangled bodies. One hand on the door handle, one foot in the room, three stricken faces.
His mind screamed WHAT THE FUCK. This kind of behaviour he expected from Neil. He was too charming for his own good, and Ives did think that he would one day catch Neil being inappropriate with somebody. But for that somebody to be their Boss? The big man upstairs with all the secrets, who was so meticulous in his plans and self-image that it had become a joke amongst the newer, less experienced agents that he needed to loosen up. Well, that was seemingly unfathomable to him.
The fear in their eyes reflected his stoic expression, as Ives, no matter what the situation, was always careful to mask his true expression to the outside world. It was part of his job description as a Tenet agent. He wished that he could retire right then and then so what would happen didn’t have to play out.
As if nothing had happened, Ives averted his eyes upwards and closed the door. His deep inhale-exhale did little to stop his blood thumping in his ears. Through the door, the faint sounds of zippers zipping and clothes rearranging did little to rid his memory of the sight.
After a count to five, Ives knocked on the door. Unsurprisingly, Boss was the one who retreated first, clearing his throat as he adjusted his grey suit jacket, a menacingless glare signalling not to speak of this to anyone. It was subtle, but Ives knew what he had to do without being told. But just in case, a small nod and slow blink back told Boss that he understood. He wouldn’t tell anyone about this. He wouldn’t want to. When it came to the Boss, Ives respected his decisions and choices when it came to missions. That was all that really mattered; his personal life was his own.
A second later, a mop of messy blonde hair popped out. Neil was grinning at Ives, face flushed and buttons misaligned.
“Ives, what can I do for you, old buddy, old chap?” he asked, not entirely sure where this squad leader stood.
He was not one to pry, nor one to condemn. Instead, Ives narrowed his eyes, as if this whole charade had been a big nuisance and shook his clipboard.
“I needed something from that there closet. Would you mind handing it to me?”
Neil laughed nervously and scanned the list, disappeared behind the door, and tossed it out. Ives held it in thanks and went on his way, ignoring the sigh of relief from behind him. When his task was over, Ives made a mental note to discreetly look for ways to bleach his eyeballs.
2.
Once he’d seen it, Ives saw sex everywhere.
Ives wondered why this pattern finding had awoken in him, and why nobody could be professional in the work place. The commander found that their Head Office was more akin to hospital on-call room in a medical drama (not saying he watched those shows) than to an agency fighting time-related crimes. He had had the misfortune to walk in on several other Tenet agents getting busy, or who were just about to, in closed spaces and quiet rooms. A good ole steely glare did the trick, especially with the newer, hornier recruits. What had happened to company policy of no dating?
After his initial view at the Boss and Neil, the blonde shit had danced around the topic when they were alone. Tone conversational, light and easy, which was betrayed by the constant bouncing of his leg. Neil seemed to be caught between teasing Ives and potentially confiding in him. He did not want either.
Ignorance is their ammunition, and he wanted it to remain that way.
But it was his break and Ives sat with three members of his unit in the cafeteria. The moment Neil had found Ives among the flock of new resurrected recruits and administrative staff, a wide smile spread across his face and he made a beeline toward them. He tapped the table enthusiastically before seating, asking how their day was. Amos and the others greeted him warmly, easily falling into conversation.
Ives observed him with a narrow gaze, whatever Neil was gabbing on about falling on deaf ears. He wasn’t one for speculations as to a persons’ attraction, but Neil? What the Boss saw in this charming piece of shit must be something. Sure, Neil knew how to butter someone up like they were toast, make them feel like they were the most special person alive just by smiling at them. Yet it seemed to be a trick for gaining information, to pry and beg with those eyes. Would he try to play the Boss? Anyways, Ives could certainly never see himself with somebody like Neil; he preferred somebody more like-
“Wheeler! Come join us!” Amos called, waving past Ives.
With a glance over his shoulder, Ives spotted Wheeler in her office shirt and pencil skirt, a vast cry from the gear they wore in the field. She shuffled in her heels, laughing at something Neil had said as she approached their table. They’d all been teammates for who knew how long, the jokes and teasing about her office uniform not affecting her as they had during her early years. He buried the thought, but Ives wondered if she had ever broken the rules like the cheeky Englishman before him. Neil kept offering the spot beside him to her, a playful glint that raised Ives’ suspicions.
“Oh yeah, Ives,” she said, facing him. He raised his eyes to her, taking in her ponytail and fading grin. “Commanders’ meeting was moved to seven.”
He took the update with a nod, a wave of his sandwich in thanks. She seemed to consider saying more, but instead bid the group farewell, citing paperwork as the bane of her existence.
The hours between now and then stretched for Ives as he lamented burning his own paperwork. The days when he was not part of the temporal pincer movement team were ones he never looked forward too. Being in the field held a simplicity that office work couldn’t compare; out there, saving the world seemed like a feasible task.
Consequences held weight. Saying the right thing was imperative, to keep guessing the correct move that kept time flowing the right direction, even to the detriment to personal lives. It wasn’t so much the rush of having his life on the line or how uncertain certainty was as events played forward for the first time- it was something Ives could never put his finger on. Once he was promoted to commander, the responsibility added not only pressure but excitement.
Younger recruits of people that he would come to know, older agents that hadn’t met him yet but who he’d faced many a perilous mission with and vice versa. It was the thrill of the job, of the people- this is why he endured the slow days and why he wore suits.
The time was 1845, perfect for setting up the meeting room.
A little to eagerly, Ives got up and strutted to the elevator, feeling time as he rose up to the Boss’s level. Knowing him, they would be meeting in the cramped room with the single projector, wasting no space. The silver metallic doors opened and Ives, ever the calm and clear of head person he was, walked with his usual swagger, winking at the secretary of the floor. 1850, early but not too early. The smallest meeting room was the closest to the elevator, so it didn’t take him very long to stride over.
He turned the door knob without thinking and–
“Oi, god fucking dammit!” Ives shouted, closing the door momentarily to check the hallway. When he found it clear, he returned to the two with loathing.
Again. A-fucking-gain. Did neither of them have any sense of a proper place and time for intimacy? Their relationship was none of his business and was all well and dandy, but this was absurd. There was only so many times Ives could pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh.
“We’re about to have a meeting, so I suggest that if you want to keep doing what you were doing, get a room,” he said, completely deadpan.
The Boss looked like a deer in headlights, absolutely frozen . Meanwhile Neil had his lips sucked in, body shaking as he was about to burst with laughter.
“Ives-“
“Please don’t say anything.” Ives put his hand up, shaking his head in dismay.
The Boss took a step away from Neil, clearing his throat. “I appreciate your discretion, Ives,” he said, peering past the commander for the others to come. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
Before he could leave, Neil swooped down and pecked the Boss’s cheek, a wild grin as he wiggled his eyes brows at Ives challengingly. The older man stared at Neil agape, seemingly embarrassed as his fingers brushed the spot. Ives grit his teeth, rubbing his chin as he tried to get a hold of himself. This was just something to rile an expression out of him, don’t fall for it. In their pause, Neil winked at the Boss and coolly walked out, greeting Wheeler, who had just come up from the elevator. She approached the meeting room, feeling the tension dissipate, shooting a pointed look at Ives.
He shook his head at her, wishing he didn’t ever have to explain this to anyone.
3.
Ives had heard it before he entered the room. Neil’s voice, sweet and soft, calling the only other person in the room like a song.
Beloved.
It took everything in him to not turn around and sprint out a window right then and there.
“I swear to God,” Ives groaned as he entered the threshold of the room, tactical gear ready. Now? Really? Mission countdown was to start in moments and they were doing this now. “One of these days I am going to assassinate one of you just to show how easy it is, when you’re distracted like this.”
It was like they were a single entity, a snake with two heads, being so close to one another. Neil had his tongue out like a child, having never been ashamed of being caught like this; the Boss looked at ease himself, gone past being shy about his affections. At least when it came to Ives. He, on the other hand, found it was the height of unprofessionalism.
“Who said we were?” Neil said with a playful squint, charming in the way Ives disliked. “Maybe you should be more grateful for getting a peek at the show.”
I’d rather gauge my eyes out. Ives had caught enough to know that he never wanted to see it again.
Somehow, over the course of their partnerships, Ives had become fond of them. That was dangerous, something he swore not to feel when he was resurrected into this life. Perhaps it was seeing them together, when they were touching like now, or even when they were physically apart with their wandering eyes finding the other, that made Ives go a little soft.
“I hate you,” he said instead, glaring at Neil with all the murderous intent he truly felt toward him. The tall prick, in his own combat outfit, teased him with his grin. The Boss, even wrapped up in his arms, conveyed a seriousness to the situation that Ives decided to direct to. “We’re ready to leave as soon as you give the order.”
He turned to leave but paused. He looked over his shoulder at the Boss before turning about and saying– “Beloved.”
As he left, Ives couldn’t help but shake his head and suppress the corners of his mouth from upturning at Neil’s deep bellow. He could hear it even when he’d turned away and left the confines of the base.
The troops were outside, waiting for the countdown to begin. Wheeler managed to find her way to him, standing beside him as the two commanders of these units. Away from the others, Wheeler spoke, “They get better at it, don’t worry.”
He didn’t move his head, only the barest flicker towards her as he frowned. He knew better than to ask how, because of course the answer was always the same: Time.
4.
It had been several months later, the mission particularly difficult, where they’d almost failed their objective, when it happened again.
Ives was doing his best not to trudge through the halls, body heavy with pent up emotions that wouldn’t be released until he went home (or died). He felt irritable, not really seeing where he was going, his mind replaying the mission over and over, wondering how both forward and backward moving teams just narrowly escaped.
They only had one death.
His eyes closed, blocking out those darned emotions. The workplace was not suitable to them, and he would not find a small corner to let go.
Just as he was rounding the corner, the utility closet door appeared in his periphery. The sudden memory of catching the Boss and Neil flashed in his mind. He inwardly groaned, rubbing his forehead like it would erase the image. It was almost like it was tempting him to check, to see if it was empty of them. That just seemed to fuel is foul mood.
“Corporal Ives,” a voice called.
He hadn’t been a corporal in a long time, halting in his steps. That voice. Only one person had the old habit of calling him his title, despite positions being taboo to address. He didn’t dare to turn around. He might burst if he did. Commander Wheeler ran up to him. Ives held his breath, cursing time, space, and Oppenheimer 2.0.
“Corporal Ives,” she repeated, holding up something he ignored. “This’ll be quick and easy, but I was wondering-“
He wasn’t listening to her, studying her face. This was a Wheeler he hadn’t seen in years, not yet a commander but still working her way up. A seriousness to her that hadn’t been polished by the Tenet team just yet, still a little rough around the edges. Her hair was long. It was hard to not compare his last view of her to this one. His eyes overlapped her still full cheeks and unbloodstained hair. Her vibrant eyes. The scars that wouldn’t appear for missions to come, or the final wound that did her in. His nostrils flared before he realised and he averted his gaze.
“It should be in there,” Ives said, careful not to give anything away. A quick flick of his nose and he turned.
He maintained his pace of a half shuffle-half stomp down to the Boss’s office. Several agents passed him, keeping close to the walls, following him with curious eyes. Through the windows, Ives glimpsed his sour face and worked to correct it. He was cool, collected Ives. Only his clenched fists betrayed the façade. It had only been a mission. Overall, a success, even. One death out of hundreds of agents- it was almost unheard of. Grabbing a hindsighted agent would be forbidden, to shake them and order why they hadn’t told him. Wheeler wouldn’t have wanted that anyway- he knew as well as anyone that laying your life for the mission was the single most important thing they could ever do for this world.
The door was closed. Ives entered without knocking and froze.
There they were, together. Of course they were. They hadn’t even glanced up, having heard his coming footsteps knowing that they were safe with him. Neil didn’t have the same energy to tease, jaw set tight even as the Boss touched his arm lightly, foreheads resting.
“Will you two keep your fucking love life outside of the work place,” Ives snapped. The Boss slowly turned to face him. After a breath Ives added, “please.”
“Neil,” Boss whispered, touching his cheek. Neil didn’t look up but held his hand, kissing the inside of his palm before leaving. He was careful not to touch Ives. The Boss clasped his hands behind him, a sombre look on his features. There was grey in his hair. “I’m sorry about Wheeler.”
Ives pointed at him with his free hand, a million things bubbling up ready to explode. It wasn’t meant to look accusatory, and he didn’t mean it in that way. He was just so goddamn tired of being angry and sad. As his blue eyes bore into those brown ones, Ives knew that the Boss understood his anger- more than understood. He’d felt it, experienced it. Ives was good at guessing, but he didn’t have the energy to do so now (and it would hit him later who exactly the Boss had lost and why he simmered with a mix of sympathy and fury). He dropped his arm, holding his mask instead.
“Yeah.” He couldn’t say anything else. The lump in his throat prevented him even if he tried.
The Boss stayed still, observing him.
Did you know?, he wanted to ask, mind clouded with irrationality. Even if the Boss did know, it wouldn’t have mattered. This was what was supposed to happen, and nothing would change that. Ignorance is their ammunition.
Nothing else was said between them for a few moments, Ives staring at the ceiling to control himself. Inhale-exhale. The Boss seemed content with waiting, settling on the edge of his desk with watchful calm. Nothing was said, but an understanding was reached. When Ives levelled with the Boss, he found his hardened resolve reflected in the other.
There would always be casualties for the greater good; it was part of the job after all.
5.
Ives sat in the cafeteria with three agents, not listening to what they were muttering, mind mulling over the latest mission strategy. He was weighing the risks against agents he knew were skilled enough to make the plan work. The others had already moved the topic away from their meeting and had started chatting nonchalantly. Ives wasn’t one for idle talk and maintained his silence, staring into the middle space.
He would have been content with staring into nothingness, battle strategy all on his mind, if not for the next little bit of conversation piece.
Gossip.
The three agents were joined by more and more as others went on break, the cafeteria filling up like a high school. They spoke of the dating lives of other agents, some of which Ives could confirmed because he’d walked in on them, and the personal lives of others. He didn’t speak up to confirm or reject, keeping his attention on himself.
And then Neil became a hot topic.
Where he went to school, who he’s fooled around with in Tenet, and how he kept his skin so damn smooth and nice. Ives wanted to laugh; Neil was such an outgoing person that everyone seemed to have their stories about him. The younger agents naïve as to what they heard, still charmed by his smile and appearance.
Neil this, Neil that. Ives was about to tune out and leave this table, if not for an agent who had leaned in and uttered something that made him stop cold.
“I think Neil is fucking the Boss.”
Now, everything in Time and this universe had a place and purpose; working with the Boss long enough told him this was so. But the cup that Ives had brought to his lips had frozen as he listened.
The hushed gasps of disbelief gave way to mutterings of how it made sense. They’d seen the stares, the teasing, the closeness when they thought nobody was looking. Ives was good at guessing, and something in him told him to shut up and listen. Why wouldn’t the universe let him?
“Ives, tell us. Neil is fucking the Boss, innit he?” the agent who’d brought it up (Taylor was his name) addressed him, the rest of the group swiveling their heads.
Slowly, Ives glanced over each of their faces. “I wouldn’t know. That’s not our business.”
“Yeah but-“
He gave them a steely look. “The Boss knows what he’s doing. You lot should be grateful for being here.” He got up and left, but not without asking them, “Does anyone know where Wheeler and Ibiza are?” They would be the best agents for this upcoming mission and this little group would know.
Taylor said that Wheeler should be on a mission, but that Ibiza needed to meet with Neil. Ives thanked them, parting a last warning glare, and made his way to Neil’s office. It was several twists through corridors away from where he had been walking; Ives knew it well enough.
“Neil, have you seen Wheeler and-“ He knocked before entering the small but private room. Only an empty chair was there to greet him. “Fuck.” He sprinted up, knowing exactly where Neil was, where Ibiza was headed. Newer agents stared at him as he ran in his suit, older agents unquestioningly making way for him to pass with ease.
He cursed not only Neil, but himself for knowing where and why Neil was where he was. Again, the image popped into his mind. It was like this would haunt him until the end of time (he prayed for that day). (That’s a lie, no he didn’t). The elevator took too long, his insistent pushing for the doors to open not comprehending his hurry. His body was already moving to the stairwell, hopping up the steps in twos, busting through the door of the floor he needed. He turned the corner and found her, slowing his pace to a quick saunter.
Ibiza had a hand on the door handle when Ives yelled for her. It was louder and deeper than he’d meant to, akin to a roar or scolding. Ibiza jumped out of her skin, bewildered as she stared at him. Ives attempted to smoothen himself down, touching his hair as he came closer.
“Ibiza, I’d like to see you and Wheeler the moment she returns from her mission.” She didn’t move away from the door. “Neil isn’t here and the Boss has a private meeting now. Leave.”
Simple, clear, commanding. Ibiza nodded in understanding, scurrying away.
Ives stepped up and knocked on the door thrice. Somewhere inside the room, somebody knocked back. A good enough signal, Ives stepped into Boss’s office, teeth clenched that his gut feeling was correct. Boss and Neil were too close, arms touching as they leaned against the desk. Neil’s shirt was rumpled and untucked, but the Boss seemed unchanged. If Ives cared to observe closer, he might have seen the rosy twinge in his dark cheeks.
“Thank you, Ives.” Boss said. Understanding between them never needed to be said.
Neil on the other hand, with his shit-eating grin, repeated his lover’s words. “Yes, thank you Ives.” Boss’s eyes flashed toward Neil, condoning the playfulness with a frown.
Straightening his own tie, Ives dramatically gestured. “You see this?” He demonstrated, “It’s a lock. Try using it, yeah?”
“Could we have five minutes?” Neil called out, half laughing.
“I hate you both,” he answered.
The Boss appealed to him from beneath his long lashes. “Ives, please?”
Ives shook his head in exasperation but didn’t object. He closed the door for their privacy and stood watch, like some kind of dog. Whenever a stray agent with paperwork asked to see the Boss, Ives would hit them with a “He’s in a meeting” and “It’s a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.” By the time Neil exited the office, Ives was chin deep with files and folders. He glowered at the taller man as Neil chuckled, telling him that he could enter.
“You really need to know the proper time and place,” Ives grunted, still all murderous and annoyed.
Neil laughed and chimed that Ives loved him, that he would need him the next time they needed a locksmith for a mission. And, well, he couldn’t argue against that.
6.
It wasn’t often, but during undercover missions Ives and Wheeler were paired together. The Boss had his reasons when it came to these missions, to why Ives and Wheeler should sit in this café and sip on overpriced coffee with their arms entangled. The target worked in the restaurant opposite; their terrace seats gave perfect view to monitor them.
“Alright, how are we? Good?” Neil’s voiced cracked over coms.
Wheeler made a show to lazily tip her head back, as if to admire the quaint French buildings, zoning in on Neil’s base. She raised her hand in a way that seemed too dainty for the real Wheeler. From the low angle of the restaurant, it would look as if she were merely blocking out the sun instead of signalling to Neil.
“How about you, Ives?”
Ives jutted his jaw at the mischievousness of his tone. He tried to remember to seem cheerful as he exhaled, looking to Wheeler with a strained smile. “Shove it, Neil. Wheeler said we were good.”
“I just wanted to know how the pain au chocolat were,” Neil chimed, his voice giving away his smirk.
Ives rolled his eyes. Neil was still teasing him after an argument erupted about the legitimacy of calling them chocolate croissants. The plate of pastries sat on their small round table, untouched by either pair. Wheeler had suggested getting them just for the sake of realism. In their expensive get up, his suit that fit him so snugly and her runway dress that could only be paired with heels, this rich couple could afford to buy a few croissants and pain au chocolat’s without touching them.
“C’mon, Wheeler, tell me how they are.”
“Neil, we’re going to switch off our coms now,” Wheeler stated, pretending to play with her dangling earrings to press the switch. Ives had to restrain himself from following in pursuit too quickly.
Ives relaxed in his chair, mind clearer without the constant presence of that blonde shit. Beside him, Wheeler seemed more attentive too as she sat straighter.
The waiter came around and asked if they wanted anything more. At the same time, Wheeler and Ives gravitated toward each other, her hand on his bicep as Ives politely told the waiter in fluent French that they were fine. The waiter eyed the pastries before walking away.
Lowering her sunglasses, Wheeler watched the waiter retreat back into the café, complaining to other staff. They weren’t the only occupants in this place, but they seemed to be stretching their welcome.
“Maybe we should eat something,” she suggested.
The older, more experienced Wheeler would not have said that, nor would she have been concerned with what background characters potentially said about them. A deep sigh threatened to break its way through as he remembered her death. It had taken several weeks for him to stop comparing the older Wheeler he knew best with this younger (but still damn good at her job) Wheeler who’d known him only for two years. She was the same person, albeit just without the same memories he had. But those were experiences to come, and she’d get there eventually.
“Whatever you say, mon Coeur.” He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, not taking his eyes off her, aware that the target was now watching them.
She caught on and held his hand, pulling him closer to whisper in his ear. To anyone, the slow grin that took on Ives’ features would seem as if this affair would soon move to somewhere more private. Wheeler got up, trailing her hand up along his arm and around his back, touching him to the last possible moment until she was out of sight, on her way to the bathroom where her change of shoes were waiting.
As she was leaving, Ives made a point to keep staring at her until she turned the corner before adjusting his suit jacket. He pulled out a phone and subtly pressed his coms on as he made a faux call.
“Wheeler’s on the move. Waiting on your signal.”
The rest of the mission went pretty smoothly. Ives recounted the events in the debriefing, still clad in the posh blue suit as he stood before Boss. The mission was a success, the target captured and restrained in their custody. Wheeler accounted the help from their back up, the highs and lows, and the expenses of the mission. Boss waved over the money troubles and congratulated them on a mission well done. They had a day to relax before they would travel back to base.
“I feel like being undercover is more stressful than being in the field,” Wheeler commented as the two of them took the elevator to their floor. She had her heels in hooked between two fingers.
Ives eyed her but said nothing. She wasn’t wrong, but they would have more undercover missions together in his past. Some of which he actually enjoyed (so why spoil it for her?).
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Standing there ready to greet them were Amos and Ibiza, who patted their backs for a good job and that they would be joining the rest of the unit at this bar in the centre of Paris if either one wanted to join them. Ives wasn’t usually up for socialising with his colleagues (it was dangerous stuff), but relented. On the other hand, Wheeler accepted their proposition with startling ferocity.
“Just let me take a shower and I’ll meet you there!”
“Same for me,” Ives said, grimacing more than smiling.
Amos wrote the address down on a piece of paper and handed it to Wheeler, who pocketed it eagerly.
They parted their ways. Ives and Wheeler had separate rooms, and once he was in his own small bathroom, he stared at his reflection. He had to wipe away the mist with his forearm, the room losing its warmth.
There was going to be a mission coming, one that was big. Nobody had to tell him, but the higher ups that convened with the Boss were getting more serious as each mission succeeded. Even the Boss seemed to be under the weight of these secrets; recently Ives had noticed that his longing glances at Neil were twinged with something more, something melancholic. Neil must’ve noticed too; he was a sharp agent despite all of his misgivings. How much time would they have left?
He was getting dressed when he received several hard and fast knocks on his door. In his shorts, Ives opened up to reveal a frantic Neil, dishevelled in hair and shirt. He would have commented on it had Neil not barged through.
“Do you know where Wheeler went?” he asked, voice high.
What? “What?”
Neil’s fingers didn’t stop moving, tapping each other and then his face and then his neck. “Wheeler. Where is she?” He didn’t blink the entire time, eyes maniacally wide.
“Probably on her way to this pub-“
“Find her.”
Ives gestured to his half-dressed state. “Mate, find her yourself.”
“Ives-“
“Look she has the address, she was supposed to wait for me but if you say-“
“She saw us. David and I.”
Neil had his full attention now. Oh. Shit. “Wheeler wouldn’t tell anyone.” At least, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t.
Pacing back and forth, Neil was working up a sweat. “All we did was-“
Ives called for him to stop. Ignorance is their ammunition, and he really wanted it to remain that way for the details. He told him to calm down, that he would find her. “Go back up to your beloved.” Neil didn’t appreciate the tease. “Enjoy your last night here. I’ll talk to her.” After a little more convincing, he managed to shove Neil out his door.
What was it he had thought about their line of work; saying the right thing was imperative? Easier said than done. Putting on the rest of his clothes, Ives drafted different responses in his mind, playing out scenarios that were all worse-case. Even going down the elevator, he started to think of where Wheeler would disappear off to think.
She wasn’t really the hide and seek type, nor the vocal gossip kind. He’d checked her room and thought it empty. Hopefully she was somewhere in this overly bright lobby. There was only the receptionist and three new guests waiting around, none of them her. He took a look around the breakfast hall, the toilets, and even the kitchen. It took leaving the hotel to find her. As he stood atop the welcome carpet, there was a familiar silhouette further down.
Sure enough, Ives caught Wheeler leaning against the rubbish bin by the street side, fingers clasped in front of her face as she seemed to be dazed. Gently, he touched her arm, catching her tense for just a second before she realised who he was.
“Are you okay?” he asked, staring down at her.
She nodded slowly, brows furrowing. “Have you ever seen something you shouldn’t have?”
“Unfortunately. I’m pretty certain that we’ve seen the same thing.” He gestured to the paper in her hand. “C’mon, let’s go and we can talk about it.”
The bar was busy, and their colleagues had started drinking without them. The pair took up a high table, Wheeler still too stunned to order. During all their missions, Wheeler enjoyed first ordering white wine and then rows of rosé’s, so that was what told the bartender, getting whatever French beer was on the tap for himself. He explained that he’d known and that maintaining this secret was more a personal than professional issue. She seemed less concerned with it as the glasses of wine were drained, and wanted to know more about how he knew. They both knew that couldn’t be said, but they entertained ideas.
“If I’m honest, I am just a little bit,” Ives pinched his fingers together, “glad to talk to someone about this.”
Wheeler snorted. “I can’t believe you knew the entire time.”
He leaned close to her, mindful of their drunken comrades close by. “Remember when I told you that I’d prevented multiple murders from happening in our building?” She nodded, realisation blooming into a laugh.
“This was that?”
“That was that.” He smiled genuinely, maybe a little drunk himself. It was good to finally talk to somebody outside the love pair about this. Perhaps he was getting a little soft himself.
She chortled, covering her mouth as she started to hiccup. “Here they come,” she said, watching over Ives’ shoulder. The last members of this mission’s unit entered, Neil ordering for the both of them. The Boss caught Wheeler’s eye and gave her a nod. She raised her glass in answer, taking a sip. Neil still didn’t quite notice them yet, or was actively avoiding them. Ives couldn’t tell anymore with the haze of his mind.
“I don’t understand the pairing, but I can respect it,” Wheeler said into her drink, finishing her umpteenth glass. Ives raised his own glass in agreement, downing it.
There was some good that came in their line of work: the uncertain certainty of this relationship would at least be overlooked by the both of them. He had somebody on his side to help maintain the secrecy of this couple until after he was gone. If he had to find a silver lining in interacting with people he knew dead, it was this. He could be content with this knowledge until the day he died or had to leave Tenet- and who knew when that would be?