Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bobby is… not really sure how he originally got into the position he is in.

That position involving being held up against a wall by the infamous Alex Mercer, his arms pinned above his head with sharp nails digging into his wrists.

Normally, a description like that would be far less confusing and more so inviting, if it weren't for the knife held so closely to his throat that it dug in deeper with every breath he took.

He knew that being a hitman, assassin, gunman- or whatever you wanted to call it- wasn't the safest job in the world, but damn, this is a little much, even for someone whose work includes a large variety of different weapons.

Bobby would probably be more concerned if Alex's eyes really matched the sinister grin that he wore, but they look more searching than truly murderous, so Bobby just ends up tilting his head at him, his hair flopping into his eyes and instilling much more annoyance in him than it really should considering the fact that he's technically a few seconds away from death.

He had just been trailing one of his most recently assigned targets when he was suddenly slammed against the concrete wall of the deserted subway station, probably hard enough to bruise or maybe even concuss, which was definitely unnecessary. Sure, he might've had at least two guns and enough bullets to last him a fairly long apocalypse on him, but he would've complied if asked to hand them over. Maybe. Probably.

Okay, he wouldn't have. The concussion-inducing slamming was still unnecessary, he thinks.

But now he's faced with the assassin he's really only heard stories about from a few of his buddies- he really didn't think that he existed at first, because Luke is about as good of a storyteller as he is a hitman, and he's a shit hitman- and his eyes are way too pretty to be so close.

And he really must be concussed if he's complimenting the person who's the reason his favorite white shirt is getting stained red, even in the privacy of his own head.

Bobby tries to tilt his head a little more without slicing his own throat open, because the whole cool guy head tilt has always worked wonders for him, and the guy with several more years of killing experience than him seems to look even angrier somehow, so he figures that it worked.

Not necessarily in the way he wanted, but he guesses that he can't really be picky, considering the fact that he's still breathing and all.

And wow, the stories that Reggie and Luke have been spitting at him for years and years are losing their luster now that he's seen the one and only Alex Mercer in person, because he really can't hide a single emotion when it comes to his eyes.

What kind of assassin can't hide their own feelings?

Scratch that. Julie and Luke can't hide anything at all, and they still manage to kill well enough for the agency that they haven't been fired yet.

But his point still stands, because this man is supposed to be famous. Or infamous. Whatever. Bobby doesn't really have the grounds to judge on what's good or bad.

And actually, it's already started to get kind of awkward with the silence. Just two killers staring into each other's eyes. Will one of them die? Probably.

Bobby would love to speak. He really, really would. But the knife against his neck is a little too… pressing of a matter, and speaking would only draw more blood and make it harder to get the stain out if he manages to live, so he decidedly keeps his mouth shut while Alex's eyes search for something in his own.

"Maybe," Bobby goes to start, but closes his mouth with a click when the sharpness digs into his skin a little too much with the movement, and masks his wince with an eyeroll when Alex raises his eyebrows at him.

He's not completely sure it works, if the way the knife lets up a little is anything to go by.

It's barely enough for him to notice it, but makes it easier to breathe than it had been a second ago, and it's what gets him to promptly knee is almost-murderer in the stomach hard enough for him to stumble away from him.

Bobby takes the opportunity to kick the knife out of his hand and runs forward, kicking Alex's legs out from under him and falling on top. He immediately moves so that Alex's arms are held above his head and pins down his legs with his own, not willing to make the same mistake that he did.

The sight of his own blood dripping from his neck into Alex's eyes is probably way more satisfying than it should be.

"Now," he starts after Alex has finally stopped struggling from beneath him. "Wanna tell me what angered you so much that you felt the need to ruin the most formal shirt I own? Because I'm sure it wasn't just my pretty face that set you off. But who knows. Maybe famous killers work in weird ways."

Alex growls a little at him, and Bobby isn't usually a talker, especially not to people who attempt to murder him for seemingly no reason, but this one he just can't resist.

"Oh? Are you famous because you were raised by a pack of wolves?"

"Asshole," he finally spits out, and the irritation Bobby can practically feel radiating off of him only serves to make him want to poke at him more.

"He speaks!" Bobby exclaims, digging his nails into Alex's wrists a little more just to see him wince. "I'd love to hear something useful though. Maybe something I don't already know?"

"Oh? Sorry, I thought you knew how bad you are at this," he says, and okay, Bobby is done talking.

He makes sure that both of Alex's arms are held firmly in place with one of his hands before using the other to reach for the gun in the inside pocket of his jacket, and really, he should be more surprised than he is to find that it's not there.

He looks back up at Alex with a glare, his look only growing harsher when Alex angles his head to the side and Bobby looks that way, seeing the gun that was supposed to be secured in his pocket lying on the floor.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, looking at Alex in disbelief when he lets out a laugh that is far too close to a giggle for someone who has killed countless amounts of people. "How did you even…"

He squeezes his eyes shut against his better judgement, and takes a deep breath, opening up his eyes and letting it out when he sees that Alex hasn't disappeared from under him like some kind of Houdini act.

Bobby digs his nails even deeper into Alex's skin solely because he's pissed, takes another deep breath, and then reaches downwards towards his leg for the gun he knows is strapped there, hanging his head when he feels absolutely nothing but air.

When he looks up, one of Alex's arms has somehow escaped his grip without him noticing, and it's that hand that's holding his gun. That's Bobby's gun.

Jesus Christ.

"Like I said," Alex starts, sinister smile right back on his face as he hits Bobby over the head with the gun and pushes him off of him while he's stunned. "You're shit at your job."

Alex aims right at his head, and because he's definitely concussed now, he just props his elbows up on his knees and rests his head on his hands, looking up at him with glassy but not quite teary eyes.

The fact that he's an absolute master at hiding his emotions- at least, compared to the people he hangs around- really is going to come in to play here, and his inability to make himself look anything but neutral is most likely going to end up working against him.

At least the concussion (or maybe he's being a little dramatic. The bruising, at least) is making it a little hard to see straight, which probably makes the excessive blinking more believable.

"Before you, y’know, murder my ass, I feel like knowing why would help me improve after my reincarnation, or whatever."

He gets a little laugh in response to that, and it makes his stomach flip in a way he's pretty sure is more than pre-death jitters.

Oh well. He'll address it later. If there's not already a bullet in his brain, of course.

Even though he seems to find Bobby's sense of humor laughable, he doesn't answer his question and stays silent, finger stone-still on the trigger.

Bobby groans, falling backwards so that he's lying against the uncomfortable concrete. He thinks he might get as comfortable as he can if this is going to be the place he dies. A dirty subway in New York, hours away from his friends, his family.

Seems fitting enough, he supposes.

"I know I wasn't on your little hit list man, I'm too insignificant for your big-deal money-making shit. I'm not worth more than one thousand, and if Reg wasn't lying you take no less than ten grand. So why not tell me, huh? Too top secret for you to even whisper to a corpse?"

More radio silence. This guy is a real riot, even for an assassin. The guns have been out for ages and Bobby is still bored.

He huffs out a short breath, moving a hand to push his hair out of his face before saying, "I've never talked this much in my damn life. You're dryer than a saltine, Mercer. And that's saying a lot, considering I'm the one saying it."

Wow. He really does need to get his head checked out if he keeps going on like this.

He feels the cold barrel of the gun press up against the side of his head a split second after the thought crosses his mind, and oh yeah, he really does need to start remembering that he's going to be dead soon, or else it'll make for a pretty depressing sob story.

The gun presses in even harder, and he resists the urge to close his eyes, instead staring up at the subway station's ceiling, hoping that Julie remembers he specifically wanted his song journal to be burned before anyone could read through it.

When the sound of a gunshot never comes and there is instead a sigh, Bobby turns his head as much as he can with the gun still pressed against it and looks at Alex, both irritation and defeat written in his body language.

"What-"

Bobby's cut off by Alex suddenly throws the gun across the room, startling Bobby into sitting up, and he scrubs a hand over his face, looking almost exhausted when he looks up to see Bobby staring at him.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Alex just ignores him again, standing up and brushing nonexistent dust and dirt off of his knees before holding a hand out towards Bobby, an expectant look on his face.

Instead of grabbing it, Bobby just squints at him suspiciously. "Why-"

"Are you going to take this get-out-of-death free card or not?" he snaps, shaking his hand in front of Bobby's face as if the choice is glaringly obvious, and Bobby scoffs, gives a quick apology to his dignity, and takes the hand.

"Grab your guns," Alex says, nodding his head towards the two on the floor as he grabs his knife and wipes the blood- Bobby's blood- off on his pants. "You're going to need it when we take out Chad."

Bobby gapes at him as he hesitantly reaches for his weapons. "No way. You were assigned to Chad Davis too? What the hell. How much were you offered?"

"Forty grand," he says off-handedly, almost like it doesn't matter, like it's no big deal, and Bobby's jaw drops further as he checks over his ammo supply.

"Forty grand? You're not serious," he scoffs, and Alex just nods. "I was only guaranteed eight thousand."

Alex scowls as if this is some huge injustice to the world, and Bobby's heart flutters pathetically.

"Who the hell are you working for? This guy is surrounded by security 24/7."

"I know!" Bobby starts, throwing his hands up, "I had to bargain for that price! I thought it was a score!"

"It's not," Alex says like it's obvious, and Bobby kind of wants to punch him. Just a little.

"Great. Good to know."

"It's not my fault your company agency sucks. You should just come work with the guy I do. He might be a prick, but at least he's a reasonable prick," he says, starting to walk out of the subway without warning, leaving Bobby to catch up.

And honestly, running after a guy who just less than an hour ago had a knife held to his throat is a really low point in Bobby's career. It's knocking his already quite low self esteem out of the park. Damn.

Alex fucking Mercer.

Bobby can't believe he follows him all the way out of the subway and for five blocks before he even thinks to question him, an actual hitman.

He really needs to get around to seeing a doctor about his head.

"Man, where the hell are we going?! And why am I not dead right now?!"

Alex stops so suddenly that Bobby barely catches himself before running straight into his back, and he sighs so heavily that when he turns around Bobby is surprised that the knife isn't back at his neck.

"You're not dead because I've decided you're not dead. That can change at any moment. Also, we're going to Chad's house."

"Why?"

Alex gives him an incredulous look, shaking his head to himself as if he can't believe this is happening, muttering something that sounds like, "I know why they don't pay you enough now," under his breath before speaking up and saying, "To kill him? You're a hitman? Ring any bells?"

Bobby rolls his eyes at him, walking ahead and doing his best to hide how tense he got as soon as his back was turned.

"I'm not an idiot. I mean, why are you going? Considering this is my hit?"

The laugh Alex gives him at that is so loud and obnoxious that Bobby has to ignore the urge to plug his ears.

"Your hit? You would be dead right now if it wasn't for me. You should feel lucky that I'm even letting you come and take some of the credit for this. I should kill your ass right now-"

"But you don't know where the house is, do you?" Bobby asks, a smirk evident in his voice, and he can practically feel the hands around his throat in what Alex is most likely envisioning right now.

"How did you…?" Alex trails off, and the role reversal gives Bobby a much needed confidence boost.

"You're walking the wrong way," he says simply, and Alex groans, turning to face him with a glare.

"Fine," he starts, spitting the word out slowly as if it's physically paining him to say it. "You win. What do you want?"

"Half."

"Half? Half of…?"

"Half of your commision. And all of mine."

Alex seems to think for a moment, but eventually he just shrugs to himself, like Bobby's just a blip, a small interference in what seems to have been a fairly easy- and rich- life. It makes his stomach flip in a way that's much different to how it had reacted before.

"Fine."

"Fine? What do you mean fine?"

"I mean fine. Lead the way."

Bobby smiles at him, smug, and turns his back tensely to start the short walk.

They don't get more than one block before Alex speaks up again, bumping his shoulder with his own in a way that's far too friendly for Bobby's liking before saying, "You don't have to trust me, y'know?"

"Huh?"

"I mean," he starts again, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't have to trust me. Ever. We're never going to see each other after this so it doesn't matter. This is a one time thing."

For some reason, Bobby doesn't believe him.

But he shrugs anyways, running a hand through his hair and replying with, "Yeah, I guess."

Alex just gives him a noise not dissimilar to a grunt as a response, only advancing ahead of Bobby when he points out the visibly large house they're heading towards a few streets away.

Bobby just groans under his breath and quickens his pace to match his, constantly checking to make sure that his guns are in their rightful place.

He sighs when one of them goes missing another block in, wishing he could somehow erase the smirk from the face of his- the- enemy? Partner? Companion? Whatever.

Bobby sighs again.

His life was a lot easier before Alex Mercer decided to crash into it, even if it has only been an hour since he did.

When they're a house away from the one owned by the rich asshole they're supposed to take out, Alex holds out an arm in front of Bobby, shushing him harshly as if he doesn't know what he's doing, as if Bobby's the one who's been crunching on leaves the entire way here instead of Alex- which, Alex had been. Bobby kind of wishes that it was any season other than fall. He'd rather be shivering or sweating than hear another leaf crunch under Alex's shoes.

And of course, that's when Alex takes a halting step forward, the loudest leaf in the entire world crunching, and Bobby kind of snaps, jumping in front of Alex- with silent feet, he might add- and grabbing his shoulders, shaking him a little in his place and glares, trying his best not to get even more irritated by the amused look on Alex's face.

"Can you- can you just take your shoes off. Or something. Anything.

Alex seems to think for a moment, even bringing one of his hands up to scratch at his hair dramatically before leaning close enough to Bobby's face that he could probably count his eyelashes if he really wanted to.

Alex holds the position for a moment, Bobby struggling to keep the neutral look on his face as he does so, and Alex simply shakes his head at him, their noses almost brushing with the motion.

He leans away from him, starting to walk again, and Bobby braces himself for the sound of a crunch, turning and watching Alex walk silently in surprise when it never comes.

It takes a second for Bobby's brain to fully comprehend what happened, but when he does, his jaw drops even further, and he has to run to catch up with Alex, slapping his shoulder when he does.

"You asshole. I can't believe you were doing that on purpose. You suck so much."

Alex shrugs, but there's silent amusement in his eyes. "It's not my fault you're a terrible hitman. Pay more attention to your surroundings."

"I don't need a lesson," he hisses quietly, very aware of the fact that they're coming up on the house, quiet classical music spilling out of the only open window. Who the hell plays classical music at one in the morning? They both creep up close to the window, almost able to peer inside. "Especially not from you."

Before Alex can respond, the music shuts off from the inside, and Bobby's suddenly being yanked downwards so hard that he sees stars, his already fucked up head not appreciating the rough treatment. When he tries to question him, he gets a hand slapped painfully over his mouth.

He licks it immediately, getting a disgusted look and a kick to his side in return as Alex withdraws his hand. He wipes it against his jacket as he watches whatever is going on inside the room, and he looks so confused that Bobby absolutely has to jump up to see for himself.

The sight of a woman placing an asleep baby into a crib instead of a giant ballroom kind of confuses him too.

"I thought the rich guy lived alone?" Alex whispered when the lady finally walked out of the room, and Bobby groaned, falling back onto the ground and leaning against the brick wall of the house.

"He does."

"Oh my god. Your tip was wrong. I can't believe your tip was wrong," Alex says, throwing his hands up and starting to stomp away.

Bobby scrambles up to follow him for some reason unknown to even him, grabbing one of his wrists and yanking it harshly so that he would come to a stop.

"You're pissed that my tip was wrong? Dude, your guy didn't even give you a tip," Bobby says, hand gripping even tighter to Alex's wrist when he looks like he wants to run, and Alex groans, aiming a glare his way.

"This is what I get for working with someone who can't even get ten thousand for a hit. What the hell are we going to do now?"

We?

Bobby's stomach turns, and he releases Alex's wrist, taking a big step back.

"Can't you call your guy or something? He has to have something-"

"No," Alex cuts him off, and wow, the urge to punch him is really coming back with full force. "He just gives me a name and an offer. I have to figure the rest out myself."

"Then how the fuck did you know he was going to be in the subway yesterday?"

"Are you ancient?" he says with a joking tone, shoving Bobby's shoulder as if they're just regular friends. "You realize people book tickets online right? You can find pretty much anything if you try hard enough."

"And yet you couldn't find his house," Bobby says with a grin that even he knows is far too smug for the situation they're in, and Alex scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're the one with the wrong tip. What would you even do if I wasn't here right now?"

Go home, he thinks immediately, and complain about the situation to Flynn, but he can't give Alex the satisfaction of knowing that.

"I would go and find out what I could about the guy, eventually get to his house, and blow his brains out. I know that that house has to be connected in some way. The agency wouldn't just give me a completely wrong tip," Bobby says, and okay, at least the last part of what he said was true.

Alex still looks skeptical, which he supposes is fair, considering the fact that he was mostly lying, but Bobby holds out his hand anyways, gesturing with his head for Alex to take it, and when he finally does, Bobby squeezes it tightly in return before pulling on his hand until he's standing in front of him and he drops it, using the hand to push his shoulders instead.

"Now let's go to the library so you can do your computer magic," he says, earning him a small laugh, "There's something about that house. I know it."

Alex just hums in response and starts to lead the way.

Bobby follows, of course, so easily that it's almost as if the universe had laid out this path for him.

Wow. He really does need to get his head checked out. Maybe his stomach too, if the way it keeps flip-flopping uncomfortably is anything to go by.

"Yes!" Bobby whisper-yells an hour or so into their deep-dive on the library's computer, "I knew that house meant something. Didn't I tell you that house meant something?"

The only other person in the entire library squints at him from behind her desk, looking like she's going to drop from exhaustion, which Bobby definitely understands. He has no idea how what was supposed to be a one day trip and a quick kill turned into him smugly proving a famous assassin wrong, but either way, Reggie is going to freak out when he gets home. If Alex hasn't killed him by then, that is, because he looks about a second away from doing so now.

"Wow," Alex starts, voice monotone, "You can read. I'm actually shocked."

Bobby would actually slap him if he had a death wish, but instead he just glares, almost no heat at all to it. It's kind of hard to be angry, considering the fact that just an hour ago he thought he was going to end up not getting paid and now he most definitely is getting that twenty-eight thousand, more than he has ever gotten for one person.

When Alex had worked his computer magic, he eventually pulled something up on the house they had gone to, then pulled up something else relating to that, then from there they figured out that that house was only one of the many that Chad Davis owned. They even somehow found the address of the house the guy is currently living in, which Bobby hadn't even thought was possible.

When he finishes scribbling the address onto his arm with the random pen he found on the floor, he reaches over Alex's shoulder to turn the computer off, huffing a laugh at the way he throws his hands up in frustration.

"Chill man," Bobby says, holding his arm out, "I already got the address, see? Now let's go and get this over with-"

"What?" Alex cuts him off as he stands from the chair, his eyebrows raised, "We're not doing shit tonight. It's already five in the morning. It's almost light outside, and I think your head might be fucked up."

"So?" Bobby asks, getting a harsh look in return. "I have to get to LA in at least three days or I won't get my money. I have a flight booked already. Do you not have a day limit?"

"No."

"Oh my god," Bobby groans, running a hand over his face, "Who the hell do you work for."

Alex starts to walk out of the library, and Bobby follows, having to once again resist the urge to punch him when he says, "Does it matter?"

"Uh, yeah."

Alex rolls his eyes, picking his pace up a little bit when he sees a group of hotels in the distance. "Whatever. Let's get a motel for the night. Morning. Next few nights. Just in case."

"A motel," Bobby says flatly, and Alex sighs. "Aren't you like, rich? Or something?"

"Kind of," Alex responds with a shrug. "But I don't bring a lot of money with me when I have to travel."

Great. "Of course you don't."

"Try not to complain too much. Twenty thousand dollars won't get you too many nights in nice hotels."

"Asshole."

Alex just hums, starting to walk even faster than before, and Bobby groans under his breath, struggling to keep up.

When they get into the room of the worst motel Bobby has ever stayed at, all he can do is stare at the single queen sized bed in what he's pretty sure is horror.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Shut up," Alex says, pushing him out of the doorway and setting his small backpack on the only chair in the room. "You knew this would happen. It only costs sixty dollars for three days here."

"Why didn't you bring more money?!"

"Why didn't you?" he retorts, and Bobby has to consciously remind himself that knocking Alex out is not the best way to solve this.

"Because I thought I would only be here for two days! I already spent my money on an actual hotel last night."

Alex scoffs. "Well, that was your first mistake."

Bobby actually can't believe he's found someone more snarky than him. It's a literal miracle.

When Alex is done checking every corner of the tiny room for whatever the hell he's looking for, he turns to where Bobby's standing just in front of the door and gives him what Bobby's assuming is supposed to be a stern look, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Get on the bed."

"What."

Alex sighs, his arms dropping down by his sides as he takes a step forward. "I need to check your head. If you have a concussion, any bumps, or other damaging stuff like that we need to deal with it now before you go to sleep."

"I don't think that-"

"Just get on the bed."

"Jesus. Fine."

It takes a moment for Bobby to work up the courage to step forward, but when he does he sits on the very edge of the bed, touching as little of it as possible.

Alex sighs again, looking just as hesitant as Bobby feels when he moves to sit behind him, the way he runs his fingers through Bobby's hair- supposedly checking for bumps- making him shiver.

The silence in the room feels louder than any noise could possibly be, and Bobby almost wishes that Alex had just killed him at that subway station instead. It would've been so much easier than this.

It feels like it takes forever for Alex to finally move away with claims that Bobby's head is fine, and when he does Bobby lets out an involuntary sigh of relief, and he can only hope that Alex interprets it as him just being glad he doesn't have a concussion.

Before Bobby can say anything, Alex is walking to the small closet opposite the bed and pulling out the few spare blankets and pillows as he says, "You take the bed. I'll set something up on the floor."

"What? No, you take the bed," Bobby says, but has no idea why. He owes absolutely nothing to Alex, and his head could definitely use the slightly less shitty pillows that are on the bed, even if he's not concussed. Maybe he just has an immediate instinct to argue with him.

Alex huffs, tossing the blankets on the floor. "You're the one with the fucked up head."

"You said that I was fine!"

"I lied. You're going to die in your sleep if you even try to lay on the floor."

"Good. At least I won't have to listen to your stupid voice ever again," Bobby responds, and Alex groans and continues setting the blankets up on the floor.

"Just sleep on the bed."

"But why-"

"Just. Sleep. On. The. Bed."

Bobby holds his hands up defensively, eyes jokingly wide. "Fine, fine! I'll take the bed. You don't have to be so aggressive about it."

"It's literally my job to be aggressive."

"You're off the clock," Bobby shoots back, flipping the light switch off before climbing under the covers on the bed. "You don't have to be aggressive right now."

"Just go to sleep."

"Fine! I'll try my best not to go into a coma."

Alex doesn't say anything, but he does laugh a little, so Bobby considers it a win as he closes his eyes and finally lets himself fall asleep.

When Bobby wakes up, it takes him a moment to remember exactly what happened the night before, even though he's able to think more clearly than he has in two days.

He leans over the bed, and when he sees an asleep Alex Mercer while everything starts rushing back, he doesn't know if he wants to grin or sigh. Maybe both.

He checks the time, doing his best not to visibly startle at the fact that it's already the afternoon.

It takes Bobby a second to muster the motivation to stand up, but when he does he changes into the last outfit he has and moves to stand next to where Alex is still asleep.

He stares down at him for a moment, contemplating what to do, before promptly kicking him in the side.

Alex wakes up with a groan, looking surprised at the sight of Bobby as if he had forgotten the night before too, and when realization dawns on his face, he groans again, holding a hand to his head.

"Come on, we should probably get going. We don't really know what we're gonna see."

"I know what we're gonna see," Alex says, turning onto his side with a wince just before pulling his blanket over his head. "Nothing for another hour."

Bobby would probably find this cute if it was anyone other than who it is. And if there wasn't eight thousand dollars on the line.

He doesn't say anything and kicks him harder than before, doing it over and over again until he finally jumps up and glares at him, his hair out of place from sleep and the oversized hoodie he's wearing almost making him look like an angry little kid.

"Come on. Let's check out the house before we go back to it tonight," Bobby says, and while Alex continues to glare he adds, "And before we go you might want to fix…" he trails off, gesturing towards all of Alex, "That."

Alex practically growls at him, and he just shrugs, grinning as he walks out the door of the motel and towards the lobby.

He's bending down to grab the bag of chips he bought from the vending machine when Alex silently steps up behind him, making him have to hold back a small scream when he turns around to see him.

"Are you trying to kill me?! God."

"It's fine, you can just call me Alex."

Bobby actually can't stand him. "Did you just-"

"Are you going to eat those?" Alex asks, grabbing the bag of chips and eating one before Bobby can even shake his head, and this is kind of unbelievable.

"I thought you were the rich one. Can't you buy your own chips?"

Alex shrugs, "Just because I'm 'rich' doesn't mean I have money."

"Isn't that literally what rich means-"

"Are we going to go?" Alex cuts him off for the millionth time since Bobby's known him, placing the half-empty chip bag back in his hands, and Bobby just sighs, nodding and leading the way out of the main lobby.

The rich guy's house looks just like Bobby originally expected it would- far too big for one person and surrounded by enough security to form a small army.

Bobby feels like if Chad Davis had instead used his expenses to, well, fix homelessness in the city, he would be on far fewer kill lists. Just a thought.

They're only there for a few minutes when Chad is unexpectedly led out of his house, three guards on either side of him, and when Bobby hears a sigh from beside him, he really doesn't expect to turn to see Alex beginning to aim his gun at the guy with a determined look on his face, but it's what's happening.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Bobby hisses, pushing Alex's arm down before he can properly aim just as Chad steps into his limo and speeds off, and Alex looks so pissed that Bobby kind of regrets stopping him even though he knows it would've turned out very badly if he hadn't.

"What the fuck am I doing?" Alex repeats incredulously, glaring harshly at him, "What the fuck are you doing?! You just ruined our chance!"

Bobby gapes at him, surprised beyond belief that Alex, the assassin people tell literal stories about, is this much of a dumbass. "Are you stupid? There will be other chances, but if you did that it would've been really bad. It's light outside. People saw us walk over here. It's fine. We can just wait until tonight."

Alex look's five seconds away from just killing him for a moment before he huffs, putting his gun back into his jacket, standing up, and promptly walking away.

Bobby let's himself sit for a few moments in disbelief before groaning and scrambling after him, walking as fast as he can to catch up before sighing and deciding that it's just not worth it.

Whatever. He'll just meet Alex at the motel when the sun starts to set. He needs a few hours to sort out whatever the fuck is going on with his emotions, anyways, because he's pretty sure he's never felt such a confusing mix of irritation and fondness for one person before, and it's absolutely fucking with his head.

He would call Flynn, but she'd never let him live this down, and Julie would just end up telling them if he told her, so she's also out. Reggie and Luke wouldn't know how to help him anyways, so all he can do is wander around for the next three or so hours, not willing to go back to the motel until dark in case he might see Alex before he's figured out what the fuck is going on.

It doesn't matter, anyways. Because in a day, he'll be back home and never have to see Alex Mercer ever again.

He's not sure why that thought, one that should be relieving, makes him feel so conflicted.

Bobby kind of loses track of time.

It's not his fault, alright? He's never been the most organized about getting lost in his own head, and he's a fairly far distance away from the motel he and Alex have been staying at when he finally realizes it's already dark.

He ends up making what should've been an hour's walk into forty minutes, and when he finally makes it into the room completely out of breath, Alex looks so annoyed that Bobby is genuinely surprised he's not killed the instant he steps inside.

"It's like, one in the morning," Alex says, as if Bobby's some kind of kid home past his curfew, and he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're the one who ran off earlier."

"Whatever." Alex rolls his eyes, standing up and starting to walk out of the room. "Let's go. I found out that Chad is having some kind of party. Should be an easy hit."

"Uh, okay?" Bobby says, kind of sounding like a question, and when Alex turns to face him, eyebrows raised, he shakes his head a little to himself, repeating "Okay" more steadily and breathing a sigh of relief when Alex turns back around and keeps walking.

He has no idea what's wrong with him.

When they get to the Davis house, the party there is in full force, and Bobby's stomach is flipping when he and Alex get into place in front of the only unlocked window that is concealed by the landscaping.

Bobby's never felt this nervous about a hit before, but as he watches Alex take aim at the guy he's been watching for only a few days, he feels about five seconds away from passing out, which is the stupidest thing ever. He needs to pull himself together. He's been doing this shit for years and has never gotten even close to feeling like how he is now.

Everything starts to slow down before his eyes when Chad is in perfect view. The world moves fully in slow motion as Alex's finger twitches from where it's resting on the trigger of the gun, and when it goes off, Bobby can only watch as the bullet zooms past Chad's head, no more than an inch away from hitting his ear, and harmlessly hits the wall with a loud bang.

The first scream from inside the ballroom is what changes the slow pace of time back to normal, and Bobby feels almost frozen in place as he watches the people inside the house scatter.

Alex's hand lands on his shoulder, shaking him out of his trance, and he turns to face him, blinking at his far too calm expression.

"We have to get out of here man," he says, shaking his shoulder a little harder when he doesn't move, and Bobby rolls his eyes, standing up and shrugging the hand off in the process. He starts walking away as quickly as he can away from the house, hoping that Alex is following him.

After walking for what Bobby thinks might be twenty minutes- though it could be more, could be less, he's not really sure- he stops in an empty alley he's never been in before, and once he's sure there's no one else is around, he whips around to face Alex, stepping as far as he can into his space without touching him.

"What the fuck was that dude!" Bobby hisses at him, and the flat look he gets in return only serves to make him angrier, and his voice raises with every word he says. "I can't believe you missed! You never miss! It's literally your thing! You're the guy that never misses!"

Alex glares at him a little at that, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a step backwards so that they're not as close. "It's not that big of a big deal, okay?" he says, and Bobby is so frustrated that he feels almost dizzy with it. "We'll just get him tomorrow."

"What makes you think we can do that! After that disaster he's gonna be completely surrounded by security!" Bobby points out, and Alex sighs, running a hand through his hair as if he's the one who gets to be upset, as if he's the one who's going to be completely screwed over by this, and Bobby is sure he can hear his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest.

"Are you an assassin or not?" Alex asks, and Bobby's hands curl into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he wills himself to breathe. "Have you never gotten a hit on someone with a little security before? And besides, we can just lay low for a couple of days and then get him if we really need to."

He sounds so casual about it, and Bobby actually can't believe him.

He has no idea why he's so surprised. He doesn't know Alex, and more importantly, Alex doesn't know him.

He gives himself a moment to take a few deep breaths and calm down the slightest bit, consciously lowering his voice when he says, "I needed that eight thousand, Alex. My flight out of here leaves tomorrow. Now I can't get the money and I'll have to pay for my own flight."

Alex scoffs, and it brings every bit of rage back. "I don't see why it matters, anyways. You're getting the twenty grand either way."

"Wow, okay," Bobby starts, voice dangerously low. "You really just don't get it."

Alex shakes his head like he's really at a loss, and Bobby feels all of his anger leave him all at once, and suddenly, he's just tired.

"You get forty per hit at least, right?" Alex nods. "Yeah. Me and my family's average is about five since we all work with the same agency. Okay? There's five of us, and we can barely afford our shitty three-room apartment. That twenty-eight thousand was gonna do a lot for us. Now I have to book a plane ride home myself and probably won't be able to get out of here for at least another week. Reggie and Luke are gonna be pissed. So do you get it? We are barely surviving. We need every penny we can get. That eight thousand might not seem like a lot to your rich-assassin-ass, but it's everything to me and my family."

And even though Bobby's exhausted after all of that, he still stands up straight when Alex takes in a breath, preparing for an argument and getting surprised when he just lets out a tired and dejected "Okay."

"Okay?"

Alex nods. "Okay. You're right. I shouldn't have assumed that you didn't need that eight grand because you're getting twenty anyways. I'm used to getting so much more and it just wasn't right for me to think that every assassin gets as much money as me. I shouldn't have missed the shot. I'm sorry."

Bobby blinks at him for a few moments, surprised by what seemed like a genuine apology, and after a minute of silence, Alex rolls his eyes, a fond-looking smile forming on his face as he takes a step forward.

Damnit. He must've seen the forgiveness on Bobby's face.

"Come on," he says, reaching forward and grabbing Bobby's hand, pulling him out of the alley and down the street before he can even think to argue. "Let's go get some sleep."

And Bobby might still be a little annoyed, but he's more exhausted than anything, so when he squeezes Alex's hand on the way there, he has the tiredness to blame for the butterflies swarming in his stomach at Alex's smile.

When they get to the motel, Bobby barely manages to take his jacket off before collapsing onto the bed, not even having the energy to be surprised when he feels Alex settle in beside him after he turns off the light.

"Night," Alex says stiffly from beside him, just inches away, and Bobby hums, closes his eyes, and drifts off.

(And if he wakes up a few hours later to find his head on Alex's chest with their arms wrapped around each other, who would blame him for not moving away?)

Bobby wakes up to the sound of footsteps around the room, and when he opens his eyes he turns his head to the side to see Alex loading their guns, placing Bobby's on the table and his own in his jacket.

He sits up slowly, letting the blanket fall off of him as he rubs at his eyes before turning back to Alex. "What the fuck are you doing. It's only-" he pauses, turns to check the clock before turning back to face him. "-three in the afternoon. It's still light outside."

Alex rolls his eyes at him. "So you've only killed people in the dark? We're going to get the guy. Your plane leaves at seven right?" Bobby nods. "Then we have time. We're gonna get you the eight thousand."

Bobby just stares at him, mouth hanging open, and Alex scoffs, picking his jacket off of the floor and promptly throwing it in his face.

He shakes off his shock before pulling the jacket off of his face and putting it on with a shrug.

"Alright. Let's just try not to die I guess."

The grin Alex gives him at that knocks all the air out of his lungs.

"That's always been the plan."

It ends up being completely, unceremoniously, anticlimactic. Killing Chad Davis, that is.

They ended up being lucky, if Bobby's being honest with himself. If the rich guy had left his far too big house just five minutes earlier, their window for taking him out would've been closed for the next week.

They had arrived just as Chad was being led to his limo, and both of them pulled their guns out without speaking, and Bobby made sure to aim carefully- not willing to take the chance of missing with a quick shot- and fired just as Alex did, their gunshots and the shouting of the guards ringing in their ears as they watched the scene play out with baited breath, and Bobby let out a sigh of relief when he saw Chad fall to the ground, blood pouring out of not one but two wounds in his chest.

He's sure that there's something important in that somewhere, something having to do with symbolism or fate or whatever.

Either way, it hadn't taken long for them to get out of there, and it's only when they're a safe distance away that Bobby starts to think actual coherent thoughts for the first time since he fired his shot.

He attempts to take stock of himself as they walk to the motel in silence, and finds that it's nearly impossible, considering the fact that he's feeling absolutely nothing but emptiness.

He doesn't know what to do.

Realistically, he and Alex just go back to the motel they've been living in for the past few days and he packs his stuff up quickly before heading to the plane after a quick and emotionless goodbye.

But after everything, that ending doesn't feel like enough.

Bobby glances at Alex as they walk into the motel together- his stomach dropping with every step they take- but his face is completely, utterly neutral. It's so frustrating that Bobby has to suppress the urge to rip his own hair out.

He just needs to see how he should be feeling right now, because he's almost completely positive that empty and sick isn't the right answer.

It's quiet when they get to the room, and Bobby doesn't think that they've gone this long without poking at each other since they've met. He hates it. He hates that he can't come up with anything to do other than to start packing up his things and get ready to catch his flight. He hates that Alex still looks emotionless, hates that he has no idea what he's feeling.

He drags putting everything together out for as long as he can until it gets far too late to justify it any longer and he has to throw his bag over his shoulders and turn to face Alex- who had been watching him the entire time- to say goodbye.

No matter how much Bobby didn't want this to be awkward, the only thing he can manage to do is shrug while he takes a step forward, "I guess I'll go," tumbling out of his mouth without his permission. He winces at how quiet his voice is.

He moves to head out the door before he can embarrass himself further, but before he takes a step, Alex's gaze turns steely and he's striding forward, backing Bobby up until he lets his bag fall off his shoulders and his back hits the wall.

He doesn't have time to question it before Alex's lips are on his and his hands are in his hair, and he just shrugs internally while putting his hands on Alex's waist because this might as well happen. And also feels really fucking right.

When they pull apart, Bobby immediately raises his eyebrows, pushing down the grin that wants to come up when Alex rolls his eyes. "That felt a little familiar. I'm hoping you're not going to pull a knife on me this time, though."

"Shut up," is all Alex says in response before kissing him again, leaving Bobby absolutely, amazingly breathless.

"Well," Bobby starts when they've pulled away from each other again, leaning away as far as he can into the wall so that he can look at Alex directly. "Wanna tell me where the fuck that came from?"

Alex hums. "I figured I'd do it before the guy I work for kills me off," he says so casually that Bobby almost doesn't comprehend the sentence itself, but when he does process it he puts a hand on Alex's chest to stop him from leaning forward.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Alex sighs, dropping his head down so that it's resting on Bobby's right shoulder, and he tries his best to squash down the way his face heats up with the motion.

"The agency I work for isn't really an agency," he admits under his breath. "It's just ten or so people working for Caleb fucking Covington. He controls all of our money and what we do. I'm not really supposed to offer money from a hit to anyone. And I'm definitely not supposed to work with any other assassins, especially ones that aren't Caleb's."

Bobby's sure that there's so much more to that than Alex is saying, but really, he's heard enough. "You're not going back there. No way."

"What?" Alex lifts his head up to squint at Bobby. "Are you crazy? I can't just not go back. I can't leave the people I know there. Caleb only lets one of us leave at a time. Willie is still there," he says, and Bobby has no idea who Willie is, but he already knows that he'd do anything to help him.

Bobby thinks to himself for a moment before he gets an idea, and he's not sure if it's the best or worst one he's ever had.

"Get on the plane with me," he says as confidently as he can, trying to convince himself as much as he's trying to convince Alex. "I've got friends too, y'know. We can help you get Willie out of there."

Even though Bobby's pretty sure he put on a pretty good persuasive voice, Alex still looks skeptical.

"But… What about the twenty grand."

"Are you serious?" Bobby asks, and Alex just stares at him, making him roll his eyes. "You're such a dumbass."

"You're an asshole."

"Of course your life is worth more than twenty grand. And besides…" he trails off, pushing Alex lightly to the side to grab his bag. "Our apartment has enough room for two more people."

Bobby doesn't think he's ever seen Alex look surprised before, and just because he can, he leans forward to kiss the look off of his face, pulling back with a small smirk.

"Now come on. We have a plane to catch."

He walks out of the motel room without looking back, but it doesn't matter, because for the first time, he knows that Alex is following.