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Locke didn’t care very much for deceiving people in this way- it could get very messy, very fast, and there was also something about playing with these kinds of affections, specifically, that felt more sour than most scheming. But, as Jean had pointed out, there was no way Manetta Corvanche’s parents would agree to the payments he’d asked for if their daughter didn’t personally persuade them that his estate needed it. Or rather, that her future estate, would need it.
Which is how Locke found himself on a picnic with Manetta on a too-hot afternoon, pointing out her many qualities in a way that Jean’s poets would probably cry at. They had been at this for a few weeks now and it had been going very well. This part of it, anyway. Back at the apartment he was sharing with Jean, the air had been unusually tense. He didn’t remember doing anything particularly offensive since they’d arrived, but every time they worked on the details of the plan, Jean seemed as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
Though truly, since their most recent adventures, Jean had been keeping a much closer eye on Locke. Perhaps he was concerned he’d do something stupid again while out on his own. Which, though fair given Locke’s history, was not the most pleasant way to spend his days. Jean had been getting in his personal space much more often, doing tasks for him that he certainly could do himself. If he had to ask Jean to please let him dress himself one more time, he might strangle the man, though it wasn’t the worst thing Locke’s bad behavior had made Jean do.
Even if that was the trouble, Locke reasoned, it didn’t account for his behavior towards their mark. Sure, Locke had proposed the scheme after the two of them had identified their potential targets in the city, but Jean had helped him. Still, the other day, Locke had mentioned that, “At least he didn’t have to lie about her being pretty. Not his type, per say, but certainly not a hardship to look at.” To that, Jean had compared her to some rather unflattering members of the animal kingdom, which Locke hadn’t thought very fair.
He would get to the bottom of this. Or at the very least, once this scheme was finished, he’d persuade Jean to go somewhere nice for a little vacation together. Perhaps he just needed to relax for a little while.
“Piero! Piero, are you even listening to me?”
Locke shook himself out of his thoughts. It wasn’t like him to get distracted when working like this.
“Of course, my love. I’m sorry, it’s just that my Je- my manservant has been feeling ill and I was distracted. My apologies, I am all yours.”
Manetta snorted.
“My dear?”
“Piero, since I met you I have had to pull you away from thoughts of... concern... for your manservant more often than I take tea.”
Locke thought back. Was that true? Maybe he'd been a little off his game, but he hadn't thought it that noticeable. Damn. He had to pay more attention.
“You mistake me, darling, he is just a very efficient servant and would be extremely difficult to replace.”
“For heaven’s sake, Piero, I will not compete for your affections with a manservant! I-” Manetta’s tone softened just a little, “I really do like you Piero, and you have been a most pleasant suitor. I would’ve understood if you didn’t really love me, but were at least agreeable, you see? But I don’t think I could bear this.”
Locke was speechless. How did expressing some distraction over Jean lead to their scheme dissolving before his eyes.
“But dearest, think of the home we were going to build together! The exotic wines I’d have brought for your family! I don’t understand how Jerome has anything to do with that.”
Manetta sighed deeply. “Perhaps we would have been happy. But how can I trust a man with my family’s wealth if he cannot even decipher his own heart? I will not be so fool-hardy.”
When Locke continued to gape, his mind racing for a way to understand first how to salvage this and then make sense of her accusations, Manetta grew visibly agitated. Not one for patience, she flicked her wrist towards a guard, who grabbed the back of his coat.
“Manetta, please!”
“I will hear no more!”
The guard roughly pushed him down a corridor, out the massive front doors, across the front path and out the gate. He stumbled and fell to the ground.
“Fuck.”
***
Jean was silently fuming, as he did so much these days. He could not believe this was happening now of all times. Sure, Locke had been this way almost as long as he’d known him, but Jean never expected- though, he supposed there was only so many times he could see his closest friend and confidant come so uncomfortably close to death before he realized how very essential, he was to his own life and happiness. That stupid bastard.
Locke was out on task. A task, Jean reminded himself, that he had not only agreed to but helped plan. He would make sure future endeavors weren’t like this one. And if worst came to worst, maybe he’d just strangle him. Or perhaps have a serious discussion, because as inconvenient as this was, he did above all else, trust Locke more than any other living person.
Suddenly the door to their suite banged open, and there was the man himself, dirt on his breeches and a scowl on his face. Jean is surprised to see him so soon.
“I thought you were spending the remainder of the day with that woman to finalize ‘estate’ details.”
“Yes, well, I thought I was too. It turns out I had it wrong and she was, in fact, unable to commit herself to someone who ‘cannot even decipher his own heart,’ whatever that is supposed to mean. Gods, I’m sorry, Jean. I was so certain we were nearly settled in on this one.”
“Damn,” Jean muttered, disappointed by the failure but fighting some small relief that it was over. Maybe he wouldn't need to resort to strangulation or difficult conversations. “At least it was only a month of planning wasted instead of more. It’s not a terrible scheme but perhaps something different next time. Maybe we’ll have to find a more vulnerable mark.”
“I don’t know, Jean. There was something off about this one. I just. Look. Look, I know something has been bothering you, and I’ve been so distracted with worry, and if it has something to do with this, I don’t want to risk it happening again.”
Jean just stared at him, his eyes darkening.
“It’s entirely my fault, I’m not saying it isn’t, but if it’s something you can’t tell me it’s serious, and you know I trust you with my life, but we tell each other everything! How can it be nothing if you can’t even-”
“Fucking hell, Locke! It’s because I love you, you ignorant piss-brain.”
All air seems to suddenly flee the room.
“What in the gods damn hell did you just say?” Locke was sure he must have misheard. Maybe he’d hit his head when Manetta’s guard had thrown him out, because he was certain the words he thought Jean just uttered had to be imagined.
“I said,” Jean started, visibly reddening despite his harsh tone, “against my better judgement, and with deep regret and embarrassment, the reason I’ve been so miserable is that I realized that I’m gods damned in love with you, you stupid fucking idiot.”
Locke didn’t know what to say to that. Though he’d never thought of it in those terms, exactly, Jean was, always had been, the most important person in his life. He was loyal to a fault, and clever as anything, though he was often overlooked in that respect by outsiders because of Locke’s cockiness. He had always been Locke’s closest partner, the one person he could always trust to be there, to work with and live with, and who, Locke realized, he had always wanted there too, need or no. He liked him, too, as a person, which was saying something, since most of the people he’d met could go fuck themselves. He’d said it himself to Zamira, that Jean was extraordinary. That he’d be lost without him
Wasn’t that something.
As Locke was pondering this, Jean stood there, visibly irritated, which Locke had to admit was not what he’d come to expect from these kinds of professions.
“I, uh, I think I might feel the same way, Jean.”
“No fucking shit.” Jean rolled his eyes.
Locke shook his head. “Excuse me? No fucking shit, is that all you have to say? You’ve been a gods damned misery to live with the last few weeks, and now you tell it’s because you fucking love me, because you were jealous, and I tell you I feel the same and you say ‘No fucking shit?’”
“Locke, don’t take this the wrong way, but you've got brains but only for thieving and for saving our asses. The rest of the time they’re as good as a pile of worms. I've known how you feel about me since we were lads. I didn’t realize, for a long while, that you didn’t even know, just thought you were shy about it- Chains clued me in. Said to me ‘that idiot may one day very well have his tongue down your throat before considering how it got there.’ He wasn’t completely wrong, there was that job back in Camorr-”
Locke waved his arms, “Stop, stop, stop! Yes, I know the one. Damn, all this time, are you kidding me? Did you never think to clue me in, or even just tell me to fuck off?”
Jean shrugged. “It didn’t seem important. You’d either never notice or get over it or one of us would die.”
“I’m going to murder you with your own fucking hatchets, Jean.”
“Touch the wicked sisters and it won't matter how I feel about you.”
Locke grinned then sighed. “So, what now, then?”
“Onto the next plan,” he said, shrugging, but stepping closer.
“Onto the next plan, indeed,” Lock agreed, closing the distance. “You really have to work on your confessions, though.”
“Shut up.”
Jean leaned down, and finally, finally, kissed Locke on his impudent, smirking lips.