Chapter Text
Jason Hamilton was exactly the kind of man that Bernard did not want in, or within a one hundred meter radius of his shop.
(Not that he actually wanted anyone other than himself in Black books, but he was going to ignore that for now.)
At first glance, Jason was a smug, arrogant bastard, with infuriatingly golden hair and a serious attitude problem. The frustratingly handsome Mummy's boy type that Bernard so despised. The kind of person who would be swarmed by middle aged women wherever he went, like flies to a turd.
And that was judging solely from his cardboard cut-out looming in the center of the shop, and from the few lines of text that the book keeper had managed to stomach before making dramatic throwing up sounds in front of Manny. He dreaded to know just how accurate his description would be when he finally met the guy. And to see if he would be 'swept away by a wave of charm', as the book so suggested. (Which he severely doubted, just to be clear).
He should never have been drunk enough to agree to Manny's stupid travel festival idea. Well, he didn't care about the drunk part, he just shouldn't have been around his employee at the time. The man looked rather idiotic from the outside (and his inside was very much the same mind you) but occasionally he managed to pull the wool over Bernard's eyes and do something sneaky like this.
Well it probably hadn't required much wit to be honest, knowing what he was like when he was drunk. Hell, Bernard had probably begged him to do the festival when it was suggested to him.
But any ways, this was not the time to try and scrape together his alcohol ridden memories from the previous week. He needed to focus on hating Manny's so-called idol, who was apparently due to arrive any minute. The talk he was giving wasn't even until the evening! What right did this bastard think he had coming in ahead of time? It was pure disrespect on his part.
His assistant obviously felt very differently to his own bitter thoughts, harboring a both annoying and indiscreet fanboy like crush on the blonde. Watching bitterly as Manny rambled on through his task of dusting non existent imperfections from the bastard’s display like shrine, the dark haired man slowly lit his umpteenth cigarette of the day. Manny was wearing one of his smarter button up shirts, and his mane looked unusually tamed as he surveyed each shelf of the display.
“I known you're just going to love him Bernard!” he exclaimed giddily from his crouch on the floor, reminding the Irish man of a rather hyperactive toddler.
In response, Bernard harrumphed grumpily, although it was obvious that the other man was not paying attention. Fed up of the dusting, and wanting some amusement, Bernard quickly aimed and threw a battered hardback copy of 'The lord of the flies' that he kept on his desk for times he needed something to throw.
It had proved eternally useful to have a designated throwing book in his possession, rather than choosing throwing books at random in the heat of the moment. This book had the perfect weight and sharpness to it that made it perfect for shutting up Manny or snotty, small children. Although, he frequently got those two things confused. Not to matter, it was fun either way.
Bernard let out a chuckle as his missile toppled the books, sending Manny into a panicked spiral trying to re-stack them as quickly as possible. That had made his day moderately better. If only by a smidge.
Fran looked over to him with a disapproving look on her face, after seeing the scene play out. However, she gracefully chose not to voice her option for once, instead making her way over to his assistant's side.
Manny straightened the last book, before facing her questioningly.
Now, the book keeper had to admit he zoned out a tad as the two began to speak, he only managed to get together the vague idea that the woman was teasing him about his crush. Which, in his defense, was not something Bernard needed to voice his input or interest in. The initial amusement at the man's obsession had rapidly grown stale over the course of the morning.
And besides, he needed to concentrate on his solicitor's letter. The tiny text fully of fancy words was making his head spin with a mixture of confusion and his ever present hangover.
"Manny." He called out.
Manny didn't reply, too busy ogling the cardboard cut out.
"Manny!" Bernard tried again, more sharply.
The man snapped out of whatever had taken over his brain, and mumbled out a reply.
"Huh?"
"Get over here and explain this again. I don't get it."
Shuffling his feet slightly, his assistant made his way over to the dark haired man and took the letter from his hands with a dull expression on his face.
"Well you see-"
"God! You talk too much."
"But I haven't even started Bernard-"
"Shut up. I'm going upstairs to talk to that wrinkly bitch. You're no help at all." he snapped, standing dramatically and snatching the letter back.
Manny watched in confusion as the Irish man strode past him and out of the front door, his hands still held poised in the air where the letter should have been.
...
Bernard rounded the corner upstairs and stood outside of his landlord's door, beginning to pound on the crudely painted door with vigor. The old lady was a little hard of hearing, which couldn't have gotten better since the last time they saw each other.
"Hanley. Hanley! Come out you bloodsucker!...Hanley!" He shouted between deafening knocks, becoming more impatient as the time ticked on.
All of a sudden, the white door swung open to reveal a young woman (who was certainly not Mrs Hanley) standing with a clipboard. She caught his fist mid knock, and regarded him with a look similar to one a person would give to a particularly nasty spider or fly. Her light blonde hair was wound up into a tight bun, and she wore a light layer of make-up. She was fit, he had to admit, but certainly not the kind of lady he would go crazy for.
"Mrs Hanley is dead."
"Huh?" He muttered, still all rather baffled by the lack of oldness in front of him.
"She died in the night."
Well, that made more sense. It was about time anyway, she had been a living fossil the last time they had talked. Not that she had been able to hear ninety percent of what the book seller had said.
"I don't care- I mean how awful." Bernard corrected himself hastily, faux sadness strewn across his features.
"So you're the new owner?" He pressed on, not wanting to waste his time with idle chit-chatting.
"I-"
"So you can explain this rent, lease bollocks thing?" He cut across her, presenting the absurdly long solicitor's letter to the woman.
She frowned at him, pointedly not looking in the letter's direction.
"I am just a solicitor. Mrs Hanley left the flat to Mr Benson, who is in the kitchen." The woman said stiffly.
Oh thank god, so he didn't have to talk to this freak any longer. She was growing increasingly less attractive and increasingly more annoying.
"But may I ask what you wanted to query, Mr...? She tried.
"Black. I'll talk directly to him thank you- I don't want any illegal fidgey-widgeyness upsetting natural justice."
The Irish man hovered on the balls of his feet as he spoke, attempting to peer past the woman and catch a glance of the mysterious 'Mr Benson'. When that plan proved unsuccessful he pushed past the solicitor and barged into the kitchen, glancing around for the new owner.
"Benson? Benson! Where is he? Benson!"
Now Bernard wasn't always very good at noticing details, but he was pretty sure there was no one other than him, and the woman who had followed him in this room.
Was she messing with him? What a bitch.
He turned to face her with narrowed eyes, not amused with the whole ordeal.
'Mr Benson is in the bread bin."
Now she was just taking the piss.
"I said no legal fidgey-widgeyness! I want to see the owner, I want to see them now, I want to sort this out, and I want to-"
Bernard's voice faded away in shock as the solicitor opened the bread bin to reveal... a cat?
...
The new owner was a cat. A fucking stupid, hairy, cat! How is that even legal? Well, he knew one thing for certain. And that was that he wasn't going to pay a sodding cat.
Bernard sat in misery at the kitchen table, a wine glass perched in one hand and a very thick book in the other (which was titled 'Cat’s and the law’) as he brooded over the turn of events. Every so often a smug, entitled meow would echo through the wooden ceiling, infuriating the book keeper further still.
Cat's were disgusting creatures, and knowing it was a cat he owed money just made the whole thing worse. Couldn’t Mrs Hanley have held on for a few more months, just for his sake? It was selfish of her to die now, of all times, and leave him in this state.
Manny charged through the kitchen entrance, and air of annoyance wafting through his hair.
“Bernard.”
“Hmm?” he replied, not looking up from his novel, knowing the man was undoubtedly going to sprout some nonsense about one thing or another.
“I wondered if you might have a word with Fran.”
Oh here we go.
“Explain to her that I'm looking after Jason, and he doesn’t appreciate her trying to flirt with him.” the man said moodily, like a fed up child tattling on their sibling.
He heard the explorer arrive about ten minutes beforehand, and had been trying his absolute best to block out the sounds of conversation in the main room. If he was going to have to meet this blonde prick, he was going to do so when he pleased, and he certainly wasn’t going to put up with his voice when he had much more important things to worry about. That being said, he hadn't missed his comment about his shop being similar to 'uncharted lands' which only soured his mood further.
“Shh!” Bernard spat.
He glared up at the ceiling again, where as he predicted, another muffled meow rang out.
“You hear that?” he asked, not really caring if Manny replied or not.
“He’s up there, Mewing in the nerve center of his empire. Taking rent here, a tax dodge there. Sticks his leg in the air- laughs his cat laugh, and then he dives back to grooming his balls.”
The book seller spoke with hatred fueled passion, waving his arms in the air to illustrate just how frustrating and evil the furry thing was. Manny looked around, confused.
“You can’t hear that, surely?”
“I’ve heard enough! It’s all very well for you, flouncing around after captain pants.” Bernard muttered bitterly, before continuing with his rant.
“You don’t know what I have to go through with this cat! I hate him! I hate all cats!”
His sentence ended with finality, and he looked expectantly at Manny for some sort of compassion, or a plan of action.
“Well, that’s probably because you're more of a dog person. Hey, how about we get a dog for the shop?”
Bernard thought for a moment, before giving his assistant a slightly fed up look.
“I hardly think so, the one we have doesn't do much for me.”
Manny cocked his head, growing more lost as he tried to figure out what his employer was talking about.
“But we don’t have a dog?
Deciding to end their conversation there, Bernard tossed his pen to the side, watching in frustrated amusement as Manny went dashing after it, before returning to his side exactly like a dog would.
The man was more like a dog than some of the actual dogs he had met. He wasn’t similar to a nice looking dog mind you, like a Labrador or something. He was more akin to the annoying yappy lap dogs, that shat and left hair residue all over the place. Ew, the image was growing more clear in his mind, and it was making him feel gross.
…
Bernard dug his hands into his trouser pockets as he slowly surveyed his shop, eyes narrowing as they met the horrible cardboard cut out that he was growing to hate even more. Fran and Manny had rather glumly informed him that Jason had ‘gone out for a quick drink’, and were both hovering around near the doorway, not looking quite sure what to do with their hands.
He glared at the cut out again, before trying to strike up a conversation.
“What’s he like then? This overgrown school boy. Nobody's told him Britain doesn’t own the world any more apparently...”
“Don’t you dare talk about Jason that way!” Manny interjected, an offended look on his face.
Well, he couldn't say he wasn't expecting that sort of reaction from his assistant. Fran straightened her posture, and immediately jumped in to back Manny up.
“He’s magnificent.”
Oh dammit.
He had thought he could rely on her to hate the blonde bastard with him. What a pity.
“I see he got to you pretty quick." he said venomously, shooting an accusatory glare in the woman's direction.
She gave him a small shrug of apology, even though he knew she didn't mean it.
The tinkle of the shop bell rang out sharply, and Bernard flinched.
That must be him.
“Hey.”
Well, his voice was just as snobby as he had imagined.
“Jason!”
‘Hi Jase!”
His two companions both ran towards the door, over excited looks on their faces. Bernard resisted the urge follow, and slap them until they saw sense.
“Hi! Just thought I’d pop into my favorite book emporium.”
Bernard remained facing the display with a bitter expression, not wanting to pay the interruption any mind. Well, best to get over meeting him now he supposed.
“Doctor Black I presume?”
He turned around very slowly, like one would do in a horror film, with what he hoped was an intimidating look on his face. Facing him, with a blinding smile plastered on his face, was a much more life like version of the cut out. Jason raised his eyebrows at the glare was receiving, as he waited for the shop owner to reply.
The explorer was wearing a loose fitting white shirt and leather jacket, his Hollywood curls looking smarter and fuller than they did in the photos. He was of considerable height as well, easily a few inches taller than himself. Which was infuriating, to say the least.
Bernard found his voice caught in his throat for a brief moment, before he coughed and began to speak sourly.
“You don’t look like much of an explorer to me. You look like you’ve been exploring luxury hotels for quite some time now. Why don’t you write about that? One man and his struggle with one hundred percent Egyptian cotton sheets.”
That was a pretty witty insult. He had to give himself an imaginary pat on the back for that.
Glancing over to survey Jason's reaction, the Irish man struggled to not let his self appreciation show. The blonde was momentarily stunned, before an even brighter smile flashed across his face.
Strangely, this one seemed more genuine than the first.
“Bernard, you’ve got a fine shop here. You're not afraid of saying what you feel. I’d like to shake you by the hand.”
The taller man strode towards him, still grinning, and stuck his hand out. Bernard regarded him with suspicion, not sure if shaking his hand was entirely safe. What if a weird spider or something got on him? Or he caught some disease? Explorers were not to be trusted, especially not this explorer.
Eventually the book keeper obliged to the other's request, and slipped his hand into his. Jason beamed at him, and shook firmly, his calloused fingers feeling warm and secure. Bernard almost began to feel as if he was floating away, becoming lost in the feeling.
How long had it been since he had touched someone genuinely like this? Touched someone other than Manny or Fran, and in a non violent way?
Too long was the answer. And he hadn't realized how much he had been craving it until now.
"Mr Black?"
He snapped sharply back to reality, where Jason was giving a confused look, and he realized he had yet to let go. Stuffing his hand quickly back into his pocket, Bernard scoffed and turned his head to the side, furiously ignoring the slight heat on his cheeks.
"Every thing is set for this evening this I assume?" he muttered, trying to change topics.
"Yes..." Jason muttered, peering at him slightly.
Bernard met his dark eyes, and gave him a glare. The explorer seemed taken a back.
What, had he expected to win him over with charm, like he had done to Fran and Manny?
Haha, no-way-José. He had a far superior intellect to those two blundering fools. What an idiot.
"Well, I'll leave you to it then."
He had had no intention of staying anyway. There was a bottle of relatively expensive wine in the kitchen with his name on it, that he had been saving for a particularly rough day. Which was obviously today.
The curtains breezed past him as Bernard entered the kitchen with more positivity than before. Hopefully he could succeed in dodging their guest for the remaining time that he was here, now that he had done the minimum and met him.
But his newfound mood was quickly ruined.
Mr Benson.
The devil stared at him from the kitchen table, sitting right beside his wine. How the fuck had this weirdo gotten in!?
A London scented breeze hit him, quickly answering his question as the polluted air assaulted his nose. The bloody window. Somebody had left it open.
Mr Benson mewed quietly at him, and the book seller froze.
"Don't you dare."
Mr Benson stuck out a paw, staring innocently as he touched the bottle lightly.
"Don't - YOU ABSOLUTE SHITTING BASTARD" he screamed, as the wine bottle hit the floor.
A loud smash echoed through the room, sending droplets of dark liquid flying everywhere. Mr Benson jumped, startled by the sound, and landed beside the window.
"Right! You thing-"
The Irish man lunged after Mr Benson, but was too slow, which left him grasping at empty air with an enraged expression.
That was the final straw. He had just signed his own fucking death certificate.