Work Text:
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“Formal doesn’t suit you,” the voice crackles through Fit’s earpiece.
“Excuse me?” He asks, whilst straightening his tie.
“I said formal doesn’t suit you,” the voice of his colleague repeats. “I mean I know you wear business casual at work but this is another level, like you’re at a wedding or some shit.”
“Not a wedding,” Fit lets out a breath as he flattens his shirt collar. “Just undercover at a renowned criminal’s fucking masquerade ball.”
“I can’t believe there’s a masquerade ball in this day and age!”
“You’re telling me, Foolish,” Fit laughs. “You’re not the one having to fucking infiltrate it.”
It’s Foolish’s turn to laugh. “That’s why you’re the boss, and get paid the big bucks!”
“Big bucks,” Fit scoffs. “I fucking wish.”
From its place on the counter, Fit’s phone breaks into the pre-programmed alarm.
He takes a deep breath.
“Right, it’s go time,” he announces, and drums his fingers against the counter. “Body cam is going off until i’m in position.”
He does a small wave to the mirror, and effectively to Foolish who is watching via the body-cam footage capturing the reflection.
“Noted,” Foolish says.
Fit temporarily mutes the earpiece and takes another deep breath. He watches his own reflection for a few moments, gently breathing in and out, silently psyching himself up the way he always does before a big mission.
The bathroom he’s currently in is far too garish to be to anyone’s specific taste, all pristine white marble with crown mouldings and shiny golden handles.
He finishes tapping out the short rhythm that is stuck in his head and takes a step back - checks his outfit is crisp and pristine, and nods to himself.
He picks up his masquerade mask, adorned in copper sparkle and jewels, and fixes it in place, making sure it doesn’t knock his subtle earpiece out of place.
He doesn’t want to stand out, he wants to very much blend into the background and observe, gather as much intel as he can to move Project Rose Bush along - it’s been weeks since the criminal had even been sighted, and yet important artefacts were continuing to be stolen and the same criminal’s pacman themed calling card left at every scene.
All of the task force’s efforts over the last week had been put into tonight - forging an invitation just compelling enough to grant him access, which worked.
But now Fit is on his own, other than Foolish occasionally in his ear, and it’s honestly the way he prefers it - he works best alone, it’s the way he’s made it to the top of his career.
With a final check in the mirror, he leaves the bathroom and scans the lobby. It’s the same overbearing decor, the harsh lights bouncing from the pristine marble flooring.
People are flooding the lobby, couples ushering each other towards the ballroom and others congregating into small groups for pleasant conversation.
Immediately, Fit spots various wanted criminals from posters plastered all over headquarters, walking through the lobby without a care in the world.
He turns to face the wall and holds his phone to ear to cover the action of tapping his earpiece to life and relaying the sightings to Foolish.
“No way! Are they meeting for a huge orgy or something?” Foolish asks incredulously. “So many of these fuckers haven’t been seen in months!”
“Keep your cool,” Fit says in a low voice. “Gotta go, wait for further comms.”
“Of course,” Foolish responds, back into professional mode. “I’ll report these sightings to the other task forces.”
Fit disconnects the earpiece again and turns his attention towards the entrance to the ballroom.
He slips in behind a group of guests, as to not raise attention to himself with attending alone, and after a quick sweep of the perimeter heads to one of the back walls, where he has sight of the entire room.
There’s nothing to raise immediate alarm bells, other than various other wanted criminals that he can identify even behind the masks - but that’s not his problem tonight.
His problem is the supposed host of this event, who he supposes is absent so far given the fact that there’s an empty pair of thrones on the stage.
“Cocky little shit, aren’t we, Pablo?” Fit mumbles to himself as he makes his way over to the bar to grab a glass of something that will probably last him the entire night.
He continues to observe, swapping pleasantries and small talk with other guests, most preserving their anonymity behind their masks.
Fit feels pretty confident nobody will recognise him, he’s never been the face of the police headquarters despite being in charge, and this is the first task force he’s been actively this involved in beyond approving further funding or manpower.
Pablo irritates Fit, deeply. He’s too cocky, too arrogant. He hasn’t earned that right.
And Fit is determined to be the one that brings him down, or he’ll die trying.
He’s in the middle of discussing the recent weather changes with another guest when the music cuts out, the lights turn off in sync.
Some guests scream and gasp, but Fit maintains his cool and makes his way to the nearby wall, silently recalling every part of combat training he’s received. Just in case.
But then a blinding spotlight appears from nowhere and points at the stage, and a man steps on stage.
Even despite his mask, Fit estimates the man can’t have long since left his teenage years. He hosts a few blond streaks in his otherwise brunette hair, styled into a formal almost-quiff.
“What’s up, party people?” He shouts through his microphone.
It’s a complete juxtaposition to the otherwise stuffy atmosphere of the event so far, and Fit finds himself somewhat surprised when the crowd roars and cheers like they’re at a rave or concert.
“Are we ready to get fucked up?” The man asks, raising his arms as the crowd roars.
Fit chooses to take advantage of the darkness and activates his discreetly hidden body cam, to relay the footage back to Foolish back at headquarters.
“As much as I could do this all day,” The man continues, to another roar from the crowd, “As master of ceremonies it’s my responsibility to introduce your esteemed host - and no, he doesn’t pay me extra to call him that!”
The crowd laughs, and Fit rolls his eyes.
Fit’s instincts come in clutch as he manages to shut the body cam off at the exact second that the lights come back on.
The golden velvet curtains at the back of the stage pull back to reveal the very man Fit has been trying to put (and more importantly keep) behind bars for months now.
The applause is almost deafening, and Fit takes the chance to tap his earpiece to life.
“I have eyes on - repeat, it is definitely Pablo,” he reports, turning his body slightly towards the wall so if anyone looked, he could pretend he was coughing.
“Copy,” Foolish replies. “And you’re absolutely certain it’s him and not a double? It wouldn’t be the first time…”
“It’s him,” Fit confirms, his eyes fixed on the man on the stage, waving and bowing to the crowd’s cheers - his usual, signature smooth deep blue mask is this time adorned with jewels which contrast blindingly with the lights. “I’d bet my life on it.”
“If you’re sure,” Foolish says. “Remember, the goal isn’t necessarily to take him down tonight, we’re just on recon. Anything you can get to help us with Project Rose Bush.”
“I know,” Fit confirms, and has to refrain from rolling his eyes as someone in the crowd throws a deep red rose at Pablo’s feet, and he picks it up and makes a big show of tucking it behind his ear. “I’ll check back in later.”
He doesn’t wait for Foolish’s response, and shuts the earpiece down.
He continues observing from afar as a large majority of the crowd swarms Pablo as he steps down from the stage, and most of the rest of the crowd continues to applaud.
“Fucking theatrics,” Fit mumbles to himself and takes a sip of his drink.
The theatrics continue for the next ten minutes - everyone swarming around Pablo trying to hold his attention for longer than ten seconds, when realistically he only spins them around the dancefloor once before falling into another eager guest’s arms, only for the cycle to repeat.
He watches as an eager guest dashes over to her friend nearby where Fit is standing - she’s giggling like a schoolgirl getting noticed by her crush for the first time.
“He danced with me!” She gushes to her friend, who seems just as excited for her. “He put his hand on the small of my back and spun me around! He really did!”
Her friend escorts her away to the bar and out of Fit’s earshot, and so he directs his attention back to the dancefloor, where Pablo’s gaggle of fans does not seem to be thinning whatsoever.
The younger man that introduced him, the self proclaimed master of ceremonies, sits in the smaller throne onstage behind the live band, scrolling on his phone. His dark green jewelled mask now rests atop his quiff, all but cast aside.
Deducing that nothing about the current situation would be changing anytime soon - Fit only knows Pablo is still in the same place is when the spotlights catch his deep blue jewelled mask as he swaps between dance partners - Fit slowly makes his way out of one of the floor-to-ceiling doors and onto the long balcony overlooking the estate.
He heads to the far corner of the balcony, far out of earshot of any other guest and with all nearby windows closed. He pulls out his phone and holds it to his ear, and subtly taps his earpiece to life.
“Oh hey!” Foolish greets immediately. “How’s it going?”
“I’m bored out of my fucking mind,” Fit replies. “It’s like he’s the biggest celebrity in the world, everyone’s swarming him.”
“I mean, it is his party,” Foolish replies. “He’s not going to invite people that hate him and want to avoid him, is he?”
“I hate him,” Fit says.
“But you weren’t invited,” Foolish retorts. “You’re undercover.”
Fit grunts. “Have you reviewed the footage?”
“Yep,” Foolish replies, and Fit hears him typing in the background. “Guy’s name is Tubbo. Seems to have a clean record other than two counts of being a public nuisance, but wasn’t prosecuted. Seems like he’s a new recruit.”
Fit huffs out a breath. “Great. So not only can we pin any of his crimes on him, now Pablo’s actively fucking recruiting people.”
“Yet. We haven’t pinned any of his crimes on him yet. But you’re going to change that, right, boss?”
“Damn right, Foolish.”
“Hell yeah!” Foolish cheers, slightly too loudly that it causes feedback to echo through the earpiece. “Kick some ass!”
Fit taps the earpiece off and makes a show of tapping his blank phone screen before slipping the device back into his pocket.
He leans on the balcony for a few seconds, watching as his breath swirls in the cold night air and the fireflies dart around the towering trees.
He’s acutely aware of light footsteps walking over, but doesn’t let himself acknowledge them. He’s keeping the upper hand, they don’t have the element of surprise.
When another pair of arms drape over the balcony railing beside him, Fit casts a subtle side glance - and immediately he feels the slightest bit on edge.
The darkness doesn’t bounce from the dark blue jewels the way the indoor lighting does. But the dimmed outdoor lighting contrasts against Pablo’s dark hair, highlighting the occasional strands of dark blue that mix in with the jet black.
“It’s pretty here, right?” he asks, and Fit’s grip tightens on the balcony railing to stop himself from knocking the other man out cold. “I hire this estate out every so often.”
And Fit knows that, of course he knows that. Pablo’s parties are almost impossible to get into without invitation, it took weeks for the task force to create a convincing enough forged invitation for him tonight.
“Yeah, it’s real pretty,” Fit plays along, and fights the urge to grind his teeth in annoyance. “How’d you afford it?”
Pablo chuckles lightly. “Oh, you know, a bit of this and a bit of that. But let’s not discuss work, it’s awfully boring.”
Fit bites his tongue, and swallows back every witty remark that he’s dying to say. “So what should we discuss instead?”
“You,” Pablo replies without missing a beat. He repositions himself so that he’s leaning against the railing, and tilts his head to watch Fit. “Are you enjoying the party?”
He knows he should be playing the part of the dutiful, grateful party guest. But in his many years in policing and interrogating, he’s never found that a single snappy remark ruins a mission.
“A masquerade ball? What year do you think it is?”
Pablo is silent for a few seconds, before he bursts into laughter.
It’s an obnoxiously bubbly sound.
“Everyone else i’ve asked has said they love it!” Pablo says. “You don’t?”
Fit shrugs, still looking out over the landscape and purposefully glances in every direction other than the man beside him.
“I’ve been to better. And I don’t think it’s the party they’re trying to compliment.”
Pablo gasps dramatically, before laughing again.
“I don’t know what you’re implying.”
Fit shrugs again, hiding a smile as he feels the metaphorical weight of the debate fall in his favour.
“That’s too bad,” he says. “Maybe you’ll figure it out before the night’s over.”
“Oh, of that i’m certain,” Pablo replies, and Fit is acutely aware that Pablo slides along the railing ever so slightly to be closer to him. “But what i’m not certain of is where I know you from.”
Though Fit feels his heart begin beating faster, he’s a professional. He can handle this.
“Because i’m not one of your groupies?”
Pablo tilts his head again. “Sorry, one of what? Sometimes some phrases in English confuse me, my first language is Portuguese so if there’s no direct translation, then…”
At least that explains the accent, Fit thinks. He tucks the piece of information into the back of his mind.
“I just meant that you have no shortage of people that you can take home tonight. Get my drift?”
Even with his mask intact, Fit notices Pablo’s face contort in mild disgust.
“Fuck no, I don’t want anyone here like that!” He says, sticking out his tongue for emphasis of his distaste.
Admittedly, Fit does have to bite back a laugh at the sight.
“At least, nobody that i’ve spoken to up until now.” Pablo adds, and takes another small step closer.
Before Fit has chance to respond, Tubbo bursts out of the door and runs over to them, breathless.
“There you are, Pa-“ he’s cut off as Pablo stamps on his foot. “Ouch, what the fuck?”
“Sorry, it’s dark,” Pablo smiles sweetly.
“You can be such a prick,” Tubbo shakes the injured foot in the air for a moment or two. He then notices Fit. “Who’s this guy?”
Pablo meets Fit’s eyes and smiles. “A friend.”
Tubbo looks between the two of them and shrugs. “Whatever. Can you just get back in there? I’ve ran out of excuses to stop people looking out of here for you, I think they’re ten seconds from chasing me with pitchforks.”
Pablo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, we’ll be inside in a moment. Tell that band to cue my favourite song.”
Tubbo nods and jogs back inside.
“So, are you going to join me inside or just stay by the back wall all night?” Pablo asks, placing a hand on his hip.
“Lucky guess,” Fit laughs. “There’s no way you were able to notice me when you were constantly surrounded by so many people.”
Pablo hums. “I notice more than you think.”
Before Fit can fully decode what that means, Pablo holds out a hand.
“May I have this dance?”
Fit looks down at the other man’s outstretched hand, then back at his covered face, slightly widened eyes and some colour dusted across his cheeks just below where the mask ends.
“I don’t really dance.”
Pablo laughs. “Yet you came to a masquerade ball.”
“Alone. I came alone, so I wouldn’t have to dance with anyone.”
“Or you didn’t have anyone to dance with,” Pablo challenges, and wiggles his hand. “And now you do.”
“You realise there’s dozens of people in that room who would probably kill each other to dance with you, choose one of them.”
Undeterred, Pablo shakes his head. “I’m good. Whilst we dance, you can tell me all the ways I can make my next party not shitty.”
Weighing up his options quickly in his mind, Fit takes the other man’s hand and allows himself to be lead onto the dancefloor, central to the other couples swirling around.
“Who leads?” Fit asks in the few second break between songs.
“I’m sick of leading,” Pablo replies.
Fit nods and wraps his arms around Pablo’s body, and Pablo wraps his arms around Fit’s neck in turn.
Fit still wants to knock him out cold, but less so than before. There’s an element of vulnerability in what Pablo said before.
Before another word can be exchanged, the band starts back up with the next song, and Fit forces himself to play the part of someone who definitely doesn’t want to arrest the man in his arms.
Pablo smiles up at him, and maintains the eye contact throughout most of the song.
Fit can hear muffled conversation of people standing around the dancefloor, mainly from Pablo’s wannabe groupies and their disgust at how Fit is getting an entire dance.
To say that his whole goal is to stay in the background, stay hidden amongst the crowd, he could be doing a better job.
But on the other hand, he couldn’t realistically be in a better position to perform his reconnaissance gathering.
The question of ‘who is dancing with Pablo?’ comes up more and more often as the song carries on, and it makes Fit grow increasingly uncomfortable.
So when the song eventually ends, Fit takes a step back, forcing Pablo to drop his arms from around his neck.
“What’s wrong?” Pablo asks, looking around, causing each light to bounce from his jewelled mask and probably blinding everyone in a nearby radius.
“The song is over.” Fit maintains his composure, but is very much aware that many sets of eyes are on him currently, which isn’t ideal for an undercover mission.
“But my favourite song is coming next,” Pablo takes Fit’s hand. “You’re not going to leave me alone for my favourite song, are you?”
He looks up at Fit with hopeful eyes, and runs his thumb across the back of Fit’s hand.
Fit quickly realises that to walk away now would not only draw more attention to himself, but would also effectively eliminate any chance of being able to infiltrate any future events hosted by Pablo.
So to maintain the upper hand, Fit wordlessly drops Pablo’s hand and wraps his arms around the other man’s torso again, and pulls him closer.
He hears Pablo gasp, and smiles. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Pablo says, and clears his throat before wrapping his arms around Fit’s torso in turn.
The song kicks in then - a slow, sultry beat in complete contrast to the uppity music choices played thus far in the ball.
“This is your favourite song?” Fit asks.
“Yeah,” Pablo replies. “Do you like it?”
Fit shrugs. “Doesn’t really match the vibe of a masquerade ball.”
Pablo laughs, and pulls Fit closer. “You’re really hard to please.”
Fit shrugs again. “I just know what I like.”
Pablo licks his lips and meets Fit’s gaze. “I like that.”
And feeling the odds fall even more into his favour, Fit feels a sense of pride wash over himself.
As the song continues, Pablo’s dance moves get increasingly suggestive, to the point that he’s practically grinding his hips against Fit - and it’s not a particularly unenjoyable experience by any means.
Fit even lets himself enjoy the sensation until the end of the song, at which point he - somewhat… annoyingly, regrettably - steps back, putting a definitive space between them.
“Leaving so soon?” Pablo pouts. “I thought we were just starting to have fun.”
“You only asked me to stay for your favourite song, and I did. Now i’m going to get some air.”
Pablo licks his lips again and nods. “I get it. I’ll find you later, though!”
It’s not a question, and Fit knows it.
“Sure,” he replies before slipping out of the growing crowd on the dancefloor, guests falling over themselves to be Pablo’s next dance partner.
Fit escapes onto the balcony and gets back into the corner and taps his earpiece back to life with his phone to his ear.
“What the fuck is happening?” Foolish asks immediately. “You’ve been gone for ages!”
“I was dancing,” Fit replies, and rolls his eyes at the uproarious laughter that erupts from the other end of the communication.
“You? Dancing?” Foolish says through his laughter. “What happened to ‘after last year’s Christmas party I won’t dance until i’m in the grave’?”
“Yeah, keep laughing, Foolish. Just remember I can have you on desk duty and cleaning bathrooms for the next six months.”
“But you won’t, oh supreme overload superintendent detective chief guy,” Foolish says. “So why the fuck were you dancing?”
“I guess Pablo took a shine to me, I don’t know, but he wanted me to dance with him.”
Foolish whistles. “No fucking way the way we finally get this guy in jail is because he wants to fuck you.”
Fit sighs. “Foolish, please just focus on the work. Do some more research because I am a hundred percent certain that Pablo isn’t his real name.”
“But we’ve already done so much research, that’s definitely his-“
“That’s an order, Foolish.”
Fit shuts down the earpiece.
Yes, Foolish is a friend as well as a colleague, but getting results is absolutely paramount for Fit. If that means needing to remind Foolish of that from time to time, so be it.
Fit decides then to do another perimeter sweep, slowly strolling across the balcony and then throughout the ballroom, listening out for any useful intel.
There isn’t really any, just increasingly drunken ramblings from party guests.
He wonders who these people are, are they all criminals like Pablo? Ones the police aren’t even aware of yet? Are some of the guests just socialites that get invited to all the exclusive parties? Are some of them Pablo’s recruits? Listening for intel like Fit is? Are some of them private investigators, wanting to take Pablo down for themselves?
Over Fit’s dead body. He’s been working on this for far too long to let somebody else have the glory.
And with the way that he sees Pablo looking around the room, only stopping when he spots Fit, Fit knows he’s onto something.
He waits patiently, leaning against the wall sipping a fresh glass of whiskey, letting himself enjoy the atmosphere for a while knowing he’s making significant progress.
Pablo is still the centre of attention, but Fit never misses the stolen glances that Pablo occasionally casts his way, in between his dances with his seemingly neverending barrage of fans.
Eventually, the band announces they are onto their last few songs, and the ball as a whole begins to wind down - people begin to slowly make their way out of the ballroom (not without thanking the host profusely), but not Fit.
After filming the atmosphere for the past few minutes, when he sees Pablo making his way over to him, he pretends to fix his jacket and turns the disguised body cam off.
“Hello again,” Pablo greets with a smile. His cheeks are red from all of the dancing, definitely not helped by the mask being still tightly fixed to his face.
Fit watches him over the rim of his glass. “Hello.”
“Did you enjoy my party, in the end?” Pablo asks.
Fit shrugs. “Neutral.”
Pablo hums, before reaching out and taking Fit’s glass of whiskey, downing the contents in one large gulp, holding his gaze the entire time.
“I suppose l have to make it up to you, then, you know?” Pablo steps closer. “I can’t have any of my guests leaving my party unhappy.”
“I don’t think that’s something you can control,” Fit replies nonchalantly.
“See, that’s a problem for me,” Pablo taps his chin. “Because I like being in control.”
“That makes two of us,” Fit says.
Pablo smiles, and leans into Fit’s personal space. He runs his finger down the lapel of Fit’s suit jacket.
“But then again, it’s good to mix things up every so often.”
His eyes are boring into Fit’s at this point, there’s a sparkle in them that entices Fit to the point that he’s willing to see where Pablo is going to take this, just for the fun of it.
“So i’ve heard,” Fit says with a nod.
“You intrigue me,” Pablo continues, toying with the hem of Fit’s jacket. “And I don’t quite know why.”
“I’m quite an intriguing guy, what can I say,” Fit replies.
Pablo grins with impossibly white teeth. “And I like that in a man.”
“Where are you going with this, Pablo?” Fit challenges the other man, standing taller and using what little height difference they have to his advantage.
“Well,” Pablo runs his finger back up the lapel of the jacket, and up to the collar of Fit’s shirt. Then, with no warning, he crooks his finger under the knot of Fit’s tie and yanks on it, so they are face to face. “Gosto de você.”
He uses his free hand to, for the briefest of moments, hold Fit’s. “My car will be outside in two minutes. I’ll let you decide where I go with this from there.”
It absolutely is not what Fit was expecting, not by a long shot. And what he also wasn’t expecting is the warmth that blooms in his stomach at the prospect of where the night could go.
Pablo leans in and presses a fleeting kiss to Fit’s cheek before winking, spinning on his heel and flaunting out of the room.
And Fit thinks he might have encountered his brain short-circuiting for the first time. Is he seriously considering this?
And he absolutely refuses to acknowledge his skin tingling from where Pablo kissed it.
He leaves the ballroom and reenters the bathroom he was in before the party began.
He removes his mask and splashes cold water over his face. It’s a shocking sensation against his warm skin, but not unwelcomed.
His mind is racing as he watches his reflection - he’s gathered so many tidbits of information throughout the night that he’s locked in his cast iron memory to relay to his team, but does that need to be right now?
But at the same time, is he seriously considering following up a proposition by a man that is plaguing his career, threatening to be the first stain on Fit’s perfect arrest record?
He takes a deep breath and taps his earpiece.
“Foolish? The party’s over,” He greets his colleague.
“Already?” Foolish questions. “From our intelligence we’ve gathered, his parties can last up to 24 hours - what happened?”
“No clue, but I think I know where Pablo is heading next,” Fit announces, tightening his grip on the counter.
“No way!” Foolish types something in the background. “How?”
“It doesn’t matter how,” Fit replies. He makes eye contact with himself in the mirror and nods decisively. “I’m going to need a car and i’ll follow him to wherever his next destination is.”
“Noted,” Foolish continues to type. “Need backup?”
“No,” Fit answers maybe a beat too quickly. “I’ve got this, just need the car.”
“Okay, I trust you, i’ll get someone to drop a car off and one of the patrols can take them back to the station.”
Fit nods, and fixes his mask back into place. “Thanks, Foolish.”
He doesn’t bother to switch the earpiece off again, just puts his phone to his ear as he leaves the bathroom.
“Nearest undercover car is about two minutes away, is that okay?” Foolish relays.
Fit huffs a breath. “Kinda time sensitive here. Can’t you expedite it?”
“Hang on,” Foolish types even quicker in the background. “Give me like thirty seconds.”
Foolish’s end of the call goes silent, and Fit continues to walk to the entrance of the building before being embraced by the bitter night air.
But the most shocking sight - although, with what Fit knows about the man, it really shouldn’t be shocking - is Pablo leaning against a luxurious limousine, a tall glass of champagne in each hand.
Various guests cast longing glances Pablo’s way as they continue to spill out of the venue, but Pablo’s gaze (from what limited view Fit has of Pablo’s face) is fixed firmly on Fit.
He smirks as he holds out a glass towards Fit.
The initial shock almost causes Fit to drop his phone, but thankfully he doesn’t.
His earpiece crackles back to life.
“Okay i’ve got a car like a minute away that I can reroute. Do you still have sight of him?” Foolish asks.
Fit continues to watch Pablo, who maintains the eye contact, with a steady smile, contrasting deliciously with his mask’s jewels and rich colours of his velvet suit.
“Fit? Talk to me,” Foolish prompts.
Fit watches as Pablo takes a long sip of champagne, and follows up with licking his lips, and then smirking.
“No, Foolish, he’s gone. We’ll have to get him next time.”
—