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It was a stupid thing to do. Fucking stupid, he should never have thought that Leon might even slightly feel the same.
He’s the Director of NCIS for fuck’s sake, he has a family, he’s lost a wife.
He could never want Alden, who’s fascination with birds is only fascinating to himself, who’s ability to find good pastries is a short-term fix to any long-term solution (well, most, he’s not sure cannoli could help with a bullet wound), who’s successfully driven away so many amazing people, who’s made a multitude of crappy decisions, who buries himself in his work and his hobbies so he can forget, just for a while.
The signs had been there for a few months, or so he’d thought. Vance calling him up to his office to ‘just check in’ possibly more than was really needed. He’d asked questions, in a way that no one else really had, trying to find out more about him, not just his life.
And when he’d gone off on a rant about the variation in migration in house sparrows, Vance had shown interest (he doesn’t know anyone whose eyes don’t glaze over the second he mentions ‘partial migration’).
It had become a habit, one he’d let himself slip into all too easily, saving one of whatever pastry he’d bought that day and bringing it to Leon ‘in exchange’ for an ornithology fact.
He’d almost thought nothing of it, until Jess had pointed it out one day.
“Don’t some birds give gifts to their potential mates?”
“It’s not as common as in other animals. Well, some birds bring prey items but they more rely on colour, nest building, dancing, singing, lekking. Oh, and bowerbirds of course, they build these magnificent-“
“Parker. Are you missing my point on purpose?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re on about, Knight.”
“You taking that one up to the Director?”
“I am. Quarkbällchen are a favourite of his, I promised to save him one for when he gets off The Hill.”
She’d sent him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher then gone back to her reports, leaving him standing there curiously.
It hadn’t been until he was halfway up the stairs that he’d realised what she’d been talking about.
Was he, Alden Parker, courting the Director of NCIS?
Only two days later, intruders had broken into Vance’s house.
Alden knows he’d been the first call because he’s the most Senior Field Agent… but a tiny part of him had wanted to believe it was because of the way Leon had been able to take a steadying breath when he’d picked up the phone, like he hadn’t been sure everything was alright until that moment.
And, yes, okay, his protective nature had won out and he’d insisted on following Vance to Berlin (no protection would ever be good enough for the Director of NCIS, he’s far too important to entrust into anyone else’s care) and suddenly they’d been alone on a ten-hour flight.
Ten hours where they’d made quiet, comfortable conversation about anything and it hadn’t really mattered but it also sort of had, in a way, more than any conversation he’d had in years.
Leon had slept for a while and Alden had tried not to watch him, tried not to remember the flash of panic from when he’d first picked up that two am phone call and tried not to think about what it all might mean.
When he’d first met Lena, he’d begun to think that he couldn’t possibly have read the situation correctly, that this woman is everything Vance could want and there was clearly a connection between them.
Leon had been quick to correct him, admitting that, yes, they’d been bonded through some tough operations and they’d remained close ever since, only getting closer when she’d supported him after his wife’s death but no, it had never once been like that.
He hadn’t known which feeling elated him more, the idea that maybe… maybe he hadn’t misread, or how desperate Leon had been to dissuade the idea that he might be otherwise involved.
The more time they spend in Berlin, the more he sees that they’re alike in so many ways. Filling their lives with their jobs and their hobbies, making it their mission to support their people without really making space to look at themselves because they’ve just lived too much life for one person to ever truly come to terms with.
“You miss being married?” he’d asked.
Alden hadn’t been able to bring himself to answer, instead deflecting off in an arguably worse route.
Movies. Dates.
It’d turned into another thing they have in common.
They’re both lonely.
When the case had finally wrapped up, through the twists of diamonds and Lena’s secret adoptive child, corrupt BND agents and gun battles, Alden had left Vance at Lena’s side.
He hadn’t been alone long though, Leon had found him again, asking for his advice in that easy way that they do – there’s a trust between them, too.
“You’ll know what to do,” he’d told him.
And he’d believed it; it’s one of the things he likes most about Leon, his stern conviction and the moral compass that guides him. One where a grey area exists but so does a line that must never be crossed.
In many ways, he thinks that his quiet but certain belief, suddenly verbalised, had been a confession in itself.
He’d thought that Leon had understood that, had noticed it in his eyes.
He’d asked him on a date. That’s what he’d thought, he’d thought that with all their talk of couples at the movies, how could they go as anything else? That for all this trip has brought them closer than ever, how could they continue as if nothing has changed?
And so, as they’d sat there in the dark, one large tub of popcorn between them, Alden had dared to let himself believe that none of this had been in his head.
Because what if he just reached out, what if he just made the first move? He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, just that point of connection. If it’s simply a hand to hold then that would be enough, he’s not looking to dive head-first into anything.
Just to test the waters.
Second guessing himself, he’d sent Jess an instantly regretted message.
I feel sorry for the bowerbird, putting so much effort into creating something when he doesn’t even know it will work.
It’s an almost nonsensical sentence with no prior context but she’d responded within a minute, sending only the link to an article on the sky-dance of the Northern Harrier, describing the way they twist and turn through the air in incredible acrobatic feats like it’s only them and their mate in the entire sky.
That had made him smile. And, with a burst of confidence that would have surprised even his nosiest (though she’d deny it) agent, he’d tucked his phone into his pocket and, in the cool blue illumination of only the pre-movie adverts… he’d reached for Leon’s hand where it was resting, beside their popcorn.
And that had been where it’d all fallen apart because Leon Vance is the Director of NCIS for fuck’s sake, it doesn’t matter what they have in common or how many moments they share.
Alden will never be good enough for him, how could he be?
The way Vance had snatched his hand away as if the touch burnt, that had said more than an entire after-action report could. And it had hurt more than any bullet wound.
Despite all the papers that have discussed how much birds feel, scrutinised what level of sentience they have, in this moment, Alden believes whole-heartedly that if they could feel like he does in this moment, humans would know.
It’s a hurt that’s instinctively communicated, it crosses language barriers, it crosses species.
It’s a hurt that lingers in the silence, in the too small space that somehow stretches endlessly between them during the rest of the movie.
Alden’s hands stay clenched into fists in his lap while Leon’s twitch towards him every few minutes, each time giving him a tiny flash of unwelcomed hope that he resolutely squashes flat.
By the time the credits roll, he just wants out of there. He wants to escape to his hotel room, escape back to America, maybe even escape to Middle Of No-Where, Alaska with Gibbs because how could he have been so stupid.
He ducks into the bathroom instead, leaving Vance to deal with their barely eaten popcorn.
It’s deserted and he stares at his own haunted reflection, cataloguing each line on the too-familiar face and trying to figure out how he can possibly fill this deep empty pit in his stomach, until someone else walks in and he forces himself out of there.
Vance is talking on the phone in a corner when he reappears, Alden hears the last of his words, “Well you clocked it straight away,” then he catches his eye, drops his gaze and rasps into his phone, “I’ve got to go, rest well.”
“Everything okay, Director?” Alden asks, sure there’s something giving him away in his voice or on his face but maybe past caring. These last few hours have been excruciating and he wants to sleep that feeling away.
Or maybe do a little research. If birds can grieve, feel loss, why wouldn’t they be able to feel rejection?
“It is, just checking on Lena,” he confirms, smile tight until it softens to something that yesterday, he might have read more into, “and as I said, you can call me Leon.”
Alden nods, wordlessly. He doesn’t have anything to say, not really.
“Are you ready to head back to the hotel?”
Again, he silently nods. He can feel Vance looking at him, studying him, but he keeps his gaze averted.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the hand reaching for him.
He wants to flinch away, but something stops him. Maybe hope, maybe fear, but whatever it is, it stops him from resisting as Leon slowly reaches out, picks up his hand and interlocks their fingers.
Alden’s brain short-circuits. He doesn’t know what to think and he certainly doesn’t know what to say.
Except… Leon’s hand feels right in his. It kind of feels like he’d expected it to, even though he isn’t aware of having thought about how it should feel, like the embodiment of the stern comfort of a boxer who’s spent years defending, defending himself and others.
The calloses from years of firearm use are in the same place as his own and he knows they must still be sore from their resilient defence only a few nights ago, but they’re somehow soft.
He doesn’t realise they’ve started moving until they’re a block away, Leon guiding him along through the bustling streets of Berlin, an entire city full of people whose evenings are only just beginning. It’s alive, the very air around them buzzing with it.
Almost unconsciously, he swings their joined arms, just a little, just enough to feel the way they move together.
Leon turns to smile at him, nothing big or flashy, but fond in a pure sort of way that settles right above his heart.
Alden feels the loss of the city, stepping through the doors and into the entrance way of the hotel. It hasn’t taken them long enough to get there; he truly feels that he could have wandered the streets of the city for hours with Leon, getting lost in the unfamiliarity of it all.
They don’t speak a word in the elevator – neither of them really seems to know what to say.
And it’s only when they reach his room, the room right next door to Leon’s, that they fully look at each other.
That small smile is back on his face, the one that says whatever is happening in this moment, is exactly what is meant to be happening.
Then he’s leaning in to press a lingering kiss on Alden’s cheek, hand coming up to rest fleetingly on his shoulder, and it feels right. It even feels right when he pulls away, when they aren’t touching anymore, when Leon smiles, just once more, and whispers, “Night, Park.”
And with that, he’s gone, into his own room. But Alden doesn’t feel abandoned.
He feels like this is the start of something.