Chapter Text
White cursed and grumbled under his breath as he pursued Black down Canal Street. He pulled out his gun, steadied his aim, and fired a shot at his rival’s head. Of course, Black ducked into an alley at the last minute; the bullet buried itself into the brick wall behind him.
“You better get your eyes checked, old man!” Black said. He sounded positively gleeful.
“Old?” White was incensed. “I’m three months younger than you!”
“But I’m in better shape!”
White followed Black down the alleyway that twisted and turned between the tall, imposing buildings. He had to dodge trash cans, oil puddles, and heaps of garbage. His legs and lungs ached from all the running and sweat coated his face in a fine sheen. Black wasn’t exactly wrong; neither one of them were spring chickens. Immortal or not, they were still middle-aged men and their bodies reacted accordingly. Maybe it was time to finally put in a request for desk duty…
Then Black threw a trash can lid at him as though it were a Frisbee. White dodged just in time, grinning despite his annoyance. He suddenly couldn’t imagine giving all this up. The thrill of the chase, the excitement when he caught Black…and, oh, how he loved catching Black! There was something about the other man that simultaneously enraged and titillated him. White couldn’t explain it—not to anybody, certainly not to himself—but it was a feeling that had persisted for years. And it wasn’t going away any time soon.
He always secretly hoped that Black felt the same way.
The alleyway finally came to a dead end, and Black nearly ran into the wall of a condemned building. He had just backed away, momentarily confused, when White caught up to him. He pressed his gun against the back of his rival’s head and pulled back the hammer.
“End of the line, asshole,” White said. God, did he love his job.
Black slowly put up his hands. “I surrender.”
“Hand them over. Slowly. No sudden movements.”
Scowling, Black reached into his trench coat pocket and rooted around. White watched carefully. It would be so like Black to have a trick up his sleeve, a last-minute booby trap. They were both spies. They were both cunning and deceitful. It was part of the job description, after all.
Instead of trickery, however, Black pulled out the pack of cigarettes and silently handed it to White. “Smoking’s a killer, you know,” Black said.
"Yeah, yeah.” White snatched the pack out of his rival’s hand and lit up two cigarettes. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
White leaned against the wall and studied the other man through the rising gray smoke. “You’re really something, Black,” he said. “Do you know how much I pay to have these things imported from France?”
"You can just buy cigarettes here. It’s not like they’re illegal or anything.”
“Not Gauloises,” White said. He blew smoke into Black’s face. “Smell that?”
Black fanned the smoke away, looking annoyed. “Tobacco?”
“Elegance. Class. Prestige.” White smiled smugly as he knocked ashes onto Black’s boots. “Things I have that you don’t.”
Black didn’t look too impressed. He leaned against the brick wall and kicked one boot up. With his cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his hat pulled low against the sun, he looked like a cowboy taking a break from wrangling wayward cattle. It made White’s stomach flip in a way that he had never before experienced…well, except for all the other times he was ever around Black. He knew what it meant. He wasn’t stupid. Just scared. But only a little bit. Not a whole lot.
Great spies have to be daring. They have to laugh in the face of danger even if it means being embarrassed to hell and back. White took a deep breath and blew smoke out of his nostrils. He had chased Black all the way out into the middle of the city. The least he could do was just ask.
“Hey…listen,” White said. He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced when his fingers came away with sweat. “Are you, uh, are you doing anything Friday…?”
Black raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I might have an assignment.”
"No, you don’t. I pulled your intel for the week. You’re all clear.”
“Really? You went through all that trouble just to find out my schedule?”
White kicked at the ground and tried not to chew on his cigarette in frustration. This wasn’t going the way he wanted. He never had this much trouble asking women to hang out. But Black always made him feel so tongue-tied and nervous. He didn’t even have to say anything. Just one flutter of those feathery eyelashes, one smirk of that pouty mouth, and White was reduced to a puddle of hormonal anxiety.
“I don’t have any assignments, either,” White said. “I mean, just paperwork and stuff, but I can get that done in no problem. I have a lot of free time, too.”
Black pushed his hat back so that some of his dark hair fell over his forehead. His pouty mouth twisted into a pretty smile that made White’s heart race. He sucked on his cigarette too quickly and inhaled more smoke than he intended. He bent over, hands on his knees, as he hacked up a lung. His face bloomed red and hot. God, he was such a loser, and in front of Black!
“Hey, are you okay?” Black came over and began thumping White on the back with his hand. “I told you, White. These things are a killer.”
White tearfully grimaced up at him. “Then why are you still smoking, Mr. High-and-Mighty?”
Black regarded his own cigarette coolly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I was actually going to quit. Got that stupid nicotine patch and everything.”
For some reason, this made White’s heart sink. He enjoyed these little smoke breaks in between skirmishes. Just leaning against an old building, sharing a cigarette with your sworn enemy, the one person who knew you inside and out. It was like the eye of the hurricane where everything was soft and still. Time slowed down to a crawl and things became clearer.
”So why haven’t you yet?” White asked.
Black’s smile widened. His eyes twinkled. He looked positively magical. “I’ll miss spending all this time with you,” he said.
“Black.” White’s voice was dry. “Listen. About Friday night…do you want to—?”
That’s when they heard it. A little meowing somewhere in the alleyway, back in the direction from which they had just come. Black looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed. “Hey, did you hear that?”
White was irritated. “Yeah, but it was probably just the wind or something. Now…about Friday. Maybe we could—"
They heard the meowing again, louder now. Black stubbed his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot and went rooting around for the source of the noise. He looked like a bloodhound on a scent trail. Just nosing around until he found what he was looking for. White followed him, almost impressed with how determined Black could be.
“If only you applied yourself like this to your missions,” White said. “You would probably earn more medals.”
“Probably,” Black said. His tone was even, but White noticed how his rival’s shoulders seemed to sag a little at the comment. White immediately hated himself. He would kick himself in the ass if he was physically capable of doing so. Him and his big mouth. It was always getting him into trouble!
“Hey, Black…? Black?”
Black looked around. It was obvious he was a little annoyed. “What?”
“About what I said…I was just kidding, you know. Medals aren’t everything.”
Black just blinked at him before he resumed his search. “I guess not.”
White crossed his arms as he trailed behind the other man. “You’re still a great spy,” he continued. “In fact, you’re one of the greatest! I don’t know how your leaders can’t see it when it’s so obvious.”
Black stopped walking and turned to fully face him. White’s breath caught in his throat. He took a deep breath and ordered himself to just do it. Just ask Black out for Friday. It doesn’t even have to be a date if he doesn’t want it to be. The worst thing he can do is say no…right?
“White,” Black finally said. “That was one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”
White smiled in relief. “I can say nicer things, if you give me the chance.”
Black smiled back. They were so close, too close, tucked away in this section of the universe where nobody else was invited. Black reached a hand out to touch White’s face. His movements were slow, tantalizingly slow, almost as though he knew how much he drove White crazy. White braced himself for what was to come…
The cat cried out again. It was extremely close; they were probably standing right next to it. The moment was gone. Black pulled away and walked over to a nearby trashcan. He reached inside without a care in the world. White couldn’t help but feel disgusted.
“You didn’t put on your gloves!” he said. “Black, aren’t you afraid of germs?”
“We’re immortal, White, germs won’t do anything to us.”
White folded his arms across his chest. “It’s still disgusting.”
“No…it’s cute!”
Black resurfaced and turned to look at White with a big dopey smile on his face. He was holding a little black and brown striped kitten in his bare hands. The kitten was very small with a tiny face and even tinier pink nose. It meowed pitifully at White, who wasn’t moved.
“It’s a cat,” he said.
“It’s adorable! I think it’s a girl. What’s she doing here all by herself? She’s too little to be on her own.”
“Who cares?” White asked. “It’s just a mangy, flea-bitten cat.”
Black looked disgruntled. “Where’s your heart?” he asked.
“In my chest just like yours.”
Much to White’s surprise, Black opened up his trench coat and stuck the kitten inside. He buttoned it up until she was snug and secure against his chest. Her little head poked out, her whiskers all askew and in disarray. She looked like roadkill, but White didn’t say that. He didn’t want Black any more annoyed with him.
“So what are you going to do with…her?” he asked. “Drop her off at the shelter?”
“What? No! We can’t leave a little bitty baby in a nasty shelter.”
“So…what do we do?”
Black smiled. “We’ll take care of her!” he said. “Until we find her owner.”
“How are you so sure she has an owner?”
“She doesn’t have any fleas or mites. She’s in pretty good shape so I don’t think she’s been out here too long.” Black stroked the kitten’s head. “Where’s your family?”
White shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to let his irritation get the best of him. He had never been a fan of cats. He always had dogs. It seemed like every childhood memory of his involved a dog or puppy in some way. They appeared in many of his photos growing up…well, the photos that his mother and father had actually bothered to take. Letting him have dogs was the only thing his parents really did right by him and he treasured every bit of it. Cats, on the other hand, had never crossed the threshold into the family home. His mother in particular didn’t like them. They had fleas and were mean, she said. Dogs were much friendlier and way more loyal.
That’s what White grew up hearing and that’s what he believed now. He watched Black coo over the kitten, confounded. How could the man who had traumatized and killed him countless times be so tender and caring? It didn’t make any sense.
And yet White wished that Black was petting him on the head and stroking his cheeks and whispering nice words to him. The thought made him practically quake in his boots.
“So…what do we do now?” he asked.
“We’ll take her home and give her a bath,” Black said. “But first we got to buy her some necessities—cat food, litter, and lots of toys for her to play with.”
This whole thing was really getting out of hand. White wasn’t sure why they just couldn’t drop the cat off at the nearest shelter and be done with it. She wasn’t even their responsibility! He didn’t understand Black’s motives. He didn’t understand them at all.
Black started walking down the alleyway, holding the cat against his chest. White stood there for a moment by himself. He thought about what he should do. Should he just go home and forget about Friday? Try again when Black wasn’t so preoccupied with this stupidity? He stubbed his cigarette out and reluctantly followed his rival back down the alley.
They took the bus to the largest pet store in the city. White was so sure that the bus driver wouldn’t let them on with the cat, but she didn’t give them a second glance. She just told them that they both needed exact change in order to ride.
Black and White fed their coins into the little slot box and then sat down together. White took the window seat. He stared outside, chin in hand, watching the cars and people go passing by in blurs of color. He closed his eyes as he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. He wasn’t sure why he was so bothered by the cat’s presence. It was just a cat. Nothing more, nothing less. It was completely and totally inoffensive.
He and Black meet at the café for the first time. They are all smiles, shaking hands and putting their arms over each other’s shoulders. Strangers on the street will look at them and think they’re old friends meeting up. But they’re still both spies from enemy nations. They are both there to take the other one out. Black pours coffee into White’s cup and White offers him some cream. Both have been poisoned and both spies know this. So they dump the contaminated coffee onto the ground where two stray cats are nosing around looking for something to drink…
White felt something drop into his lap, snapping him out of his memory. He nearly shot out of his seat. He looked down and saw the cat nestled in his trench coat, looking up at him with big brown eyes. White fought the instinctive urge to shove her off of him. Instead, he held his hands up as though he were afraid of touching her.
“Black, what the hell?”
“She didn’t want to be in my coat anymore,” Black said. “She needs some fresh air.”
“Why can’t you put her on your lap?”
Black looked amused. “What’s wrong, White? She’s just a kitten. She’s not going to attack you or anything.”
White scowled. “Flea bitten mongrel. How far to the pet store?”
“Not too far.” Black put his hands on his knees and looked over at White with a somewhat pensive expression. “Hey, White, can I ask you a question?”
White rolled his eyes. “You just did.”
“Do you remember our first mission?”
“Uh…no.”
“Not only are you heartless, but you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not heartless!” White took a deep breath and released it in an irritated sigh. “But, yes, I do remember our first mission. How can I not?”
“Those two cats…they weren’t supposed to be there…”
“We were in the middle of the city. It’s teeming with stray cats.” White indicated the kitten in his lap. “Like this thing.”
Black looked oddly guilty. “We tried to poison each other…and instead we poisoned—”
“We didn’t do it on purpose! They were collateral damage. Besides, you kill me all the time and you’ve never felt guilty over it.”
Black blinked. “Who says I don’t feel guilty?”
White blinked back before he turned back towards the window, cheeks red and hot. He tried to concentrate on anything else, but they were moving too fast down the street so nothing stayed still enough.
Just ask him out on Friday. Just invite him over for pizza and a movie. That’s it. That’s all. This isn’t really that hard. So stop being a giant baby and just ask!
“Hey, Black…” White rubbed his eyes fitfully and braced himself. “I was wondering…if you’re not busy on Friday night…do you want to…?”
“We’re here!” Black stood up and tugged on the yellow cord running along the window. He had to reach over White in order to do so. White glanced away. Black was way too close. White could smell his usual scent of stale cologne and cigarette smoke. If he leaned over to the right ever so slightly, his body would make contact with Black’s. The thought made his knees quake. Thank God he was sitting down.
The bus lurched to a stop. Black was already moving down the aisle to the doors. White was about to follow when he realized the kitten was still snuggled in his lap. Her eyes were closed and her tail was wrapped up tightly around her little body. She was fast asleep.
“White, are you coming?” Black was looking back at him inquisitively. “I can’t wait forever, you know.”
White scowled and carefully picked up the kitten. She opened her eyes a little and regarded him drowsily. White made a face at her before he carefully put her in his trench coat pocket. She practically sank into the fabric like a stone. Then White stood up and followed Black off the bus.