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There are whispers that swirl and slither in darkened corners and behind closed doors. Messages of rumor and truth passed from one host to the other in hushed tones and with furtive glances over shoulders. Whispers are a currency beholden to no value. Priceless and worthless in measures. The wrong word at the wrong time can get you killed. The right one can be salvation.
In a world built on shadowy steps, on the fringes of streetlight, and on desperate attempts to escape the clawing dissatisfaction of life; whispers dictate empires.
The only thing more powerful than a whisper, in his world, is a name. Ruthless, they call him. Ice-cold, after he committed parricide. Steady, in the following years, slow to anger and exacting in action. Warmaker, they call him now.
They've been in skirmishes, petty little fights over territory and supplies. Occasional bouts of self-defense when power-hungry cowards get it into their head that a lack of offense equates to weakness. Nothing on this scale. Nothing with the absolute leveling destruction of the past eighteen months, the decimation of organizations, their seats of power and their communities.
It's been a systematic dismantling. A campaign designed to sew paranoia, engineered to inspire terror, executed with brutal efficiency. Ice has spent more time holding strategic councils, perched in crow's nests and elbow deep in viscera than ever before. It's been child's play some days, watching Generals and Commanders scattering like ants, funneling down into rigged tunnels and hiding in not-so-safe houses. There are very few places that Ice cannot find and access, it turns out. They can't fight a ghost they can't see. They cannot fight the frightened whispers of their own people.
It's only taken as long as it has because Harrier's enterprising shithead of a son had heard of the first successful kidnapping attempt and decided to give it a go. The worst part is that it had worked, albeit temporarily. Ice had let the power of success blind him and Mav paid the price. That justice had been swift and all-consuming for that one. He hadn't even bothered with the subterfuge or the extended operation, just rolled him and his people through their pitiful defenses until Ice had stood in Harrier's office and offered him an ultimatum. The shame of it is that Ice probably would have let Harrier's son live, had he not pointed that gaudy, gold revolver at Mav the second time.
All this started over one man.
Keymaster, his people call Mav in fear and reverence. Arbiter, once it became clear who is at the center of Ice's crusade. Wayfinder, the one that sets the path.
Kingmaker.
**
Click. Click. Click. Click.
His steps echo and reverberate on the polished granite floor. Ice pushes his way through the weighty mahogany door that signals the true start of his realm.
This corridor is much busier, fit to bursting with low-level personnel and their day-to-day operations. There's a beat of stunned silence as people turn to look at him. Then they scramble to get out of the way. Some plaster themselves to the walls, some disappear into adjoining rooms. Most stand in quiet respect, watching him pass or bowing heads. Like a ship cutting through water, the whispers start in his wake. Ice doesn't break stride.
He follows the rabbit warren down, through and across multiple buildings, until the greetings become a little less pronounced, though no less reverent. Hollywood tries to start a conversation about new territory lines, final confirmation of which sections they're keeping and which they're handing to allies. Ice brushes him off. It can wait. He has a goal. He's saved a present for last.
The door to the carpool is opened before Ice can get there, welcoming the swelling sound of laughter, chatter, and tools. He can't help the slow-creeping smile as he rounds the corner to see Mav holding court, chatting with one hand in the engine bay and a gaggle of kids hanging onto his every word.
It was a suggestion Mav made about a month or so after he had his notebook back, and the moment that Ice had finally realized that he wasn't going to scare the man away. He wanted to teach the kids of families that work for Ice how to repair vehicles, keep them off the streets and away from some of the more suspect activities they dealt in while giving them useful skills whether they joined the life or not.
Ice had had a workshop fitted before the month was out. It's not everyday Mav does it, but three or four times a week this is where he'll be found. Still, it had taken a while for him to interface with a machine. Turns out he's blind while pulling on his power source and hadn't quite been ready for that without someone watching his back. Slider slamming him against a wall at gunpoint certainly hadn't helped that matter. But somewhere along the way Mav has decided that he's safe here, with or without Ice, and now he's smiling, veins as dark as used oil spider-webbing across his skin and sightless eyes as black as tar.
One of the kids, a young, skittish boy about the age of twelve - Justin, Ice thinks he's called - notices that they're no longer alone in the shop and freezes in place. Ice can't verbalize, even think about moving before Mav notices the change, reaching blindly to pull Justin behind him, detaching his hand from the engine in the same motion.
It takes a second for Mav's senses to come back, blinking and shifting as he re-enters his body. But then his face lights up, shoulders slumping in relief. "Hey, Ice. With you in a minute."
Ice watches as he turns back to the kids, dismissing them for the day with a smile and a wave. Justin stays firmly out of Ice's line of sight, hiding behind one of the older girls - Marissa, he knows - as the group pile out the back door. Most of the kids are smiling and laughing, throwing insults and jabs at one another between rounds of goodbyes. A couple of them even wave to Ice, which is unexpected.
Then they're out the door and Mav is on him like a man possessed. There's a tongue in his mouth before his brain catches up. It always catches him by surprise, always a little unexpected despite Mav's best efforts. But then his brain clicks into gear, and it becomes a joint event. He pulls Mav close, angling him just so and reveling in Mav's pliancy. Mav's hands grip Ice waist, sliding around to his back and carefully dodging the holster he's no longer shocked to find.
It's torture to pull away, he could lose himself in Mav for hours. But they're on a schedule and unfortunately people are waiting on them. He runs a hand along Mav's jaw just to feel him shiver before forcibly letting go and putting a couple of inches between them.
"Scared the shit out of me there. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?" Mav asks with a grin. Then his fingers skim Ice's bruised, split knuckles. "You've been fighting?"
"Something like that." He says noncommittally, struggling to stay focused on the task at hand. "I have something for you."
"A present?"
"Maybe. Come on, it's a walk away."
Ice holds the door open for him, earning a delighted little smile before they fall into step. Mav starts up an easy conversation about the kids, his day and his clients, which is all in all, a mixed bag of progress. Then he launches into an extended, in-depth discussion about a 1972 MG Midget someone brought in today; which has been something of a challenge for the first time in years. Ice doesn't particularly pretend to understand; they both know his specialism is bikes and even that is more enthusiasm than knowledge. But Mav explains anyway and Ice listens like a man starved of water.
The labyrinthine walk takes them down into the true bowels of the complex with concrete walls and steel lined walls. The personnel getting sparser and sparser, more heavily armored too. He can see Mav's gaze skittering over them, cataloguing their uniforms and faces. He hasn't been down here yet. Had said no when offered. It isn't hard to work out why. Ice's father had modeled it for fear, disorientation and intimidation and what's more intimidating than a brutalist prison?
Ice lays a hand on Mav's lower back. A small reminder that he isn't alone, an apology for bringing him down here at all. It's not Ice's favorite place either. Too many clawing memories of spending nights, weeks sometimes, in the cells down here or being hunted through the maze-work of corridors for transgression of being a child. At least he has wrangled the safest room on the highest level he could. Then they turn into an empty, seemingly endless corridor with the inexplicable sound of dripping water coming from somewhere.
"This something, it's not a person to torture. Is it?" Mav tries to joke but it comes out a hair too strained. Ice doesn't respond, it hasn't occurred to him before now that this might not be something Mav wants. Mav frowns, reaching for Ice's arm to stop them. "Ice-"
"It's not. Or… it can be. It's your choice."
"It's my…" Mav shakes his head. "This isn't some kind of final loyalty test? You know, prove you can escape bindings and navigate in the dark with nothing but a paperclip and a junior mint? Or is it more a, kill this innocent 16-year-old or never darken my doorstep again situation?"
"What-? N-no. What kind of person do you think I am?" Ice's heart sinks through his stomach, is this—? Even after all this time? Ice had thought… after Mav had said home.
He must not keep it off his face as well as he should because Mav reaches out his other hand until he's holding Ice in place. "I don't- that's not what I meant." Mav says gently. "It was a poor joke. I'm taking it back. Erase it from your mind."
"I think we're well past loyalty tests since you almost died for me. Twice." Or, more accurately, Ice had almost killed him the second time.
"Okay, sure." Mav tries to lighten the mood. "But the second time you also almost died too so I'm not really sure that counts."
"It counts." Ice snarls.
"Okay. Okay, it counts." Mav agrees, though it's frustratingly hard to tell whether he believes it or not. But then he smirks and says, "Back to the whole 'I've kidnapped a person for you' thing. Do I get to know who it is?"
"Andres."
That seems to stun Mav. "What? Why?"
"Your friend, your choice."
Mav studies him for a moment looking a little like he's trying to solve a puzzle. "And if I walked away right now?"
"I would handle it. You would never have to know."
Mav nods and doesn't look away when he asks, "If I were to walk away and ask you to do the same? If I asked you to release him, unharmed, would you?"
Ice fights the surge of rage, the unrepentant part of himself that wants to say yes and exact justice anyway. For some of the others it wouldn't be this hard. But Andres isn't like the others, he had been Pete's friend only to turn around and participate in his torture. He had been instrumental in Pete's capture, if Ice's intel was anything to go by, and it usually is.
He takes a breath, packaging it down into something manageable before shoving the anger and the compulsion into a box. It's fine, he can put Wolf on keeping track of Andres. He'll take 'Wood with him but that's not a critical issue at the moment. Ice can deal with it, will deal with it. He meets Mav's gaze and gets the distinct, uncomfortable sense that Mav can see right through him.
"Yes," Ice whispers before clearing his throat, "I would walk away and do nothing. If you asked."
Mav nods again, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. "Alright. Which door is it?"
It doesn't take long to travel the rest of the way, thankfully. It's nondescript iron just like the rest with a thick handle and external bolt, currently unlocked. Mav steadies himself for a moment, pausing as he drifts somewhere Ice can't quite reach.
"We don't have to do this."
Mav looks at him, somehow both soft and hungry at the same time. It's a look he's only ever seen on Mav's face, the first time while laying drugged out his mind in Ice's bed, the second the day Ice had given him his notebook back. Ice already knows the answer, knows there's no walking away for either of them.
"You brought me a person the same way a cat brings in a dead mouse, you get that, right?" Mav grins then laughs as Ice snorts and rolls his eyes. Before he can say anything, Mav opens the door and steps inside.
Ice takes a second, shaking out his head in a twitch that was never quite beaten out of him. He centers, becomes his father's unloving son and leaves everything he can on this side of the door before striding in behind Mav.
Ice nods first to Slider, who straightens up from his idle slouch by the doorway, then to Sarah watching from beside the wall to his right. Her eyes flick to him then back to the man chained to the D-ring in the center of the room. He's dirty, unkempt and greasy with candlesticks of dried blood running down to the crumpled collar of his shirt from where Ice had broken his nose. He was pale before but when Ice steps into the room he turns sheet white, scrabbling away until he's tugging on the chain.
Ice wants to revel in it. Desires to twist, push and pull until he forces the answers, the atonement from Andres whether he wants to or not. So visceral is his hatred that he can taste it on the back of his tongue, feel it sluicing through his blood. Slider straightens up further, reacting and following Ice's lead.
But this isn't Ice's show. Isn't about him at all. He occupies himself with lighting up, a vain attempt to keep a handle on the roiling, surging power beneath his skin. It's still not quite right after he used too much, held on too long, during interrogation to save Mav. It begs to be let out at the vaguest hint of an untruth, turning idle, uninteresting small talk to a burning scrape of white-hot acid against his nerves. It's clawing and fighting now, resonating with Sarah's power in a way it never has before. If she's feeling it, she doesn't let on. Watching and, hopefully, - if Andres is telling the truth - lip-reading the begging, pleading promises Andres is spewing at Mav's feet.
Ice forces himself to stop looking at Andres, watching Mav instead. He's light on the balls of his feet, the muscles of his back rippling and coiling as he moves. He starts out fairly standard, establishing verifiable facts Ice can't bring himself to listen to a second time. It occurs to him, suddenly, that this might not be the first time Mav has been in this position. On either side of it.
He knows little of the training the Navy gave Mav, though he can take some educated guesses from Mav's stress-responses. He's never pushed Mav on how he ended up in Leavenworth. Ice knows that his partner had turned him in like a coward, that's still on his list and swiftly moving up in priority. Ice's never asked the mechanics of their investigation, but it's clear this isn't Mav's first rodeo.
The calm, the control Mav holds himself with. Friendly and open, coaxing the answers from Andres like a conversation between friends. It's masterful, unbelievably attractive, the way he twists and morphs into who Andres needs him to be in the moment.
It makes it all the more delicious when Mav drops the pretense.
"Were we ever friends?"
"Yeah, of course." Andres answers with a stupid smile.
"You betray all your friends?" Mav asks, dropping into a couch right in Andres' personal space.
"What?"
"I'm just wondering. Are you a coward or is it just me who's special?"
Mav's shark-like smile must finally clue the idiot in. He looks to Sarah for help and finds none. "No. It's not- I didn't—"
"— 'Cause it has to be one of the two." Mav overrides him. "So tell me. Did you set me up because it's something you do to all of your friends, or is it because it's me?"
"They- they asked. They aren't, weren't the kind of people you could say no to." Andres' eyes flick to Ice then Slider and back to Mav in rapid succession.
"And you all thought I was an easy target."
"I didn't want to. Please, I didn't. I just…"
"You didn't want to and you did anyway. Why?"
"They asked. And I said no the first time but then they destroyed the truck. They left a fucking bullet on my pillow! When they asked again, what else was I to do? And you seemed nice enough, clearly some kind of ex-forces. You could handle it." Anger wells in Ice, a glacial fury that ignites his bones, but Andres isn't done. "It was only meant to be a couple of questions, but it got out of hand. You didn't answer! It was too late— I couldn't. I'm sorry."
Slider shifts, unfolding his arms and leaning his weight onto the balls of his feet. Mav stands up, shaking his head and emitting a hollow, bitter laugh. "You know. I'm getting fucking sick of people saving their own hides. I've never done a goddamn thing to any of you."
"I know. There's nothing— I can't say anything, can't do anything to take it back. To make it better. I wish I could, please. Anything, I'll do anything to make it up to you. I want to fix this. Anything."
Mav holds out a hand without looking away from Andres. Ice stubs out the cig under his heel and steps forward, unclipping his gun from the small of his back. Unlike the statement piece Harrier's son had held to Mav's head, this one is nondescript, run of the mill like a million others of its kind. It might even still have the Fed's serial number on it. He presses the grip into Mav's palm before stepping back. The power in the movement isn't lost on him; he can feel Slider's eyes boring into the side of his skull.
Mav raises the gun until it's pointed at the spot between Andres' eyes. He's solid, unmovable, without tremor or shake as he stares Andres down. Ice can't quite help the small smile on his face, mesmerized. He possibly shouldn't be finding this as attractive as he is but there's just something about Mav confidently wielding Ice's weapon that coaxes the possessive part of him into the light.
Andres is truly begging now; trying everything in the book to save his sorry excuse of a life. Ice can't quite tune in properly, enraptured by the flick of the safety, the steady line of his partner. Mine, mine, mine, a loud part of his soul chants.
It all comes down to this. This moment, this question and answer. Andres' conviction, his future balancing on his response.
"You would do anything to fix this?" Mav asks.
"Yes."
Mav's finger moves from the guard to the trigger. He doesn't have to ask. Andres shudders, closing his eyes and trying to swallow a sob. "Yes." He whispers.
There's a beat.
Two.
Three.
Mav lowers the gun.
Andres sags forward, choking on his own relief. His forehead brushes Mav's boot. He might have been thanking Mav, God, whatever deity or cosmic force he believes in, but Ice can't bring himself to care.
He signals Slider with a tilt of his head and keeps half an eye on Slider hauling Andres out the door; the other half firmly on Mav who's staring intently at a spot on the wall. Ice can't quite decipher his expression. It's too far away and Mav is too deep in whatever memory or thought he's trapped in.
Ice is about to step forward when Mav shakes his head and flicks the safety back on, bringing himself back to the present. He hands the gun back to Ice with something flinty and hard in his gaze. Not quite pleasure, not quite disgust either. Ice clips it back into place one-handed, fingers resting over Mav's thundering pulse with the other.
"Are we still on for dinner tonight?" Mav asks as if he hasn't just held a man at gunpoint. Ice had been wrong before, somehow this is the hottest thing Mav's done.
"Uh, yes." Ice agrees, managing to find his tongue. "Lucky for you, I have a meeting with 'kimchi granny'."
"What happened to not calling her that?" Mav laughs, twisting his wrist until their fingers tangle.
"Oh, she would flay you alive." Ice agrees, chuckling. "But she likes you, so we got a special invite."
"You mean you're using me as business bait."
"Possibly," Ice murmurs, pressing a kiss to Mav's temple now the tension has left him. "But you do get her cooking for free. Who's the real winner here?"
"Me, obviously." Mav hums then spies something over Ice's shoulder, which turns out to be Sarah watching them like a hawk. Ice had almost forgotten she was there, the strange resonance thrumming at a frequency so high it's almost inaudible now.
"I'll, uh, give you two a minute." Mav says, with a squeeze of his hand before he's detaching himself and striding for the door. Ice has a brief moment of irrational panic that Mav won't be there, won't wait, will use it as an excuse to escape. That something will happen the second Ice's back is turned and he has to face life without Mav again. But then Mav turns and all the fear washes away. "And Ice? Thank you."
All Ice can do is nod.
"Andres was telling the truth." Sarah says when Ice finally turns to her. "I couldn't hear a thing. He would make a loyal worker. Make him a job offer."
Ice contemplates it for a second, turning the possibility over in his mind. It's either that or let him go at this point. "I'd have to transfer him to another city. There's nothing left for him here."
"Give him to me, I'll keep an eye on him."
"Mm, possibly. The truck works well as a front." And it resolves both Ice's need to have him far away from Mav and his need to keep an eye on him. It's a viable solution.
"You know. I heard something interesting; the invite is not quite the truth is it?"
Ice purses his lips. He would walk away, if he didn't know she'd chase him down like a bloodhound. "No."
Sarah huffs, both fond and exasperated. "He has you by the balls."
Ice says nothing, shoving his hands into his pockets. Anything he said to refute it, she would hear. Sarah presses her tongue into her cheek, turning solemn the longer the quiet stretches out. It's a dangerous, dangerous thing for one person to hold this much power over him, over them. He had promised long ago that nobody would control them, nobody would ever again hold that position after their parents died. He'd tried, fuck knows he tried his best to not fall in love. He spent weeks hoping that Pete would be a fed, maybe a plant by a clueless undercover investigation or a rival organization. He hadn't been of course, just an oblivious, good man. One so fucking loyal that he chose to be poisoned before revealing Ice's secrets, before he knew either of Ice's names. How could he ever turn away from that?
It hadn't gone well for Sarah. She'd been listening to an interview for Ice when the shithead had said a quick 'I love you' on the way out her office. She'd heard him.
The resonance between them swells, shaking his bones, demanding an answer. He gives just an inch and it's like opening the floodgates. Power surges through him, turning his eyes an inhuman shade of blue and trapping his lies behind his teeth. The relief is heady, soothing cold replacing the burn of disuse.
"Names have power." Sarah says, searching his face. "You know what they call you."
"I do."
"You know what they call him."
"Yes."
"Say it."
"Kingmaker." Ice whispers, holding her gaze.
She smiles, a victorious thing, then leans close enough for her breath to ghost past his ear. "I can't hear you."