Chapter Text
Max strolled lazily through the gallery. People crowded in front of the paintings as though they understood half of what the artwork meant, their voices reduced to quiet whispers as if they were in a library. Max moved away from the crowds making their way towards the exit and ventured further into the building. It wasn't the busiest time of day, which was good. Max hated large crowds. Too many variables to account for.
He walked past a group of students listening to an enthusiastic tour guide in front of a painting that was, in his opinion, frankly hideous. A few of the students glanced at him and whispered among themselves, followed by a fit of giggles. He carried on without paying them any mind.
When he finally stopped, he sat down on one of the benches in the corridor. Van Gogh's Sunflowers hung on the wall opposite him. Max let out a tired sigh and checked his wristwatch. He was a little earlier than expected. He surveyed the room, surprised by how few people were in this part of the gallery. On any other day, it would have been impossible to see the painting in all its glory, always surrounded by enthusiastic tourists who only ever saw the world through a camera lens. Today, however, there were barely any people around: a couple in one corner chatting animatedly and a girl sitting on the next bench, absorbed in her notebook.
No potential threats in sight. He knew the building like the back of his hand, having visited it countless times, both for pleasure and for work.
The sound of elegant footsteps echoed down the corridor, and he glanced at his watch again. Right on time.
The newcomer sat beside him, looking at the wall behind them. “You're early.” His refined French accent lent the words an air of disdain.
“I'm here. That's what matters,” Max replied, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“Of course, Agent.” The other man shifted in his seat as he pulled his cellphone out of his briefcase. The movement exposed the back of his neck, and a scent drifted towards Max.
“Changed your cologne?” he asked, taking a discreet sniff. It was spicy and woody, quite different from what he was used to.
“Oh, you noticed?” Charles turned to look at him, studying him with open curiosity. He had broken the contact's recognition protocol; they were no longer pretending to be strangers.
“You're a creature of habit, Charles.”
The man laughed innocently. “It was a gift from Carlos. Thought I might as well put it to use.”
Max let out a snort of amusement. The Monegasque spoke about his new agent as casually as if he were talking about the weather. They were probably involved beyond a professional level. Probably not. Max no longer meddled in that sort of thing. Besides, they shouldn't be discussing outsiders. It wasn't safe.
“I know what you're thinking, Max. I checked the building communications. Everything's secure,” Charles said again, as though he could read his mind. That was the kind of trust they'd built over years of working together, one as a contact and the other as his agent. Max could trust the man beside him with his life and know he'd make it out alive. “Besides, you're dead now. No one's coming after you.”
It was true. He hadn't been pursued in the last five years. He'd left behind a life of persecution, and now he was nothing more than a data point on a server, a name buried in the system, or just another law-abiding citizen. Retirement had been rather boring, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. He'd found excitement in other aspects of his life.
“Anything new?” he asked curtly, turning his attention back to the painting.
The brunette hummed thoughtfully before finally answering. “Nothing much. It's been a quiet few months. Carlos has been doing well, though. I think I've finally surpassed you.”
“In your dreams.”
Charles playfully punched him on the shoulder. “You were a good agent, Max. Plenty of people would say you were the best, but being your contact was a nightmare. Especially when you'd throw yourself into danger without telling me a thing.”
Max shrugged and glanced sideways at the brunette. “Some would say that's what made me the best.”
The Monegasque scoffed, shaking his head. A noise from the corridor made them both turn towards it. Charles pulled his briefcase closer to his side, while Max's hand instinctively slipped inside his jacket, searching for the familiar weight of a gun. There was nothing there. A child had fallen over and was now crying inconsolably. They both let out the breath they'd been holding.
Charles chuckled as the brief moment of tension passed. A phone rang between them. The girl on the bench next to them glared at the Monegasque, who merely responded with a feigned, apologetic smile. He turned back towards his cellphone, and Max caught the instant his expression changed as he looked at the screen. “Something wrong?”
The brunette ignored him, his gaze fixed on the phone screen, his pupils darting back and forth as he read whatever had interrupted them. A few seconds passed before he finally turned the screen off. He looked at Max again, this time with narrowed eyes, as though he were unsure whether to say something. “The servers in Sector Four have been locked down.”
For the first time since Charles had arrived, and probably for the first time in months, Max looked him directly in the face. “What?”
“The servers have been locked down, Max. It's standard procedure.”
“Funny, because you don't look particularly convinced,” Max pointed out, giving him a suspicious look. “Besides, since when is locking down the servers standard procedure? Doesn't it disrupt communications?”
“It's a controlled process. They implemented it after you left,” Charles explained, thoughtfully rubbing his chin before lowering his voice. “It just wasn't scheduled for today…”
“I suppose the agency still hasn't got its shit together, even after I left.”
Another sound interrupted them, this time a notification from Max's phone. He pulled it out of his pocket hopefully, glancing towards the corridor. The screen lit up, but it was only a string of messages from Lando. As if he could smell blood in the water, Charles leaned over his shoulder to have a look. “Who was it? Was it George?”
Max tensed almost imperceptibly, but it was obvious enough to Charles's trained eye. “Trouble in paradise?”
The Dutchman's expression soured, which was answer enough. “He hasn't spoken to me in a week.”
Charles laughed without bothering to hide it. All eyes in the room fixed on him with varying degrees of annoyance; Max’s glare was the worst of all. Damn the day he'd decided to tell the Monegasque about his relationship. “What did you do?”
The more annoyed the blond looked, the more amused Charles became. “Why do you assume I did something?”
“Because, my dear Max, you said he hasn't spoken to you in a week. If he'd done something wrong, you'd have sorted it out by now, because you're clearly that down bad for him.” Charles delivered the verdict solemnly, patting him on the back as though there could be no doubt about his reasoning. “So tell me, mate. What did you do? Or what didn't you do? I can help.”
“I'm not telling you anything.”
“Oh, Max, don't be like that. I'm trying to help, you know? I realise you're new to this whole relationship thing, but there are only so many reasons someone would stop talking to their partner. For instance, forg—wait, Max! Did you forget your anniversary?”
“What? No!” The horror in his former contact's voice almost made him laugh, were it not for his own indignation at the accusation. Excuse him? He had a perfect memory. Well, almost perfect.
Charles sagged with theatrical relief. “Well, that's good. I know you haven't been cheating on him, and his birthday isn't around this time of year, so that rules out the three worst-case scenarios. Your problem is fixable, mate.”
Max fell silent for a few seconds, weighing his options. They'd strayed rather far from the original purpose of this meeting, and although his love life was none of his former contact's business, he might need someone's help to sort out the mess he'd found himself in. He missed his boyfriend.
As Charles had said, he really was that down bad for him.
“I may or may not have given him roses for our anniversary,” he muttered under his breath. Charles looked at him expectantly. “I gave him roses for our anniversary, but he hates roses. Said they're too basic, the sort of thing boyfriends give when they can't be bothered to put in any effort or something like that.”
The Monegasque burst out laughing while the blond grumbled. They were drawing too much attention for people who supposedly didn't know each other. Both of them were losing their touch. “As much as it pains me to know that someone hates roses, I'm afraid I have to agree with him. You probably bought them on your way over without giving it a second thought.”
Max opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, ready to argue, but then he remembered the circumstances and simply shut up.
“You're an idiot, Verstappen.”
“You seem to be enjoying saying that.”
“Well, mon ami, I've seen you remain completely unfazed while people were shooting at you, but now you're sulking because your boyfriend won't talk to you. Can you really blame me? Just look at what the fearsome Dutch lion has been reduced to these days.”
The Dutchman rolled his eyes at the teasing.
“But don't worry. You can always plan something romantic for him and hope he'll forgive you. And remember to get him something other than roses.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the Monegasque's phone rang again. “Oh, that's my cue to leave.”
Max glanced sideways at him. “Carlos?”
The Monegasque smiled knowingly, his eyes narrowing into crescents. He gathered his things and, as though he'd just remembered something, opened his briefcase and held out an envelope. “This is for you.”
The blond took it and simply nodded in farewell. Once the sound of Charles's footsteps faded down the corridor, he sighed and turned his attention back to the painting in front of him.
Bloody flowers.
He left the museum with the envelope tucked inside his jacket, the cold November air seeping right into his bones. He finally took a moment to check Lando's messages.
You need to sort your shit out.
Your boyfriend's going to scare all my customers away 😭😭😭
I'm serious, mate
Even Alex is a victim in all this
Take him on a romantic date or whatever it is you two do
Oh look I found a funny cat video
vt.tiktok.com/ZSb3gv2n/
Even his messages were legible, he thought with amusement. He left Lando's chat and opened the only pinned conversation. A series of rather pathetic messages he'd sent himself greeted him.
Wanna come to my place tonight?
Please, schat
I miss u
There was no shame in being this pathetic over his partner, he told himself as he made his way back to his flat.