Chapter Text
-“Izzy!” Eddy calls to him and no matter how deep he is in work, Izzy rises. “Bring your kit.”
Shit. Is Eddy bleeding out or do they just need advil? Izzy grabs the first aid kit, better stocked then most and goes to Eddy’s office. They look fine when he walks in but the kid crumpled in the guest chair is bleeding through their shirt. They look rough as hell.
“Stepped in front of a knife for me,” Eddy said with a frown. “That Fredricks guy with the grudge. They fought like a fucking demon.”
“Nothing,” the kid hisses out. “Easy as breathing.”
“Sounds like you’re having a fuck load of trouble doing that right now,” Izzy frowned. “Stabbed where?”
They glare at him, at Eddy. Maybe at the world at large. Izzy can relate. “I don’t need your fucking help. I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah,” Eddy says with a look in their eyes Izzy recognizes. An idea is forming. “But you don’t have to. Awkward spot to sew yourself up from.”
The kid doesn’t answer.
“Either I patch you up or I toss this shit in your face and you do it yourself while I tell you what a shit job you're doing,” Izzy declares.
“Fine,” they grumble and pull down their shirt. There’s a sluggishly bleeding wound in their shoulder.
“Time to play seamstress, Iz,” Eddy grins, her attention fully on the kid. “Where’d you learn to throw knives like that?”
“Around,” the kid says.
They’ve got dark eyes, long dark hair that hasn’t seen a professional’s scissors in a long time. Thin, but not overly so, someone is feeding them or they’re managing themselves. Their lips are chapped, but otherwise healthy looking. Someone’s been keeping at least half an eye out, maybe. Or they’re flawless skin is a lie and they’re old enough to keep body and soul together on their own.
“Why’d you stop that guy from taking me out?” Eddy presses on.
“Dunno. Not in the mood to see someone die because they were distracted by a cat.”
“A cat?” Izzy repeats, incredulously as he starts to clean the area around the cut.
“It jumped right in front of me,” Eddy says without shame. “Who expects a cat to come out of nowhere? Anyway, doesn’t matter. The kid was there. You got a name?”
They hesitate and Izzy wipes away a streak of blood. “We don’t need a fucking real one. Just something so we don’t call you kid all night.”
“I mean we might anyway,” Eddy’s amusement keeps Izzy balanced. The kid unsettles him. He can’t place why. But if Eddy sees no threat then Izzy can relax a little.
“I-” They clench their hands and their lips press into a white line. “You can call me Jim.”
Izzy is up close and personal just now. They don’t look like a Jim, but that’s none of his fucking business. He’s just going to sew up their shit and hopefully send them on their way, no more the wiser. There’s numbing spray and he jets it on. The kid doesn’t flinch even though it’s cold.
“Nice to meet you, Jim,” Eddy sits on the edge of their desk, arms folded, legs crossed. “You still in school or what?”
“Or what.”
Izzy waits for the numbing spray to kick in, gets out the suture kit. He’s gotten better with this stuff over the years, for better or for worse.
“You finish high school?”
“What’s it matter to you?”
It’s been a long time since someone sassed Eddy that way and Izzy has no idea how they’ll take it. It’s the kind of thing they’ll either think is hysterical or deadly serious.
Eddy laughs. Izzy picks up the needle.
“The thing is, Jim, I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you fought and I like new fighting styles.”
“That some kind of hobby?” They grunted as Izzy pierced their skin. Still no flinching.
“That’s a job,” Eddy says evenly and Izzy pulls the thread through with a breath caught in his throat. They didn’t hire kids. It wasn’t something they’d talked about even, just a silent understanding. Maybe not though. Maybe it was only Izzy that thought that. “If you’ve got a high school diploma.”
“I don’t need a job.”
“No? Not even one with full time hours, health insurance and a 401k?”
“...what kind of health insurance?”
“Everything, including dental and vision. ‘Course that’s because sometimes your teeth get knocked out and we see a lot of sudden bright lights, but that’s part of the fun.”
“What the fuck do you guys do?” Jim asks. Izzy puts in another stitch. It would take five or six, he can tell already.
“We’re security for hire. High-end only. Goods transfers, high-profile parties, chauffeuring the elite, whatever pays top dollar. Jobs go by seniority and skills required, but everyone gets paid.”
“What if I had...a side project?” They ask.
Izzy watches their flesh come back together. It’s so much easier to slice open then it is to repair, he thinks, not for the first or last time.
“You planning on getting caught?”
“No.”
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the work and you stay off the radar, then I don’t give two shits about what you do in your off time. The first time I catch wind that it is, you’d be terminated.”
“That sounds final.”
“I don’t leave loose threads.”
Izzy tides off the end, snips. Six stitches. It’d heal clean most likely. A year from now, they’d have nothing to show for it, but a faint white line.
-Jim is 18 as it turns out. Izzy finds out as he photocopies their ID for the records. He brings the file to Eddy while Jim is waiting in the conference room.
“They’re graduated. Barely.” He hands Eddy the folder.
“They’re already in it,” Eddy doesn’t take it. ‘What do you want? We can’t turn back the clock for them. But we can give them a place to be useful instead of waiting tables while they bide their time. Lone wolves get picked off.”
And that’s true enough. Izzy pulls the folder back to himself.
“Fine. It’s done. They’re legal name-”
“Doesn’t matter,” Eddy cuts him off. “Who cares? As long as it runs clean, they’re Jim.”
“Jim,” Izzy sighs. “Guess it’s better than some of the others.”
“It’s a name, Eddy shrugs. “Anyway, I’m going to need you to train them up. Not like I’ve got the time.”
“And I do?” Izzy demanded. “With what extra hours in who’s extra day?”
“Dunno. But I think they’re more in your line than mine anyway. Can’t do anything until I get the Bellville job squared away, can I?”
And since it had been Izzy that had pointed that out earlier, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. Shit.
“Yes, boss.”
-Izzy trains Jim. It’s not hard to figure out what Eddy saw him in them. They move fast, they learn quick and they are incredibly good with knives. But close up work isn’t all they do, so Izzy takes them to a shooting range and puts a gun in their hands.
“I prefer knives.”
“Yeah, how long do you think you’ll live holding a knife when the other side has semi-automatics? We don’t go out looking for that shit, but it finds us anyway. You gotta know which way goes bang at least.”
“Fuck off,” in the way they have that sounds just like it was ripped out of his own mouth. They learn everything quick.
They heft the gun, listen to the safety lecture he gives, and then take aim. The first few rounds went wide, but by the end of the first session, they’re hitting center mass each time. There’s something promising in their stance. It’s the easy way that Eddy handles a gun.
“Come on then,” he takes them back up to the showroom and hands them a clipboard. “Fill that out. Then meet me at the counter.”
They find him not long after. Their handwriting was good, a rigid clear copperplate. He appreciates it. They’re consistently tidy.
“This shelf,” he points down. “Any of those’ll work. You can test them out first. I’d recommend it. Then it’s a 24 hour hold, you come back and pick it up.”
“I can’t afford-”
“Paid for by the company. It’s part of your equipment. On the job, you carry unless you get told differently. Off the job, that’s up to you.”
“Even if I get the one with the ivory handle?” They ask, gesturing to it.
It’s an over-decorated piece, an ivory handle with intricate vine carvings. It’s showy and ridiculous, but he knows the specs underneath and it’ll do the same damage as a bland one.
“It’s your piece. Guys’ll definitely give you shit for it.”
“Let them try,” they decided. “That’s the one I want.”
That’s the one they show up with and the guys do try to give them a hard time. But Jim learns quick and they have Izzy’s stare now, but none of his barking frustration that undermines him. The teasing stops without them pulling out a crowbar though Izzy doesn’t doubt that if they knew that story, they’d have done that too.
-So in theory training Jim is easy enough. They learn fast, they’re quiet for the most part. Sometimes they do shit that reminds Izzy that he’s dealing with a teenager like when they try to climb the side of a building and almost wipe out, or when they get a game of slaps going on a slow day (of course no one else as the excuse of being a teenager when they go along with it and Izzy give anyone trying to complain about sore hands extra bullshit work to do).
In reality, it’s giving Izzy some sleepless nights and he doesn’t know why. Jim is cocky and sometimes over confident. If they’re like that in the wrong job, they’ll be dead, so there’s that. But there’s also...he just keeps thinking of the first time he took them out.
Routine job, easy enough. Nobody tries anything, they’re basically set dressing. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Nine out of ten times, that’s how it is. Jim struts around with their fancied up gun and their hair falling in their face. No different than any newbie really.
There’s a perimeter breach, turns out to be nothing, but Jim sits beside him and watches the security feed so they can see how the guys run it down for next time. And they say easy as anything,
“I could knife ‘em from where Solomon is standing.”
And it’s cool and calculated and Izzy knows that fucking tone. He’s heard it in his own throat. Maybe that’s what kept him up.
-”How’s Jim getting on?” Eddy asks when they come back from the Bellville job, cash in hand, none the worse for wear.
“They're quick. Too confident sometimes.”
“Worse things,” Eddy deems. “Going to take them to Dublin next month?”
“If you want them there. Could be of use.”
-Jim kills a man in Dublin. They do it fast. Quiet. Izzy can find no way to complain of who, what, where or how. So instead, he shows them the protocol. Jim listens. Jim learns. The body disappears.
“Was that okay?” they ask him as they put their clothes into a bag to burn. They’re in a loose change, borrowed off Eddy.
Izzy looks at their wide eyes, the hard set of their mouth. It’s already done.
The first time Izzy had killed someone, Eddy had grabbed his arm with bruising intensity and not let go through the entirety of Hornigold’s interrogation. When it was over, she’d dragged him into a coat closet and given him a hickey so intense that he had to wear his collar turned up for a solid week. He’d touched that bruise like a talisman for months after it disappeared.
“Yeah, kid, you did good,” he says. “Let’s talk about what the fuck you don’t do for next time.”
Jim beams at him, a smile that should be in a fucking prom picture. They’re still just 18 and he made their fucking day, giving them an attaboy for murder.
“I’m listening.”
He has no doubt they are.
-Jim is worth five other staffers by the end of their first year. They are efficient, not burdened with sadism or softness. They throw knives with killer accuracy that’s only matched by their marksmanship. They brawl with the best of them when required, uncaring of the consequences to their own body. They bring Izzy their split knuckles and bruises, no formal request, just quiet expectation. He applies bandages with the only kind words he knows. Jim preens under his solemn offerings of ‘good job’ and 'nice work out there'. They start giving back rough thanks in return. Sometimes they bring him little offerings, cups of coffee, a cup for his pens black and chrome, and an origami frog that he thinks they folded themselves though they won't say.
“You did good with them,” Eddy declares as they watch Jim knock out a guy by headbutting him. They’re just out for drinks, but the bar fight got going and it seems to be burning off steam for a few of them. Eddy and Izzy stand at the outskirts, watching the mayhem.
“Did I?” Izzy doesn’t feel the usual fizzy pleasure at Eddy’s compliment.
“Yeah,” she put her arm around his shoulders. “Really brought out their potential or whatever bullshit they say on performance evaluations.”
“Sure.”
-”Come on, you have to, boss.”
“I’m not your boss,” Izzy reminds them.
“Whatever, you basically are. And you call Eddy that all the time.”
“Because she actually is my boss.”
“Don’t be boring. Come out with me. Real ID and everything.”
He’d helped Jim with the name change paperwork. It had been a mercy to make them stop pestering him about it and then loudly complaining in his vicinity. They were a fucking pill. So now they have a real ID with their preferred name.
“Take one of the guys.”
Jim glances over at the conference room. They’re not rowdy today, just watching some shitty day time programming and talking about some woman on the show's tits. Not their best showing. Jim turns back to him.
“I just want...” they trail off.
It’s their fucking birthday and there’s no one. Izzy knows that. Knows the hollowness in the gut that can come around every year. Knows that he spent his own twenty-second standing guard over a bored socialite and the date went by unremarked. Jim could live with the same.
But they never ask for anything, not really. The ID is practical, not a gift.
“One drink,” he says, gets his coat as they do a little triumphant dance.
“Hell yeah! I choose the bar, you’re paying.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” he says, but he’s already resigned.
-The bar is a dive, but a manufactured one. Lots of upscale twenty-somethings ‘soaking up the atmosphere’. He looks like he’s there to enforce their curfews which he could do without. .
“Jim!” The bartender has fluffy hair and there’s no way he’s drinking age himself. He greets Jim with a wide grin.
“Read it and weep,” they slap the ID on the bar.
“Look at that,” he picks it up and studies it. “Happy birthday! Love to pour you a drink. What’ll it be?”
“Fuck me up,” they say with a grin. “And get him something too.”
“Vodka tonic,” Izzy says, feels the bartender’s eyes slide over him. “You want my ID too?”
“Nah,” and he actually has the fucking audacity to reach out and poke Izzy right in the middle of the forehead. “Those speak for you. You need something strong, been thinking too hard.”
Izzy does not reach out and break the bartender’s hand, but it’s a near thing. The bartender seems to read that, dropping his hand away though his smile doesn’t dim. It's a good smile.
“Vodka tonic,” Izzy orders.
“Uh huh, you got it.”
The drink takes a while to reach him, but it’s good when it does. The food isn’t bad either and Jim gets steadily drunker, milking Izzy’s platinum card for all it’s worth. He’d said one drink, but it wasn’t a hardship to sit there and have another.
Or to come back a few weeks later.
Or a few weeks after that.
Izzy’s never been a regular anywhere. It’s not so bad. Lucius, the bartender, always builds him out a vodka tonic without being asked and greets him with a smile. He doesn’t try to touch him again, but he does call Izzy ‘Jim’s hot boss’ within earshot. Which is rude and manifestly untrue, but Izzy shows no sign of hearing it, so he doesn’t have to respond.
Lucius is a freshman in college. Izzy will be thirty-seven next month. And he’s straight. He comes to the bar because he likes a decent drink.
So who the fuck cares? Who cares if sometimes he just wants to go somewhere where someone recognizes him and makes him a drink he likes and implies that he’s fuckable? Is that a goddamn sin?
-Izzy makes Jim point on a small job. The guys are dickheads about it because of seniority and other age-related bullshit. When they come back, the job is done and two of the least reliable of them quit.
“I’m giving them a bonus,” Izzy finishes the report to Eddy.
“What for?”
“They got the job done better than anyone else could’ve and they were fighting their own team the whole team. You want to keep Jim or you want Jackie to get them?”
Eddy considers, then nods. “Do it.”
-”Listen,” Jim slams their hands down on Izzy’s desk. The report he’d been writing now has a line of incoherent characters.
“What. The. Fuck.” He demands.
“I’m not a girl,” they tell him. “Use they/them for me from here on out.”
“....what?”
“They/them. This isn’t fucking hard, boss. You got it or what?”
Izzy has no fucking idea what they’re on about, but for all Jim’s face is calm, their voice is choked and tight. Upset. Jim doesn't do upset. He can google later.
“Fine, fuck, whatever. They/them,” he repeats and they sit down hard in a chair. “How long has this been brewing?”
“My whole goddamn life.”
Izzy shifts in his chair. It smells like a storm.
“You know the guys’ll be dicks about it.”
“Then I’ll stab them,” they say as easily as breathing.
“Keep it non-vital.”
“Deal.”
They stab two people over it. People they can afford to lose, but Izzy has to explain it to Eddy. He stumbles over it, unfamiliar words on his tongue.
“You can do that?” Eddy asks instead of a dozen other things that had come to Izzy’s mind.
“Apparently,” he mutters.
“Huh,” Eddy leans back in their chair, puts their feet up on the desk. The piles are low right now. A good mood has settled over the office and Izzy just hopes this isn’t something that’ll tip it the wrong way. “What’d they call it again?”
“Nonbinary,” Izzy repeats dutifully. He’d read for hours and it makes no more sense to him than it did when Jim said it first, but he knows he doesn’t want to get stabbed and he’d rather have Jim in whatever form they choose then any of the he/him assholes that they easily took out.
“Wild. Kids these days, huh?” Eddy barks a laugh, slaps at Izzy’s thigh. “Well fine, I didn’t like those motherfuckers anyway. Maybe we should just put Jim in charge of H.R. or something. They’re efficient.”
-Jim spends more time with Eddy after that. Izzy can’t pin down when it starts. Sometimes he sees them going into Eddy’s office, coming out hours later and it becomes more and more regular. He wants to ask, but there’s no way that won’t make him sound like he’s insanely jealous or worse. And maybe he is. He can’t remember the last time he sat in Eddy’s guest chair and just shot the shit.
Jim takes a lot of notes, considering it's just talk. Their little notebook full of scribbles. They write in Spanish.
-Lucius changes bars. Jim, thinking they’re very casual, takes Izzy out for drinks at the new place. They smirk when Izzy catches sight of Lucius.
“What? You think no one else can make vodka soda?” he scoffs. He isn’t relieved when Lucius lights up immediately and comes over.
“I thought I’d seen the last of you,” Lucius grins at Izzy. “Jim said you don’t like places like this.”
Izzy hadn’t registered the place. It’s bougie, fake rustic and full of people that he loathes on principle.
“Still serves booze,” Izzy shrugs. “Fine by me.”
-Eddy stops going out with the guys on Friday nights, but still makes Saturday night appearances. No one seems to care, except Izzy. When it’s clear no one really gives a damn, he realizes that what’s good for the goose might be good for the gander. Maybe he can skip out too and go to a bougie fuck-ugly bar and get his vodka tonic from a man that smiles at him. It’s just a bar. It’s just a drink.
He thinks he should strike up a conversation with one of the lonely heart women that sometimes sit besides him, but that seems like a lot of work.
Fuck, Izzy is tired.
-Jim is with him on the fatal Friday night. Hard to get pissed over them coming along when it’s technically their drinking hole and their friendly bartender first. Anyway, he likes the company when Lucius is occupied for the brief amount of time he actually does his job. Neither of them are going hard. Just a slow steady buzz and enough fries to line four people’s stomachs. They close the place down, though neither of them are talking much. The last job broke bad, they’re both nursing hurts and groggy brains.
Lucius shoos them off with a laugh and they both pause outside for a bit. Izzy lights a cigarette he’s been carrying around for emergencies and Jim makes pleading eyes at him until he shares it. They blow smoke into the cool night air.
They react to the gunshots almost before they hear them. Jim goes low, Izzy goes high and they break down the locked door without discussion.
Lucius is behind the bar, ducked low and shaking. There are two people bleeding on the floor and another standing over them. The gunman raises the pistol to Izzy.
Izzy and Jim shoot as one. The gunman goes over in a heap.
“Who the fuck are you people?” Lucius demands.
Jim goes and kicks at the corpses, “Don't know them. Boss?”
“No,” he determines. “Did anyone start talking before shots went off?”
“Are they dead?” Lucius asks, peeking up over the bar. His voice breaks. “Are you cops?”
“Fuck no,” they both bark.
“Then who are you?” Lucius demands. “Because I knew the owner was mob, but I figured that just meant we wouldn’t get robbed.”
“Mob,” Izzy says flatly.
“Yeah? I mean you know, the defanged modern mob that just owns businesses and talks big?” Lucius grips the bar white knuckled. “That’s what I figured.”
“You can’t stay here,” Jim says immediately.
“Why not?”
“Because you just witnessed a hit. And it went wrong,” Izzy sighs. “Jim?”
“No way, boss, I barely fit at my place.”
“There’s the safe house.”
“You’re gonna burn that over this?” Jim frowns. “Could blow over.”
“Burn what? I think I should...” Lucius sinks down behind the bar. His voice rose from the floor. “That’s a lot of blood.”
“He’s going into shock,” Izzy pulls off his coat and drops it over Lucius. “I’ll...I’ll just take him to mine. No one knows us here. No reason to connect dots. Let him lay low for a few days, figure things out.”
-Lucius does not want to go, but he’s also definitely in shock and not hard to bully, which Jim does expertly. It’s the first time Jim sees Izzy’s place, but if they have any smartass comments about it, Izzy is spared for that night. They just help him get Lucius settled on the couch, then disappear to do follow up research.
“I didn’t see anything,” Lucius tells Izzy as he hands him a glass of water. “I won’t turn you in. I promise.”
“Doesn’t work like that,” Izzy sits down beside him.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No. Just makes a bigger mess. Gonna make sure no one else does either.”
-They lay low for a few days, but eventually Izzy has to go back to the office and given the choice of leaving Lucius to poke around his things, possibly running off to put himself in danger or just dragging him along, the latter is the obvious choice.
“So this is the witness?” Eddy circles into Izzy’s office before anyone has their coat off.
“Hi,” Lucius sticks out his hand, eyes wild. “I go by Lucius. Not 'the witness'. I'm not an NPC.”
“All right then, Lucius,” Eddy shakes his hand with a small smile. “You going to be useful or a pain in the ass?”
“Why not both?”
“Ha! Why not? Iz, I need the proposal for the new client, where are we at?”
“I’ll email you the draft. Numbers might need adjustment.”
“Yeah?” Eddy signals a question behind Lucius’ back and Izzy signals back. Safe, harmless. Eddy tilts her head to the side. Izzy never uses that sign. He’s never thought anyone was harmless before. But who can be worried about a bartending art student that screams over a spider they see in the shower?
“Yeah,” he affirms. “Give me ten.”
-Lucius gets bored after an hour. He wanders out before Izzy can stop him and apparently just charms the hell out of Ivan and Fang, who have been left behind on the current gig. They’re laughing along with him when he walks by. Once Izzy sends off the proposal (an hour later, it was in worse shape than he’d recalled), he gets up to wrangle him only to find that Lucius is holding Ivan’s hand in his and listening to him with serious intent.
“You should tell her,” Lucius says. “I bet she feels the same way. Lots of people are shy.”
“You think?”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Izzy demands.
“Izzy!” Fang smiles up at him. “Thanks for bringing Lucius in. Really insightful. Want us to get everyone lunch?”
“...yeah,” he is hungry and Lucius eats more regularly than him. Izzy had to cook more the last few days than he usually does for himself in a month. A hardship easily lifted by the way Lucius had been excited for every meal despite the circumstances.
-Lucius comes with him every day after that. There’s no hint anyone is looking for him and after a few weeks, Izzy suggests that Lucius can go back to classes.
“But I should stay with you?” Lucius checks and he sounds...like he wants to?
“Yeah, that’d be smart,” Izzy says bemused. It would be. And anyway, Izzy is away more than he’s there. It’s fine if someone else uses his bed when he’s not there. Means that his pillow smells different when he gets home and he could wash it, but he sleeps better like that. Sleeps better with Lucius on the couch, feet away, snuffling a little and giving the place some sound.
-Lucius doesn’t go back to his dorm. Jim finds out by apparently just asking and they close the door to Izzy’s office and hiss, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“What now?” He saves his document, just in case.
“You’re moving him in? Is this some...sugar baby bullshit?”
“What? Fuck you, no,” he hisses right back. “I’m not fucking him.”
“You’re not?” Jim blinks. “Holy hell, why not?”
“None of your goddamn business. I’m your boss, you can’t ask me that shit.”
“I just did. Going to fire me?”
He can’t fire Jim. Jim is half the staff at this point.
And...damnit, but Izzy likes the horrible demon that lodged themselves under his ribs.
“Leave it.”
“No. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. He’s an infant. You were literally just pissed when you thought I was fucking him.”
“Yeah, because I thought money or power or something was up and that’d be gross, but do you just like him?”
“He’s an annoying little pest.”
“Oh shit,” Jim sat down heavily in a chair. “Boss. No.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“I know that’s what makes it pathetic.”
“I’m still a faster shot than you and if I get you in the meaty bits, you’d still be useful when you heal.”
“Yeah, whatever, you tell yourself lies.”
“...don’t tell Eddy.”
“Nothing to tell apparently.”
-Izzy doesn’t give Lucius money, but he does let him live with him rent free, buys all the groceries and makes sure they still get delivered when he’s away. Sometimes he buys him things that he sees Lucius eyeing up. Nothing big. Clothes, snacks, art supplies. Little things.
Lucius always says thank you like he means it and doesn’t offer anything in return, so it feels fine. Not dirty at all.
And one day, three months into that bullshit, where Izzy is no the wiser to his own motives, Eddy says,
“We need a forger.”
“What happened to Alan?”
“Retired.”
And Izzy knows an artist is the thing. But Lucius probably wouldn’t agree to something like that. Probably can’t even do it.
“That’d be easy.” Lucius determines, looking at the image. “Could be fun too.”
“You get caught, it’s a felony.”
“Will I get caught?” Lucius’ gaze on his skin feels like a hand dragged slowly over Izzy’s throat.
“No,” Izzy promises. “Not if I can help it.”
“Then yeah, I need a few things and we can make it happen.”
Lucius works at the offices because they don’t bring incriminating stuff home. He decides that Eddy’s office gets the best light and he won’t let them keep the door closed. Eddy grins through his prissy demands and lets him set up there.
Izzy can hear them talking as Lucius works. Light and easy. Eddy laughs like she does with Jim.
-The forgery comes out well enough to pass.
“Alan might do some training,” Eddy considers. "Bring him up to snuff."
“But he’s not-” Izzy starts. Stops. Lucius is in it now. He lives with Izzy (re-routed his mail last week), and has spent time in the office. Even if he never does anything outside the law ever again, the line has been crossed. I’ll ask him.”
-Lucius joins the payroll after a few months of what he calls ‘naughty lessons’. There’s not enough work for a full-time forger, but he’s not half-bad at organizing and taking notes. He lifts those tasks off Izzy’s desk one at a time. He doesn’t realize how much lighter the load is until he starts looking up at the clock and realizing he can leave at five. Which in turn makes Lucius happy. They have a lot of nice evenings at home that Izzy tentatively starts to accept Lucius enjoys as much as he does.
Once or twice, Lucius is accidentally in the room when they start brainstorming. Turns out his mind is startlingly devious for an art student/bartender.
“Let’s ask Lucius” Jim suggests, hands pinning down a blueprint.
“Yeah,” Eddy nods. “He might have a fresh angle.”
Izzy has no room to argue. He brings Lucius into the office and he does have an idea. The planning goes as easy as breathing after that. Lucius gets included as a matter of course from there on out. He’s good with building plans and people. It’s his words that get purred into the ears of a receptionist or used to coax along a potential ally.
He stays in the office, but Izzy doesn’t know how much longer that will last.
-Izzy is no fucking saint. He comes home early from a trip and Lucius is still in his bed. Izzy stands over him for long minutes and when Lucius wakes, Izzy just falls to his knees and kisses him.
Lucius kisses back.
“Hello, darling,” Lucius says against his lips.
Whatever Jim was worried about once probably happens.
-In the morning. Izzy has a dozen half-ideas about how he’ll tell Lucius it’s a bad idea and he’ll pay for his life back in the dorms, if that’s what he’s worried about, but the man presses him against the mattress before he can say any of that and the words die in his throat unuttered.
“Somethings different about you,” Eddy says as soon as Izzy walks in the door.
“Slept okay,” Izzy checks her face and frowns. “Are you wearing lipstick?”
“What if I was?” She lifts her chin, narrows her eyes.
“...how about we just go into our offices and I’ll get lunch later?”
“...deal.”
They don’t talk about Lucius or the lipstick over lunch. Both stay. Both breed more change.
-The first day Eddy comes to work in a dress, Jim is on her heels and glares over her shoulder. Lucky for them Jim has already weeded out the wrong kind of people and no one has a word to say about it. Including Izzy. He’s got his own fucking problems.
“Well?” Eddy demands of him.
“Well what?” He holds out the stack of files. “You signing these or am I forging your name?”
“Hands.”
“Boss,” he pushes the files at her.
“How do I look?”
He doesn’t let his gaze travel, just looks her in the eye, “Like yourself.”
“...yeah, fine,” she grabs the files, gives him a nod. “Thanks. Where’s Lucius?”
“Right here.” He walks out of Izzy’s office with his own stack of files. Catches sight of Eddy and smiles, “Digging the new look. The eyeliner is a little heavy, but I can see where you were going with it.”
“Really?” Eddy tightens her grip on the folders.
Izzy disappears into his office. He has nothing to add to that conversation and he thinks he’s earned a little quiet.
-Eddy, now definitely Eddy, is like a new, fresher version of the person she used to be. They have fewer close calls and more beautifully cracked ideas. Lucius and Jim feed into those. And maybe Izzy does too. He stops questioning Eddy so much as she shows more and more signs of being checked in to the work. He doesn’t have to rile her up, she’s just ready to go.
And Izzy....Izzy is a little more relaxed.
“Damn right,” Lucius purrs and kisses his neck when he confesses that. “I work hard to keep you boneless, darling.”
Lucius looks different these days too. With his own paycheck, freed from such weights as rent and food, goes to clothes. He cultivates a new persona. There are well-cut black trousers, the kind of men’s boots made for runways instead of streets and a series of jewel-tone tops that are only not blouses because of the side the buttons are on. There’s a watch, not flashy, but definitely expensive. The haircut is professional now, barely fluffy at all.
Jim succumbs to Lucius' pleas to work his magic on them too. They at last abandon their beige and creams for tight black pieces that are somehow like Eddy’s once were and altogether different. Sharper, cleaner, a suggestion of a blade instead of a fist. They go to Lucius’ stylist and come back with a clean undercut, the rest of their hair pulled back in a bun.
When the two of them sit together, they look like the spread of a magazine. And they sit together a lot. There’s no official office, but one end of the conference room table is theirs now, permanently marked with their tumblers of water, files and one of Jim’s knives, left unsheathed on top like a warning.
When they meet clients (and they do sooner than Izzy reckoned on) the two of them are a smooth-moving team, Lucuis the voice, Jim the suggestion of the work. They always get the contract.
“I think they might be better than us,” Eddy watches as Lucius shakes the hand of a man that once tried to bite Izzy’s nose off. Jim grins at him sharklike.
“No,” Izzy crosses his arms over his chest, holds them tightly there. “Not yet.”
But soon.
-The summer Lucius turns twenty-five, Eddy finds the Revenge. Finds Stede Bonnet. They disappear for days at a time. Izzy frets, paces, plans.
“We should let her go,” Lucius says, stretched over their bed. Izzy kneels beside it, chin on Lucius’ knee.
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t really need Eddy to run the business, darling,” Lucius reaches down, runs a hand over Izzy’s hair. “You know the back end and between Jim and I, we can do the rest. She’s sick of it all, likes this Stede guy...I say cut her loose.”
“But-”
“Think on it,” Lucius cuts him off, his fingers sink into Izzy’s hair and tugs him up off the floor. “Later.”
Izzy thinks on it, but he’s too slow. Eddy comes to him and proposes the end of the company before he can do more than start. Jim stands behind her, a faint smile on their face.
“It’ll be yours,” Eddy tells him.
“I don’t think so,” Izzy stares at Jim.
They wink at him.
-A few nights later, Izzy gets a text.
Eddy: found some discrepancies in the files. You awake?
Izzy: yes
He waits for a phone call.
It never comes.
When he asks her about it the next day, Eddy smiles faintly.
“Nothing that can’t be worked out. Don’t worry about it, Iz.”
-Eddy leaves the next day. Her office is just empty when he walks in, all the bits and pieces of them gone. There’s a note for him left behind on the last few papers they needed to cut ties. It tells him thanks for the memories in very few lines. Very Eddy.
It’s a clean break.
He locks himself in his office and gets stinking drunk. Won’t answer the door for Lucius or even Jim.
He reads the note twice. Looks for clues he doesn’t find. It’s just a goodbye note. It’s just the end of an era.
The end of a lot of things.
-Sometimes Jim and Lucius go to the Revenge and they tell Izzy about the place. They never say he shouldn’t go, but he can read between the lines. He stays away.
The company grows. Jim and Lucius are young. They have new ideas. Lucius’ forgeries have gotten very very good. Jim kills when necessary, clean and untraceable, and doesn’t ask Izzy if they did the right thing anymore.
Izzy does the paperwork. He goes out on the kinds of jobs he’s familiar with and still feels useful. It's his name is on the front door now, but he keeps his smaller office. Jim and Lucius take Eddy’s office, but they renovate. Fresh lighting, fresh paint. Two desks that face each other, all the better for planning.
-”We should move,” Lucius declares one evening.
“What’s wrong with this place?”
“Oh darling,” Lucius kisses his cheek. “We can just do so much better now.”
-Izzy does like the penthouse once he gets used to it. It’s spacious and his office is as black and chrome as he could ask for. The rest of the place is wholly Lucius and Izzy likes it more than he thought he would. It’s just...comfortable there. He stays home more and more. Does his work from the office. He cooks for Lucius, who’s always an appreciative audience. Makes extra for Jim for lunch the next day.
Sometimes Izzy wonders what Eddy would think of it. He almost texts her sometimes. Still has her number.
But who would respond if he did?
Would silence be more comforting or the lie of a reply?
-“Darling,” Lucius kisses his throat. “You did beautifully with the books. Are you sure you don’t mind not going out on the Bellville job?”
“I don’t,” he smiles, petting the silky material of Lucius’ shirt. “Jim can handle it.”
“They can,” Lucius grins against his skin. “Did you make the lasagna for dinner? It smells amazing.”
“Mm, I had time.”
“What did I do to deserve such a man?” Lucius nips at his skin, just a little.
“Must’ve been a saint in another life,” Izzy laughs. He does that now. It feels good. “Fuck knows it isn’t in in this one.”
“Sing it,” Lucius pulls him close. “Take me to the shooting range tonight?”
“You hate guns.”
“Mm, pays to know though, doesn’t it? And you’re hot when you get all teacher-y.”
They rent out the whole range. Lucius fucks him with a hand over his mouth that reeks of gunpowder. Afterwards, Izzy fishes out the ring he’s been holding for years and asks. Lucius says yes. Jim witnesses their marriage with blood drying under their fingernails.
“You’re next,” Lucius teases them.
“Maybe,” they concede.
That’s how Izzy finds out about Oluwande. The man isn’t of the life. He’s soft and sweet. Izzy almost feels bad for him.
Almost. Jim treats him well. He stays of his own accord. He doesn't talk to Izzy much even though they're thrown together a lot. Sometimes when Jim and Lucius get really deep into it, talking in half-sentences that loop around each other, Oluwande will catch Izzy's eye and something passes between them. Understanding maybe.
Or fear. Izzy wasn't sure he could still feel that really, but the ghost of it lingers on his tongue. He tastes it in those moments.
-Izzy signs over his part of the company to them two years into the marriage. He has enough money and Lucius pays most of the bills these days anyway. He's barely there. He can do the few things they need him for from home. They do still need him. Lucius says that anyway and Izzy believes him.
-Izzy doesn’t look back. No apologies. No regrets.
But. Just once. He Googles her name. Finds no trace. It’s as if they never were.
He doesn’t ask, even when Lucius picks at him over dinner, tries to figure out what's wrong.
No apologies. No regrets. No looking back. He erases his search history.
He'll be forty-five this year. He never thought he'd live to see it. He'd like to see forty-six. He bets it'll be nice.