After the fires before the flood, my sweet baby, I need fresh blood

[47redbirds]

Mike is a number of things. Secretive, oddly retentive about the chore wheel, Brigg's second-in-command, and smart as a whip. He also trusts Billy. Maybe not implicitly, but he does. It's been a while since Billy's first task, and while he still stays by Mike's side for the most part, the crew's beginning to respect him, too. Not just Johnny--Jakes had made a point to shake his hand after a particularly hairy getaway between him and the Chechens.

Mike starts drinking with Billy after a good run. He's damn good at pool and can hold his beer for someone who looks so straight-laced, even with scruff. Boy-band or not, the only personal thing that wound up causing a stir outside what they do is Mike punching someone in The Drop because they were harassing a girl. For a criminal, he's oddly well put together.

It's one o'clock in the morning when Mike texts him. It's nothing but an address to a motel and a room number, but when Mike texts it's mandatory Billy shows up. Another exercise, maybe. Another deal. The whole Graceland group had been very careful with Mike--most of the stuff he was a part in he either never got to actually see the transaction or it was far too minor. Not all the heat is off of him, it seems, but he's trusted. Mike trusts him enough to send him the text. It's the room to the corner, and it's run down and shitty. When Mike opens the door, it looks like he hasn't slept in days despite the fact that Billy was asked to get him out of bed since Paige wasn't there. He's also smoking, which is both disconcerting and never seen before.

There's something else, though, and it's not just his hair pushed back from his face. The white tank top he's wearing is spattered with red liquid, as is his chin. His hands are covered, even the one holding the cigarette while he exhales and lets the other in. It's blood.

Once Mike closes the door, it's immediately apparent why: there's a girl in the bathtub, the tiles covered as someone stabbed her more than a few times, and on the bed a man. What is probably a man judging from the fact that he's naked--his face has been mangled, it seems, by a rather large number of bullets to the face as well as a champagne bottle.

Mike takes another drag of the cigarette.

"Thanks for meeting me here."

Comments

[heroeswork]

Billy was comfortable with the position he'd found among the group. This was a very long, very slow mission. They knew that going in. Nothing would happen until he got close to Briggs--who Billy still thought was the head of this whole thing. They trusted him enough for him to be part of things. It gave him time to observe everyone. Already, he had a very clear picture of most of them. Of Johnny's need to be everyone's friend. Of Jake's three-foot-thick walls between him and everyone else. Paige's insecurities. Charlie secretly caring for everyone more than she let on. The only one he'd yet to get a good read on was Briggs himself. This was suppose to be just a job, but these people, they weren't the hardened criminals he'd been expecting. He found himself reminding himself this was JUST a job on a near daily basis. That he couldn't actually get close to these people. "Heart in a box" became his mantra.

Then there was Mike. Mike who he'd been growing closer with. Watching more closely than any of the others. He was complex. Far more than he seemed on the surface. That eager to please attitude hid so much more. Bill was getting the feeling he'd only tapped the surface.

When he got the text, he was expecting more of the same. Maybe Mike hooked up with someone and needed a ride home. Or a deal was done and he needed a way out. With how tame things had been since that first test, Billy went in with few expectations.

The first thing to strike him was the cigarette. He'd never once seen Mike smoke. Never smelled it on him. He eyed the cigarette with mind surprise. Then he saw the blood. That was a lot of blood just on Mike's hands. He pushes it down. Mike didn't look hurt. Had something gone down?

He should have known. He should have smelled it. But part of stunned mind had blocked it out. The moment he stepped into the room, the whole thing seemed to sudden tip on it's side. He couldn't even take in the scene before him. He just saw all of that blood and immediately wrenched his head, away. He was pressing the cuff of his jacket to his nose, trying to block it out.

He shook his head, trying to say it was no problem. But he couldn't stay there. He could still smell it. His stomach was threatening to empty itself right then and there. "I'll wait for you in the car..." he choked out, before turning for the door again.

[47redbirds]

Mike, while not exactly as peppy as Johnny, is usually fairly agreeable. Only when he's threatening junkies when he's doing basic collectings does he get snippy, and thatsba self confessed act.

Now, though. Now mike, cigarette between his fingers, closes the door gently before Billy can move out. He looks the other over, watching him carefully, and takes his time exhaling the smoke from the cigarette through his nose.

"You're not a ride this time, Billy," he states, voice surprisingly terse. Staring at him. Watching his reaction carefully. "You've been promoted as of now. "

[heroeswork]

Billy halted as the door shut in his face, and a small thread of panic started to wrap around his gut. This could be the end of the mission or the end of him. He hadn't thought Mike capable of outright murder. Not like this. But how much had he missed? How much had that buttoned-down exterior hidden from view? He'd dismissed that punch in the bar as nothing more than an outburst, was it a hint of something much larger? Had Mike killed these people in cold blood, or was it something else?

Billy wasn't a guy for wetwork. He never had been. That was Casey's deal. A wounded teammate who needed tire attention could get him to push through it. But this? This was too much. He needed out and he needed out right then. This was meant to be low level for now. He didn't have a wire. He didn't have an ops team on standby. He couldn't call anyone in to get him out.

"I think I'd rather stay just your wheelman if it's all the same to you." It was said quickly, barely differentiating the words, his voice thick with two very necessary things. The first being an attempt to not breathe, so he wouldn't have to smell that blood. The second being a focus on not vomiting on Mike's shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut as the former became difficult by sheer biological need, and he tucked his face harder against his sleeve.

[47redbirds]

Mikes brow raises and he almost smiles. Settles for a bit of a smirk, instead. Watching the other, the way he reacted. billy was normally so calm and collected, but now he looked weak in the knees. He looked green.

Mike hoped that didn't mean figuratively, too.

"You want to hurl, that's fine. Happens to everyone their first time. Washrooms over there, there's someone in the tub though. If this is something else... You're not going to run, are you, billy boy?"

[heroeswork]

Billy was far from green. He could punch and shoot with the best of them. If he was the one causing the blood to come out, it was different. But when it was just spread around like that...there was just something revolting about it. Getting him near it was like trying to touch the wrong ends of a magnet together.

"Of course not," he said, shaking his head, still trying to figure how to speak without needing to draw breath. "It's just..." his gaze flit over to the bed and immediately jerked away. Another wave and he looked like he barely held it back that time. "...I've never been great around..." another swallow. He could taste bile in his throat. "...a lot of blood..."

[47redbirds]

"You're going to have to get used to this or you're in the wrong profession," Mike states. His voice is bland but he's looking at the other curiously. Suspiciously.

He's not faking the blood thing, that's true, but Mike trusts Billy. And now that he's pussy-footing around the issue, he's not so sure. Another drag of his cigarette and he goes over, putting it out in the hotel ashtray.

"Like I said, there's a toilet there. We're grunts, Billy. Good grunts, but grunts, and part of that is doing our job and cleaning up other people's messes."

Though it is suspicious, with how high up Mike is. He puts his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. Clicks his tongue and runs a bloodied hand through the stubble on his chin, not realizing he's streaked his face, too.

"Cleaners will get here soon but we need some preliminary work done."

[heroeswork]

Mike saying the were just grunts pulled a suspicious look from Billy. Billy himself barely counted as a grunt. He was the wheelman. Newest to the group and waited in the car. The furthest from the action anyone could be. While Mike was on the opposite end. He was the boss's right-hand. Top of the heap. It was everyone in between that counted as a grunt. So why was this falling on them? Why wasn't Mike calling in someone like Jakes or Johnny to take care of this? What exactly had Mike done that he couldn't call the others?

It was that hand over his stubble that made Billy look away again. No amount of reminding himself this was for a mission was going to overcome that sight on the bed.

"You're gonna need a look out," Billy temporized, trying to think of an out for himself. Let you know when it's safe to get...everything into the car."

[47redbirds]

"I'm not going to need a look out," Mike's gaze snapped over to Billy, surprisingly hard. He takes a few steps, gaze level with his. "I need you on this."

Because the other is making him a little paranoid. A little suspicious. Sure, your first time with a dead body isn't all that peachy. Mike remembers throwing up, too, and he doesn't have a thing with blood. But Billy... Billy is normally calm and composed. Even if he doesn't want to do anything. Now?

Mike puts a hand on the other's shoulder. Squeezes, staring him straight in the eye still. "You're not going to run, Billy," he repeats. "I might start to think something's up with you."

[heroeswork]

Billy looked at Mike. Desperate. Pleading. Don't make him do this. He'd just barely held it together when Mike got hurt on that first test. If only because he had driving to focus on. And even then, he barely stuck around long enough to hand the wounded Mike off to the rest of the house. But this? This was too much.

"I'm not gonna run," he promised. It was hard to sound reassuring when trying not to puke. "The only thing..." He swallowed again, a cold sweat forming on his skin. "...up with me is..." he gestured toward the bloodied bed. "...my only phobia..." He'd once joked with Martinez that he also had a fear of chins, but now was not the time for jokes.

[47redbirds]

"Billy," Mike's other hand moves to the other's shoulder, squeezing him. He can't lose someone he needs, not right now. Not with all the shit going on with the Chechens and the Sarkesians.

Fucking Armenians.

"I need you on this with me. Please. Johnny and Jakes are out, the girls are doing something else. You gotta give me a hand until the cleaning crew comes."

[heroeswork]

Billy looked at Mike. Stunned. How wrong had he been? Had he misread Mike that poorly? He couldn't see even the faintest glimmer of sympathy or remorse in the man. It wasn't as though he were looking for anything blatant. Not even a muttered "It'll be okay." Just a look that Mike might actually feel bad for asking Billy to do this. Some hesitation or doubt.

Had Billy been wrong, or had something happened here that shifted Mike to be this cold? He'd seen it before. Where most people shut down or cried or went catatonic, some just switched off that part of themselves. Made themselves numb and cold. Was that what Mike was doing, now? Was this some sort of shock? Could Billy find a way to do the same?

His eyes watering, Billy finally nodded. Slowly. If he stuck close maybe he could see what had happened. It would be a trial to just move a step closer to the bed, but he'd do it. "What...do you need me to--"

In trying to accept it, his control slipped. He ducked out of Mike's grip and just barely made it to the bathroom. Dropping to his knees. Thank god the seat was up. There wasn't anything in his stomach, so he just dry-heaved. But it wasn't any better.

[47redbirds]

Mike frowns. The thing is he doesn't really know what to do in the situation. It seemed so long ago that he did it for the first time, almost distant. He's just gotten used to doing it on occasion. To dealing with other people. To dealing with other people's situations like this.

To not really care about human life.

Billy dashes for the bathroom and Mike follows a few moments later, quiet except for his footfalls. They're heavy. Tired. He watches the other on his knees, hugging the bowl, form the doorway for a moment.

Mike's hands are oddly still as he pulls out another cigarette. Puts it in his mouth before stepping to the tub and pulling the shower curtain closed so Billy doesn't have to deal with a second body right away.

Part of Mike wants to pat the other on the back. Soothe him. Tell him this is a one time thing, even though it wasn't. Explain that his first go, he didn't have a toilet to throw up on. Actually threw up near the body. Wants to be someone that Billy can lean on.

Mike never had that, though, so why should Billy, part of him thinks. It's a selfish part of him, but he knows Briggs would do the same thing, too. If you coddle people all the time they're soft. Instead, he digs for his lighter.

"There's a part of you you have to just switch off. Just... Put it in a box. Don't look at it. That's what gets you through this stuff."

[heroeswork]

Billy just nodded, his eyes closed, as if agreeing. He knew that's what he should do. But how could he explain it? It wasn't the normal sort of punch-in-the-gut reaction people got upon seeing such death and gore. He'd stood among dead bodies before. Rifled through their pockets. Dressed them up to be decoys. He'd killed people himself. Broken noses and limbs. Snapped fingers to get people to talk. But there was something about blood that was neither his own nor caused by his actions that made his skin crawl. Anything else, he could push down and ignore until he had time to deal with it. But each thing in its own box. But not this. It was like he tried to put it in a box, wrapped up neat and tidy like anything else. But them moment he tried to put the lid on, it exploded into a million swarming spiders. It seeped into every inch of him and he couldn't contain it.

But saying it was a phobia, a true and honest phobia that he had no means of controlling, still had Mike telling him to just get over it. And again he found himself wondering what could have happened to Mike to make him so cold, so calloused. Yes, he was the second in command of a rag-tag mafia. But nothing before this had seemed truly cold.

Taking a few slow breaths, Billy finally got to his feet and flushed the toilet. He took his time going to the sink. Rinsing his hands. Using cupped hands to get water into his mouth, clearing out the vile taste. He just needed to build a wall. A box wouldn't work, but maybe a wall. He splashed water on his face and ran his hands down over his scruff. A wall. Between him and all emotion. For the sake of the mission. Slowly, with slightly unsteady hands, he unbuttoned his blazer. A wall to contain everything, to get through this. With slightly steadier hands he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. A solid wall. Brick. Leaving him on the outside alone. Methodically, he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. A wall as high as the eye could see. Nothing could get through or over. Finally, he shed his vest. Leaving him in his suspenders. The vest he hung with the jacket.

More or less composed, he looked at Mike. "What do I need to do?" Calm. Almost cold. Straightforward. He'd see if this would work the moment he stepped out of the bathroom.

[47redbirds]

Mike smiled faintly, and it was something similar to proud. He pulls the other into a not-quite one-armed hug--instead an army-like pat on the shoulder, stiff but thankful.

Whatever had happened, he had gotten through to the other. He wouldn't be a complete dick, and he makes sure he and he alone deals with the grisly, grisly stuff. The blood. He just gets Billy to start collecting belongings and the like, make sure there's nothing personal in the place, and a few other seemingly menial tasks that actually take a load off of Mike.

The cleaning crew are nice, simple folks. Low-end with a gardening center van and uniforms. They all greet Mike and Billy with 'sir' and one of them looks at an item of clothing.

"It's Whistler," they say, and Mike nods.

"Walked in on him like this. We're thinking Ahri did it, so keep an eye out for the Armenians, alright?"

"Yeah. Shit, that guy was gold. I mean a junkie, but damn."

"Girlfriend, too." Mike jerks his thumb in the direction of the bathroom.

"Are you going to tell Chuck?"

"No, and neither are you guys." She'll flip. That seems to be the end of the conversation, and Mike gets a phone call. It lasts all of 'Okay, see you in 10, bye,' before he's done and looks over at Billy.

"We're done. You still up for driving?" No 'are you okay,' no nothing. Mike's in one of his moods.

[heroeswork]

Billy goes through the work with methodical focus. Intent on each task, doing all he can to not look at the blood. Not think about the blood. And any time he has to be even near it, he tries to think of it as something else. Stage dressing. Something Farmer put together as a ruse. It works. Mostly. There's a few moments where he has to stop, gagging hard and pressing his wrist to his lips to calm himself. He went above and beyond what Mike asked for. He didn't need much direction, as he was far too accustomed to wiping away traces of a person having been somewhere--usually himself or his team. He checked every crevice, every corner something could end up. Treating it any other spy job made it easier. He even found himself looking for bugs at one point.

When the cleaning crew came in, he listened as he finished up his own tasks. Whistler. Chuck's junkie? He'd heard mention of the guy before. Not enough to get a full read on the situation, but enough to know she cared about the guy. Hearing that Mike found him like this didn't put him at ease. Was he just telling the cleaning crew that? With how cold Mike had been, he couldn't trust it. Why did they need to clean it up if Mike hadn't had a hand in this?

As Mike made his call, Billy ducked into the bathroom to grab his jacket and vest. He gave a cursory glance around to ensure nothing was left behind, and went to rejoin Mike. He just gave a confirming nod to the question. The way out was so close. He went for the door, digging for his keys in his blazer pocket.

[47redbirds]

"I hate doing shit like that," Mike says once they're both in the car. He exhales, loudly, and doesn't seem to realize his cigarette has actually gone out. His seatbelt goes on and he's running his hands through his hair, pushing it back--he's washed his face and hands so they were blood free at least. Had a hoodie on him, too, so he's covered. Still annoyed, apparently.

"Hey--good job, by the way. I know that shit isn't easy." He means it, too, and starts to rub at his chin. "We have to make a stop before home, though. Real quick one." He's pushing Billy, he knows. He has to push everyone, though. Has to. Especially if they're getting a little too close to him. Or he's getting a little too attached.

"You alright to do that?"

[heroeswork]

Billy said nothing at first. Keys in hand, he tossed his jacket and vest into the backseat, leaving him in his shirt and suspenders. He didn't even seem to hear Mike at first. Focused intently on getting the key in the ignition, buckling himself in, and checking his mirrors. It was the intense focus of a man on the verge of cracking, slow and deliberate. But where most would have been nervous and unsteady, he was as firm as ever. There was no tremble in his fingers. His gaze remained firm and confident, not flitting toward every sound.

He'd built a wall between himself and everything. A wall that he'd patched as he worked, making it stronger. To keep everything at bay. A wall he didn't dare try to crack now. Not until he was alone. Not until he could be sure of what was building up behind it. Because once he pulled it down, there would be no putting it back.

"Sure," he said, as terse and cold as Mike had been at the start. "Where to?" Not a word about what had happened, nor a question of fault. He seemed calm and cold as he started the car, squinting as the headlights flared on. Before Mike could answer, he was already backing out.

[47redbirds]

Mike had never felt more thankful about that. That there was silence. It gave him time to patch himself up, though the truth was that he'd shrugged all of this off the moment he walked into the door and saw Whistler there.

He was planning. Figuring things out, running ideas through his mind. Probabilities of things going right. How to save this or possibly even use it to his advantage. How to put the right fires up, or see if this gives him the angle on anyone. His brow is perpetually furrowed, mulling everything over.

He knows one of the Armenians Ahri looks after. Drug runner, not too unimportant he doesn't know anything, not too important so Ahri notices right away. Has him delivered to a sound-proof room the Graceland group sometimes detains people in--a former now deceased member's house who had a penchant for being the next recording artist.

They arrive at the fairly nice house,and Mike has stopped smoking completely, even tossing his packet of cigarettes away as he cracked his neck.

"You coming?" He asks, getting out. "Don't bother locking it, even, this won't take long at all."

[heroeswork]

Billy didn't say a word the entire way, apart from asking for clarification on a direction. He drove with the same determined focus he always did. Perhaps more so than usual. He didn't look at Mike. He tried even to keep from thinking of why they weren't going home. Just part of the job. Just part of keeping the mission in play. Focus, observe, don't think. Analysis comes later.

He just gave a curt nod to the question, and got out of the car. Grunt work meant doing as you were told and not asking questions. He just shoved the door shut and followed Mike.

He was stiffer than usual. Not to the point of being nervous, but nowhere near his easy, casual self. This would be quick, Mike said. They could get whatever this was done and over with, then he could deal with everything when they got home.

[47redbirds]

Mike unlocks the door. Casually motions behind him to say Billy should lock behind him, but not actually saying a word. Stops to pick up a wooden baseball bat in the hallway, gripping it lightly with one hand casually.

Time to get out his aggression. Time to channel every piece of anger and morality problems into this whole exercise and then be done with it. Put it somewhere else.

Mike entered the room, motioning for Billy to follow, and didn't bother to wait for the door to be closed. There was a man tied to a chair, a too-scrawny Armenian in a tacky suit and gold chain. Middle age.

Mike wasted absolutely no time in taking the bat and swinging at the other's jaw like he was hellbent on getting a home run. The small-time dealer immediately broke his nose, blood flowing and bruises showing all over his cheek from the impact. He already looked like a mess.

"Red Socks win again. Hi, Petros. Long time no see."

"You FUCKING white boy, piece of--"

"Billy, do me a favour and grab that bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard in the kitchen?"

[heroeswork]

Billy locked the door as he was told. Followed Mike as was expected. Closed the door behind him. Stood like a sentinel, hands in his pockets, waiting.

In forcing himself to not process anything, he didn't notice that it was a man tied to the chair. And he didn't connect the bat to the man until it met his face. And Billy was the one who flinched. It felt as though that bat were a sledgehammer colliding with the wall he'd built. Not enough to break it, but enough to shake him.

Don't think. Patch the wall. Follow the order. Think later. And he went. Mechanical and quiet. He found the bottle after a moment and returned. Holding it out for Mike to take when he was ready. He didn't even look at the man in the chair.

[47redbirds]

"Oh," Mike looked like he was having the most childish argument in the world with a five year old, throwing a hand up as he talks and glancing over to shift his hand to the bottle, "I'm sorry--you just said you saw Whistler. Before you just said he texted you, so which one is it, Petros? You have me really confused." A beat. Mike undoes the cork and takes a small swig. Offers the bottle to Billy as Petros begins to stammer his excuse.

Mike, opening a closet door, pulls out a thin towel.

"Not sure that's good enough. Just want to know where you last saw Whistler and what your boss told you. I know he told you something or you wouldn't be so jumpy, now, would you?" Mike places the bat on the other's cheek, patting it before lining it up for a new shot, it seemed.

[heroeswork]

Billy took the bottle back, trying not to listen. He didn't take a drink, or even look at the bottle. When Mike went for the closet, Billy returned to his post by the door. Waiting further instruction.

But try as he might, there were cracks in that wall he'd built that he couldn't quite patch. The smallest trickle of panic started to leak out and he started putting things together. Mike's words. The bat. The interrogation. The towel...no, Mike had it to clean up the blood. That's all. But this man, were his crimes really worth this treatment? Even to someone like Mike?

The mission. It was a mission. Mike wasn't his friend, he was the mission. A very bad man, reporting to an even worse man. When this was over, they'd both be locked up. Shut it off and don't think about it.

[47redbirds]

The two say a few more things back and fourth--mainly Mike catching the other's inconsistencies, and he finally sets the bat down. Petro face is cut and swollen and bruised, nose broken, and Mike sighs.

"Petros, you know I can't let this go. Help me help you here--you fucked me over with bus 82 and ran to your boss, so he trusts you. Just wanna know where Whistler in particular fits in there. Guns? Money? Whistler's girls?"

"I swear to god--"

"I need a name, Petros. Just a name."

"I don't know."

"You're...what. 5 years sober?"

"6."

"Right. Six." And Mike grabs the towel and the bottle back. "Billy, hold his head still."

[heroeswork]

It all clicks into place as Mike takes the bottle back. Billy lets it go, nearly dropping it. His mind works too fast for him to hit the brakes and he sees what's coming. The towel. The alcohol. Six years sober.

Billy doesn't move. The first order he'd hesitated on since shrugging off his jacket back at the hotel. He just stares at Mike, as if he can't believe what's in front of him.

"Mike, you can't...there's other ways."