Chapter Text
They dropped him off in a muddy field 900 yards east of the target location at 22:20. The field was cold. The sky dark and cloudy. The nearby woods quiet. The isolation as crisp as the summer air.
Patroclus took this all in and followed his training. He waited and watched. There was near-constant movement all around the grand house that he was watching, a house that existed more like an estate. A security team kept track of it all through a continuous shift of guards who watched every area outside for any suspicious activity.
The security team was one of the best that money could buy. They would be hard (near-impossible) to be able to slip by without being detected. This meant that his best chance of getting in would be finding one of the guards to isolate and kill and using the opportunity to get his job done before anyone noticed the dead man and sounded the alarm before Patroclus had the chance to eliminate the person he was really sent there to kill.
That was the plan the bosses had set up for him. It had been given to Patroclus one week ago and he’d spent hours since then memorizing every detail of the plan under their constant watch.
At 23:20 he had found a place to settle in and watch and wait. Unfortunately, this was exactly when he was supposed to be putting the plan perfectly laid out for him into action.
But none of his training had prepared him for this moment – the moment when he realized he could choose whether he followed the plan that included killing someone that wasn’t the target or not. Someone who, as far as he’d been told, hadn’t done anything to deserve dying over besides being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Naturally it came to him that the better option was to sit and wait and see where it would be easiest for him to sneak in.
The security team was paid enough that they would not make mistakes. But, they were still human, and all of them make mistakes no matter how much money is deposited in a bank account.
Patroclus found the flaw at 01:11 and slipped inside the perimeter undetected at 01:16 – the length of time it took for him to hop down from the tree he’d been hiding in and make the quiet journey to the big stone fence that surrounded the inner mansion on the property. He slipped by the guard with the red sticker on his right shoulder who had stopped to talk to the guard with the really big hands and therefore was 23 seconds behind in the perimeter walk that was his responsibility, leaving a gap that extended from 3 seconds to 26.
The change of plan only meant that Patroclus was putting his extraction at risk because that number had been laid out clearly to him as unchanging. He had to get this done before 01:45.
The numbers ran through his head as he snuck through the comparatively sparse-security house. The bosses had told him that the owners thought that the best security team money could buy would be enough to protect everyone inside.
No one had factored him in.
He didn’t make a noise as he moved through the house, through the map of the floorplan he’d painstakingly memorized, and around the pristine halls that had been cleaned only hours earlier by a staff that was just settling in to sleep in a part of the grand house that was far away from what was about to happen.
In his head, he could still picture the details around this job as they'd been laid out to him. The man was a guest – a very very important guest, at a very very important party – and his death was going to implicate others at this very important party and most importantly the hosts, who would be disgraced for all of this taking place at their home.
All of this had been seared into his brain over and over again until it was all that rattled around in there for the past few weeks. He could still picture the file sitting on a lonely desk in the very lonely room he'd been led into, and then left in until he could prove that he was ready to kill this man in order to gain his freedom from that room.
Patroclus recognized the hallway from the blurry photos he’d been shown. One, two, three doors down and he was at just one of the isolated bedrooms that was housed within the estate. The entire house was more of a mansion, which was more of a mini-castle. He had never encountered anything like it before. But he was too job-oriented to be in awe of it.
But a part of him (the part that was just a 14 year old boy) was stunned that people could live in a house so big. He wondered how they didn’t get lost. He wondered how they didn’t stop and stare at every colorful painting hung up in the halls.
And, eventually, he shook off the urge to get lost down a branching hallway and figure out whether the wealth was actually buying furniture for every single one of the 164 rooms on the estate. He’d found the room he was supposed to end up at. It was dark enough, quiet enough, and most importantly isolated enough, that no one was disturbed when he turned the handle and quietly made his way inside.
There was even less of a disturbance as he crept forward, and the constant buzzing hum of a reminder of his mission grew and grew until it overtook anything else he could think and Patroclus was standing over the wrinkled, sleeping body of a senator.
He knew nothing about this man other than that his death was going to implicate others and Patroclus had to get it done. That’s what the bosses had told him. And he knew what would happen if he didn’t do as he was told.
He watched the man sleep. Breathe. And then he watched his own hand as he drew a knife out. Gleaming, intricate, and treasured. It had been given to him two weeks ago as a fourteenth birthday present, and it was the first thing Patroclus had ever been given that he got to keep as his own. He treasured it. Took it out every night to admire it. He kept it hidden under his pillow so it was less likely to be stolen while he slept. He thought of The Boss, smiling and telling him he’d finally earned something worth keeping while he gave it to him.
Patroclus watched as his beloved knife gleamed sharp and silver in the dark and crept towards the old man’s throat. He watched as it glided across his skin and opened him up with only a quick choke and a bubble of blood as signs that the man woke up while the deed was being done.
The man went back to sleep just as quickly.
Not sleep, he realized when he pulled his hand away and the knife followed.
Dead. He was dead. And Patroclus had just done it.
His breath hitched. His bony chest rattled with something deep in his lungs that felt wrong.
It was 1:22 and he had to get to the extraction point. Something as inconsequential as crying wouldn't lead to anything good.
He pulled his present in tight to his chest and slipped it back into the hidden sheath, blood and all. His walk out of the bedroom was just as quiet as the walk in had been.
Down the hall on the way back out, at door two, someone else was quieter.
Patroclus’s entire detailed plan fell apart the second an arm wrapped around his neck from behind and he was pulled into a different room. The door shut behind them with a sudden click before he could fully realize what was happening.
His hand reached into his jacket for his knife, but he was stopped when the stranger pinned it behind him with their other arm.
“You just killed that man,” was whispered into his ear.
The voice was a lot quieter, a lot softer, and much more like his than he expected it to be. It was another boy.
Patroclus was not supposed to be able to fall prey to most grown men, let alone kids his age. He remembered that from his training. He could see the reprimand he would receive, and he knew it would not be nice.
He dug his feet into the floor and threw his head back, smashing his skull into the stranger’s face. A muffled cry left the other boy but his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. A forearm pressed into his windpipe and he felt it slowly constrict more, and more, and more…
He was forced to stumble his feet along to the right while the other boy dragged him around by the neck. There was a lot of fumbling when they slammed into a wall and Patroclus realized that they were starting to be pretty loud, but he was still choking and couldn’t quite do anything about it.
The fumbling produced a sudden flood of light from overhead. Patroclus immediately went still. He was not supposed to be seen. His orders dictated that he should kill anyone who saw him.
Just like he was supposed to kill one of the guards out front.
His feet refused to budge, which was quite convenient because he had to focus hard just to stay on his feet while it slowly got harder to breathe.
“What the fuck.”
The words barely registered at first. Not until the pressure on his windpipe started to ease off. The spots in his vision cleared up and the light flooding the room allowed him to catch sight of what the other boy was looking at.
A mirror. Ornate, with gold trim all around it. And huge. Crystal clear glass. Patroclus stared at it in complete disbelief, because he was in it. And so was the other kid.
His own face shocked him. Patroclus hadn’t seen it clearly in years and in the few seconds he got to look he only took in the fact that he’d lost the baby fat in his face and his hair was getting too long and would probably get cut soon.
The other boy caught his eye the most in his momentary pause. He looked like a regular kid, with a full and flushed face and sparkling green eyes. Patroclus hadn’t realized that someone could have eyes that green. He was a shock - a reminder of the life that existed outside of the world he himself lived in – the first he’d ever had.
The stranger’s eyes narrowed at the mirror.
“You’re just a kid,” he spit out, somehow annoyed.
Only, Patroclus was more annoyed. He wasn’t supposed to be just a kid. Kids had homes and families and toys and distractions, and he had a mission.
“No, you are,” he spat back.
The other boy had loosened his grip enough that Patroclus could twist his body and sink his elbow into his stomach. With the momentary distraction and cry of pain he was able to break out of the hold, turn around, and punch him in the face.
He stumbled back and his hands went to his face. Patroclus assumed that this meant he’d leave him alone now, because normal kids shouldn’t be able to pose any threat to him.
With a few quick footsteps he hurried back to the door, but paused to listen for the hallway outside.
The pause was when he was wrenched backwards again. He twisted and tried to use the momentum of the movement to tackle his attacker to the ground and was surprised to find that the other boy had managed to grab him again. He’d recovered from that punch pretty well.
In fact, it seemed like he was really just pissed.
“Am not!” he hissed out at Patroclus, kneeing him in the stomach.
“Are too!”
They bumbled around on the floor, and he found himself in the sudden tangle of a fight that should be much easier for him.
Finally, finally, he seemed to remember that he was the trained assassin and this kid was just some other kid. He punched him again, and the blood that started to trickle down the boy’s face shocked him enough that he paused.
It was a perfect pause for him to press his knife to the boy’s throat. That should shut him up.
Patroclus strained to hear what was happening outside the room. They’d made a lot of noise, and the last thing he needed was someone finding him now after he’d already killed someone.
He felt a little like he was going to puke.
Under him, the kid was frowning and looking too much like he was thinking. Patroclus pressed the knife to his skin.
“Does that window open?”
“You’ll kill me once I answer.”
“I’ll kill you anyway.” No he wouldn’t. Patroclus knew it already. He tried not to let it show on his face.
Footsteps were coming close and the rest of the house was a no go for getting out unseen. “Does it open?” he tried again, hissing his question close to the boy’s face.
He hoped he looked intimidating.
Another pause. Then, a quiet, “yes.”
Neither of them could be sure the other wasn’t lying. But there were voices outside now, and Patroclus had no other choice.
He moved quickly, swapping out his knife for a fist and punching the boy one last time to keep him down. As he groaned and held onto his face, Patroclus stood and darted over to the window.
It was an old, grand house with updated features. All he had to do was unlatch it and the window lifted to freedom.
Patroclus glanced back, catching the eye of the boy once more before he slipped outside and clung to the ledge.
It was dark. No one was able to see him as he climbed down, but he could hear a shout from inside the room he’d just left. And then a lot more shouting.
He made it out, of course. His very first mission had been completed almost flawlessly. He found out once he made it out that the outcome that had been hoped for by all of his bosses had happened.
Many powerful people blamed the man’s death on each other. Paranoia ran rampant through the rich men and women who had been congregated at the mansion, and accusations started flying.
No noise was made about a teenage assassin.
Patroclus had definitely made his mark on that boy. He’d thought that maybe word would get out about him from the kid, but for whatever reason his bosses never mentioned anything about him getting caught out. They wouldn’t let him forget it, if he had been spotted.
He wondered about it sometimes – was the boy just not believed when he told his story? Or had he not told it all?
Patroclus couldn’t make sense of most of that encounter, so he tried to forget about it. To let it go like he did with almost everything else that he wasn’t allowed to think about. Survival had to come first, and he couldn’t lose himself in thoughts about green eyes and an annoyed, “you’re just a kid!”
– Ten years later –
He loved undercover work. Donning a fake identity was the closest he ever got to having something fun to do. It was a challenge. An outlet.
For a few hours, Patroclus got to pretend to be someone else. Someone like the other people at the party. Rich, happy, successful, free to do as they please without a care in the world. These other people were senators, congressmen, celebrities, all potential donors for a fundraiser that they all knew was only funneling large sums of money into some other rich man's pockets.
Where he would have otherwise felt out of place, Patroclus had an uncanny ability to blend into a crowd. He fed off of the energy around him.
He felt like any other asshole, fiddling with the bow on a tailor-made tux that helped him so effortlessly blend in. He had a drink in his hand that he occasionally pretended to take sips from while he watched he kept an eye on the target. This one had missed too many payments and now needed to be silenced before he got the bright idea of selling secrets.
In his ear, a translucent earpiece buzzed with the voice of his boss giving him orders and reminding him what would happen if he didn’t follow them. Patroclus tried his hardest to tune that voice out while he faded into the background of the party.
Across the room, his target set down his drink and excused himself.
Patroclus did the same.
He followed, idling to look at some paintings on a garish wall in the largest gallery room while he waited for an appropriate amount of time to slip into the bathroom after the man.
It would be quick and quiet. It would need to be done alone. Patroclus waited a few more seconds before he slipped into the bathroom. A different man was at the mirror, fussing over his hair. Unfortunate. He would have to wait until he left.
Patroclus copied his position in front of the mirror and started to pull apart his bowtie, pretending to fix a nonexistent wrinkle in it even though he had no real clue how to put it back together. The other man paid him no mind, lost in his own reflection.
He used the mirror to take a quick look behind him. Thankfully, there was no one else in the restroom.
Wait. Where was the mark?
Patroclus felt a strange tingle creep up his spine. The sense that something was about to go terribly, horribly wrong slammed into him as soon as he spied the little spot of red on the otherwise pristine white tile.
Blood.
The man next to him had stopped moving just seconds ago. His relaxed demeanor melted away. This man had beaten him to his mark. And best of all, with the mark dead Patroclus would be able to leave without having had to actually do any killing. Unless he was killed by this other assassin first.
The pieces fell into place just as a fist came for his face.
Patroclus ducked, and subsequently correctly guessed that this other man was also a professional who would anticipate that he would duck and blocked the other arm that came at his sternum.
That threw the other assassin off. Patroclus felt him shift his weight and used the surprise to throw him into the counter.
If he could just get out the door he could use the crowd outside to disappear.
Hetook the risk to turn and head towards the door, but the man recovered faster than he thought he would, and he found himself grabbed by the collar and dragged back before he could make his escape.
Frustration started to cloud the edges of his consciousness. He could get out of this mission with no lives lost if he could just get out of this room.
He used the momentum of being yanked around to shove his shoulder under the other man’s chin. His head snapped back but his hold didn’t ease up. Patroclus felt a shudder run through him, and he wondered if he’d just managed to piss this guy off just as much as he himself was pissed.
He wondered who this other man worked for and if he was under the same amount of pressure.
His wondering pulled his focus, and suddenly Patroclus found himself picked up and thrown into the tile floor.
The wind knocked out of his chest and a silver barrel appeared in front of his face. There was a sharp click, and then-
Patroclus stared up the barrel of a gun while he waited to be shot.
It moved instead, and the cold metal cut into his neck. The barrel was replaced with a pair of inquisitive green eyes.
“It’s you.”
He cycled through every single possible meaning of that phrase and found that he had no idea how to respond. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Not with that sort of scrutiny, that sort of surprise. Surprise that it was Patroclus himself who was here.
What did that mean? Who would be surprised to see him? No one even knew who he was outside of his bosses, and-?
Oh. Oh, no. There was no possible way. His lips parted as a sudden, horrible realization flooded through his body.
“It is you!”
This was the boy. The boy from his first ever mission, the one he’d refused to kill, the one he’d run away from. Only no longer a boy, because if Patroclus was older then that must mean the boy was older as well. And now in front of him, with those same green eyes and the same shock in his face. How was he here? And why did he look so... so... so much like a model? Like the ones outside in the party? Like he was pretty, or something?
The gun had been absent from his skin for a few seconds before Patroclus noticed it. He cursed himself for his momentary lapse in awareness and took the opportunity to jerk away as violently and shockingly as he could.
He had to disappear now.
Patroclus made it to his feet and had the stranger following when the restroom door swung open by itself.
Another man in a tux walked in. Whatever feud existed between him and this stranger was momentarily interrupted, and they both turned away from the newcomer in an effort to keep their faces free of possible recognition.
“Nice night, huh?” he heard the man say as he took the opportunity to slip inconspicuously out of the restroom.
And right back into the crowd. The party was even more crowded now, and Patroclus relished in the ability to stay completely hidden. He moved along in the sea of bodies at a leisurely pace.
People bumped into him left and right. Drunk bodies, high bodies, bodies of everyone who was just as horrible as he was without ever once pulling a trigger themselves. Patroclus didn’t feel too bad about bumping into any of them.
He tried to stay inconspicuous as best as he could. In his ear, his boss’s voice was cutting through the outside din and chatter and reminding him that he had to report in or face punishment.
“I’m not drinking tonight,” he said out loud, waving off a nearby waiter. The words let his boss know that the mission had been completed. It was an easy code for anyone listening in.
Which was true, technically. The mark had been killed. There was only a slight complication in the mission that came from a problem he couldn’t name without facing even worse punishments.
He desperately hoped that no one had heard the short exchange in the bathroom. But, Patroclus thought that he still might be able to make it out clean. He just had to lose the stranger with the green eyes.
Extraction was only a few blocks away and the doors were within his sights. He slipped by the initial entrance security team and let his steps slow just a fraction once he realized he’d made it out untouched.
The stranger wouldn’t be able to catch up to him now. Not without looking suspi-
“You’re a tought little thing to catch, aren’t you?” The words might have been mocking if they hadn’t been delivered with the ease of two friends catching up.
Patroclus nearly tripped over his feet as the unflinching metal of a gun’s barrel reappeared at his back, along with the stranger himself.
How had he caught up?
He chose to stay silent while they continued a leisurely walk together, still making their way out of the thinning crowd. “Relax,” the man said, closer to his ear. Closer than any other person had ever spoken to him before. “We don’t want anyone looking at us twice, do we?”
The man spoke as if he knew better than Patroclus. As if he was more acquainted to these situations than him. As if Patroclus hadn’t been doing it for half of his life already and this stranger wasn’t just some rich boy who was probably playing a game and pretending to be an assassin.
They were nearing the city block that would completely cut them off from the gala. Once there, they would most likely end up seeing which one of them could kill the other first. Patroclus had to think about where he wanted to take his chances.
The stranger’s footsteps were in sync with his, and he could feel how light they got the closer they came to the block’s edge.
Patroclus brought himself to a sudden halt. The man hadn’t expected it and stumbled forward, the gun slipping just a tiny bit.
He recovered quickly though. Quick enough that Patroclus couldn’t stage a getaway. But they were still at a standstill, because he wasn’t moving any time soon and the stranger couldn’t force him to move without causing a scene large enough to be heard by anyone in the near vicinity.
Like the couple that was walking up in front of them, chatting aimlessly amongst each other and sober enough to notice the two men who had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
“We can’t stand here forever, darling.” The words came from behind him with a sweet shine on them. He could hear the lilt of a smile and feel the little nod the man gave the giggling couple that passed them. As if they were all sharing a common familiarity.
Maybe that was the final straw. Or maybe it had been the stranger’s unearned ease with him that made Patroclus want to turn him into a fool.
He huffed. “I’m not going out with you tonight. You puked all over my shoes the last time you got wasted.” He watched the couples’ eyes widen before they turned to laugh to each other at this man’s expense. Patroclus had no idea where that performance had even come from.
“Maybe if you were more interesting, I wouldn’t have to get wasted,” the man shot right back, even though the couple was probably out of earshot by that point.
Patroclus felt a little indignant about himself in this completely fictional scenario. Mostly just because he didn’t want to let this man win.
“Maybe I just think you’re a loser. Remember when we first met? I won that game.”
“We were kids, that doesn’t count. Tonight’s game was much harder, and I beat you by a mile.”
“You haven’t won yet.”
“Yet,” the man said. Far, far too close to his face.
In his ear, his boss had been blabbering on for a while now about the extraction and confirmations and an impending punishment.
Oh, right. Punishment. Patroclus tried to think about where his extraction point was and how to get to it when he was informed that his extraction would be forcible now.
“I still won first,” he managed to grit out, before he was jolted with 250 milliamps worth of electric current.
It was odd to feel his body seize up and shake violently with no control over it. It never got easier to get through. But he was used to it by now. He wasn’t as scared of it anymore. Not like he’d been when he was a teenager.
The real oddity of the night was the green eyes that flashed in front of his face, and the slight regret he felt knowing his bosses would kill this stranger first for the crime of being near him.
Consciousness slipped away from him as the gunshots started.