Chapter Text
He slips into the house unnoticed, contorting his body into a shape not often replicated by a normal human so that he fits through the bathroom window. Which is small. Like, really small. He huffs and stretches, checks his gun and the silencer, double checks the mag before lowering the pistol. He taps at the side of the glasses that are perched on his nose, the image flickers before it turns green – night vision, a blessed invention.
‘Stop thinking about food, I know you’re thinking about food. Focus, Agent 47.’ The voice in his ear chimes unhelpfully and he wasn’t – he wasn’t thinking about food, okay.
“Nice reference, old man, you been re-visiting your childhood hopes and dreams?” He mutters, low enough that the mic will pick it up but quiet enough that no one else will overhear.
‘Hey, I get to live the life vicariously through you while keeping safe until they invent advanced prosthetics like in Captain America: The Winter soldier. I’d kill for a cybernetic leg.’ His handler, Yoongi, sighs wistfully with a melancholic tone to his voice that has him rolling his eyes because the other is exaggerating as usual. Yoongi would never deign to step foot out of his cosy little Bat Cave of technology and information.
“Might wanna shut up then; so I can, you know, get back to the actual assassionationing.” He warns, slowly twisting the knob of the bathroom door and opening it.
‘That is not a word’ Yoongi snarks but then falls back into silence, leaving him to do what he does best. In this case, murdering crime bosses in their sleep.
The window he’d climbed through is to the guest bedroom’s bathroom so he still has to creep down the hallway unnoticed to execute his mission. He shakes off the jitters that come with sneaking around and squashes down the nervousness at the possibility of being seen. They don’t know much about this man’s personal life, just that he doesn’t have immediate family nor does he have any living distant relatives. There’s very little chance of him being discovered before he puts the man to rest then.
He’s grateful for the floorboards that line the floor of the hall. Unlike old parquet, they don’t squeak and groan under weight. Not that he weighs much but still, he’s been to old houses that had shuddered even under the slightest breeze he’d let in. Those were never fun but they were usually owned by people used to all the noise anyway and he could always get away with it despite how much Yoongi complained.
He was the best at what he did for a reason, he was the most skilled they had to offer. His skills were, frankly, being wasted on such a simple execution as this. Killing a man in his sleep? Well, it’s as easy as – killing a man in his sleep!
Heh, he smirks to himself, Yoongi would have laughed at that.
Okay, well, chuckled. Maybe huffed through his nose like he does when he is shown an amusing meme. Or when the handler’s being annoyed by him. Anyway.
He pauses in front of the door to the bedroom and listens. There’s the sound of soft breathing and rustling of the sheets as the person in the bed – one Mister Felix Carson in this case – shifts around in his sleep.
The door is partially open so he pushes at it with his foot, going in gun-first.
There’s the lump in the middle of the bed that he’s expecting, breathing softly and unassuming. He approaches from the side, planning for the ol’ one to the head, two to the chest that never fails. His leather gloves creak as he tightens his grip and takes aim. He steadies his breathing, blinks slowly and refocuses his eyes. Shooting people point-blank never gets easier and he-
He pauses, slowly lifting his gaze from the target to meet a wide pair of kohl-rimmed eyes staring at him from across the room – gun pointed at the bed in a mirroring position to his own. His breath catches in his chest, heart hammering against the bones of his ribcage. It appears that there is a competitor present.
He lifts his hand, pointing the gun away and trusting the other assassin? Spy? Hitman? To do the same. Who, by the look of their build, is a male that is definitely taller than him by a head, broader and obviously meant for hand-to-hand combat and roughhousing and not stealth. Well, apparently he was stealthy enough to escape his notice. Shoot, Yoongi was gonna kill him and then lord the situation over him for the rest of eternity.
The intruder intruding upon his mission raises his own gun in the air, an M9 – small compared to his Desert Eagle even with the silencer. He resists the urge to smirk again, definitely not the time.
They stare at each other for a tense moment, both at an impasse now that things have become complicated beyond their expectations.
And then, despite their seemingly mutual truce, the man’s fingers twitch and Hoseok knows what’s coming before it even happens. Especially considering the fingers that are twitching are not on the hand holding the gun. He’s seen this before, he’s prepared for the outcome.
The man launches himself over the bed, barely grazing the silken sheets with long legs and landing as silent as a cat in the spot that he had just vacated in preparation for the motion. He rolls back, dropping to the ground and in an upwards move in the same instance kicks the guy’s gun out of his hand. The gun goes tumbling onto the soft carpet as he stands again, his own pointed at his opponent. The guy stares at him wide-eyed and surprised and this time he does smirk.
The guy raises his hands, seemingly unarmed though he knows that there is a knife concealed in the other’s fatigues somewhere, probably several of them.
And just like that, the room is bathed in light. He hisses as the night vision flashes and quickly shoves the glasses off. The second of distraction is enough for his opponent to jump again. Unfortunately, they both fumble the gun in surprise and it goes sliding away as well. The man’s arm comes up and tries to grip at his wrist but he smacks it away with the blade of his hand. He shoves his open palm into the larger man’s solar plexus with enough force to send him stumbling back with a surprised ‘oof’. He takes the opportunity and the distractedness to rush forward, clambering on top of the guy’s frame in quick movements and twisting his thighs around the man’s neck. The impact with the ground is hard on his flank and the man’s large hands try to pry his legs apart but he holds on firmly – despite the unfortunate little thrill of pleasure that goes through him. This is one of his favourite holds and it works well for targets larger than him especially if they’re out in the open where he can use the momentum of the-
“Um, can I help you guys?” A voice cuts through the cacophony of soft grunts and hisses that the pair of battling men are making. He freezes, casting his eyes at the bed where a rumpled-looking man is staring at them with bleary eyes.
“You’re not Carson!” He accuses because that’s the only thing that he can coherently form at the moment inside his head. Shit. Shit.
That makes the man wake up rather quickly, glaring at them with a steely determination.
“’Fraid not! He left for Europe a couple of hours ago on urgent business. As acting boyfriend and live-in sugar baby, I am in charge of this house until he returns. Therefore I demand to know what the fuck the two of you think you are doing wrestling on my pristine carpet like that and why are you here?” The blonde pouts at them with an impressive kicked-puppydog look in his droopy eyes and he feels bad for having almost shot this random civilian in his sleep. Assuming he really is a civilian, that could have ended badly.
“Um, this is awkward.” He croaks and looks down at the man still between his legs, locked in the iron-grip of his thighs but no longer choking for air.
The wide eyes look up at him in turn, rage flashing through them violently and he thinks no, can’t have that. He tightens his hold and the man struggles for a bit before passing out. He breathes steadily as he gets up, shaking out his limbs and dusting off his pants.
“This man was sent here to kill you and Mr. Carson. I’ve in turn been sent to protect the two of you. My name’s agent Jung, I’m with the CIA.” He lies through his teeth but keeps a pleasant smile on his lips all the same. “I need you to come with me back to base. This is only the first of the assassins they will send and this house is no longer secure.”
“Oh! Oh, God! I need to call Felix, I have to warn him!” The man scrambles for a phone as he picks up his discarded gun and glasses.
“That won’t be necessary. Our operatives in Europe will be sure to track him down and protect him.” He knows he’ll have to make up for his lies later, that maybe the man won’t trust him after, but this off-the-grid boyfriend of Carson’s is a surprise they hadn’t accounted for. So he does what he does best and lies with an air of confidence that comes from years of practice.
“Oh, okay. If you say so. Let me just...” The man waves a hand and hops out of bed, moving towards the walk-in closet, presumably to pack a bag.
He hums at the boyfriend and nudges the passed-out body of his rival on the ground, checking for awareness. The body doesn’t stir but he knows that the other man will wake up in a couple of hours. He should probably put a bullet through his head, should call in and tell HQ what happened, he probably shouldn’t be removing the mask concealing the lower portion of the rival’s face just to see what he looks like. And yet.
He takes in the youthful and relaxed face, the prominent nose and the bunny teeth peeking through the rival’s parted lips. He re-thinks his assumption that this is a man – this is clearly but a boy built like a brick wall. There is no way this guy is older than twenty. A boy but no less extraordinary considering his occupation. He wonders who the guy works for. Who would take such a pretty face and transform it into a ruthless killer. Sighing, he holsters his gun and presses the button on his watch that will patch him through to Yoongi directly.
‘What up, Red Robin?’Yoongi hums at him, expecting the usual mission complete report.
“Please, we all know I’m Nightwing.” He scoffs. “Anyway. Uh, a situation has occurred and I’m not quite sure how to proceed.”
‘You, not sure? Wow, what’s the situation?’ Yoongi starts typing rapidly, the sound of the keys clicking getting picked up by the microphone.
“There was another, I don’t know? Agent, I guess, here. We fought, I killed him. But the man in the house wasn’t Carson, it was his boyfriend.” He rubs at his forehead with the back of his hand. This case just got much more complicated.
‘Hope you didn’t kill the guy. Helen will string you up on the flagpole out front if you did.’ Yoongi sighs, probably already mentally listing the paperwork they’ll be needing to file later.
“No, I’m bringing him in. He’s too valuable. We can’t risk whoever sent the guy getting to him first.” He looks at the door of the walk-in closet as it slides open, the blonde exiting.
“I’ll talk to you at base; send a clean-up crew on location. Jung out.” He cuts the line without waiting for the other to respond and turns to face the boyfriend fully.
“Ready to go?” He asks cheerfully.
The blonde nods, smiling shakily at him, patting his backpack. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” The boyfriend looks at the prone form on the ground and then up at him with wide eyes.
“Is he – is he dead?” The other’s lower lip wobbles and he feels something inside his chest croon with sadness he hasn’t felt in ages at the image.
Sighing, he shakes his head. “No, he’s out cold and should be for a good hour and then some still.”
And as soon as the words are out of his mouth, the body on the floor starts stirring. He watches in amazement as the rival gets his arms under him dazedly.
“Or not.” He tugs at the boyfriend’s sleeve and ushers him out of the room and into the dark hallway. The blonde get’s the memo and thankfully urgently shuffles down it, hopping into a pair of (what Yoongi would call dick-stomping) boots.
“You have a car right?” He asks, throwing glances back at the bedroom in case the rival has gotten his bearing about him yet.
“Yeah, follow me.” The boyfriend leads the way and he keeps his gun out. He doesn’t really want to kill the rival, the kid, but he will wound him if he needs to.
They pass through a modern-looking kitchen and into a garage that houses two cars. One is a new model Tesla and the other an imported Mercedes Benz, a gunmetal gray GLC Coupe. He watches the boyfriend take the keys and unlock the Mercedes (thank God!) and then follows him inside.
The car purrs to life and the garage door slides upwards, opening slower than he would like but opening none the less. He taps his fingers against the armrest on the door restlessly and wonders how long do they have until the Rival comes charging at them. What a menace.
Not long apparently, since the dark-haired opposition comes barrelling through the door, gun raised and aiming straight for the shotgun seat, for him.
He braces for impact but the boyfriend jerks the car to the left while going in reverse and the bullet grazes the frame of the car. The blonde curses loudly and then peels out of the driveway like all the hounds of hell are chasing them. And they might as well be – considering the rain of bullets being brought down on them by the mad opposition. A single hound frothing at the mouth and yelling obscenities at them in Korean.
“Why won’t you shoot him!?” The boyfriend screeches as the Rival runs out of bullets.
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. He’s unarmed.” He grins at the bewildered look the driver shoots him as they speed down the street and into the centre of the city.
“Ridiculous,” The blonde huffs but he keeps his hands steady on the wheel as they break traffic laws.
“Oh, right.” He says as they’re pulling into the underground garage where the CIA is set up in this particular city, “What’s your name? Or, codename if you prefer.”
The blonde eyes him warily with a scorning look, knuckles tightening on the wheel and a pout making its way onto his mouth. “My name’s Jimin.”
“Alright, Jimin, fair’s fair. I’m Hoseok and mostly everything I’ve told you up until this point has been a lie.” He holds out a hand and Jimin stares at him with an open mouth.
“You – you’re not CIA?” The blonde stutters, hands scrambling for the door and Hoseok shakes his head.
“I am, but - well, you’ll see.” He pulls out the tranq gun from the holster on his other hip in a swift movement. “Sweet dreams.”
The blonde’s eyes show a similar rage as his Rival’s had once he’d seen that he had been out-manoeuvred but Hoseok takes no pleasure in the look this time as the dart starts working and Jimin passes out.
A team of backup operatives rushes out of the stairwell and surrounds the car. Hoseok slips out and stretches, nothing like being back at base. Except, this time, there’s trepidation coursing through his veins at this particular mission because things had gotten a lot more complicated.
“Great going, Jung, fucked it up finally, didn’t you?” One of the men on the team, Ramirez-something, calls out to him mockingly.
He smiles at the man, “Au contraire! My mission has only just begun and I can assure you that it will be as much of a success as all of my other ones have.” He winks at the scowling man and saunters towards the elevator, bravado in place and ego unruffled. Time to go see the boss.
Helen Underwood, the Chief of the SAC (Special Activities Center), is a rigid, frightening woman with pale eyes and even paler hair. Her stature, as she sits across from him behind her large desk, is poised to emit the authority that she does, indeed, have. She aims to intimidate and usually, she does. But this is Hoseok she’s trying her tricks on. He’s ineffable, unmovable, he’s trembling and withering under her glare. He’s a big, fat liar.
Yoongi, much to Hoseok’s surprise, only grins back at her like he knows something that she doesn’t. Which is unlikely. But, maybe this time he had managed to one-up her. Maybe.
“I am well aware of what you are going to say, Mister Min and I do not need you to say it.” Helen pinches the bridge of her nose and pulls out a pair of glasses from the case by the manila folder on the desk. She glances at the two of her agents and then back at the screen of the computer.
“I just think it’s funny how-” Yoongi starts but the Chief raises a hand to stop him in his tracks.
Her manicured nails clack along the letters of her keyboard frantically, the expression on her face growing chillier than her heart is and Hoseok prays that her poor husband doesn’t get the burnt of her anger tonight.
The clicking continues for a few tense moments and then she sighs reluctantly, placing her hands onto the manila folder one over the other.
“You’ll need to report to Chief Carter, The Special Operation’s Center is expecting you.” Helen dismisses them easily and Hoseok wonders if that truly is it, when Yoongi opens his damned potty mouth.
“Hi, yeah, Yoongi here – you know, from Tech Support and Counterintelligence.” The dark-haired agent grins at her unabashedly and Hoseok groans inwardly. There he goes, putting his foot in his mouth again.
“Yes, I know full well who you are, agent Min.” Helen reaches for her coffee and calmly takes a sip, trying to stare Yoongi into submission without actively telling him to fuck off.
“I want it to be known that I had informed you that something about the information we’d gathered was off and that there is a possible leak in the agency at this time.” Yoongi sits up straighter in his seat and Hoseok slumps down into his own further.
“Your concern had been noted but at the time there was no evidence supporting the fact. Claiming that there was a mole in the agency is a serious accusation to have it just be based on a hunch, agent.” She hisses the few chosen words and Hoseok can feel Yoongi deflating and at the same time radiating anger like it’s a physical thing.
“The hunch was based on the fact that logistics had delivered the Chief of Operations several differing reports as to what the life of Mr. Carson was like. In one he had a wife and kids and then in the other he was a she!” Yoongi’s voice is getting lower and growlier the more he speaks and Hoseok really should be doing something about this before the shorter got them both fired. Now, Yoongi would be fine if he got dropped by the agency but Hoseok, oh Hoseok would get a one way ticket to jail for another ten years or so.
“At that point in time that information was the best we had. Mr. Carson had used several very well-fashioned fake identities with a trail of paperwork and receipts to confirm all of them.” Helen shoots back, as calm and collected as always but Hoseok can see that her hands are resisting clenching into fists.
“That in and of itself is unusual! What does a lowly weapons dealer have to do with fake identities? What had he done to deserve a price on his head, and by the CIA no less?!” Yoongi stands up, wobbling as his prosthetic bumps into the table, hands slamming against the wooden surface.
“That is above your pay grade and level of clearance, agent Min.” Helen leans back in her seat, neatly pushing her glasses up her nose. “I believe we are done here.”
Before Yoongi can protest further Hoseok jolts up from his uncomfortable chair, gripping the shorter agent’s bicep and tugging him backwards gently.
“Thanks you for your time!” He calls back hastily as they leave the room with a slam of the door. He winces as Yoongi escapes his hold and kicks the closed door in frustration.
“I’m so sick of this!”
Hoseok sighs, feeling the headache forming behind his eyes. It was never easy being kept in the dark but it was what was expected of them. Don’t ask questions, don’t demand explanations, do as you’re told. Yoongi always had trouble with that part.
“Look, let’s just go talk to Ethan and Mikey. I’m sure they’ll have more insight than Miss Tightass is willing to share.” He rolls his shoulders to release some of the tension that’s gathered in them.
“Please, like they’re not under her thumb.” Yoongi scoffs but starts the trek towards the elevator that will take them to the Operations Coordination Center.
“I don’t know about that, they should be directly under the jurisdiction of Director Hennessey.” He tries to placate the other agent but nothing gets through Yoongi when he’s in one of his moods.
“Yeah, right, like Hennessey wouldn’t run something by Underwood before Mikey and Ethan even heard of it.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, pressing at the up button relentlessly as they wait for the elevator.
“Look,” He says, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. “We’ve worked together for three years now, right?” He waits for the other to nod, looks around and then crowds him into the elevator as the door opens.
“There are still things I’m not allowed to tell you, not until you’ve been with the agency for at least two more years. But let’s just say that certain someone wasn’t aware I was being hired and that two other someone’s knew before person A did because the Man Upstairs placed me under B and C directly.” He waves his hands around, hoping that Yoongi will realizes who he’s talking about. If someone found out that he’d even hinted at an express promotion like that – without classification, without training and without the overseeing that the Chief of the SAC usually does – there’d be trouble. Mostly for him.
Yoongi eyes him with a frown, presses the button for the floor they need and then nods. “Alright, if you’re sure.”
“There’s a reason I trust Carter and Granada as much as I do, man.” He pats the other’s back reassuringly, hoping that Yoongi will trust him on this one.
Because the shorter agent is right. There’s definitely something odd about this case that they’re not being told. And if Hoseok had been sent to kill this man, he must be more important than they had let on. Not to stroke his own ego, but.
Hoseok Jung had joined the military at the ripe age of eighteen; right after his parents died and he was left with no family at all. Back when he’d thought that there was nothing more for him to do than die in the line of action, back when he thought that maybe he would have some worth if he served the country he called home.
He’d been wrong, of course, like most people his age usually are. He’d been through the camps and the drills and the rigorous training and then he was shipped abroad on ‘peace’ missions and he’d seen the worst of it all in the midst of it. And he’d been sick to his stomach with the inability to do anything because he didn’t have the power needed. He then did the only logical thing he could think of doing at the time – two years after enlisting, he deserted.
Life had found in France, without a penny to his name, in his ripped fatigues, pick-pocketing the tourists in the streets of Lyon. And then he’d realized, as he picked up the language, that he had a knack for it – for stealth, for stealing. So he got his shit together and joined a travelling troupe of bandits that broke into homes of the filthy rich and stole anything that could be sold on the black market.
There, he’d met his love – art.
He’d seen his first Degas in the possession of a man in his sixties, hanging above the fireplace and collecting dust and soot from the smoke of the fire. The Dancer in Green, the piece is called, he was informed by the man himself as he sipped on the man’s scotch in the very same home he was about to rob. And maybe the gouache painting isn’t the man’s best, maybe it’s not the best painting out there, but Hoseok – tipsy and emotional from the story the man had told him – had thought (and still thinks) it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.
And as the man fell asleep that night and the troupe moved in to take most of his worthy possessions, Hoseok stood still in front of the crackling fireplace and thought about his life. About what he was doing and what really interested him.
So he took the painting down, rolled it up to keep it safe – and called the cops on the troupe.
While he was running away from the scene of the crime, he thought about giving up the life of thievery. But now that he had a new interest, one that was much more expensive, he needed more – just more. More class, better skills, more resources.
It took him months of squirreling away money and making contacts, avoiding the law and arranging for his name to be changed (acquiring new papers altogether) before he finally got an in with the art dealers of the marketplace.
Then, Hoseok Jung had died and Marcus Constantine had been born.
Victoria Vaughn had taken him under her wing, nurtured him in the art of the Upper Class because he needed a lot of finesse to deal with it (being an uncouth American that he was). The Upper Echelon of Society where they sipped fine wine and ate crackers with caviar was brutal. But he’d picked up on all the best lies to tell, he’d schmoozed with all the right people and rubbed elbows with the wealthiest. Victoria had taught him how to crack his first safe, how to bypass complicated security systems and how to pick a lock in under thirty seconds. He had owed her everything. There was not a man nor woman he couldn’t charm, not a building he couldn’t break into and not a piece of art he couldn’t steal. She had given him a second chance at life.
But he’d grown greedy. He had seen the finery of life in that 1 percent. And he wanted more. And when he’d grown tired of playing second fiddle to Victoria, doing all the dirty work and not getting any of the credit.
So he broke out of her shadow, left her in the dust, spread his wings and soared. And as things go, soared too close to the sun. God fucking damn it, Icarus.
They caught him trying to steal jewels off the CIA’s Director’s wife at the Met Gala.
The jewels had been so shiny and so colourful that he couldn’t have resisted them if he'd tried. And he hadn’t tried at all. He’d been there to steal a phone for a shifty-looking fellow up in Bronx and he’d glanced at the necklace and felt his fingers tingling with the need to hold it. He tried every trick he knew but the Director of the CIA, a man named Warren Hennessey, had gripped his wrist tight and dragged him into a separate room where he’d been detained by agents on standby.
He’s been sentenced to 15 years at the ripe age of 25 for the crimes that they could pin to him. It didn’t help that he’d kept some of the paintings he’d stolen over the years so they’d managed to pin those on him additionally.
What hurt the most was losing the restored Degas. If he wanted to see her now he’d have to go all the way to Madrid.
Fortunate for him, Hennessey was an old-fashioned man. He believed in reformation and recruiting people who actually knew what they were doing from experience rather than standardized tests. And Hoseok had nothing to lose and very limited freedom to gain. A gilded cage but a cage none the less. So Marcus Constantine died and Hoseok Jung was reborn.
The leash was short the first two years but they’d eventually learned to trust him not to stray too far from the path. And if he pocketed a watch, bedded a mark, pilfered a shiny brooch here and there – well, they turned a blind eye to it. It also helped that he’d gotten Yoongi as his handler after the two years. Yoongi was an inter-department misfit that did too much all over the place and needed to settle.
Yoongi was an inventor, a tactician, a scrappy, mouthy, cynical little man that Hoseok had come to love as his family. Even if the mouthy-ness often got them in trouble with the superiors, Hoseok couldn’t imagine doing this job without him anymore. He’d come to rely on the other’s low voice in his ear during missions too much.
Which is why he protests, very loudly, when they tell him that he’ll be doing the next mission without Yoongi.
“Oh, absolutely not!” He jumps off the desk he’d been lounging on. “I’m not doing this without Yoongi, you know my demands!”
“Hoseok,” Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not even supposed to be on this mission. You’re going dark, there’s to be no contact between home base and you until your mission is complete.”
“Yeah! And you want him to take a civilian with him?! I thought you guys were supposed to be smart!?” Yoongi, equally as riled up as he is, paces up and down the length of the conference room frantically.
Hoseok grimaces, he’ll make himself sore doing that. He catches the other’s arm on the next turn the other makes and forcefully sits him down into a chair. He levels the shorter with a glare and Yoongi huffs, looking away.
“We questioned him once he woke up.” Mikey pulls up the information, has it hovering in the middle of the table so that they can all see. “Jimin Park, age twenty-four, dance instructor and an aspiring model.” She brings forth a couple of photos from what seems to be a shoot for a suit ad. Hoseok spares a moment to admire the cut line of the man’s waist and his long legs before the photos are gone.
“He says that he doesn’t know where Carson is but that he has a way of contacting him.” Mikey continues, shrugging her shoulders. “You’re effectively to act as an escort to the civilian and when we locate Carson, you’re to activate your communicator so that you can report the info to us.” She tucks a strand of her curly hair into the bun it keeps falling out of. “There’s not much to it.”
“Yes, as you’ve already told me. Three times.” He crosses his arms over his chest, angry and betrayed. “I still don’t like it.”
“Hoseok, I like you, you’re the best agent and you can honestly do anything. But this isn’t about liking the mission, this is about executing it and letting us fix our mistakes.” Ethan grunts, glancing away as Hoseok glares at him.
“How does Ice Queen Underwood feel about this?” Yoongi asks, gaze firmly trained onto the floor of the room, refusing to acknowledge any of them directly.
“She’s been told even less than we have. Hennessey has this under tight wraps and there’s not much she can do about that. It’s why she’s been crankier than usual.” Mikey scoffs, shuffling through the files they have on Carson and Park aimlessly.
He doesn’t get it – how could they’ve missed that the man had a boyfriend? How could they have missed the man leaving the damn country. Something doesn’t fucking add up and Hoseok is going to get to the bottom of it. Eventually. Maybe after a good night’s sleep and a cup of coffee.
“Look, I’m fucking tired, okay. I’m gonna go back to the hotel and tomorrow I’ll re-introduce myself to Park and see what I’ll do. I mean, I’ll do what I have to but it doesn’t mean I’ll be happy about it.” He relents, no use fighting the inevitable.
The operatives in the room nod, coming to an agreement reluctantly. Yoongi huffs and puffs but eventually slinks off back into his cave to take his anger out on the CIA firewall. Mikey leaves with a pat on his back and Hoseok admires the sway of her hips as she saunters away confidently.
“It’s gonna be fine, we’ll get you operational in no time and you’ll be prepared for everything. Analytics is already working on it.” Ethan looks up at him with something in his eyes that he can’t place and then offers out a hand.
Hoseok clasps it, the friendly gesture quickly turning into something else when he feels a memory card being pressed into his palm. He nods at the Chief decidedly and then leaves the conference room, careful to avoid the cameras and pocketing the SD card.
This day just keeps getting worse, he thinks as he puts the card into his phone and the only file on it is a picture of a clock at the Belvedere Castle in Central Park, New York. There’s a date at the bottom of the photo, set three days from today. The name of the file is W.H. which makes it obvious what this is, of course.
Hennessey wants to meet with him and for whatever reason, the only man he trusts to deliver the message is Ethan Carter.
And he’d thought that things were already complicated.
Two days of endless briefings and mission preparations and one very tense meeting with Jimin, (“You lied to me, fucker!” – “Look, I did what I needed to do at the moment, I’m sorry!” – “Fuck you!”), he’s finally free to go home. Sleeping in the office was always bad for his back.
He takes the fastest flight back to New York with Yoongi, eager to get the meeting with Hennessey over with and looking forward to sleeping in his own bed for once. He’s sad that his Manhattan apartment remains empty for the majority of the year but such is the life of an international spy. Glamorous and lacking in attachments.
The flight is relatively short, thank God, and he makes it back in time for lunch. He drops Yoongi off at his place first, though.
They stare at each other in the back seat of the Uber before Hoseok sighs and pulls the grumpy man into a hug.
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He reassures the other and Yoongi snorts.
“Wasn’t worried,” The shorter agent grumbles but allows himself to become entrapped in the firm grip. “Just – be careful, yeah?”
“Always am, Yoongles.” Hoseok grins brightly, trying to charm the other into believing him. It’s never quite worked and neither does it now but it eases Yoongi’s mind enough. He watches the other hobble grumpily across the sidewalk and then gives the driver the address to his own apartment.
It’s a half an hour drive which leaves him with enough time to make some pasta and scarf it down before hitching a ride to Central Park.
He finds Hennessey standing on the little bridge near the castle when he arrives. The man looks deep in thought but doesn’t startle when Hoseok approaches him.
“The duck swims across the lake but the smart swan flies the length.” Hennessey greets him with the code that had been taught to him when he’d first joined. It’s supposed to ask if he was followed and if anyone knows he’s there.
He’s checked himself for trackers when he god home. The SD card had been destroyed immediately after he’d memorized the time and the place. He’d told no one where he was going, just that he’d be flying out of JFK and to have his gear delivered to the New York office.
So he responds easily, “Yes but the duck lets the current do all the work while the Swan grows tired on his own accord.” If someone had followed him then he would have responded with: both the duck and the swan have the right to travel as they wish and then they would have dispersed to arrange another meeting.
“I’m glad you could make it.” Hennessey says and then starts walking towards the castle.
Hoseok, despite living in New York for five years already, has never been there. It’s a pretty structure reminiscing of many a European castle he’s visited in the past. God, he misses Europe – you just can’t find that kind of architectural beauty in the good ol’ USA.
“With all due respect Sir, what’s the meaning of this?” He asks when they enter the public restroom, a quaint structure with wooden panelling separating the toilets.
Hennessey goes through the motions of checking if the stalls are empty before turning back to look at him.
“While I don’t always approve of the way you and Mr. Min conduct business, and I’m sure as hell not a fan of your quick fingers, I am not blind. You are undoubtedly one of the best spies at the agency. Which is why I allow you so much leeway.” Hennessey grumbles, lacing his arms behind his back and Hoseok watches his tense posture grow even stiffer.
“Min has been sent to a safehouse until this blows over and you are going to Europe because they would definitely try and pin this on you first. Especially since Min tried to fight Underwood on the subject three times already.” Hennessey takes off his hat and runs his hand through his greying hair.
“The mole.” He sucks in a breath.
He’d hoped that Yoongi was wrong. But the short firecracker rarely was and this time it was no different. They had been fed false information, they’d been manipulated.
“They wanted us to get rid of Carson.” He breathes out steadily, shoulders tense and hands clenched into fists. He can’t believe they’d fallen for it, that he’d almost done someone else’s dirty work. Again.
Hennessey nods. “I can’t trust the agency right now. You’ve been sent to Europe as a distraction, a precaution and for something else entirely. The information we had on Carson is all fake. Well, mostly.” The Director leans back against a wall, visibly trying to appear at ease.
“He’s in Europe to do business right now. And he’s about to be in possession of some very delicate information. So while you’re out there chasing the information that he has and apprehending it no matter what cost, we’ll be trying to sort out the mole situation here.” Hennessey concludes with a nod.
“I’m going at it alone with a civilian by my side? You could have at least allowed me the courtesy of having Yoongi watch my back.” He fights to keep the whine out of his voice but he’s not so sure he succeeds. The suit jacket he has on feels tight all around him like it wasn’t tailored to his form. There’s a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, like he’s being –
He turns around and for a second he’s back in Carson’s room, eyes meeting wide ones from a short distance. There’s no mask covering the other’s mouth and nose this time, though. And Hoseok has just enough in him to dodge the fist that flies towards his jaw. The Rival doesn’t let him get any distance, having learned from his mistakes, and Hoseok is trapped in a chokehold before he can react.
He fights it though. He scrambles and kicks out, sends them both crashing through the wooden panelling. The Rival grunts and tightens his grip and Hoseok feels himself getting lightheaded. But he pushes, stomps onto the other’s foot and elbows him in the ribs, pushes backwards until the man’s back slams against a urinal.
The rival hisses and lets him go on instinct. Before the boy can pull a knife out of the sheath on his thigh, Hoseok already has his pistol aimed at the Rival’s head.
“Stand down, Jeon” A man speaks, voice calm and collected, in Korean.
Hoseok whips his head around to see who it is and finds a man dressed in a trench coat with hazel hair parted to the side tastefully standing there. He moves his gaze back to Hennessey who is rolling his eyes in exasperation.
“Sir...” Hoseok trails off, waving the gun around like an amateur because what the fuck goes on?!
The Rival (Jeon, apparently) takes his moment of distraction to execute the movement he’d failed to do that night three days ago but Hoseok has other plans than letting his opponent have the weapon.
A few well-placed presses as they grapple and the mag drops out of the gun while Hoseok holds his other gun in hand, the muzzle pressed to the underside of the taller’s chin.
“He is as skilled as you said, then.” Trench Coat Man says with a pleasant smile that brings out the dimples in his cheeks, this time in English.
“Anyone want to explain what the guy that tried to kill me the other day is doing here?” He grinds out finally, taking both of his guns and stepping away from Jeon.
“Same thing you are, Jung.” Hennessey pushes away from the wall and goes to shake Trench Coat Man’s hand. “This is Kim Namjoon, Deputy Director of the National Intelligence Service, South Korea.” Hennessey waves a hand to the man and Hoseok bows to the guy who is presumably his elder. He may have been born and raised in America but he still had manners. “And this is agent Jeon Jungkook, who is in a similar situation as yourself.”
“What, Asian, hot and single?” He grins at the other agent teasingly as Hennessey sighs loudly at his antics. The NIS agent, though, goes red at his words and then has to look away as Hoseok preens at the reaction.
“I’d like to thank you for not killing my agent the other night even though you had every opportunity and reason to.” Namjoon addresses him with his gentle eyes and kind words and Hoseok swallows thickly. Right, that.
“I had no reason to kill him. Once he was incapacitated he was no longer a threat.” He shrugs, praying that his Korean isn’t as rusty as he thinks it is.
“Never the less.” Namjoon then nudges Jungkook forward with a scornful gaze and the agent straightens up from his slouch, tips of his ears still red.
The kid bows at a 90 degree angle. “Thank you, I’m sorry I tried to kill you even though you weren’t my mission.”
“Heh, which time?” He can’t help but tease. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a reaction this time so he just sighs again. “It’s fine, you weren’t expecting anyone else to be there. Up you go, no need for that.” He briefly touches the top of the other’s head and the agent straightens up stiffly, gnawing at his bottom lip nervously.
Hennessey, who had been watching the exchange mutely, finally breaks his silence. “Well, now that whatever that was is over.” The man, as he said it himself, is very old fashioned.
“Wait, did you put me on this mission because I’m Asian?” He croaks, refusing to believe that that had been the man’s plan.
Hennessey rolls his eyes, “No.”
“No, but three Asians in Europe make for a group of tourists, isn’t that right?” Hoseok sneers indignantly. “That’s racist.”
“That’s a fact. But I put you on this because you used to be a criminal and you were hired off your prison time, they would suspect you first. And-”
“Now that’s racist!” He keeps protesting, half because it certainly seems racist and half because he knows it annoys Hennessey to no end.
“Would you just listen?” Hennessey groans out, very much put upon by Hoseok’s behaviour. “You’re here because of your background, because you know the people this man is dealing with and because you’re the best.”
Hoseok, ego sufficiently stroked, crosses his arms over his chest smugly. “Very kind of you to say, Sir.”
“This? Is the man I’ll have to work with?” He hears Jungkook ask Namjoon in fluent Japanese. Too bad for them Hoseok is fluent in over twelve languages. The question is followed by the sound of the Deputy Director of NIS smacking his agent on the back of the head.
Hoseok turns to look at them, eyes squinting with amusement. “You got the better end of this deal. At least you don’t have to babysit kids. How old are you anyway?” He butts in, equally fluent in Japanese as the other two.
He watches, fascinated, as Jungkook’s face grows redder the longer Hoseok stares at him. Oh, he’s going to have so much fun with this kid before the mission is over.
Namjoon shoots him an apologetic smile and Hoseok waves him off, not really caring what anyone thinks about him. Especially not some NIS brat fresh off the bottle, training wheels still on his bike.
“Would you please? I’m trying to brief him as briefly as possible.” Hennessey rubs a hand across his wrinkled face.
“Sorry, Sir.” The three men, recognizing authority, echo in unison.
“Anyway.” The Director tries again. “The sensitive information holds codes that could potentially start a third world war if they get into the wrong hands. Now Carson, he’s a mule. He will be transporting the information to the buyer. We don’t know who, we don’t know when. Which is why you, Agent Jeon and Mister Park are going to find him and intercept him before he sells the information.” Hennessey elaborates further and Hoseok’s stomach flutters with anxiety.
“Those are some mighty fine codes, Sir. Very powerful.” He says carefully, trying to get a grasp on the situation. Because – because if they get their hands on them, the USA, they’ll be able to lord them over everyone and threaten both peace and war to whomever they see fit. But if the – if the NIS gets them, then they’ll be able to do the same.
“Indeed, Agent Jung, they are.” Hennessey meets his eye and Hoseok knows that there’s no way he’s going to leave this mission without the codes.
“So you get the codes, you split them between the two of you – what belongs to whom, of course, and you head back. By the time you’re back, the mole situation will have been solved.”Hennessey smiles; it’s supposed to be reassuring but it sends Hoseok’s stomach down to his feet. There’s no way that the NIS isn’t planning the same thing.
By the end of this, one of the two agents in this room will be dead.
He’ll just have to make sure it’s not him.