theladyscribe: Etta Place and Butch Cassidy laughing. (mal reynolds)
a subtle sort of brilliance ([personal profile] theladyscribe) wrote in [community profile] avandell2008-12-23 01:19 pm

The Man Who Knew Too Much

Title: The Man Who Knew Too Much
Characters: Dean, Jo
Rating: PG
Word Count: 808
Summary: he knows this is it. The end of the line. And he'll either disappear and become the man in Portugal or he'll be dead within the week.
Notes: Third piece in a spy!AU (you must read the first two pieces before this one). Title is from the Hitchcock films of the same name. Many thanks to [profile] aislinamara for looking over this for me.

Orbis non sufficit | The Hinges of Destiny | The Man Who Knew Too Much

The Man Who Knew Too Much

He seeks Josephine out. She's in the lounge, drinking a martini and watching the other clientele with feigned interest. She smiles when she catches sight of him.

"I've been waiting for you to come to your senses," she says as he sits. "Give the weapon to me, and we can have a little celebration tonight. On your tab, of course."

"No celebration tonight, Josephine. I…" He hesitates. "I want to show you something."

She grins at him. "Oh, Dean, don't you remember, I've seen it all."

He leans forward, quietly says, "I need your help." His words wipe the smile from her face.

"What--?"

He stands and offers a hand, playing the part of the gentleman. "Join me for a walk, would you?"

He wants her to accept, wants someone to share this with, because the longer he thinks about it, the more he knows this is it. The end of the line. And he'll either disappear and become the man in Portugal or he'll be dead within the week. Either way, he wants someone to know that he existed once.

Josephine's eyes narrow slightly, but she finishes her drink and takes his hand.

They walk arm-in-arm to the elevator. Dean is the first to break the silence.

"Did they tell you what you would be retrieving?" he asks as he punches the button that will take them to his floor. He says retrieving, but he really means stealing. It's one of the many things they trained him to do, to think, when they first brought him in.

"A weapon."

"It's not just a weapon," he warns her.

A tiny bell signals their arrival on his floor. He steps out of the elevator and walks briskly toward his room, eyes and ears alert for any signals that the weapon was compromised in the past twenty minutes. He knows it hasn't, of course, because they're still alive. He pauses outside the door, presses a hand flat against it for a moment before sliding the keycard into the slot.

He opens the door slowly, letting Josephine in behind him.

"Where is it?" she asks, glancing around the sitting room.

He leads her to the French doors that hide the bedroom. "In here." He pushes the doors open, smiling grimly at her gasp.

She covers it well, sniping, "Dean, if you'd wanted a threesome, all you had to do was ask."

He scowls back at her. "You're looking at the weapon, Jo."

Her eyes widen almost comically.

"They didn't tell me either," he confesses, turning back toward the sleeping figure on the bed. It – he – is asleep more than awake. Sometimes he sleeps deep and dreamless, like now, but other times… Dean suppresses a shudder at the memory of those first couple of days, when he had to use tranquilizers or risk exposure. Even when he's awake, he might as well be sleeping; he hasn't said a word to Dean, simply watches him with blank hazel eyes.

"Dean," Josephine says, and it's the first time she's ever sounded unsure in his presence.

"I know." And he does. They were both taught not to question their orders, not to ask about motives, not to wonder. But this. He doesn't know what his people could want with this, this boy. If the man in Portugal was right, they can't risk using him, which means they want him for god-knows-what.

He moves back into the other room, sitting heavily on the prim little couch.

"This isn't what I signed up for," he says.

"Didn't really sign up," Josephine reminds him, sitting beside him.

It's true. Dean had thought it was something that only happened in movies, but they were both recruited by anonymous agents they've never seen since. They sometimes laugh at the irony of how very alike their people are, when they're supposed to be mortal enemies. Today, none of that is comforting.

"Jo, I think I want out." He doesn't look at her, keeps his face studiously blank.

"You get out, and the weapon's mine." She doesn't sound happy about the prospect.

He looks back at her. "Come with me."

"What?"

"You and me, and…him." He turns, takes her hands in his. "And we – the three of us – we'll get out, go somewhere safe, where no one can find us."

"Dean." He can hear her worry in her voice.

"Please." He wants her to say yes. Desperate for it. He's willing to fall on his knees and beg, because if he's out and she isn't, it won't make a difference, might even make things worse. If he's out, and she isn't, and he takes the weapon, they're both screwed. Of course, they're both screwed no matter what they do, but at least this way they're together.

Josephine purses her lips, glances back at the bedroom.

"Where will we go?"

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