Chapter Text
Chris Hemsworth * Tom Hiddleston
~*~
It was uncomfortable to move around in a costume that didn't suit his built. He felt like a panda in a mascot, sweating bullets and he was suffocating. Why couldn't he just wear something simple? Like a tuxedo and a mask? Oh wait, he'd forgotten about the wedding's theme. Something about a carnival, with large and elaborate costumes, and exotic masks. He watched from a-far, amongst the few that stood on guard in complete disguise, members of the Underworld and their families arrived to the grand reception of the first-class hotel. All seemed golden, and crowded with controlled voices. Most of them wore half masks, which made it more simpler to identify. But their costumes, made Chris' stomach churned. He couldn't stand seeing all those colors together. He blamed the humid night in Venice for being too hot, confidential and unique.
He could maybe dub this suspicious marriage as rather weird than different. This wedding, an incredulous marriage between two eminent Underworld leaders, Madam Lawrence and her fiancee', Sir Hoult. They were a perfect pair, the bystanders would say. A match made in heaven. Madam Lawrence was his childhood friend, Chris had always been by her side - watching her, protecting her. Now that she was there, sitting beside her new husband, with her beautiful smile plastered on her face. Chris could finally rest his worries, her husband would take care of her. As a police of the Underworld, it was his job to protect everyone. The Underworld was like a 'government', with their own policy and economy. People and supporters like the world above them, ties and allies with other trustful countries. They were living in a world of their own. Just that they were involved in much risky occupations - like frequent assassinations and such.
Chris and his family were the 'guests' for the wedding, they blend into the crowds of skeptic people and acted as covert bodyguards for Madam Lawrence. There was a rumor that Sir Hoult was not the charming man as he looked. There might be an attempted assassination, after all, all of the Underworld's influential figures were present in the ballroom. So many people to protect, which was why Chris' brother, Liam and their friends were there too. 'But don't be too suspicious', his father warned them. The relationship between all Underworld leaders would be distorted if the wedding ended a disaster. Perhaps a death of someone important.
Gulping down what seemed to be his third glass in a row of served champagne, he secluded himself from greeting the guests and never bothered to introduce himself to them. People, what a bunch of bastards, Chris snickered to himself. Their replies were all the same, 'Oh! Craig's son, you say? Oh dear, your father must be so proud of you!' , ' We expect so much from you, my boy!' and 'Chris, this is my daughter. How about you two fuck yourselves senseless before we decide on the wedding date, hmm?'
He blanched.
Adjusting his stiff tricorn hat, Chris cleared his throat as he observed the reception crowding the grand ballroom of the hotel. Lone wolf, his mother would tease him, with an 'ironic' personality for the Underworld's best watchdog. But that nickname stuck and suited him beautifully - a wolf separating himself from his pack. Everything seemed very high-class, with the exception of the terrifying costumes and feathery masks. Soft music blended with the murmurs and mingles of the guests, admiring the hotel's design, and maybe Madam Lawrence's majestic wedding dress. Sipping their drinks, smiling and laughing. All seemed normal, this charade was acted perfectly. This made everyone so doubtful of this wedding, but yet so calm.
Chris snapped another glass of champagne from a passing waiter who was in his own share of ridiculous costume, and the identical white pulcinella mask like the others. Swallowing the entire content in one go, he slipped away and took the comfort beside the pillar where he was able to keep a close eye on the smiling Madam. If he was ever a drunkard, he would gladly take the luring delight of the carpet and let himself drift asleep - away from this mundane wedding reception. But for the sweet Madam, he would do anything.
"Really, Chris... How many times do i have to tell you about this?" said a chiding voice, snapping his thoughts from the Madam to the person standing in front of him. The man stood shorter than him, hands on his hips before he reached up to fix Chris' crooked hat. "Girls won't come for you if you isolate yourself. Maybe i should tell mom and dad to find you a suitor."
He blanched again. Suitor, means a girl. Who always asked for money, and money. And more money. How could people stand with wives screaming for money and jewelries all the time? Laughing 'ho, ho, ho!' as their way to show off their new rings with gemstones bigger than their eyes? Chris shrugged a shoulder and grumbled when Luke took away his glass and swatted his hand when Chris raised for another.
"Me and parties don't mix. Me and girls... You know what i am."
"Yeah, i know. It still applies to the other. And stop drinking! You're killing yourself out of boredom," Luke warned him, slapping his brother's hand. "And i mean it literally."
He sighed when he met his elder brother's eyes, here we go again, he thought. Luke was their father's potential successor, the man who would be his Big Boss in a few years. So much responsibilities to handle for the eldest child, and it was his siblings' job to help him. And they would. They promised, vowed they would. As close brothers, it was their job to look each other's backs.
Fixing his volto mask, Chris' gaze returned to the crowds in front of them. Some were dancing, chattering, teasing. His brother followed suit, noticing every single detail that the wedding could offer, their grim faces hidden beneath the safety of their masks. Chris huffed, "Just look at them all... all fake and weird, and... individuals with 'liabilities'. How am i supposed to blend in with these people?"
Luke shook his head, his brother was all with complaints. But he was amazed at how Chris would notice how wealth and colours would be a disguise for poverty. The 'liabilities' he mentioned, it was surprising how these Underworld members could still be important even when poor. Luke knew his brother didn't mean anything bad, everyone too would be surprised about this strange Underworld logic.
"I know you're the best in your caliber and all, just be nice. It's not that hard to smile even for you, right?" Luke said, nudging his brother's elbow.
"It's not that i don't want to smile, i don't have any reason to."
They spotted Liam, one of the few who clothed themselves in a complete 'plague doctor' outfit. He seemed to enjoy himself very much, able to wander around without any ounce of obvious discomfort, much to Chris' annoyance. Liam approached them with a glass of water in his hand, waving the glass in front of Chris' scowling face. The youngest said he was drunk, he wasn't. But he downed the water nonetheless. Liam had just turned 18, and was already a valuable figure himself - making himself known as the expert in every nook and cranny of the Underworld's secrets, and was very much informed of the histories of each family present in the ballroom. Like some families had black histories written on their names, because of prostitution, obsession toward gambling and such.
"Dad says to keep our eyes sharp, there's a lot of people we don't know here," he whispered, gesturing his head slightly to the group of lively guests at the far-end of the room. By the sound of their distinct accent, they were probably the french businessmen who Madam Lawrence made herself friendly with. Strange group. They could be assassins.
Everyone was a potential killer here.
"And why did Jen choose a hotel where there's a lot of potential murderers again? Oh, maybe that's why i'm here," Chris groaned, scratching the back of his itchy neck. He was right after all, this wedding was out in the open.
"Shut up, Chris," Liam chuckled. Though, in his voice, Chris could note a tinge of sadness in him somewhere.
They stayed together for a few minutes, exchanging reports and those who they were suspicious with before they dispersed at one look from their father. 'Not to gather together for too long, even though your faces are covered', their father advised them before the start of the wedding. None of the guests here should be trusted, and it was best to keep himself alert to everyone. Chris remained beside his 'best' pillar, hands in the pockets of his thick costume. He finally realized, the night was going to end soon. After the dinner, the cake and taking a few memorable pictures, Madam Lawrence - his best friend, Liam's subject of affection - would be happy, tucked safely under her husband's protection.
Out of the swirling sights of people dancing, one caught his eye. The person had just arrived it seemed, completely dressed according to the wedding's theme - a 'smiling', silver volto mask shielding his mysterious face, matching cloth-like hat hiding his hair and his costume that suited his slim and proud posture. Silver, a foreboding color. Just as he stepped his foot into the ballroom, he took the sight of the dancing, from the way his fingers drumming on the sides of his thighs, he was loving the song. Chris wondered why out of all people, would this man looked very much appealing to him?
'Look away, Chris! You've had your heart broken from this so-called 'love at first sight' before', his mind scolded him and quickly shook his head from the thoughts of approaching the said man.
Glancing away and toward his brothers, parents and Madam Lawrence, they were all busy minding their own business - with the exception of Liam who seemed to flirt rather than doing 'real' business. Maybe in the midst of healing his injured feelings at Madam Lawrence's marriage. Chris bothered himself with the quartet, taking in the soothing melody of violins, cellos and the extra beat of cajon. He remembered how the Madam would teach him how to play the violin correctly, her blue eyes calmed his frantic heart, her smile so beautiful. He smiled at his memories when the strings snapped and nicked the pads of his fingers. And sighed, he used to love playing violin. But--
"Would you care for a dance?"
Chris snapped from his memories, it was the same man whom had taken his interest just a few moments ago.
"Pardon?"
"If you're wondering why i chose you, it's because you look like a suitable dancing partner. It's not nice to leave a man all alone," the man explained, the true sound of his voice muffled beneath his volto. His hands linked behind him as he tilted his head to the left, waiting for an answer. Chris could see that the other was smiling at him, though he wasn't sure. And he repeated, "Would you care for a dance with me?"
Clearing his throat, Chris crossed his arms across his chest, trying his best to politely decline, "I can't dance. Sorry."
"Oh, never bother about that! Come!"
"H-Hey! Wait!"
"I'll teach you how to dance," he cheered.
But he was dragged all the way in the midst the crowds of the waltz, rolling his eyes at the knowingly smirks and snickers of his brothers. The colors of flowery costumes invaded his eyes, painful to his head. But the way the man's hold on his gloved hand, seemed assuring somehow. It was the beat of one, two, three, right? The man was probably two inches shorter than him, from his first impression, the man was quite bubbly. His accent, perhaps a Frenchman. Despite that, there was something in this mystery man that Chris could trust, how sarcastic it sounded if Chris could trust him in this dance.
Resting Chris' right hand on his hip, linking the other gently as he rested his left on Chris' broad shoulder, he said, "Follow. My. Lead."
With the beat, the music - they slowly synchronized, gliding and sliding. Following the other's footsteps, one. Two. And three. Waltz felt terrifyingly enjoyable. Their faces, an inch apart, holding each other close as they trailed the dancers' paces.
"Well, you're a good liar."
"I suppose i am."
"Why'd you lie? You're a very good dancer."
"Maybe i'm not that keen on dancing with a stranger."
The man chuckled softly, their graces and movements were like dovetails. "Perhaps you're suggesting something?"
"I am not."
"Hmm, a shame. I was about to tell you my name."
Tempting, tempting.
"I'll think about it after this dance," Chris kissed the other man's hand, weird due to the fact that his mask blocked his lips from touching the man's gloved knuckles. They then slide across the floor, imitating the pace of the couple beside them."If you're willing to stay until morning, that is."
"I should have known that you're a lover," he said, his tone suggested that he was smiling.
Liam had always told him that he was a 'hardcore' fighter, never blend well with the others. Perhaps, his mother was right about him being a lone wolf. But the man's comment on him, was different from what he'd heard.
"Maybe i am."
"Yes, you are."
Their voices muffled by the noise, the gathering crowds. The foreboding music. Their synchronized steps slowed, following the rhythm of the song being sang. The gentle hand remained in his hold, how their fingers linked sweetly. There was nothing wrong with two men dancing, the Madam said so. In this dance, was just Chris and this mysterious man who asked him for a dance. Which group was this man from? Damn, these costumes.
But Chris could see the color of the other's eyes through the holes in his full mask. Blue, a unique blend. Or was it green? Gray? Ignore the mask, just let him imagine how the man's face looked like. Must be adorable, like what his bubbly attitude suggest. But Chris frowned, though he knew that his discomfort was hidden, at the sight of the man's eyes who quickly glanced at the Madam and her fiancee' when Chris had his back facing them.
"I like you better when you don't have a crease between your eyebrows," the man whispered to his ear, his tone was slightly sinister.
"What--"
The short glimpse of a waiter wearing a distinct pulcinella mask, who was serving the Madam and Sir Hoult sharpened his senses. Masks for the waiters were supposedly white, not silver. And waiters were not allowed to go anywhere near the couple. When Chris averted his attention back to the mysterious man he danced with, he had already vanished. Chris cursed when he was all alone in a wave of dancing, mesmerizing, fake colors. He had fallen into a trap.
The waiter was gone.
The newly-weds too.
And his brothers noticed their disappearance.
"Damn!" he muttered under his breath, bolting toward the stairs near him. He signaled his father to close all the doors, never let anyone leave the ballroom. Madam Lawrence couldn't have possibly retreated to her room, if she did, his mother would be accompanying her. But his mother was right downstairs. His sudden actions surprised most of the guests, who asked themselves if anything was wrong. His brothers trailing behind him, guards stood near the doors - stopping anyone from leaving.
Despite the heaviness of his costume, he continued up the stairs in two - sprinting as fast as he could to the possible entry Madam Lawrence was taken to. Passing the countless doors of the second-floor ballroom, ignoring the lavishly adorned hallway and lobbies as the Hemsworth brothers searched for the couple. No one was to be blamed in this matter, everyone was at fault. Chris' breath caught in his throat upon hearing her scream, followed by the distinct sound of gunshots. Liam and Luke were right behind him, masks were long forgotten. Quickly did he run to the farthest room at the end of the hallway, in hopes of saving her, when he found out he was too late. Sir Hoult laid motionless on his pool of blood seeping into the carpet, his throat was slit open and shot in his chest. By the time Chris arrived - dear, dear Jennifer was at the mercy of the man he'd danced with.
She smiled wearily at him, sweat covered her face before she fell to the floor - her hand bloodied, a knife planted deep in her gut. The man's volto, tainted with her blood, forgotten on the floor. Chris was about to charge to him when a click of a gun halted him.
"Don't move."
It was the suspicious waiter, the assassin, lurking in the dark waiting for his prey. He stood tall, accent surprisingly american, ready to shoot if Chris made any sudden move. Where were Luke and Liam? But the mysterious man, who still had his back facing Chris, sobbed.
Why did he even bother to shed a tear?
He could hear the waiter 'tsk-ed'. But Chris nonetheless, fumed. Gritting his teeth when the man picked up his forgotten mask. "You're a good liar. I almost believed you."
"I suppose i am... a liar," he replied, fixing his mask before he turned. From the tone of his merciless voice, he was smiling. Oh how much that treaded on Chris' thin ice. He took out a Revolver from the back of his trousers, and beckoned his head to the waiter to retreat. Chris watched, from the corner of his eye, as the supposedly assassin vanished from his sight. Leaving his comrade alone.
Chris straightened his back, in rage of the murder that took place. But he had to be cautious about this, this man was not to be underestimated. He stared at the gun pointed at him, but the man was trembling. Was he that scared to pull the trigger? Was he even an assassin?
"You're a strange fellow, you should be shooting at me right now," Chris said, frowning at the man. Buying some more time for his brothers to come to his aid. But as they both heard footsteps running toward them, the man released a few shots to the door and a single bullet missed Chris' face, scratching his volto. He wouldn't miss again, was what people used to say. But this time, the man looked hesitant and backed away a few steps. By the look of his controlling hesitation, his finger wasn't even going to pull the trigger anymore.
But he quietly said, even though his mask jumbled his words, Chris could hear him perfectly.
"I like you better when you don't have a crease between your eyebrows," he voiced out, before fleeing to the veranda. Chris chased after him out of reflex, nearly had his hand on the man's costume but he managed to slip away from his grasp, disappearing into the night.
No shuffling movement of the grass, the shrubs nor the trees. The murderer was gone. Chris startled when the door threw open, Liam panting hard. This death was unacceptable, she was a friend. They didn't expect she and her new husband would be killed. Liam was plastered on the wall by the door, eyes never leaving the cold body on the floor. Luke came seconds after, with their parents and two of Chris' lackeys. Silence filled the air.
Chris stayed on his ground, he felt that he shared most of the blame. Their mother gasped, tears filling her eyes. Their father left the scene soon after he saw the tragedy. Liam trudged toward the Madam's lifeless body, cradling her close to his chest. Luke patted the youngest's shoulder. He had always loved her, despite the differences in age, but his confessions were unsaid. Madam Lawrence, Jennifer's white wedding dress was painted red with her blood.
This was the first time they suffered a massive failure.
*
Three Years Later
Chris returned home to his apartment in Chicago from a covert mission in Saint Petersburg, acting as a sniper on stand-by for his brother, Luke, who had just taken over their father's place in the Underworld. One of the cathedrals was his favorite spot, remaining vigilant and spotting any suspicious looking people. If a gun was pulled out, bang! If a mission was failing, Chris would run to his friends' aid. Engaged in combat, he would trick his opponent with a trusty dagger tucked at the back of his pants. Agile in his fight, both with weapons and physical. He was a reliable comrade, a sharpshooter which made him different from his brothers. Liam was a strategist, never a fighter, though he was exposed to Bartitsu like his brothers too. Luke was a politician in the Underworld, much like father, rules and regulations first economy later. Chris remembered Luke's supporters cheering for him, wishing him luck back in Saint Petersburg. Banners held up high, Chris' lackeys among the crowds, listening to the murmurs in discreet. One couldn't be too sure, no one was to be trusted in this world. Not like that night in Venice. Because of that mistake, Chris drowned himself in his training, pushing himself to his limit - forming his own techniques in martial arts, combats and handling guns. Above all, he trained his heart - he couldn't afford to be broken anymore. Maybe.
He would say he was among the best. But as best as he was, he needed rest too. Some time off to forget that he was ever involved in a world of crime.
His mother called him, upon reaching his bedroom door, saying that he should take a few weeks off somewhere before returning to the Headquarters in the city. Chris gladly jumped on his chance to fly to Hawaii, a destination he hoped to have some time of peace alone. Packing his clothes, his passport and a few toiletries like a normal human going on a vacation - he took the first flight to Hawaii available that very day.
A good start.
When he woke up, how in heaven he felt under the soothing sunshine. Kids laughing and playing in the swimming pool, the soft whirling of a blender from a nearby bar, probably making smoothies. Faint song in the background, people scurrying by for memorable destinations and trips. This hotel was marvelous, first-class much to his taste. He was about to drift to sleep again when...
Slap!
Chris jolted up from his lounger, stripping a nasty paper away from his face. He exaggerated when he thought his sunglasses would crack. Oh, great. Something just had to happen now, right?
"I'm so sorry!"
He raised his head up, squinting his eyes to get a good view of the person who 'lost' a page of his book to him. The man jogged to him, in his swimming trunks, exposed lean muscle and the rosary tied loosely on one wrist. He was probably one of the tourists on a cheap luxury package for a holiday escape to Hawaii. But one very bad habit of his, was that he was quick to be mesmerized with the adorable feature of the Englishman who had an apologetic look on his face.
'No, Chris! Love at first sight do you really bad! Really, really bad!' his mind yelled at him.
"I'm really sorry about this," he apologized, gesturing a worn book in his hand. Probably decades old.
"N-No, it's all right," Chris said, rubbing his sore cheek. Chuckling sheepishly at the Englishman as he returned the page, and shrugged, "I'm still alive."
"Yes, thank goodness! Thank you for 'catching' this," the Englishman said, tucking the page in his book. "I can't afford to lose it."
"Oh... Must be important then, huh?" Chris smiled, but frowned at the fresh scar near the Englishman's belly button. How curious. Where did he get those? Snapping his thoughts out from his head, Chris looked up to him again, desperate to continue the awkward conversation. "You're alone?"
He nodded, smiling shyly at him. "Yes, i'm supposed to be with my friends. But they 'dumped' me."
Oh, nice. Just very nice.
"I, uh... Could accompany you, for awhile."
'Please say no,' an inner voice echoed. Anyone would be surprised that a brain could have a mind of its own.
"Are you sure? You were napping before my page attacked you."
Shit. Now Chris would spend time with him. He loved the idea, but his hesitation disturbed him. Why did he offer again?
He wondered if he should really do this, was he really that desperate to find someone he could love? Ever since that night in Venice, the haunting voice of the man he danced with imprinted in his mind. Chris admitted he really was a lover, not a merciless watchdog. And this man, this acquaintance, this stranger looked harmless. He could be wrong, his mind told him so. But his heart said otherwise that, 'it's okay!'.
And he went along with his heart.
"Nah, it's fine! My name's Chris, by the way."
The Englishman smiled, holding out a hand as Chris shook it. Firm, gentle. His strange blue eyes glittered. "I'm Tom. Nice to meet you!"
Bubbly. This Englishman was bubbly.