Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been 3 months. Quarter of a year.

Reginald wakes up every morning and convinces himself that it didn’t matter to him, anymore. How could it.

It really hadn’t meant much to him, anyways.

Just a phaze for him. A Job for Right.

Their vows had never really rang true to him anyways. He was never much of a romantic. Right’s words, muttered in the silence of each other’s company, always felt a bit shallow to him.

Their rings were a bit dull, anyways.

Whatever payout for that little attack on a third of their airship division clearly had to have been worth it. Worth more than anything else in the world. He would have been behind bars himself if not for his cowardice.

Would’ve been caught, if not for Right’s uncharacteristic fumbling of his capture. He’d blame that new recruit the government caught on the fly.

Wasn’t he the bloke who stole the tunisian diamond, anyhow? What kind of idiots hire a convicted con?

… Well, what kind of idiots in the Military would hire a convicted con. The Toppats hired cons, but that was…. Their whole thing. Villains, cons, all that.

Supposed he deserved what he got then, eh? Being the leader of a band of convicted felons.

But, no. No. He didn’t care. It didn’t even bother him, not in the slightest.

Knock Knock Knock.

Reginald cracks his eyes open and groans. Perhaps he could feign sleep, yes, he was sure the leader of an entire clan of criminals would be able to get away with that. Glaring over at the clock, it was only 5:30am. He still had time to wallow, what could the problem be?

“What.” He yells from his stagnant position, not daring to uncurl from his single-person cot until whoever was bothering him gave him a damn good reason to.

“Coffee. Get up, already.”

Ah, of course it was Carol, leaning up against the wall, awake as ever. She stirrs a tall styrofoam cup of steaming hot coffee, taking a sip to make sure it was the right amount of sweet.

Eugh.

Yes, absolutely as ridiculously sweet as he usually enjoyed it. The bastard hated his coffee bitter, drinking it with a disgusting amount of sugar and cream, but she knew it was deceptively so. Reginald took his coffee with about 5 shots of espresso, the idiot. She taps the stirring stick on the edge of the cup as she hears shuffling from inside of the room, standing up straight as the leader of the Toppat Clan comes out of his room looking like he got home from a night of drinking.

“I don’t think I demoted you to coffee girl.” Reginald jokes, taking the offered coffee and taking two deep pulls of the scalding cup without flinching.

“Thought I might convince you to come in a bit early, seein’ as you’ve been gettin’ in so late.” Carol prods, walking towards the brig as Reginald sputters.

“N- Wh- I have NOT been getting in Late!! ” Reginald guffaws, straightening out his shirt as he follows Carol down the hall, taking another drink.

“Yeah, chief. Whatever you say.” She huffs. They both know Reginald’s been… Out of practice lately. It was the Toppat’s most open secret.

After that Henry fella went Rogue on the government and stole the Romanian ruby, and Reginald’s Right Hand Man….

Well. Reginald’s been a bit out of sorts. Their relationship hadn’t really been a secret. As she glances over and checks his gloved hands, seeing the same gold band, Yeah, he still wasn’t over it. She wouldn’t dare mention it to him though, tired of getting the same scolding remarks of it ‘not being her business’. She wasn’t his therapist.

He was certainly doing a better job day by day in making everyone around him think he was doing better. Some days, she’d swear he was acting like his old self.

“Don’t get smart with me, Cross, I’ll have you fired.” Reginald pokes.

“Nice try, Reginald. I’ve got nepotism on my side.” Carol flashes a charming smile at Reginald. He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, yes, yes. I forgot all about that. Tell me, who would like you that much to keep you around?”

“Oh, come off it, you old fruit.” Carol shoves Reginald on the shoulder, and he laughs into his already half downed drink. Yes, yes, this was completely natural. He was doing a very good job of not caring.

“Righ- er, yes, then…. What’s on the agenda for the day, hm? You can’t have woken me up just for a coffee and a chat.” Reginald prods as they reach the cafeteria.

“Y’got me. Figured you’d wanna go over the budget for the rocket. Everything’s all drawn up, we just need your approval.” Carol explains, waving a manilla folder at him packed full of legalities.

“R- Of, course, Of course.” Reginald nods, Grabbing himself a simple oatmeal and fruit to eat so he can get straight to work, taking a few hours of his morning to sit with Carol and speak over the rocket plan.

It was something he was quite proud of, an idea they had been saving up for for a while. That damn…. Day, set them back quite a bit, but the Toppats weren’t stupid enough to leave all their assets on one plane. Going into hiding was simple, even with the setbacks. Putting their resources into this rocket would be even moreso.

He doesn’t let his mind wander to the fact they couldn’t go to a hideout they’d kept before. One of their highest operatives had been a traitor, after all.

He doesn’t let his mind drift to the pride he felt, either, as he was explaining the rocket to his former Right hand. How he’d said he was looking forward to growing old in space with him. Reginald does NOT think about that, because it simply doesn’t effect him. He was very much over it.

“Reginald.” Carol taps him on the arm with a pen she had been using to write down on some documents. Reginald shoots up from his hunched position, looking from her to the documents he had been staring miserably at.

“Uh, yes, yes, right- I- “ Reginald slaps his hand over his face, scrubbing it down with a deep sigh.

“Y’cant let a whole direction get you down this badly.” Carol points out in a half joking manner.

“I’m fine, Carol.” Reginald snips, anger suddenly burning like a pit in his stomach.

They continue their paperwork in silence, Reginald’s handwriting more in scribbles than his usual neat handwriting, pen scratching nearly into the table through the poor thin paper.

“I’m done.” Reginald suddenly announces, standing at attention as he gathers up the rest of the papers. His jaw is set tight, Carol knows well enough to let him go.

“I’m going to go to my office. Run through the.. Numbers. And all that.” Reginald lies, storming off. They both knew he was not going to go ‘Run through the numbers’. He was going to go into his office and sulk for an hour before getting back to work.

He was being selfish, he knew it. He was getting snippy with Carol for no good reason. He locks the door behind himself, slumping in his chair at his desk, palming his eyes and sighing. He was just being a selfish, angry man and crawling to his room like a damn toddler. Over a man.

He needed to act like an adult, damn it!! He was the leader of the Toppat clan! He was being ridiculous. God. What if he was as bad as Terrence? Would everyone come to resent him so? He should go out there. He should find something useful to do, stop wasting his time so more people wouldn’t stab him in the back.

Maybe he deserved it. He really was quite a terrible leader now. And without Right…..

…

Why had he even married him, if he was going to betray him, like this? Had he been on it the whole time? How long had he been a government agent and he’d just strung him along?

Perhaps he’d done it just to hurt him this way. It was the plan all along.

…

But of course, it wouldn’t work! Reginald sits up straight, slapping his hands down on the desk in the quiet room, squinting at the fuzzy room as his eyes had to rapidly adjust to the pressure and light. Yes, yes it simply wouldn’t work, and he would have absolutely no troubles for the rest of his life.

Well, okay, bit of a tough goal to live up to. He’d have a small amount of troubles for the next couple hours. He was sure of it.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Chief!!!! We’re under attack!”

“Oh, for the love of-!” Reginald slams his head down on his desk, wincing at the obvious pain that would follow. All right, wonderful. Peachy.

Just peachy.

He jumps up, grabbing his pistol from his hats. He knocks the door open, looking at the toppat delivering the news. “What’s happening!?”

“The Government’s surroundin’ us chief, we’re holdin ‘em off, but.. But uh, they’ve got some tough customers with ‘em.”

Reginald wasn’t even going to ask, fearing the worst. “We need to start evacuations. Have any got in?”

“Not sure, but it’s not impossible.”

“Well, with my luck they’re going to be after the higher ups. We’ll hold down the fort, gather our men, and-”

WHAM! The recruit he’d been giving orders to crumbles to the floor as a gun smacks into their skull. Reginald follows the gun up the familiar arm to the familiar, stone cold face he last saw 3 months ago.

“Ello.”

Oh, he was absolutely not ready for this.

Reginalds first instinct to any sort of conflict, was, of course, running. Making a 180 and running the opposite direction was just second nature to him. Right was naturally quite privy to this. He knew how dangerous it was for Reginald to be caught like this. He knew how cowardly the man was.

For him, it was a piece of cake to corner Reginald. The toppats hadn’t been stupid enough to set up base in an area Right may have known about, this jungle location being a very new grab that they fashioned up within the past 3 months. But of course, it was, somehow, still obvious enough that Right sussed them out with all his knowledge of the clan.

Ridiculous, Reginald scolded himself as he ran into a conference room, like the disoriented fool he was. No outward communication device, deep in the halls of the base, away from the frontlines where the other toppats would be stationed.

Fuck.

Reginald beelines it to the back of the room as Right bursts in, pointing his gun at the man. Right holds his position at the door, but doesn’t come in any further, cocking a smug brow. He knew, they both knew, in any sort of physical match, Right had Reginald beat. Reginald held position at the back of the room, gun trembling in his hands. His eyes flinch over to Right’s fist as it ever so slightly clenches on the gun.

“Don’t.” It was a one word order, shaky. Reginald’s finger squeezes the trigger, just a bit.

“You’re not gonna shoot me.” Right counters, cocky.

He finds himself flinching at the crack of a bullet zipping through the air, making a neat hole in the wall barely an inch from his arm holding the gun. Reginald clenches his jaw, holding the gun at sights towards the man.

“Y’missed.”

“That was a warning shot.”

Right huffs. Reginald doesn’t do warning shots. He’d rather subdue whatever fiend was coming at him as quick as possible... This idiot was staring a bull in the face and hoping it wouldn’t charge.

…

Damn it.

The silence in the room was deafening, every minute movement setting Reginald even more on edge. Right’s eyes flickering off him for a split second, his breathing, a twitch of the finger. He was planning some sort of assault, Reginald was just hoping whatever he was planning would be held off long enough for someone to find them.

Of course, Reginald never had great luck. He wasn’t expecting the damn chair being thrown at him, thankfully jumping out of the way with a yelp. Right makes his way over then, hoofing it around the table as Reginald regains his balance. Like a fool, Reginald whips around instead of running as Right books it for him, aiming the butt of his pistol at Right’s temple, his arm easily caught by the stronger man.

Reginald shoots the gun off near Right’s ear, trying to disorient enough to be able to escape, but all that affords him is a yelp of pain, knuckles to the face, and a swift meeting with the floor. His gun skids to a halt far across the room, and his hats tumble off his head.

Dazed on the floor, the air is knocked completely out of him as a boot comes squarely down onto his chest. He coughs, sputters, gripping onto the ankle keeping him firmly in place. Looking up, he’s a bit more shocked than he should be, a dark barrel of a gun staring down at him, along with two furious eyes.

The air stagnated again, Right’s face slowly un-scrunching on the side that was momentarily deafened, Reginald trying to gasp air back into his collapsed lungs. It takes Reginald a few tries to be able to come up with a coherent sentence.

“So, you-” A gasp of air. “Are. You going to kill me, then?” The question hangs heavy in the air, silence doing nothing to fill the blanks, Right’s stoic gaze doing even less.

“What, Right?” Silence. Reginald’s grip tightens on Right’s ankle. “Are you going to kill me, Right Hand Man?”

Silence. Always with the damn silence. Right was never the talkative sort. Reginald would always fill the silence between the two, Right was always comfortable being the listener, he’d say.

He’d lie.

Reginald opens his mouth, searching for anything scathing, anything to prolong this inevitability. Instead, his eyes catch onto the gun, then the hand holding the gun, and an icy cold pit forms in his chest where Right was standing.

He can’t hide his near horror, staring agape at the hand. Right knows what he’s staring at. His opposite fist clenches, and he wills his trigger finger to move, so Reginald doesn’t say anything he’s gonna regret.

“You’re… You’re still wearing it.” Reginald’s astonished voice comes out, small but incredibly loud in the room.

He was.

Right’s brow furrows. He feels himself sweating in the freezing cold conference room of the base, his stomach twists itself in knots so badly he thinks he might throw up.

He begs his hand just to take the shot.

Stop acting like a rookie and get it done.

He needs to.

“You’re- You’re wearing it.” Right’s startled when the chest starts heaving up and down, incredulous laughter coming from Reginald.

“Hah- You’re- You-” The laughter swiftly devolves into hiccups, the two mortified as Reginald’s stunned laughter turns into fitful sobs, brain bouncing back and forth on how he was supposed to feel about this information.

Reginald had never been much of a cryer, he certainly never liked Right seeing him in such a state. He’d always been paranoid it would make him seem weak. Of course, now here he was, on the ground, with his ex husband pointing a gun at him, sobbing like the pathetic thing he felt he was.

And Right was still wearing the wedding band, sleek and silver, a perfect match to Reginald’s gold. And Reginald was sobbing like some sort of child, unable to do much for a few moments but hiccup and try to catch his breath, hard with the boot still weighing on his chest.

He barely catches the way the gun shakes in Right’s hand, jaw clenched tight. He’d always hated seeing Reginald like this, when he had. He’d only ever seen them after anxiety attacks, fits of paranoia so strong they rocked the man to his core.

Right wills his eyes to stop clouding over, his hand to stop shaking, anything.

Anything but this.

“Right…” Reginald croaks, voice laden with sobs. Right tries to steady himself, to do anything. Hell, he’d take booking it out of the room if it meant getting out of this situation, right now. Instead, all his body can do is stand there, hands quaking like they’ve never quaked before, heart galloping in his ears, loud, but not enough to drown the man pinned to the floor.

“Just… Come back. I need you.” Reginald pleads.

Right’s jaw clenches. He wants to punch whatever stupid god put him in this situation. His muscles locked up, standing there while his former husband sobs on the floor.

Reginald should never have trusted him. Men in this profession will backstab you no matter what. That’s what he told himself. It was so easy to think that, when the man he tried very hard to tell himself he was pretending to love wasn’t right in front of him.

But god, there Reginald was. And here he was. Wearing his silver wedding band that he swore was supposed to mean nothing. And, of course, there was the matching one, right on Reginald’s hand. Right shuffles back, feeling like he was being pushed by some sort of invisible force, Reginald wheezing as the pressure increases before it’s completely lifted off.

Right’s hands drop to his side, face, usually so stoic, completely unable to hide the torrent of emotions going through his head.

This was supposed to be so easy.

It was a lot harder to convince himself of everything now.