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The metal of the gun is pleasantly cool against Jack's palms as he lies in wait under the baking sun. He's dressed all in black, so overheating is as inevitable as getting drenched at Songkran. But at least his dark cap shields his eyes, and provides a small amount of respite from the oppressive heat.
A shadeless rooftop is not the place he wants to be on a 32°C day, but he has no choice. This is the best vantage point to see clearly down to the street below and make a clean shot.
His target is a wealthy businessman who Boss has decided is a threat to his growing power. Jack has to make him disappear—same as every other time.
He despises it. Loathes the person he's become to pay off his debts.
If he'd never developed an attitude for shooting, maybe he could have avoided going down this path; one where bullet casings and bones crunch under his feet like churned gravel.
But that's what he's good at. And that's what Boss needs—a shooter to take down his enemies.
A car door slamming below pulls him from his thoughts. Idling by the kerb is a sleek, black sedan, tinted windows inviting curiosity.
They're right on time.
Jack adjusts his position and lines up his sight as the driver gets out and hurries to open the back door.
He unclicks the safety as the target steps out. Takes a slow inhale of breath that spreads out over several heartbeats to become a formless wavelength. Brushes the pad of his finger over the trigger and—
A second red dot on the man's chest joins his own, dancing playfully for half a second.
Bang.
The target drops like a stone through a river, plummeting into the black. His driver screams and stumbles away.
Jack jerks back in disbelief. A bullet hole sits over the man's heart where he lies prone.
And it's not his.
It's not possible. He chose the ideal rooftop, made sure to account for wind conditions, timed his arrival perfectly. Nothing should have stopped him from making that shot.
But someone did. And there's only one other person that could have beaten him to the kill.
He uses his rifle's sight to check the surrounding buildings until he lands on a roof terrace half a mile away.
Leaning against the wall of a stairwell, bathed in bright sunlight, is the Joker. A fellow hitman, known for his legendary killshots and the trademark smiley he leaves inked near his kills.
"Not you again," Jack mutters bitterly.
Joker's rifle is slung over his shoulder almost casually, as though he's holding a broom or a racket, rather than a Barrett MRAD. When he sees the red dot on his chest he looks up and grins, as though he's been waiting for Jack to find him.
He runs one hand through his black hair in a gesture that's purely indulgent showboating. It makes Jack's nerve endings sear with anger. His grip on the gun tightens instinctively.
But before he can contemplate his next move, the Joker is in motion. With a mischievous flick of his fingers that barely constitutes a wave, he spins on his heel and disappears through the rooftop door.
Jack swears loudly and lets his rifle drop to the floor, clicking the safety back on.
This is the third time this month, after Phuket and Ho Chi Minh, that the Joker has stolen one of his kills. Why, Jack has no idea.
He imagines it's for money or prestige, but if Boss finds out he wasn't the one that killed the target again, he's going to be furious. And he won't pay him.
Jack scrubs a hand over his brow. He has a contract to fulfill and he needs the money. If he keeps losing to the Joker, he's never going to be able to leave this life behind and start afresh.
This can't happen again.
~*~
A week later, it happens again.
Jack is in the sprawling, sun-baked outskirts of Bangkok, on a job to take down a drug lord that Boss thinks has become a threat to his monopoly.
He finds an optimum vantage point and gets into position. Only for the Joker to kill the man three seconds before Jack's shot ploughs into his body.
When he looks around to pinpoint the other man's location, the Joker is riding away in the trailer of a truck, saluting him with a grin.
Frustration burns him like the violent scald of hot water. If Jack could afford to waste ammunition, he'd empty his clip into the nearest tree.
Instead, he imagines winging the other man with a bullet. Nothing fatal, just a graze to the arm or leg that would wipe the smile off his face. Then, he packs up his gear and makes his way back into the city, stealing himself for the reprimand that's sure to follow when he explains what happened.
It's short and swift. Boss throws a glass at him, which shatters against the wall when he ducks.
"Maybe I should hire this Joker instead of you," he shouts, voice filling the room like a cacophony of misplayed chords.
"He seems to be able to get the job done where you can't. Do you want our enemies to see us as weak because we can't take out threats to our organization?"
There is no us, Jack thinks, but outwardly he says, "No, Boss," keeping his eyes downcast.
"Then don't fail me again. I have no use for an assassin who can't hit their target. If you don't kill the next mark I assign to you, your contract is terminated. And I know you need the money."
The last jab is delivered as a cruel parting shot and Jack goes taut. He recovers swiftly and bows. "Yes, Boss. It won't happen again."
Leaving the room at Boss's dismissal, dread weighs heavy in his stomach. He has to make the next kill.
~*~
Three days later, he gets his chance. A crooked businessman tries to con Boss and Boss sends Jack out to make an example of him.
The man flees the country and Jack follows him to Manila, tracking him to a plush hotel with ostentatiously large windows that say, I don't quite realize how much danger my life is in.
Jack runs surveillance on the hotel and charms the correct room number out of a blushing delivery driver who arrives to take a pizza upstairs.
Then, he finds a suitably tall, unfinished apartment block nearby and sets up his long-range rifle.
With the complete stillness of a predator sighting its pray, he waits until he sees the curtains flutter. Then, he lines up the shot.
"That's not the right room number."
Jack whips around, bringing the rifle with him. He finds the Joker lounging against the wall behind him.
"You," he hisses, ire outweighing his surprise at seeing the other hitman here.
The Joker must hear the venom in his tone because he slowly raises his hands from where they're tucked into his trouser pockets.
"I just thought you'd want to know."
"What?" Jack snaps. "What are you even doing here?" His voice is magnified by the empty room, ricocheting off the blank walls like a second weapon.
"Same thing as you, I imagine," the Joker says with a knowing smile. This is the first time Jack's seen him up close and that smile is dynamite.
"You're here to kill him?"
"That's what we do."
His expression is conspiratorial, like they're sharing an inside joke and Jack's fury boils over. He unclicks the safety.
"Don't get in my way this time."
The smile drops like a petal from a flower.
"He's all yours. I just thought you'd want to know that he's not in 708 anymore. They moved him to the floor above. He's in room 806 now."
"Why should I believe that?" Jack demands.
The Joker shrugs. "I could have killed him, but I came to warn you instead. There's a woman in 708 now."
Jack stares at him for a long moment. He's slightly shorter than Jack and looks dangerously good in his black jacket and dark cargo trousers. His hair falls in soft waves around his ears, before tapering to a neatly cropped trim at the nape of his neck. A hint of a tattoo peeks out from the cuff of his jacket.
In the dying light of the afternoon sun, his beauty is almost devastating.
Jack grits his teeth, trying to shut down the part of his brain that notices all of this.
"Why are you telling me this?" He asks, tone hostile.
Something about the other man's airy nonchalance is eroding his patience, which is usually bottomless. After their recent encounters, it runs about as deep as a puddle.
Joker tilts his head. "So you don't kill the wrong person."
That gives Jack pause, but he doesn't lower the gun.
"You've enjoyed beating me to plenty of kills. Why not take this one as well?"
"I know what it's like to make a mistake you can't come back from," the Joker says, amusement in his eyes dissolving into something somber.
Jack scoffs. "You're a hired killer. Don't pretend you have a conscience."
"You do, though," the other man says carefully.
At that, Jack does lower his gun.
"How could you possibly know that?" He asks incredulously. "You don't know me."
"I've seen your work. I know you've faked some of your kills. You made it look like the mark died and then helped them escape."
Jack goes still. Nobody knows that.
Nobody can know that. Otherwise, he and the people he helped will all be in danger. Not to mention Ama.
"Bullshit. You're trying to discredit me," he insists, attempting to sound outraged rather than defensive.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Joker says gently.
Jack scoffs in disbelief, then says firmly, "There's nothing to tell."
"Okay," Joker acquiesces, humoring him.
Jack wonders if he should just kill him. His secret would be safe and he wouldn't need to worry about word getting back to Boss. It would also solve the problem of the Joker stealing his kills.
But there's something soft in the other man's eyes that makes Jack's finger slide off the trigger. It's something between kindness and understanding, Jack thinks, but he can't be sure. He doesn't remember what kindness looks like well enough to recognize it anymore.
When Jack continues to eye him suspiciously, the silence becoming furniture in the empty room around them, the Joker smiles again.
"Keep watching 806. You'll see him appear. For someone who knows he's being hunted, he has an awful sense of self-preservation."
"How do I know you aren't going to put a bullet in my back as soon as I turn around?" Jack asks, suspicious.
"You're not my target," Joker says calmly. "I have no reason to kill you."
He sounds so honest. But Jack has fallen for false honesty before.
"So, I'm supposed to believe that you came here out of the goodness of your heart just to tell me about the room change?"
"I didn't want to see you make the same mistake I once did," the Joker says ruefully.
"Killing the wrong person?" Jack guesses and the other man's eyes go flat. Almost lifeless.
"You're about to miss your chance," he says, nodding to the hotel and attempting to put a smile back on his face.
Jack glances back, not taking his aim off the Joker, and swears quietly. Even from this distance, he can see that the curtains of 806 are wide open.
When he turns back, the other man is gone. He swears again and leaps to his feet, taking his gun with him as he runs out through the apartment door and into the hall beyond.
It's empty.
Sighing, Jack slumps and returns inside, making sure to lock the apartment door this time. He repositions himself in front of the window, waits for his target to show himself, and then fires a clean shot that shatters the hotel window and kills the man instantly.
Even knowing that he was a parasite, it doesn't feel good. It never does. Each person he's killed makes the stain on his crumpled soul expand even wider.
He wonders if the Joker feels the acidic burn of guilt seep through his veins every time he takes a life. The other man seems far too amused to have a moral compass. And he's been keeping tabs on Jack. Perhaps it's time Jack do the same in return.
~*~
As it turns out, he doesn't have to try hard to find the other man again.
His next kill is in Kuala Lumpur and the Joker is already there, lounging in a chair on the rooftop and sipping a milk tea when Jack arrives to set up.
"You," he growls, dropping his bag unceremoniously to the ground and pulling out his handgun.
"Jack," Joke says, as though greeting an old friend. His smirk has talons and his eyes glitter.
"Want to compare ocular lenses?"
Jack kicks his gun, sending it flying.
"Hey!" Joker exclaims, dropping his tea and leaving up in alarm. It hits the ground and bursts open, lilac milk and tapioca spilling towards the edge of the roof.
Jack swings his handgun round, aiming for Joker's chest. The other assassin dives out of the way, rolling to his feet in a black and red blur as a bullet scorches the ground where he'd been standing.
He throws himself at Jack when he raises the gun again, shoving both their hands upwards so that the next bullet sails towards the stars. They grapple for the gun until Joker gets the upper hand.
With a move so fast Jack can barely track it, Joker jabs his forearm, then wrist, and knocks the gun from his grip. It skitters away across the rooftop and Jack immediately switches to close combat.
He swings ruthlessly at Joker, making the other man yelp in surprise as he dodges the first hit and then blocks the second. They trade several more blows, Jack attacking and Joker defending, before Jack slides a knife out of his thigh strap.
Joker's eyes go wide and he throws out a hand.
"Wait—"
Jack slashes at him and feels the knife cut through skin. The Joker hisses and pulls back, vivid crimson starting to run down his palm.
He quickly shrugs out of his leather jacket and Jack realizes what he's doing. He attacks again—fast—but Joker is already balling up the leather and twisting it around the knife. He tugs hard and the knife tears out of Jack's grip,spinning through the air and tinkling against the floor, way out of reach.
Joker drops his jacket and deflates.
"Can we just—"
Jack kicks him squarely in the chest. The other assassin makes a winded oof sound as he crashes to the concrete and rolls past to a stop near Jack's bag.
Jack is on him in seconds, pinning his arms above his head in case he has any hidden weapons. He plants one knee on the other man's chest and feels a grim sense of satisfaction when the Joker's breath stutters.
Jack is a good few inches taller than him and when he leans all of his weight into the hard, lithe muscle of the other man's torso, the Joker groans in pain.
Jack tries not to think about how good he looks flat on his back underneath him.
"Jack," Joker pleads, "stop." Lines of pain are forming in his brow as he struggles against Jack's hold, trying to free himself.
"Stop stealing my marks, then," Jack snarls.
"I was trying to help," Joker insists, and Jack lets go of one of his arms to grab him by the throat.
"Help?" He hisses. "You're making things worse."
"But if I kill them, you don't have to," Joker croaks, scrambling for Jack's wrist to try and make him let go.
Jack squeezes harder. "It doesn't work like that. If I fail to kill a target, there are consequences. Boss might take it out on—" He stops himself just in time.
Joke struggles in Jack's grip. "So, don't tell him," he rasps, a vein standing out in his forehead.
Jack goes still.
"What?" He says, nonplussed.
"Don't tell him you didn't kill them," Joke wheezes, voice straining against his dwindling air supply. "I'll make the shot, you take the credit."
Jack shakes his head.
"That won't work. He'll find out it wasn't me."
The Joker lets out a weak, choking sound and Jack realizes he's gripping his neck even harder, completely cut off the other man's air supply. He lets go swiftly and Joker gasps, dragging in a ragged lungful of air before coughing it back out.
He continues to cough until Jack starts to feel guilt whisper along his skin. He brushes it off. The other man doesn't deserve his pity after the trouble he's caused. He won't apologize for this.
Eventually, Joker's breathing slows and he looks up at Jack with a playful grin.
"If you wanted to get on top, you could have just asked."
Jack rolls his eyes.
"Does Boss send anyone else out on your hits?" Joker continues.
"No," Jack says evenly. He's still holding down the Joker's right arm, blood creating macabre, tie-dye patterns on the roof from other man's hand continues to bleed sluggishly.
His knee also remains on Joker's chest. The other man has made no move to attack him back, so Jack reluctantly climbs off him, crouching to one side. He flexes his hands, keeping them loose and ready to defend himself if the Joker pulls a weapon.
"If you don't tell him," Joker says, clearing his throat when the last word becomes a croak, "he won't know you didn't make the kill."
Jack shakes his head. "He'll find out."
"How?" Joker asks.
Jack doesn't have an answer to that. He just knows Boss will discover his secret. Nothing stays hidden from him for long.
When his silence spreads wings between them, Joker adds, "I know you don't want to kill people. " His voice is low and rough. "That's why you keep helping them escape."
Jack opens his mouth to deny it again but Joker cuts him off. "This way you wouldn't have to. I'll take down the ones that aren't worth saving. The corrupt and abusive assholes. You can make sure the others get away."
Jack pauses. He can't believe he's actually considering this.
But suspicion hums in his blood, natural as breathing.
"What do you get out of this?" He demands. "Why are you offering to help me?"
The Joker pushes up onto his elbows, expression turning unusually serious. "I want to make it up to you. You're not meant for this life, Jack. You should be doing something better. Something you really want to do."
Jack allows his mind to wander to the vague, nebulous shape of a school with a little red roof. He's never quite been able to let go of that dream.
His mind snaps back to the present.
"What do you mean make it up to me?" He asks, eyes narrowing.
Joke's breath hitches. His complexion pales and Jack can read worry, guilt, and apprehension as they all flit across his lovely features. He either doesn't have a particularly good poker face, or he's acting.
"Jack, I…" Joker trails off, seemingly at war with himself over something.
Jack's distrust is a fortress he keeps himself locked inside. The bricks of the walls that had started to crumble are rapidly reforming. "Tell me," Jack says, voice hardening as his impatience rises.
"I need to make it up to you…because I stole your kills," Joker says quickly. His voice sounds off. Like he's trying to convince Jack, rather than just telling him the truth.
"I made a game out of it when I shouldn't have. Your situation is worse than mine and I've made it more difficult."
Jack stares at him for a long minute before reaching forward and grabbing Joker's collar.
"If this is a trick—"
"It's not," Joker says hurriedly. "You can trust me."
Jack scoffs. "I doubt that. This whole idea is too risky. I have people I need to protect." He thinks of Ama back home, alone in her hospital bed.
"It is risky," Joker agrees. "Which is why we should test it. Let me kill today's mark. When you return to Boss to debrief, tell him you made the kill. If he questions it, you can say you didn't want him to know that I made the shot because you knew he'd be angry."
Jack allows himself to consider it. It could work. But there's one sticking point.
"How do I know you won't just claim the kill for yourself and tell others you did it?"
"I'll show you," Joker says, reaching for his trouser pocket.
Jack has a switchblade under his throat before he can finish the movement.
Joke stiffens and raises his hand again slowly. "I'm going to call P'Nang and tell her the job is done," he says, gaze intent on Jack's. "I'll tell her you did it."
Jack eases back a few inches. Enough to let the other man slide out his phone.
"P'Nang?" He asks cautiously.
"My employer," Joker says, unlocking his phone and hitting speed dial. He shows Jack the name on the screen before putting it on loud speaker.
Nang answers within three rings. "Joke. Is it done?"
"It's done," Joke replies easily, "but not by me. Jack got there first."
There's a pause and then Nang says simply, "Fine. As long as he's dead. You can catch a flight back this afternoon. Come and see me once you're back."
"Okay," Joker says and Nang hangs up.
Jack lowers his knife as Joker put his phone away.
"Your name is Joke?"
The other man gives him a small, genuine smile, and it's quite possible the best smile Jack has ever seen.
Soft. Glowing. All his.
"It is."
"And your alias is Joker?" Jack asks in disbelief, trying to suppress the full-body tingle that surfs down his spine at the sight of that smile. "One letter different?"
The skepticism in Jack's words is strong enough to transform Joke's smile into an affronted look. "Hey. It'sthe Joker. Nobody else has worked it out so far. I'm good at disappearing."
"I've noticed," Jack says, almost amused.
Joke sits up fully and extricates a fabric tissue from his other trouser pocket. As he ties it around the cut on his hand, Jack discretely puts his blade away.
Normally, he'd be far more cautious with strangers—especially this one—but for some reason, he can tell that the other man isn't going to attack him. Not once when they were fighting did Joke make any offensive moves against him. He only defended himself.
"So, you'll let me make the kill?" Joke asks hopefully, looking up once he's finished tying the tissue.
"Fine," Jack says, wondering again if he's being foolish by agreeing to this. "It's all yours. But if you betray me, I will come for you."
"I won't," Joke says, completely earnest. "I promise."
He stands and brushes himself off, walking across the roof to collect his gun and set it back in its original position.
"Hmm," he muses, looking down the sight. "Ocular lens is cracked."
Jack feels a sharp burst of guilt in his chest that he swiftly tries to shake off.
"Can you still make the shot?"
Joke turns around and grins at him from his crouched position.
"Of course I can."
He turns back and hums again. "They're here."
Jack moves to crouch beside him, keeping out of sight while giving himself a better view of the street below.
Joke fine-tunes his position and focuses his lens as the car slows to a stop. They're much further down the street than Jack had anticipated.
As soon as the target gets out, he's flanked on all sides by security guards. Jack can tell there's no clear shot.
"This isn't going to work," he says, running a hand through his hair.
"It will," Joke says calmly. "Just give me a minute."
He's lying on his stomach, preternaturally still. It's the kind of stillness found in snow-covered fields at night. In canyons on the edge of the world.
But the mark is getting closer to the building and their view of him is still restricted by security.
"We're going to lose him," Jack mutters, the hairs on the backs of his arms rising.
The we slips out accidentally, surprising even him.
Joke makes an impatient noise but doesn't say anything.
Jack can feel his palms turning clammy as the man climbs the stairs. They have about five seconds before he disappears inside and the opportunity is lost.
Right as he reaches the open double doors, a small gap opens up between two of the security guards. It's less than four inches wide.
Joke pulls the trigger.
His custom silencer stops the retort from being deafening, but it's still loud to Jack's ears.
He squints into the distance to see the mark fall and his security flying into a frenzy. He doesn't move again.
"You did it," he says, wonder creeping into his voice.
"Just as planned," Joke says, a grim heaviness seeming to descend over him. He obviously doesn't enjoy killing people any more than Jack does, but he busies himself with dismantling his gun, reaching for his bag, putting each part away.
Jack picks up one of his lenses before he can pack it and uses it to look down at the street. The zoomed in view confirms what he suspected. One shot, straight through the heart.
He puts the lens back down and watches Joke in disbelief as he continues tidying away his gear. That shot was almost impossible. To make it without harming any of other other people around is, quite frankly, unbelievable.
"Time to get going if you don't want the police catching you," Joke says, standing and swinging his bag onto this shoulder.
He starts walking to the fire exit door and Jack stumbles to his feet, mind slow to catch up with what he just witnessed.
Right before Joke disappears through the door, he turns back. "See you at the next hit," he say with a wink.
In the blink of an eye, he's gone.
Jack collects his gun, knife, and bag and makes himself scarce, heading back to Bangkok later that evening.
When Boss calls him in, he's still processing what happened, but he claims the kill as his own. Boss slaps him on the shoulder and offers him a whiskey, which Jack politely declines.
He leaves with the older man's praise ringing in his ears and confirmation that he'll call him when the next kill comes up. As far as he can tell, Boss suspects nothing.
He has no idea how he and Joke are going to coordinate their next meeting point, but the answer comes to him later that night, when he's unpacking at home.
As he lifts out his rifle, a small piece of paper flutters to the floor.
On it, is a phone number and a smiley face next to one line of text.
Call me when you know the location of your next hit.
Jack stares at the paper, baffled. He knows he shouldn't—knows that Boss could confiscate his phone at any time—but despite the illicit sense of risk, he texts the number.
When did you have time to slip this into my bag?
A reply comes through almost immediately.
When you kicked me in the chest.
Jack remembers Joke landing near his bag, but he didn't see him reach for it at all.
Your slight of hand is good, but don't use it on me again, he responds.
No promises, Joke sends back, and Jack can picture the small smirk on his face.
Where did you learn to fight like that? Joke asks him.
Jack toys with not telling him, but in the end he decides that Joke will probably find out anyway.
Taekwondo classes.
Wow. You're very good.
Thanks, Jack texts back, unexpected warmth blooming in his cheeks.
Before he can think better of it, he adds, Sorry, about your hand.
He stopped apologizing for things years ago, when he realized that empty words wouldn't bring back the lives he'd taken.
But for some reason, he wants Joke to know he means it.
It's fine, Joke replies. A picture pops up of Joke's hand giving a thumbs up. There's a bandage wrapped around his palm and wrist.
Jack puts his phone on the table, feeling oddly more at ease now that he knows Joke has had medical attention.
Another text comes through and he glances down at the screen.
But you owe me a milk tea. There's a smiley at the end.
Jack huffs out a breath and shakes his head. In spite of himself, he smiles.
~*~
The next time they meet, several weeks later, it's on a roof terrace in Naples. Jack gets there early. He tells himself it's to scope out the vantage point, but he mostly doesn't want to be caught off guard by Joke again.
Boss told him that one of his Italian contacts would ensure the rooftop was clear of civilians. Jack sweeps the place anyway, handgun poised, for peace of mind.
Everything is quiet. Ferns line one side of the roof and a canopy is open over several sun loungers. A sprawling, purple clematis spanning several trellises dances merrily in the breeze and metal braziers are dotted around—presumably for winter.
"Wow," a voice says, "this is fancy." Jack spins around, raising his gun, to find Joke standing in the middle of the roof, looking around.
Joke lifts his hands when he sees him, offering a small smile. There's a thin red scar on his palm.
"Are you going to sneak up on me every time?" Jack asks irritably, annoyance flooding through him. He clicks the safety back on.
"Are you going to point your gun at me every time?" Joke quips, raising his eyebrows. His tentative smile becomes a smirk.
"Let's just get set up," Jack says, exhaling in exasperation.
"So, Boss didn't suspect anything?" Joke asks.
Jack shakes his head. "Not for now."
Joke looks pleased.
"So, you'll let me carry on?"
"For now," Jack says again, emphasizing the last word. "But I think you should use my gun. If Boss were to look into any of the deaths, the casings need to match the bullets I use."
"I've never used a Bergara before," Joke admits, eyeing Jack's bag.
"Is that a problem?" Jack asks.
Joke shrugs. "It shouldn't be."
He's right. After adjusting the sight and calibration, he takes down the mark in one shot.
Jack tries not to be impressed. Normally, it would take even the best marksmen two or three shots to get used to a new rifle. Joke adapted before he even fired the first shot.
"This is nice," Joke says, clicking the safety on Jack's gun and running a hand along the barrel. "It has far less of a kickback than mine," he muses as he hands it back to Jack.
"Don't steal it," Jack warns.
Joke grins as he springs to his feet.
"I don't need to if you're going to let me borrow it."
"Only while we're doing this," Jack says.
Joke pouts. "We could go out to Chiang Mai. Practice with some long-range targets. Or do clay pigeon shooting."
"No, Jack cuts him off before he can get any more ideas.
Joke blows out a breath. "Fine, but you still owe me a milk tea."
Jack reaches into his bag and pulls out a sealed carton, shoving it at Joke's chest. The other man grabs for it before he can drop it, surprise relaxing his face into something innocent.
"You…"
"Your last one was purple, so I figured you like taro," Jack says, turning away. He reaches into his bag and fishes out the wrapped straw, throwing it over his shoulder.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Joke's hand whip out to catch it, reflexes as sharp as Jack expected.
"Until next time," he says, heading to the exit.
He doesn't see Joke watch his retreating back, expression soft. He unwraps the straw and stabs it through the seal with a pop, taking a long gulp.
A blissful smile spreads over his face as he follows Jack off the roof.
~*~
Less than a week later, they're waiting for the mark on the balcony of an empty Bangkok condo.
"They should be here by now," Jack mutters, pacing.
"Relax," Joke says, soothing him from his position on the ground. "They're probably just running late."
Jack scowls down at him. "Easy for you to say. It's not you who'll get in trouble if we don't complete the assignment."
The we sneaks up on him again.
"Aow. You're right," Joke says, looking chagrined. "Boss would probably find a way to blame you for the mark not showing up."
He's right.
"How do you know what Boss is like?" Jack asks, more curious than suspicious.
"His reputation is well known Thai criminal circles. But P'Nang also told me about him."
"How does she know him?
"She's his sister," Joke says simply and Jack stops pacing.
"What? Boss has a sister?"
Joke nods, looking up at him. His eyes are a beautiful rich brown in the afternoon sun. "You didn't know?"
"He's never once mentioned her. Or any other family for that matter."
"I can imagine why. They've been at odds for a long time. She does charity work and he does…well, you know. I don't think they've ever seen eye-to-eye."
"If she's a philanthropist, why did she hire a trained killer?" Jack asks, folding his arms and leaning back against the balcony's sliding glass doors.
"She's trying to take down mafia leaders and corrupt businessmen. She thinks they have too much power and control across Bangkok, and she's trying to get rid of them so that better people can take their place."
"So," Jack says slowly, "she's going after the same people as Boss, but for different reasons."
Joke nods.
"And she hasn't been caught by the police yet?"
"I cover my tracks too well," Joke says, a self-assured smile curving one corner of his mouth.
Jack looks skyward in search of patience. There's none to be found among the clouds.
"How did you start working for her?" He asks instead of letting his exasperation boil over.
"She found me when I got out of prison," Joke says, amusement disappearing. He looks away, eyes tracing the hazy outlines of distant buildings.
"I had nowhere to go and around 200 baht in my box of belongings. P'Nang took me in at the temple and gave me a place to live."
"And a job," Jack says, still watching Joke. "As a killer."
Joke nods and turns back to meet his gaze. "It's the only thing I'm good at," he says, a sad smile stealing the light from his eyes.
Jack doesn't want to feel sorry for the other man, but sympathy sparks, evergreen, in his heart. It's as inevitable as the turn of seasons. Jack's never been able to cut out his compassion, no matter how hard he's tried.
"Didn't you have family to go back to?" He knows it's a dangerous question for people in their line of work. But he asks it anyway, hoping for a different answer to his own.
Joke's expression goes hollow and it's so much worse than his sad smile. It's like watching all the vitality drain out of him, replaced with the burden of being alive.
"They disowned me when I was sent to prison. My father said that, as far as he was concerned, he only had one son and he never wanted to see me again. I tried to go and visit them when I got out—to make amends—but my father told me that—" he swallows and looks down, "—it would have been better if I'd died rather than coming back."
Jack inhales a sharp breath. "That's not right," he hisses, balling his fists. "You weren't a killer before you went to prison. If they had forgiven you, you might not have ended up going down this path."
He starts pacing again. "You didn't deserve that," he bites out, suddenly angry at a family he's never met. Joke is a killer just like him, but, somehow, Jack knows he has a good heart. He's seen it in the small was he tries to help people.
You can do bad things without being a bad person.
"Jack, I—" Joke's voice wavers, but he continues. "There's something you should know. About why I went to prison."
He sounds nervous and Jack turns to look at him, but something shiny catches his attention before he can make eye contact.
A car is pulling up below, gleaming roof reflecting the sun.
"They're here," Jack announces, dropping into a crouch.
Joke scrambles into position on his stomach and adjusts the zoom of his lens.
Several heartbeats later he's taking the shot and Jack watches the mark fall like an autumn leaf in a storm wind. But the crack of the retort echoes like thunder between the buildings, loud and undeniable. Thunder with a metallic afterglow.
"Shit, that was loud," Jack says, instantly on edge. "We need to go. People will recognize that sound."
The two of them pack up hurriedly and sprint for the stairs, taking a back exit out of the building and disappearing into the dusk streets. Sirens chase them through the city, wolves hunting their next meal, coming closer and closer.
At no point does Jack think about leaving Joke until they're safely on the other side of Bangkok.
They finally come to a stop in an alleyway, dimly lit by small lanterns. Standing opposite each other, backs against opposing walls, their chests rise and fall as one. Ragged breathing is a wild chorus in the small space.
"You run as fast as you shoot," Jack pants and Joke lets out a delighted huff of laughter. It sets off sparks in Jack's stomach.
"I think I need a new silencer," he adds, as trying to distract himself from the way he wants to lean into Joke's orbit.
"I can bring you one," Joke offers. "I know someone who makes custom models."
"What will that cost me?" Jack asks, scrunching his nose.
"Another milk tea," Joke says, smiling impishly.
Jack shakes his head, but inside he feels warm.
They part with the usual promise of seeing each other at the next hit. Jack completely forgets to ask Joke about what he was going to tell him earlier.
~*~
"Do you think we'll ever be able to come to places like this when we're free?" Joke asks, spinning a bullet cartridge between his fingers.
He's in his usual position, on his stomach in front of Jack's gun, while they wait for their marks to show up. Plural this time because Boss wants two people dead.
Jack's position mirrors Jokes, mainly so he doesn't feel like he's going to fall of the sun-baked, slippery roof tiles at any moment. It's only a gentle slope, but Jack has never felt less sturdy during a stakeout.
Joke, in comparison, looks completely at ease as he memorizes the layout of the city. It spreads out around them like a dancer's skirts. Vibrant. Bold. Kinetic.
"Maybe," Jack says. "If you have the money to, you could."
Joke looks over at him. "Would you not want to? Don't you like it?"
"It's…beautiful," Jack says, tearing his eyes away from Joke to take in the arched windows and cobbled streets below them. There's a unique charm and personality to the city that threads itself through the orange-red rooftops and gothic architecture.
"Then why wouldn't you come back?" Joke asks, curious.
Jack hesitates. He trusts Joke far more now than he did a few weeks ago, but he's not sure he's ready to tell him everything.
"The money I'm saving isn't for traveling," he says simply.
"What's it for?" Joke asks, as Jack knew he would.
When he doesn't reply, Joke's eyes move away from him and land on the cathedral in the distance.
"You deserve to be happy," he says quietly, and the words incite a dull ache behind Jack's ribcage.
The only other person who ever says that to him is Ama.
~*~
"Why do you like milk tea so much?" Jack asks, brushing off the cloak of companionable silence that's fallen around them.
They sit side by side on the floor of a two storey house in Hanoi. Their target's house is on the opposite side of the street. The tall tube houses that Hanoi is famous for smile back at them, colorful with sprightly balconies and rolled out canopies.
Joke is cleaning his gun and Jack is tracking their mark's inbound flight. He should be here in two hours.
If Jack has started arriving at their meeting points earlier and earlier, that's his business. Joke hasn't given any indication that he's noticed, but he seems to have started doing the same.
Before Joke makes the kill, they talk and share food, swapping stories about the past. Joke tells Jack about living at the temple and working for Nang, and Jack describes working for Boss and living in Suphanimit.
He's not sure when he started considering the other man his friend, but he no longer thinks of him as his enemy, or even just a rival assassin.
They've seen cities and countries together that Jack has never been to with anyone else. In another life, perhaps he would have asked Joke if he'd like to go for dinner some time. But when each job is over, they have to part ways. The risk of being seen together is too great.
"It's sweet and tastes good," Joke says, replying to his question. "The tapioca is the best part."
"Isn't it chewy?" Jack asks, puzzled.
Joke takes another sip and hums, satisfied, before putting the drink down on the polished wood floor.
"It's meant to be a little bit chewy. The texture is part of the enjoyment." He pauses, then adds, "You're acting like you've never had boba before."
"I haven't," Jack replies and Joke's eyes widen.
He puts his gun down hurriedly and scrambles over to Jack, picking up the tea again. "Try it," he says eagerly, holding the straw out and leaning into Jack's space.
Jack leans back instinctively, but he doesn't get far before Joke is pushing the straw between his lips.
Automatically, he sucks, and a creamy strawberry flavor hits his tastebuds. It's fresh and perfect. Then, several tapioca pearls hit the back of his throat.
He pulls back and just manages to swallow before he starts coughing violently.
"Jack!" Joke exclaims, patting him on the back vigorously. "Are you okay?"
Joke sounds worried, so Jack looks up, blinking away inadvertent tears that have formed.
Joke's soft, brown eyes gaze back at him, close and filled with concern.
Jack has exactly two heartbeats to admire their shape and color before the realization hits him like a freight train. Joke is pretty much sitting in his lap.
One of his arms is curved around Jack's shoulders, the other is holding the bubble tea. Their legs are tangled and one of Joke's muscled thighs presses into Jack's, solid and warm.
Heat bursts through Jack's cheeks and he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Joke looks down and seems to realize the same thing Jack has.
"Oh, I uh—" he shuffles back, extricating himself from the cradle of Jack's legs.
"Sorry," he murmurs, smiling down at the ground, pink also dusting his cheekbones.
Jack has never seen him bashful before. It's endearing.
Joke holds the milk tea out at arm's length. "I'll let you take it this time. If you want some more."
Jack extracts it from Joke's grip, trying not to be aware of the way their fingers brush and failing.
"It's okay," he says, smiling. "It was nice."
He isn't talking about the milk tea.
~*~
When Jack steps out onto the rooftop in Budapest, Joke turns to greet him, and his luminous smile drops instantly, dissolving into shock and then worry faster than a cube of sugar in a hot coffee.
"Jack? What happened?" He demands, rushing over.
He reaches up to touch Jack's face, fingers skimming over the bruise that's adorning his cheekbone. It's the blue and purple of an oil stain.
"Boss wanted to put a hit on a shop keeper in Suphanimit who owed him money. He hadn't done anything wrong so I tried to talk him out of it."
Joke's face turns thunderous.
"And he hit you?"
Jack nods. "It looks worse than it is. The swelling has gone down, so it doesn't hurt too much."
Joke swears quietly. Then, he notices the second bruise along Jack's hairline.
Slowly, carefully, he brushes back the strands of hair that frame Jack's face, revealing an angry red cut that's beginning to heal.
"Is this from a gun?" Joke asks, voice dangerously calm. Jack doesn't need to ask how he knows. He just nods again and watches Joke's lips press together in a hard line.
He's never seen the other man so angry.
"How long until your contract is over?" Joke asks, words sharp enough to cut marble.
"A year," Jack replies, pessimism creeping in.
Joke looks away, running a hand through his wavy ends. He makes a frustrated noise then turns back to Jack.
"What if we just left? We could go to Switzerland and disappear. With new identities, they wouldn't find us."
Jack shakes his head. "I can't. I have people to look after here."
"Can't we take them with us?"
We again.
"No. I— she can't travel."
"She?"
"My Ama."
And just like that, it all comes out.
Jack tells Joke about how his parents were killed when he was young and Ama raised him. He describes how Ama started getting ill and the doctors couldn't find anything wrong with her.
He tells him about how he quit taekwondo and paused his teacher training to take care of her. How she deteriorated quickly and ended up in hospital, racking up huge medical bills through no fault of her own.
"Boss knew I needed the money, so he offered me this job. He knew I couldn't say no. She's the only family I've got. I have to make sure she's okay." Jack exhales slowly, frustration and helplessness rising up his chest and making his throat tight with emotion.
"So, Boss knows she's ill?" Joke asks. His hand has fallen from Jack's hair to cup the side of his neck. His palm is warm and lightly calloused.
It should feel strange—being comforted like this after so long, and by someone that's not Ama—but it just feels right.
"Yeah," Jack says, feeling the burning in his throat subside. "He knows and he's made it clear that her life would be in danger if I ever disobeyed him."
"That's why you were so against this at first," Joke says slowly, fitting the puzzle pieces together. "You were worried he'd hurt her if he found out I was making the hits for you."
Jack nods again. He feels both exhausted and lighter, having told Joke everything. Keeping this secret to try and keep Ama safe has isolated him in ways he hadn't fully realized.
"You don't think…he had something to do with her getting ill?" Joke asks cautiously.
"I don't know," Jack says honestly. "The thought has crossed my mind. But I have no way of proving it."
"We'll get her out of there so that you can both leave," Joke says earnestly.
Jack doesn't think he's noticed the way his thumb is gently stroking Jack's neck.
"She's too ill to go anywhere," Jack says helplessly.
"We'll work something out," Joke says. The promise of his words is reflected in the shimmer of his dark eyes.
~*~
Somehow, those words seem to turn things around.
The doctors suggest trialing a new treatment and Jack agrees because he's out of options.
And, miraculously, Ama improves. Jack visits her one day to find her sitting up in bed—something she hasn't been able to do in months. She's cheerful, has an appetite, and doesn't seem to be in any pain. When Jack tries to give her his share of their lunch, she scolds him rigorously, proclaiming that he needs it far more than her if he's to keep up his strength. It's like they're back home again and everything is as it should be.
He tells all this to Joke as they're trekking through Khao Yai forest. Joke's eyes are warm and his expression fond as he says, "I'm glad, Jack."
Jack wants to reach out and take the other man's hand. He still remembers the feel of it against his neck several weeks previously. Comforting.
His fingers twitch in anticipation.
Before he can thread them through Joke's, they step into the clearing and all hell breaks loose.
A large group of men turns towards them as one. Shouts of alarm go up like flares in the night.
The mark they're here to take down isn't supposed to arrive for two more hours, but he's already here. With an entire entourage of bodyguards, it seems.
Bullets start flying almost immediately, whipping through the air around them like tiny, lethal missiles. Joke shoves Jack behind a tree and throws himself behind another, but not before a bullet carves its way through his arm.
He cries out, stumbling against the trunk and Jack yells his name, panic flooding through him at the sight of Joke doubling over.
"I'm okay," Joke calls back, gripping his bicep so hard his knuckles are white. He pulls it back to examine the wound, palm macabre with a streak of blood. But then he seems to exhale.
"It's just a graze," he shouts to Jack over the roar of gunfire.
Jack deflates in relief and then straightens with renewed purpose. They're going to have to fight their way out of here. If Joke is injured, he'll have to do most of it. And he won't feel any guilt about killing the person who shot his—
Friend seems like too small a word these days, especially with the bundle of feelings that grow brighter and bigger every time he sees Joke.
But he can't think about that now.
He unholsters his rifle while Joke tears off a strip of his t-shirt and binds it around his arm.
"He wasn't supposed to be here for hours," he calls to Jack. The gripe in his voice makes Jack smile.
"They must have arrived early to get ammunition," he shouts back. The mark is an arms dealer with a covert base in the national park.
He fires several shots, taking down a couple of men easily, before Joke joins in with his handgun.
He's beautiful even when he's deadly, spine straight, arms outstretched, focus so intense that it could burn half the forest to the ground.
Jack watches him take down two and then three men in quick succession, before he recovers his own focus and starts firing again.
He has to at least pretend he wasn't staring at Joke the whole time.
After a few minutes, bullets start dwindling as both sides run out.
"We'll have to switch to close range," Jack calls to Joke, who nods and stows his gun.
"Cover me and I'll go to them. "
"No, it's too dangerous. Let me—" Jack protests, but Joke cuts him off.
"You've got the rifle, just make sure you take down anyone that still has ammunition."
With that, he slides a knife out of his pocket, flips it once so he's gripping the handle, blade pointing towards the clearing, and then breaks cover.
Jack has no time to contemplate how hot that was before he has to get ready to fire.
Their opponents seem to have had the same idea because four of them rush Joke at once. One man pops out from behind a tree and takes aim but Jack hits him squarely in the chest before he gets the chance to loose a bullet.
Another man eases out from behind a truck, gun raised, but ducks back down as Jack's bullet whistles past his head.
In the middle of the clearing, Joke is a graceful whirlwind. He's fighting two men, the other two dead on the ground and Jack watches, transfixed as he spins out of reach of one bodyguard and dodges the swing of another, kicking his blade out of his hands.
He slices a clean arc towards the man's neck and he goes down with a winded sound. The second man slashes at him with his sword and Joke ducks under the swing, throwing his knife at a third man who sprints towards him.
It hits home directly in the man's chest and he gurgles as he falls, momentum stripped from him with his life.
The guard behind the truck reappears and fires, but Joke is moving so quickly—grabbing his knife from the body and turning—that the bullet hits his opponent instead.
Jack fires and kills the man instantly, furious at himself for letting him get a shot off.
When he looks back, Joke has four new opponents locked into a fatal dance and has acquired a second knife from somewhere. But he's breathing hard and his smooth, flowing movements are becoming staccato and jagged. The blood running down his arm tells its own story.
Jack checks the clearing once more, certain that there are no more gunmen waiting in the wings, and then sprints out to help—just as another group of men join the fray.
He takes a running leap at one, slamming the butt of his gun into a kevlar-coated chest, before swinging it at his opponent's head. Using his rifle to block a knife attack of another, he kicks him into the path of Joke's blade.
They fight like that, back-to-back, centered and agile, covering each other's openings, until bodies litter the soil.
At some point, Jack takes a shallow slice across the forearm and his rifle gets knocked out of his hands, but the ammo is empty so it doesn't matter too much.
The only thing that matters is keeping Joke safe.
As he knocks the last man to the ground, he turns to find the other assassin standing by his side, blood-flecked and grubby, but very much alive.
A notch in Jack's chest loosens and the adrenaline starts to drain out of him, like storm water leaving the land.
"I've never seen you fight like that," Joke says in wonder.
Jack let's out a small huff of a laugh as he catches his breath.
"Badly?"
"No," Joke says slowly, "like you would tear through anyone who got in your way."
"Hmm," Jack muses. Then, he takes a gamble. "It usually happens when I have something to protect."
He catches Joke's eye as he says it, purposeful, so his meaning can't be misconstrued. As soon as their gazes meet, he's pulled into the other man's orbit, a comet finding its star.
Joke doesn't look away and Jack doesn't either. A current passes between them, electric and anticipatory.
Jack reaches out to wipe a speck of blood from Joke's face and Joke catches his hand, pulling him close. He leans in and kisses him.
As soon as Jack's lips meet Joke's, he makes a soft sound—part surprise, part contentment—and Joke winds his arms around Jack's back, drawing him in even closer. Jack melts into the contact, hands coming up to cup Joke's neck.
It feels like there are fireworks going off all the way down his spine, lighting up each of his vertebrae and warming his whole body.
He'd hoped that Joke shared his growing feelings and attraction, but he'd never been fully sure. Until now.
This must be what it feels like to find the soul that matches yours.
Footsteps in the distance draw their attention and they pull apart, tense.
The mark is running for a jeep, trying to escape. He must be out of ammunition and out of ideas.
Both assassins go for weapons; Jack grabbing a gun from one of the cooling bodies and Joke unearthing Jack's rifle from where he lost it in the soil.
Jack shoots out two of the tyres in quick succession, stopping him from escaping, and Joke takes aim with the rifle, firing and felling the mark before he can close the car door.
With that, their mission is over.
Jack checks Joke's bullet wound and is relieved to see it is just a graze, not deep enough to meet muscle or tissue, and clotting quickly. He finds an unopened bandage in the small first aid kit he carries with him and cleans and dresses the injury.
Joke fusses over Jack's own shallow cut until Jack cleans that as well. Jack calls Boss to tell him what happened, carefully omitting any mention of Joke and requesting a cleanup crew.
Boss seems pleased that Jack took out not only the arms dealer but many of his men and says that a crew will meet him at the Noen Hom entrance to the park in two hours.
Although the area they're in is secluded, they hide the bodies in the jeep and truck just to be on the safe side.
"You head back to Bangkok," Jack says, as he dismantles his gun. "I'll wait for the cleanup crew to arrive."
"We've got a couple of hours," Joke says, cheerful and impish. "Why don't we go for a walk?"
Jack knows they shouldn't, but the high of kissing Joke—of knowing his desires are reciprocated an he's wanted in return—is still singing through his veins and lighting up his blood.
He agrees and Joke takes his hand. The find one of the quiet trails and meander along the path until Joke pulls him behind a tree and kisses him senseless. His lips are soft and his hands are warm as they pull Jack's hips against his own.
Jack returns to Bangkok feeling lighter and more hopeful than he has in months.
It only lasts a day.
~*~
When Jack goes to visit Ama, she's asleep and two of Boss's men are in her room. Hope and another guy that Jack doesn't recognize.
"What are you doing here?" He demands, rolling onto the balls of his feet, primed for a fight.
"We've been assigned to watch over her," Hope says, nonchalant but smug. "To make sure she's well cared for."
He says the last words in a velvet tone, deliberately taunting Jack with the implication of harm. Jack grabs him by the collar.
"Leave her alone," he snaps, just as the second man points his pistol at Jack's head and cocks it.
"Boss wants to see you at the compound," he says without preamble.
When Jack makes no move to leave, he turns and aims the gun at Ama.
"Don't, don't," Jack cries, releasing Hope and throwing a hand out.
The man lowers the gun but doesn't put it away. "You should go. Now."
Jack stands his ground a beat longer. Torn between not wanting to leave Ama alone with these two, and not wanting her to end up hurt because he delayed.
But, really, there's no choice.
"Touch her, and I'll hunt you down," he warns, anger ripe in his stomach, coating his words with barbs. Then, he turns on his heel and storms out of the room.
By the time he reaches Boss's compound, he's calmed down enough to stop himself from doing something he'd regret. Like kicking the door to his office down.
Instead he knocks and waits to be admitted.
Boss is sitting at his desk, stony-faced, but he stands when Jack arrives, flanked by two of his most violent enforcers, Khaen and Gun.
Jack can tell immediately that something is wrong. There's no self-serving smirk on Boss's face, no warm welcome or offer of a drink after completing a hit.
He knows.
His suspicions are confirmed when Boss says, "Jack, are you unhappy here?"
Jack doesn't think he can say yes as brazenly as he wants to, so instead he says, "Boss?"
"Do I not pay you enough?" Boss asks, rounding his desk.
"You do, sir," Jack says, trying to work out where this is going and how he can defuse the situation. Boss's temper is as legendary as Joke's shooting skills, and he's already been on the receiving end of it several times in the past. This time, Ama's safety is on the line, too.
"Then why," Boss says, voice dangerously quiet, "would you lie to me?"
"Sir?" Jack asks, injecting a note of confusion into his voice. The best option for now is to pretend he doesn't know what Boss is talking about.
The backhand is so fast that he doesn't see it coming. It snaps his head sideways and he staggers from the force of the blow.
Khaen and Gun are behind him before he can recover, tugging his arms behind his back and restraining him. He struggles against them, but they have him in an iron grip.
"I thought it was strange that you'd need a cleanup crew for the Khao Yai job," Boss says, walking past Jack idly, like an unhurried vulture. "Normally, you make the kill you've been assigned and leave. So, how was it that you ended up taking down so many men single-handedly?"
Jack's stomach lurches, but he says nothing, determined not to incriminate Joke any further than he might already have.
"I knew something was off," Boss continues, "so, I called one of the men I have working in the park and asked him to find and follow you. Imagine my surprise when he sends me a photo of you and this man."
Boss is back in front of him now, holding up his phone. The photo is crystal clear and incriminating. It shows Jack and Joke walking along the trail holding hands.
"I had my suspicions about who he was, but I sent the photo to a few contacts to confirm. One of them came back and said he recognized the face. As the Joker."
Jack's whole body goes ice cold.
"Boss," he says hurriedly, "it's not what you think—"
Boss slaps him this time, making his cheek burn from the repeated onslaught. When Jack rights himself, Boss grabs him by the throat, slowing squeezing until Jack starts to choke.
"Did I not tell you what would happen if you failed me again? Not only that but you thought you could lie to me about working with him. How long has this been going on?"
Jack tries to speak and Boss loosens his grip enough that he can suck in a lungful of air.
"Only a few weeks," he lies in between coughs. "It wasn't anything underhand. He offered to help me make a few kills, and he's a good shot." Better to mix in a piece of the truth with falsehoods if he's going to stand any chance of extricating himself.
"You shouldn't need any help," Boss shouts, slapping him again. "You're supposed to be my best." He grabs Jack's shirt collar, hissing, "Do you know who he works for?"
Jack shakes his head. Another lie.
"Someone who will do anything to take me down—to take this organization down. And you've led her straight to me."
Jack expects the blow, but he doesn't expect Khaen and Gun to drop him when it knocks him off his feet. The floor is solid and unforgiving as he crashes into it.
"Make him see the error of his ways," Boss says to the enforcers, and Jack knows what's coming.
The beating is short and brutal. Jack keeps himself in the shape of a crescent moon to protect his head and vital organs, and lets himself be dragged to his feet once it's over. His chest and back burn from all the kicks and his nose is bleeding, though thankfully not broken.
Boss's fury seems to have cooled to a simmer, but he gives Jack a disdainful look.
"Nang is probably one step ahead of us thanks to you. She'll be planning to stop me, as she always is."
Jack knows from Joke that P'Nang has her own network of informants. She doesn't need either of their help when it comes to gathering information about Boss.
But he says nothing and tries to look contrite.
"Luckily, I have a way for you to redeem yourself," Boss adds.
"Yes, Boss," Jack says, bowing his head.
"Your next assignment is to kill the Joker."
Jack freezes, dread coursing through his limbs, making them feel leaden. He looks up slowly, hoping that, somehow, he misheard.
"He's your next mark," Boss confirms, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
"No," Jack whispers, shaking his head in disbelief. Boss saw the photo of them holding hands. He must have worked out what they are to each other. Or what they could be.
And now he wants to crush Jack completely by taking away the one person that's trying to help him. The one person, aside from Ama, that's special to him.
"I can't kill him," Jack says firmly.
It's the first time he's openly defied Boss since he started working for him. But Boss's smile doesn't drop. If anything, it becomes even more gleeful.
"Then, your grandmother dies," he says simply.
"No," Jack half-shouts, struggling between Khaen and Gun again. "Don't touch her."
"You already know how to guarantee her safety. Kill the Joker," Boss says, spreading his hands in a magnanimous gesture.
His smile is serpentine and Jack has never hated him more. He glares at the older man, fury battling helplessness within him.
Boss takes his silence as hesitation. "Or, I can call Hope and Title at the hospital…"
"No, no," Jack says quickly, desperate. "I'll do it." The words taste like ashes in his mouth.
The gleam in Boss's eye is one of victory. "You have 24 hours. Khaen will be keeping an eye on you in case you try to deceive me again."
Jack leaves the office feeling like something inside him has died. The last remnants of a fire going dark.
He texts Joke. Can you meet me in an hour? On the rooftop where you made the first kill for me.
Joke texts back within minutes. Sure :) Is everything okay?
Jack doesn't reply to that. He doesn't want to lie to Joke. But he does send him one more text.
~*~
Joke steps out onto the rooftop with a gentle smile that's all for Jack.
It fades as soon as he sees Jack's expression and the blood and bruises marring his face.
"Jack," he gasps, concerned, "what happened?" He rushes over, but stops dead when Jack raises his gun and points it at him, safety off.
"Jack," he says, more cautious this time. "What's going on?"
"He knows," Jack says, defeat evident in his voice. "Boss found out that you were helping me. He knows who you work for."
"He did this to you?" Joke asks, taking a step forward and reaching for Jack. Jack takes a step back, black jacket fluttering in the wind.
Hurt crests in Joke's expression and Jack tries not to let it carve a searing line through him. Khaen is watching somewhere and he doesn't want the other man see how fond he is of Joke.
"He had someone follow me in the forest. They saw us together and sent him a photo." He tries to make his voice sound cold and detached, but it comes out tired.
"He offered me an ultimatum. I have to kill you, or my grandma dies."
Joke blanches, face draining of color. Jack thinks it's fear for his own life, but then he murmurs, "Ama," so quietly Jack almost misses it.
And Jack's heart shatters a little at that.
Joke, so caring and compassionate despite the way his family have treated him, is more worried about a woman he's never met, than his own life.
Jack squeezes his eyes closed, running a hand roughly through his hair. When he opens them again, Joke is a little closer, looking at him like he wants to take all his pain away—absorb it into his own body.
"I have to," Jack half-whispers, trying to keep his voice steady. "I can't lose her."
Understanding glimmers in Joke's lovely brown eyes.
"But I can't lose you either," Jack admits, hand beginning to shake. He grips the gun more tightly, trying to keep his splintered heart from shattering entirely.
"Is there any other way out of this?" Joke asks quietly.
Jack shakes his head. "Boss has two of his men guarding Ama at the hospital. If I don't kill you, they'll kill her." There's a lump forming in his throat and it's getting harder to speak.
Joke looks horrified at this, but then his expression clears. Like he's making peace with what's coming.
He takes a step forward, and then another, until the gun is only inches from his heart.
"Don't," Jack says, trying to back away, but he's rapidly running out of rooftop.
"Jack," Joke says calmly. "I never told you why I was in prison. I wanted to so many times, and I kept trying to, but…I was a coward. I didn't want you to hate me."
"What are you talking about?" Jack says, wondering how he could ever hate Joke now that he knows him. He remembers the other man mentioning prison during one of their jobs, but he'd forgotten about it in the weeks since.
"Before I started working for P'Nang, I was a con artist," Joke says. "A thief. I was working a job at a bank and the police caught up with me. I tried to give myself up, because there were too many civilians around, but they started shooting." He pauses, gathering himself, and then continues, "They didn't hit me. They caught four bystanders in the cross-fire."
Jack feels his stomach flip. He knows this story.
"Your parents were two of the people that were killed," Joke says, face ashen.
"You were there?" Jack asks, words strained. He was told by the police that his mother and father were caught up in a shoot out, but they never gave him more information on how it happened.
Joke nods. "It was my fault. I should have given myself up sooner. Maybe then they wouldn't have been hit. I tried to help the people that were injured, but the police arrested me before I could. I overheard one of them say that two people had died."
Jack scrubs a hand over his face. "This is why you wanted to help me. You felt guilty after what happened."
"I'm sorry, Jack," Joke says, voice thick. "I should have told you sooner. Once I got out of prison and started working for P'Nang, she mentioned you—as one of Boss's hitmen. When I realized who you were, I knew I needed to make it up to you. This was the only way I could."
Jack feels like he's been pushed off a cliff, mind and body reeling and in freefall. Everything makes sense now. Joke appearing again and again, like he was trying to find a way to meet Jack. His strange words during their first few meetings and his insistence that Jack deserved better.
"Why didn't you tell me when we first met?" Jack asks, frustration creeping up his sternum.
"I wanted to," Joke says, eyes sad, "but you didn't trust me, so I didn't know if you'd believe me."
Jack knows he's right. He would have assumed it was some kind of trick or con.
"That's why," Joke continues, words soft and sombre, "if it's a choice between Ama and me, then there is no choice. Save her."
Jack's frustration evaporates, replaced by a hollow emptiness. He recognizes it as grief.
Joke steps past Jack's gun and cups his cheek. Jack barely has a moment to enjoy the feel of his palm against his skin, before he's gone, backing away.
"Do it," Joke says, arms loose at his sides, face serene.
"Joke," Jack whispers, voice choked.
"It's okay, Jack," Joke says, nodding. He gives Jack one last glowing smile.
"I'm sorry," Jack says, tears blurring his vision.
He pulls the trigger.
The bullet hits Joke straight in the chest, and Jack closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see him fall. But he hears the sound of his body hitting the roof and it's the worst thing he's ever heard.
When he opens his eyes and sees Joke's prone form, the gun slips out of his hand. The world tilts on its axis and he ends up on his knees, crawling over to Joke's body.
He's lying on his back, eyes are closed, expression peaceful in death. Blood pools under him and Jack feels panic hit him for the first time, violent and suffocating.
"No, no," he whimpers, pulling Joke's body into his arms. He's limp and completely still, and Jack lets out a raw, animal sound of anguish that scorches his lungs as its freed.
He doesn't know when he started crying but huge sobs shake his body and make it hard to breathe.
Khaen appears at some point and inspects the body, nodding in satisfaction.
"Do you want me to dispose of him or will you?" He asks emotionlessly.
"Don't touch him," Jack hisses, clutching Joke closer.
Khaen shrugs, unbothered. "I'll leave it to you, then."
And leave he does.
Jack doesn't know how long he remains there, holding Joke close. He feels vacant, like every last drop of happiness and hope that was in him has vanished. Burned out of him by the worst thing he's ever done.
Trying to stand up seems pointless. He know he needs to go to Ama, but he can't make himself move. Even the sun overhead isn't warm anymore.
But Joke is.
And when he shifts minutely beneath Jack, Jack gasp and jolts upright from his hunched position.
"Joke?!"
He adjusts his hold on Joke so that he can check for a pulse. A strong heartbeat meets his fingers.
"Joke?" He says again, not daring to believe it.
Joke groans quietly and then opens his eyes.
Jack makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh, an exhale, and a sob. It wrenches out of his chest, set free by relief.
"You're alive. Are you with me?" He asks, cupping Joke's cheek.
"Yeah— ah!" Joke says, scrunching his eyes closed in pain as his hand comes up to grab at his chest.
"Fuck, that hurts," he whines, as Jack makes quick work of pulling open his jacket and unbuttoning his red shirt.
Underneath it lies a flattened gold bullet, close to his heart. It's embedded in a black bulletproof vest.
"Oh, thank fuck," Jack breathes out, tears burning his eyes again. "I didn't know if you were wearing it. And when I saw all the blood—I thought I'd killed you." His voice cracks on the last few words and he presses his face to Joke's neck.
Joke strokes his hair and soothes him until his body stopped shaking.
"You said to make it look realistic," Joke says, referring to the final text Jack sent him earlier.
Wear a vest. It needs to look real. Then, we leave.
Jack pulls back and sees the empty red pouch Joke is holding.
He exhales. "Well, it worked. Khaen bought it. Now, we need to figure out how to get Ama out of hospital."
"You still want me to come with you?" Joke asks, surprised.
"Of course," Jack says simply. "I'm not leaving without you."
When Joke gapes at him, he adds, "You should have told me that you were connected to my parents' death sooner, but, Joke, that wasn't your fault."
"They died because of me," Joke murmurs, voice small.
Jack shades his head vehemently. "You didn't kill them. The police did. They shouldn't have opened fire when there were innocent bystanders in the way. There are regulations against that."
"So, you're not angry?" Joke asks, eyebrows tilted up.
"I need some time to process this," Jack admits honestly, "but I'm not angry with you. That was all for show so that it would look real to Khaen. You aren't responsible for what the police did, Joke."
Joke sags with relief in his arms and Jack holds him tighter, reluctant to let him go.
"But next time, don't keep secrets from me," Jack admonishes. "If we're going to be together, we need to be honest with each other."
Joke nods. "I promise." Then he asks, wonder underlining his words, "So, you want to be together?"
Jack nods. "Do you?"
"Yes," Joke breathes, and pulls Jack down for a kiss. It's fierce and beautiful, full of wild relief and the last vestiges of adrenaline.
When they break part, panting, Jack presses his forehead to Joke's and just breathes him in.
Then, they get to work.
Joke strips off the bullet proof vest and Jack tries not to look at his marble-carved abs as he rebuttons his shirt. They take a bike to the temple and Joke pulls up his hood so he won't be recognized.
It's too risky to tell Nang where they're going; she might try and use the information as leverage with Boss. Instead, Joke gathers his savings and leaves her a note, thanking her for everything and resigning.
After a quick stop at Jack's house to gather his own savings as well as a backpack's worth of belongings, they head to the hospital. Jack is worried about how they're going to get Ama out without Hope and Title suspecting anything, but Joke disguises himself as a doctor, and walks right in.
He tells them that he's taking her for a CT scan and then simply doesn't come back. Ama has been doing better in recent weeks, so she can walk under her own steam when they help her out of the wheelchair and into the taxi.
When Jack explains to her that they need to leave the country, she demands he tell her everything from the start. The taxi ride out of the city is long enough for him to recount the whole tale—from meeting Joke to Boss threatening Ama's life.
She looks appalled when he finishes.
"I never trusted that man," she complains, "he always seemed like a viper waiting to strike."
"I'm sorry Ama," Jack says, head bowed. "I shouldn't have got us into this."
Ama puts both hands on his shoulders and kisses the top of his head.
"It's not your fault, Jack. I should have done a better job of protecting you. A fresh start will be good for us."
"You don't mind leaving?" Jack asks, surprised.
Ama smiles. "I've lived in Thailand all my life. It will be good to try somewhere new."
They change taxis shortly after that, and keep changing until they reach the northern border, cautious of staying with the same driver too long.
One of Joke's contacts from his time as a con artist meets them there and hands them three new passports, with the promise of utmost secrecy. Joke is certain they can trust him because he fell foul of Boss once before and knows what it's like to have to flee the country.
Once they cross over into Laos, Jack looks back at his home one last time.
The sun is setting and his heart aches at how beautiful it is. He'll miss Thailand dearly, but if it means keeping Joke and Ama safe, he'll create a new home somewhere else. Somewhere they can live in peace.
~*~
Several weeks later, Jack rolls over in bed to find Joke dozing next to him. Even in sleep, he looks beautiful, soft features relaxed and content in the golden morning light. Jack runs a hand through Joke's hair and Joke hums happily, blinking his eyes slowly open.
"Good morning," he says, leaning over to give Jack a slow, indulgent kiss before snuggling closer.
"Morning," Jack says, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.
Switzerland has been kind to them so far. Ama quickly found a job cooking in a restaurant kitchen, and Joke found work as a mechanic. He's very good with his hands, as Jack has discovered.
Between them, Jack and Joke pooled their savings to pay for the deposit on a small-but-cosy two bed apartment, which they're now renting. Jack has managed to find work as a taekwondo instructor, and his dream of opening his own school glows a little brighter each day.
Switzerland is expensive and they're all having to study English and German in their spare time, but there's been no sign of Boss's men and Joke and Ama seem blissfully happy.
"What time do you have to go to work?" Joke asks, pulling Jack from his thoughts.
"Not until 10. What about you?"
"I'm on the closing shift, so not for a while."
"I guess we have some time, then," Jack says, rolling on top of Joke until their hips are pressed together.
Joke groans, already hard, and pulls Jack down into a searing kiss.
When they part, he asks in a hushed tone, "Ama?"
"Already gone to work," Jack says with a smirk.
"She loves it there," Joke chuckles. "Sometimes I think she'd rather live at the restaurant than here."
Jack hums, amused, and then starts kissing the underside of Joke's jaw. "No, she likes feeding us too much."
Joke huffs out a laugh, which quickly turns into a gasp when Jack starts sucking and nipping at his neck.
They both discard their pyjama tops and Jack goes back to kissing Joke's chest, tracing his Loyalty tattoo with his lips.
"Do you want to top or shall I?" Joke asks, rolling Jack over and stroking a hand down his chest, before taking one of his nipples into his mouth and sucking in a way that always makes Jack cry out.
"I want you to fuck me," Jack pants, once Joke comes up for air. He thrusts his hips to grind his erection against Joke's and grins when Joke groans, like Jack will be his complete undoing.
"It would be my pleasure," he murmurs into Jack's ear, before kissing the juncture of his lobe in the way he knows Jack loves.
He relieves them of their boxers and takes Jack's cock in his mouth, bobbing his head until Jack is shivering from pleasure.
Then, he tells Jack to turn over and kisses all the way down his spine until he's practically melting into their sheets.
Fishing lube and a condom out of their bedside table drawer, Joke coats his fingers and circles Jack's entrance with the pad of his index finger.
"Joke, please," Jack begs and Joke eases one finger inside of him, gently nudging past the ring of muscle. He strokes Jack's prostate a couple of times and Jack fists his hands in the quilt, swearing quietly.
Joke adds a second finger, then a third, loosening him up until Jack is almost deliriously turned on.
"Joke, I need you," he demands, turning to look back at Joke as his boyfriend rolls on a condom and adds lube.
"Turn over, I want to see you," Joke says softly, and Jack obliges, rolling onto his back and looking up at the man he adores.
"So beautiful," Joke says, letting his eyes roam down Jack's torso and over his hard cock, precome beading at the head.
Jack blushes despite himself, but then Joke is leaning down and kissing him again, brushing a thumb over Jack's cheek before manoeuvring Jack's legs around his back.
He lines up and slowly presses the head of his cock inside. Jack gasps as he feels his body open up around Joke, stretching to accommodate his width. Grabbing Joke's arms, he locks eyes with him, and he sees his own love, pleasure, and awe reflected back at him as his boyfriend sinks deeper.
When Joke bottoms out, he groans, "Fuck, Jack, you feel so good."
"So do you," Jack pants, pulling Joke closer and gently biting his lower lip.
"Can I move?" Joke asks, and Jack nods vigorously.
"Yes, fuck, yes."
Joke eases out of Jack, circles his hips, and then thrusts back in slowly. Jack sees stars. As Joke begins to build up a rhythm, he takes hold of Jack's cock and begins to stroke him in time with his thrusts.
"Ah, ah, Joke," Jack cries, wrapping his arms around Joke's back and urging him on faster, deeper.
His orgasm builds like a bonfire—slowly at first and then roaring up to meet him.
He has just enough time to pant, "I'm going to come," before it crashes over him in a heated torrent and he clenches around Joke, groaning in bliss.
Joke manages two more thrusts before he comes as well, moaning Jack's name like a prayer.
They come down from their high slowly, rapture ebbing away to leave a sated afterglow.
Joke pulls out of Jack carefully and then disposes of the condom and cleans them both up before sliding back into bed and curling up against him.
"That was amazing," Jack sighs, pulling Joke half onto his chest, as he turns to kiss his forehead.
"Yeah," Joke says, sounding languid and fucked-out. "I love you."
He freezes as he realizes what he's said and Jack turns to look at him.
"Shit, sorry," Joke apologizes, trying to squirm out of Jack's hold. "I didn't mean to say that."
"I hope you did," Jack says warmly, "because I love you, too."
Joke stops moving and stares at Jack in surprise.
"You do?"
"Yeah, did you think you were the only one?"
"No— well, I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to—"
"Joke," Jack says gently, cutting him off. "I love you and I'm glad we're together."
Joke beams—that wonderful glowing smile of his—and tugs Jack into a long, heady kiss.
Jack kisses him back, joy warming his whole body. Switzerland has been the fresh start they needed. And there's nowhere else he'd rather be.