DO NO HARM

“We’ve shot people for less than this.” Apollo pointed out, hating that he sounded worried. It wasn’t Fazal. He knew Fazal well enough and he knew it wasn’t Fazal. He didn’t like the places this could lead. There were only so many people he really tolerated and he didn’t want to lose one of them to this. Not with Michaela still missing.

At least no one had voted for Jae. People voting for him he could understand, but at least his husband’s loyalty and faithfulness never came to question.

Apollo turned on his heel and continued his pacing, knowing there was little he could do here in the Manor. They hadn’t even let him bring his 14 most favorite guns. Which, rude, but okay. Half of them he didn’t even have ammo for he just liked feeling like one of those John Wayne Western movie types. Do you feel lucky, punk?

“I don’t know. Either someone’s scouted us well enough to know our routines,” that set his teeth on edge, “Or there’s something bigger at play. It’s like there’s something lurking just out of sight, taunting us. Taunting all of us, for a change.”

–

Distrust was deadly. The slightest seed planted could sew a larger crop of doubt that could overtake even the most loyal of followers. Michaela’s absence didn’t bode well for them. None of the Horsemen’s absence. “Not everyone works with Fazal. And people might be using this as an opportunity to get back at old grudges. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he encourages his husband, watching as Apollo paces back and forth across the span of the small room. “I think they’re all stalling for time. Trying to figure out what happened before someone gets nabbed next.”

whomst; jaemin @parkxjaemin​ where; july 18 when; camera blindspot in the manor

He couldn’t fucking believe the audacity of some people. Just the full on fucking audacity.

The whole voting thing? He got that, that made sense logically. The attacks had to come from inside the house and all that. Not everyone knew Michaela’s schedule, and it was rapidly becoming apparent that the other Horsemen weren’t entirely present either. Voting made sense. He could even understand why Jaemin picked Victoria.

But Fazal? Come on.

“It wasn’t Fazal, this is ridiculous. He’d never.” Apollo said, pacing. “He’s never been anything but loyal. I don’t like this, Jae.”

•

Jaemin watches his husband's pace, his own mind reeling from the events of the past day. Accusations slung across the room at each other, several individuals detained for crimes no one can guarantee the committed. It’s not like they were the most righteous judges around, each gang’s proclivity for violence and crime inherent to its existence but…still. He leans against a window sill, watching Apollo’s annoyed movements, long limbs carrying him across the span of the small study they’ve found themselves in, in a matter of steps. “I don’t like this either.” Guilt sits heavy on his shoulders, Victoria’s name escaping his mouth before he could stop it. Logic taking over when he wishes it wouldn’t. He’d seen the way she looked at him after…the betrayal. He’s now failed two Pinketts, three if he counts Michaela and, really, he should count her. So he does and he feels his shoulders slump even further as he rakes a hand through jet-black hair.

JAEMIN: Michaela's gone. [ There's no point beating around the bush. ]

JAEMIN: We were drugged, [ he doesn't need a test to know that ] came to maybe five minutes ago but she's gone. Made it halfway through the run, just ahead of the park entrance. [ Thankfully it was early enough there hadn't been too many people around.]

📞apollo ⟷ jaemin

Apollo tried not to call his husband during business hours if he could help it. They were Professionals™️after all, and should behave as such. Unless he had something to complain about that really couldn’t wait, then all bets were off.

APOLLO: “Darling, have you been helping Mitzi with her chores again?”

He paused to glance over at the group of Angels.

APOLLO: “There’s no way she works this efficiently by herself, is all.”

@parkxjaemin

[[ When a picture of Apollo flashes across his screen, Jaemin frowns. Not because he’s displeased that his husband is calling him, but because Apollo rarely does during working hours. About half an hour early, the surgeon doesn’t feel much remorse in cutting out of the break room and to one of the empty halls towards a pair of doors letting out onto a small garden. Reception in the hospital was notoriously bad so he’s grateful for the warmer weather as he swipes to answer. ]]

JAEMIN:  Lo, are you – [[ The word okay is cut off by Apollo’s own and Jaemin huffs a haphazard laugh, scuffing the heel of his shoe on concrete. He’d just come from helping Mitzi collect the rest of her inventory and passing along word of the truce. ]]

JAEMIN: I wanted to make sure you got everything you needed in a timely manner, love – that’s all.

JAEMIN: I think she’d still be working on it and you’d still be waiting if I hadn’t. 

[[ Of course, he doesn’t voice the fact that he really doesn’t agree with Apollo being harder on Mitzi than the others. His husband was a Virtue with a crew of his own, and Jaemin did his best not to interfere. But, in this case, he thought doing so would end up helping Apollo more in the long run. ]]

“You are a good doctor, and a good man.” Apollo said softly, reaching out to run his fingers through Jaemin’s hair. As much as he wanted to see the entirety of Death choke, he wouldn’t want it at the cost of his husband. You didn’t leave gangs. It wasn’t done. But if something had happened to Jaemin, he would’ve burned the whole world down and moved to a remote island never to return.

“You did what you needed to do to come home to me. Fuck the rest.” They needed a bath, probably. And then possibly to spend the rest of the night in bed where Apollo wouldn’t have to worry about where his husband had gone or how he might be faring. “Your moral quandaries can wait until the morning. Eat some rice, darling.”

“Because that wouldn’t have done either of us any good.” The actress grins at her own admittance, contrary to what the other members of Death and Pestilence might believe, she hadn’t seen the benefit in adding more hostility to a situation that was already fraught with it. You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar. The sentiment was threaded into the seams of each interaction since her youth. Bridget Quinn - sweet as cinnamon - with a Cheshire grin that concealed a logical mind. Cinnamon, however, can be lethal in certain doses. Something that many people often over looked.

“It should work,” cautious still, the woman is swift to discard lingering doubt in favour of looking forward, “but let’s not think about the alternative for now.” The question that Jaemin poses pushes any residual thoughts regarding it from her mind, head tilting to one side in open consideration, gaze shifting to him. “Yeah, maybe,” she agrees, after a beat, “that’d be nice.” Gigi swallows further notions about the implication behind it while draining the last of her drink, lifting the empty glass in a belated toast that comes accompanied by a knowing wink. “Do try to enjoy the evening,” fond of ending things on a lighter note she continues, “Thank you, for the company.” 

You want to see the good. Did she? Even if she wanted to see it, that didn’t denote an urge to be involved in its creation. The dual concepts of right and wrong were never as black and white as they appeared to be, in her opinion. “You give me too much credit.” Gigi believed that good was possible, a small flickering candle she struggled to keep alight in the turbulent conditions that surrounded them, because without that idea what would drive them forward toward their ultimate goal?

There’s a dull ache in her chest, something that the actress had learned to ignore; a yearning, a longing that was never sated. They could have been friends, in another life, in different circumstances, though she resigned herself to the fact that they were merely acquaintances, or ‘colleagues’ at a stretch. It tugs at her expression briefly, considering what happened to the people in her life who bore that moniker, until it is supplanted with subtle gaiety at Jaemin’s remark. “How would he cope if he did?” Not well, she imagined, but the idea seemed hypothetical enough that she could joke about it.

“I think the other option would have been a duel over dinner.” It’s her own way of agreement, though Gigi had grown used to her mask. “Especially after what happened on the boat.” Reluctant to think about it, or, in fact, even consider the implication for an extended period of time, the truth tastes bitter on her tongue. “I don’t think people are too… keen to make friends.” The boat, the meeting, the truce - chipping away at the steadily more difficult to muster public facade. It’s said lightly, like she was commentating on the weather, spoken like an outsider in spite of the obvious fact that she wasn’t.

Maybe Jaemin did give too much credit but…compared to others, he doesn’t think that Gigi is as bad as all that. Maybe she wants equality but to destroy everyone here who wasn’t Death? He doesn’t see it. It’s possible he’s a bad judge of character but…he doesn’t think so. Not in this. Still, he chuckles, shrugging at her words. “It’s possible. I guess you didn’t immediately distrust me when we met.” Like most of Death had, especially when he’d helped sew May back together. The thought of making Apollo dress up again has him smiling a bit more broadly, eyes catching on his husband talking to Fletcher. “Well, he wouldn’t be happy but...I think he’d still do it.” Apollo did more for less where he was concerned, their marriage a give and take, after all. But Jaemin wouldn’t make him do it again anytime soon.

Few have been trusted in recent weeks, Jaemin being one of those bringing the Seraphim comfort. Some would find it strange, an unlikely pair, the other having been forced in a delicate position by his previous protégée. Blame could easily be thrown around - shifting and moving - a culprit to ease her pain, a way to salvage what little remained with her. Guilt ate at the Seraphim, dim compared to the anger. Only one person could be held responsible for the cracks among them, and none of those who remained carried it. Leaving was easy, secrets spilling like they had demanded to be let out, actions that shed true light on her. Years of deceptions, a betrayal so strong, after everything they did for her, after how welcoming they were. Pestilence blood - Pinkett blood - never flowed through her veins. There had been the thought, near agonizing, of being in the same room as her tonight. Head held high, the boat sinking had been poetic justice, a cathartic event. They stood tall tonight, having forced others to bow at their feet. Victoria didn’t believe in this truce, didn’t believe in ever forgiving the last months, and those who partake in it.

A masquerade, in all sense of the world, the night was nothing more than a poorly directed play. It offered an interesting vantage point, the opportunity to observe all of them. Eyes would be on the Seraphim - always were - and no one would be able to perceive anything she wouldn’t want. ❝ The masks always are and old habits die hard, ❞ was sweetly said, no hint of bitterness in her voice, never with him. ❝ I’ll drink to that. We’re not the ones who sunk this low. ❞ Choice of words intended, a satisfied smile at the small pun. Warm smile was given at the compliment before shadows took over. ❝ Not everyone, never everyone again. ❞ Her presence would be ignore, the person Victoria love dead to her - not even a ghost - and the same would be expected of others. Hand went to Jaemin’s arm, a small pressure, telling him none was his fault. ❝ I haven’t seen Apollo yet. This feels like something he would enjoy, very theatrical. ❞

•

He wonders if tonight might’ve felt different, had Charlotte’s betrayal not hit so close to home. Jaemin tells himself there’s no point in wondering, that this is the hand they’ve been dealt, but he can’t help himself. He’s wired to look for solutions, to solve problems. There’s no solving this one though, not tonight. Instead, Jaemin breathes a laugh at Victoria’s observation. “I guess it’s not really a party if there’s no mask involved.” A means of concealing identities and putting on a show. He supposes it’s a two-for-one deal.

Jaemin lifts his own drink in response, considering her words. In many ways, a truce meant more than just peace. It meant that Death didn’t have the upper hand, or enough of one, where they felt comfortable continuing with minimal losses. The boat had been a definitive blow that they’d felt acutely. Enough to broker a truce in the first place. He wants to say he’s sorry, he wants Victoria to know that he wishes he’d seen it coming – but her hand on his arm is enough of a message that he relaxes his shoulders slightly. Even if he blames himself, it’s a slight comfort to know that she doesn’t.

Scoffing at the mention of Apollo, Jaemin grins beneath his mask. “He’d probably enjoy it more if I hadn’t forced him to dress up,” he says fondly. Personally, he thought his husband looked great, despite Apollo’s preference for more casual attire. “But you’re right, it is theatrical. We can’t be the only ones keen for the show to end, though.” Truce or no truce, being around so many members of different gangs was enough to keep anyone on edge. Whether it was force of habit or general mistrust hardly mattered when surrounded by people who, not even a week ago, were considered the enemy.

“Or maybe I’m too much of an fantasist,” a smile catches on the edge of her mouth, like a fish hook, in response to her own countenance, knowing it isn’t far from the truth. It was difficult not to be when a large portion of her time was spent walking in someone else’s shoes. Lips purse then, lined with consideration, “No,” before settling on the answer, “because you’re right, it’s better to be prepared.” Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed, they said, as expecting the best would often result in heart ache; Gigi often favoured the middle ground, with an undeniable leaning toward optimism.

“I’d imagine it is,” she hums, unable to deny the respectful edge her tone carries, admiring of those whose profession seems ingrained in their bones, making up the fibres of who they are. “You should make more of them,” excuses to dress up, she means, something the actress was never short of. “After all, who’s to say there won’t be more of them after this?” This being the new Truce, but it was just tentative speculation on her part, knowing the likelihood was that the next excuse would be the following anniversary. If they made it that far.

“It’s definitely subjective,” leaning closer, she lowers her voice slightly before continuing, “Between you and me, I haven’t the faintest idea who most of them are with the masks on.” Hypocritical of her to want to know other’s identities while keeping her own concealed, she chooses to gloss over that fact. “Are we really surprised?” The brunette teases, smile remaining in place on her own features, envisioning that most - if not all - of the Horsemen would take Jaemin’s statement as a compliment. “They’ve made it an unforgettable, dramatic, evening. The live music is a very nice touch, too.” Of course, that was what drew her attention over other elements of the celebration.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. You want to see the good. A lot of people do.” Except that Jaemin has seen too much of the bad to fully ignore it’s possibility. Things happen in the blink of an eye and tragedy strikes when least expected. He’d be lying if he said he was an eternal optimist, but he wasn’t fully jaded yet. If he was, there’d be no point to his career – to saving people if they were all going to die anyway. No, he preferred a more realistic outlook on life altogether, somewhere in between where there was enough hope to keep him going, and enough logic to keep him skeptical and keep his eyes wide open.

Jaemin loves his husband. He does and anyone who knows him can see it clear as day the moment he looks at Apollo. But that doesn’t always mean he agrees with his methods. Still, he won’t disagree with them in public either, opting to remind Apollo within the privacy of their own home that he doesn’t always need to make a point. Even if he’s making one tonight. Michaela informing them of a truce with the people who’d overtaken Pestilence is unexpected and he can feel Apollo’s anger radiating off him as they stand, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the new rules of the truce. He supposes that anger has to get out somehow, and it’s better that he give an impossible task to Mitzi than do something rash himself. But Jaemin still doesn’t quite agree with how hard he is on the Angel, regardless of his reasons.

The dramatic flair that unfurls across the scene built by Monica and Jaemin fills her with a sense of purpose past pushing papers across her desk and deciding on what kind of liquor to order for the next few weeks. Her management position, and just how important that was to her, was not disregarded, but standing beside Jaemin now for the sole purpose of creating a scene, it lit a fire beneath Monica. One that she was proud to attach herself to. “Why should I?” Monica half-sobs, half-yells. Her back doesn’t reach the ground, and instead Jaemin’s caught her, just as she had hoped he would. 

“I’m just so tired,” Monica pleads, fake tears pushing from tear ducts that care little to help her assert the scene correctly. Reaching up, she presses the back of her hand to her eyes and feels Jaemin pull her into a standing position. She drops her hand from her eyes, glancing towards the man that stalks towards them. Shit. They’d overextended, and that much was evident. Monica looks back towards Jaemin, forcing a loud sniffle, shoulders still shaking with the hiccups that come from her as she nods weakly. “I just wanted a happy family, and to have it all crumbling down…” Monica puts a finger up to the man as he approaches them, one hand outstretched towards her. “If you touch me, I will sue. I am pregnant, and in distress.” The man’s expression falters before he looks between the pair of them, then to the receptionist. She turns to Jaemin, back turned to the other two. “I am appalled you think I would go home with you.” With that, before the security can even say a word, Monica lets herself out the rotating doors, head held high, Jaemin at her heels. 

END. 

Sometimes Apollo almost wished they could be married and living somewhere else, somewhere without gangs and violence surrounding them. Not necessarily for himself, but for his husband. Jaemin saved lives after all. Apollo took them.  Sometimes he felt as though maybe he ought to give his husband a calmer life, a smoother life.

“I’ll get you some rice, then.” He said, immediately moving around the kitchen to dish Jaemin up some food. This much he could do in his sleep. “We have some… canned tuna? If you’d like that. And wine.”

Apollo frowned as he held out a bowl of rice, seasonings already on the table. “They’re no less dangerous than we are, which they knew before they put their foot on our neck. I don’t trust any of them. Nothing they do or say is worthy of believing.”

–

Jaemin shakes his head at the offer of more food. Exhaustion weighs on him, diminishing his appetite for anything more than a bowl of rice.  “Just…sit with me, Lo.” His tone is soft, tired and worn out from the day. He hadn’t been expecting the call from Death, the instructions to grab his things and get there in time to help one of their highest ranking members. And now it sits with him.

He wonders if he should feel guilty...if, by saving May, he’s become culpable in whatever havoc she and Death bring on London next. Jaemin knows that he did what he had to do to get home, but it gnaws at him. He wonders if he was wrong. If he shouldn’t have made a mistake. If he shouldn’t have let May die, regardless of what it might cost him. She'd been fatally wounded, after all...and mistakes happen. Wouldn’t that have helped more people in the long run?

“Don’t know what I saw?” Monica shakes her head, an exasperated expression pulling over her features, but not without a hint of a smile. Maybe this woman will think she smiles when she’s angry. It wouldn’t be too far off reality. “That’s rich, considering I have two eyes and twenty-twenty vision, you arse!” Monica reaches out and slaps his arm, lip jutting out slightly. “Can you believe him? I caught him, tongue down the throat of someone– not even someone, it was my sister!” Perhaps saying brother would have been a truer statement, but her mind is running a mile a minute, and truth be told, Monica doesn’t know the first thing about what it’s like to actually have a brother. Then again, she wasn’t dating Jaemin, so maybe realism didn’t matter so much. 

She hadn’t envisioned this being the type of work she’d be in charge of. She imagined that being in Pestilence meant everything being rooted in violence, but she has to admit– she doesn’t mind being asked to work out the dramatics in lieu of creating a distraction. “Calm down?” Monica shakes her head, a laugh escaping her lips. “You want me to calm down?” Out of the corner of her eye, Monica notices the receptionist’s eyes growing bigger before her hand ducks beneath the desk. Shit. Monica looks back to Jaemin, eye’s widening. Her back turned to the woman, she mouths, catch me. Dropping to her knees, she winces slightly as they connect with the floor. “Why would you do this to me when you know I’m pregnant?” A fake sob flutters through her chest and she hangs her head in distress, hand covering her eyes. “I’m so sorry miss, I didn’t mean to involve you.” Bullshit. She most certainly had. There are other onlookers now. Good. At least they won’t be taken through some private exit and tortured– then again, Monica doesn’t even know if that would actually happen. 

Jaemin can handle the unpredictability of the A&E. He finds peace in the midst of turmoil and the chaos of crisis. It’s probably why he’s slipping into the role assigned to him now with ease, playing opposite Monica in an attempt to conceal Cupid’s launch from Death. Of course, there’s a part of him that recoils at the thought of being an unfaithful partner, pretend or otherwise, but he slips into the role as he might a pair of surgical scrubs. Prepared and ready for anything to go wrong as the Power’s accusations grow more outlandish with each word. “You don’t,” he reasserts, raking a hand through his hair in mock-frustration, the very image of an indignant man in the wrong. “I didn’t –– look, let’s just...let’s just talk about this. Outside.” Jaemin clocks the secretary’s side-long glance towards a security guard who’s only started looking in their direction from outside.