Chapter Text
It was longer than Hobbs would have liked, but sooner than he would have thought, till he got all the refuse and spoiled things out of the fridge and kitchen trash can and into a couple doubled up garbage bags. Which he decided, for the time being, to leave where he’d finished tying them shut. Considering he had no idea where stuff got thrown away around there.
Figuring he better ask Shaw about the best place to leave the maggot bait, the man who’d barely broken a sweat shining up what was now obviously quite a nice kitchen gave his hands a quick wash and took off in the direction the spy had vanished half a scrub session earlier.
Following what turned out to be a relatively darkened hallway to its end, Hobbs ducked through a low doorway, and found himself blinking against an unexpected shaft of sunlight. Adjusting his eyes with a few good blinks, the unflappable LA cop felt himself suck in a breath at the sight that materialized before him.
Like a miniature of the meditative courtyards cloistered in the Buddhist temples of Japan, protected by unobtrusive walls of glass, stood one of the most thoughtfully designed zen gardens Hobbs had ever seen.
A cherry tree in full bloom off to one side offering a vibrant splash of color to what was otherwise a scene composed of muted greens and stone grays. All arranged in a way that invited quiet contemplation.
Picking out the man he was looking for in the shadow of that impressive, mature cherry, the visitor made his presence known with a quick clear of the throat.
“I didn’t know this was back here,” Hobbs said, unable to keep the tinge of awe from his voice as he wiped the last reminders of the soapy water from his hands.
“Probably because you’ve never been here before,” Shaw reminded from where he was seated. Not bothering with a greeting.
“Anata no sakura wa utsukushi desu,” Hobbs said with a smile, admiring the tree’s pink blossoms as he started off on the winding path that led from the doorway to the center of the small but truly impressive indoor garden.
“Show-off,” Hobbs thought he heard as he got close enough to see that Shaw was not seated directly on the ground, but on a perfectly square tatami matted platform. Body arranged in an iconic position that just plain looked out of place on a spy he’d seen with his own two eyes hamstring people just for looking at him wrong.
“Are you meditating?” Hobbs asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his question.
“Well I’m bloody well not now, am I?” Accused the disgruntled spy as he opened his eyes to glare up at his uninvited visitor.
“Oops. Well, at least you’re kitchen’s clean,” Hobbs pointed out, moving closer and picking out a place to plant his keister.
“Yeah, I’d’ve gotten around to it eventually,” Shaw informed in a distinctly brush-off-ish sort of way. Closing his eyes again once the considerably larger spy had settled himself on the Japanese mat floor close by.
“Uh-huh, I’m sure you would have,” Hobbs remarked with a wry tilt to his head. Taking a moment to study the rare look of... equanimity, maybe, on the Brit’s face. “But uh, remind me, was that gonna happen before or after the trash grew mushrooms?”
“Oi, show some respect, and shut it. This ain’t a bloody park,” the meditator warned, forehead wrinkling in annoyance.
“Yeah, because sane people don’t practice their esoteric religions in public,” the man from one of the most diversified cities in the world chided with a wry smirk.
“Kono basho o hanarete, bugai-sha!” The spy spat with a sharp half-snarl. Surprising Hobbs when he shoved himself up from his place on the tatami mat and made to vacate the garden.
“Whoa, ‘outsider’? After all we’ve been through together? That’s harsh, man,”Hobbs said as he pulled himself to a stand and made to follow his unhappy friend.
“Amazing accent by the way,” he tacked on as Shaw reached the end of his garden path.
“Leave me alone, you-“
“‘Absolute wanker’? Heard it before,” Hobbs informed as he hurried through the doorway and after the barely dressed guy he was still surprised owned pajamas. If you could even call them that.
“Well jolly good for you. Betcha get called that quite a lot,” Shaw sneered as he continued on through the darkened hall and into the kitchen.
“Eh, just by you,” Hobbs refuted as his boots hit linoleum, before realizing he needed to amend the statement. “And maybe Hattie, if I catch her in the right-“
There was a harsh whisper of fabric against air and that was Hobbs’ only warning before Shaw was spun around and coming for him.
Thankfully the fist to the face was an easy dodge, telegraphed as it had been, but the surprise knee to the thigh took a little more hustle to get out the way of than felt comfortable. Especially when he realized it had probably been aimed a little closer to center than he’d thought.
“Aw, c’mon, Deck, you know what I mean!” Hobbs defended as he ducked back and away from a second, more serious try for his face. That one whiffing by a little too close for comfort.
“Stop talking about my sister like you know her!” The spy who looked ready to vibrate out his skin demanded from his rankled hunch just barely out of the taller man’s reach.
“But, Deck, I do know her,” the one on the defensive insisted, hands out and up in a placating posture. “We saved the world together; the three of us did that and we shared contact information after and now we call each other and-“
“No, Luke, we don't call each other; you call us. Because you can’t believe there are people out there who would appreciate you not poking your nose in every nook and cranny it doesn’t belong!”
The statement had Hobbs stopping in his mental tracks, a frown tipping his mouth the smallest bit upside down.
“Did you just call me ‘Luke’?”
“Shut it! Nobody likes you!” The spy who topped out a good six inches below his guest all but shouted. Before lunging into a brutal leg sweep which Hobbs was forced to back double time to avoid. Cursing his inattention when he got himself a kidney full of kitchen island for his troubles.
Then, before he could form a strategy for bringing the one sided fight to a peaceful resolution, the part-time bounty hunter found himself spinning away from a palm thrust obviously aimed for somewhere in the ‘jaw’ area. Followed up quick by a bare-knuckled jab at the sensitive area around his floating ribs. One he almost lost his balance flinging himself out of reach of.
Regaining his equilibrium, Hobbs gave the even paler than usual brawler a privately impressed stare. Getting a genuine glare for his efforts.
How the little guy was able to conjure up every ounce of his usual intimidation factor looking like Casper’s sickly, less bulked up brother, down an arm and sans shoes, of all things, was a testament to the spy’s confidence in his own ability to handle himself in a tussle. No matter the circumstances. Nor how high the deck was stacked against him.
Figuring it was about time he employed some of those de-escalation techniques they taught back in the training academy, Hobbs raised his hands back up into that ‘I don’t want any trouble’ pose and spoke his next words in his least provocative voice.
“Deck, you know I’m not secretly here to kick your ass while you’re out of commission, right?”
“I’ll show you ‘out of commission’!”
Realizing that had probably been the wrong thing to say, the detective with over a decade on the job experience hoped that the world infamous assassin once again coming straight for him didn’t have a knife stashed somewhere on his extremely angry person.
After several more far too close calls wherein — surprisingly— nothing pointier than the man’s fingernails made an appearance, Hobbs found himself quickly being backed into a corner, both figuratively and literally.
Avoiding injury becoming more and more difficult as the kitchen’s boundaries came closer, Hobbs was eventually forced to either take control of the situation or suffer a bloody nose. At minimum.
So, with a quick prayer that news of this particular detail would never reach Hattie’s ears, the man with every conceivable advantage grabbed himself a handful of enraged assassin, maneuvered him up flush against the closest stable surface, and pushed in as tight as he dared.
“Now,” he started as he neatly avoided getting his shin raked by a blind, behind the back, barefooted heel, “are we headed for timeout, or are you about ready to quit it with the temper tantrum?”
“Fuck. Off.” Insisted the guy whose chest Hobbs could feel working for a fresh breath, pinned as it was between the unyielding stainless steel of the refrigerator and the rock hard forearm doing the pinning.
“Uh-uh, that’s ‘please fuck off’ to-“
And suddenly, even having resisted the urge to ease up on the guy, Hobbs was left with nothing to show for his efforts but a fistful of empty sling. Not a trace of spy within reach.
“Way I figure it,” Shaw growled from his newly liberated position, impossibly reversing the roles before his visitor could even turn around; pinning the considerably larger man to the fridge door with far more force than would have been appreciated, “if you wanted to annoy me to death, you could’a done it over the phone. From the comfort of your sunny Los Angeles home. So I’m gonna ask once: What’re you really doing here?”
“Seriously?” Hobbs started, getting his arms between himself and the brushed chrome appliance well enough to shove himself off and away from it. Following that up with a spinning swipe for that bony elbow still digging stubbornly into his spine. An elbow which was gone too fast for his hand to so much as brush.
So, once again free, Hobbs got the combatant back in his line of sight and squared his shoulders before restarting.
“Seriously? You seriously don’t know why I’m here?”
A stiff shrug the only thing the spy had to offer from where he was catching his breath a good double arm’s length away.
“Really? You have no idea what I’m doing here?” Hobbs demanded, doing his best to keep his posture from betraying his disappointment at the suggestion.
“I dunno, Hobbs, you Americans are an unpredictable lot; always starting things you don’t know how to finish. Like this scuffle, for example,” Shaw said with an offhanded gesture between the two of them.
“I started- You’re the one who started this toe to toe, amigo. All I came here for was a friendly visit; to check on my bud. And tell the truth? I’m gettin’ full-on sick and tired of being forced on my back foot like some sort of home invader,” Hobbs informed with a shift of his body weight into a more forward distribution. Finally letting his instincts take over as his arms came up into something approximating a boxer’s stance.
“Yeah? Well I say bring it, so I can give that stupid, overgrown Boy Scout face of yours something worth crying-“
Then Shaw, the unstoppable force to Hobbs’ immovable object, did something completely unexpected and just... stopped. Mid threat. Eyes no longer stuck in their ever present, jaundiced squint, but wide and going wider the longer he stood there, suddenly, inexplicably transformed into a motionless, unflattering effigy of his normal self.
Staring right back into those eyes that no longer seemed to be seeing him, Hobbs’ own pair widened in concern when he a caught a glint of something completely unexpected in his frenemy’s: fear.
Then, searching his opponent for what could possibly be wrong, the detective realized with a sinking feeling that the guy was too still to even be breathing.
“Oh my God, it’s happening again, isn’t it?” Hobbs asked, hands lowering to more of an ‘is there anything I can do’ as his legs began moving him forward. Stopping only once he was close as they could get him without actually touching the stock still spy. Then, when there was no outward reaction from the scarecrow of a man, the cop slipped his phone out of its pocket and activated the screen.
“Am I calling an ambulance or a sister?” He demanded, knowing this arrhythmia thing could be just as serious as a heart attack.
It took another few long, tense seconds, but when Shaw finally moved again, it was to draw in a deep lungful and shake his head. Both actions jerkier than Hobbs was used to seeing on the guy.
“I’m calling someone, Deck. Who’s it gonna be?” Hobbs insisted, jaw tensing in concern when Shaw’s next move was simply bringing a hand up to rub at his own chest. Right about where a heart rested.
“Deck? Are the paramedics making a house call or is your sister getting a big brother health update?” He prompted when nothing else happened.
“Bugger off,” came the halfhearted, late reply. A second before the entire, severely underdressed secret agent seemed to sag in on himself and turned to slouch the rest of his way out of the kitchen. Fight completely forgotten.
“Alright then, dealer’s choice,” Hobbs announced as he selected the younger Agent Shaw’s contact. Pausing though as he watched the stubborn Brit pad away on legs that visibly shook. Deciding instead that typing a quick text might be more... tactful.
‘Your brother froze up. Seems okay but looks beat. Suggestions?’
He spent the ensuing wait craning to see where the brother in question had shambled off to. Looking down the instant his phone gave a discrete buzz.
‘Put him to bed. And make sure he takes his meds.’
“Meds?” Hobbs whispered to himself as he sent back the emogi of a thumbs up. Keeping his screen on when it indicated another message was being composed.
‘I’m coming over. Later. He better not be dead when I get there.’
“Tall order, sister. Tall order,” Hobbs said to himself as he stowed the phone and started off after the one he’d made this whole crazy trip in hopes of helping out. Not sure he’d actually succeeded so far, but hopeful his luck would be taking a turn for the better. Any minute now.