#10 of the 30 Day OTP Writing Challenge (it’s only been 10?? Whaaa!) But this was a fun one to write. Thanks for the support so far!!
Mycroft’s assignment in an unnamed foreign country should have been easy. A quick meet and greet. He was not supposed to be detained against his will for two days and accused of being a spy. Greg knew something was wrong when Mycroft did not check in with him as he promised on the third day. He had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was terribly wrong. Anthea confirmed his worst fears the following day when she admitted they had lost contact with Mycroft.
“Lost contact? Lost contact?? How do you ‘lose contact’ with an important government official!!??” Greg yelled.
Anthea tried to reassure Greg as best she could, but even she was secretly worried. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Someone’s head would roll for not having the necessary intelligence available.
“Where is he?” demanded Greg.
“I can’t tell you,” replied Anthea reluctantly. “This is a very delicate situation, Greg. Our top people are working on it…”
“Well forgive me if your words don’t exactly reassure me. One of your ‘top people’ obviously screwed up for this to have happened at all! ” Greg stormed out of Mycroft’s office slamming the door as hard as he could behind him. In the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t Anthea’s fault. And he knew that Mycroft was highly trained and more than able to take care of himself. And Mycroft would be displeased at his treatment of Anthea. But the not knowing was killing him.
The next day Greg showed up again at Mycroft’s office. He apologized to Anthea for the way he behaved the previous day and promised he would stay out of the way. He felt better being in Mycroft’s office, to be able to see for himself that something was being done. Anthea came in periodically to give him updates, and around six pm, cautiously informed Greg that they believed they had secured Mycroft’s release and he would be back in London in the next several hours. The relief was overwhelming, and Greg sank down onto the couch, resting his head in his hands. Anthea gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She told him she would have a meal delivered, and inform him as soon as she knew when Mycroft would be landing at Heathrow.
Five hours later, Greg found himself with Anthea in an official car on the tarmac, waiting for the private plane carrying Mycroft to arrive. Greg couldn’t keep still. His knee was bouncing uncontrollably, his fingers thrumming against the car seat. Greg glanced over at Anthea, who was perusing her BlackBerry. “How can you be so freaking calm at a time like this? Aren’t you nervous?” asked Greg incredulously.
“There is nothing to be nervous about, Inspector. Mycroft was examined after his release and he was uninjured. He is safely on the plane, and will be landing momentarily. Being nervous won’t help anything.” Anthea was relieved that apparently she hid her anxiety well, she wanted to be calm for Greg.
Greg scoffed and turned his gaze back out the window. He was soon rewarded with the sight of the plane taxiing to their position. Greg exited the car in barely contained anticipation.
After many agonizing minutes, official looking suits descended the stairs, and following them was Mycroft. The suits got into another waiting car and Mycroft made his way over to Greg, who rushed forward and threw his arms around his husband in an enveloping bear hug.
“Oh God, it’s so good to see you. I was so worried,” said Greg, inhaling his husband’s scent and squeezing him thoroughly. Greg could feel the slight tremors vibrating through Mycroft’s body. He pulled away to conduct a more detailed examination of his husband’s appearance. Mycroft was pale, and looked utterly exhausted. His clothes were disheveled, his hair unruly. “Are you ok? Do we need to get you to hospital?”
“I am fine. No need for hospital, just home and our bed will do. ”
“They did check you out though, right? You’re not physically injured in any way?”
“I’m fine Gregory. I just want to go home, ” Mycroft entreated.
Greg assisted his husband to the car, and Mycroft greeted Anthea with a knowing nod. Their ride back home was made in silence, Anthea on her BlackBerry, Mycroft resting comfortably in Greg’s arms. When they arrived home, Anthea informed Mycroft that she would be back tomorrow to pick him up at noon to complete the remainder of the debriefing. Greg started to protest when Mycroft interjected, “That is fine, Anthea. Thank you. Until tomorrow.“
"Good night Sir. Greg.”
Greg got Mycroft bundled into their home and went to make tea, which Mycroft readily accepted when Greg returned. They sat side by side on the sofa, as close as they could possibly be without sitting on one another.
“I know you probably can’t talk about what happened, love. But whatever you can, and want to tell me, I’ll listen. Any time.” Greg lightly stroked his fingers through the hair at the back of Mycroft’s neck.
Looking into his tea cup, Mycroft replied, “Thank you. Really, I am fine. I was not mistreated. It was all just an inconvenient misunderstanding. Although I admit, the whole experience has been unsettling. I’m just glad to be home. Safe, and here with you.” Mycroft looked up to give Greg a kiss, then rested his head on Greg’s shoulder. He was soon lulled to sleep by the rhythmic stroking of his hair. Greg covered them both with a blanket, and in a short time, joined his husband in slumber.
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