Rico hadn't intended to have a moment. Not with Florian. Not with anyone, really. He wasn't a "moment" kind of guy. He was more of a "burn down the village, smuggle the evidence, and go get espresso" type. But there was something about Florian that threw the usual rhythm off.
Maybe it was the way Florian sat on a crate like he belonged there, despite being a literal hostage. Or maybe it was the very real tears in his eyes that he tried to hide behind sharp sarcasm and unnecessarily brutal takedowns of people's fashion choices.
Whatever it was, it got to Rico.
He walked into the back section of the warehouse fr p0pand found Florian trying to braid his own hair. His fingers tangled more with themselves than with his hair, and his expression was equal parts frustration and despair.
"You look like you're fighting a jellyfish," Rico said, leaning against a steel beam.
Florian didn't look up. "You look like you use Axe body spray unironically. We all have struggles."
Rico tilted his head. "I don't."
"That's not the defense you think it is."
There was a silence.
"Need help?" Rico asked.
Florian finally looked at him, suspicious. "Is this a hostage trap? Like, you help me braid my hair and then shoot me when I thank you?"
Rico didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward and knelt beside the crate. He took Florian's hair gently in his hands and started working with surprising skill.
Florian blinked. "You know how to braid?"
"I had sisters. Well, step-sisters. They were...loud. And very into hair."
"That's oddly sweet," Florian said. "Are you trying to humanize yourself so I won't hate you as much?"
"I don't care if you hate me," Rico said, though his voice was softer than usual. "But I do think you deserve some dignity. Even if you're being... difficult."
Florian snorted. "Understatement of the century."
They sat in silence for a bit. Rico finished the braid, tying it off with a rubber band from his own wrist. Florian touched it gently, tracing the strands.
"You didn't suck at that," he said.
"Thanks," Rico muttered.
Then, softly:
"Why haven't you cried yet?"
Florian stiffened. "What?"
"You keep joking. You keep pushing. But you haven't cried. I know fear. I know panic. But you're... holding everything like it might explode if you let go."
Florian didn't respond immediately. Then he said, "If I cry, I won't stop."
Rico paused. "I'm sorry."
"That doesn't help," Florian said, voice breaking. "I didn't want this. I didn't want to be a pawn in some spy game. I just wanted to get a cruller and go home."
Rico sat down on the floor beside him. "Your parents aren't what you think."
Florian wiped his nose on his sleeve. "No one is."
---
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, deep beneath Washington, D.C., in a network of tunnels and high-tech surveillance rooms now mostly operated by interns and washed-out former agents, Yerik was unraveling.
Not outwardly—he was still composed, still cold in the way only a man who once cracked an encrypted network using a cereal box decoder ring could be. But inside? Inside, he was cracking.
"This is the raw footage?" Alex asked, eyes glued to the screen.
"It is," Yerik replied, voice tight.
The cartel, in all their mafia wisdom, had failed to edit out *anything*. The video was a full documentary, capturing every single sarcastic, terrifying, and deeply chaotic moment.
They watched as Florian dismissed classified information as fake.
They watched as he gave Rico a fifteen-minute monologue about how if his parents were actually super-spies, he wouldn't have inherited the DNA equivalent of a wet paper towel.
"I mean, look at me," Florian said to the camera. "I can't even eat yogurt that isn't room temperature. If my dads are secret agents, then clearly the espionage fairy skipped me."
Yerik gritted his teeth. "He doesn't understand."
Alex sighed. "Of course he doesn't. We kept it from him for sixteen years."
"We did it to protect him."
"And now he thinks this is an elaborate cannibalism plot," Alex said, gesturing to the screen, where Florian was explaining how autism could be transmitted if someone ate his DNA.
"Do you think they're trying to *absorb* my powers? Is this like when people eat tiger hearts for strength? Because that's ableist. Also ineffective. You're just gonna get sensory overload and a high IQ in obscure anime trivia."
Alex couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up.
Yerik, however, stood. "This is not funny. He's scared. And he doesn't trust us. And it's our fault."
"I know."
"I need to find him."
"We will."
---
Back in the warehouse, Florian was curled up on a cot with a cup of tea someone had brought him.
Rico sat in a chair across from him, fingers tapping against his knee.
"You know they're real," Rico said.
"Nope."
"You saw the files."
"Fake."
"You saw the footage."
"Deepfake."
"You almost admitted it."
"Lalala can't hear you. The signal is patchy here."
"We're literally talking face to face."
"The number you have dialed is not available. You can wait or call again later."
"You're exhausting."
Florian gave him a small smile. "So I've been told. By four therapists."
"You can believe this," Rico said. "It doesn't mean they lied to you to hurt you. It means they loved you enough to quit everything."
Florian stared into his tea.
"What if I don't want that?" he said. "What if I just wanted them to be... boring?"
"Then be mad at them for being extraordinary," Rico said. "But don't be stupid enough to think they don't love you."
Florian didn't respond. Instead, he quietly slid off the cot, walked over to Rico, and sat down beside him. Shoulder to shoulder. Not quite an embrace. But close.
"Do you still want to eat me?"
Rico groaned. "Shut up."
Florian smiled. Just a little. But it was real.
---
Back in D.C., Yerik suited up, pulling gear from a locker he hadn't opened in years. Alex followed suit, voice even but sharp.
"We go in. We take down the cartel. We get him back."
"Alive."
"Of course."
"And we explain everything. Even if he hates us."
Alex looked at him. "He won't hate you."
"He might."
"He calls you ShadowMasterOfTheLegendOfTheSeaPlayboyRobberOfGirlsHearts69. I was 'RacoonFightLoser', so I think I'm the one on thin ice."
Yerik groaned. "You watched the whole footage, didn't you?"
"Twice. I laughed so hard I snorted coffee."
"Let's go get our son."
And somewhere in Italy, Florian was asking Rico if the cartel offered dental insurance. Because if he was going to be a hostage, he might as well get his wisdom teeth out.
---