Chapter Text
“I want to be reassigned.”
Chief Beifong let the statement pass over the desk between them like he’d said nothing at all. A folder sat open on the surface, long handwritten reports and a slew of identification photos visible among the contents. “We have new intelligence reports on the threats to the Earth Kingdom royal family you should go over.”
“I want to be reassigned.”
“And we’ll need the prince’s latest schedule of events so we can ensure extra security is provided when he’ll be around the public.”
“Chief-,” She closed the file in front of her with an audible slap, and he shut his mouth. Then opened it again, “Chief-,”
“How many of these requests will you require me to deny before you stop making them?”
Mako’s fists clenched at his sides. “All I’m doing is going to parties and buying smoothies and listening to endless discussions on whether things should be made of silk or satin! You have a whole crop of rookies you can choose from to babysit his royal highness, why do I have to be pulled off the street while you’re rolling up the Triple Threats to watch some spoiled brat spend his money?”
She shoved the closed folder at him rather pointedly. “As I said, we have new intelligence reports on the threats to the Earth Kingdom royal family.”
“And he can get regular police protection for that! Why does he think he’s entitled to a personal chauffer in uniform?!” This might have been more compelling if he hadn’t already said it all a thousand times to no effect. And if Chief Beifong was given to any kind of sympathy. For anyone.
“I realize this isn’t as exciting as the ‘Team Avatar’ duties you’re used to,” he could actually hear the sarcastic quotation marks, “Though it would be difficult to overstate the importance of protecting our only avenue for restoring order and stability to the Earth Kingdom. More importantly, I’ve yet to hear a compelling argument about why you are not suited to the job you have been ordered to do, Mako.”
He gritted his teeth and waved a hand behind him, indicating at the whole squad room in a broad sweep. “Look, any one of those guys would be thrilled to hold his highness’s hand while he foots the bill at every fancy restaurant in town. Maybe if I had grown up differently I would too, but I didn’t and I don’t, and I can’t stand watching him flaunt his money everywhere while real crime is happening out on the streets!”
The edge of snide dismissal that rode over her usually blank expression made his stomach sink. “That’s funny. Because I don’t recall you having any problem with watching the supposed flaunting of wealth when you dated the richest woman in Republic City.” She steepled her fingers over the desk, her stare daring him contradict her. “Twice.”
There was nothing he could say that, and honestly, if Chief never-tell-me-about-your-personal-life-no-not-even-if-it-relates-to-the-job Beifong was taking jabs at his dating history then he had probably, actually, pushed this too far. Mako snatched the intelligence reports up, ground out the most respectful rendition of “Chief,” that he could manage under the circumstances, and retreated to his desk with what dignity he had left.
Which, after more than two months of being at Prince Wu’s beck and call as his personal ‘security detail,’ trying to secure the entire premises of ritzy clothing stores and fancy restaurants and maintain his situational awareness of any possible threat while the prince flitted from place to place like the physical manifestation of whimsical wealth and privilege, wasn’t much. He shoved the chief’s comment aside – what the goddamn hell did she know about his past relationship with Asami and how he’d felt about the stratospheric wealth she had no problem bandying about? – and flipped open the intelligence reports.
He’d been expecting the usual speculation on the movement to wipe out the royal family; in the weeks after the orgy of violence that had consumed the Earth Kingdom capital there had been a widespread and terrifyingly tenacious hunt through every nation by radicals determined to eliminate each and every remaining member. It had taken law enforcement some time to realize how relentless and far reaching the radicals could actually be, resulting in a frantic scramble to secure the single remaining member of the royal bloodline in Republic City once every other person in his family had been killed, even those who had been abroad and tried to go into hiding.
There had still been whispers of a hunt to track down and eliminate Prince Wu, to put a real and final end to the royal line, when Mako had been assigned to act as his personal bodyguard, but never more than whispers. Instead of the same vague accounts of potential threats, he found himself poring over written recordings of violent rhetoric heard among the most recent Earth Kingdom refugees that had been admitted to Republic City and then a disturbing admission that the authorities had lost track of several of the most vocal and ardent among them. Several men who had consistently advocated for liberation through violence, specifically through the killing of Prince Wu, had left the refugee center and never returned, having seemingly vanished into the underbelly of the city.
Well. That was something to worry about. Much of the time, things like this were just talk. But with the entire extended royal family wiped out, with even those traveling abroad killed off one by one until only Prince Wu remained, it didn’t seem prudent to dismiss it as a bunch of hot air now that they had confirmed there were untracked radicals in Republic City. Mako clenched his eyes shut and resisted the urge to bang his head against his desk. Untracked radicals were at large in Republic City, and he had to get back to the hotel to get ready to provide security for the most flighty, unserious person he’d ever met.
He deeply, passionately, hated this goddamn job assignment.
__________
The prince acted like his confinement in the enormous, luxurious hotel suite while Mako was at the station had been a harrowing and traumatizing trial, because everything had to be at maximum drama for the irritating man. Mako didn’t bother to pretend to indulge him. Maybe he couldn’t get himself reassigned, but that didn’t mean he had to act like his charge was anything but annoying. He wasn’t here to be the prince’s best buddy, despite how the man acted.
Wu had planned an evening on the town, which felt inauspicious with the new intelligence reports sitting on the bedside table in the room Mako had been forced to move into at the far end of the hotel suite because his royal highness couldn’t stand to be left alone for any significant period of time. But the prince brushed off his concern and then attached to his arm, drawling that he couldn’t be in any danger while he had his ‘big, strong guy’ around.
Something about the barrage of compliments on his strength and stature grated on Mako’s every last nerve. He couldn’t escape the feeling of mockery, particularly when he had the prince’s coiffed, tailored, pretty person dangling off of him, looking svelte and charming and beaming that effortless smile at everyone while Mako was dragged in his wake like a clumsy bore in his cheap uniform, with his barely concealed discomfort stuffed down beneath a dour expression.
It really, really didn’t help that his first reaction to seeing the prince in person had been a flush of heat through his chest and a very interested twitch of his cock. Wu’s lithe figure and easy grace, his quick, clever grin and laughing green eyes, his carefully maintained appearance, his expensive cologne, shit, all of it was perfectly, exactly his type. A childhood in Republic City had gifted him with little to no self-consciousness around liking men as well as women, but at some point he had wondered if he had something to be embarrassed about when he’d realized that he was primarily attracted to extremely strong, in charge women, and extremely pretty, effete men. Wasn’t that backwards?
Particularly because extremely pretty, effete men didn’t like men like him. He wasn’t broad enough to act as muscle-bound eye-candy, his body honed for fighting endurance, not for bulk. But he also wasn’t refined enough to be anything like as glamorous as the type he wanted would no doubt desire to have on their arm if they were interested in anything more than eye candy. At least the strong women he’d liked had appreciated his bending prowess, but men had never seemed interested in that. Rich, famous royalty would want someone who had skills that were valued at their own level of society, not a working man’s or a soldier’s skills.
Wu was the apex of everything that was unreachable about his preferences in men, and it rankled every inch of Mako, the way he tossed his money around as he rubbed elbows with the Republic City elite, everyone at the parties and fancy restaurants and theater shows ignoring Mako’s presence like he wasn’t there and certainly wouldn’t have anything interesting to say. Wu dragging him around and constantly demanding his attention just made him feel more out of place, since everyone else seemed determined not to acknowledge him.
He’d escorted the prince through the rows of photographers capturing the attendees of the opening night of yet another swanky restaurant he would never have dreamed of setting foot in under other circumstances, got Wu seated and performed his own security sweep of the premises, to the obvious consternation of the floor manager, who eyed him the entire time like he thought Mako was going to make off with the good silver. When he returned to the table, Wu tugged him down into the empty chair beside him, insisting that Mako had to join them as he always goddamn did.
He couldn’t exactly argue, so he sat stiffly, nodding at the array of wealthy industrialists whose gazes passed over him like he was invisible. Wu leaned close to point out things on the menu he was excited about, asking if Mako had ever tried this or that stupid expensive thing, and he tried not to notice how good the man smelled and not to roll his eyes at the same time. No, he hadn’t tried this or that expensive thing, of course he hadn’t, and he didn’t need Wu reminding him however tacitly that he was footing the bill with his endless royal coffers like Mako was some charity case he was supporting. He ordered without putting much thought into it and proceeded to ignore everyone as best he could, resisting the urge to duck his head down when the conversation immediately turned to Sato Industries and why Asami Sato had been unavailable to join them that evening. If anyone there knew he’d dated Asami he didn’t want them asking him why he thought she hadn’t turned up.
Of course, that train of thought raised the chief’s comment from that morning, which turned unpleasantly in his mind. What the fuck did Chief Beifong know about his relationship with Asami? She was rich, but she wasn’t spoiled or vapid, she didn’t throw her wealth around or… the memory of their first date came rather insistently to mind. She’d had him meet her at a restaurant just like this one, a place he would have never imagined setting foot inside under other circumstances. She’d bought him a whole new outfit so he wouldn’t stick out, and he’d discarded his cheap clothes without a thought about how it could have felt like she was dressing him like a doll, not treating him like a person, had let her pay for everything and relished being on her arm and traveling among the upper echelons of society.
She hadn’t made him feel like he didn’t belong. She’d complimented him, talked to him, held onto his arm and he’d felt wanted, like her easy spending on him meant she liked him, valued him. He frowned to himself. Was that really so different from what Wu did with his wealth? The prince bought Mako the same fabulous food he ate, offered to have him fitted and dressed at his own expense every time they wound up spending half a day in an upscale tailor shop – not that Mako had ever let him, pressed fancy cocktails into his hand when they were at high society parties, shared exclusive theater boxes with him when they went to shows.
With an awful lurch he parsed the difference just as dinner was delivered. Asami had made her interest clear from the start. He’d wanted her, and Asami had wanted him back. He’d never resented her wealth or how she spent it, because he’d never worried that his affections were regarded as unworthy, because he was certain they were returned.
Wu primped and preened and moved among pretty, wealthy people with ease, he hit on every gorgeous woman he met, all of them wrapped in shimmery fabric and glittery jewels and a cloud of perfume, while Mako observed from the background, only now realizing the simmering feeling in his gut had been resentment and, hideously, jealousy. Even if he had any reason to suspect the prince was open to a same sex liaison, which, given the Earth Kingdom laws banning homosexual behavior, seemed unlikely, he wouldn’t want that with Mako. So, he just had to endure the flirting, watching him from behind, his hip cocked coyly to the side, lovely, narrow waist wrapped in perfectly tailored fabric, pants hugging almost criminally close over lean thighs and a tight, distracting ass, while those striking green eyes flickered over a giggling, flattered woman who probably only wanted him for his wealth and title.
Which was fine. Just because Mako didn’t want him for those things didn’t mean that was wrong, or that it wasn’t the exact kind of attention the prince himself wanted. Not that he wanted Wu for any other reason. Or at all. He didn’t want Wu, he reminded himself, just because the prince was exactly his type didn’t mean he actually wanted the silly, empty-headed, spoiled little-
A hand on his bicep made him blink out of his thoughts, the prince’s too-appealing cologne enveloping him again as the man leaned close and murmured, “Hey, big guy, everything okay over here? Did they mess up your order?”
Mako realized he’d been glaring down at his food like it had personally wronged him and quickly shook his head, his gaze darting down to the hand on his arm. Did the prince have to touch him so goddamn much? Even his hands were distractingly attractive, slim and perfectly manicured, bewitching when he handled even something as simple as buttoning his coat, dexterous and graceful and making Mako wonder if they would handle him with that same dexterity, could easily imagine how the prince’s dark skin would contrast over his own pale, naked flesh and shit, his mind was wandering again. Amusement quirked across Wu’s face, teasing Mako for his wandering attention, though he couldn’t imagine how the prince would have looked at him if he’d had any way of knowing where Mako’s thoughts had gone.
Before he could say anything, a loud crash echoed around the restaurant and Mako was half out of his seat, scanning the area. Nothing. Just a few glasses dropped, a waiter looking flustered as he knelt to gather the pieces. It was fine. He settled back into his chair while the other guests at their table averted their eyes, like he’d done something excruciatingly embarrassing, reminding all of them that he was here to work rather than one of their high society set.
Wu still had a hand on his arm, but the way the prince was holding him had changed, even as he chucked and sang, “So on top of my security! My big, strong bodyguard!” cuddling close with a dramatic wobble in his chair.
Mako wanted to shake him off, but he was all tension suddenly, his grasp on Mako’s bicep feeling like fear instead of playfulness, and he wondered if his warnings about the intelligence reports had actually made an impression on the man. But if the flighty little bastard had actually been listening, why in the world had he insisted on sticking to his plans that night? He cast his gaze over the restaurant floor one more time, partly to distract himself from the strange, rigid tension beside him, and begrudgingly didn’t try to dislodge the hold on his arm.
The food was good. Excellent, actually, which was nice because the rest of dinner was a trial, lots of long, rambling pronouncements on the detriment of regulations to the progress of industry and the inability of the masses to grasp the necessary genius required to bolster the economy. The other guests were obsequious and wheedling, fawning at the prince, too obviously aware that he would have total authority to hand out contracts and create tax havens once he took his place on the throne. Whatever she said when she’d declined the invitation, Mako was certain this was why Asami hadn’t showed up tonight. She fought hard for every advancement of her company, and she didn’t want to be handed things she hadn’t earned simply because she’d sucked up to the right person.
As they donned their coats, the typical invitations to move on to a smoking club were passed around, so the captains of industry could hold cigars and sip brandy and congratulate themselves on being masters of the goddamn world until the early hours.
Wu had recovered his composure, and was his charming self, letting the begging of his presence at the smoking club wind around him, preening at the attention, and whining loudly when Mako reminded him of the new intelligence on Earth Kingdom radicals and the challenge for security that going to a secondary location involved. To his immense relief, the prince acquiesced to his point in the end, waving the various gentlemen off and letting Mako escort him back to the vehicle with minimal fuss.
Of course, once they were on their way back to the hotel, he snuggled against Mako and crooned about how sweet it was that he was concerned for Wu’s welfare like it wasn’t his actual fucking job to keep the man safe. This time he didn’t bother trying not to roll his eyes, and pointedly reminded the prince that the only reason he was here was to provide security. It helped him deal with the warmth and slight weight of the man at his side, with the pawing of quick, clever hands over his jacket. It also helped with the appalling fact that part of him really wanted to laugh as the prince called him mean while gently shaking him for emphasis because the man was startlingly fetching when he was being childish.
He spent the final few minutes in the vehicle stabbing that last thought to death while kicking himself for thinking it, because he was an excellent multitasker. He felt the eyes of the police detail in the hotel lobby on them as they headed for the elevator, Wu flitting around him and complaining about turning in early. If he were another detective, he knew their gazes would be full of sympathy at the aggravating handful he was responsible for guarding, but Mako had never quite shaken his initial unpopularity among the ranks, and their attention felt unkind rather than commiserative.
Whatever. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get some of the accumulated tension out, ignoring them like they weren’t there. He hadn’t joined the force to make friends. As the elevator doors were closing behind them, he heard a bang and sighed even as his instincts jolted as they had in the restaurant. Someone had probably overturned a luggage trolly. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened, with the hotel staff tripping over the coterie of officers that had become permanent fixtures since the prince had moved in. They rose to the top floor as Wu draped himself extravagantly against the wall by the buttons, stretching and undulating as he complained, probably completely unaware of how he looked as he arched his back and tugged at the cloth folded around his neck to loosen it.
He was talking about how much he’d wanted to stay out, to rejoin the nightlife in Republic City, but it didn’t seem like his heart was in it. Mako was vaguely horrified to discover that he’d reached a point of familiarity with the prince’s whining that he was pretty sure he could detect whether or not the man was sincere, even as he said all the usual things about wanting to be out and about like he used to. He valiantly tried not to groan aloud. What was his professional life coming to, that he was becoming an expert in the interpretation of privileged whining?
The ding of arrival merited at least half of Mako’s attention, and he stepped out onto the top floor, looking right, then left in his customary visual sweep, but he never got the chance to look left, because he was immediately struck by a vicious blow to the stomach, the sharp explosion of pain suggesting brass knuckles, winding him and sending him to his knees, and then Wu was dragged past him with a startled yelp.
It had been a while, but his instincts knew exactly what to do even as the agony in his gut briefly shut down most conscious thought. He wasn’t sure why exactly; Kuvira had called it soldier’s instinct the same day she’d taken his brother away from him for her very important mission in the Earth Kingdom. Mako never been in any army, but that didn’t stop her description from ringing true to his experience.
His brain absently noted that the pair of officers that were supposed to be stationed by the elevator up here were nowhere to be found, and counted three assailants moving around him, clocking scuffed and worn shoes, threadbare and stained pants, while a rough voice growled out, “Time to join the rest of your family, your highness,” and heard tearing fabric and an abrupt, almost animal noise of terror from Wu.
He dragged in a wet, rattling breath with no small amount of difficulty, his chest burning and protesting, and got his wits about him just quickly enough to dodge a follow up blow aimed for his head, the sight confirming brass knuckles and the likelihood that the second blow would have killed him as he rolled away and to his feet with the natural grace that had saved him so many times in the pro bending ring. A hulking man, many inches taller and wider than he was, wrapped in layers of ragged clothing and a distinct dumpster odor, faced off with him, fists up, blocking the rest of the hallway, while the other two dragged the prince toward the door that led to the stairwell.
His stomach throbbed and ached where he’d been hit, promising bruises and discomfort for days to come, and the man didn’t wait for him to move, stepping forward and taking another swing at his head. Mako wasn’t exactly a boxer, but he was fairly certain he could fry the fucker if he needed to without actually bothering to meet him fist for fist. But the fucker wasn’t the point, was here to waste his time doing exactly that so his friends could escape with the prince to finish what their radical colleagues had started.
Abruptly, Mako dropped his guard, registering his opponent’s surprise as the man hurtled at him, turning himself into the attack rather than away from it, dropping toward the floor, then rolled right past the thug, bending a lovely arc of fire in his wake and hearing a yell of pain with some satisfaction. His way was clear, but seconds mattered, and he knew that if he lost of sight of his charge, his ability to protect him would be catastrophically compromised. The first of the men with Wu was at the door, letting go of the prince to reach for the handle, and Mako took very, very careful aim and let out a harsh breath.
The electric lights seemed to dim, their soft glow completely outmatched as a bolt of lightning filled the hallway with harsh, white-blue brilliance, lancing forward from his fingers, toward the kidnappers, snaking between the men and striking the metal of the doorhandle just as the leading man grabbed it.
He screamed, the light flickering around him, and dropped and Mako sprinted toward them, there just as he hit the ground, that soldier part of his brain dispassionately taking in Wu’s fear, his washed-out expression, his ineffectual escape attempts having accomplished nothing but the tearing of his fine clothing, his thin wrists held roughly in one of his captor’s hands, while the man raised the other toward Mako in a fist. The hulking thug who’d tried to delay him was back on his feet, stomping toward them, worsening the odds as he assessed that Wu would not be able to do anything effective to protect himself, and had a high probability of receiving a critical injury as these men could only be planning to kill him, and if they couldn’t do it in whatever off-site propaganda setting they’d intended, they were likely to settle for doing it at all.
Protecting Wu was the priority, capturing their assailants a distance second, and Mako caught the fist swinging his way, gathering fire in his palm and darting in as the man screamed, his grip on the prince slackened by the agony of his singed skin. He released the man’s fist, tried to ignore the smell of burning flesh, pulled Wu tightly against himself, sheltering his slim body in case Mako hadn’t calculated the timing right, and spun them, almost like they were dancing, away from the stairs. The thug was right there, ready for his evasion this time, throwing himself in Mako’s path, but he didn’t seem to have expected the firebender to have his guard back up, maybe because he only had one arm free. One arm that he clenched and threw hard, driving his elbow into the asshole’s face while he felt himself absorbing the momentum of the man’s bulk against his back, making him stumble.
He didn’t lose his footing, had been expecting the blow, kept Wu clenched close, safe against his front. The thug obviously hadn’t been expecting the blow, and he did stumble, lurching past Mako to come to a halt next to his companion with the burned fist, snarling as he cupped a hand over his face, where blood streamed from his nose.
Mako was loath to release Wu, to relinquish the certainty of his charge’s safety and location that the close contact granted, but he needed both hands for this. He shoved the prince behind himself, dropped into a solid stance, whipping his hands through the graceful motions of summoning fire to himself and bending it with his body. He got a moment to savor the looks on the faces of the two who were still conscious, to watch them each take a hesitant step back, and then he bent a roaring wall of fire right at them with a hard thrust of each fist.
The hallway acted exactly as he’d hoped, funneling it straight forward, catching their retreating bodies and smashing them against the door to the stairs, which gave out with an explosive bang. The door and the kidnappers flew into the darkness of the stairwell, and as soon as he was sure it had worked, Mako spun on his heel, grabbing Wu by the upper arm, forcibly marching him down the now singed and ruined carpet, past the scorch marks that striped all the way up to the ceiling, to the suite, which he could only pray was as secure as he’d left it. Chasing the kidnappers, finding out where the fucking officers who were supposed to be stationed at the top floor elevator were, all of that was secondary. He scanned every inch of the hallway with his eyes as he shoved the key into the lock, the warmth of Wu’s arm under his hand telling him the prince was still there, still alive.
Mako hadn’t been in a real fight in so long, and the adrenaline and pumping blood were old friends, sharpening his senses, making him feel quick and deadly. But any amount of excitement on a bodyguard job was too much excitement, and he couldn’t even check that his charge was safe until they were out of the security nightmare that was the straight, uncovered hotel hallway. Anyone else who showed up would have a clean, uninterrupted shot at them, and he couldn’t be sure they would be non-benders like the first attackers.
Wu was too dazed to speak, a minor miracle in its own right, and was tugged easily inside. He left the prince by the bolted door and swept the suite, every room, fingers warm and itching to throw fire at something. No target presented itself. The premises secured, he returned to the prince, finding him still out of it. He didn’t respond to Mako’s question about whether he was alright, just leaned on the wall by the door and blinked at him, and he finally hissed and reached out, checking for himself, trying hard to calm his breathing and his frantically beating heart.
Wu was surprisingly still. After a scare like that, Mako would have imagined he’d be trembling, but he wasn’t. He gripped the prince gently, running his fingers over his shoulders, down his arms, then his chest, his sides, watching his face carefully. The basic field medicine check for injury would have to do until he could get the man talking, check for blood, check for pain response. They pressed close and he leaned in to force his hands behind Wu, over his back, then the backs of his thighs, checking his palms. No blood. His clothes weren’t in great shape, the emerald green coat torn at the shoulder and down the middle, the silk shirt ripped along a center seam, but the prince gave no flinch to betray any pain, and Mako’s hands were clean when he finished. Unharmed, but for the bill to the tailor, and Mako let out a sigh of relief.
“What are you doing?”
Eyes he didn’t remember closing snapped open, and Mako realized he was still holding the prince, both hands on the man’s sides. Wu’s voice was thin and soft, but as surprisingly steady as his body. If it weren’t for the awful expression of fear sketched across his face, shadowed by strands of his honey brown hair, messed down from its usual styled perfection to sweep over his forehead, he would have seemed totally fine. Not entirely unharmed then.
“Checking for injuries. You didn’t respond when I asked if you were hurt.”
“Ah.” He was still pressed against the wall, still blinking those pretty green eyes at Mako as if he didn’t quite know what either of them was doing there, but at least he was talking.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m okay. You checked. So, I must be okay.”
Under other circumstances, he would have read that as sarcasm, but these were definitely not those circumstance. Wu wasn’t touching him. Wasn’t calling him silly names and hanging off his arm and pulling him around like he was an oddly resistant plaything. It was startlingly disconcerting, him holding the prince while Wu’s arms hung at his sides, fingers splayed over the garish wallpaper of the suite. It was more disconcerting that Mako didn’t want to let go. It felt like Wu wasn’t okay.
He was though, or, he was uninjured, and that was Mako’s job, so that was the extent of his concern. He forced himself to let go, running a hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he shook himself back into professional mode. The officers that were supposed to be stationed on this floor were missing. The bang he’d heard as the elevator doors slid shut on the hotel lobby seemed much less likely to be an overturned luggage trolly now. He snatched up the phone and called the station.
__________
It took hours to arrange the altered security detail around the hotel. Chief Beifong had arrived barely twenty minutes after he called the precinct, and Mako mulishly admitted to himself that she was putting her money where her mouth was about how important this bodyguard job was to the Republic City police, suiting up and coming all the way down to the hotel personally this late at night. She and another detective questioned Wu to get his recollections of every part of the night. Mako knew they were trying to figure out if there had been people watching them at dinner, coordinating when to strike at the hotel. It was uncomfortably likely that that was the case.
The radicals had split up to stage a diversion down in the lobby, stealing a police radio while the lobby security was dealing with it to demand the officers stationed at the elevator come down the stairs immediately to provide backup, while the rest of them had concealed themselves in a maid’s closet on the top floor. The whole thing had gone down while he and Wu were in the elevator, indicating a worrying level of planning and precision.
Mako was treated to his own interrogation. His fellow detectives often looked at him with suspicion, and they seemed to find the fact that all three of the kidnappers had escaped to be a personal failing of his. No one told him he’d done a good job for keeping the prince safe, no one was impressed with the way he’d handled himself in what had essentially been a kill box with a vulnerable person inside it. Whatever. He didn’t care what they thought. His gaze lingered on Wu, critically noting every shift in his posture, the way he was rubbing at the fabric covering his wrists, holding his ruined jacket around himself. He looked very small and alone sitting on the enormous couch in the middle of the suite, dwarfed by a pair of detectives, smiling cheekily up at them, but the smile wasn’t right.
He watched Wu and tried to stop watching Wu and answered snide and shitty questions until Chief Beifong strode back into the room, waving him over. Rotating shifts of officers would need to be provided to keep the hotel secure, building redundancies in to hedge against a similar tactic being used in the future. He would continue to live in the suite and provide full-time security and protection to Prince Wu beyond that of the officers that would surround them everywhere they went. If he had to report to the station or to leave the prince’s side for any reason, Wu would remain in the suite until he returned.
The detectives filed out as he nodded his understanding at the arrangements and finally the chief planted a hand heavily on his shoulder and murmured, “Good job tonight, kid. I know you didn’t step off that elevator expecting an attack, and you took care of it like a pro.”
Mako nodded awkwardly; now that it was happening, having someone tell him he’d done a good job was almost worse than the snide comments from his fellow detectives. At least he knew how to deal with those. He bolted the door behind the chief, tried to tell his riled mind that they were safe for the night, the locked door meant they could relax, and then stiffened in alarm as he turned around.
The living room was empty. Wu was nowhere to be seen. Ridiculous panic ran through him, even as he reasoned the man was surely in his room, but what if he wasn’t, what if he’d slipped out and been grabbed? When he knocked at the prince’s bedroom door and got no answer the panic surged and he shoved through, finding an empty bedroom that did nothing to calm him and then, at last, hearing the sound of running water. The torn remains of Wu’s coat and silk shirt were piled by the bathroom door, and he stepped over them, needing to see, needing confirmation that he’d done his job, protected his charge.
Wu was standing at the bathroom counter, his hands unmoving in the sink, water running over them. He was in a simple white tank top, and Mako could see the exact shift of his narrow shoulders, the hunching of his back. He stepped closer and found that the prince was holding one wrist under the faucet, rubbing a thumb over the marks left by the kidnapper’s grip, an angry red that promised to bloom into dark bruises by morning.
“Wu?” Startled green eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror, and Mako realized he’d never called the man by name before. Well, too late to take it back now. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” A wan smile met his concern as the prince shut off the water and toweled his hands dry. “You checked, remember?”
It still didn’t feel like sarcasm, but Mako couldn’t keep the irritated look off his face, following the prince back into the bedroom, watching him bundle up the ruined clothing with a comment that they would have to go to the tailor tomorrow.
He was sort of clutching the wadded, torn fabric to his chest when Mako asked, “Seriously, though, how are-?” and then shut his mouth as Wu dropped the fabric and took a step back, seemingly surprised when he ran into the wall, and suddenly sliding down it, sitting heavily on the lushly carpeted floor.
“Wu down.” He sang the familiar words, but they lingered sadly between them, heavy and unplayful.
Mako waffled for a moment before he sighed and moved to sit against the wall next to him. The prince had curled up, draping his arms over his knees, and didn’t look at him, didn’t touch him. It was as disconcerting as it had been by the front door and before he could wonder what the fuck he was saying, Mako was murmuring, “Really? The one time you’re not hanging all over me is after a real-life kidnapping attempt?”
Wu flinched, and kind of hunched in on himself, casting a weird, unreadable smile sideways at Mako. “Oh, no… no… I know how much you hate it when I do that.”
“Yeah, I do.” The truth tumbled out easily, and he immediately felt like an enormous asshole as Wu smiled that weird smile a little wider and dropped his head down between his arms. “But…”
Bolin’s many uncharitable comments on his people skills came to mind, as did the face Asami would have made if she’d heard what he’d just said. At least Korra would have backed him up, would probably have told the rich boy to get it together, they’d all had attempts on their lives lots of times and you didn’t seem them getting all emotional about it. Of course, Bolin had a few uncharitable comments about Korra’s people skills too, so maybe that didn’t put him in great company.
Shit. Now he felt guilty, which seemed unfair because he’d just saved the prince’s damn life, rather spectacularly if he did say so himself. The guilty feeling didn’t go away though, and he felt his mouth setting in a resentful frown. He had just saved the man’s life. Which was his job, so it wasn’t like he’d done it as a favor or out of kindness. He was paid to do it. He’d tried very hard to get reassigned so someone else would get paid to do it.
The thought of his conversation with the chief that morning settled coldly inside him. If she’d agreed to his repeated requests, to his constant badgering to get away from the prince and get back to his job on the street, someone else would have been here protecting Wu tonight. Someone who might not have his skills, someone who definitely wouldn’t have his vast combat and fighting experiences from Team Avatar, his soldier’s instincts. Someone who might have failed, and if they had, Wu would be dead, probably killed in front of a camera and dumped bloody and broken in the street like so much garbage.
He couldn’t banish the resentful frown from his face, but he felt his arm moving almost without his permission and he wound it around Wu’s shoulders, pulling the prince against his side. It wasn’t the man’s fault he’d lived a privileged life, that he hadn’t run the gamut of terrifying threats to his life and his loved ones the way Mako or anyone else on Team Avatar had. If Korra was here she would probably tell him to buck up, but that wasn’t even slightly fair, and he knew it even as he battled back the impulse to say it himself.
Wu was warm against him, and he could feel confusion and surprise in his huddled posture. “What are you doing?”
“This helps to calm you down, right? It’s okay to be scared, that was pretty fucking scary.”
“But you hate it when I hang off you.”
Goddamn, pestering guilt. “I don’t hate it.” It was a lie, but he could at least admit to himself that the reason he hated it wasn’t that he didn’t want the prince touching him.
He tightened his grip, and felt Wu sort of melt against him, curling close, his cheek resting on Mako’s shoulder, his breath light and a little ticklish against Mako’s throat. Nope. He didn’t hate this because he didn’t want the prince touching him. And whatever he did want, it especially didn’t matter right now, when the tremoring he’d been expecting hours ago finally manifested, so he held the shivering prince and just let himself be steady.