Chapter Text
Julian picked up the phone, quite used to Dylan’s abrupt calls by now.
“Yes?” he said, as steady and normal and suave and fine as ever.
“Julian, I need your help,” said Dylan.
“You usually do,” said Julian with a sigh, before registering his tone. More… urgent than usual. “Is something wrong?”
“Someone’s been in our house,” he said.
“What do you need me to do,” said Julian immediately, straightening up. One did not take such threats lightly.
“The note is only signed ‘a secret admirer’,” said Dylan, “And it’s addressed to both of us, me and Andy. But the flowers with it, aconite and orange lillies—they both symbolize hatred. Orange lillies can also be pride, disdain, some poisons can be derived from aconite, and they were in the house—Julian, I think this is a threat. And if you could help me find wh—”
Julian had to take a deep breath. “Dylan,” he said, very very calmly. “Excuse me a moment.”
He hung up to the cut off sound of Dylan giving a sharp, mildly offended cry of protest.
He immediately turned and practically slammed his head against the desk.
“Fuck,” he said loudly.
After a moment of just sitting there, head on his desk, contemplating the pure stupidity that had lead him to this predicament, he called Dylan back.
“Julian, what the h—”
“Dylan, purple is your favorite color.”
“…Yes?”
“And orange is Andy’s.”
“Yes? I—how did you even know that?”
“We talk sometimes,” said Julian brusquely, ignoring Dylan’s you DO? which sounded shocked, but actually more pleased than offended, which was a good thing considering. “Have you considered that not everyone knows flower symbolism as well as you do, mister has at least three PhDs? Or would consider it when choosing a bouquet?”
There was a long pause. “Seems like a rather large coincidence they’d just so happen to choose two flowers that both mean hatred,” said Dylan, but there was doubt now.
“Well, maybe they pissed off their florist but assumed she’d be more professional than this when explicitly being asked for help,” snapped Julian.
Another beat.
“And. Why would they be in the house,” said Dylan, and fuck. He sounded amused now. This was not going well at all.
“Maybe,” Julian bit out, “Your…” “…admirer?” “…the person who sent the note,” he continued valiantly, although he could practically hear Dylan’s amusement radiating from the phone, “…didn’t want them to get damaged in the weather. And is. Perhaps. A little too used to… going places h—they. shouldn’t. And… forgot. The potential way that could be taken.”
The longest pause of all.
“…Julian,” said Dylan after a moment.
Julian did not respond.
“…Did you send me and Andy flowers?”
“Gotta go,” said Julian, because he was not ashamed of being a coward when it meant self preservation, and hung up.
He put his head back on his desk.
“FUCK,” he said again.
Thankfully, Dylan didn’t actually know where this particular safehouse was, so he could just lie here and be miserable for a bit before facing the music.
Maybe he’d hack the Pentagon’s frankly pathetic security to cheer himself up. Send someone important something embarrassing.
It was really the little things.
A day or so later, there was a ring on the doorbell. Julian was instantly on alert, grabbing a weapon and being careful to check for traps, look out the peephole—but nothing. They’d just left something on his doorstep.
He checked it thoroughly for traps, of course, but—it appeared to be exactly what it looked like. An odd, slightly mismatched bouquet of flowers.
There were yellow ones on the outside, some daffodils and some flowers that looked similar, and interspersed, mostly in the center, blue flowers… violets, maybe?
He delicately extracted the note and read it.
On one side, in Dylan’s neat handwriting, it said, For the record, daffodils are symbols of good luck. They usually mean “new beginnings”. We chose blue violets because your favorite color is blue—according to Andy—although they also mean trustworthiness, faith, and affection. As for the jonquils… maybe ask someone other than your florist. And then he’d doodled a little smiley face, because he as an idiot and a dork and goddamn adorable which should be a crime considering he was a grown man.
On the other, in Andy’s messier scrawl, was Jonquils mean 'requited love’. Or 'reciprocated affections’. Something along those lines. Dylan wanted to make it a cute little puzzle but I figured we should just be straightforward about this. Come to the bar tomorrow after closing if you want to talk, okay?
It was signed by both of them. Andy wrote his name, Dylan wrote 'your secret admirers ;)’ which had been crossed out and replaced with “And Dylan” by Andy.
It seemed. Julian had… a date? No, that was too presumptuous. He looked in the mirror and pulled a face. He’d still have to look his best. Even if he ended up overdressing and looking foolish, well, he was usually overdressed anyway. That was fine.
(As it turns out, Dylan had done the exact same thing, while Andy had dressed like an ordinary person. This did not seem to put any of them off.)