nickkenning:

The New Yorker grinned back, “If so, I want to see it.  I could sort of picture what it must have looked like, but I’m curious… y’know?  I don’t get to make an ass of myself in public very often; it’s kind of an event.” 

He casually reached over and rubbed the back of his friend’s neck, then dragged him over by that hold to press an overly-fond kiss to his temple.  Jim was still his; even with Mycroft and Sebastian, the two master criminals still belonged to each other.

“So.  Back to the hotel for a bit?  You’ve got me the rest of the night if you want me, baby.”

Jim smiled calmly, comfortably, his hysteria spent and his body settling a little. Using up adrenaline like that was good for him, using up energy like that in general. He wasn’t very active, very often; his mind did most of the work while he sat, maybe paced, his brain wild, thoughts crashing and combining while his body worked up potential energy that was unused until something finally sparked in his head and the energy was released as violence or sex. Or a combination of both. This little outing-planning, doing, reveling- was good for him. All of him.

“Mmhmm, yes, I think we need a celebratory drink, don’t you?” He reached up and beat out a rhythm on the roof of the car as he did sometimes when he and Nick drove somewhere, Jim just in time to whatever music was playing while the New York criminal smiled indulgently, sneaking a look and a laugh at him before turning back to the road. It had always been like that between them. Always. Nothing would change that.

His dark eyes slid over to watch his friend. There were problems. He knew there were. Mycroft Holmes? A problem. Nicky’s increased drinking? A definite problems. Problems he didn’t know how to fix. Not yet anyway. But as long as he had Nicky, as long as he knew he had him like this, it would be fine. Because fixing things was what he did. Really, whether Nicky liked it or not. Jim would fix everything.

nickkenning:

“You can’t tell softpaws where you got the button for the tie pin,” Nick laughed, fondly mussing up Jim’s hair, “He has to wear it and be totally oblivious.  And we need to arrange to meet up somewhere and have both of us wearing ours and see if he notices.”

He sat back more comfortably, still smiling.  “I wonder if anyone taped that.  It could end up on Youtube.”

“Oh, God, can you imagine if I told him? ‘Oh, here, Sebastian, Nicky and I snuck into an art gallery and stole these. No guns, no backup. We just went in there with armed with a pocket knife, Chinese food-fueled energy, and a German accent.’” Jim grinned up at his friend before sitting up and smoothing his shirt. “He’d have kittens. Seriously. But yes…I’ll plan a dinner. A nice place. Not a place for an outburst. And we’ll just all be matchy matchy.”

“And there were a few other patrons there…someone may have pulled out a mobile phone. I didn’t see anyone, but I wasn’t watching everyone. I couldn’t see the people in the back left corner as I left.” He grinned. “If there is a video, I’m making a copy before I wipe it out.”

nickkenning:

The American broke out into a broad smile at the praise.  This was what he’d done all of this for; while the theft and the acting itself had intrinsic value, entertaining Jim was one of Nick’s greatest pleasures.  Seeing his friend laughing hysterically was validating and also confirmed that he and Jim were “okay.”

Not that he’d really had serious doubts.  But he didn’t want Jim to feel the way he had when the Napoleon of Crime had first taken Sebastian Moran as a lover; jealousy didn’t become them.

He grinned at him and said in his natural voice, “I thought you’d like that… it was damn effective, wasn’t it?  God, I think I had the attention of everyone on that floor.”

He was belatedly glad that they had disabled the cameras in that room as well; it was entirely possible that the humor value of the video would have brought it to Mycroft’s attention… and as good an actor as Nick was, it’s possible that the British Government would have seen him through the act.

“The things I do for you, gorgeous.  Only for you.”

Jim rolled back onto his back so he could look up at Nick’s face again. He was beaming. Positively beaming. There was no thought of Mycroft Holmes in his head; the fact that the man could ever be an issue, a stumbling block to their friendship. Because this was somehow the heart of it. Only for him.

“Well, how could you not? Who could actually ignore you, even the most hardened, jaded, dull person perusing the gallery? Oh my God, Nicky! I didn’t get to see most of it, but there was no way not to hear it. I mean, you actually said that you wanted to touch it with your face! I mean…your face!” He laughed again, boyish ,hysterical laughter that would really be unrecognizable to most of the people who knew him.

“Alright, alright…now the next bit is to go back to the hotel, have a drink, and wait for the news. Because I do hope this makes it into the papers, even a back page. And I wonder how long it will take them to realize half of that jacket’s buttons are missing.” He paused a moment, pondering the crime against fashion he’d just committed. The jacket was a piece of art.

However, it was a woman’s jacket, so it wouldn’t benefit him anyway. Any potential guilt immediately dissipated.

“I can’t wait to get my new jacket.”

nickkenning:

jiminwestwood:

It was impossible for Jim not to hear the commotion in the room behind him while he delicately cut the threads behind the face of each button. Nick’s histrionics were random and ridiculous, but those in the room with him, apparently scuffling with him (to judge by the sounds of shoe soles on floors)…those people didn’t have a chance of knowing that the broken, accented syllables blurting out of his mouth were not the man’s true voice and that he would never wear that shirt in public without a true motivation and-

Jim shoved the handful of buttons into his inner jacket pocket, snorting to himself and looking over his shoulder. He snapped the knife closed and dropped it into his left trouser pocket. And then he took a minute, letting Nick’s words drift over him from the outer room. He smiled broadly, allowing the empty room to see it, allowing the misfiring cameras to not capture it.

Touch it with his face. Seriously. He had actually screamed to an audience that he wanted to touch a McQueen gown with his face.

He canceled the smile, erased it from his face and replaced it with concerned eyebrows and a frown as he rushed into the main room just in time to see his friend bodily dragged from the gallery.

“What the hell is wrong with that bloke?” he asked disapprovingly, glancing around at the remaining guard and others on fashion pilgrimage. No one answered; they just stared back at him. He shrugged then, shaking his head. “Exhibit’s shite anyway.”

Nick was waiting for him in the car by the the time the consulting criminal strolled out. As he dragged his fingers through his hair in an effort to calm it, he cheerfully hummed a few bars of a song from Guys and Dolls. He couldn’t remember which song it was, but it had popped randomly into his head and he figured he’d know what it was by the time it got to the chorus.

He cut off when Jim settled in beside him, then grinned at his friend, “Get what you wanted, baby?”

He said nothing about his own performance, knowing Jim would comment on it momentarily.

Jim looked at him for a moment, the remains of the snotty fashion journalist on his face— dark eyebrows raised disapprovingly, mouth pinched and drawn down slightly. He tipped his head to the side slightly, not saying anything as he pulled open his jacket theatrically with one hand and dipped the other into the inner pocket. He held out his open hand, the seven buttons with their distinctive markings lying in his palm like so many stolen eyeballs, the curling threads still attached so some of them.

He raised his dark eyes to meet Nicky’s pale ones and the smile spread over his face like a sound. He burst out laughing, closing his hand just in time to keep the buttons and he threw himself down on the car seat, his head in his friend’s lap so he could look up at his face.

“Oh my God, Nicky! Could you be any more insane?” And he meant it as a compliment. “That was fantastic! You were glorious. You should be on the bloody stage!” The stream of praise turned into hysterical gales of laughter, Jim actually turning over onto his side as he laughed, one arm around his stomach. “What the hell were you doing?” he gasped. “‘I want to touch it with my-” He interrupted himself, covering his mouth with his free hand.

nickkenning:

Nick was edging forward, crooning adoration to McQueen’s works in a mix of fervent German and cartoonishly broken English, when a highly uncomfortable guard approached him and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Sir, are you all right?”

Nick cast about as though he was trying to remember how to speak English.  He breathed, flushed and slightly wild-eyed, “Oh - yes.  Yes… I am very—”

At this point he broke out into a feverish German, describing the majesty of the garments and the genius of their creator.  He gesticulated wildly, each movement bringing him closer to the gown in front of him.  Of course, he wouldn’t touch it, wouldn’t want to catch hell from Jim later, but he needed the guards full attention.

The guard, who obviously didn’t speak a word of German, caught his wrist and pulled him back a bit, “Sir, you need to calm down…”

“No, no… It is okay!  Okay!  Okay?”  Nick said, shaking his head quickly, “Just let me… I want…”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move back from the exhibit.”

“Is okay,” he said, pulling his hands out of the bigger man’s grip and holding them up defensively, “I only look… I pray.”

“Pray?”

“Yes, I—” again, Nick seamlessly switched languages and continued on as though he didn’t realize that he was speaking a language that the other man couldn’t understand. 

“Sir,” the guard interrupted, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.  You’re disrupting the oth—”

“No!”  he cried theatrically, throwing himself forward suddenly with all of his strength.

A second guard caught him under his arms and with the help of the first, dragged Nick backwards, “Easy, easy… come on.  Sir, you need to—”

“No, no,” the German tourist shouted as he was pulled toward the doorway, “No, I want to touch it!  I wan to touch it with my face!”

Nick was a fantastic actor, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward for a half-second in complete amusement.  It was such a pity that Jim wasn’t in the room to see this.

It was impossible for Jim not to hear the commotion in the room behind him while he delicately cut the threads behind the face of each button. Nick’s histrionics were random and ridiculous, but those in the room with him, apparently scuffling with him (to judge by the sounds of shoe soles on floors)…those people didn’t have a chance of knowing that the broken, accented syllables blurting out of his mouth were not the man’s true voice and that he would never wear that shirt in public without a true motivation and-

Jim shoved the handful of buttons into his inner jacket pocket, snorting to himself and looking over his shoulder. He snapped the knife closed and dropped it into his left trouser pocket. And then he took a minute, letting Nick’s words drift over him from the outer room. He smiled broadly, allowing the empty room to see it, allowing the misfiring cameras to not capture it.

Touch it with his face. Seriously. He had actually screamed to an audience that he wanted to touch a McQueen gown with his face.

He canceled the smile, erased it from his face and replaced it with concerned eyebrows and a frown as he rushed into the main room just in time to see his friend bodily dragged from the gallery.

“What the hell is wrong with that bloke?” he asked disapprovingly, glancing around at the remaining guard and others on fashion pilgrimage. No one answered; they just stared back at him. He shrugged then, shaking his head. “Exhibit’s shite anyway.”

nickkenning:

Nick smiled, stopping where he was and looking at the gauzy, pale colored gown in the corner.  It was typical McQueen, really, with the lines and layers.  If Jim was a girl, this would be what they would be stealing.  Not just the buttons, but the whole damn thing.

He wanted to dress Jim in some of these things, these one-off suits and elegant things; mentally resolving to come back again, or to check out some of McQueen’s pieces in New York, he slowly approached his target.

Keeping his eyes on the filmy fabric, he let out a soft sigh and extended his hand. 

Show time.

When he was only a few steps from the costume, he fell to his knees as though overcome.  The hand that had been reaching forward fell limply to his side.  As he tilted his head back, he was aware that people were starting to watch him and the security guards were already getting slightly uncomfortable.

He wrapped his arms around himself and began murmuring softly, but audibly in German, “My god… my god…” 

He allowed himself to grow louder, carefully keeping himself from smiling or laughing aloud in amusement.  No, he kept his voice fervent and correctly accented, his eyes fixed first on the gown in front of him and then flicking over the various items and placards.

“Oh… my god… my god… McQueen!  McQueen!”

His voice rose in volume and urgency as he fell forward with his arms outstretched in worship.

It was impossible not to hear him; Nicky wasn’t exactly concerned about the subtlety of his performance. Jim’s hearing was finely tuned to his friend’s voice, faux accent or no, but he didn’t need to be. This was pitched for an audience.

Jim knew the cameras weren’t on him as he walked further into the room; they’d been neatly diverted by a faulty bit of programming that would no doubt be discovered eventually. They’d be long gone by then, and the programming that would be discovered would have nothing to do with what they’d actually told the cameras to do that afternoon.

He glanced behind him as he walked, just in time to watch his friend basically faceplant before the dress and at that he was obscured from view. Not from hearing, though! As he moved his way across the room towards the jacket, the American’s increasingly worshipful exhortations were even more audible. He didn’t bother to hide the smile, safe from cameras and other viewers. He pictured Nick in his mind’s eye, trying to imagine what insane poses the man was twisting himself into to properly praise his ‘idol.’ Fantastic. The temptation to just abandon the buttons so he could watch from the doorway was very strong. But then they wouldn’t have a souvenir. So he glanced back over his shoulder one last time, then pulled the little knife out of his pocket.

nickkenning:

“I don’t know some of those words,” Klaus said brightly, tugging his t-shirt down slightly, “But I know this is excellent!  It will be magic.”

He spread his hands in a gesture of awe, taking in the view of the building in the spread of his splayed fingers.  His pale eyes were fully open, making his face seem younger and fresher.  More awake, less jaded. 

“Do you like McQueen?  He is my favorite.  Someday I want to be like McQueen,” he sighed in an exaggerated way, shoving his hands into the snug pockets of his trousers and casting his eyes skyward for a moment in rapture.

After paying for their admission, they walked inside.  They kept just the right amount of distance - the space that European strangers kept between each other - as Nick added, “I hope that you are liking him and will give a good review.”

“Well…you know how it is,” Jim the fashion writer said airily, letting his voice carry snottily as they walked into the first hallway. He looked around, taking in the pictures along the wall of the pieces in the display on the catwalk. His dark eyes were bored, hands in his pockets. Jim the consulting criminal noted windows, guards, exits…and also the ecstatic expressions passing over his friend’s face. He liked to think that he himself was a fantastic actor, but he didn’t get to see Nicky playing the game as often. There was no denying the King of New York had the acting chops to match the Napoleon of Crime.

“I’m a fan of his work…have been for a bit. But this particular exhibit? I don’t know…from what I’ve heard, it’s not so coherent, it doesn’t really tell a story.” He rolled his eyes as they walked into the first room. He looked around quickly, taking in the clothing pieces on display. There was a stunning lace dress in the center, the type of piece positioned to get immediate attention. Not what they were looking for, though, so Jim the fashion writer shrugged. “I’m hoping something really catches my eye. Everything in here I feel like I’ve seen a million times.”

He peered around the corner and smiled,  nodding to himself. The cameras were already looping, the security already removed until he himself switched it back on. He glanced back at Nick, nodding slightly.

“You’re really just staring at that…” He snorted and shook his head, muttering about tourists under his breath as he strolled into the next room. There in the corner, the jacket he’d had his eye on. Double breasted, graced with twelve gold buttons up the front. Soon to be left with five. His head tilted to the right, preparing. Show time.

nickkenning:

Nick smiled and slipped his hand into his pocket to pull out his wallet.  He lowered his voice and said in a veritable purr, “Of course, darling, but it’s going to cost you later.”

He pressed the money into his hand, letting the contact linger slightly as he slid his own hand back.

And then all at once he was fully in-character, “All right, yes, yes, ja.  I want to see the clothes, the beautiful clothes.”

There was a hint of mischief in his voice still, but only Jim would ever be able to hear it.  Only the Napoleon of Crime knew him well enough to catch the spark in his eye or the quirk in his smile that wasn’t just a fashion pilgrim’s exuberance.  Nick was looking forward to behaving badly with his best friend.

Nick was too charming, too delightful, too hysterical. Jim laughed to himself as he pocketed the money. He knew himself, knew that he would want to laugh, that it would be hard to keep himself on his task because he wanted to watch. He wanted to know what Nicky would be doing, but there was a plan and he had to adhere to it because he wanted the end product. He wanted to feel those buttons in his pocket as he laughed with his friend in the car.

Jim touched Nick’s arm one last time, letting himself have that bit of connection before they went in. Then he put his hands deeply into his pockets as they walked up the path together, two tourists tossed together by the bus that had left them off at the same stop. Pleased to be going to the same place, an obscure gallery with strange hours.

“You can’t be serious,” he said with a posh London accent, mouth twisting to the side in a pleased but unsure grin. “You seriously came all the way from Munich just for this gallery show? You must be quite the fan.” He shrugged. “I write for a fashion paper, a quarterly thing. One of our readers recommended this place, so I guess I’ll see if it’s worth the fuss she kicked up over it. These little places…they can be hidden treasures or just hyped up trash, you know?”