Work Text:
Mark had been enjoying retirement.
After being released in 1984 from service, he had found himself a good niche. He hadn't made much use of his particular set of skills, though to say he stopped completely was a lie. He was careful, though. Mark knew that the government left him in peace only because he didn't have much interest in actively furthering his station in life, always careful to avoid notice of those above him.
He knows what happened to his predecessor, after all.
When they finally did catch up to him, it wasn't a slip-up on his part.
Mark had the sense that he was being followed for nearly a week at that point. As a cleaner, he never really caught the attention like those he cleaned up after, even they would be hard-pressed to give any sort of information on him. He made sure he would be able to get out clean if the need had arise.
Though the options were limited on who could possibly want to set a tail on a unassuming traveler passing through Nowhere, Oklahoma, anyone who would deliberately look for Mark was someone Mark did not want to deal with.
It had just taken him a good look at the only other vehicle on the road, and had been for the past three days, always seemingly appearing after he had a rest and got back to driving. Not that it looked particularly off. But it had been three days and almost four states. They were persistent, if slow to act, perhaps wanting to confirm it was him.
So, deciding pity on the poor soul that had to follow him for the past three days — and for his own curiosity — Mark had pulled into a rest stop, in his own clothing and nothing to obscure his face, breaking his meticulous habits that allowed him to avoid any sort of identification for so long.
He had ordered a coffee, thanking the attendant handed it to him with a voice so soft that she had to ask him to repeat his words. Sipping it as she walked away, a burning sensation crawling down his throat, Mark slipped into a chair. Making sure it would give him a clear view of the entrances and exits. Even if this would be a friendly chat, he knew the advantages of such a seating arrangement.
The person was easy to spot. As one of three patrons in the small café, and in conspicuously inconspicuous attire, he stood out. That, and Mark had seen him get out of his car.
The other man waved off the attendant's half-hearted "Anything I can do for you?" and slid in across the table from Mark.
Neither man spoke, Mark unwilling to be the first to break the silence and taking his time with small sips of overly sweetened coffee. The other man attempted to hold Mark's gaze, even as he lifted the styrofoam cup up to his lips. He would get tired of this eventually. But Mark had the patience and stubbornness to wait him out.
Mark was nearly done with his coffee and getting ready to leave before his companion took a loud intake of breath, preparing to shatter the slight haze Mark had let himself settle into. Mark raised a finger, causing the man to hesitate, and downed the rest of his coffee before standing up.
As he made his way to the door, Mark heard the soft scrape of a chair behind him. He threw the cup away. Pushing open the door, he gave a little wave — more of a twitching of fingers — to the attendant's farewell. Running a hand through his hair and tearing it through the knots that formed there, he sighed and sprawled instead on the bench. He looked out to the parking lot, only giving a glance to the man sitting down next to him.
"Are you going to let me talk now?" he asked, as if Mark had actually any power to stop him from doing as he wished.
"There was a full twenty minutes where you could have. Didn't think my morning musings were the thing really stopping you." Mark blew some of the hair from where it had fallen into his eyes. Giving the bench a few raps with his fist, he continued, "Assuming that the past three days and coffee break weren't just to kill me, I'm guessing that there's a different body for me to deal with? It would be pretty difficult to clean up my own murder, but I bet I could rig something up."
Mark caught the man's roll of eyes from his periphery and the soft chuckle at the edge of his hearing. "No, I'm not sanctioned for murder—"
"Oh yes, everyone must have legal approval before killing, sorry I forgot," slipped out under his breath, unbidden.
"Besides," the man continued with an eyebrow raise. "I am only supposed to deliver a message to you, and escort you to get your new equipment." He hands Mark a piece of paper. "Bodies are to be assumed, and though I don't question your expertise, I believe that you can keep to the living side."
Mark tucked the paper into his jacket pocket, uncaring for whatever importance it might carry. "Great, are we carpooling? Because I kind of need my car, considering that it has all my things in it." His face twists, remembering, "I'll have to give notice that I'll no longer need that apartment," he mutters to himself.
"I can have someone pick up your car, if you wish."
He hums. "Okay, I just—" Mark pushes off the bench, movements that seem to make the other man startle. "Just need to grab some stuff."
Following suit, his companion nods, trailing behind Mark so much like he had been for the past three days.
As they approached his car, Mark said "Let me just grab—" knocking on the car roof as he unlocked the doors. Moving over to the trunk, he popped it open and sighed.
He had enjoyed retirement.