The Set-Up

They don't say much as they walk out of the mall and down the parking aisles until they come to a mundane-looking Ford Transit van that has definitely seen better days. As they walk, Mal looks at them both, his old partner and the person who seems to have stolen his heart. From where Mal is standing, the tiny blonde seems totally out of place for the scarred killer. He (_she? _Mal isn't really sure how the pronouns work with non-binary people) barely comes up to Nick's chest, and Mal could wrap one hand all the way around Tommy's bicep. But they move together like a couple who've known each other for years, not just a few months. And Mal has NEVER gotten a text from Nick like the one he'd received the other night.

AZRAEL HAS BUSINESS FOR ME. AND I NEED YOU TO KEEP SOMEONE SAFE FOR ME.

SURE THING, BROTHER, he'd texted back. WHEN AND WHERE?

THE WHITE HOUSE. WE FLY IN AT FOUR.

CALL YOU FOR DETAILS? Mal had asked.

YAH, Aden had replied. Mal had excused himself from the dinner table and headed out to the porch to call. They'd discussed Azrael's job, and reminisced about the first time they'd met Val, and remembered some old friends who were long gone into the grave. And then Nick had finally opened up about his new lover. And the tone of his voice, the way he described Tommy, the long pause before Nick said it. "She's the kindest, gentlest, most loving, least judgemental person I've ever met, Mal." He'd gotten very quiet, almost a whisper. "I have to know she's safe while I'm working."

"Why bring her along, then?" Mal had asked.

"It's complicated."

And that was it. And now they are hopping into a messed-up old van and driving to their new base of operations while Nick Aden, the most brutal and violent killer Mal has ever met, is holding this person's hand like a shy teenager at the prom.

Tommy catches Mal inspecting her, and smiles shyly as he starts the van and pulls out. "It's okay to ask, Mr. Evans."

Nick and Mal both break out into laughter. "Please, call me Mal," the agent says, checking the rear view. He looks at her again, in the rear-view mirror, then smiles. "I'm sorry to stare."

"I get a lot of looks," Tommy murmurs, blushing. "I'm not exactly Bible Belt normal."

Mal grins at her, pleasantly. "It's cool," he says. "Like Nick always says, I don't judge. My wife and I are very vanilla, though, so I'm not sure how I'm supposed to address you."

Nick cuts him a glance, but Tommy looks back up and nods. "Traditionally, you would ask me what my preferred pronoun is."

Mal makes a big show of clearing his throat and straightening his tie. "Excuse me, Tommy, what IS your preferred pronoun?"

"She," Tommy says, almost apologetic. "I'm male by genetics, but I always felt better in girl's clothes. Like I was right."

"Are you planning on-" Mal stops. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

She shakes her head, and leans forward from the back seat to put her head on Nick's arm. "It's really fine. It's called transitioning, the surgery to change outward gender." She sighs. "If I could wave a magic wand and do it, I would." She nuzzles her face into Nick, smelling his scent. "I'm deathly afraid of doctors and hospitals and needles and all of it."

"I love you exactly the way you are," Nick assures her, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"So, no, Mal, I'm not transitioning." She won't look up, and he can see a hint of red on the back of her neck.

"Huh," Mal grunts. He waits a few seconds, then nods. "Good thing, too. You shouldn't fuck with perfection."

Tommy's head jerks up and her eyes glow, her face breaking into a relieved smile. "I thought you were straight?"

"As an arrow." Mal turns off into a run-down residential neighborhood. As the sun is setting, the locals are coming out, like hungry vampires, making Mal glad he's armed. "Hey, I may not wanna buy a Picasso, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the art."

Nick starts laughing hard, now, Tommy giggling into his side. They stay like that for a long minute as he pulls the van into a parking spot in front of a ratty-looking set of rat-hole apartments. The three of them step out, and Nick's eyes scan and then lock on the large white Wonderbread truck parked at the corner. He pauses, then turns and takes Tommy's hands.

"What's wrong?" she asks, sensing his nerves.

"Nothing's wrong, per se," Nick starts.

Mal holds up his hand. "Don't lie to the girl, man. These people are all kinds of wrong."

Nick frowns. "Not helping, brother."

"Wasn't trying to," Mal answers. "Tommy, that truck over there means some more of Nick's work-friends are here, getting things set up."

"Are you afraid they won't like me?" Tommy asks Nick.

"Honey," he sighs, "I'm not sure they'll even notice you're there."