Chapter Text
Sitting tall with one elbow on the desk, Mosley graciously picked up the phone. "Hello?" Behind him, Lena stood with her hands on his shoulders. She was behind him in every way now, wasn't she?
"Hello, Oswald. You have a meeting tomorrow at seven with Mr. Ferenci."
Mosley sighed. "How kind of you to invite me this time."
"Yes, well, you were requested."
Mosley raised an eyebrow. "Oh, was I?"
"I believe Ferenci sees you as more of a like mind."
Mosley glanced up at Lena on impulse, though she couldn't hear well, then looked straight ahead again. He'd thought something of the sort; he and Ferenci both seemed to enjoy Thomas on his knees, at least. "When did you talk to him?" asked Mosley just to ask it.
"Just now, before calling you." Zurich sounded bored, if anything.
Mosley hummed. He wanted to say a lot of things.
Lena squeezed his shoulders, though, so he held the receiver slightly higher for her.
"Hello, darling. How was the drive?" she asked.
"Mm, fine. It was just bright," he muttered.
Mosley watched concern flit across Lena's features, which he found oddly unnerving.
"Is it that bad?" she asked, almost surprised. "How's your head?"
Zurich sighed. "I just need some water," he croaked.
Mosley imagined him leaning back in his chair, now.
"How is, uh... Oswald's head?" he asked.
Mosley spoke louder to say, "Oh, it's fine," thank you for asking. For some reason, this conversation was more confusing than any other they'd ever had. "I'm more tired than anything," he muttered.
Silence. It was awkward for Mosley, boring for Zurich, amusing for Lena.
After a moment, though she did want to let Oswald have his fun, Lena delicately extracted the receiver from his hand because she did also care to hear how her husband was doing. She sighed, satisfied that Oswald let her take it easily, then shooed him out of his chair because she wanted to sit down.
Oswald rose without a fight, too distracted by the man on the other end of the line to be offended, no doubt. He stood by her side to listen in, but Lena held the receiver too close to her ear for him to hear much of anything. "I hope you'll rest today, darling."
Zurich searched the far wall, trying not to miss her. "Is it just you?" he croaked.
Lena glanced up at Oswald with a small smile.
Oswald inhaled and put a hand on her shoulder, still so sure of himself.
Lena sighed and paid attention to her husband once more because oh, how she'd missed him. "Yes," she said, almost relieved. She hadn't gotten to speak to him alone since... earlier that morning, at least, when he was crying against her in bed. God, she'd really fucking missed him- shifted in the chair, even, excited to talk to him after dealing with this fascist freak all fucking morning. "Yes, darling," she repeated.
Zurich exhaled and looked up at the ceiling, not wanting to smile, but smiling nonetheless. He wanted to laugh, actually, but ended up just saying, "Hello."
Lena did laugh- had to look away from Oswald, even, to hide how she felt. She looked down at the desk, trying not to feel the hand on her shoulder. Oswald couldn't hear; it was just them, just them.
"Having fun yet?" asked Matze.
"Oh, I'm having a wonderful time," she said.
Mosley smiled to himself.
Zurich laughed, still leaned back in his chair. "I'll want to hear..." He shook his head. "...all about it." Still bored somehow, he took a pen from the desk and threw it lazily, watched it arch through the air and hit the far wall, then sighed, disappointed by the result of having thrown that damn pen. Now he'd have to pick it up later.
"I'll tell you every detail, Matze." She wanted to, always wanted to. "Maybe you'll learn a thing or two."
At that, Oswald put his hands in his pockets and stalked across the room, obviously satisfied with himself now. Lena wanted to jump on his back and choke him to death then go home, but needs must. Luckily, this phone call was beneficial for her sanity.
"Oh, is he in the room?" teased Matze.
Lena could've laughed again. "Oh, of course, and he loved that," she whispered.
Matze hummed. "Ok, well, if you tell me the details, I'll be sure to take notes."
"Oh, please don't," she muttered, glancing at the back of Oswald's head. She felt it was safe to switch to German. "He's more of a palate cleanser, darling. I'm just being tasteful." She smiled briefly. "I'll be thinking of you while I'm with him."
Zurich sighed, closed his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair, trying, trying, trying not to smile because she was fucking evil, and last night had been hell, except those were just her moods, anyway, and this was nice. "Should I be worried?" He reached out for another pen to throw, but there wasn't another pen.
"I've been inspired by last night, darling. I want to use you while you're sleeping." Lena again glanced at Oswald and admitted to herself that he did have a nice body, at the very least. "Does that worry you?"
Zurich squinted and put the receiver down to take out a cigarette. "How did last night inspire this?" he asked, raising his voice so that she could hear the question. Once his cigarette was lit, he picked up the receiver again and leaned back in his chair once more, finally breathing out smoke. It was better than throwing pens.
"Well, you slept last night, Matze, and I watched you."
Zurich hummed. He wasn't worried, but it didn't sound appealing. Rarely was what she wanted very appealing to him. "Hm, what does it matter if I can't feel anything?" Some different part of him was banging on the inside of his skull, saying that it wasn't fair to subject a person to something like that, but really, Zurich would've preferred her to do everything to him while he was sleeping. He'd be more concerned if he were made to stay awake, probably.
"It would matter to me," she murmured. "I'm glad to know you wouldn't mind."
Zurich smiled, holding that cigarette between his teeth and pushing down a sudden wave of frustration. Then, he took the cigarette from his mouth and asked, "Are you really?"
"Well," she mused. "I like hearing you convince yourself."
"Ah," he breathed. Talking to her was becoming less fun.
"Oh, how are the Hungarians, darling? I've yet to find anything I like about them."
Zurich swallowed, somewhat disturbed by the subject change. "Fine," he tried.
Lena hummed.
His heart was beating faster now, so he sat up and stubbed out the cigarette. "I'm having some trouble with Ferenci, though that wasn't unexpected. I'm hoping Oswald will have better luck." He resisted the urge to clear his throat.
"What sort of trouble?" asked Lena.
Zurich stared laughing- immediately, quietly, uncontrollably.
"Darling."
"Well, you've seen the photos, Lena, of what he does to men who cross him."
"Matze," she snapped. "What sort of trouble?"
Zurich huffed, very fucking sick of having to explain himself. "It's just that he likes to kill and shoot and fuck more than I do, which inhibits conversation, so Oswald. Will have. Better luck. They've more in common, don't you think?"
"Now they do," she muttered. Lena watched the man who wasn't Reiss finally turn away from the window to face her. Oswald was still smiling to himself, obviously less intelligent than Reiss if not more passionate.
Zurich wondered if he ought to let Ferenci do to him what Oswald had done to Thomas. "Besides," he breathed. "This next meeting should be the final one, assuming no one a pulls a fucking gun this time. Will you tell Oswald that he's meant to meet them at seven o'clock in the lobby of their hotel?"
"Tell him yourself, darling. He wants the phone back."
Zurich sighed as their receiver switched hands again. This was boring; he was bored.
Oswald sighed too, obviously just settling back down into his chair. "I am glad to hear you're not in too much pain after last night. How's your arm?"
Zurich looked up at the ceiling, able to hear the sound of a whiskey glass shattering against the back of a fireplace again, and again, and again. Oddly specific, he knew, and even stranger: the sound of a poker hitting a gramophone. His headache wasn't from the hangover; it was from all the noise. "It's fine," he said at last. It wasn't a party until he'd lost a decent amount of skin.
Mosley was frustrated because he only actually cared to talk about the one thing. He swallowed, not wanting to be too transparent, but he couldn't hold back any longer: "And have you heard from Shelby?"
Of course, Zurich just fucking laughed. "You mean he hasn't sought you out yet? How strange."
Mosley tightened his grip on the phone; Lena replaced her hand on his shoulder.
After another few moments, Zurich muttered, "No, I haven't heard from him."
Lena smiled to herself, aware that he could be lying, thinking it adorable if he was. Thomas Shelby could very well be listening in to their conversation, standing awkwardly beside her husband, watching him with those beautifully confused little bug-eyes, poor thing.
"...I'll ensure that he knows the details of tomorrow. You'll see him then."
Mosley felt the loss creeping in, but he couldn't tear himself away from the phone. He'd suddenly gotten the strange feeling that nothing had actually changed. Thomas was just the same as he'd always been, so all that'd come out of last night, unpleasant and dangerous, was the blackmail. With that final thought, Mosley became somewhat calm, aware now that he needed to focus on his own future alone. Thomas was a benefit, not an end goal, and for the first time in months, Mosley was watching that goal move just out of reach. In any case, he'd simply have to be more careful now. "What do you think of him?" Mosley leaned back in his chair, then Lena slipped her other hand onto his other shoulder. "Of Shelby," he continued. "I never could tell."
Oh, poor Oswald, really. Lena smiled despite herself.
Zurich squinted at the far wall, trying to figure out if this was Hell. Of course, he'd seen war, but Jesus fucking Christ, it never fucking ended, did it? "Oswald, I think he's making it difficult for me to go home, same as you." He didn't laugh, but he smiled, not exactly sure where home was, but very fucking certain that it wasn't England. "The sooner this is all over, the better," he muttered.
Alright, so Mosley was aware that friendship was reasonably out of the question, but it still made him a little nauseous every time he remembered. "Where... shall we meet the Hungarians?" he asked finally. No need to talk about any other subject. This was a mere political relation, nothing personal about it.
Zurich told him the details of tomorrow.
Mosley sat silently for longer than he should've, and only when he felt Lena's hand usurping his own on the receiver did he say, "I'll be there," and stand up so that Lena could sit down again. In some sort of daze, he paced back over to the window and stared out at those dead trees that couldn't hide a fucking thing in the daylight.
"Darling," said Lena, "I think you ought to apologize."
Zurich shook his head. "Why would I apologize?"
"Well, you've hit him twice now."
Zurich couldn't really... come up with a train of thought... to refute that. He was slowly feeling more and more like this reality wasn't quite right, which usually meant that he needed more sleep, but... it was almost as though he were already home, and he'd been dreaming this entire time, and he'd wake up to find himself in the same house as his mother- the sense that he'd never actually left anything behind.
Lena was enjoying his silence because she knew what it meant. "Would you want to apologize, darling?"
Obviously, if she wanted him to, he would. He might've wanted to on some level anyway, so he said, "Sure."
Aw, yay. Lena beckoned Mosley over, since he'd been watching her for some moments by then, probably wondering what she'd been saying about him. Quietly so as not to startle the creature on the other end of the line, Lena stood and gave Mosley the receiver once more.
Mosley's throat tightened as he waited.
Once he'd finally woken up a little, Zurich asked, "Have I hurt you?"
Mosley glanced up at Lena, but she'd gone over to examine the bookshelf. Alone, it felt like, he returned his attention to the very, very, very confusing man on the other end of the line. "Not necessarily," he replied.
Ok, well, that really did conclude their conversation, so-
Click.
Zurich breathed and squeezed his temples and waiting for his sudden headache to subside.
Mosley nearly fucking laughed because it was every little thing. He slowly took the receiver from his ear, confused as to why someone like Lena would marry someone so fucking strange. "Your husband asked if he'd hurt me then hung up," explained Mosley because it really needed to be fucking explained. Why was it all so- frustrating- and odd.
Of course, Lena looked lightly amused. "Well, darling," she began, sharing some comically well-known secret, "if you say that you're fine..." She slowly approached the desk. "...then there's no need for anything more."
Mosley, instead of getting upset... merely smiled. thinly. "Of course not," he whispered, staring up at her.
Lena stared right back, loving this. "I'm glad you're not hurt," she murmured because... well, because obviously.
Finally, sick of anything but sex, Mosley resigned to ask, "Shall we go upstairs?"
Oh, the tedium, but still, she said, "I thought you'd never ask-" straight out of a book, wasn't it?
Mosley sighed and stood, feeling better already. For a few hours at the very least, he wanted to forget politics and fuck the wife of the man who hadn't hurt him, really. Zurich couldn't have fucking hurt him if he'd tried.
On the other end of that prematurely disconnected line, Zurich stayed stone-still and tried without success to think. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, and his eyes felt like they were desperately trying to turn inward and find what was causing the destruction. Thomas was somewhere in that apartment, needing help, but Zurich couldn't fucking help him, not like this, so there was one final call to be made.