#hmmmm maybe DIFC's not so perfect

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Return - Hilton

[Oh, you thought he was going to be okay? Lol, nope this is a whump blog after all. Let’s gooooo @amonthofwhump]

CW: heavily implied abuse, injury mention, 

[Masterlist] [Next?]

[ - Roughly Four Months After This Piece - ]

It was just another briefing, boring as ever. Hilton shifted in his seat, feeling trapped by the large men seated next to him. His sometimes handlers, sometimes bodyguards.

Always looming. Always watching him.

It was familiar.

Hilton pretended to stretch, craning his neck up and looking over the crowd. It had been almost four months since he saw Griffin, and he was hoping he would be at this briefing. It was big news, the first time DIFC was revealing to their general staff just how large the Syndicate’s operation really was. It had groups and branches in every continent, even a few reports were coming in from international waters.

The information was old to Hilton, so instead of listening to Director Hayword speak, he scanned the crowd. Come on, come on. I know you’re here.

His eyes passed over the back of Griffin’s head before he did a double take. His sigh of relief caught the attention of the man on his right, and Hilton tried to play it off as part of a yawn. He was pretty sure he bought it, turning his attention back to the room.

Hilton’s eyes bore into the back of Griffin’s head, hoping, praying, he could tell somehow and would turn around. The Director opened the floor to questions, and a woman somewhere behind Hilton spoke up. Hilton didn’t turn to look at her, but Griffin did.

He was focused on her question, eyes not scanning the crowd. Hilton’s heart was beating in his throat, so loud and hard in his head that he thought they could hear it. Just look around. Just a little. Just see me. See my face.

She finished her question, and the eyes of the room turned back to Director Hayword for the response. Griffin shifted back, eyes never passing over Hilton.

His heart skipped a beat. He, he didn’t see him. Hilton exhale was a little ragged, and now the guard on his left was eyeing him. Please, Griffin. Please turn around.

Another voice asked a question, but this time they were in front of Hilton. Griffin turned to look again, and this time it was Griffin’s turn for a double take.

Hilton’s heart soared at the furrow of his brow.

~

The moment it was over, Griffin was making a beeline directly to where they had been sitting. Hilton dragged his feet, standing very slowly.

“Hurry up, we’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Hilton nodded, trying not to draw suspicion, but he wanted to look behind him so badly.

“Hilton!”

A hand rested on his shoulder, and Hilton whirled around, burying his face into Griffin’s chest. He was broad, and hard, and here. Griffin’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, holding him.

“Agents, can we get a second alone?” The room was clearing as the other people filed out to go to their desks and stations.

“Sorry Agent Marshalls, but we have strict orders to-“

“Look, we’re in DIFC headquarters, in an interior room filled with agents. What’s going to happen to him?”  The arm around his shoulder tightened, pressing Hilton closer to him. “Besides, you still have that tracker information. Where’s he gonna go?” His voice had a sharp, unhappy, bitter tone to it. Hilton heard the shuffling of feet, and Griffin pulled him away.

Griffin made deliberate eye contact and flicked his eyes over Hilton’s shoulder before drawing them back. A clear hint. The agents were still close by.

“What happened to you?” questioned Griffin. He held Hilton at arm’s length, one hand on the boy’s shoulder, examining his taped, healing nose and duel black eyes. Hilton gave a tumultuous smile.

“Training accident.”

Griffin’s brow furrowed.

“Training? Training for what?” Hilton gave a little shrug.

“Sargent Peters says if I’m going to be living under his roof, I’m going to follow the routine as other DIFC recruits. Turns out I’m a bad sparring partner,” he offered, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re still working on dodging.”

It was the truth, but Hilton could see Griffin was still examining him. Hilton swallowed and picked his nails, thankful that he didn’t need to give any more than that. Griffin took another moment to choose his words very carefully.

“I’ve been talking to the director, and we think you might know more than you think. I know you said you told us everything, but we’re going to need to do a few more interviews.”

Hilton let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, relief washing over him as if it were nausea.

Griffin was pulling him back, pulling him out. Griffin saw, and he knew, and he was going to do something about it. He was going to save him again.

It was familiar.

Everything about his time with Sargent Peters had been familiar, but in the worst way. The sideways glances, the locked doors, the cameras. What wasn’t familiar was the slippery slope, the leading questions and the hints.

Man, it would useful if we knew their position.

If we just had that name…

A little more intel and we can shut them down for good.

Two weeks in, the hints had gotten more and more obvious, the pressure had built, until Hilton had offered.

That was all the permission they had needed.

Hilton wanted to hug Griffin again, wrap his arms around him. Even if it meant that Griffin’s hands would be on his bruises, on his cuts and on his bandages. He just wanted everything to return to the way it was when things were good.

“Sorry Agent, but we have a meeting that we need to be at. Come on, Seer.”

Hilton didn’t want to break away. He didn’t want to turn and follow, but he did. What choice did he have? One of the men put a hand on his shoulder to guide him away.

“We’ll let Sargent Peters know, and he’ll see if he can find a time.”

The open-endedness of that statement ate at Hilton. He tried to look over his shoulder, lay his eyes on Griffin one last time, but the quick squeeze of the man’s hand was enough to keep him looking ahead.

It was familiar.  

~

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