moving day

[searchingfordistraction]

". . . you want me to what?"

"I know you heard me."

"I think," Moran said, "it's time we discuss my next pay rise."

Jim rolled his eyes. "This isn't a job, Seb, it's a favor. You're free to say no."

Moran eyed him for a moment. Then he pulled out his mobile.



Long story short, here he is now, in a fake flat, with fake possessions in need of fake removal to another fake flat, with Jim all kitted up as Rich Brook on the sofa next to him, waiting for the doorbell to announce the arrival of a man who decided Icarus Removals was the kind of name that would inspire confidence in potential customers.

Jim fucking owes him.

Comments

[searchingfordistraction]

Who promptly drops them and scrabbles a bit to pick them up again.

". . . okay. Yeah."

Smooth.

[captaincrieff]

Martin doesn't even give Seb an annoyed look or anything. He just cocks his head toward the door.

"Ready?" he asks once Rich has the keys back in his hands.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Yep."

He shoves the keys into his pocket.

"Ready."

[captaincrieff]

Martin heads back outside and unlocks the front door for Rich before heading to the back of the van to make sure everything's secured and locked up back there. There's nothing worse than having everything fall out on a busy A-road.

Well, except for maybe having everything fall out on a busy motorway.

Convinced neither of these will happen, he gets into the cab and goes through a quick (silent) checklist of everything up there before starting out.

"Marylebone, right?" he asks, confirming what he wrote down during the phone call with Seb earlier.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Yeah," Rich says, going on to add a few details that Martin no doubt also has written down already.

He does seem more relaxed than earlier, though, now everything is in full swing. Even he can't be awkward forever, not when there's no concrete reason to.

And of course there isn't. He was just surprised before, is all. He's never met a fellow Milliways patron back home before.

[captaincrieff]

Speaking of, narratively speaking...

"Does your friend go there at all?" he asks. "Milliways, I mean. Not Marylebone."

He laughs quietly, though not the sort of nervous titter that happens when he's absolutely failing to chat someone up.

[searchingfordistraction]

He smiles in unconscious reaction to the sound of it.

"Not when he can avoid it," he says. "It's a bit much for him. He thought he was going mad until I let slip about it one night when we were drinking. And even then he half-thought for a while that he was contagious or something. I guess it's not for everyone."

[captaincrieff]

"Yeah, I wasn't sure what to make of it at first. There was some kid there who thought I was someone else, which wasn't really helping."

Three guesses who.

He's just as cautious with his driving as he is with anything else, and if he takes a bit longer at a stop sign than most people would, well... he wants to make sure there's nothing in his blind spots, is all.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Oh!" he remembers, "that reminds me, well, sort of, I've got a double there too. I mean like actually me, another Richard Brook. So. In case you run into him and he doesn't know you, that's him. Uh, not me blowing you off. Sorry I forgot to mention last time."

He thinks it's only polite. He'd hate for Martin to get his feelings hurt by his double because Rich didn't think to mention the man's existence.

[captaincrieff]

"Yeah, I have one too, apparently. Only the other one has a pet penguin or something." If he doesn't sound like he knows what he's talking about, it's because he doesn't.

"At least, that's what Arthur says."

And everything Arthur says should probably be taken with a few grains of salt.

"But, I guess the same thing goes for me, then."

[searchingfordistraction]

". . . oh."

He blinks.

"Okay. I'll just keep an eye out for the penguin, then, that should tip me off."

[captaincrieff]

"I can't actually vouch for the penguin. Or anything else," Martin warns. "But I do apparently have a few doubles who aren't actually me, but taller and better looking."

And just all around more successful at everything, but that's beside the point.

[searchingfordistraction]

Rich does not say, does not even think, that he finds that hard to believe.

(Not least because of his supposed employer, but Jim tucks that inconvenient detail away for the time being.)

"'Apparently'?" he repeats. "Is that how people describe them? That's a bit rude."

[captaincrieff]

"They're not ginger," Martin says in a way that suggests he would give his left arm to permanently get rid of that little detail about himself.

And the freckles, too. Damn the freckles.

A late-model Lexus cuts them off, and Martin just barely avoids hitting it.

"Very cute. What are you even doing out here?" he asks the Lexus.

He does not give it the satisfaction of blowing his horn at it.

[searchingfordistraction]

Whatever Rich had been about to say - probably something about liking gingers that would sound appropriately reassuring in his head and completely embarrassing out loud - is lost to posterity when the Lexus cuts them off. He gives a surprised little yelp instead.

[captaincrieff]

"It's... fine. He does that all the time," Martin says, sounding exactly like someone who is frequently cut-off by a late-model Lexus.

"Are you all right?"

He's pretty sure Rich hasn't been injured, but he does look pretty nervous.

Lucky they're almost to the other flat.

[searchingfordistraction]

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Now he mostly looks embarrassed by his own reaction. He runs his hand through his hair, asking,

"Do you know him?"

[captaincrieff]

"Yeah, he's my co-pilot at my other job," Martin says. As he pulls into a suitable spot that's relatively close to the new flat, he checks his mirrors to make sure the Lexus hadn't followed them.

"He won't be joining us today."

He hopes.

[searchingfordistraction]

Rich cranes around to look out the window on his side.

"He's lucky I'm not American," he says, "or I'd be filing the lawsuit already."

[captaincrieff]

"He'd win," Martin says. He has no precedent with which to back this up, but... well, he would win.

He gets out of the van, locking the door behind him, and makes his way round the back to unlock everything back there and start moving it in.

"Get the door for me?" he asks.

[searchingfordistraction]

"'Course."

He's going to need a minute at the door to decide which key is which, though. Moran has a lot of keys.

[captaincrieff]

Martin needs a few minutes to load a couple of boxes onto the trolley anyway. Unpacking always takes a bit more time, because he likes to make sure that the boxes are still in one piece and won't drop everything out of the bottom or something.

He gets it loaded eventually and meets Rich up at the door.

[searchingfordistraction]

Where Rich, having found the right key, is now yanking it out of the keyhole after having tried to shove it in the wrong way up.

"The flat's on the ground floor, at least," he says weakly. That should make up for the time they're losing while he fails at keys.

[captaincrieff]

"Well, that's easy at least," he agrees.

He has no idea which boxes go where. They didn't label them, except for the one with the Russian on it, but Martin can sort of remember the order in which they were loaded into the van.

He's pretty sure these are bedroom boxes.

Maybe.

"Are you guys flatting, or are you just helping out?" he asks when he comes back out, ready to grab another stack from the van.

[searchingfordistraction]

Luckily, the key to the flat worked out a bit better.

"I'm just helping," Rich says. He pauses at the building's door, looking for a way to prop it open. It's a decent neighborhood, no reason not to.

"He helped me when I moved, fair's fair."