Chapter Text
Otto casually puts two fingers against Markus’ wrist, feeling the acute tremble of tense and coiled muscles underneath. As small of a victory as it may seem, it was monumental in the grand scheme of things. Markus would’ve never let anyone touch him like that, short of Mathilde, without throwing at least one punch; now, his face merely twitches before going blissfully neutral again. “Markus,” he whispers, half in warning half in comfort, and the clenched fist slowly uncurls and rests palm flat against the smooth surface of the table, one finger tapping restlessly against the surface. Otto retracts his hand when the door opens again and Markus retreats to his tense nervousness and glances up at the newcomer.
“Hello, I’m Will Graham, International investigator for the Federal Bureau of Investigations in the United States,” Otto’s eyes flick from the shorter, dark haired American to Markus and back. The agent looks between the two men and lands on Otto, brows knitted. “If you’d like, I can request a translator, they had said you spoke English—”
“I speak English,” Markus murmurs, finally looking up. He squares his shoulders back firmly, a stance he takes when he’s ready to be defensive and exert his own authority if needed—an intimidation tactic, really, Otto knew.
“I’m Otto, this is Markus,” he supplies helpfully, “We speak English, no need for a translator.” He smiles at the agent, who merely nods at him and helps himself to a seat across the table. The American looks distant, Otto suspects his own demons followed him from room to room. He’d learned to sense it on people, read it in their tension and body language. Besides him, Markus remains largely still, watching carefully from across the table as Graham lays out folders across the surface.
“What went on at your home, Markus, a few months ago—we’ve been investigating that group of men for awhile. They’re connected to strings of international criminal organizations that conduct business around the world. I understand you were active military and that the local investigation determined the incident—” he glances down at a piece of paper “-- incidents were self-defense, but you stumbled upon some pretty important people and we’d need whatever information you have on them.”
Markus exhales a breath he’d been holding, his shoulders slouching just slightly in response. The previous night, Otto and Markus had stayed up late into the night, running over all the possibilities of what the meeting would consist of. They’d come to learn Markus could handle situations better when potential outcomes were laid out beforehand. This had been one possibility they explored—merely a meeting to gather intel on the people they’d found, but when the United States government gets involved, one could never be too careful.
Markus says nothing, and Otto nods once, “Okay, we have all the information in a barn on Markus’ property. You’re welcome to come document what you need. Right, Markus?”
Markus looked up at the curly haired agent and shrugged dismissively, “Yeah, my daughter will be home from school and I’d prefer she didn’t—” He stopped midsentence, jaw clenching and relaxing, seemingly centering himself, “Yeah, you can come.”
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Otto hangs back with Emmenthaler, reminding him this was for the best and that the agents were merely there to collect information. It had taken fifteen minutes of prompting and negotiation before Emmenthaler calmed enough to let the agents anywhere near the equipment. Markus stood idly by, hands buried in his coat pocket, and only offered one comment that largely ended the spiral Emmenthaler had entered, “Do not touch his wires,” he warned the agents, seemingly speaking directly to Graham, then he glanced to Emmenthaler, “I will replace anything they take or disturb.” Markus left no room for argument or discussion when he offered any input, and this was no exception.
Otto watched as Markus and Graham looked at each other curiously, and Graham finally turned to his men, “Stay away from the wires and do not touch anything you don’t have to.” Emmenthaler made a noise and peaked over his shoulder towards Graham, who offered a small smile in response. Markus, for all his hard edges and unflinching rigidness, had grown to be deeply understanding, especially of Emmenthaler.
Lennart stepped up to show the agents around the barn, and Otto stood torn momentarily between staying with Markus and staying with Emmenthaler. His hesitation is only decided when Emmenthaler stalks off towards the house, and he follows with one glance back at Markus.
Will Graham knows many things, but what he knows most is trauma. Markus lingers outside the barn, watching darkly as they walk out with boxes of files and hard drives, and Will watches him before taking a few steps closer. “After we extract what we need, I’ll return everything we took that I possibly can,” Will offers, glancing over at Markus from the corner of his eye.
The other man says nothing.
“Dad?” Will turns as a young woman comes to stand besides Markus. She glances between him and the other man, then says something in Danish.
“He’s an American,” Markus says in English, “With their government. They want information on the Riders of Justice and the men from… that night.”
She brightens slightly, “I’m Mathilde, are you going to look into their criminal work? They had taken Bodashka, they sell—”
“They will do their jobs, Mathilde,” Markus interrupts, nudging her back towards the house, “I’ll be in soon, sweetie.”
“Otto sent me out here to ask what you want for dinner,” then she turns back to Will, “The American government thinks we did something helpful?”
Will offers a slight smile, pushing his glasses up his face, “Yes, definitely. You managed to do what we had been working on for years. You were very brave.”
Mathilde’s smile widens, “Who are you?”
“Will Graham, I work for an international investigation branch of the FBI.”
“Can I see your badge?” she says curiously, her eyes wide with interest.
“He has work to do, Mathilde,” Markus tries again, dark eyes glaring at Will in warning.
They both ignore him, “I do, you can see it,” he offers, digging it from his pocket and handing it over to her. Mathilde studies it closely, turning it every direction.
“I don’t read in English so well,” she admits, looking up at him again, “International Investigation Unit?” she questions uncertainly.
“Yes, that’s great,” Will smiles softly, “You said they took Bodashka? Who is that?”
Mathilde offers the badge back, “He’s inside, do you want to come in? Otto and Lennart always cook enough for everyone.”
Will takes one look at Markus, whose dark expression had fallen to the ground between them, clearly resigned unhappily to accepting Mathilde will always find a way to do what she wants all the same. “Yes, I’d love that.