Anthony Blunt by Royal Appointment

[What is a fellow to do after visiting the barracks and pounding viciously at heavy canvas punching bags halfway to unconsciousness? Well, he should probably shower - - and thankfully, Mac does, because his intentions are to visit Mr. Anthony on a whim; it sure was nice of the man to extend that little informal invitation to drop in. After calling to ensure his sudden appearance wouldn't be an inconvenience, he seeks out House 32, which turns out to be much closer to his community residence than he had realized.

Well, here he is, knocking on the door and waiting expectantly. Sure, conversations over the journal are pleasant and interesting, but he prefers face-to-face interaction - it is simply what he is more accustomed with.]

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[It takes Tony only a few minutes to answer the door. He smiles at the young man and steps aside.]

Good afternoon. Come in, come in.

Can I get you anything to eat? Drink?

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[Mac steps forward and into the house a little awkwardly, looking about the unfamiliar surroundings while wearing a mild smile. He stops not far from the threshold, contemplating the questions. Probably should take off his shoes, too - he'll get to that in a second. ] Uh... actually, yeah. Y'got any pop or somethin'? Like, root beer?

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[...Pop?]

I'm afraid I don't think so. Water? Tea? Coffee? [Their supplies are still very limited. They haven't quite gone exploring in the supermarket just yet.]

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[Mac considers his options, seeming indecisive due to nothing really appealing to him.]

Think I'll go with water... yeah, that's better f'me. Got a match comin' up so I gotta treat my body right, y'know?

[He realizes he tied on his running shoes a little too tightly than to simply be able to slough them off by stepping on the heels. Unthinkingly raising one leg, he takes hold of the shoe, trying to work it loose without necessarily having to undo the laces, and not much expecting it to take very long, either. But having worked out to the point that his limbs feel a little like wet noodles has undoubtedly affected his balance. Before he realizes it, he is suddenly reeling to the side, bumping his head into the wall.

Thankfully, he has good, solid head for this kind of thing. Or rather, normally he does, at least inside the ring. He has taken many-a punch and has, on many occasions, somehow willed himself to stagger on and fight when on the verge of collapse.

But lo and behold, in some freak accident ~~at his expense~~, a switch flicks on and off in his brain and he drops like a ton of bricks.

He would still like that water, by the way. But, a little later.]

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[And when Mac comes to? He'll find himself on the couch, a glass of water waiting on the coffee table near it. As well as a bottle of minor painkillers.

For his part, Anthony has taken a seat in one of the chairs in the room and is halfway through a cup (and pot) of tea, vaguely amused, as he can't see signs of permanent damage.

...Granted, Anthony Blunt is not a doctor.]

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[Mac rouses sometime later with an irrepressible groan, a hand rising from his side in slow-motion and pressing against his throbbing skull even before his memory has caught up with him. A moment later, he cracks his eyes open to cautious, narrow slits and has a look around with a look of dim confusion, catching sight of Anthony in his midst. It helps to spot a familiar face. Blinking a while to bring his vision into focus, he sits up, wincing slightly.]

Ugh. Where- - What happened?

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Bit of a tumble.

[He's trying very hard not to outright laugh.]

Thought it'd do you good to lie down.

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…Thanks. [There is a long moment of silence as he absorbs the explanation at a pace his still-drowsy brain can manage - and then, suddenly, he recalls that he was in the midst of tugging at his shoes before careening into the wall like an idiot. With this realization comes embarrassment with all the subtlety of a rock dropping on him. The only thing worse is if he had dented the wall with his head; he can only hope he didn't. Speaking of heads, he will be hanging his in response.]

Aw geez.

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Feeling well? Or shall I use the Journal to find a doctor to have a look at you?

[At least he sounds genuinely concerned... even if he still looks amused.]

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[The guy doesn't miss that amused expression, but he convinces himself that Anthony isn't the kind of guy to go further and cruelly make fun of him. He doesn't tolerate mockery all too well.]

Besides feelin' pretty stupid... think I'm ok. [He rubs at his sore head thoughtfully, bringing his fingers to his face. No blood on them - good.] I take a lot a' bumps like this in the ring... probably harder. Know I gotta be careful with that kind a' thing... y'always hearin' 'bout boxers who've gone punch-drunk an' can't fight no more, they don' live like they used to, y'know? I never want that t'happen.

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No. No, we certainly wouldn't want that to happen. [There wasn't much else to say to the thought, despite how his dark eyes surveyed Mac. He smiled as warmly as he could.] Best to be careful with that, especially with trying to start up matches.

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[That smile is always reassuring, and it helps to lighten the mood.]

Hey, y'know... [A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.] Luffy an' I - ain't sure if y'ever met 'im - but we been talkin' lately 'bout fightin', 'cause he's a boxer too. So soon, I'm havin' a title bout. I'm real excited about it.

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Are you, now?

I expect you'll let me know the formal when and where. Wouldn't dream of missing it.

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[He beams at this, and at the fact that he didn't even have to ask him to attend.] ...Thanks. Means a lot.

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I look forward to it. Might be just the kind of excitement I need. Rather than the... strangeness this place throws at us.

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Yeah. [He trails off, thoughtfully.] All I know right now is that it's probably gonna be at the Dome. When Luffy an' I get other details down, I'm gonna letchya know, f'sure.

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[Boop. Totally not awkwardly standing at the edge of the room.]

Anthony.

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...Kim.

[He has the Journal out, reading entires.]

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We need to talk.

[He sighs, glancing into the hallway discreetly. He doesn't want Guy to know about this.]

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Come in.

[A beat.]

And close the door.

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[He does so. Kim holds the knob tight for a moment before walking in and standing a ways away.]

You know what I have to say...rather, ask...

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Of course.

[But he'll still wait for Kim to ask it.]

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Why did you do it, Anthony?

[How.]

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...It was for the best.

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That's not an answer, Anthony.

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I did what I thought was best, Kim. What more "why" do you want?

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I want to know what made you do this! What motivation could you possibly have to -- [Deep breaths Kim Philby.]

What happened Anthony? To you.

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["I'm tired. I'm more tired than it's possible to be."]

They agreed, Kim. [He won't say the word. Not here. Not yet. ANyone might be able to hear them.] I asked them. Rather than being in MI-5. I would work for the Royal family. Be on "chatting" terms with the king and queen.

You and Guy are useful in intelligence. I can do more where I am now.

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[It's then that he comes to a very sad realization.]

You can't talk to me can you?

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More than the others. [But Anthony Blunt has always had his very carefully constructed walls. Walls Guy never challenged, mock them though he might sometimes.]

This is... safer, Kim. The more spread out we look. We can see more, hear more. Help them and each other more.

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We aren't here any more Anthony. [He realizes his slip-up and corrects himself most reluctantly.] There.

There's nothing here that matters at home. We won't remember.

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So they say. But how do we know they aren't just told that? Conned into believing it? We... can't be sure of anything here, Kim.

[A pause.]

Except each other. We're all we've got. Like always.

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You're right.

You're absolutely right.

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We've... [He almost laughs, but it's not quite there.] We've got to be strong. We've got to be solid. [For Guy.]

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How are we supposed to do that Anthony?

[He's still not satisfied but close to resigning himself to never getting a straight answer.]

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Like...

Like we always do, Kim.

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[He nods. Reluctantly. But he understands. Right now they can focus more on the present than the past. And so Kim moves to the door. Opening it again to leave, but not before...]

I will get an answer, Anthony.

[One that satisfies him.]

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[It hasn’t sat well with him at all that, only a few days ago, he had been intent on beating Anthony – beating anyone, really – senseless for so much as looking in his direction. But between waking every morning to see the moon drawing ever-closer (and being distracted by a burgeoning sense of anxiety,) and finding himself wrapped up in the feelings and concerns of some other people, it has taken him a while to crack open that journal and to do more than just stare at that list of contacts indecisively.

He is afraid, and not only of that giant, blazing rock hurtling towards them. He is afraid of being hated by someone he cared for. As he looks at Anthony’s name on the contact list, an old, irrational fear grips him like an iron fist, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. That fear of living alone, of having no one holds strong.

It shouldn’t be this hard, he tells himself. The moon – and the uncertainty of what would happen to all of them - isn’t helping his nerves, of course.

The fact of the matter is, he doesn’t know Mr. Anthony as well as he knows Doc – so there is no denying that the former’s absence wouldn’t hurt as badly as the latter’s. But, still, it would. It would, because he couldn’t help letting himself get attached to a smiling face, to someone with kind, supportive words, to someone, especially, who seemed to have some of the paternal presence Doc had – or whom Mac hoped, on some subconscious level, that he would find in him.

If Mr. Anthony rejected his apology and wanted nothing to do with him, there were still other people, other friends whom he had here, he muses. If the Malnosso did not return them home while he was still here.

The kid feels a lump rise into his throat at the thought. Swallowing it back, and his selfishness, he reminds himself that everyone here deserved to be home, not to be stranded in some place where they were all at risk of being captured and hurt. ‘Hurt’ – it was an easier word to use than ‘tortured’.

Pulling in a slow breath, Mac gazes at the open journal in his lap, not knowing if it has been an hour or a minute.

Even if his violent behaviour was the work of the mask, he had been the one wearing it, the one whom had put it on. Maybe, maybe if he had tried hard enough, he could have yanked it off before becoming just the kind of guy he couldn’t stand. The kind of guy who had harassed him in the schoolyard and sent him home with a bloody nose and a mind muddled with fear.

It is exactly what Doc had lectured him never to do.

Be the better man. Don’t stoop to their level.

Keep it here, son. Don’t be a bully outside the ring.

At least he can find some redemption in doing what is right, right now. It is time to man up, and to take whatever blows would come like he would be prepared to do when standing toe-to-toe with someone between the ropes.

He places the call, waiting.]

Edited Date: 2011-10-28 06:54 am (UTC)

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[Guy and Kim had put up some fuss about the blood and bruises.

However, they'd both been pacified enough by talk of the masks and reminder that Anthony had, in fact, dealt with worse before. One young man-- even trained-- wasn't three men with an actual vendetta. Especially since Anthony would have very quickly pegged Mac as the type of youth without a malicious bone in his body.

Word about the masks, though, travelled quickly enough.

When he notices the name in the journal, he responds.]

Mac.

[He's... almost curious. Still of the mind to fight? He can't be sure. But at least there's distance between them if that's the case.]

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[He feels a strange, sharp twist of his insides at the voice. He wasn’t a coward, he reminds himself; a real man found the courage to own up to his mistakes.] Listen... uh...

[Swallowing, he wills himself to press on after a moment.] About… about what happened a couple days ago... m’real sorry. I was a jerk an' a bully. I didn't mean t'do any a' that t'you ... I wasn’t myself… but that don’ make what I did any less wrong. [Even a deep breath feels shallow. I would a’ talked to y’sooner, I should a', but… I didn't- -I was… [He peters off helplessly.]

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This place... seems very capable of altering one's moods and sensibilities.

[Which isn't to say the blows didn't still smart. But the mask had to be considered as well as the unnatural climate of this entire place.

It was something to be watched. Certainly.]

Apology accepted, of course. No hard feelings.

[Just very sore spots. But that need not be mentioned.]

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[Mac slowly and carefully lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, feeling some measure of relief wash over him as his shoulders drop – and yet, it doesn’t entirely feel right. It will be a little while longer, at least, until he can forgive himself.]

Thanks, Mr.Anthony. I... I appreciate it. [Another pause.] I know y'said things 'tween you an' I's okay... but, is there somethin' I can do? Like... t'make it up t'you? [He is aware he didn't pull any punches.]

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