Rain fell over Seoul sometime after ten in the morning, and Yongnam met Junhong outside the NIS headquarters with a black umbrella. He watched the doctor as he climbed from his car, extinguished his cigarette and threw the of it to join others in the empty porcelain mug tilting haphazardly where he balanced it in the cup holder, then greeted him with a smile.

“You find your way alright?” Yongnam asked and Junhong blinked, as though that would clear away the raindrops that had circumnavigated his glasses and landed themselves in his lashes.

“Well enough, Sir.” He replied. Junhong didn't wait around, and he ducked under the offered umbrella, then passed it and headed straight for the automatic doors on the other side.

Of course it shouldn't have been a surprise that the NIS' headquarters were underground, that seemed to be a thing when it came to spy agencies, after all. Aesthetically it wasn't far off the Unit's HQ, albeit on more than ten times the scale and practically crawling with agents. Yongnam registered him for a visitor's pass, that he pinned neatly to his coat, and lead him down through the levels until they were so far from natural light it was starting to feel a little more like home. Black suited agents were getting fewer and further between until they were entirely outnumbered by women and men in pristinely pressed lab coats as they passed a series of different labs. Junhong peeked inside each of them and he could see immediately what each lab was used for, and honestly couldn't imagine having access to this many resources all at once. Yongnam had promised him a space big enough for Ahra's whole car, and that was incredible enough.

They passed three labs full of computer and phone parts, then another four of forensics (he could see the mass spectrometers whirring by the wall, the petrie dishes of samples and the comparative charts of DNA), finally he rounded the corner and made it to the white expanse of sanitised morgue just on the other side of a partition window and he breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing calmed him like the serenity of a morgue.

“You're so ing weird.” Junhong could hear Himchan's affectionate voice in his head and something sharp twisted in his stomach. He ignored it, just like he'd ignored Himchan since the moment they spoke that morning.

Yongnam opened the door first and Junhong followed him in. A series of slabs were lined up alongside one another down the middle of the room and harsh white lights shone down from up above. Against the back wall were refrigerated pods for storing their patients, and a few metres away there was a woman bent down over a document with her hair tied up messily atop her head and her lips moving as she mumbled to herself.

“Soojinnie-ah, I've brought you a friend.” Yongnam said while standing just inside the door. Junhong could see from his face that he didn't like being in there, and honestly he just couldn't get that. But then again, he guessed not many people got his affinity either.

“I don't like when you bring me friends.” Soojin replied without looking up, and the sheer lack of respect had Junhong's mouth twitching.

“You'll like this one.” Yongnam stated patiently, and finally the doctor looked up. She was young, probably in her mid thirties, and Junhong saw the way she was assessing him with disinterest, as though she couldn't imagine Yongnam ever bringing her anything useful and it made Junhong laugh inside because god he could relate with some members of his own team at times.

“Doctor Jamie Wilson-Choi, this is Doctor Kwon Soojin.”

Kwon's eyebrows raised curiously, “Nice to meet you.” She said, and Junhong smiled. They didn't shake hands, Junhong wouldn't even consider offering when he saw the gloves she had on, he didn't want to chance contamination and just being there in his street clothes was risky enough without there even being a body on the table.

“Nice to meet you, too, but please call me Junhong. I don't...” He glanced at Yongnam, “I don't use Jamie here.”

Yongnam nodded, “Soojin will show you around, and help you get settled, Junhong.” He smiled, then turned to look at her, “She'll also be really nice to you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Soojin waved her hand and turned back to her chart. Yongnam's lips quirked into a fond smile, though, and he retreated from the room to leave the two doctor's alone. Across the room, Junhong spied a tap and he went over to wash his hands immediately, he'd need to change into some scrubs before he touched anything, but the trail of evidence was still in process and he couldn't start working until the NIS had signed their bags through.

Kwon Soojin cleared , “Is it true you got a serial killer convicted with three grams of brick dust and a red feather?” She looked up, peering over her glasses at him curiously.

Junhong gave her a lopsided shrug, and the shyness had him attempting to shrink his body down a little into his jacket. It was warm down there, but he liked the feeling of an extra layer, “I guess the evidence fit.”

“You were nineteen.” She finally set her clipboard down to look at him head on.

“London was an interesting city to work in.” He shrugged again and tried to resist putting his hands back into his pockets, they were clean, he didn't want to recontaminate them. Kwon barked a sharp laugh and Junhong almost jumped, but the sound of amusement had a smile tugging at his mouth and he watched her give him a bigger smile.

“Well, if either of us could talk about our current cases, I'm sure we'd be able to bond over Seoul being much the same.” She had a spark of mischievousness in her smile that had Junhong feeling warm, he liked her. She was cool.

The NIS labs were big, and they seemed to stretch on and on, but Kwon was determined to give him a tour of every one of them. He was relieved, he liked it, but to his amusement he could see that even in their volume there were things they were lacking. The machinery was a few years old, and when Kwon proudly announced they were the best labs in Korea, he didn't hesitate before correcting the declaration.

“Second best.” He smiled and she gave him a dirty look. He laughed, then she did, and eventually they ended up back in the morgue where four secure containers of evidence from Junhong's case had been signed off for them. It would still take a day or so for the car to make it into the Automotive Forensics lab a few levels above, but Junhong knew he could keep going with what he had for a long time. He'd yet to find Lee Taejin's brick dust and red feather.

Kwon showed him to an empty lab, it was small and nearby the morgue and wasn't being used for any other case, so he could set himself up and run his DNA evidence again while doing blood and fluid tests on different scraps of burnt upholstery from the inside of the victim's car. He'd hardly had a chance to even look over it with his blue light before it had been burnt, and he cursed himself for not doing that first. Bit by bit, the labs started to get quieter as doctors and technicians finished their shifts, or moved on to other parts of the building, and after a few hours Kwon dropped in to say she was heading out for the night. Junhong wanted to stay longer, his computer was still whirring through databases, Police, Military service, medical records, prison records, a third ditch effort to find a match for the anonymous sample.

Black framed glasses were perched on his nose and he'd swapped out his jacket for a lab coat while transferring samples between petrie dishes with a pipette. The whole building seemed to have emptied out, and it took him a long time to realise he wasn't alone. Carefully, Junhong set the pipette down and glanced up at the window he was sitting in front of, where he could see the faint reflection of someone standing in the doorway behind him.

“Did you intend to sneak up, or have you been here long enough that you just walk that quiet naturally?” He turned around to face Jongup, who was leaning against the door frame watching him.

“I don't really notice I do it anymore.” He replied with a ghost of a smile.

“So it's the latter.” Junhong surmised curtly. He was annoyed, of course he was. They had all trusted Jongup as a colleague, and a friend, and he had lied to them all. Bare faced and unapologetic. In their game, though, lying was rule one, and Junhong knew not one of them had asked that many questions about just where their new team member was from. They learned early not to, he guessed. At least Junhong had, MI5 didn't take kindly to too many questions.

“I hope Soojin was nice to you.” Jongup tried and pushed off the frame to take a few steps closer. He didn't come all the way, he still kept a few metres between them, but his body language was warm and his eyes kind and Junhong had to admit, he'd always liked him.

“She was.” He nodded once, and swivelled his chair back enough so he could spin it around and face Jongup. He folded his arms awkwardly over his chest, the left over the painted cast of his right, “How long have you known Yongnam?”

“It'll be four years in May.” It seemed Jongup wasn't hot on more lies.

“Not that long.” Junhong commented.

“I guess that's relative, isn't it?” Jongup shrugged.

Junhong nodded once and turned his attention back around to the fragments of evidence in front of him. There were fluid tests still whirring in the mass spectrometer, and he pushed the petrie dishes in front of him aside to wait their turn and looked instead to more fragments of melted plastic he could sort through with a pair of tweezers. His left hand wasn't as precise as his right, but he made the most of what he had, sorting each fragment by colour, size, hoping desperately to find anything until the car was ready to look at.

“I don't want you to feel like you can't trust me.” Jongup said.

“Did you sleep with Himchan?” Junhong countered, and despite himself Jongup had to smile.

“Yes.” He said, “Because I wanted to, and he wanted to. There was no motive other than that.”

“Do you like him?” Junhong wasn't convinced, and he set down the tweezers as quick as he picked them up.

“Yes.” Jongup said again, then rubbed the palm of his hand against the back of his neck. He'd never said it out loud before, “But I don't think that matters so much anymore.”

“He's pretty pissed.” Junhong stated the obvious and Jongup offered a little chuckle.

“Yeah.” He said, “I figured.”

Jongup extended a leg, playfully pushing at the legs of Junhong's wheeled chair, sending him back a few centimetres, “That was honest. How I felt for all of you was. I don't fake friendship.”

Finally, Junhong smiled and shrugged his left shoulder, “Neither do I, Hyung.”

“You know we have plenty of forensics guys that can look at these for you. This isn't the best way to utilise your talents.” Jongup thankfully changed the subject by leaning forward and peering between the lumps of melted plastic.

“I know, but I like doing it myself.” Junhong shrugged, “I've aready analysed her stomach contents and all of her organs too many times. It's not like evidence is just going to appear, and I don't make a habit of missing things the first time around.”

“So I hear.” Jongup pushed himself up to sit on the bench, and Junhong silently noted he'd have to wipe it down later.

“Why did you become a doctor, anyway?” To Junhong's surprise, the question caught him off guard and he realised no one had ever asked him that before. Not even Yongguk.

“I thought it was obvious. Genius kid, and everything.” He offered a smirk, but Jongup just tipped his head on it's axis, not convinced.

“But why a pathologist? Not many fourteen year olds dream of pursuing a career in dead bodies.”

Junhong swung his chair around, just so he could face Jongup properly. He felt young, which was strange, Jongup was closest to him in age of anyone else he'd ever worked with.

“My parents were both doctors. My dad was a Obstetrician, and my mum was a surgeon. Brain stuff mostly, keyhole. They had a lot of books on anatomy, and since they were always working, I had to entertain myself. Sometimes mum would be away for days at a time, and if one of dad's patients went into labour, he would have to leave in a minute's notice and they'd ask the nice lady next door to come over and watch me, Madame Dupont. I always rifled through the books, memorising every single page until... Well, eventually Madame Dupont died. Dad and I went next door to see her and she was on her living room floor, a heart attack, and by the time the ambulance arrived I had already figured out how long ago she'd died, and her likely cause of death. I was around eleven at the time.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as though he was telling a very different story, “I think I always knew that I'd become a doctor, but that's when I decided what kind.”

“And MI5 just stumbled across you in the street one day?” Jongup raised an eyebrow.

“Well...” Junhong turned a light rose, “The Canadian secret service was already interested, and the CIA, but I found something exciting about Oxford and Europe. I think my mum just about died when I said I wanted to go there.”

“Do they know?”

“That it was MI5?” Junhong's smile turned sadder and he touched his left hand to his cast, rubbing along it slowly, “No. Advanced Program for Gifted Children. APGC. That's what they called it. I begged her to let me go. I was so excited about the prospect, I'd grown up watching all the James Bond movies with my mum and dad, the ty French dubs, and the thought of working for the real MI5 was like a dream come true, but even though I know they're prouder of me than I could ever imagine, I feel bad that they can never actually know what I really do.”

Jongup kicked his leg out again, just to gently nudge Junhong's knee. He could sympathise. “How long since you've been back?”

“To Canada?” The doctor shrugged and rubbed his cast a little harder, “I went to Toronto for a conference once, but I haven't been back home to Montréal since I left.”

“Your mum and dad must miss you a lot.” Jongup offered gently and Junhong smiled.

“Yeah. They still think I'm in Medical School. It's probably best that way.”

“They don't know you're in Korea?” Jongup frowned.

“No.” Junhong admitted, “No one really does. MI5 weren't thrilled with me for leaving, and plenty of other agencies had their eyes on me during my training. I think there was some concern about me being some kind of political or criminal target, so when I joined the Unit Yongguk saw that my birth certificate and adoption papers were wiped. Officially, Choi Junhong doesn't even exist.”

“That sounds lonely.” Jongup frowned.

“It's not so bad.” Junhong smiled, just a little smile, “I've got a new family here.”

Behind them knuckles rapped on the glass door and both turned as Yongnam strode in. His tie had been loosened, and his hair slightly ruffled. He looked tired with bags under his eyes, “What are you still doing here, Doctor? Yongguk will have my head if he thinks I'm over working you.”

“Just checking up on a couple more things.” Junhong said, as he stood and stretched his good arm up over his head, “Though I should probably head home.”

“Good. You keep working that hard and I'm going to have to offer you a job.” Yongnam's tone was scolding, until he turned to Jongup and it turned warmer, softer, “Come on, kid, you've been through the ringer. I'll drive you home.”

Jongup nodded and pushed up off the counter. He was exhausted, his legs and arms felt heavy as bricks, and his eyes were almost burning with it. Junhong stopped him, though, before he made it all the way across the room.

“When the car comes tomorrow there'll be a lot to look at. It's pretty burnt out, but I could use another eye. If you're not too busy.”

Jongup smiled and gave a nod, “I'd love to.” He said.

When Junhong left, he switched off the lights behind him. The NIS was eerie at night, empty hall after empty hall each illuminated with the same sterile white glow. He didn't see another person as he went round and round inside the belly of the beast until finally he made it up and under the stars, and in the cold, fresh air.

*

Himchan didn't last in HQ, not after Junhong left for the NIS. The exhaustion he'd ignored had crept up on him until his arms and legs started feeling like lead. You're mean when you're tired. Yejin had said it to him once. It was something he'd never thought about, until when he was sixteen or so, stressed out from exams, over worked and under-rested and he'd said something needlessly cruel to her, something he could never have meant. Of course she didn't react, just looked at him unimpressed. You're mean when you're tired. At that point he didn't know what tired meant, not really. That he didn't learn until he was well into his service, when he would have to go days without real sleep and he knew exhaustion so intimately that he was delirious from it. Then again after Yejin died he grew to know sleepless nights better than he had ever known a lover. Those were the nights when Yejin would visit him and he'd lie in bed, sweating through his sheets from fear and unable to close his eyes or else he'd see her dead and cold, smeared in mud and wrapped in algae. Water logged and alone, just the way the police had found her.

Fingers pressed in against his forehead and he rode up the rattling elevator to greet the sun, grateful for its warmth on his face. Honestly, he hadn't realised how much he had missed it, even after less than twenty-four hours in the dark.

It was past peak hour by then, and Himchan didn't have to struggle through crowds on his way back the way he'd come, over the river to Gangnam where he stumbled home through twisting streets and collapsed face down and clothed on top of his covers.

When he woke up, the clouds were the colour of peaches and cream. At first he didn't know where he was, and head pounding, his spine twitched with an anxious start, but he sat up and looked around and the familiar sparsity of his own bedroom calmed his racing pulse. The apartment had its back to the river, and instead large windows looked south, towards the hills of Irwon-dong. It was lush, green, peaceful; he loved the way the snow settled on the trees in winter, how birds congregated there in summer, how the swaying branches didn't remind him of his dead sister. Not the way the river did, at least. Really, everything reminded him of her. He couldn't escape her. He didn't want to.

A sound came from the next room. Footsteps paced back and forth, a cupboard opened and closed, and soon the extractor fan started whirring but even Himchan's still anxiously pounding heart didn't leap so far as to think a murderer would cook him a meal. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and shrugged off his coat.

It was Yongguk in the kitchen, of course it was, and Himchan rubbed the back of his aching head as he leant against the counter.

“What are you cooking?” He asked.

“You really should get around to furnishing this place.” Yongguk replied, without turning around, “You hardly have any pots and pans, you don't have any furniture. It looks like a display home.”

“I have some furniture.” Himchan replied, casting an eye over his shoulder. There was a couch, a television and a book case not far away, all by another large window, and he ate all his meals at the counter anyway, he didn't need a table. Plus it wasn't like he exactly had the clearance to do an abundance of work from home. In reality the bed was the only thing he needed.

“You've been here for three years.”

“I'm minimalist.”

A cupboard closed harder than necessary, and Himchan winced at the sound. Yongguk was upset about something, and not the calm kind of upset he showed in front of the others. The real kind, the honest kind and Himchan found himself wracking his brains, searching for something he'd said.

You're mean when you're tired.

“I spoke to Junhong this afternoon.”

Ah.

“About what?”

“About how great the NIS is. About the resources they have there, the facilities, the size of the team. He says he likes a bigger team, less uous. Less stepping on toes.” Himchan pulled out a stool and plopped himself down, he still didn't fully trust his legs, and his head was pounding with such ferocity he wonders if he maybe should have had the said doctor check him for a concussion before burning that particular bridge.

“Yongguk...” Himchan sighed, palm to forehead as though it would somehow smother the ache.

“He's upset, Himchan. With you.” There was a sort of natural authority their director held that Himchan didn't often feel him.

“I wasn't very tactful with him this morning, I said all the wrong things.” He admitted regretfully, but he couldn't lie to Yongguk, “I was tired, I'd spoken to Moon and Junnie came in at the wrong time-”

“You fought with Moon.” Yongguk corrected, turning to face him. Eggs were sizzling in a frypan behind him, Himchan tiredly hoped he wouldn't burn them, “And then, what, Junhong came in so you turned your anger on him? He was miserable. I've never seen him more relieved to leave HQ before, what the hell did you say?”

“He came in and started insinuating about me and Jongup and I just snapped at him about him not being in a position to give advice.” Himchan winced again. He really did feel awful.

“What is your problem?” Yongguk groaned, “He is the best forensic pathologist outside of Astana, Himchan, and if your inability to behave yourself in interagency cooperations makes him want out-”

“Me?” Himchan asked incredulously, his hand pulling back from his head to press indignantly to his chest, “You think I'm the one who is going to drive him away?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Yongguk's brows rose, and if Himchan didn't know him so well he'd think it was a challenge, and if Himchan was in his right mind, he wouldn't have risen to it. But he wasn't, so he did.

“You know what it means, Yongguk. I wasn't fair, sure, I shouldn't have said what I said, but it only hurt him because he thinks it's true. The kid is in love with you, Yongguk, anyone could see it with their eyes closed and you're playing this game of hot and cold like neither one of you is getting hurt!” He reached his hand out front, as though he was serving Yongguk something other than cruelty.

“I fail to see how any of that is your business.” Yongguk stepped back.

“Any of my business? You make it my business, Yongguk! You make it all of our business! You think no one notices when you sleep in the lab with him? When you give him a 'lift home.'” He quoted with his fingers, “The artwork on your desk, the paintings on his cast. You really think a single one of us doesn't know exactly what you two are doing? And you know for a fact that you are not the only one of us who cares for him. We all love him, Yongguk. Every single one of us, and it breaks me up inside to see the way he punishes himself for whatever it is that goes on between you.”

“Punishes himself?” Yongguk physically recoiled. He took a moment to pull the frypan off the heat, set it aside. The whites of the eggs were making a cracking sound, and the yolk was already hard, but he didn't take a breath to look at them, adding - “You don't have a right to an opinion about our relationship.”

“He smokes because of you. He knows you hate it, but he only does it when he's upset. And he's been doing it an awful lot lately.” Himchan countered.

“He's an adult, he can do whatever he wants. I'm his boss not his-”

“Bull, you fool. What you're doing is only going to make you both miserable and with this attitude, you deserve it. He doesn't.”

A ship passed up the river, probably coming from Incheon. It let out a low drawl of it's foghorn, and a couple birds from the trees outside were startled into flight. The snow on the ground was finally starting to melt, it hadn't fallen in over a week, but there was still no hint of green coming back to bared branches, and Himchan felt crushed under the weight of a never ending winter. At this point, all he wanted was spring.

Yongguk was surveying him with folded arms. He didn't look impressed, but at this point Himchan didn't really care. He stood from his stool and rounded the kitchen island to pluck up a set of chopsticks to pick at the eggs, still stuck to their frypan. At this point he didn't even really care what they tasted like, as long as they filled him up.

“When are you going to tell me you slept with Jongup.” It wasn't so much a question as a statement and Himchan snorted. The yolk crumbled as he cut into it, and it felt thick on his tongue.

“When are you going to admit to yourself that you're in love with Jun.”

Finally, Yongguk sighed. He turned to lean back against the counter and rubbed one hand down over his face. It was almost dark by then, and the dim only exaggerated the bags nestled under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept since he let them go to Busan.

“He's young. He has a lot of career left in him, and every intelligence agency in the world is trying to break the door down to recruit him.” He gave a thin, weak smile, “He has a thousand reasons to leave Korea.”

“You can offer him a pretty compelling one to stay.”

*

After the rain stopped the clouds parted and the night sky was dusted in stars and accented with the crooked smile of a waning moon. Of course Daehyun and Youngjae couldn't see it from a long way down below ground, where time didn't mean anything other than lost chances and evidence was piled higher than Namsan. Youngjae had taken to pacing sometime around 2100, and Daehyun was leaning so far back in his seat that if Himchan were there, he'd tell him he was going to break his neck.

In the early afternoon Yongnam's team had forwarded them documents pertaining to Song Ahra's role as an NIS informant and promised them that by the following morning he'd have a team of his agents they could liaise with. Which then gave them exactly one night to wade through the folders.

“What was the point of even sending these?” Daehyun groaned and pushed back his laptop as though it would make the documents quake. He had a package of sour lollies spilling out over the table, he said they helped him concentrate, and he spoke around the one in his mouth as he continued, “These are redacted beyond interpretation. Why would they give us documents if they're just going to censor them?”

“I don't think they redacted them for our benefit.” Youngjae said. He tipped his head side to side to stretch his aching neck, and snagged a sour worm from the table top, “The NIS is huge, they probably file things in their redacted form. And I guess if Yongnam is anxious about it being someone internal he wouldn't want too much information getting out.”

“But why are we reading them? We have a call scheduled with the NIS taskforce tomorrow, so why can't they just tell us what they know?” Daehyun all but whined and Youngjae rolled his eyes.

“Maybe they want another few pairs of eyes. In case they missed something.” He said, though as he said it his brows furrowed, “Wait how many nights did she stay on her trip to Seoul in December?”

Daehyun shifted forward and flicked through the files, “one night in safe house 74.”

“And before then?”

“One night in 74, it's where she always stayed.” Daehyun frowned as he flicked through the document, “Stay at safe house 74, then share information at one of the three cafés nearby over breakfast, then go back to Busan.”

“She came to Seoul two days before she was scheduled to meet with her handler, but she only has one night logged here in safe house 74.”

“So?” Daehyun prompted.

“So, she's been informing them for years, and she always comes for one night and stayed in safe house 74. Look, here they have that it's her cover. She tells Lee that she's staying with a friend, and then always shares the safe house with the same female handler, I guess in case she's followed. Why would she come early?” Youngjae asked.

“Maybe she wanted a day to herself in Seoul,” Daehyun tried, “Or maybe she was asked to by her handler.” He added and Youngjae turned to look at him.

“She came to Seoul a full day before she was due to meet with her handler,” He repeated and set the logs down on the table, “But what if she didn't. What if she came to Seoul with the intention of meeting her handler the night that she was murdered?”

“But the logs say the meeting was scheduled the morning her body was found.” Daehyun clarified and Youngjae nodded.

“That's the scheduled meeting.” Youngjae said, “This was another agent. Someone who set up a meeting with her off the record.”

Daehyun sat up straight again, his lollies forgotten, “Set up a meeting with her to kill her."