Thanks MyLadyDay for beta'ing

The fourth and final theme: Art

State of the Art

Benn woke up with a stiff neck on an unfamiliar couch. As he rubbed the sore muscles, it took a moment to remember where he was. When it came to him that he had woken up in a bar, he had to chuckle, as that hadn't happened since he was in his twenties. However, the reminder that Shanks, once again, wasn't there when he woke up soured his mood.

With a sigh, he rose, wincing when a shot of pain went up his back. He was too old to be sleeping on couches, despite finally having had a good night's sleep.

He opened the door to the bar, where Makino was already preparing for customers. She didn't seem surprised to see him and greeted him warmly. Yasopp had gone home, it seemed, just like the students from the night before. As had Shanks, Benn thought bitterly.

"I thought you could use this," Makino said as she placed a plate with a hearty breakfast in front of him, along with a cup of coffee. "Oh, and Shanks asked me to apologise to you again for leaving."

"Again?" Benn frowned. Then, slowly, he remembered being woken up in the middle of the night, when Shanks had told him something had come up and he had to go. So perhaps that hadn't been a dream after all. That made it harder to be mad at him, as he had not snuck off again without saying anything, but that didn't mean Benn was happy about it. He was too old to chase people around, and he was definitely too old to be chased like a young maiden. He was looking for something nice and uncomplicated, which he didn't see happening with Shanks.

"You saw him?" he asked when Makino joined him with a cup of coffee.

She shook her head. "He left a note for me. Oh, and he wanted me to give you this." She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"He asked you to do that?" Benn asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, he actually said on the mouth and 'don't go easy on the tongue', but that seemed a bit excessive to me." She sighed, before she added, "Oh, and it's from him, not me."

"Yeah, I got that." Benn dug into his breakfast with mixed feelings. All logic pointed to the fact that pursuing a relationship with Shanks was not a good idea. Too much of a hassle. But on the other hand, Benn was intrigued by him, and what's more, he was attracted to him.

Maybe he could use some excitement in his life after all.

The excitement had to wait, at least the excitement Shanks brought to his life, as Benn was onto something big. While he still wrote the same old columns in the paper, in his own time he had been working on a piece about corruption in the police force, and thanks to an anonymous source, he had found out it went much deeper than that. Politicians and even the government itself were involved in the scheme.

What exactly was going to happen, Benn hadn't found out yet, but he couldn't help but feel excited. If his source was right, something very shady was going on, and he was about to uncover it all.

The problem was that his source was anonymous, even to him. He had received letters signed R. that gave him some information. In part, he had been able to verify it, but other things were still unclear.

At work, he rushed through the columns he wrote – they still had a higher quality than most of the paper, anyway – so he could continue with his research. He had to keep it on the down low, though, as his boss couldn't find out what he was really working on. He would no doubt put a stop to it. He had tried before, when Benn came to him with the corruption story the first time. His editor had pushed the story aside so quickly and resolutely that Benn suspected he might be on the payroll as well. Of course, he had no proof for that. Not yet, anyway.

The person sending him the letters, R., either knew an awful lot about what was going on, or had a very vivid imagination and not much of a life. When Benn received the first letter, he had thought it was probably a joke, but his curiosity had been aroused.

When the second letter came, with more specific information, Benn had started to dig. He had contacted some sources he had used before, and while not everything could be confirmed, R. had some things spot on, which was why Benn was giving them the benefit of the doubt. By the time the third letter came, Benn was fairly certain he wasn't dealing with a joker. There were some things in the letters that made Benn think the writer was a conspiracy nut, but he was investigating nonetheless.

He only wished he knew who his source was, and how they knew all this. They had to be an insider to be privileged with this kind of information, and even then, they had to be able to get in everywhere. In the police station, in the town hall, even in the houses of ministers. This had to be a very high up person. But how did they know Benn? From his columns in the paper? Those didn't give him much of a name, as they weren't even on the front page – this Benn owed to the fact that his boss did not like him, even if he was the best journalist present.

Benn started to wonder if he was dealing with a very elaborate joke after all.

He couldn't come into contact with R. to ask questions, as there was no return address on the envelopes, nor was there any other indication to their identity. They hadn't even mentioned why they had picked Benn to investigate this case.

His boss had noticed him receiving letters, as they were sent to his work address, so Benn hoped R. would take a short break until things had settled again. He wouldn't put it past his boss to open his mail if Benn wasn't there, so he started arriving even earlier and staying later, just to be sure no letters could be intercepted. Finally, a fourth letter arrived, containing the words Benn wanted to see the most.

Mr Beckman,

It's about time we get better acquainted, don't you agree? There is a lovely exhibition in the national museum. I, for one, will be visiting it Sunday afternoon.

R.

Since R. hadn't given any information what they might look like, Benn assumed they knew what he looked like. He wondered why, as there had never been a picture of him in the paper, but he would definitely be there.

Sunday couldn't come soon enough, and finally, Benn found himself in front of the national museum. It was rather busy, as a new exhibition had recently opened. After having bought a ticket, Benn waded through the mass of people.

He didn't pay much attention to the artworks presented – not that he could see much with all the people flocking around them anyway – but instead looked at the faces to see if any of them could be his source. He didn't even know if he was looking for a man or a woman, though. Based on the handwriting he might say it was a man, but that wasn't an exact science.

Benn wandered around the museum, pretending to look at the art. Hours passed, and no one had approached him about the letters. One time an old lady had tapped him on the shoulder, but it turned out he had dropped his brochure. He would have been surprised if she had been his source.

The halls of the museum became emptier and it was near closing time when Benn decided to go home. It seemed like he had wasted his day. Either his source had been joking the whole time, or they had chickened out at the last second. Or they had realised that they didn't know what Benn looked like after all.

Before leaving, he decided to go to the bathroom, which was empty aside from him. Benn walked over to the urinals.

"Hello, sailor," a voice suddenly said behind him.

Benn smiled, despite not having noticed someone coming in. "Are you here to appreciate the art?"

In the mirror, he could see that Shanks' eyes were firmly focused on his butt when he replied, "Oh, definitely."

Benn flushed the urinal and walked over to the washbasin to wash his hands. "As my ass isn't on display, I doubt that's what you're here for."

"Perhaps it is."

Benn wiped his hands on his trousers before turning around, his brows furrowed. "What are you saying?" When Shanks didn't reply, only flashing him a grin, Benn sighed deeply. "Don't tell me you're my source. Geez, if you wanted my attention, there are other ways to get it. Like not leaving all of a sudden."

"This is not a joke," Shanks said, his face earnest. He opened the door and gestured with his head for Benn to follow him.

Benn did so, as he had gotten curious. He had had too much of the information confirmed to think it was a joke, but how Shanks was involved was beyond him. Though, now that he thought about it, Shanks still hadn't disclosed much about himself, not even where he worked. Benn had a feeling he was about to find out.

"Shouldn't we leave?" he asked Shanks as they walked through the hallways, which were empty aside from a few security guards. Shanks just nodded at them.

"No, it's okay," he said. "I know the owner."

They walked through the hallway in silence, until Shanks suddenly entered one of the exhibition rooms. He sat down on the bench in front of a seemingly random painting, patting beside him.

"I love this painting. It's the Ophelia by John Everett Millais, do you know it?" he asked Benn.

Benn was surprised to find out that Shanks was an art lover. He shook his head. "Might have heard of it. Why are we here? Why did you send me those letters?"

"Getting straight to business, are we?" Shanks leaned against the wall and pursed his lips. "Remember on our first date you told me about the article you're writing about corruption in the police station?"

Benn frowned. It was a month ago that they has sat in the café, dripping wet from the summer shower. So he didn't remember everything he had said, but now that Shanks mentioned it, he had seemed interested in what Benn did for a living, more than most people would be. "So?" he finally asked.

"I was pretty sure back then that you were the right man for the job, but I needed to be certain. So I decided to send you some information, to see what you came up with."

"So, what? It was a test?" Benn asked, his eyebrows raised. He supposed it did explain why he was picked to pursue the story.

"I suppose you could see it as that."

"What for?"

Shanks rose and walked over to the Ophelia, leaning in a little as if examining it. "I don't think I ever told you what I do, did I?"

"From what I've gathered, you have to be an inside man in the government," Benn said.

"Sort of." Shanks turned to face him again. "The corruption in the government is well-known, but we only know that it's there, not where exactly and to what extent. You've come up with a lot of information in a short time, even things I didn't know yet. We could use someone like you."

"You're recruiting me to be… what? A spy?" Benn asked, still seated on the bench. "Also, I shouldn't ask how you know what I know, should I?"

"Spy is one word for it," Shanks said, conveniently skipping over the other question. "Would you be interested?"

Benn took a moment to think about what he had just heard. Being a spy did explain why Shanks kept disappearing and didn't share much about his personal life, but did he want to be one? It would certainly bring some excitement in his life. Additionally, he loved to chase stories and he didn't want to write tedious columns for the rest of his life.

"What if I say no?" he asked after a few minutes of consideration.

"Then I'll still ask you out," Shanks replied immediately, the grin back on his face.

"Oh really? And how many dates would that make?" Benn asked teasingly.

Shanks snorted. "You're obsessed with labelling everything, aren't you? But I suppose our fourth."

"Then this is a date as well?" Benn asked.

"We could turn it into one."

Benn let out a laugh. "You don't give up easily, do you?" He rose and held out his arm, which Shanks took immediately. "Then convince me to become somewhat like a spy on something that could be described by some as a date."