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Ludwig managed a small anxious smile as Beck thanked him and, as she bustled off to grab the soup, he worked on finishing his drink. Feli was fortunate so have such a thoughtful coworker, someone who looked out for him like this when he fell ill. It was another reason Ludwig liked visiting the Bunker as often as he was able to: there was a real sense of family there, at least among the workers and the more regular patrons. When Beck returned with the thermos, Ludwig held his hands out, but hesitated when she mentioned Feli’s address.

”Ah, yes, please,” he answered. ”He’s never told me anything about where he lived before.” A little selfishly, Ludwig hoped Feli didn’t live too awfully far, like somewhere on the outskirts of the city proper. Honestly, he didn’t even have any idea how the other man got to work. If Feli rode a bike, it’d be reasonable to assume he lived nearby, but he had not the slightest clue. As far as Ludwig was concerned, Feli just appeared at the bar and vanished when his shift was over. The realization was embarrassing: he knew Feli’s favorite foods, hobbies, and even songs, but he had no clue how the bartender got to his job every day. It certainly made him feel like a poor excuse for a friend. When Beck pressed the thermos and the address into his arms, he clutched both tightly, before freeing a hand and fishing into his pocket for his wallet.

”He sounded miserable?” he echoed, digging out some change to pay for the beer. ”That’s not like him.” Maybe Feli was worse off than he realized. The thought became an uncomfortable stone in his chest, and Beck’s other remarks only made matters worse. If anything happened, none of us would even know. Ludwig forced himself to take a deep breath. It was just like the bartender, to spend all of his time looking after other people (including Ludwig himself) but not spare a thought for his own well-being when he fell badly ill. In fact, it sounded just like Feli to disregard himself like that. So when Beck asked if she’d be able to count on Ludwig, his reply was instantaneous.

”Of course. I’ll get going right away.” Already, he’d shouldered his jacket back on and had started searching in his pocket for the keys. ”Have a good evening, Beck, I’ll make sure he’s alright.  You don't need to worry.” He nudged the coins towards her and spun on his heel, heading quickly for the door.

Inside his car, Ludwig set the thermos securely in the passenger seat before taking a look at the address. Feli didn’t live terribly far away… but the part of London he called home wasn’t exactly savory. Shivering a little in the damp, Ludwig revved the engine to life, flicked on the heat, and started driving. The misty streets of London weren’t deserted by this time of night, but most people were already holed up at home in front of TVs and radiators and so Ludwig made good time. As he drove, he mentally recounted times he’d been sick, and what he’d needed. Eventually, he stopped for five minutes at a late night pharmacy to buy a box of tea and a pack of cold medicine, and only concern stopped him from pausing once more for other assorted items. He’d just have to assume that Feli had the basics — tissues, blankets, aspirin — available to him.

It took him longer than expected to find Feli’s apartment building, as he drove past it twice looking for it. Once he’d been certain of the address and parked the car nearby, Ludwig stepped out into the drizzle and stared up at the building, worry building uncomfortably behind his ribs. Feli lived in a rigid cookie-cutter apartment building, one of several near-identical ones on the block; all of them had fallen into some state of disrepair. As Ludwig walked to the door, he couldn’t help notice the shards of broken glass and other detritus that crowded the path. Above him, maybe one window in five had a light on behind it: the rest of the place looked dismal and dark. It felt difficult to picture bright, cheerful Feli living in such a sad-looking place.

Finding Feli’s nameplate on the intercom, Ludwig pressed the button next to it, waiting for an answer, and when one didn’t come immediately, he gave it two more rings in quick succession, more urgent. Finally he heard a click on the other end of the line and spoke up.

”Feli? It’s Ludwig. Beck told me you were sick so I’ve got some soup and tea for you. Can I come in, please?”

Standing quickly from behind his desk, Ludwig shook the offered hand firmly, inwardly grateful that Amos Knyarilay had gone through the trouble of introducing himself. The MP locked the agent's name securely in his mind as he gestured to the unoccupied seat on the other side of his desk.

"Pleased to meet you," he greeted. "I'm glad you were able to make it. I hope it wasn't too short of notice." His daily schedule was more often than not packed entirely full, and free time popped up suddenly and without warning, usually in the form of a cancellation. But Ludwig had kept the INTERPOL agent on his radar for a while, and the first chance he had, he'd blocked out time for a meeting and sent out an invitation. Thankfully, as an agent new to London, it seemed like Amos had more free time than he'd suspected.

And his guest did not disappoint. Although Ludwig was not an expert judge of character, the information he'd received about Amos paired with the man himself seemed to match well. The agent had a solemn and shrewd face and a calm demeanor, and although the compliment he'd received had caught him a little off-guard, Ludwig could tell that it had been honest and not the gesture of an obsequious man trying to earn favors.

"Good impressive things, I hope," he replied, his mouth twitching into what might have been a half-smile. "In politics, 'impressive' can mean a lot of things. Regarding your work, I think, the term is a little more clear-cut. There are many good reasons why I wanted to speak to you and not some other agent." Amos had a hell of a history and reputation behind him: his work in INTERPOL had been top tier, and Ludwig had even learned that he was still involved in tracking down and subduing his own brother, who'd become some kind of crime lord. Ludwig needed the advice of people who were willing to prioritize justice and safety over their own blood. That choice bit of information had sealed the deal and he'd been keeping an eye on Amos ever since.

"Would you something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?" Ludwig had been thinking about buying a coffee machine for his office, but that would give him even less cause to leave it. Besides, Molly seemed to enjoy stretching her legs if he ever sent her on errands to bring back food or drinks. "Truth be told, I have a lot I'd like to discuss with you, so I might as well get you something to drink in the meantime." As he waited for the other man's answer, Ludwig retook his seat behind his desk and made himself comfortable. Although he had a computer, he'd requested a paper copy of the past year's crime statistics so that he could give Amos some homework. He had no doubt that the agent had already been well-informed about London's criminal problems, but Scotland Yard's reports would probably paint a different picture than some chart full of numbers. Despite it being the size of a Pynchon novel, Ludwig had read through the entire thing; it made a ponderous thud as he dropped it atop his desk.

"I'm sure your superiors have already explained a little about why we need INTERPOL agents here," Ludwig went on. "The London criminal underground has quite a history - fictional and non - and lately, it seems to be undergoing some kind of renaissance. Even MI6 seems to have their hands full. What do you make of this?"

He hadn’t been expecting the half-tackled hug from the other man, and it was only his own strength that kept Ludwig from falling right over onto the booth seat. But the happy look Feliciano gave him in return made up for the surprise hug, although Ludwig could only guess at what he’d done to earn such affection until the bartender explained himself. It was some small relief to hear that Feliciano wouldn’t get in trouble for any kind of absence and that the bar had even prepared for him to be MIA for the evening (Ludwig felt a little embarrassed to learn that apparently his presence had affected the work schedule of their employees so drastically).

”Well, I don’t plan to stop visiting here anytime soon,” he reassured Feliciano as he was released from the hug. ”So that’s very good to hear… and I hope it helps you and your coworkers.” Even if his life got busier (although Ludwig had difficulty picturing how he could fit even more work into his schedule), he’d always make sure to make time for the bar, if only because he had friends here. To him, these kinds of relationships were irreplaceable, especially these days when he had so little time outside of work to meet new people.

As Feliciano finished his drink and hopped up from the booth, Ludwig turned back to his beer; of course, he wouldn’t be allowed to take it with him, and imitating the other, he drained his glass. Just the one beer wasn’t enough to make him tipsy, but on an empty stomach the alcohol quickly became a comfortable warmth in his veins, and he took a little longer than usual tugging his gloves back on before standing up to get his overcoat. Once he’d gathered his things, he reached for his wallet to pay, but Feliciano took a hold of his hand while it was on the way to his pocket.

”Oh—“ Ludwig knew he should have been used to Feliciano grabbing his hand by now, as it certainly happened often enough, but somehow it always caught him a little off-guard. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was because no one else he knew did that. The bartender was the most physically affectionate person he knew, but even when he expected the gestures, he could never predict when one might occur.

”Just add the beer to my tab, in that case,” he called out to the workers behind the bar. ”I’ll pay for it the next time. And — feel free to eat my chips, I’ll pick those up too. My treat.” Of course there would be a next time; there always was. With that resolved, Ludwig felt like he could leave the bar with a clean conscience and allowed Feliciano to tug him towards the door.

Compared to the warmth and noise of the bar, the street outside felt dark and silent, and Ludwig could feel the London fog starting to cling to his skin. However, the chill of the evening reached no further than that; the combination of the alcohol and the welcome company had a pleasant way of keeping him feeling warm.

”Well… lead the way,” he spoke, turning to Feliciano with a nod, and although his mouth remained a calm straight line, there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. Despite how poorly his day had begun, this was certainly shaping up to be a pleasant evening.