Jack is fidgeting, which is something he so rarely does. His discomfort is practically a physical thing, a shadow come to life.
"Hey." I curl my little finger around his, shooting a discreet glance at North to make sure he doesn't notice. "We've got this, yeah?" I keep my voice low, trying to reassure him without making him uncomfortable.
Jack sways as close to me as he dares, with North standing so close, and tightens the finger hooked around mine, tugging on it little, an agreement and a promise expressed without words.
It's like the nudge of a foot under the table or a bump of shoulders when walking side by side. Intimacy built piece by piece, with nondescript touches and looks that linger too long to be anything but purposeful.
We allow ourselves a brief handful of seconds to speak a language known only to us, in the brush of skin on skin and blue eyes on green, before breaking apart and taking some pointed steps away. Distance unwanted but very much needed if we're going to get into the right headspace for this mission.
North has me go through the usual checks with the camera and comm unit to make sure they're working correctly. He also shows me a video taken of the interrogation between Connor Lark and a couple of FISA agents, so I'm able to adjust my voice to closer match his. He has a Northern English accent, similar to that of Anabelle's deep brogue. It's a little less rough than my own Danger City accent. I'm no expert at accent emulation, but I can well enough imitate my aunt's.
Chances are, if someone recognises Connor's voice well enough to pick up on some very subtle difference, they'll also know him well enough to see I'm quite literally a different person. So I'm not going to worry about that until it becomes a problem in real time since I'd be all but fucked at that point regardless.
From the video of Connor, I'm also able to ascertain he's the reserved sort, offering only terse and uncollaborative answers to all the FISA agents' questions. That could be due to his circumstances. But it's another stroke of luck if I'm able to get away with barely talking or interacting with people and having that viewed as regular behaviour.
When North dubs me ready to go, he gives me the keys to Connor's black Toyota, which he informed me that FISA picked up at the same time they hijacked the OI guard. It will help my case to show up in a recognisable vehicle, and it hopefully means I'll be waved through without much attention.
"Good luck, Agent." North slaps my shoulder encouragingly, his expression becoming suddenly sterner when he warns, "No Lone Ranger hero bullshit on this one, okay?"
"Got it, sir." I flash him another broad grin, standing to attention and putting my arms behind my back in mockery of a soldier at parade rest. "I'll make sure to keep the James Bond role-play restricted to my downtime activities only."
Jack lets out a loud snort from across the room, green eyes hooded and lips slit up at the corners with mirth. North shoots him an unimpressed look, which only seems to incite more unrepentant amusement in Jack.
"Don't know 'bout that," Jack muses in an acerbic drawl, looking me over consideringly. "OI guards are into some kinky shit in my experience. Got real hard-ons for chains and humiliation."
It's probably not a good thing I've become so used to Jack casually referencing his abuse at the hands of OI guards that I don't wince at his heavy-handed reminder. If I had to guess, Jack is purposefully laying it on thick and trying to make us uncomfortable because he reacted so strongly to seeing me in the OI uniform. It's his way of proving how much he doesn't care, how much none of it bothers him.
"Come out to the car with me, partner," I coax, to get some time alone with Jack before I go. I'm not sure if he'll accept comfort from me whether North is watching or not, but it can't hurt to offer it just in case he's in a more willing mood. It can be difficult to tell with Jack: if he's in the right frame of mind to take a hand when offered instead of instantly biting it off just in case it's about to slap him.
Jack quirks an eyebrow at me in suspicion. "Why, you need someone to open your door for you, Your Majesty?"
Okay, he's definitely not in an amenable mood, then. Great.
"Yeah, maybe I do. Gonna make like a gentleman and fulfil one of my 1940s-era fantasies?" I challenge, moving towards the front door, sure Jack will follow if only to escape being left alone with North for any longer than necessary.
I dart a quick look at North to see if he'll protest Jack coming outside with me, but our handler has already dismissed us. He's shifted back over to his numerous computers and currently seems preoccupied with tapping away at a million strokes per minute, intense expression illuminated by the computer screen.
Slipping out of the safe house together, Jack and I track down Connor's car, parked a little way down the street. I use the keys North gave me to unlock the Toyota and pull open the driver’s side door, then turn back around to face Jack and lean against the doorframe.
Jack seems hesitant to step in closer despite the angle and openness of my body language, shouting a loud-and-clear invitation for him to cross the empty air between us. I'm unsure why until Jack's eyes dart pointedly to the camera attached to my jacket pocket, belatedly understanding his caution at the idea someone could be watching us from the other end of the disguised cam.
As frustrating as it is, he's right to be wary. Enough rumours are circulating about us and our "mysterious" relationship as it is; we hardly need to stoke the fire. FISA agents are like bored fishwives, especially the junior ones. They like to imagine salacious drama where there isn't any. Since Jack and I became partners, I've heard everything fromI was sent out as a honey trap to ensnare Jack into working for FISAtoJack is an undercover OI agent who's out to betray us all in a dastardly evil plan, using me as his in to the agency. Either way, one of us is a seducible idiot. If any of them finds out we have slept together, the gossip mill will give itself a coronary from excitement.
I put a hand over the button-shaped camera and reach out with my other one to snag hold of Jack's arm, tugging him until he allows himself to be manoeuvred deeper into my space. We aren't quite pressed up against each other, but it wouldn't take much. Jack grasps my hips, fingers digging in hard, more for something to hold onto than to yank us closer, the way he might have done if we were truly alone.
There's no audio on the camera, so we're free to talk without fear of anyone hearing.
"North's right, you know." I move my hand up to squeeze Jack's thick bicep. "I've been on plenty of missions just like this one before. There's no need for you to silently panic yourself into a catatonic state until one of the underling agents pokes you with a stick, and you make Damon's job harder by punching them in the throat." He only gets like that when he's upset and worried, two feelings this mission could easily inspire.
Jack looks at me with a troubled expression, eyes fixed on mine with such intensity it's like he's trying to keep me here, within reach and under his fierce protection, using the power of his mind alone.
"It's Obsidian Inc.," Jack mutters darkly, mouth forming a snarl around the words, like the name of his old organisation is a curse and an insult rolled together. The green of his irises seem to grow bright with anger, his voice betraying his bitterness. "There's always a need to panic over that hell. You survive it. You don't escape it."
"Youescaped it!" I remind him earnestly, squeezing his arm again and shaking him a little. "You got out, and you're never going back to them." I made Jack that promise when we met, and it's no joke to say, knowing what I do now about how life was for him with them, I'd rather take a bullet than let OI drag him back down into their cesspit of nightmares for a single bloody day.
"By chance." Jack scowls hard, dismissing my reassurance with the ease of a hand cutting through smoke. "Because you came across me by accident and helped me like no one else did in all the years I was with OI. Dan, and Rohan's mother, tried to get away, and OI had me kill them. Rohan got away, but they took him back. Your uncle left OI but only because your dad gave up his freedom in return."
There's conflict showing on his face now, sharpened by frustration I don't quite understand the origin of until he goes on in a more muted, perhaps even defeated, voice. "I can't help feeling like this isn't all there is. That I can't have gotten off this lightly. It doesn't seem right."
