When North looks at me again, the smile is very much absent. He regards me with a placid kind of resignation. Sometimes I get the feeling he believes Director Snow made the wrong choice in attempting to rehabilitate the ex-OI assassin who wound up in their cells. I can't really blame him, as most days I agree with his assessment: that it was a bad call on Snow's part.
"Agent Roth," he says, voice a deep rumble of warning, mixed, surprisingly, with some amusement. "Do not blow up the OI facility tonight. They'll be cleared out by now, and none of us wants to be responsible for the death of innocent architecture. Plus, think of the cover-up costs. British intelligence doesn't want to owe Irish intelligence any favours."
"Got it." I let my mouth twist up at the corners, still leaning against the wall with a casual arrogance I know irks most people. "Wouldn't want to deprive any future heroin addicts of a good holiday home."
North makes a humming sound, which could be agreement or could be condemnation. Either way, it's the last of his contributions. He walks out the back door and disappears into the night like a ghost, an agent through and through, from his reflexes to his mercurial shadow to his genuine belief in the system he fights for.
With North gone, Leo and I are left alone again to deal with our failure of a mission, not to mention the new one now hanging over us.
"So," Leo says, moving to sit in the chair North vacated. He looks at me with a tired expression adorning his attractive face. "Do you want to tell me what your real problem is with Titanus Bullet?"
"Already told you," I mutter, irritated at Leo's inability to let anything go, to always feel the need to dig and scrape at the dirt covering my numerous psychoses, to try and find the bones of truth buried underneath.
"Yeah, okay, I'm gonna need more thanthe shady arms dealer is shadyas an explanation." Before I can protest this, argue that Titanus being shady is both an understatement and enough of a reason to be wary about going to meet with him, Leo tacks on knowingly, "You're way too amped up about this for it to be that simple."
"Fuck off, Leo. I don't owe you an explanation. And fuck you for not believing me when I tell you shit," I bite out, unrepentant at the disappointment that swims behind Leo's eyes at my refusal to play his game.
"Jack, come on!" There's a sudden flash-bang of real anger in Leo's voice, his frustration having given way to allow for a purer state of emotion. He sighs, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, giving me the look I hate, the one that says he's searching for an angle, a way tohandleme like I'm a difficult child and a barely tamed animal at the same time. "If it's going to affect the mission," he tries, seeming to realise it's the wrong thing even as he says it, "I need to know—"
I make a loud, furious noise, part scoff and part incredulous bark of laughter.
"Oh, if it's going to affectthe mission. Right." I pin Leo with the glare I usually reserve for the various no-name FISA agents I've been forced to deal with. "You know what, fuck you times three."
Leo doesn't snarl back like I want him to, doesn't let me see his teeth bared and countable. He doesn't retreat either, which is what makes him so different to anyone else I've met. Leo can't back down from a fight, doesn't even seem to know that's an option most of the time. It reminds me uncomfortably of my brother: a bomb without wires to cut. Unlike Dan, however, Leo is also capable of reining himself in, taking control of his emotions, and curtailing his initial reaction, to wind down and regain power by leaving the bait to dangle. It's the part of him that reminds me the most of Snow. They both seem to know the value of staying still amidst chaos.
"The fact you're getting so defensive about this only makes it seem more like there's something you're holding back." Leo's tone is maddeningly calm, like he doesn't care what my reasons are, like he's just asking to cover his bases, to be able to tell himself or anyone else that he tried.
Leo can't hide his feelings for shit, unlike his aunt. But I've seen him blatantly pretend the things he does feel don't touch him as deeply as they should. It's a conditioned response, born from years of growing up with an addict for a mother, learning over time to take direct hits centre mass like they're glancing blows because there could always be something worse coming, and no one can afford to absorb a near-constant barrage of strikes at soul level.
"Nice try, Snow." I sneer at him, using his surname because it puts distance between us, a distance I'm finding both harder and easier to traverse the more we know about each other. "But I ain't some easily manipulated civilian. You're gonna have to fine-tune your reverse-psychology bullshit skills if you want them to work on me."
Leo makes an exasperated sound and gets to his feet. He's back in my space within three long strides, completely unaware, for about the millionth time, how easily I could break him if I allowed that switch in my head to flip to red alert. He still doesn't realise how hard I have to work to keep myself in check when I'm around him. No one at FISA, with the possible exception of Snow, understands the hair-trigger instincts that were trained into me all my life by Obsidian Inc. I sometimes wish Leo would get how difficult it is for me not to strike out at the smallest provocation, how against my nature it is to offer mercy when every impulse I possess screams for me to react violently to perceived threats.
"Jesus Christ, you dick, would you just listen to me?" Leo gets up in my face, unafraid and obstinate, trying to reach for me yet again even though all I ever do is back away and bite at his fingers, confused by his insistence on giving me chance after chance to prove myself worthy of his faith and friendship.
Leo's brows pull together in a sad frown that kick-starts a familiar pounding guilt in my temples. I never really let myself feel guilty about shit before him. I couldn't afford to indulge in such luxuries. Being Leo's partner has made me sloppy, has made me weaker, has given me reasons to want to be selfish.
"I'm trying to understand what the problem is so I can help you," Leo says, a note of pleading in his voice. "If there's some really bad history between you and Bullet, I'll tell North you shouldn't be forced to go on the mission. If he kicks up a fuss, I'll just go meet Bullet on my own—"
"No fucking way." I push myself off the wall, practically ramming into Leo with the force of my panicked anger. I take hold of Leo's arms and give him a hard shake, snarling at him. "I'd knock you out and lock you up in the most secure basement I could find before I let you meet that twisted bastard without me there to blow his brains out if he makes a single fucking move to touch you."
I don't want Titanus Bullet in the same room as Leo. Hell, I don't want them on the same continent. It's like Titanus would corrupt the very essence of who Leo is just by being close to him and sharing the same air.
I'm holding onto Leo too tightly. I can see it in how he's trying not to wince from the pressure of my fingers, digging into his biceps. It takes a lot, far too much, of my shaky mental willpower to calm down enough that I'm able to loosen my grip on him, going so far as to drop one hand from his arm entirely.
I don't want to loosen my grip; I certainly don't want to calm down or let him go. What I really want, if I'm being honest, is to hold on tighter and shake him again, harder this time, until his teeth clack and his bones creak.
I want him tounderstand, to get it into his thick skull that he shouldn't be letting FISA put him in this position. He shouldn't be risking his life for them, for anyone. He's too good for it. He'sworth more. Let FISA send someone else to make a deal with that gun-selling motherfucker.
Leo shows yet more bad judgement by picking up the hand I dropped from his arm and putting it back there like he's trying to make some kind of statement with it, like it's a show of trust, like he's giving me permission to hurt him with my fear if that will make me feel better. It ignites a dark fury inside my head that is a legit danger to everyone around me: that Leo thinks anyone should have the right to hurt him for any reason at all. For him to think his own pain is worth giving someone else relief and reassurance.
"Jack." Leo looks at me, eyes darting all over my face, desperation in his voice. "Please, just tell me—"
I do the only thing I can think of to shut him up before I lose control of myself and all those hazardous emotions Leo has a knack for inspiring within me, a thing he's been able to do almost since the first time we met.
My lips close over his with a vicious snarl of want and rage, mixed together and diluted by the agony it elicits in my chest to feel Leo the way I've wanted to feel him since we last had each other like this.
Leo surprises me by not hesitating to return the kiss, instead pushing forward and taking my mouth in an answering attack of tongue and lips and teeth. He bites at my bottom lip, swiping his tongue over it afterwards like an apology meant to soothe. I push my tongue into his mouth, sliding it along his and licking at the top of his mouth and the backs of his teeth.
