“Not too violent for you, was it? I know how sensitive you are about murder and love and all that inappropriate kid stuff.”
A rush of mild annoyance washes through me. Why has FISA chosen to use such bizarre and cack-handed methods to torture me into compliance?
“I will stab you one day.”
Leo makes a loud groaning sound and knocks his head against the door with athunk.
“Again, with the knives of friendship. You need to expand your threat repertoire if you want this relationship to last.”
“Maybe you need to lower your relationship expectations. Not all love stories can beTwilight.” For which the entire human race should be eternally grateful.
Yes, I read the books.
“You sound like my ex,” Leo complains. “Who was a right twat, just so you know.”
I’m frowning before I can help myself, a flare of something hot and sharp spiking through my stomach.
“Did they hurt you?” I ask, and for the life of me I have no fucking clue why.
“A bit,” Leo admits because he is allergic to self-reservation. “I knew they were wrong for me, though. Damon hated ’em.” He says that part like it settles things, as if his friend’s opinion holds a significant amount of weight.
“I’ve got a habit of attracting trouble,” Leo adds self-deprecatingly. “My taste in romantic partners has been historically shite.”
It feels surreal to me to be sitting here in a cell, held by the British government, with some random agent talking to me about his disastrous love life.
I wish FISA would just make up their mind about what to do to me. Catch and release or permanent solution. I’m starting not to care which option they go with as long as a decision is actually made.
“Uh-oh, you’ve gone quiet,” Leo murmurs, sounding half amused, half worried. “I’m sorry for oversharing again. I know it will make it harder for you to kill me if you have to.”
My mind stops in its tracks at that, and I glare ferociously at the door that separates me from this living liability.
“Trust me, nothing you say will make killing you difficult.”
Leo lets out a dismissive snort, which I am immediately offended by.
“You’re a terrible liar for an ex-OI agent. Seriously. Someone needs to go back to superspy school and really crack down on their revision this time.”
It annoys me that he’s picked up on one of my most remarked-upon failures by the handlers I worked with at OI. They all told me I couldn’t lie for shit, and they always said it with the appropriate amount of scorn as if the inability to be dishonest was a flaw in my programming that caused them nothing but hassle.
“Killing you is getting easier and easier every time you open your mouth,” I warn him.
“Yeah, yeah,” Leo says, openly indifferent to my threats. “Keep snarling, man with the soul of a coked-up Chihuahua and the personality of a cactus going through a midlife crisis.”
“I am not aChihuahua!” I blurt out, unable to stop myself from reacting to the absolute nonsense this man just spouted.
“I didn’t say you were one,” Leo replies primly. “I said you had the yip-yapping inner spirit of one. You need to listen more. The two Ls, lying and listening. We’re gonna need to work on both of those if you want to make it in this racket, mate.”
This can’t be real. It has to be a test of some kind. A test of what, though? My patience? My barely existent sanity? I don’t know.
But I think I’m failing, whatever the case.
“Goaway,” I plead, uncaring of how whiny it sounds.
“Okay, okay,” Leo says, and I can picture him holding his hands up in placation. “I’ll leave you to brood in spiky, rageful silence. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
One thing about Leo is that he leaves when I ask. He seems to know when I’ve had enough and doesn’t try to argue or brazenly disregard my requests. It’s been a long time since someone did what I wanted them to do for no other reason than because I asked. A small thing. But not really. It’s the reason why I’ve let him stay a bit longer every time, just to see if he’ll keep leaving when I tell him to.
He always promises to come back the next day as well, even though I don’t ask or want him to. Because he’s right. Having him talk to me, like we’re both just people, and I’m some normal criminal FISA has captured, is making it more difficult to imagine the day I might have to carry through with my threats.
