[ when emma first became an agent, she'd thought she'd come out the other side with a great partner: someone she'd bond with, come to rely on, and trust implicitly. the sort of partnership that might even span her career and determine the course of her missions, there to account for her own failings and create a truly impressive team.
what she ended up with was a mouthy, arrogant, royal pain in her ass, who's way too cocky for his own good.
if emma had a dollar for the number of times in an hour that she rolled her eyes at faraday, she'd be able to retire (and what a reprieve that would be). when first assigned, she'd even put in for another partner after their intial field test together, only to be told to suck it up and make it work. no amount of finagling or otherwise could change the agency's mind, and ever since, emma's been learning to work with faraday.
probably the most frustrating thing about it is that he's actually good. he's not a bad agent, by any means, and is, in fact, incredibly impressive. it's just that damn attitude of his that puts emma off so badly, and if she could slap a strip of duct tape over his mouth, oh, she wouldn't hesitate some days.
but still, the way they move through their work together soon becomes a well-oiled machine, and their assignments keep popping up left and right, only to be handled with grace and efficiency. he balances out her weaknesses, and she his, easily making up for their own failings to the point that they do become an admirable team. she's just come to accept that as long as she keeps the amount of time she has to spend with him to a purely professional setting, she can handle it. he's not the sort of man she'd see in her downtime, but, then again, emma doesn't often spend her days off with men — or, really, anyone from the agency. she works ungodly hours as an agent, which doesn't lend itself well to outside friendship (and it's not like she could tell other friends what she did for a living), and she effectively sees herself married to the job.
(rumors circulate the agency that she used to be actually married, had a husband and everything, but the story changes nearly every time about what happened to him — and emma certainly never brings it up.)
even less conducive to friendship or romantic entanglements are the missions that easily take weeks to complete. the extended time with faraday is always a little grating for emma, but considering the amount of work they're constantly doing, she figures it balances out well enough. but these undercover missions? these are the real struggle, and the newest one that chisolm has presented them with is going to be one hell of a ride.
"You're got to be kidding me," was all emma could manage when she read the brief, because with this new type of cover, oh, this is going to be a whole new kind of pain.
"Make it convincing," chisolm said, "make it work."
"convincing."
emma's still mentally grumbling over their assignment, over the cover they're expected to keep. acting like they're involved? in front of mass amounts of people? lord help her, this is going to be the most difficult mission she's had to date, she just knows it.
if emma was better at appreciating the fun possibilities of an assignment, she might realize that an opportunity to wear incredibly nice clothes, stay in a fantastic hotel, mingle with the haut monde of society (well, maybe not that part) while attending such a fantastic party could be a pleasant side effect of needing to go undercover for the event. but, really, she's just thinking about all of the time they'll have to spend being a plausible enough couple while engaging with those incredibly rich individuals.
joy of joys.
but it's all necessary, she knows, the easiest and most successful opportunity to uncover one of the biggest international arms deals the agency's seen, even if that does mean they have to put themselves right in the middle of it to dig up all of the names and appropriate evidence. it's the sort of mission she knows she and faraday can handle, but— this added undercover element is throwing her slightly off balance.
with everything set up in their hotel room — surveillance, weapons, emergency supplies — emma is just finishing getting ready for the evening's party. mingling is the name of the game for the evening, making contact with specific individuals, and, above all, trying to figure out where and when the deal will go down (and where all those damn guns are being stored).
emma puts a final pin in her hair before reaching for the tiny thigh holster she plans to keep under her dress for the evening; she can't carry her usual weapons, conscpicuous as they would be, so this will have to do. glancing over at faraday, her expression is all business. ]
It's probably why he's so difficult to work with. He takes risks, makes stupid bets with his life, calculates the odds at a breakneck speed – and even when the odds are only in his favor by the slimmest of margins, he takes his chances and hopes for the best. He's reckless and cocky and far too irreverent and—
And he's damn good at his job, much to his handlers' chagrin.
Pairing him with Emma Cullen had been a strategic choice, as much as a practical one. She tempered the worst of his impulsiveness, forced him to look before he leaped, and was just all around a giant goddamn killjoy – in Faraday's eyes, anyway. (She wasn't the only one to ask for a new partner, after all, but after a few missions together, it became clear that Agent Cullen was the only one who could rein him in.)
After a while, Faraday began to recognize Cullen's skills, recognized that her strategic mind, her laser-guided focus, was an asset. Where he took risks and acted on instinct, Emma was methodical, examined everything on a macro-level, moved forward with a terrifying kind of determination. When she set her mind to something, Faraday learned to either follow in her wake or get bowled over. All things considered, it wasn't a terrible partnership, though they never became what one would consider close. Never became friends.
And that was fine, Faraday supposes. He doesn't have much in the way of friends, anyway. As far as their work went, he trusted her with his life, and he's reasonably sure she trusts him with hers (to an extent), and that's probably good enough.
Probably.
When they received their briefing on their newest mission, Faraday had merely laughed his ass off, while Emma expressed exasperated disbelief. He laughed and laughed and laughed until his sides ached, until Chisolm had turned his gaze on him in that patient sort of way of his, and Faraday had waved a hand to signal, Alright, okay, I'm good now. Go on.
When they left the room, Faraday saw the quiet yet restrained outrage on Emma's face, and it only set him off all over again.
He's reined it in by now, though, resolved to have fun with it even if Cullen won't. He cleans up pretty well, surprisingly, dressed in a dark three-piece suit. His shoulder holsters sit over his waistcoat, his favorite guns resting on either side. For most undercover missions, carrying in weapons would be too dangerous; for this job, nearly every guest is expected to be packing, though not so heavily as to affect their silhouettes.
That would just be tacky.
When Emma addresses him, Faraday is smoothing down his jacket and checking himself over in a full-length mirror, ensuring his pistols don't show too terribly. (They don't.) He responds absently to her question, as he straightens his tie, ]
You're done already? I thought ladies were supposed to take forever getting ready.
[ emma gives him a withering look, one of the usual, "you're really not that funny" glares that she always seems to have in her back pocket when it comes to faraday. her tone doesn't change as she slides up the skirt of her dress, using the delicately placed slit in the fabric to firmly secure the holster to her thigh. easy access to her pistol, when (hopefully "if") she needs it, and, fortunately, it doesn't at all affect the way the dress flows down her hips. ]
Unlike you, I don't have to spend hours preening.
[ like everything else emma does, she'd even been especially efficient getting ready for this party. her updo and makeup are pristine, the dark green dress highlighting her hair color and the curve of her body in the most flattering of ways, with a pair of near-extravagant heels that pulled the entire thing together. it's likely the first opportunity faraday would have had to see her dressed to the nines, but then again, emma's never gotten a good look at faraday in something so formal and, frankly, fetching.
were he anyone else, she might admit that (at least to herself), but agent faraday being, well, faraday, wild horses would have to drag that sort of comment out of emma.
turning expectantly to the other agent, emma scoops up her clutch, crossing her arms over her chest as she indicates their hotel room's door. ]
Can we head downstairs or do you need to admire yourself a little longer?
[ He snorts a little. "Preening," she says, as though looking anything less than their best wouldn't draw unwanted suspicion. He pointedly keeps his attention fixed on the mirror, smoothing down his jacket one last time, though the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth belies his intention.
He's doing this to annoy her, not because he particularly cares.
When he does finally turn to her, he has that expression on his voice that precedes some smart-ass comment – likely one that he knows Emma hates, except—
Faraday finally gets a good look at how she's dressed, how she looks, and his mouth goes dry. He wastes a few seconds blinking, expression slack, and he silently thinks, Holy shit. It takes a while, but eventually he clears his throat, wrangles his expression into something closer to his usual punchable smirk, and says, ]
Nice dress.
[ He brushes some imagined lint from his sleeve before he offers her the crook of his elbow. ]
Ready if you are— [ And he grins when he adds, ] —darling.
[ emma is far too perceptive to miss the look on his face, the way he just seems positively stunned to see her standing there in that particular dress. usually, emma is dressed for practicality, unless a mission calls for otherwise, but this? this is a special level of extravagant that isn't likely to come around again soon.
it makes her feel just a touch even, like he deserved to have a wrench thrown into his usual cocky attitude for making a show of smoothing out his suit. he'd clearly been doing it to bother her, always trying to get under her skin in small ways, and so leaving him dumbstruck for a moment seemed perfectly validating for emma.
she just raises an eyebrow at him, her tone brusque. ]
Nice suit.
[ not a "thank you" or a real acknowledgment of his reaction, mostly because she figures they don't need to waste the time.
she eyes his proffered arm with something near disdain, but then reaches out to take his forearm lightly. ]
I swear, if you call me that when we're alone, Faraday...
[ she lets the threat hang in the air, but she's obviously more inclined to get down to the party rather than argue with him.. ]
[ Faraday snorts at the warning – because of course he does; of course he would take it with only with a grain of salt. He has no doubt as to the world of hurt she could subject him to (they had undergone the same training, after all), but seeing as how he isn't quite dead yet, nor has she actually maimed him, he's apparently decided to take his chances.
He guides them downstairs without further comment – though he does grin, in that spiteful way that he uses almost exclusively with Emma.
The party itself is being held in one of the hotel's ballrooms – tastefully decorated in pristine whites and deep, warm browns. Neutral territory, apparently; not that everyone in attendance had anything to do with the arms deal, but wheeling and dealing was always at hand at these types of events. Easier to take care of such things where no one could be perceived to have the upper hand.
At the entrance, a guard checks for invitations – some big, burly man in a black suit that just barely covers his massive frame – and Faraday slips theirs from the inside pocket of his jacket (the slip of creamy paper is addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Brennan"), hands them over without looking. Not nervousness, by any means, but demonstrating an air that informed the guard that Faraday had hardly noticed his presence. The guard notes the snub, only responds with the slightest twitch of his upper lip, and waves the two of them through.
By now, the two of them have been on enough undercover missions to have cultivated a sort of secret language. So when Faraday sniffs slightly as they walk in, scanning the crowd, he says, ]
Not much of a party.
[ which means, "I haven't spotted any of our major players." ]
[ emma is purposefully nonchalant about the way she examines the party at large, glancing across the crowd. a few notable names, she mentally assesses, but she realizes just as quickly that the prominent pieces they're supposed to focus on for the night haven't made an appearance. ]
I think it's still early.
["take a better look around; keep your eyes open."
at this point, it's a matter of scouting out the ballroom, making note of the threats and their locations, easy outs, side rooms that could be of interest, and otherwise. she's already examined the layout of the hotel, memorized the exits and noted the security, but it's different to see it in person, to physically appraise the things she'd seen in files. ]
Bit of a full house, though.
["loads of guards." more than she'd planned for, but she doesn't anticipate it being a problem. they've handled more men than this before, and if things go according to plan (which they never do with faraday), then they won't have to deal with them head-on — the preferred option.
they're going to have to excuse themselves at some point to get a look at the behind-the-scenes aspect of the evening, but before they can do that, they need to find the persons of interest, figure out where they're going. that'll be the biggest problem, but even then, she doesn't anticipate many hiccups.
a server approaches them quickly enough, offering flutes of champagne from a tray. emma takes one for the sake of appearances, though she doesn't intend to drink it. they're here to work, after all, not enjoy the party. ]
[ it's the waiting that's the worst part of it all.
it's knowing that bogue is within reach of the agency (of emma), and that if they can catch this deal, if they can catch them all in one fell swoop, bogue will be done. it'll be the last nail in bogue's coffin, and emma can finally find the closure that she's been dying for all these years.
the memory of her husband can finally be at peace when bogue sees justice.
when emma truly finds the righteousness she's sought for so long.
she needs this, in ways she'll never be able to articulate to faraday (and in so many others that she absolutely refuses to try). she's on edge for the next few days, so distracted by her ungodly level of focus that she can't even spare a thought to the party, to the kiss with faraday, to...whatever it was that she'd been feeling. all that matters, and all that will matter until this is over, is seeing bogue finished.
there's a lot of setting up to be done, and they work out of a small safehouse a few miles from the docks. calls are made, agents and additional backup are provided, and, of course, all the weapons they could possibly need are there and waiting for them. surveillance is key until the night in question, and emma spends unreasonable hours watching screens, practically living off of coffee, and not...sleeping especially well. she needs to be well-rested, she knows it, but she can't bring herself to settle down.
not this close to such a pivotal moment.
when the night of the deal finally rolls around, emma is ready. she won't be going in personally (because that's not her strong suit), but she'll be watching faraday and other boots on the ground. her responsibility will be keeping her partner alive from a distance — her specialty, really — and while it rankles her just a touch to know she won't be able to see bogue's face, not quite in person, she knows she's better off finding her perch and staying there.
faraday will need all the help he can get, after all, given how few other agents are going to be ground support. he and emma are a good team, absolutely, but the agency is far more concerned about keeping other backup in the peripheral — as a last resort.
but this? she can handle this.
she's in position, finishing her setup with her rifle, and she runs a quick check of the earpiece that keeps her connected on a secure channel to faraday. ]
I say this every time, but please try not to do anythin' stupid tonight.
[ there isn't really humor in her tone, because now is not the night for it. ]
Which was not, in itself, an odd thing. But she was focused, aimed and primed like a loaded gun. And this went beyond her usual concentration, her usual determination, and Faraday knew this was different. That this was personal in ways he didn't understand.
Not for lack of trying. Because he broached the topic, of course, after that first night with the party. In the quiet of their safehouse, as they monitored surveillance feeds, as they readied their equipment, as Faraday crept out in the middle of the night for a quick smoke, only to see Emma still awake and staring at screens, Faraday asked again and again: What is it that's got you so worked up? And every time, he got some variation on a deflection: Not now. I'm busy. We're working. Focus on the job, Faraday.
Eventually he realized there was no point in asking. She had no intention of answering him then, and he doesn't expect she'll have any intention of telling him anything in the future. The way of things, he supposes – she always did make a point of keeping Faraday at arm's length. Not that he minded, but it'd be nice for her to display some modicum of trust that went beyond knowing he had her back in a fight.
Just like he usually trusts her. But with her focus currently the way it is – something like a fire threatening to overtake its containment – right now, he's not so sure.
He moves into position, the other agents along with him fanning out to cover more ground. With the shipyard constructed and laid out as it is, there's far too much cover, far too many places to hide, but with the information he and Emma have learned over the past few days, they have the actual meeting narrowed down to an open area toward the center of the yard.
He's moving his way into cover behind a shipping container, peeking around the corner. Not much movement yet. It's as he's ducking back that Emma breaks the silence and—
Well, he chuckles. Because it's familiar, and for as tense as she's been these past few days, it's something of a relief. ]
No promises. You know my affinity for stupid wagers.
[ He checks his pistols for what has to be the hundredth time before tucking them away into his shoulder holsters. The rifle gets another check, and as he's looking it over, he asks quietly, ]
Please tell me you didn't go and make any outrageous bets on tonight.
[ emma just sighs, but then she's pressing her eye to the scope, carefully scanning the area closest to faraday. her radius expands out from there, and she's checking every lane leading down to her partner, to the other agents farther out. she's not responsible for them, not in the same way she's watching faraday, but she still makes a cursory check of their surroundings.
she homes in on a few goons up ahead, but she doesn't fire yet; she's there to cover faraday if he needs it, not to start picking them off immediately. she's less likely to miss the crucial moments if she reserves her shots for odds where faraday is overwhelmed, where he needs an extra gun.
they're nowhere near that point in the evening. ]
On your ten o'clock. Two armed guards, 40 meters ahead.
[ she sweeps out again, catching another set. ]
Three more. Another 20 meters out.
[ so far, nothing out of faraday's control. the downside to the area, however, is that because of the shipyard's layout, there are too many enclosed buildings. untold waves of men could be inside any of them, and at a split second's notice, they could flood the yard. the extra agents make that less of an immediate concern, but emma doesn't like unpredictability. she needs certainty in her life and in her work, so wild cards and unconfirmed numbers left her completely out of her depth.
but that's one of emma's strengths, in all honesty. while she desperately wants to control every variable, she can also adjust at the drop of a hat, reevaluate her plans to account for new information, and come out the other side just as prepared.
it benefits her greatly with the way faraday operates, because he tends to just chuck her plans right out the window. ]
[ Faraday grins to himself, glancing up in the general direction of where Emma's stationed herself. ]
Alright. I won't tell you.
[ Which is a joke, of course. He hasn't made any bets on tonight, but Emma doesn't need to know that. In fact, it's better that she doesn't, which will allow that little question to act as a little thorn in her side. Part of the charm of their relationship, he supposes, the way he prickles at her and the way she suffers it all with frayed patience.
Faraday slings his rifle back over his back, moves a little closer to the open area he and the other agents are circling around. He spots the two guards, their forms cast in yellow thanks to the nearby lamppost, then the group of three further out. ]
Five's not much, is it?
[ Cocky. Self-assured. He's faced down worst odds than this and lived to tell the tale. Still, there's no telling how many other men are skulking around, or how many more might show up when things go to shit, so he stays hidden. They can't make a move until the deal starts up, anyway. ]
[ it takes a great deal of willpower for emma not to roll her eyes at faraday, but she's concentrating too much to take her gaze off the scope. she mumbles something like "five's not much, really?" under her breath, but doesn't speak up; in reality, she knows he could handle it, fast as he is, but when bullets start flying, she'll be there to thin out the numbers.
she keeps looking, keeps waiting for some kind of movement. ]
Not ye—
[ she cuts herself off, homing in on an approaching car. ]
Wait.
[ the car pulls up outside one of the bigger warehouses, near the open space they'd staked out. a burly guard gets out, opening the door for another man, and then rivera steps into the evening air. ]
Rivera. I count four guards in the vehicle. And Bogue is—
[ as she speaks, the warehouse door swings open, producing bogue and his own small cadre of men. her fingers clench in a white-knuckled grip on her rifle, her jaw tight and her voice coming out in a flat, icy tone. ]
Warehouse. He's there.
[ it would be so easy for her to just shoot him now. she has a clean shot, no agents in the way, a distinct lack of chaos (so far) to interfere with her perfect aim. she could do it.
[ Faraday risks another quick glance again, spotting Bogue and his small army. The man always did strike Faraday as paranoid, as needing to have the most toys on the playground. Petty, in a way.
But what it means is that a paltry five guards has quickly become sixteen men, with more possibly lying in wait. Faraday feeds the information to the other agents, speaking quietly into the device hooked on the shoulder strap of his tactical vest. A few brief, murmured confirmations from those closer to Rivera and the warehouse from which Bogue exited. That done, he returns to his shared comm with Emma and quietly says, ]
We need that evidence.
[ A warning. A reminder. Because for as little as Emma has offered by way of her history with Bogue, Faraday can at least figure out for himself that there was bad blood between them, that Emma wanted nothing more than to rip the man's head from his shoulders.
An itchy trigger finger here could spell weeks, months, of work with nothing to show for it.
He creeps closer, keeping low to the ground and staying in the shadows as much as he can. A risk, admittedly, but Faraday is nothing if not a risk-taker. The two key players and their guards keep their distance from one another, close enough that their voices aren't raised too much, but far enough for there to be a definite no man's land between them. Rivera, of course, seems to insist on making small talk again, commenting on the chill of the night and making a show of straightening the gloves on his hands, of adjusting his coat. Even from this far, Faraday can tell the impatient way Bogue seems to bear it. ]
Hold until they show the goods.
[ Another whispered reminder, but to all of the involved agents, this time. A few murmured agreements in return, and Faraday readies his rifle. ]
[ Escaping from the shipyard was— difficult. Not so difficult as to be impossible, thankfully, but difficult enough that by the time they reach the outskirts, Faraday is ashen, entire body shaking with the effort of putting one bum leg in front of the other. His injured leg threatens time and again to buckle underneath his weight, but Emma steadies him, her arm wrapped firmly around his waist to keep him upright.
Fitting, really. Appropriate. Except Faraday doesn't bother to take the time to appreciate the artistry of it.
It's a wonder they escape without any further injuries, though Faraday doesn't have a mind to offer up his thanks as they make good their retreat. By the time the other agents are pulling him away, his head is clouded with a haze of pain, sweat standing out on his forehead. He has just enough smart-ass left in him to mumble, "When do I get the good painkillers?" as they drag him away.
After that, Faraday doesn't remember a whole lot. An ambulance ride and a tech cutting into his clothes. Someone telling him the bullet nicked an artery, and Faraday murmuring, "Yeah, that sounds right," just as he let exhaustion finally claim him. At some point, they must have taken him into surgery, must have patched him up, must have deposited him into a quiet, private room to recover.
It would logically follow, considering that's where he wakes up.
The machinery beeps around him quietly as he comes to, the blinds and curtains drawn to block out the worst of the mid-morning sunlight. (And thank God for that, because even that dim light is enough to make his head ache.) His skull feels like it's been stuffed with cotton – not too dissimilar from waking up after a long night of drinking, all things considered. He feels heavy. Tired. And oddly chipper, though a quick glance at the crook of his arm leading to an IV drip tells him that's probably the drugs more than anything. He runs a hand over his injured leg, finds the bandages there, and decides to leave well enough alone.
A quick examination of the room, then. One door, closed, leading out. One small window, covered. One red-haired woman in a chair, quietly dozing—
... Huh.
Faraday stares at Emma, caught between amusement and surprise, unsure why he's a little warmed by the idea that she might have been waiting all this time. (The drugs, he tells himself. It's the drugs.) She probably hasn't, though. She probably just dropped in, happened to pass out – unsurprising, considering the night they had. ]
Emma.
[ It comes out hoarsely, throat dry and sore. He coughs a little, licking his lips afterward. His voice is a little less of a mess when he tries again. ]
[ debriefing had been exactly as much fun as emma anticipated it to be (read: 'not at all'). some of that had been due to the fact that while her emotions are a roiling pit of confusion, she's constantly thinking about faraday.
what had happened. what could have happened. the fact that she'd let him down. that stings especially, because she knows, given their track record together, that if she'd been covering him like she ought to, the way she owes to him as his partner, he'd never have taken that bullet. he'd have been in that debriefing with her, blithe, sarcastic comments and all.
instead, she's been waiting at the hospital since chisolm gave her the all-clear to leave. he'd suggested she get some sleep, maybe consider some counseling (because emma may not be public about her history with bogue, but sam knows it all, from top to bottom; he gives her that kind of solemn, knowing look he's perfected when she shrugs him off, and a quiet, "call me, if anything comes up.").
but emma being emma, she doesn't want to talk about it — to sam, or a shrink.
she stops off at home to change, and now? she's been going from waiting room to waiting room, constantly bouncing around with little to no information about faraday's condition. concern has been a heavy rock in the pit of her stomach, guilt and anger still warring for dominance the entire time, but when a nurse finally comes out, calls her forward to talk to her about faraday, it's relief that wins over. she's even allowed into faraday's room, to sit beside him while she sleeps, and emma doesn't dare leave him longer than it takes to run off for a cup of coffee (which there still are a few empties sitting on the small table beside her chair).
it's his voice that actually wakes her, and her eyes immediately snap open, painfully alert, like she's expecting something other than—
—just faraday. there in his hospital bed, looking groggy and hazy-eyed, but looking at her all the same. ]
...Joshua.
[ it's a name she rarely (nearly never) uses, but the consolation of seeing him awake is enough to shake it out of her. soft as anything, without the same level of fury she'd carried with her the night before.
(she's still angry, but far less so at faraday; it's belied by concern, by a need to see him recover.) ]
How're you feelin'?
[ a stupid question, maybe, but hopefully the drugs are doing their job. ]
[ He smiles a little at the way she goes from asleep to wide awake in the span of a breath. She always did manage that better than he did. Waking up for him tended to be an ordeal. His gaze drifts over to the table nearby, to the paper coffee cups sitting there, and a thoughtful frown begins to form on his face.
The use of his name startles him, though. Breaks apart the thoughts and questions before they can form, and on blind instinct, he murmurs, ]
Don't call me that.
[ Though the correction isn't as sharp as it could be. No one calls him Joshua, not since he was a child. He prefers to keep it that way.
He takes a breath, pushing himself up to sit. It pulls at the wound in his leg, and the drugs do well to manage his discomfort, it's still a bit of a pain. ]
'M fine.
[ Which is mostly true. He's getting there, at any rate. ]
Did anyone find Bogue?
[ because of course his mind would go immediately back to work. ]
[ the corner of emma's mouth twitches at the correction — not quite a smile, not quite her usual scowl. she doesn't think to say anything else about the name, instead focused on the way he works on sitting up, and she straightens in her chair, watchful in case he needs help, in case he's doing something to the newly-repaired wounds in his leg.
she breathes a soft sigh of relief when he doesn't seem to have shaken anything too important, doesn't seem to be hurting too terribly, and relaxes back slightly in her chair.
but with the mention of bogue, she's tense all over again, a brief flash of that rage from before flickering in her eyes. ]
No.
[ the word is quiet, but clipped. ]
We're still tryin' to track his location.
[ it's not the kind of news she wants to deliver, and the words feel like acid in her mouth. he got away, isn't something she wants to say aloud. ]
[ He rubs the sleep from his eyes, replaying the other night's events. He should've paid more attention to his six before he moved forward. Should've moved sooner, before Bogue had a chance to retreat. Should've done a lot of damn things, aside from getting shot in the back and through the leg. That had not been an ideal course of action.
But it's what happened, and the slip up had been a costly one. He grimaces to himself before wiping the disgust from his face. ]
We get Rivera, at least? Please tell me we at least got that bastard.
[ emma can see it plain on his face that he regrets how badly the night had gone — it's honestly why, once she'd stepped away from that all-consuming rage, she hadn't continued to blame faraday for bogue's escape. there had been too many factors, too much going wrong on all sides, and she's as much responsible as faraday.
he'd just come out of it with the higher price.
she nods, her expression not nearly as grave. ]
Yes. He gave himself up mighty quiet.
[ he'd probably thought surrender might buy him a better plea deal. it certainly didn't make him look as bad as bogue did now, in comparison. ]
Good thing too. He'd have probably taken a bullet of his own, if he'd tried runnin'.
emma remembers these days vividly after her husband's death, and she hasn't been inclined to revisit them. however, the unfortunate nature of her partner's injury, and the fact that recovering from a gunshot isn't the easiest thing in the world, means that she and soon after, faraday, while he gets back up to snuff, are stuck with the unpleasant reality of desk duty. mountains of boring paperwork, followed by, inevitably, more paperwork occupies her days, all while sitting across from faraday.
(who never shuts up, because of course he doesn't; he's like a rambunctious child who's just been told he's not allowed out to play in the rain. too much energy bottled up with limited outlets.
emma just happens to be on the receiving end of most of his boredom-inspired antics.
like precariously placed cups of coffee — saved only by her reflexes. or rubber bands fired at her from across their shoved-together deskspace (though that behavior was quickly extinguished by emma first confiscating the rubber bands themselves, and then firing one final snap right at faraday's cheek).
emma will deny that happened until the end of days.)
she also has to deal with her own fallout from the bust with rivera and bogue. a psych eval after what happened with faraday is the obvious route, but chisolm is additionally insistent that she get herself cleared because of the incident with bogue. emma consistently tells sam that she's fine, and bogue's alive, isn't he? she'd had plenty of opportunities to take that shot, and she hadn't. she'd done her job. she'd pulled her partner out alive instead of sacrificing his life or the agency's standing for her own revenge.
she did the right thing.
(doesn't mean she isn't still haunted by how close she'd been to ending that godforsaken ghoul of a man.)
it takes nearly four months of paper-pushing before faraday is cleared for fieldwork again. he's told to take it easy, of course — as easy as faraday ever does — but he's given the green light. emma has never been so relieved to get the go-ahead for a mission in her life, but the resurfacing of a particular arms dealer makes keeping them on reserves less realistic.
bogue is making appearances again, popping up in the darker, wealthier segments of society, but he's also quieter about it now. there's been photographs, brief sightings, stirrings of new deals and new contraband — but he's careful. they can't ever pin down his location, and it's going to take some real digging.
fortunately, that's a particular domain where emma and faraday happen to excel.
dressed to the nines, emma weaves through the quiet but steady hum of atmospheric conversation. she's taking point tonight, for the sake of keeping faraday out of the way and minimizing his risk, but that doesn't mean he's far off. she can glance to her side, catch sight of her partner, and then return her attention to the room at large.
the party is much smaller than their last undercover work, more intimate, but the people attending are easily of the same caliber of before. rich, entitled, and dangerous. fortunately, in her appropriately expensive black dress, with that practiced smile and well-rehearsed air, emma fits right in. she's gotten used to this kind of environment, and while she's not comfortable, she manages to pull it off, to walk just right and get exactly the kind of attention she needs.
she's subtle as she reaches up to brush her hair behind her ear, just barely adjusting the comm in her ear. ]
Remember you're staying out of the way tonight.
[ emma is the focus here, and while she's not exactly the biggest fan of this style, the "honeypot" is an easily worked angle.
Never has been, never will be. There's something slightly claustrophobic about hospital rooms – just the same as there's something claustrophobic about routine. Which is why Faraday does his level best to disrupt that routine at every available opportunity – little, harmless pranks; pulling off feats of dexterity and balance; practicing his aim (albeit with rubber bands). Every glower Emma sent his way was met with a sharp-toothed grin, hands spread in a gesture of innocence.
"Just tryin' to keep sharp, is all," he'd say, which did little to assuage her annoyance but a great deal to make him laugh.
Unsurprisingly, this means Faraday is not a good office drone, either.
So the return to the field could not have come soon enough, if only because he suspects he and Emma both are starting to go mad with boredom. When Chisolm delivers the news, Faraday nearly kisses the son of a bitch on the mouth. (Nearly does, too, but he announces it aloud, first.
Sam only smiles, holding out the file to keep Faraday at bay. "Keep your lips to yourself, Faraday. I don't know where they've been, and I'd rather keep it that way.")
Another party, rubbing elbows with the elite and the dangerous, with Faraday dressed in another dark suit. Surprisingly, he can be charming when he sets his mind to it, easy with his smiles and his jokes – though his usual jokes are are a little too off-color for the guests in attendance, and he keeps the worst ones to himself. He's gathering information, same as Emma, but his part in the job is a little less involved.
("Need you to take it easy, Faraday," were Chisolm's exact words.
"What the hell for?" Faraday had shot back. "I'm healed up just fine."
"'Cause I said so.")
Faraday is chatting away with a small group as Emma speaks to him over their comm, and he smiles as he takes his leave of them. ]
I remember.
[ A little irritably, as he masks the movement of his lips with his glass of wine. After all, glad as he is to be back in the field, he hardly likes taking the backseat on these jobs.
(And the thought of Emma's role in this particular assignment makes something ugly twist in his gut – not that he has a name for what that feeling is, or a reason as to why it bothers him so terribly.) ]
I was sittin' right next to you at that meeting, as you'll recall.
[ emma easily manages a reflected sense of aloofness in her expression as she casually surveys the party, turning her attention briefly down to her clutch to sort through its contents as she speaks. ]
My memory is just fine. But I do also recall that you struggle with merely sittin' on your hands for any amount of time.
[ not that faraday has ever cost them a mission because of his own restlessness, but she's seen how antsy he can get. after so long being stuck behind a desk, the last thing she wants is for him to get a little reckless just because his skin's been crawling with that itch to do something.
admittedly, emma's felt that same itch lately (enough office work will do that to a person), but she at least has the satisfaction of heading up this particular mission. ]
Don't go getting yourself in any trouble, you hear me?
[ she closes her clutch, finally looking up again to the room at large. ]
[ He takes a sedate sip from his glass as a couple passes nearby, watching their progress from the corner of his eye. The wine is bitter on his tongue – probably a good vintage, if Faraday had a palate for it, but typically his encounters with alcohol were less for taste and more for getting drunk.
Once the couple is far enough away for him to speak comfortably, he replies back with, ]
Now, I resent that. When have I ever conducted myself in anything but a professional manner?
[ Aside from always. And even as he says it, he smiles behind his glass, and as Emma raises her head, Faraday subtly catches her eye to quirk an eyebrow at her. His gaze flits away just as quickly, though, skimming the crowd.
Another sip of his wine, and he adds on a bit more soberly, ] Be careful.
have a tiny novel while i'm supposed to be asleep apparently
[ if emma were any less than the agent she is, she might have actually laughed.
professional indeed.
she could produce a list two miles long that only covered the time they'd worked together, because she knows well and good that faraday has a history of toeing every damn line he can find — and then crossing them at the first available opportunity. he's talented, sure, and a fine agent to boot, but he's also...unorthodox.
(if she's being kind.) ]
I'm always careful.
[ she is, at the very least. not that he hasn't seen the finer cracks in her well-polished mask of aloof professionalism, however. the last time they were at a party like this, everything that happened with bogue...she'd slipped. not a lot, but enough.
related though this is to that particular bastard, emma is determined not to see herself make any missteps.
not tonight.
her attention is pulled away from faraday, and she sets her sights on their mark for the evening: danvers. a man in bogue's pocket, he's been traced to some of the more subtle deals linked to bogue, and currently, he's the only contact the agency can track down. luckily, if emma can get close enough to get access to his phone, long enough to connect it to one of their roving bugs, they'll have access to not only the inner workings of danvers's cell, but it'll also provide them with a constant feed from his microphone, regardless of whether or not he's making a call.
it's the kind of access they need to dig up details on bogue's whereabouts and his next move.
but separating a man from his phone isn't the easiest of tasks. fortunately, emma is...creative.
danvers stands laughing with a few of the other partygoers, an easy grin on his face as he relays some joke that emma hasn't bothered to catch. she closes in, and, brushing past danvers, her shoulder makes quick contact with his — jostling his drink, but not spilling it.
"oh, pardon me."
she looks terribly apologetic, though her smile is sweet, disarming, and she lays a hand briefly on his chest — long enough for purposeful contact, short enough that when she draws away, he nearly goes with her. the first engagement is quick, but as she puts distance between them, she hears danvers over her shoulder:
"would you gentlemen excuse me for a moment?"
bingo.
emma doesn't glance back, doesn't stop until she's approached the venue's bar, leaning in to order a drink for herself. she isn't alone for more than the space of a few breaths before danvers joins her, and there's that charming smile back on her lips to greet him.
it's all a matter of flattering him in the right ways, she's come to realize. laugh at the jokes, touch his hand, his arm, step a little bit closer. it's practiced pageantry, and—
fake. false. so far removed from how emma would ever treat a man she was genuinely interested in. certainly, there'd be laughter, smiles, and all the rest, but she's not nearly so coquettish in reality. she'd never had a need for it with matthew, never put on a show, because it isn't emma.
emma is fire and wit and steely will. a woman with a sharp tongue with no taste for the role of a blushing, bashful girl.
but it's an act, nothing more — and, fortunately, it's a good one.
nearly twenty minutes of chatting with danvers, dropping subtle hints and sliding her fingers over his hand, until he finally wraps an arm around her waist. emma goes without complaint, reaching up to cup his jaw, leaning in until her lips brush just barely over his ear.
"a touch crowded, wouldn't you say?"
danvers just smirks, looks so perfectly like the cat who's got the cream (little does he know), and he doesn't hesitate to agree.
of course, he also takes the opportunity to steal a kiss, standing there by the bar. his arm is tight around her, holding her to him, and emma could so easily break his grip, throw him to the ground, but...
that isn't the game.
she at least doesn't let it last long before pulling away with a well-feigned blush.
"at least somewhere down the hall, don't you think? out of sight?"
"of course."
the bonus, however, to being held so close, is that emma can feel exactly where his phone rests in his jacket pocket. if she can slip her hands inside, she can make contact with the small data device she'd been given with the malware. all she has to do it swipe it against the phone, and the software will download.
easy.
danvers doesn't waste time dragging emma away from the bar, and she allows herself to be towed — only to pause.
"forgot my purse." she offers danvers another smile, letting go of his hand to grab her clutch that she had, indeed, left on the bartop. she makes a show of quickly checking through it, like she's assessing everything is where it's supposed to be (while slipping the tiny device into her palm), before closing her purse and returning to danvers's side.
"now, where was it you were going to show me?"
with his arm around her hips, danvers guides emma away from the noise of the party — while emma casts around quickly, pointedly, to make eye contact with faraday. ]
[ For his part, Faraday watches without staring, ghosts somewhere nearby without hovering. It's a delicate balance to strike, keeping his distance while staying close enough to help, if need be. He's played this game before, though, and even months out of the field, he slips back into the rounds easily.
So he makes conversation with the other guests while keeping an eye on Emma's progress. Watching her flirt and smile and laugh in ways so completely alien to her character. It suits her character, Faraday thinks, but it hardly suits her – or maybe that's just because he's grown so accustomed to Agent Cullen, all stern words and disapproving looks and dry wit. No bullshit. A straight-shooter.
Still, she's acting the role perfectly, which is a relief, considering the problems they had run into their last time around. Bogue isn't present, but his fingerprints are certainly all over the assignment. Faraday is gratified to see she's keeping it together.
Even as that ugly thing twists in his chest when he sees the way she steps in close to Danvers, the way he possessively wraps an arm around her waist. And when they kiss, that coiling, bitter thing flares. Faraday hardly notices the scowl settling onto his face until a waiter clears his throat, holding out a tray of canapes. Clearly not the first time the waiter has offered a sample, and Faraday huffs out an apologetic laugh before taking one.
By the time Emma makes eye contact with him, Faraday has wrangled his expression back into something neutral, but pleasant. He offers a bare nod and the hint of a smile, lifting his glass slightly to signal that he's seen her.
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someone take this au away from me
what she ended up with was a mouthy, arrogant, royal pain in her ass, who's way too cocky for his own good.
if emma had a dollar for the number of times in an hour that she rolled her eyes at faraday, she'd be able to retire (and what a reprieve that would be). when first assigned, she'd even put in for another partner after their intial field test together, only to be told to suck it up and make it work. no amount of finagling or otherwise could change the agency's mind, and ever since, emma's been learning to work with faraday.
probably the most frustrating thing about it is that he's actually good. he's not a bad agent, by any means, and is, in fact, incredibly impressive. it's just that damn attitude of his that puts emma off so badly, and if she could slap a strip of duct tape over his mouth, oh, she wouldn't hesitate some days.
but still, the way they move through their work together soon becomes a well-oiled machine, and their assignments keep popping up left and right, only to be handled with grace and efficiency. he balances out her weaknesses, and she his, easily making up for their own failings to the point that they do become an admirable team. she's just come to accept that as long as she keeps the amount of time she has to spend with him to a purely professional setting, she can handle it. he's not the sort of man she'd see in her downtime, but, then again, emma doesn't often spend her days off with men — or, really, anyone from the agency. she works ungodly hours as an agent, which doesn't lend itself well to outside friendship (and it's not like she could tell other friends what she did for a living), and she effectively sees herself married to the job.
(rumors circulate the agency that she used to be actually married, had a husband and everything, but the story changes nearly every time about what happened to him — and emma certainly never brings it up.)
even less conducive to friendship or romantic entanglements are the missions that easily take weeks to complete. the extended time with faraday is always a little grating for emma, but considering the amount of work they're constantly doing, she figures it balances out well enough. but these undercover missions? these are the real struggle, and the newest one that chisolm has presented them with is going to be one hell of a ride.
"You're got to be kidding me," was all emma could manage when she read the brief, because with this new type of cover, oh, this is going to be a whole new kind of pain.
"Make it convincing," chisolm said, "make it work."
"convincing."
emma's still mentally grumbling over their assignment, over the cover they're expected to keep. acting like they're involved? in front of mass amounts of people? lord help her, this is going to be the most difficult mission she's had to date, she just knows it.
if emma was better at appreciating the fun possibilities of an assignment, she might realize that an opportunity to wear incredibly nice clothes, stay in a fantastic hotel, mingle with the haut monde of society (well, maybe not that part) while attending such a fantastic party could be a pleasant side effect of needing to go undercover for the event. but, really, she's just thinking about all of the time they'll have to spend being a plausible enough couple while engaging with those incredibly rich individuals.
joy of joys.
but it's all necessary, she knows, the easiest and most successful opportunity to uncover one of the biggest international arms deals the agency's seen, even if that does mean they have to put themselves right in the middle of it to dig up all of the names and appropriate evidence. it's the sort of mission she knows she and faraday can handle, but— this added undercover element is throwing her slightly off balance.
with everything set up in their hotel room — surveillance, weapons, emergency supplies — emma is just finishing getting ready for the evening's party. mingling is the name of the game for the evening, making contact with specific individuals, and, above all, trying to figure out where and when the deal will go down (and where all those damn guns are being stored).
emma puts a final pin in her hair before reaching for the tiny thigh holster she plans to keep under her dress for the evening; she can't carry her usual weapons, conscpicuous as they would be, so this will have to do. glancing over at faraday, her expression is all business. ]
Are you nearly ready?
N O P E shoves it back in your hands
It's probably why he's so difficult to work with. He takes risks, makes stupid bets with his life, calculates the odds at a breakneck speed – and even when the odds are only in his favor by the slimmest of margins, he takes his chances and hopes for the best. He's reckless and cocky and far too irreverent and—
And he's damn good at his job, much to his handlers' chagrin.
Pairing him with Emma Cullen had been a strategic choice, as much as a practical one. She tempered the worst of his impulsiveness, forced him to look before he leaped, and was just all around a giant goddamn killjoy – in Faraday's eyes, anyway. (She wasn't the only one to ask for a new partner, after all, but after a few missions together, it became clear that Agent Cullen was the only one who could rein him in.)
After a while, Faraday began to recognize Cullen's skills, recognized that her strategic mind, her laser-guided focus, was an asset. Where he took risks and acted on instinct, Emma was methodical, examined everything on a macro-level, moved forward with a terrifying kind of determination. When she set her mind to something, Faraday learned to either follow in her wake or get bowled over. All things considered, it wasn't a terrible partnership, though they never became what one would consider close. Never became friends.
And that was fine, Faraday supposes. He doesn't have much in the way of friends, anyway. As far as their work went, he trusted her with his life, and he's reasonably sure she trusts him with hers (to an extent), and that's probably good enough.
Probably.
When they received their briefing on their newest mission, Faraday had merely laughed his ass off, while Emma expressed exasperated disbelief. He laughed and laughed and laughed until his sides ached, until Chisolm had turned his gaze on him in that patient sort of way of his, and Faraday had waved a hand to signal, Alright, okay, I'm good now. Go on.
When they left the room, Faraday saw the quiet yet restrained outrage on Emma's face, and it only set him off all over again.
He's reined it in by now, though, resolved to have fun with it even if Cullen won't. He cleans up pretty well, surprisingly, dressed in a dark three-piece suit. His shoulder holsters sit over his waistcoat, his favorite guns resting on either side. For most undercover missions, carrying in weapons would be too dangerous; for this job, nearly every guest is expected to be packing, though not so heavily as to affect their silhouettes.
That would just be tacky.
When Emma addresses him, Faraday is smoothing down his jacket and checking himself over in a full-length mirror, ensuring his pistols don't show too terribly. (They don't.) He responds absently to her question, as he straightens his tie, ]
You're done already? I thought ladies were supposed to take forever getting ready.
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Unlike you, I don't have to spend hours preening.
[ like everything else emma does, she'd even been especially efficient getting ready for this party. her updo and makeup are pristine, the dark green dress highlighting her hair color and the curve of her body in the most flattering of ways, with a pair of near-extravagant heels that pulled the entire thing together. it's likely the first opportunity faraday would have had to see her dressed to the nines, but then again, emma's never gotten a good look at faraday in something so formal and, frankly, fetching.
were he anyone else, she might admit that (at least to herself), but agent faraday being, well, faraday, wild horses would have to drag that sort of comment out of emma.
turning expectantly to the other agent, emma scoops up her clutch, crossing her arms over her chest as she indicates their hotel room's door. ]
Can we head downstairs or do you need to admire yourself a little longer?
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He's doing this to annoy her, not because he particularly cares.
When he does finally turn to her, he has that expression on his voice that precedes some smart-ass comment – likely one that he knows Emma hates, except—
Faraday finally gets a good look at how she's dressed, how she looks, and his mouth goes dry. He wastes a few seconds blinking, expression slack, and he silently thinks, Holy shit. It takes a while, but eventually he clears his throat, wrangles his expression into something closer to his usual punchable smirk, and says, ]
Nice dress.
[ He brushes some imagined lint from his sleeve before he offers her the crook of his elbow. ]
Ready if you are— [ And he grins when he adds, ] —darling.
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it makes her feel just a touch even, like he deserved to have a wrench thrown into his usual cocky attitude for making a show of smoothing out his suit. he'd clearly been doing it to bother her, always trying to get under her skin in small ways, and so leaving him dumbstruck for a moment seemed perfectly validating for emma.
she just raises an eyebrow at him, her tone brusque. ]
Nice suit.
[ not a "thank you" or a real acknowledgment of his reaction, mostly because she figures they don't need to waste the time.
she eyes his proffered arm with something near disdain, but then reaches out to take his forearm lightly. ]
I swear, if you call me that when we're alone, Faraday...
[ she lets the threat hang in the air, but she's obviously more inclined to get down to the party rather than argue with him.. ]
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He guides them downstairs without further comment – though he does grin, in that spiteful way that he uses almost exclusively with Emma.
The party itself is being held in one of the hotel's ballrooms – tastefully decorated in pristine whites and deep, warm browns. Neutral territory, apparently; not that everyone in attendance had anything to do with the arms deal, but wheeling and dealing was always at hand at these types of events. Easier to take care of such things where no one could be perceived to have the upper hand.
At the entrance, a guard checks for invitations – some big, burly man in a black suit that just barely covers his massive frame – and Faraday slips theirs from the inside pocket of his jacket (the slip of creamy paper is addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Brennan"), hands them over without looking. Not nervousness, by any means, but demonstrating an air that informed the guard that Faraday had hardly noticed his presence. The guard notes the snub, only responds with the slightest twitch of his upper lip, and waves the two of them through.
By now, the two of them have been on enough undercover missions to have cultivated a sort of secret language. So when Faraday sniffs slightly as they walk in, scanning the crowd, he says, ]
Not much of a party.
[ which means, "I haven't spotted any of our major players." ]
What do you think?
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I think it's still early.
[ "take a better look around; keep your eyes open."
at this point, it's a matter of scouting out the ballroom, making note of the threats and their locations, easy outs, side rooms that could be of interest, and otherwise. she's already examined the layout of the hotel, memorized the exits and noted the security, but it's different to see it in person, to physically appraise the things she'd seen in files. ]
Bit of a full house, though.
[ "loads of guards." more than she'd planned for, but she doesn't anticipate it being a problem. they've handled more men than this before, and if things go according to plan (which they never do with faraday), then they won't have to deal with them head-on — the preferred option.
they're going to have to excuse themselves at some point to get a look at the behind-the-scenes aspect of the evening, but before they can do that, they need to find the persons of interest, figure out where they're going. that'll be the biggest problem, but even then, she doesn't anticipate many hiccups.
a server approaches them quickly enough, offering flutes of champagne from a tray. emma takes one for the sake of appearances, though she doesn't intend to drink it. they're here to work, after all, not enjoy the party. ]
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and then faraday was an idiot: incident #238
it's knowing that bogue is within reach of the agency (of emma), and that if they can catch this deal, if they can catch them all in one fell swoop, bogue will be done. it'll be the last nail in bogue's coffin, and emma can finally find the closure that she's been dying for all these years.
the memory of her husband can finally be at peace when bogue sees justice.
when emma truly finds the righteousness she's sought for so long.
she needs this, in ways she'll never be able to articulate to faraday (and in so many others that she absolutely refuses to try). she's on edge for the next few days, so distracted by her ungodly level of focus that she can't even spare a thought to the party, to the kiss with faraday, to...whatever it was that she'd been feeling. all that matters, and all that will matter until this is over, is seeing bogue finished.
there's a lot of setting up to be done, and they work out of a small safehouse a few miles from the docks. calls are made, agents and additional backup are provided, and, of course, all the weapons they could possibly need are there and waiting for them. surveillance is key until the night in question, and emma spends unreasonable hours watching screens, practically living off of coffee, and not...sleeping especially well. she needs to be well-rested, she knows it, but she can't bring herself to settle down.
not this close to such a pivotal moment.
when the night of the deal finally rolls around, emma is ready. she won't be going in personally (because that's not her strong suit), but she'll be watching faraday and other boots on the ground. her responsibility will be keeping her partner alive from a distance — her specialty, really — and while it rankles her just a touch to know she won't be able to see bogue's face, not quite in person, she knows she's better off finding her perch and staying there.
faraday will need all the help he can get, after all, given how few other agents are going to be ground support. he and emma are a good team, absolutely, but the agency is far more concerned about keeping other backup in the peripheral — as a last resort.
but this? she can handle this.
she's in position, finishing her setup with her rifle, and she runs a quick check of the earpiece that keeps her connected on a secure channel to faraday. ]
I say this every time, but please try not to do anythin' stupid tonight.
[ there isn't really humor in her tone, because now is not the night for it. ]
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Which was not, in itself, an odd thing. But she was focused, aimed and primed like a loaded gun. And this went beyond her usual concentration, her usual determination, and Faraday knew this was different. That this was personal in ways he didn't understand.
Not for lack of trying. Because he broached the topic, of course, after that first night with the party. In the quiet of their safehouse, as they monitored surveillance feeds, as they readied their equipment, as Faraday crept out in the middle of the night for a quick smoke, only to see Emma still awake and staring at screens, Faraday asked again and again: What is it that's got you so worked up? And every time, he got some variation on a deflection: Not now. I'm busy. We're working. Focus on the job, Faraday.
Eventually he realized there was no point in asking. She had no intention of answering him then, and he doesn't expect she'll have any intention of telling him anything in the future. The way of things, he supposes – she always did make a point of keeping Faraday at arm's length. Not that he minded, but it'd be nice for her to display some modicum of trust that went beyond knowing he had her back in a fight.
Just like he usually trusts her. But with her focus currently the way it is – something like a fire threatening to overtake its containment – right now, he's not so sure.
He moves into position, the other agents along with him fanning out to cover more ground. With the shipyard constructed and laid out as it is, there's far too much cover, far too many places to hide, but with the information he and Emma have learned over the past few days, they have the actual meeting narrowed down to an open area toward the center of the yard.
He's moving his way into cover behind a shipping container, peeking around the corner. Not much movement yet. It's as he's ducking back that Emma breaks the silence and—
Well, he chuckles. Because it's familiar, and for as tense as she's been these past few days, it's something of a relief. ]
No promises. You know my affinity for stupid wagers.
[ He checks his pistols for what has to be the hundredth time before tucking them away into his shoulder holsters. The rifle gets another check, and as he's looking it over, he asks quietly, ]
You got eyes on anyone?
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[ emma just sighs, but then she's pressing her eye to the scope, carefully scanning the area closest to faraday. her radius expands out from there, and she's checking every lane leading down to her partner, to the other agents farther out. she's not responsible for them, not in the same way she's watching faraday, but she still makes a cursory check of their surroundings.
she homes in on a few goons up ahead, but she doesn't fire yet; she's there to cover faraday if he needs it, not to start picking them off immediately. she's less likely to miss the crucial moments if she reserves her shots for odds where faraday is overwhelmed, where he needs an extra gun.
they're nowhere near that point in the evening. ]
On your ten o'clock. Two armed guards, 40 meters ahead.
[ she sweeps out again, catching another set. ]
Three more. Another 20 meters out.
[ so far, nothing out of faraday's control. the downside to the area, however, is that because of the shipyard's layout, there are too many enclosed buildings. untold waves of men could be inside any of them, and at a split second's notice, they could flood the yard. the extra agents make that less of an immediate concern, but emma doesn't like unpredictability. she needs certainty in her life and in her work, so wild cards and unconfirmed numbers left her completely out of her depth.
but that's one of emma's strengths, in all honesty. while she desperately wants to control every variable, she can also adjust at the drop of a hat, reevaluate her plans to account for new information, and come out the other side just as prepared.
it benefits her greatly with the way faraday operates, because he tends to just chuck her plans right out the window. ]
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Alright. I won't tell you.
[ Which is a joke, of course. He hasn't made any bets on tonight, but Emma doesn't need to know that. In fact, it's better that she doesn't, which will allow that little question to act as a little thorn in her side. Part of the charm of their relationship, he supposes, the way he prickles at her and the way she suffers it all with frayed patience.
Faraday slings his rifle back over his back, moves a little closer to the open area he and the other agents are circling around. He spots the two guards, their forms cast in yellow thanks to the nearby lamppost, then the group of three further out. ]
Five's not much, is it?
[ Cocky. Self-assured. He's faced down worst odds than this and lived to tell the tale. Still, there's no telling how many other men are skulking around, or how many more might show up when things go to shit, so he stays hidden. They can't make a move until the deal starts up, anyway. ]
Anything on Bogue or Rivera?
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she keeps looking, keeps waiting for some kind of movement. ]
Not ye—
[ she cuts herself off, homing in on an approaching car. ]
Wait.
[ the car pulls up outside one of the bigger warehouses, near the open space they'd staked out. a burly guard gets out, opening the door for another man, and then rivera steps into the evening air. ]
Rivera. I count four guards in the vehicle. And Bogue is—
[ as she speaks, the warehouse door swings open, producing bogue and his own small cadre of men. her fingers clench in a white-knuckled grip on her rifle, her jaw tight and her voice coming out in a flat, icy tone. ]
Warehouse. He's there.
[ it would be so easy for her to just shoot him now. she has a clean shot, no agents in the way, a distinct lack of chaos (so far) to interfere with her perfect aim. she could do it.
no one could stop her.
except herself. ]
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But what it means is that a paltry five guards has quickly become sixteen men, with more possibly lying in wait. Faraday feeds the information to the other agents, speaking quietly into the device hooked on the shoulder strap of his tactical vest. A few brief, murmured confirmations from those closer to Rivera and the warehouse from which Bogue exited. That done, he returns to his shared comm with Emma and quietly says, ]
We need that evidence.
[ A warning. A reminder. Because for as little as Emma has offered by way of her history with Bogue, Faraday can at least figure out for himself that there was bad blood between them, that Emma wanted nothing more than to rip the man's head from his shoulders.
An itchy trigger finger here could spell weeks, months, of work with nothing to show for it.
He creeps closer, keeping low to the ground and staying in the shadows as much as he can. A risk, admittedly, but Faraday is nothing if not a risk-taker. The two key players and their guards keep their distance from one another, close enough that their voices aren't raised too much, but far enough for there to be a definite no man's land between them. Rivera, of course, seems to insist on making small talk again, commenting on the chill of the night and making a show of straightening the gloves on his hands, of adjusting his coat. Even from this far, Faraday can tell the impatient way Bogue seems to bear it. ]
Hold until they show the goods.
[ Another whispered reminder, but to all of the involved agents, this time. A few murmured agreements in return, and Faraday readies his rifle. ]
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healthy coping mechanism? what's that. can u eat it
Fitting, really. Appropriate. Except Faraday doesn't bother to take the time to appreciate the artistry of it.
It's a wonder they escape without any further injuries, though Faraday doesn't have a mind to offer up his thanks as they make good their retreat. By the time the other agents are pulling him away, his head is clouded with a haze of pain, sweat standing out on his forehead. He has just enough smart-ass left in him to mumble, "When do I get the good painkillers?" as they drag him away.
After that, Faraday doesn't remember a whole lot. An ambulance ride and a tech cutting into his clothes. Someone telling him the bullet nicked an artery, and Faraday murmuring, "Yeah, that sounds right," just as he let exhaustion finally claim him. At some point, they must have taken him into surgery, must have patched him up, must have deposited him into a quiet, private room to recover.
It would logically follow, considering that's where he wakes up.
The machinery beeps around him quietly as he comes to, the blinds and curtains drawn to block out the worst of the mid-morning sunlight. (And thank God for that, because even that dim light is enough to make his head ache.) His skull feels like it's been stuffed with cotton – not too dissimilar from waking up after a long night of drinking, all things considered. He feels heavy. Tired. And oddly chipper, though a quick glance at the crook of his arm leading to an IV drip tells him that's probably the drugs more than anything. He runs a hand over his injured leg, finds the bandages there, and decides to leave well enough alone.
A quick examination of the room, then. One door, closed, leading out. One small window, covered. One red-haired woman in a chair, quietly dozing—
... Huh.
Faraday stares at Emma, caught between amusement and surprise, unsure why he's a little warmed by the idea that she might have been waiting all this time. (The drugs, he tells himself. It's the drugs.) She probably hasn't, though. She probably just dropped in, happened to pass out – unsurprising, considering the night they had. ]
Emma.
[ It comes out hoarsely, throat dry and sore. He coughs a little, licking his lips afterward. His voice is a little less of a mess when he tries again. ]
Emma. Wake up.
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what had happened. what could have happened. the fact that she'd let him down. that stings especially, because she knows, given their track record together, that if she'd been covering him like she ought to, the way she owes to him as his partner, he'd never have taken that bullet. he'd have been in that debriefing with her, blithe, sarcastic comments and all.
instead, she's been waiting at the hospital since chisolm gave her the all-clear to leave. he'd suggested she get some sleep, maybe consider some counseling (because emma may not be public about her history with bogue, but sam knows it all, from top to bottom; he gives her that kind of solemn, knowing look he's perfected when she shrugs him off, and a quiet, "call me, if anything comes up.").
but emma being emma, she doesn't want to talk about it — to sam, or a shrink.
she stops off at home to change, and now? she's been going from waiting room to waiting room, constantly bouncing around with little to no information about faraday's condition. concern has been a heavy rock in the pit of her stomach, guilt and anger still warring for dominance the entire time, but when a nurse finally comes out, calls her forward to talk to her about faraday, it's relief that wins over. she's even allowed into faraday's room, to sit beside him while she sleeps, and emma doesn't dare leave him longer than it takes to run off for a cup of coffee (which there still are a few empties sitting on the small table beside her chair).
it's his voice that actually wakes her, and her eyes immediately snap open, painfully alert, like she's expecting something other than—
—just faraday. there in his hospital bed, looking groggy and hazy-eyed, but looking at her all the same. ]
...Joshua.
[ it's a name she rarely (nearly never) uses, but the consolation of seeing him awake is enough to shake it out of her. soft as anything, without the same level of fury she'd carried with her the night before.
(she's still angry, but far less so at faraday; it's belied by concern, by a need to see him recover.) ]
How're you feelin'?
[ a stupid question, maybe, but hopefully the drugs are doing their job. ]
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The use of his name startles him, though. Breaks apart the thoughts and questions before they can form, and on blind instinct, he murmurs, ]
Don't call me that.
[ Though the correction isn't as sharp as it could be. No one calls him Joshua, not since he was a child. He prefers to keep it that way.
He takes a breath, pushing himself up to sit. It pulls at the wound in his leg, and the drugs do well to manage his discomfort, it's still a bit of a pain. ]
'M fine.
[ Which is mostly true. He's getting there, at any rate. ]
Did anyone find Bogue?
[ because of course his mind would go immediately back to work. ]
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she breathes a soft sigh of relief when he doesn't seem to have shaken anything too important, doesn't seem to be hurting too terribly, and relaxes back slightly in her chair.
but with the mention of bogue, she's tense all over again, a brief flash of that rage from before flickering in her eyes. ]
No.
[ the word is quiet, but clipped. ]
We're still tryin' to track his location.
[ it's not the kind of news she wants to deliver, and the words feel like acid in her mouth. he got away, isn't something she wants to say aloud. ]
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[ He rubs the sleep from his eyes, replaying the other night's events. He should've paid more attention to his six before he moved forward. Should've moved sooner, before Bogue had a chance to retreat. Should've done a lot of damn things, aside from getting shot in the back and through the leg. That had not been an ideal course of action.
But it's what happened, and the slip up had been a costly one. He grimaces to himself before wiping the disgust from his face. ]
We get Rivera, at least? Please tell me we at least got that bastard.
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he'd just come out of it with the higher price.
she nods, her expression not nearly as grave. ]
Yes. He gave himself up mighty quiet.
[ he'd probably thought surrender might buy him a better plea deal. it certainly didn't make him look as bad as bogue did now, in comparison. ]
Good thing too. He'd have probably taken a bullet of his own, if he'd tried runnin'.
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emma makes hot af bait tbh
emma remembers these days vividly after her husband's death, and she hasn't been inclined to revisit them. however, the unfortunate nature of her partner's injury, and the fact that recovering from a gunshot isn't the easiest thing in the world, means that she and soon after, faraday, while he gets back up to snuff, are stuck with the unpleasant reality of desk duty. mountains of boring paperwork, followed by, inevitably, more paperwork occupies her days, all while sitting across from faraday.
(who never shuts up, because of course he doesn't; he's like a rambunctious child who's just been told he's not allowed out to play in the rain. too much energy bottled up with limited outlets.
emma just happens to be on the receiving end of most of his boredom-inspired antics.
like precariously placed cups of coffee — saved only by her reflexes. or rubber bands fired at her from across their shoved-together deskspace (though that behavior was quickly extinguished by emma first confiscating the rubber bands themselves, and then firing one final snap right at faraday's cheek).
emma will deny that happened until the end of days.)
she also has to deal with her own fallout from the bust with rivera and bogue. a psych eval after what happened with faraday is the obvious route, but chisolm is additionally insistent that she get herself cleared because of the incident with bogue. emma consistently tells sam that she's fine, and bogue's alive, isn't he? she'd had plenty of opportunities to take that shot, and she hadn't. she'd done her job. she'd pulled her partner out alive instead of sacrificing his life or the agency's standing for her own revenge.
she did the right thing.
(doesn't mean she isn't still haunted by how close she'd been to ending that godforsaken ghoul of a man.)
it takes nearly four months of paper-pushing before faraday is cleared for fieldwork again. he's told to take it easy, of course — as easy as faraday ever does — but he's given the green light. emma has never been so relieved to get the go-ahead for a mission in her life, but the resurfacing of a particular arms dealer makes keeping them on reserves less realistic.
bogue is making appearances again, popping up in the darker, wealthier segments of society, but he's also quieter about it now. there's been photographs, brief sightings, stirrings of new deals and new contraband — but he's careful. they can't ever pin down his location, and it's going to take some real digging.
fortunately, that's a particular domain where emma and faraday happen to excel.
dressed to the nines, emma weaves through the quiet but steady hum of atmospheric conversation. she's taking point tonight, for the sake of keeping faraday out of the way and minimizing his risk, but that doesn't mean he's far off. she can glance to her side, catch sight of her partner, and then return her attention to the room at large.
the party is much smaller than their last undercover work, more intimate, but the people attending are easily of the same caliber of before. rich, entitled, and dangerous. fortunately, in her appropriately expensive black dress, with that practiced smile and well-rehearsed air, emma fits right in. she's gotten used to this kind of environment, and while she's not comfortable, she manages to pull it off, to walk just right and get exactly the kind of attention she needs.
she's subtle as she reaches up to brush her hair behind her ear, just barely adjusting the comm in her ear. ]
Remember you're staying out of the way tonight.
[ emma is the focus here, and while she's not exactly the biggest fan of this style, the "honeypot" is an easily worked angle.
men are just predictable enough to fall for it. ]
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Never has been, never will be. There's something slightly claustrophobic about hospital rooms – just the same as there's something claustrophobic about routine. Which is why Faraday does his level best to disrupt that routine at every available opportunity – little, harmless pranks; pulling off feats of dexterity and balance; practicing his aim (albeit with rubber bands). Every glower Emma sent his way was met with a sharp-toothed grin, hands spread in a gesture of innocence.
"Just tryin' to keep sharp, is all," he'd say, which did little to assuage her annoyance but a great deal to make him laugh.
Unsurprisingly, this means Faraday is not a good office drone, either.
So the return to the field could not have come soon enough, if only because he suspects he and Emma both are starting to go mad with boredom. When Chisolm delivers the news, Faraday nearly kisses the son of a bitch on the mouth. (Nearly does, too, but he announces it aloud, first.
Sam only smiles, holding out the file to keep Faraday at bay. "Keep your lips to yourself, Faraday. I don't know where they've been, and I'd rather keep it that way.")
Another party, rubbing elbows with the elite and the dangerous, with Faraday dressed in another dark suit. Surprisingly, he can be charming when he sets his mind to it, easy with his smiles and his jokes – though his usual jokes are are a little too off-color for the guests in attendance, and he keeps the worst ones to himself. He's gathering information, same as Emma, but his part in the job is a little less involved.
("Need you to take it easy, Faraday," were Chisolm's exact words.
"What the hell for?" Faraday had shot back. "I'm healed up just fine."
"'Cause I said so.")
Faraday is chatting away with a small group as Emma speaks to him over their comm, and he smiles as he takes his leave of them. ]
I remember.
[ A little irritably, as he masks the movement of his lips with his glass of wine. After all, glad as he is to be back in the field, he hardly likes taking the backseat on these jobs.
(And the thought of Emma's role in this particular assignment makes something ugly twist in his gut – not that he has a name for what that feeling is, or a reason as to why it bothers him so terribly.) ]
I was sittin' right next to you at that meeting, as you'll recall.
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My memory is just fine. But I do also recall that you struggle with merely sittin' on your hands for any amount of time.
[ not that faraday has ever cost them a mission because of his own restlessness, but she's seen how antsy he can get. after so long being stuck behind a desk, the last thing she wants is for him to get a little reckless just because his skin's been crawling with that itch to do something.
admittedly, emma's felt that same itch lately (enough office work will do that to a person), but she at least has the satisfaction of heading up this particular mission. ]
Don't go getting yourself in any trouble, you hear me?
[ she closes her clutch, finally looking up again to the room at large. ]
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Once the couple is far enough away for him to speak comfortably, he replies back with, ]
Now, I resent that. When have I ever conducted myself in anything but a professional manner?
[ Aside from always. And even as he says it, he smiles behind his glass, and as Emma raises her head, Faraday subtly catches her eye to quirk an eyebrow at her. His gaze flits away just as quickly, though, skimming the crowd.
Another sip of his wine, and he adds on a bit more soberly, ] Be careful.
have a tiny novel while i'm supposed to be asleep apparently
professional indeed.
she could produce a list two miles long that only covered the time they'd worked together, because she knows well and good that faraday has a history of toeing every damn line he can find — and then crossing them at the first available opportunity. he's talented, sure, and a fine agent to boot, but he's also...unorthodox.
(if she's being kind.) ]
I'm always careful.
[ she is, at the very least. not that he hasn't seen the finer cracks in her well-polished mask of aloof professionalism, however. the last time they were at a party like this, everything that happened with bogue...she'd slipped. not a lot, but enough.
related though this is to that particular bastard, emma is determined not to see herself make any missteps.
not tonight.
her attention is pulled away from faraday, and she sets her sights on their mark for the evening: danvers. a man in bogue's pocket, he's been traced to some of the more subtle deals linked to bogue, and currently, he's the only contact the agency can track down. luckily, if emma can get close enough to get access to his phone, long enough to connect it to one of their roving bugs, they'll have access to not only the inner workings of danvers's cell, but it'll also provide them with a constant feed from his microphone, regardless of whether or not he's making a call.
it's the kind of access they need to dig up details on bogue's whereabouts and his next move.
but separating a man from his phone isn't the easiest of tasks. fortunately, emma is...creative.
danvers stands laughing with a few of the other partygoers, an easy grin on his face as he relays some joke that emma hasn't bothered to catch. she closes in, and, brushing past danvers, her shoulder makes quick contact with his — jostling his drink, but not spilling it.
"oh, pardon me."
she looks terribly apologetic, though her smile is sweet, disarming, and she lays a hand briefly on his chest — long enough for purposeful contact, short enough that when she draws away, he nearly goes with her. the first engagement is quick, but as she puts distance between them, she hears danvers over her shoulder:
"would you gentlemen excuse me for a moment?"
bingo.
emma doesn't glance back, doesn't stop until she's approached the venue's bar, leaning in to order a drink for herself. she isn't alone for more than the space of a few breaths before danvers joins her, and there's that charming smile back on her lips to greet him.
it's all a matter of flattering him in the right ways, she's come to realize. laugh at the jokes, touch his hand, his arm, step a little bit closer. it's practiced pageantry, and—
fake. false. so far removed from how emma would ever treat a man she was genuinely interested in. certainly, there'd be laughter, smiles, and all the rest, but she's not nearly so coquettish in reality. she'd never had a need for it with matthew, never put on a show, because it isn't emma.
emma is fire and wit and steely will. a woman with a sharp tongue with no taste for the role of a blushing, bashful girl.
but it's an act, nothing more — and, fortunately, it's a good one.
nearly twenty minutes of chatting with danvers, dropping subtle hints and sliding her fingers over his hand, until he finally wraps an arm around her waist. emma goes without complaint, reaching up to cup his jaw, leaning in until her lips brush just barely over his ear.
"a touch crowded, wouldn't you say?"
danvers just smirks, looks so perfectly like the cat who's got the cream (little does he know), and he doesn't hesitate to agree.
of course, he also takes the opportunity to steal a kiss, standing there by the bar. his arm is tight around her, holding her to him, and emma could so easily break his grip, throw him to the ground, but...
that isn't the game.
she at least doesn't let it last long before pulling away with a well-feigned blush.
"at least somewhere down the hall, don't you think? out of sight?"
"of course."
the bonus, however, to being held so close, is that emma can feel exactly where his phone rests in his jacket pocket. if she can slip her hands inside, she can make contact with the small data device she'd been given with the malware. all she has to do it swipe it against the phone, and the software will download.
easy.
danvers doesn't waste time dragging emma away from the bar, and she allows herself to be towed — only to pause.
"forgot my purse." she offers danvers another smile, letting go of his hand to grab her clutch that she had, indeed, left on the bartop. she makes a show of quickly checking through it, like she's assessing everything is where it's supposed to be (while slipping the tiny device into her palm), before closing her purse and returning to danvers's side.
"now, where was it you were going to show me?"
with his arm around her hips, danvers guides emma away from the noise of the party — while emma casts around quickly, pointedly, to make eye contact with faraday. ]
wow you sleep-write really well
So he makes conversation with the other guests while keeping an eye on Emma's progress. Watching her flirt and smile and laugh in ways so completely alien to her character. It suits her character, Faraday thinks, but it hardly suits her – or maybe that's just because he's grown so accustomed to Agent Cullen, all stern words and disapproving looks and dry wit. No bullshit. A straight-shooter.
Still, she's acting the role perfectly, which is a relief, considering the problems they had run into their last time around. Bogue isn't present, but his fingerprints are certainly all over the assignment. Faraday is gratified to see she's keeping it together.
Even as that ugly thing twists in his chest when he sees the way she steps in close to Danvers, the way he possessively wraps an arm around her waist. And when they kiss, that coiling, bitter thing flares. Faraday hardly notices the scowl settling onto his face until a waiter clears his throat, holding out a tray of canapes. Clearly not the first time the waiter has offered a sample, and Faraday huffs out an apologetic laugh before taking one.
By the time Emma makes eye contact with him, Faraday has wrangled his expression back into something neutral, but pleasant. He offers a bare nod and the hint of a smile, lifting his glass slightly to signal that he's seen her.
(Though he almost wishes he hadn't.) ]
asleep-me has her shit together more than awake-me tbh
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