[ She brushes past him, and he raises a hand, intent on holding her back, wanting to ask her to lay it all out for him, because there was clearly something wrong, here. Clearly something that had rattled her, and if it happened once, it could happen again, and—
But the moment passes, and he lets her step around him, lets his arm drop to his side. He murmurs, ]
If you say so.
[ though he hardly sounds convinced. He watches her retreating back with a frown for a second or two. Not enough time to suss out what had bothered her. Maybe in the privacy of their hotel room, he could poke her for answers, but not now.
He trails after her after the moment of reflection, glancing over his shoulder every now and again to keep an eye on their backs while she leads the way. As they head to the first room in silence, Faraday, of course, is the one to break it: ]
[ now is hardly the time or the place to talk about this — not even taking into account the fact that emma doesn't think this is any of faraday's business (but it probably should be, if she's honest; anything that affects her affects faraday by extension, and if it will impede her performance, it matters).
but emma won't let it. this is too important for her to get distracted by her emotions, and despite the roiling ball of anger sitting in her chest, she's determined to ignore it.
emma is in the middle of searching for the best places to bug the room when faraday speaks up again, and she goes tense all over, turning her head to look at him with a barely restrained expression of indignation. ]
Agent Faraday, I assure you I'm more than capable of handling this mission.
[ her eyes narrow, and she looks away to return to concealing a near imperceptible microphone. ]
I'm not nearly as compromised as you seem to think I am.
[ The tone she takes with him hardly helps to convince him any more than her previous assurances did, but he knows better than to disagree with her right now, pressed for time as they are. Still, though, the use of his name while they're on the job makes him wince, and he looks over his shoulder from where he's keeping watch. ]
Richard Brennan.
[ The name he's adopted for their assignment, and the one he intends to use while they're still on the clock; the correction comes out sharply, and he looks her over once more before turning back to keep an eye on the hall. All things considered, it was a minor slip-up, and it was just as well that it happened now, rather than while the two of them were mingling in the party. But it was also a rookie mistake, and one liable to get them into hot water, if that name and that title drifted past the wrong ears. ]
[ emma bristles at the correction, but not because he's wrong. it was a slip, something she shouldn't have said when they're not in any kind of safe environment right now — not the place for it. she likes to think she wouldn't have let either out while they were in the wrong company, but still, outside of the comfort of their hotel room, this wasn't the time. ]
It won't.
[ she sounds determined, and the truth is that she's grasping at her usual focus, trying to nail down the way she always handles their missions. the most frustrating thing for her is that she doesn't make these mistakes; small things, certainly, but these are significant enough, compared to how she operates.
shaking away that train of thought, she turns her attention back to the room itself, finishing up with the bugs and running a quick test. everything seems to be in order, and she straightens back up, glancing over her shoulder at faraday. ]
[ At her word, he spends another quick second to look her over, looking for tells, for signs of discomfort, for signs that she might be breaking.
He thinks she might be. He thinks he sees fine cracks in her usual pristine veneer, and he wonders how far those breaks go. Pretty far, if he had to wager a guess, considering the slip of her mask from earlier, the use of his name just then, the anger she's just barely keeping a lid on right now. ]
You'n'I are gonna need to have a chat after this.
[ He says it lowly – a threat or anything of the sort, but certainly a promise that he intends to bring this conversation up again once they're not at risk of getting caught with bugs up their sleeves.
But he checks the hallway again – no one approaching still, and he nods them back out, heading to the next room they'd marked out. ]
emma's really looking forward to that (not). she's already mentally compiling ways to dodge any questions he may try to bring up, how she's going to shut him down if he even so much as thinks about bringing this up. maybe if she just swallows her pride and manages to apologize for being distracted, he'll leave well enough alone.
that would be appreciated.
pursing her lips in clear disagreement, she at least doesn't argue, not now, and follows faraday out of the room and back into the hall. she lets him lead the way, and the second room is fortunately just as empty and just as easy to thoroughly bug; emma doesn't speak to him, focusing instead on what she's doing, and it's only after they're about to head out again that she glances over at faraday. ]
Rea—
[ the sound of muffled voices down the hall makes her stop cold, her entire body going stock-still. this is not the right place to be discovered, would make it even more difficult to pass off with a quick lie about getting lost when it's so inconvenient to otherwise even get down this hall.
she hears a door open outside, more voices, and the door closes again as she looks expectantly at faraday. she's not sure if they should bolt, try to put some distance between them and the others in the hall, or just see how likely it is that they'll get out of it with apologies and one of faraday's disarming grins. ]
[ Even as she thinks of dodges, Faraday starts organizing his questions. He doesn't delude himself into thinking that she'll make this conversation easy for either of them, but neither does he delude himself into thinking he deserves the entire truth. The two of them have never been close, not even in a professional capacity, but as her partner he at least deserves some sort of explanation.
But apparently Emma's distraction is a two-edged sword, because Faraday doesn't hear the voices until they're practically upon them. If they run, they'll surely be seen, and two people bolting down a hall isn't exactly a normal sight – triply so, given who's in attendance at this party. Staying as they are is no better, considering they've been wiring the rooms for sound, and if they're simply standing there, that leaves them open to questions. As much of a charming son of a bitch as Faraday can be, he's not sure if he can talk them out of this. Not as they currently are, at any rate.
Faraday freezes as Emma turns to him, mind racing, and—
While Emma thinks logically, comes at their assignments with five plans of attack at the ready, Faraday has always worked best shooting from the hip. Improvising. Cobbling together a solution with shoestring and a piece of gum.
He turns, using one foot to kick the door – not enough to slam it shut, but enough so that it's mostly closed over. He loosens his tie, lets it hang from his neck, and undoes the top couple of buttons of his shirt. He rips off his jacket and tosses it over the back of a nearby chair. ]
Don't kill me.
[ which is all the warning Emma gets before he lifts her bodily, depositing her on the edge of the nearby conference table. He cups her jaw with one hand, his other hand resting on the small of her back. A smile that looks like more of a wince is all that stands as an apology – and it'll have to do, because not a half-second later, he surges forward to claim her lips with his in a desperate kiss. ]
[ ...of all the ways to solve this new problem, of all the things he could have done, this is the least expected. her mind is still reeling with questions as he loses his jacket, loosens his tie, and—
oh. no.
she realizes what he has planned as soon as the words leave his mouth. ]
Don't you d—
[ she's caught off guard by the all-too easy way he lifts her, sets her onto the table, and her mind reels with protests, with alternate plans that weren't this, but his face is far closer than she's used to it being, and given the severity of the situation, she's having trouble parsing out her thoughts. the next thing she's aware of, he's kissing her, and her brain just completely shortcircuits.
she can smell him — cologne and champagne and a hint of smoke — and the heat of his rough palm on her face, the pressure of his hand on her back, it's a whole mess of sensation she hasn't experienced in a long time, and certainly never with faraday. he's the last person she'd be doing this with (voluntarily, at least), and as much as she wants to just bite him and shove him off, she realizes that it's the easiest cover, the last thing anyone bursting into the room would want to question, but this is faraday.
make it convincing.
god. damn. it.
emma makes a soft sound — part grumble, part growl — but she reaches up, curls a hand in his unbuttoned shirt, the other finding his hair in a particularly rough grip (convincing, and also a little satisfying), and she finally kisses him back, pressing her lips to his and dragging him closer to her. it needs to look good, she tells herself, needs to really pass so that whoever sees them isn't going to ask too much of them — because isn't it embarrassing enough to interrupt a couple in the throes of...whatever it is they're doing in a dark, empty room? ]
[ Even with his (admittedly lackluster) warning, Faraday still expected Emma to shove him off, to clock him, to do any number of things, really, to separate them. Would've been funny in retrospect, assuming getting caught in this back room uninvited didn't land them in any more trouble than a slap on the wrist.
Given some of the partygoers, though, Faraday doubts any punishment for being found trespassing would be as light as that.
But he should've given Emma more credit, because despite her sense of panic and the way her surprise makes her freeze, and also despite the fact that she hates his guts, she doesn't flip him onto his back and beat the tar out of him. Too clever for that, he supposes. And instead of enacting some form of physical violence on his person, she responds in kind, pulling him in close, moving against him, and— she's not bad, actually. Faraday had always sort of wondered, honestly – because of course he would. Emma Cullen was a beautiful woman, even if she spent most of their time together despising him (not that he blamed her), and, yes, he had always been a little curious. It's at least a little gratifying, then, that under pain of capture or discovery, she could set aside her near mortal hatred of Faraday and let loose. It's surprisingly good and in a second or two, Faraday nearly forgets the voices down the hall, starts losing himself to the sensation of her mouth on his, her hand against his bare skin, her fingers tangling in his—
Oh.
Alright. The tight grip she has on his hair catches him off-guard entirely, and he inhales sharply, surprised. But the rough little tug as she drags him toward her throws him off even more, made obvious by the (frankly mortifying) sound he makes – little more than a quietly voiced exhale, but there was definitely something pleased in it.
... He'll say it was part of the act, some distantly logical voice at the far, far, far back of his mind decides. He'll say it was part of the show, if she brings it up. Because there is no fucking way in hell he wants Emma Cullen to know a single thing about him or his sex life, including the fact that he might actually like it a little rough.
In the here and now, though, his attention is split. Part of it on trying to listen for the noise of approaching footsteps or voices, trying to figure out how many and how close. And the other part on kissing Emma, licking tentatively into her mouth, faintly tasting the champagne she had nursed earlier. Make it convincing, Chisolm had said, and while it was mostly directed to Emma (whose disgust was practically another presence sitting at the table with them), a little flick toward Faraday here and again said the impetus was as much on him as it was on her.
So he makes it work. He has quite a bit of practice in these affairs, in a manner of speaking.
He draws himself out of their kiss, though a small (tiny. miniscule. microscopic) part of him is reluctant to break contact for any amount of time. He does it anyway, though, and redirects his attentions to mouth the side of her neck, to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. ]
[ she's going to murder him. absolutely, completely kill him for this, and she's not even going to feel remotely bad, because, oh, he deserves it. for starting this in the first place, for being such an insufferable jackass, for—
oh, hell.
that little sound out of him is exhilarating in a way emma absolutely refuses to acknowledge, because, she tells herself, it's just that she's thrown him for a loop that's satisfying — that's it. not the reaction itself and whatever that could've meant for faraday's predilections (because while she's curious in this moment, she will absolutely never, never ask joshua faraday about his sex life. full stop.). she's also definitely not going to think about the way it makes her heart pound, that the way he kisses her leaves her breathless and a little lightheaded — nerves, she tells herself. it has to be how anxious she is about being caught, about trying to pass this off the right way.
it has to look good, just like the rest of their inconvenient cover, and as faraday finally pulls away from her lips, she thinks there's no way this won't be solid enough to ward away suspicion. she's almost surprised (not disappointed) when he stops kissing her, a flicker of confusion on her face that quickly melts away. ]
Wh—oh—
[ she will absolutely never, not in a million years, own up to the breathy, near-moan that slips out of her as the heat of his mouth slides across her oh-so sensitive throat. part of the act, she'd say, if she ever has to explain herself. she's just— that good an actress, obviously, and certainly not affected by the way faraday drags her into him, her curves pressed right up against his chest, every inch of her body practically molding to his.
she's trying to listen for the footsteps down the hall, trying to pick out the sound of other doors being opened, but as her breathing hitches, she slides her free hand under the open material of faraday's shirt, her nails digging into his shoulder — a little extra roughly each time she shudders against him. she still clings to his hair, and she will absolutely die before she admits that a particular shift of his mouth makes her whimper.
just an act. a very, very good act, because this makes holding his arm look like child's play. ]
[ Those quiet, seemingly involuntary sounds she makes, the way she presses into him, moves against him – it all sends heat through his veins, and he hums encouragingly against her throat, breathless and laced with—
(need. pleasure.)
—something even Faraday can’t quite place.
His own breath hitches the first time he feels her nails dig into his skin, and the prickle sends a flare of heat through him, sets the tips of his fingers tingling. He takes it for a fluke, that first time, as he does the second, but around the fifth time, he decides he just does not give a single shit about intention or not, because it’s good. Those little pinpoints of pain (that far away part of him wonders if it might leave a mark? if he can drive her to enough of a frenzy that she might lose herself and actually draw blood?), the rough sting of her fingers tangled in his hair – it’s damn good, and— ]
Fuck—
[ hissed out, thready with want. He can’t help it, because shit, the warmth of her body against his, the quiet noises she’s making, each shuddering movement, pours something molten into his gut, sends wave after wave of heat through him. He claims her lips again – greedily, this time. Desperately. One of his hands slips beneath her thigh, skin exposed by the slit of her skirt, and he tries to pull her closer, his own hips canting towards hers, and—
He thought he heard something.
… Probably nothing. And anyway, who gives a fuck? Faraday slips his tongue into her mouth again, licking past her lips and teeth—
No. No, he definitely heard something, that time.
Startled, Faraday pulls away, turning to see a youngish man in a suit just a hair too small for him. There’s an unmistakable redness to his face as he clears his throat again – this time to actually find his voice, whereas the first and second times had been to tactfully capture the couple’s attention. Faraday looks past him to see another man hovering in the doorway, who tries and utterly fails to smother his grin. The first man straightens, and he attempts to imbue his voice with some authority – though he misses the mark. Discomfited, probably. ]
Access to this room is restricted. I’m going to have to ask you to return to the ballroom.
[ Faraday pulls away from Emma, wastes a second with staring at her, before another quiet cough finally spurs him to action. Faraday nods to the guard, offers a grumbled apology, before he scoops up his jacket and slips it on. He doesn’t bother with straightening himself up just yet, nor does he move to wipe off the lipstick that’s surely smeared on his face; apparently beating a hasty retreat is much more important, considering the slow burning embarrassment in his gut. Not an act, that embarrassment, and Faraday silently prays for the floor to open up beneath him and swallow him for letting that little act go as far as it did.
(and for wanting so badly to pick up where they left off.)
He offers Emma a hand down from the table before he quickly shuffles past the two guards. He also buries the desire to punch out the grinning guard, whose shoulders shake with the strain of holding back his laughter – which, Faraday feels, should warrant some kind of reward. ]
[ act though it may have been, emma's going to be impossibly humiliated when she has a chance to think about what she and faraday had done; she shouldn't be letting it affect her so much, shouldn't be so swept away, but she feels like her mind has just gone blank, until the only thing she's focusing on is faraday and his lips and the heat of his hands, and—
—and then they're interrupted just like she expected them to be.
however, what she didn't expect was how mortified she feels when she sees the two guards watching them. this had been the entire purpose of kissing faraday in the first place, to be walked in on and pass off their presence as a pair of overeager lovers, but— god, she doesn't even want to think about how overeager she'd really been.
with color high in her cheeks, she's quick to slip off of the table with her hand in faraday's, ducking her head and following faraday out of the room.
well, it had worked perfectly, that's for sure; there hadn't been any questions, they hadn't been detained, and no one seemed to suspect a thing (if the near-guffawing guard was any indication), but her body is still thrumming with, god, whatever that had been, and she absolutely hates how flushed she feels, her heart still pounding, breath unsteady.
anxiety. just anxiety. that's all it could have been.
she makes it down the hall with faraday, not quite back to the ballroom, before she finally looks up at him. there certainly is lipstick smeared across his mouth, and she's sure it's even worse on her own face, and his hair is mussed all to hell, his shirt rumpled with partially exposed skin, and—
oh, dear god.
there's a few harsh, red marks on his shoulder, leading down his chest near his clavicle, and those sure are tracks from her nails. she reaches up to touch her own neck in a moment of sudden uncertainty, her eyes narrowing slightly at faraday. ]
Did you mark me anywhere?
[ this is an important question, and she decides not to mention the marks she can see on him. ]
[ Each step away from the room helps to cool him down, helps to lighten how heavy his heartbeat had become, but it does nothing to lessen the flush of embarrassment at how quickly he had gone from "this is an act" to— to—
That. Whatever the hell that had been.
And he's not sure if Emma's silence was a signal of that same embarrassment, or if she's merely allowing him to gather his wits about him, because— admittedly, the whole thing had worked him up, had made his pulse pound in his ears, had lit up his skin until it made every touch feel practically electric. The cold wash of reality helps to bring him back down, though. And the mortification has a hand in that, too.
Because— because fuck, that had been good. And given his "experience," that had been good. And— hell, he can't keep thinking about this. He cannot keep thinking about this with his partner, who still found him insufferable and impossible to deal with and hated him at least 95% of the time.
He stops when she does, finally setting to work to make himself presentable. A quick adjustment of his hair, straightening it as best as he can without a mirror. A cursory wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to clean off the lipstick smeared there. Once his hand starts coming away clean, Emma finally breaks the silence that had fallen between them.
... God. Of all the fucking questions—
Clearing his throat, he turns to take a better look, and— the breath leaves him all at once. ]
No.
[ Relief. Because if he had left a goddamn hickey on Agent goddamn Cullen, she might actually kill him. ]
You're fine.
[ He apparently hasn't noticed the marks on his own skin just yet, hasn't noticed the quiet sting in light of the shitstorm of shame swirling through him, but they're certainly still on display for the moment. He waves a hand at his face, gaze fixed on some point over her shoulder to avoid looking directly at her. ]
[ emma is absolutely hitting the denial phase of this experience, because she is not going to spend her time thinking about exactly how much she'd reacted to faraday. he's— faraday, for god's sake. her partner. another agent. the most obnoxious person she works with, hands down.
he's far and away not the kind of man emma would find herself tangled up with, couldn't be more different from her late husband if he tried, and if she'd gone for anyone...
there's no way it would have been him.
couldn't have been.
but if she's focused on the way her body felt, the way he'd touched her and kissed her and—
no. it has to have been a reflection of how long it's been since she's gotten laid, not because of this particular man. maybe if she refuses to think about it, if she refuses to acknowledge exactly how much she'd been enjoying it, then it'll just— go away. because that is absolutely what this needs to do.
she breathes a notable sight of relief when he assures her that she's gone unmarked, because she's not sure how she'd live it down if joshua faraday had left her with a hickey. by hiding his body, that's how.
smoothing her dress back into place, she tries not to think about how his hand had been on her thigh just moments ago, and she looks up at faraday's face, giving a small nod. ]
Good enough.
[ they don't look anywhere near as pristine as they did before, that's for sure, but if they're going to sweep through the ballroom, try not to draw attention to themselves, they shouldn't look too out of place. ]
But you should— cover that.
[ she gestures to the exposed red marks, clearing her throat and looking away to fix her hair as best she can. she doesn't want to discuss exactly what she'd done with her nails, doesn't want to acknowledge what more she could and probably would have done, given the opportunity— because, damn it, that particular "opportunity" is not an option. ]
[ "Good enough." Figures. He snorts out a mirthless laugh as he combs his fingers through his hair again, flattening and straightening as he needs to. Another quick wipe of his mouth, and again it comes away clean. That's a bit of a relief, at least. He imagines his lips are still slightly swollen from their— from—
Before.
—but there's little he can do about that now.
When she gestures, he frowns, glances down himself. ]
... Holy hell.
[ He brushes his fingers across the angry red lines marring his skin, and only when he notices them do they finally start smarting. No breaks, but damn.
He swallows thickly, can only manage a far too quick nod of agreement, and quickly sets to buttoning up his shirt. Every shift of movement brings the fabric of his shirt across those scrapes, act as a reminder of— that, and he feels heat rise up his neck. As he's knotting his tie, he gives Emma another quick inspection. ]
Your, uh. [ He clears his throat, gaze quickly darting to the wall. ] Your lipstick.
[ she glances back at faraday, watches him button up his shirt and hide those marks she's embarrassed to realize she'd left behind. she silently hopes they fade quickly, so she doesn't have to see them on him again before the end of this mission.
she's just finishing with her hair when he speaks again, and—
oh, damn it, her lipstick. she should've remembered that would be an issue, but there's no way she can really fix it without a mirror. she carefully swipes along the edges of her lips, trying not to disturb what's leftover too badly. ]
[ At her direction, his gaze returns to her, and he notices how her lips are slightly swollen from the kiss they shared, how her lipstick is all but faded, and he's suddenly struck by that strange little flare of desire, something that whispers at the back of his head, That was good, wasn't it? Maybe if you play your cards right—
His gaze flits away, and his response is another curt nod. ]
Good enough.
[ Easier to echo back her words.
He straights out his tie, folds his collar over it and rolls his shoulders. Jacket buttoned, he takes a moment to glance around the corner to the party still in full swing. It's better, he knows, not to look too well put together, in case they're stopped at the threshold and asked again what they were doing back there. Better to let a cursory glance leave very little to the imagination. But part of him still wants to erase all the evidence of the kiss they shared, how heated it got, and if he could, he'd run back and beat the tar out of the two guards.
For knowing too much, obviously. Not because he's pissed about their interruption or anything.
He fiddles with his cuff links, before risking a glance at her again. He nods toward the ballroom before heading that way himself. ]
[ sheer determination is what focuses emma enough to follow faraday out of the hall and back to the ballroom. she can't let herself get distracted thinking about that kiss or about him as anything other than her obnoxious partner — because that's all he is. they're there for a mission, and it's bigger than any conflicted physical— anything that may be clinging to her in the aftermath of their coverup.
their work is the important thing here.
they get a few cursory glances as they reenter the ballroom, but at least most people seem content to whisper and chuckle under their breath, rather than say a single thing to their faces — those that notice, of course. most are so wrapped up in their own business, in the dancing and the champagne, to care what two other attendees may have gotten up to. she can't help the way she flushes at the pointed whispers, but she forces the shame back, forces herself to plaster on that well-practiced smile, because if she and her husband are so amorous that they sneak off to a back room together, Mrs. Brennan would be far likelier to laugh it off than be too terribly embarrassed.
damn it.
she focuses her attention away from the party at large, instead looking for their more important targets for the evening. almost immediately, she notices a distinct lack of one bartholomew bogue, and she feels something clench in her stomach.
reluctantly, but out of sheer necessity, emma slides her arm into faraday's, leaning up with her lips near his ear — to look intimate, of course. ]
Bogue's gone. Rivera too.
[ movement is clearly happening, and checking the surveillance wouldn't be a bad idea. ]
[ Faraday's own smile slips back in place easily enough; he's used to that, putting on that particular mask. It's probably one of the things that drives Emma so insane about him – that on the surface, he seems to take things in stride, without a care.
And he does, for the most part. He takes things on the chin, moves on with his life, because he knows sitting with his regret, with his shame, would send him on a downward spiral that only a bottle of vodka would remedy. Not that anyone really knows this, save, possibly, for the therapist they're required to see every once and again for their psych evals.
So he smiles, sticks close to Emma's side – too afraid to touch, because whatever just happened was awkward as all hell. Which is why he's surprised when Emma willingly slips her arm through his, and he unconsciously leans down as she draws up.
(He feels the hot brush of her breath against his ear, and the memory of those quiet little whimpers hit him with all the force of a Mack truck and—)
Bogue and Rivera. He tries not to startle at her observation, and for the most part, he's successful, save for the slightest tensing that she can likely feel in his arm. Faraday nods, glancing around as casually as he can manage, and verifies for himself that the two men are indeed missing. He swallows, licks his lips, and forces his grin to widen. ]
[ maybe it's the mention of bogue, or maybe it's just emma's usual ability to shut everything else off and focus on the job. either way, she's refusing to let herself be distracted by the contact with faraday, not thinking about how close their faces are again for a moment, and she leans back a touch to meet his grin with her own smile (but it's too showy, too much for the sake of their cover than a genuine sort of smile). ]
I think I like the sound of that.
[ Mrs. Brennan, ever the eager wife.
for the sake of appearances, she keeps her arm linked with faraday's on the way out of the ballroom, and admittedly, no one seems surprised to see them sneaking off (given the still slightly-rumpled look they have about them, she's sure they're making all kinds of lewd assumptions as she and faraday slip outside). she manages to keep holding his arm until they're in the elevator, and then she purposefully steps away, putting some distance between the two of them. ]
How long do you think we have?
[ until the deal goes down; how long to sit and listen and watch before they get something concrete?
(how long is she going to have to hear bogue's disgustingly smarmy voice through the speakers?)
her attitude is all-business, because it has to be now. gone is the mask of the adoring wife, and emma is back to her usual professionalism — even if there's a tightness in her jaw so less often seen; it betrays a more deeply buried emotion, but, well, that's what she's been trying to keep in check since laying eyes on bogue earlier in the evening. ]
[ There’s the vaguest sense of loss when she finally steps away, and a part of him misses the contact, the warmth of her at his side, and—
He quickly clears his throat, adjusting his jacket again, brushing it down. Better to keep his hands occupied. Better to keep himself distracted, because those thoughts are stupid. Ridiculous. And Emma has clearly gotten over their mutual embarrassment far better than he has, and clearly he needs to follow her example.
… Her example in this case, that is. Not in general. They can’t both be emotionless murderbots, after all.
Faraday glances over at her when she speaks, then looks back at the elevator doors. The brushed metal offers only a blurry reflection, thankfully; he’d hate to see how he actually looked. Still, self-consciously, he wipes at his mouth again. ]
If we’re lucky, they’re jawin’ their way through small talk right now. [ His accent returns, now that he’s not bothering to put on the act. He pauses, considering the possible members of meeting. Both talkers, from what he recalls. Both so awfully fond of drama, as much as they are of cold, hard cash. ] “How’s the Missus? Nifty weather lately. You tried that new place by the docks?” That whole mess.
Figure we got a few ‘fore they get to the important stuff.
[ there's something comforting about the return of faraday's accent, dropping richard brennan now that he can (not that emma will ever admit that aloud).
she nods along in agreement, because she's sure faraday is right; these men are quite the chatterboxes, and expecting them to get straight to the point is a little unrealistic. ]
Got a point.
[ she's content to keep the talking to a minimum while they're in the elevator, mostly because she's far from eager to go through that "chat" faraday mentioned they'd be having. as long as she avoids it, she doesn't have to talk about it, and that is something she's going to cling to.
the elevator doors open onto their floor, and emma strides out without waiting for faraday, going straight to their room and opening the door. she's eager to get out of her dress, to change into something more practical, and to fix what's left of her makeup (mostly by removing it; she doesn't need more reminders of exactly what they'd been doing to ruin it).
checking the surveillance equipment briefly, emma takes off her heels, clicking through a few different screens to pull up the feedback from their bugs. as the software taps into their devices, she goes to find something comfortable from the small pack she'd brought along, something far from the slinky dress she'd had to wear for the evening.
she glances over at faraday, only for a second to take in his still-rumpled look. ]
You should change. You look like you just rolled right outta bed.
[ As Emma all but charges from the elevator, he casts her back a flat, unimpressed look before following after her. That’s just her style he supposes. Focused. Determined. Stubborn as a mule.
Completely and utterly goddamn impossible.
He sighs quietly to himself as she admits them into their quarters, shutting the door and sliding over the latch, twisting the deadbolt lock in place. He loosens his tie again as he moves further into the room, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the bed. It’s as he’s shrugging out of his jacket that Emma makes her suggestion, and he snorts out a laugh. ]
As I recall, that was the idea.
[ And his tone is a touch meaner than he intends, but there’s just something grating about this mess. Something annoying about how Emma seems to be treating whatever that was as a giant inconvenience. Maybe he just feels insulted, like her sharpness is an affront to his skills. (He is, after all, the world’s greatest lover.)
And maybe it’s stupidly spiteful, but while he does ditch the jacket, drapes it over the back of a chair, he decides not to change. Instead, he untucks his shirt, undoes the first couple buttons at his throat. He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it thoroughly to rid himself of that slicked back style he had so carefully constructed prior to the party. The cufflinks go next, and as he plops down in a chair in front of their equipment, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
This time, he looks over at her pointedly, foregoing those fleeting, embarrassed little glances, almost like he’s daring her to comment. ]
[ in all honesty, emma has to treat that odd little dalliance like it's nothing; it has to be, because otherwise, she'd be admitting to herself that she'd enjoyed what they'd done, and that...that is not a mental trail she can follow.
especially not right now, when they have more important things to deal with.
of course, that doesn't mean she misses the tone he's adopted, and as he fixes her with that look, she just stares right back, her eyebrow cocked just a touch in one of her more unimpressed expressions. ]
Not sure you did yourself any favors there.
[ her tone is bland, because of course she's going to say something, but she gathers up the rest of her clothes, carrying them towards the bathroom (she's not going to change in front of him after all).
...ignoring the fact that she'd already been pressed completely against him earlier and that he'd had his hand on her bare thigh, and—
[ Her observation is met with one of his customary, crooked smiles, and he snorts out another laugh as she leaves. He decides to end the argument there, considering there's work to be done, and he figures a bickering match wouldn't help matters much. He slips on one of the headsets, keeping one of his ears uncovered. The software taps into the devices at last, and catches one of the men mid-sentence.
"—their linguini. It's quite delicious."
Oh, good. Small talk still. He and Agent Cullen are sure to save the day with this riveting information. He slouches back into his seat, resting the back of his head on his chair's back to regard the ceiling.
He purses his lips as he listens, then, he calls out, ]
You'd better get in here soon. [ He says it dryly, though, without enthusiasm, which belies the apparent urgency of his words. ] You're missin' some awfully important stuff. Like how Rivera's dabbling in Bikram Yoga.
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But the moment passes, and he lets her step around him, lets his arm drop to his side. He murmurs, ]
If you say so.
[ though he hardly sounds convinced. He watches her retreating back with a frown for a second or two. Not enough time to suss out what had bothered her. Maybe in the privacy of their hotel room, he could poke her for answers, but not now.
He trails after her after the moment of reflection, glancing over his shoulder every now and again to keep an eye on their backs while she leads the way. As they head to the first room in silence, Faraday, of course, is the one to break it: ]
Listen. If you need me to take point on this...
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but emma won't let it. this is too important for her to get distracted by her emotions, and despite the roiling ball of anger sitting in her chest, she's determined to ignore it.
emma is in the middle of searching for the best places to bug the room when faraday speaks up again, and she goes tense all over, turning her head to look at him with a barely restrained expression of indignation. ]
Agent Faraday, I assure you I'm more than capable of handling this mission.
[ her eyes narrow, and she looks away to return to concealing a near imperceptible microphone. ]
I'm not nearly as compromised as you seem to think I am.
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Richard Brennan.
[ The name he's adopted for their assignment, and the one he intends to use while they're still on the clock; the correction comes out sharply, and he looks her over once more before turning back to keep an eye on the hall. All things considered, it was a minor slip-up, and it was just as well that it happened now, rather than while the two of them were mingling in the party. But it was also a rookie mistake, and one liable to get them into hot water, if that name and that title drifted past the wrong ears. ]
Don't let that happen again.
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It won't.
[ she sounds determined, and the truth is that she's grasping at her usual focus, trying to nail down the way she always handles their missions. the most frustrating thing for her is that she doesn't make these mistakes; small things, certainly, but these are significant enough, compared to how she operates.
shaking away that train of thought, she turns her attention back to the room itself, finishing up with the bugs and running a quick test. everything seems to be in order, and she straightens back up, glancing over her shoulder at faraday. ]
Finished here. Can we move on?
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He thinks she might be. He thinks he sees fine cracks in her usual pristine veneer, and he wonders how far those breaks go. Pretty far, if he had to wager a guess, considering the slip of her mask from earlier, the use of his name just then, the anger she's just barely keeping a lid on right now. ]
You'n'I are gonna need to have a chat after this.
[ He says it lowly – a threat or anything of the sort, but certainly a promise that he intends to bring this conversation up again once they're not at risk of getting caught with bugs up their sleeves.
But he checks the hallway again – no one approaching still, and he nods them back out, heading to the next room they'd marked out. ]
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emma's really looking forward to that (not). she's already mentally compiling ways to dodge any questions he may try to bring up, how she's going to shut him down if he even so much as thinks about bringing this up. maybe if she just swallows her pride and manages to apologize for being distracted, he'll leave well enough alone.
that would be appreciated.
pursing her lips in clear disagreement, she at least doesn't argue, not now, and follows faraday out of the room and back into the hall. she lets him lead the way, and the second room is fortunately just as empty and just as easy to thoroughly bug; emma doesn't speak to him, focusing instead on what she's doing, and it's only after they're about to head out again that she glances over at faraday. ]
Rea—
[ the sound of muffled voices down the hall makes her stop cold, her entire body going stock-still. this is not the right place to be discovered, would make it even more difficult to pass off with a quick lie about getting lost when it's so inconvenient to otherwise even get down this hall.
she hears a door open outside, more voices, and the door closes again as she looks expectantly at faraday. she's not sure if they should bolt, try to put some distance between them and the others in the hall, or just see how likely it is that they'll get out of it with apologies and one of faraday's disarming grins. ]
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But apparently Emma's distraction is a two-edged sword, because Faraday doesn't hear the voices until they're practically upon them. If they run, they'll surely be seen, and two people bolting down a hall isn't exactly a normal sight – triply so, given who's in attendance at this party. Staying as they are is no better, considering they've been wiring the rooms for sound, and if they're simply standing there, that leaves them open to questions. As much of a charming son of a bitch as Faraday can be, he's not sure if he can talk them out of this. Not as they currently are, at any rate.
Faraday freezes as Emma turns to him, mind racing, and—
While Emma thinks logically, comes at their assignments with five plans of attack at the ready, Faraday has always worked best shooting from the hip. Improvising. Cobbling together a solution with shoestring and a piece of gum.
He turns, using one foot to kick the door – not enough to slam it shut, but enough so that it's mostly closed over. He loosens his tie, lets it hang from his neck, and undoes the top couple of buttons of his shirt. He rips off his jacket and tosses it over the back of a nearby chair. ]
Don't kill me.
[ which is all the warning Emma gets before he lifts her bodily, depositing her on the edge of the nearby conference table. He cups her jaw with one hand, his other hand resting on the small of her back. A smile that looks like more of a wince is all that stands as an apology – and it'll have to do, because not a half-second later, he surges forward to claim her lips with his in a desperate kiss. ]
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oh. no.
she realizes what he has planned as soon as the words leave his mouth. ]
Don't you d—
[ she's caught off guard by the all-too easy way he lifts her, sets her onto the table, and her mind reels with protests, with alternate plans that weren't this, but his face is far closer than she's used to it being, and given the severity of the situation, she's having trouble parsing out her thoughts. the next thing she's aware of, he's kissing her, and her brain just completely shortcircuits.
she can smell him — cologne and champagne and a hint of smoke — and the heat of his rough palm on her face, the pressure of his hand on her back, it's a whole mess of sensation she hasn't experienced in a long time, and certainly never with faraday. he's the last person she'd be doing this with (voluntarily, at least), and as much as she wants to just bite him and shove him off, she realizes that it's the easiest cover, the last thing anyone bursting into the room would want to question, but this is faraday.
make it convincing.
god. damn. it.
emma makes a soft sound — part grumble, part growl — but she reaches up, curls a hand in his unbuttoned shirt, the other finding his hair in a particularly rough grip (convincing, and also a little satisfying), and she finally kisses him back, pressing her lips to his and dragging him closer to her. it needs to look good, she tells herself, needs to really pass so that whoever sees them isn't going to ask too much of them — because isn't it embarrassing enough to interrupt a couple in the throes of...whatever it is they're doing in a dark, empty room? ]
Mmn—
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Given some of the partygoers, though, Faraday doubts any punishment for being found trespassing would be as light as that.
But he should've given Emma more credit, because despite her sense of panic and the way her surprise makes her freeze, and also despite the fact that she hates his guts, she doesn't flip him onto his back and beat the tar out of him. Too clever for that, he supposes. And instead of enacting some form of physical violence on his person, she responds in kind, pulling him in close, moving against him, and— she's not bad, actually. Faraday had always sort of wondered, honestly – because of course he would. Emma Cullen was a beautiful woman, even if she spent most of their time together despising him (not that he blamed her), and, yes, he had always been a little curious. It's at least a little gratifying, then, that under pain of capture or discovery, she could set aside her near mortal hatred of Faraday and let loose. It's surprisingly good and in a second or two, Faraday nearly forgets the voices down the hall, starts losing himself to the sensation of her mouth on his, her hand against his bare skin, her fingers tangling in his—
Oh.
Alright. The tight grip she has on his hair catches him off-guard entirely, and he inhales sharply, surprised. But the rough little tug as she drags him toward her throws him off even more, made obvious by the (frankly mortifying) sound he makes – little more than a quietly voiced exhale, but there was definitely something pleased in it.
... He'll say it was part of the act, some distantly logical voice at the far, far, far back of his mind decides. He'll say it was part of the show, if she brings it up. Because there is no fucking way in hell he wants Emma Cullen to know a single thing about him or his sex life, including the fact that he might actually like it a little rough.
In the here and now, though, his attention is split. Part of it on trying to listen for the noise of approaching footsteps or voices, trying to figure out how many and how close. And the other part on kissing Emma, licking tentatively into her mouth, faintly tasting the champagne she had nursed earlier. Make it convincing, Chisolm had said, and while it was mostly directed to Emma (whose disgust was practically another presence sitting at the table with them), a little flick toward Faraday here and again said the impetus was as much on him as it was on her.
So he makes it work. He has quite a bit of practice in these affairs, in a manner of speaking.
He draws himself out of their kiss, though a small (tiny. miniscule. microscopic) part of him is reluctant to break contact for any amount of time. He does it anyway, though, and redirects his attentions to mouth the side of her neck, to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. ]
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oh, hell.
that little sound out of him is exhilarating in a way emma absolutely refuses to acknowledge, because, she tells herself, it's just that she's thrown him for a loop that's satisfying — that's it. not the reaction itself and whatever that could've meant for faraday's predilections (because while she's curious in this moment, she will absolutely never, never ask joshua faraday about his sex life. full stop.). she's also definitely not going to think about the way it makes her heart pound, that the way he kisses her leaves her breathless and a little lightheaded — nerves, she tells herself. it has to be how anxious she is about being caught, about trying to pass this off the right way.
it has to look good, just like the rest of their inconvenient cover, and as faraday finally pulls away from her lips, she thinks there's no way this won't be solid enough to ward away suspicion. she's almost surprised (not disappointed) when he stops kissing her, a flicker of confusion on her face that quickly melts away. ]
Wh—oh—
[ she will absolutely never, not in a million years, own up to the breathy, near-moan that slips out of her as the heat of his mouth slides across her oh-so sensitive throat. part of the act, she'd say, if she ever has to explain herself. she's just— that good an actress, obviously, and certainly not affected by the way faraday drags her into him, her curves pressed right up against his chest, every inch of her body practically molding to his.
she's trying to listen for the footsteps down the hall, trying to pick out the sound of other doors being opened, but as her breathing hitches, she slides her free hand under the open material of faraday's shirt, her nails digging into his shoulder — a little extra roughly each time she shudders against him. she still clings to his hair, and she will absolutely die before she admits that a particular shift of his mouth makes her whimper.
just an act. a very, very good act, because this makes holding his arm look like child's play. ]
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(need. pleasure.)
—something even Faraday can’t quite place.
His own breath hitches the first time he feels her nails dig into his skin, and the prickle sends a flare of heat through him, sets the tips of his fingers tingling. He takes it for a fluke, that first time, as he does the second, but around the fifth time, he decides he just does not give a single shit about intention or not, because it’s good. Those little pinpoints of pain (that far away part of him wonders if it might leave a mark? if he can drive her to enough of a frenzy that she might lose herself and actually draw blood?), the rough sting of her fingers tangled in his hair – it’s damn good, and— ]
Fuck—
[ hissed out, thready with want. He can’t help it, because shit, the warmth of her body against his, the quiet noises she’s making, each shuddering movement, pours something molten into his gut, sends wave after wave of heat through him. He claims her lips again – greedily, this time. Desperately. One of his hands slips beneath her thigh, skin exposed by the slit of her skirt, and he tries to pull her closer, his own hips canting towards hers, and—
He thought he heard something.
… Probably nothing. And anyway, who gives a fuck? Faraday slips his tongue into her mouth again, licking past her lips and teeth—
No. No, he definitely heard something, that time.
Startled, Faraday pulls away, turning to see a youngish man in a suit just a hair too small for him. There’s an unmistakable redness to his face as he clears his throat again – this time to actually find his voice, whereas the first and second times had been to tactfully capture the couple’s attention. Faraday looks past him to see another man hovering in the doorway, who tries and utterly fails to smother his grin. The first man straightens, and he attempts to imbue his voice with some authority – though he misses the mark. Discomfited, probably. ]
Access to this room is restricted. I’m going to have to ask you to return to the ballroom.
[ Faraday pulls away from Emma, wastes a second with staring at her, before another quiet cough finally spurs him to action. Faraday nods to the guard, offers a grumbled apology, before he scoops up his jacket and slips it on. He doesn’t bother with straightening himself up just yet, nor does he move to wipe off the lipstick that’s surely smeared on his face; apparently beating a hasty retreat is much more important, considering the slow burning embarrassment in his gut. Not an act, that embarrassment, and Faraday silently prays for the floor to open up beneath him and swallow him for letting that little act go as far as it did.
(and for wanting so badly to pick up where they left off.)
He offers Emma a hand down from the table before he quickly shuffles past the two guards. He also buries the desire to punch out the grinning guard, whose shoulders shake with the strain of holding back his laughter – which, Faraday feels, should warrant some kind of reward. ]
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—and then they're interrupted just like she expected them to be.
however, what she didn't expect was how mortified she feels when she sees the two guards watching them. this had been the entire purpose of kissing faraday in the first place, to be walked in on and pass off their presence as a pair of overeager lovers, but— god, she doesn't even want to think about how overeager she'd really been.
with color high in her cheeks, she's quick to slip off of the table with her hand in faraday's, ducking her head and following faraday out of the room.
well, it had worked perfectly, that's for sure; there hadn't been any questions, they hadn't been detained, and no one seemed to suspect a thing (if the near-guffawing guard was any indication), but her body is still thrumming with, god, whatever that had been, and she absolutely hates how flushed she feels, her heart still pounding, breath unsteady.
anxiety. just anxiety. that's all it could have been.
she makes it down the hall with faraday, not quite back to the ballroom, before she finally looks up at him. there certainly is lipstick smeared across his mouth, and she's sure it's even worse on her own face, and his hair is mussed all to hell, his shirt rumpled with partially exposed skin, and—
oh, dear god.
there's a few harsh, red marks on his shoulder, leading down his chest near his clavicle, and those sure are tracks from her nails. she reaches up to touch her own neck in a moment of sudden uncertainty, her eyes narrowing slightly at faraday. ]
Did you mark me anywhere?
[ this is an important question, and she decides not to mention the marks she can see on him. ]
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That. Whatever the hell that had been.
And he's not sure if Emma's silence was a signal of that same embarrassment, or if she's merely allowing him to gather his wits about him, because— admittedly, the whole thing had worked him up, had made his pulse pound in his ears, had lit up his skin until it made every touch feel practically electric. The cold wash of reality helps to bring him back down, though. And the mortification has a hand in that, too.
Because— because fuck, that had been good. And given his "experience," that had been good. And— hell, he can't keep thinking about this. He cannot keep thinking about this with his partner, who still found him insufferable and impossible to deal with and hated him at least 95% of the time.
He stops when she does, finally setting to work to make himself presentable. A quick adjustment of his hair, straightening it as best as he can without a mirror. A cursory wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to clean off the lipstick smeared there. Once his hand starts coming away clean, Emma finally breaks the silence that had fallen between them.
... God. Of all the fucking questions—
Clearing his throat, he turns to take a better look, and— the breath leaves him all at once. ]
No.
[ Relief. Because if he had left a goddamn hickey on Agent goddamn Cullen, she might actually kill him. ]
You're fine.
[ He apparently hasn't noticed the marks on his own skin just yet, hasn't noticed the quiet sting in light of the shitstorm of shame swirling through him, but they're certainly still on display for the moment. He waves a hand at his face, gaze fixed on some point over her shoulder to avoid looking directly at her. ]
Did I miss anything?
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he's far and away not the kind of man emma would find herself tangled up with, couldn't be more different from her late husband if he tried, and if she'd gone for anyone...
there's no way it would have been him.
couldn't have been.
but if she's focused on the way her body felt, the way he'd touched her and kissed her and—
no. it has to have been a reflection of how long it's been since she's gotten laid, not because of this particular man. maybe if she refuses to think about it, if she refuses to acknowledge exactly how much she'd been enjoying it, then it'll just— go away. because that is absolutely what this needs to do.
she breathes a notable sight of relief when he assures her that she's gone unmarked, because she's not sure how she'd live it down if joshua faraday had left her with a hickey.
by hiding his body, that's how.smoothing her dress back into place, she tries not to think about how his hand had been on her thigh just moments ago, and she looks up at faraday's face, giving a small nod. ]
Good enough.
[ they don't look anywhere near as pristine as they did before, that's for sure, but if they're going to sweep through the ballroom, try not to draw attention to themselves, they shouldn't look too out of place. ]
But you should— cover that.
[ she gestures to the exposed red marks, clearing her throat and looking away to fix her hair as best she can. she doesn't want to discuss exactly what she'd done with her nails, doesn't want to acknowledge what more she could and probably would have done, given the opportunity— because, damn it, that particular "opportunity" is not an option. ]
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Before.
—but there's little he can do about that now.
When she gestures, he frowns, glances down himself. ]
... Holy hell.
[ He brushes his fingers across the angry red lines marring his skin, and only when he notices them do they finally start smarting. No breaks, but damn.
He swallows thickly, can only manage a far too quick nod of agreement, and quickly sets to buttoning up his shirt. Every shift of movement brings the fabric of his shirt across those scrapes, act as a reminder of— that, and he feels heat rise up his neck. As he's knotting his tie, he gives Emma another quick inspection. ]
Your, uh. [ He clears his throat, gaze quickly darting to the wall. ] Your lipstick.
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she's just finishing with her hair when he speaks again, and—
oh, damn it, her lipstick. she should've remembered that would be an issue, but there's no way she can really fix it without a mirror. she carefully swipes along the edges of her lips, trying not to disturb what's leftover too badly. ]
Is that enough?
[ for now, at least. ]
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His gaze flits away, and his response is another curt nod. ]
Good enough.
[ Easier to echo back her words.
He straights out his tie, folds his collar over it and rolls his shoulders. Jacket buttoned, he takes a moment to glance around the corner to the party still in full swing. It's better, he knows, not to look too well put together, in case they're stopped at the threshold and asked again what they were doing back there. Better to let a cursory glance leave very little to the imagination. But part of him still wants to erase all the evidence of the kiss they shared, how heated it got, and if he could, he'd run back and beat the tar out of the two guards.
For knowing too much, obviously. Not because he's pissed about their interruption or anything.
He fiddles with his cuff links, before risking a glance at her again. He nods toward the ballroom before heading that way himself. ]
C'mon.
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their work is the important thing here.
they get a few cursory glances as they reenter the ballroom, but at least most people seem content to whisper and chuckle under their breath, rather than say a single thing to their faces — those that notice, of course. most are so wrapped up in their own business, in the dancing and the champagne, to care what two other attendees may have gotten up to. she can't help the way she flushes at the pointed whispers, but she forces the shame back, forces herself to plaster on that well-practiced smile, because if she and her husband are so amorous that they sneak off to a back room together, Mrs. Brennan would be far likelier to laugh it off than be too terribly embarrassed.
damn it.
she focuses her attention away from the party at large, instead looking for their more important targets for the evening. almost immediately, she notices a distinct lack of one bartholomew bogue, and she feels something clench in her stomach.
reluctantly, but out of sheer necessity, emma slides her arm into faraday's, leaning up with her lips near his ear — to look intimate, of course. ]
Bogue's gone. Rivera too.
[ movement is clearly happening, and checking the surveillance wouldn't be a bad idea. ]
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And he does, for the most part. He takes things on the chin, moves on with his life, because he knows sitting with his regret, with his shame, would send him on a downward spiral that only a bottle of vodka would remedy. Not that anyone really knows this, save, possibly, for the therapist they're required to see every once and again for their psych evals.
So he smiles, sticks close to Emma's side – too afraid to touch, because whatever just happened was awkward as all hell. Which is why he's surprised when Emma willingly slips her arm through his, and he unconsciously leans down as she draws up.
(He feels the hot brush of her breath against his ear, and the memory of those quiet little whimpers hit him with all the force of a Mack truck and—)
Bogue and Rivera. He tries not to startle at her observation, and for the most part, he's successful, save for the slightest tensing that she can likely feel in his arm. Faraday nods, glancing around as casually as he can manage, and verifies for himself that the two men are indeed missing. He swallows, licks his lips, and forces his grin to widen. ]
Back to upstairs, then?
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I think I like the sound of that.
[ Mrs. Brennan, ever the eager wife.
for the sake of appearances, she keeps her arm linked with faraday's on the way out of the ballroom, and admittedly, no one seems surprised to see them sneaking off (given the still slightly-rumpled look they have about them, she's sure they're making all kinds of lewd assumptions as she and faraday slip outside). she manages to keep holding his arm until they're in the elevator, and then she purposefully steps away, putting some distance between the two of them. ]
How long do you think we have?
[ until the deal goes down; how long to sit and listen and watch before they get something concrete?
(how long is she going to have to hear bogue's disgustingly smarmy voice through the speakers?)
her attitude is all-business, because it has to be now. gone is the mask of the adoring wife, and emma is back to her usual professionalism — even if there's a tightness in her jaw so less often seen; it betrays a more deeply buried emotion, but, well, that's what she's been trying to keep in check since laying eyes on bogue earlier in the evening. ]
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He quickly clears his throat, adjusting his jacket again, brushing it down. Better to keep his hands occupied. Better to keep himself distracted, because those thoughts are stupid. Ridiculous. And Emma has clearly gotten over their mutual embarrassment far better than he has, and clearly he needs to follow her example.
… Her example in this case, that is. Not in general. They can’t both be emotionless murderbots, after all.
Faraday glances over at her when she speaks, then looks back at the elevator doors. The brushed metal offers only a blurry reflection, thankfully; he’d hate to see how he actually looked. Still, self-consciously, he wipes at his mouth again. ]
If we’re lucky, they’re jawin’ their way through small talk right now. [ His accent returns, now that he’s not bothering to put on the act. He pauses, considering the possible members of meeting. Both talkers, from what he recalls. Both so awfully fond of drama, as much as they are of cold, hard cash. ] “How’s the Missus? Nifty weather lately. You tried that new place by the docks?” That whole mess.
Figure we got a few ‘fore they get to the important stuff.
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she nods along in agreement, because she's sure faraday is right; these men are quite the chatterboxes, and expecting them to get straight to the point is a little unrealistic. ]
Got a point.
[ she's content to keep the talking to a minimum while they're in the elevator, mostly because she's far from eager to go through that "chat" faraday mentioned they'd be having. as long as she avoids it, she doesn't have to talk about it, and that is something she's going to cling to.
the elevator doors open onto their floor, and emma strides out without waiting for faraday, going straight to their room and opening the door. she's eager to get out of her dress, to change into something more practical, and to fix what's left of her makeup (mostly by removing it; she doesn't need more reminders of exactly what they'd been doing to ruin it).
checking the surveillance equipment briefly, emma takes off her heels, clicking through a few different screens to pull up the feedback from their bugs. as the software taps into their devices, she goes to find something comfortable from the small pack she'd brought along, something far from the slinky dress she'd had to wear for the evening.
she glances over at faraday, only for a second to take in his still-rumpled look. ]
You should change. You look like you just rolled right outta bed.
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Completely and utterly goddamn impossible.
He sighs quietly to himself as she admits them into their quarters, shutting the door and sliding over the latch, twisting the deadbolt lock in place. He loosens his tie again as he moves further into the room, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the bed. It’s as he’s shrugging out of his jacket that Emma makes her suggestion, and he snorts out a laugh. ]
As I recall, that was the idea.
[ And his tone is a touch meaner than he intends, but there’s just something grating about this mess. Something annoying about how Emma seems to be treating whatever that was as a giant inconvenience. Maybe he just feels insulted, like her sharpness is an affront to his skills. (He is, after all, the world’s greatest lover.)
And maybe it’s stupidly spiteful, but while he does ditch the jacket, drapes it over the back of a chair, he decides not to change. Instead, he untucks his shirt, undoes the first couple buttons at his throat. He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it thoroughly to rid himself of that slicked back style he had so carefully constructed prior to the party. The cufflinks go next, and as he plops down in a chair in front of their equipment, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
This time, he looks over at her pointedly, foregoing those fleeting, embarrassed little glances, almost like he’s daring her to comment. ]
Waitin’ on you, Cullen.
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especially not right now, when they have more important things to deal with.
of course, that doesn't mean she misses the tone he's adopted, and as he fixes her with that look, she just stares right back, her eyebrow cocked just a touch in one of her more unimpressed expressions. ]
Not sure you did yourself any favors there.
[ her tone is bland, because of course she's going to say something, but she gathers up the rest of her clothes, carrying them towards the bathroom (she's not going to change in front of him after all).
...ignoring the fact that she'd already been pressed completely against him earlier and that he'd had his hand on her bare thigh, and—
no. not thinking about that again. ]
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"—their linguini. It's quite delicious."
Oh, good. Small talk still. He and Agent Cullen are sure to save the day with this riveting information. He slouches back into his seat, resting the back of his head on his chair's back to regard the ceiling.
He purses his lips as he listens, then, he calls out, ]
You'd better get in here soon. [ He says it dryly, though, without enthusiasm, which belies the apparent urgency of his words. ] You're missin' some awfully important stuff. Like how Rivera's dabbling in Bikram Yoga.
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