[ 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.
[ emma closes herself in the bathroom, unzipping her dress and letting it pool at her feet. she checks the mirror, now that she has the chance, and starts cleaning off her face, the last of the lipstick, getting back to how she usually looks. it's a relief to step out of the persona of a doting wife (because she left that part of herself behind years ago now), and it's easier for her to find comfort in herself, in not being mrs. brennan.
she glances towards the door when she hears faraday, and just scoffs, rolling her eyes. ]
I assure you, I already got more than an earful about Mr. Rivera's yoga.
[ her tone is just as dry, but instead of thinking about the absurdly mundane things bogue and rivera must be discussing, she tugs on some dark pants, a comfortable long-sleeved shirt, and then proceeds to pull the bobbypins from her hair. there's far too many of them, but it's at least a relief to let down the pain in the ass updo, and when the soft red curls fall around her shoulders, she decides to leave them that way. she can put it up later when she has to.
turning from the mirror, she lets herself back out of the bathroom, going to take her seat beside faraday. ]
Charmin' men, aren't they?
[ she doesn't sound even remotely enthused about this part of the surveillance, but she pulls up her own headset, ready to listen with faraday.
bogue's voice instantly fills her ears, and she tenses all over, fingers clenched — until she remembers herself, remembers her focus, and then she just reaches for the mouse, clicking through a few screens as she listens to the useless babble. she can't let herself get swept away in her own emotions right now, because she has work to do here with faraday, and that's what matters. ]
[ He glances up when he hears the bathroom door open (the hinges don't creak, though; this hotel is too swanky to let the hinges do anything so terribly mundane), and part of him is relieved to see Emma back to her normal self. Nice as she looked before (and damn, had it been nice), he's familiar with her being dressed-down. She looks more like herself.
He purses his lips at that strange series of thoughts and refocuses on Bogue and Rivera.
More of the pointless chatter. More of them dancing around whatever it is they're meant to be discussing, because it's tacky to jump straight to business, Faraday guesses. Never mind the fact that Bogue was the one to arrive at the party with guards as his plus ones. Plus three, more accurately. Rivera does most of the talking, which doesn't surprise Faraday in the least, but when Bogue pipes up—
He senses more than sees the way Emma tenses, there and gone in a flash. Small enough that, were he not so close to her – physically and professionally – he may not have even noticed. But he casts her another look, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, and he finally takes the gamble. ]
[ emma's shoulders tighten when faraday pipes up again, this time drawing attention to her, to what she'd thought would be an imperceptible and unintentional reaction, but...faraday knows her, at least knows her body language and reactions, far more than she'd like to give him credit for.
happens, when you work so closely and so long with someone. ]
This is neither the time nor place, Faraday.
[ her words are clipped, her expression stony as she stares determinedly at the computer screen instead of him. ]
We're supposed to be listenin' to them, not chatting away.
[ even if now this is pertinent; it's relevant because this scumbag, bogue, is within reach, and emma can't let him slip through her fingers again. ]
[ Faraday observes her for another long moment, utilizing some of that focus she often accused him of lacking, before he nods once, turning his gaze back to the equipment. ]
Not now, then.
[ An agreement, but also another one of those half-promises. Not now, sure. Now wasn't the appropriate time. But afterward? Once Rivera and Bogue have inadvertently given themselves up and the information is secured? Faraday intends to yank on that thread again and unravel whatever that mystery is.
Emma was focused at all times, certainly, but this focus was dangerous. This focus was the type one uses when sighting down a sniper rifle with a clear shot on a target, trigger finger itching to squeeze.This focus promised violence and retribution, was an inferno raging below the surface.
It had something to do with these two men. Bogue specifically, if Faraday had to make a wager – and he's reasonably sure it's a safe one.
At last the chit-chat ends, and Bogue is the one to say, "We're both busy men. Shall we get to business?" Faraday perks up at that, resists the urge to throw up his hands and grumble, Finally, and instead shifts the headphones so they're securely over both ears. ]
[ there's a note of relief in the way emma exhales, because the fact that faraday is going to drop it (at least for now) is a bit of a weight off her shoulders. she doesn't have the emotional wherewithal to deal with dragging this up verbally, to tell him why she's so intensely driven by this particular mission (and why she's also so thrown by it). she needs to focus all of her energy into her work right now, especially when she's so damn close to getting what she's wanted for years.
bogue is right there. within reach.
(she could walk downstairs and shoot him dead right now. and god, if that isn't all kinds of tempting, but she can't let herself think like that. by the book, that's what this has to be.)
and then—
there it is. these men can hardly go too long without finally getting down to the real reason they've come together, because it surely is not to discuss horse breeding and yoga.
there's negotiation of prices, of what's reasonable, what they'll settle for, and while they're extremely careful about their language while going over the deal, what they do finally give away is what emma and faraday really need:
a time and a place.
emma doesn't even hesitate to pull up the specified location on her screen: a big shipyard, filled to bursting with warehouses. more than good enough to load weapons and take them immediately out of the country.
the rest of their talk involves some underhanded pleasantries, but then they're clearly wrapping up, and emma finally slides one headphone off an ear to look over at faraday. the fire in her eyes is near vicious enough to set a man aflame, but there's that determination she's so known for. she's ready to finish this. ]
Maybe that fancy party was worth an evenin' after all.
[ because they have what they need, and while the drop is days away, they know the where and the when, and that's so much more significant than going in blind. ]
[ Faraday listens intently as they plan. Mostly, he's just glad the two of them aren't bullshitting anymore, impatient as Faraday can be. His gaze flicks over briefly to the screen when Emma sets to pulling up the location (she always was quick on the draw), and he thinks to himself, Right. That looks appropriate.
Then as they're wrapping up, Emma directs that heated gaze to him, has that look that signals something boiling beneath the surface. Familiar, for the most part, but given those little slips he's seen tonight, he wonders if this isn't something more dangerous. Reckless.
So his answer is little more than a noncommittal little hum, as he continues listening to Rivera and Bogue politely talk their way out of the room. Little barbs coated in fancy words – the kind of talk Faraday hates engaging in, but likes listening to. Faraday is a straightforward man – he'd rather tell someone to their face if he doesn't like them – but the sort of circuitous ways these folks go about it is at least mildly entertaining.
Once they're well and truly gone from the room, Faraday pulls off his headset. Then, mildly, as he's standing from the desk and going to his pack to find a change of clothes, ]
[ emma's already set to seeing to their travel arrangements, checking in on safe houses close to the drop, preparing to report what they've uncovered, but she actually stops in her furious typing when faraday speaks. she turns, that fiery anger melting away just long enough for her to look skeptical instead. ]
Are you tellin' me you actually wanted a dance?
[ then her eyes narrow slightly. ]
Or were you just hopin' for an opportunity to rattle my chain a touch more?
[ because she hadn't missed how much faraday had been enjoying making her uncomfortable; their daily routine tended to involve all manner of his aggravating antics, and she hadn't been even remotely surprised that he'd been taking advantage of a perfect moment like this mission.
...except for the part where they'd been making out on the table. that...hadn't seemed to be all about flustering her. ]
[ Unsurprisingly, his pack is... kind of a mess. Just things tossed in that he felt he'd need, without any particular mind to organization or easy retrieval. So it takes a bit for him to fish out a worn tee and some sweats; as he's searching, he says lightly, ]
Maybe I just like dancin'.
[ but, that's a lie. He doesn't mind dancing, but he definitely wanted to see how far he could push, at the time. And a slow dance seemed to be a reasonably safe risk, at the time.
Safe in comparison, anyway, considering the giant goddamn gamble he took later that evening. He considers himself lucky that Emma isn't currently chucking his body into a dumpster. But best not to bring that up, any time soon.
Once he has his clothes in hand, he moves toward the bathroom to get changed. ]
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no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
"—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.
no subject
she glances towards the door when she hears faraday, and just scoffs, rolling her eyes. ]
I assure you, I already got more than an earful about Mr. Rivera's yoga.
[ her tone is just as dry, but instead of thinking about the absurdly mundane things bogue and rivera must be discussing, she tugs on some dark pants, a comfortable long-sleeved shirt, and then proceeds to pull the bobbypins from her hair. there's far too many of them, but it's at least a relief to let down the pain in the ass updo, and when the soft red curls fall around her shoulders, she decides to leave them that way. she can put it up later when she has to.
turning from the mirror, she lets herself back out of the bathroom, going to take her seat beside faraday. ]
Charmin' men, aren't they?
[ she doesn't sound even remotely enthused about this part of the surveillance, but she pulls up her own headset, ready to listen with faraday.
bogue's voice instantly fills her ears, and she tenses all over, fingers clenched — until she remembers herself, remembers her focus, and then she just reaches for the mouse, clicking through a few screens as she listens to the useless babble. she can't let herself get swept away in her own emotions right now, because she has work to do here with faraday, and that's what matters. ]
no subject
He purses his lips at that strange series of thoughts and refocuses on Bogue and Rivera.
More of the pointless chatter. More of them dancing around whatever it is they're meant to be discussing, because it's tacky to jump straight to business, Faraday guesses. Never mind the fact that Bogue was the one to arrive at the party with guards as his plus ones. Plus three, more accurately. Rivera does most of the talking, which doesn't surprise Faraday in the least, but when Bogue pipes up—
He senses more than sees the way Emma tenses, there and gone in a flash. Small enough that, were he not so close to her – physically and professionally – he may not have even noticed. But he casts her another look, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, and he finally takes the gamble. ]
You need to tell me what's goin' on.
no subject
happens, when you work so closely and so long with someone. ]
This is neither the time nor place, Faraday.
[ her words are clipped, her expression stony as she stares determinedly at the computer screen instead of him. ]
We're supposed to be listenin' to them, not chatting away.
[ even if now this is pertinent; it's relevant because this scumbag, bogue, is within reach, and emma can't let him slip through her fingers again. ]
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Not now, then.
[ An agreement, but also another one of those half-promises. Not now, sure. Now wasn't the appropriate time. But afterward? Once Rivera and Bogue have inadvertently given themselves up and the information is secured? Faraday intends to yank on that thread again and unravel whatever that mystery is.
Emma was focused at all times, certainly, but this focus was dangerous. This focus was the type one uses when sighting down a sniper rifle with a clear shot on a target, trigger finger itching to squeeze. This focus promised violence and retribution, was an inferno raging below the surface.
It had something to do with these two men. Bogue specifically, if Faraday had to make a wager – and he's reasonably sure it's a safe one.
At last the chit-chat ends, and Bogue is the one to say, "We're both busy men. Shall we get to business?" Faraday perks up at that, resists the urge to throw up his hands and grumble, Finally, and instead shifts the headphones so they're securely over both ears. ]
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bogue is right there. within reach.
(she could walk downstairs and shoot him dead right now. and god, if that isn't all kinds of tempting, but she can't let herself think like that. by the book, that's what this has to be.)
and then—
there it is. these men can hardly go too long without finally getting down to the real reason they've come together, because it surely is not to discuss horse breeding and yoga.
there's negotiation of prices, of what's reasonable, what they'll settle for, and while they're extremely careful about their language while going over the deal, what they do finally give away is what emma and faraday really need:
a time and a place.
emma doesn't even hesitate to pull up the specified location on her screen: a big shipyard, filled to bursting with warehouses. more than good enough to load weapons and take them immediately out of the country.
the rest of their talk involves some underhanded pleasantries, but then they're clearly wrapping up, and emma finally slides one headphone off an ear to look over at faraday. the fire in her eyes is near vicious enough to set a man aflame, but there's that determination she's so known for. she's ready to finish this. ]
Maybe that fancy party was worth an evenin' after all.
[ because they have what they need, and while the drop is days away, they know the where and the when, and that's so much more significant than going in blind. ]
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Then as they're wrapping up, Emma directs that heated gaze to him, has that look that signals something boiling beneath the surface. Familiar, for the most part, but given those little slips he's seen tonight, he wonders if this isn't something more dangerous. Reckless.
So his answer is little more than a noncommittal little hum, as he continues listening to Rivera and Bogue politely talk their way out of the room. Little barbs coated in fancy words – the kind of talk Faraday hates engaging in, but likes listening to. Faraday is a straightforward man – he'd rather tell someone to their face if he doesn't like them – but the sort of circuitous ways these folks go about it is at least mildly entertaining.
Once they're well and truly gone from the room, Faraday pulls off his headset. Then, mildly, as he's standing from the desk and going to his pack to find a change of clothes, ]
Never did get that dance, though.
[
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Are you tellin' me you actually wanted a dance?
[ then her eyes narrow slightly. ]
Or were you just hopin' for an opportunity to rattle my chain a touch more?
[ because she hadn't missed how much faraday had been enjoying making her uncomfortable; their daily routine tended to involve all manner of his aggravating antics, and she hadn't been even remotely surprised that he'd been taking advantage of a perfect moment like this mission.
...except for the part where they'd been making out on the table. that...hadn't seemed to be all about flustering her. ]
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Maybe I just like dancin'.
[ but, that's a lie. He doesn't mind dancing, but he definitely wanted to see how far he could push, at the time. And a slow dance seemed to be a reasonably safe risk, at the time.
Safe in comparison, anyway, considering the giant goddamn gamble he took later that evening. He considers himself lucky that Emma isn't currently chucking his body into a dumpster. But best not to bring that up, any time soon.
Once he has his clothes in hand, he moves toward the bathroom to get changed. ]
We'll save it for next time, then.