[ emma looks a touch defensive, straightening up in her seat and crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. ]
I've been sleepin' just fine, thank you.
[ ...well, that's sure a lie.
but the point is that she had slept, hadn't just been sitting there worrying herself a hole in the ground. she'd honestly been sleeping off so many of her damned sleepless nights from the last week. all those hours in front of a screen, monitoring that shipyard, refusing to take some proper downtime because how could she actually sleep with the confrontation with bogue looming ahead of her?
she'd passed right out in the chair by his bed, in reality. ]
I want to be here.
[ admittedly, that desire may dwindle the longer faraday is awake, because that much concentrated time around him while he's yakking her ear off is not especially appealing — never has been, and despite whatever...weird concern she may be feeling, it certainly doesn't sound like the most enjoyable way to spend her evening. ]
[ There's a touch of good humor in his voice as he says it – and he has history on his side to back him up. Partners though they are, that's never exactly extended to spending personal time with one another. Faraday's not exactly sure where hospital visiting hours falls on that spectrum between personal and professional, but he has to assume it's more the former than the latter.
And he doesn't want to be treated like she owes him something. Especially not when she's the one who took the risk in finding him in the middle of a warzone and carting his useless ass out.
... He should thank her, he knows, but the words don't come easily. Not even while he's still at least a little high on painkillers.
So he tries for the practical approach instead: ]
Sleepin' in a chair ain't real sleep, Cullen. You don't need me to tell you that.
[ ah, there it is: practicality. one of the most effective ways to appeal to emma.
and damn him, if he isn't right.
the hours she'd spent in the prior week awake and focused, all of that stress and tension had simply been building up to that conflict with bogue, and...now it's over (for the time being). bogue had slipped through their fingers, and as enraging as she finds it, her body has also finally started to let go of that tension and anxiety.
it's a big change, after the week she's had. ]
...I suppose you're not wrong.
[ but she still doesn't say he's right.
she gives him another stern look, but she can only hold it for so long before it melts with a sigh, and she rubs a hand over her eyes and the dark circles that have gathered there. she feels like she needs to sleep for 72 hours straight, and given that there's no immediate mission to focus on...maybe she could manage that. ]
I could do with a real bed.
[ real bed. real sleep. actually unwinding.
she needs it, badly.
reluctantly, she pulls herself up from the chair, stretching her tight, aching muscles, and glances back at faraday on the bed. ]
Text me when you're about to be released.
[ it's not phrased like a request, because she sure as hell doesn't mean it to be one. ]
[ He lets out a quiet breath when she seems to give in, glad that he doesn't have to ford the waters of trying to convince her this hadn't been her fault while his head is still muzzy, hopped up on drugs.
And she looks as worn as he feels, besides. He remembers well enough those sleepless nights, finding her in their safehouse in the dark, face illuminated by the screens. Eerie, sometimes, the way she stared at those feeds with a mad sort of focus. ]
I'll text you.
[ A mild agreement, because her order didn't seem to brook any argument. (Although Faraday thinks if he gets bored enough, he might just make an escape before they sign-off officially on his release. It's something he used to do before they became partners, something he's since done on milder hospital visits, when some well-meaning doctor or nurse suggested overnight observation.) He licks his lips, hesitates, then just comes right out with it: ]
You're tellin' me about Bogue, after this.
[ He matches her tone. It's not a request, either, and he's tired of her dancing around it. ]
[ initially, she's startled by the order coming from him. she opens her mouth to protest, then forces herself to stop. if she owns up to the reality of this, the truth is that her obsession with stopping bogue had been a major factor in landing faraday in the hospital.
maybe the least that she owes him is an actual explanation.
(finally.)
with a slow exhale, she finally, reluctantly nods. ]
...fine. But only once you're out.
[ when he's on (less) pain killers.
she'll explain it to him then, and it'll be...a lot. the first time she's openly discussed what happened to matthew, other than the debriefs with chisolm and the agency. she'd talked about it after the fact, then refused since.
this will be new for her — and difficult, to say the least. ]
[ Faraday, apparently, decides to take pity on the hospital staff, and rather than stage an escape attempt, he waits patiently through check-ups and examinations. Several days later, finally gets the green light to go home.
The text to Emma couldn't possibly go out any faster.
His leg isn't healed yet – won't be for some time, at least – so they offer him a pair of crutches, bring a wheelchair to his room, the latter of which he refuses immediately. A matter of pride rather than practicality. He's not so useless that he needs to be carted around because of his bum leg.
(Again.)
Emma arrives, brings him a spare set of clothes from the safehouse, which he quickly pulls on. (Or at least, as quickly as his injuries allow; the bruising on his back from the bullet impacting his vest proves to be a bigger problem than he initially expected.) A loose fitting tee and dark sweats. Nothing fancy or jaw-dropping, but almost anything would've been better than that damned hospital gown. He's glad to be out of it at last.
He signs all the forms he needs to (and probably gave away a kidney in his haste), but at last they say their goodbyes and let him loose onto the world. Faraday hobbles along after Emma as they leave, his crutches clicking and creaking as they bear his weight, and as they reach the elevator to ride down to the lobby, he leans back against the wall, looks her over critically. ]
[ emma feels a small measure of gratitude when faraday actually stays in the hospital until he's properly discharged. she's dealt with him ditching his doctors too frequently for her to find any humor in his escape attempts, but this time, at least he'd waited. crutches and all, she's there to take him back to the safehouse, where the agency intends to keep them until travel arrangements can be made to bring them home.
she isn't especially bothered by the extended stay, but while the safehouse is actually fairly nice, she misses her own place and her personal things. she doesn't get homesick frequently, but the stress of this particular mission has left her with a desire for the familiar, for something she trusts and makes her feel safe.
she's dug up a lot of old demons this time around, and hasn't much enjoyed seeing them again.
glancing at faraday in the elevator, she just nods. ]
[ Which isn’t entirely accurate. The wound had been stitched together, but it still twinges, still aches. The bottle of painkillers clicks quietly in his pocket, but pride keeps him from taking too many of those. He’ll just self-medicate with a few bottles of vodka if he absolutely needs to.
He peers at her, doesn’t seem entirely convinced that she’s slept at all, and it shows in the furrow on his brow, in the thin set of his lips. The look that silently calls bullshit.
The doors ping quietly, slide open to spill them out into the hospital’s lobby. A quiet flow of people in and out, soft and subdued, and Faraday hops along with Emma as they move through to the car waiting outside. ]
When are we going home?
[ Because Emma’s not the only one itching for something familiar. With their work being what it is, neither of them spend much time at home. But this job has been— rough. He has a fridge full of beer with his name on it, and sleeping in his own bed sounds like a goddamn luxury. ]
[ she catches the glance he throws her, but just meets it with the same unimpressed look as always; she had slept (sort of), but considering how bothered she is by these recent events, it's no wonder her rest has been fairly uneasy.
emma might have opened faraday's door for him, if she hadn't expected it to be met with protests, and instead, waits on the driver's side to watch him (make sure he doesn't drop his crutches or something else inconvenient). ]
It ought to be tomorrow, if we're lucky. Maybe we'll catch a flight tonight.
[ the agency had been waiting to book travel arrangements for them, at least until they knew when faraday would be on his feet again. ]
I'm waitin' to hear back on the situation.
[ she hopes it'll be sooner rather than later, because, admittedly, more days in the small space with faraday isn't too appealing as a concept. there's only so long she can spend concentrated time with the man before his constant talking starts to wear on her nerves.
maybe he'll spend most of that time asleep. that would be nice.
however, she remembers the conversation he expects them to have, and the dread of it just sits in the pit of her stomach. ]
[ Her answer is met with a quiet sigh of relief, and he mumbles out, ] Thank God.
[ It’s a good thing she doesn’t open the door for him, because he would have kicked up a fuss, would’ve pouted and complained about not being an invalid the whole way back. He manages getting into the car himself, if not a little awkwardly. He leaves the crutches in the back seat, balances and limps his way back to the front and slides in. Not ideal; his doctor surely would’ve frowned in disapproval at him, but what the doc didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
The ride back to the safehouse is mostly silent, what with Faraday riding out his exhaustion and the last dregs of the painkillers in his system. The rocking of the car is soothing, leaves him a little sleepy – but he keeps himself from dozing off by sheer force of will alone. Straightens in his seat to keep his head from tipping against the window. Once they’re there, he manages getting out of the car on his own, once again, retrieving his crutches himself.
The safehouse is a welcome change, and he feels himself relax as they pass through the doors. It’s not home, by any means, but it’s a change of scenery from the whites and pale greens and constant murmur of doctors and nurses and patients. It’s quiet in a way Faraday doesn’t usually appreciate.
Too damn bad he breaks that quiet almost immediately, though. ]
[ emma immediately goes to the computer setup once they're inside, waking the screens to check for any possible flight information — because if the agency's already gotten their tickets, she'll probably pack everything up to get ready for departure. she is not, however, surprised by how quickly the silence is disturbed; he may be recovering, but he's still faraday. ]
No, I did.
[ said matter-of-factly. ]
Smoking slows your healin' time, you know.
[ (emma also thinks his smoking is disgusting, but this had just been a good excuse to get rid of the cigarettes.) ]
Buy more when we're back home, if you're really needin' some.
[ 'but don't do it around me,' is the unspoken addition. ]
[ He makes an aggravated noise, something between a sigh and a grunt, but there’s also a hint of resignation there. Like he knew the answer well before he had even asked the question. ]
I believe I might actually hate you, right now.
[ Though there’s no heat in his words, aside from a thread of irritation. Emma disliked his habit – but then again, which of his habits didn’t she dislike? – and he’s none too surprised to hear she had chucked his pack while he was laid up.
He sinks onto the nearby couch, propping his crutches up against the arm. His leg gives a little flare of pain, now that the drugs are wearing off, and he digs the heel of his palm into the top of his thigh, trying to relieve some of the pressure. He stays mum on the subject, though, instead grumbling, ]
You’ve got no one to blame but yourself when I bite your head off.
[ emma glances at him over her shoulder, flat expression in place. ]
Lord save me from the ill-tempered cripple.
[ her lips give the slightest twitch of amusement, but then she's looking back at the computer screens, clicking through messages and files, until she finally comes across their travel information, freshly delivered by the agency. eyes scanning the email, she's at least relieved to know they'll be leaving that night — with very much emphasis on "night."
as she prints their itinerary, she gets to her feet to start gathering up her things — and faraday's too. she doesn't mind doing the packing, though it's entirely because she'll get it done faster than if he tries to do his own right now. ]
I hope you're prepared for a proper red-eye tonight.
[ The jab is met with a flat, unimpressed look, though it's mostly directed at the back of her head as she turns back to the screen. He nearly asks what the hell she's looking at, since it's captured her attention so thoroughly, but Faraday sees their official email letterhead, spots the small, tasteful logo of some airline. He perks up a little, in fact, even before he hears the printer whirring to life. ]
Tonight? That soon?
[ He sounds surprised, but not displeased, and he scoots forward in his seat, tracking her movement around the room. When she starts gathering up his things as well as her own, he frowns, getting to his feet. ]
[ emma turns slowly on her heel, one hand on her hip, her other arm filled with stray clothes. ]
You sit back down.
[ sure, he could do it, but it would take him far longer than it will her, and she needs something to busy herself with. it's a way to avoid her exhaustion and eagerness to be home (and also faraday, just a touch). ]
If you try'n help, I'm just going to end up running right into you.
[ He scowls at her – and admittedly, it's a sort of petulant expression, but he's had a rough week.
(Well, so has Emma, he allows, though he doesn't know the extent of it. Doesn't know the ins and outs of it.
But a petty part of him also adds, She's not the one with a hole in her leg.)
He huffs out an exasperated breath and sits – but on the arm of the chair, rather than on the couch proper. Easier to stand from there. He pulls his crutches over, rests them against his shoulder between his legs. For a long moment, he just watches her, eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a solemn line. Then, ]
You doin' all that so you don't gotta talk to me?
[ Brightness in his voice, but his expression is solemn. ]
[ emma pauses in the middle of neatly folding the clothes (because faraday may not have folded his laundry, usually just tossing it into his suitcase carelessly, but she's going to make it look nice).
she doesn't look at him, but instead just shrugs. ]
If I truly didn't want to talk, I'd leave until the flight.
[ which is true enough. if she really wanted to avoid him, she just...would. she wouldn't stick around, would only be there in time for them to travel, and that would be that.
she doesn't want to have this discussion, but she also isn't actively running from it. ]
[ Though he wonders if she really would, considering the state of him. Not so useless that he couldn't fend for himself, but hindered enough that he still requires help, even if his pride may not allow it.
Still, it wasn't a refusal. It wasn't an invitation, either. It just was. He watches her in profile, or from the back, as she moves around, collecting their things. Watches thoughtfully, quietly, nudging the crutches back and forth to let the metal fall lightly against his shoulder.
Start with the easy questions, he supposes. Yes, no, maybe. Either, or. Chip at the ice until the whole frozen lake gives way. ]
Did you know about Bogue before you started workin' here?
[ the question makes it...easier to talk. it's not the simple expectation for her to spill every detail, and it gives her a place to start. ]
Yes. I dealt with him at my last assignment.
[ she'd transferred after everything with matthew, had uprooted her entire life to remove herself from it all, but that had been years ago now. she'd settled into her new job, her new home, and even a new partner, and by changing it all, she'd had a chance to move on. there had been no closure, which was probably the worst part about it, but she at least doesn't live with the reminders every day.
she doesn't offer up much more than that, instead continuing to fold clothes, gathering up the occasional essential to toss into their bags. ]
[ It's a small allowance, but Faraday admits he's surprised she even gives that much ground all the same. Even with her agreeing up, down, and sideways that they would talk about this, she had dodged or ignored him at every turn.
Faraday falls quiet for a second again – ostensibly to let her gather her thoughts; in reality, to formulate her next question. Then, ]
Does Bogue know you? [ A pause, and he clarifies, ] Seems you've got a deep history. Ain't sure if this is one of them "sworn enemy" things.
[ emma's lips twist in a humorless equivalent of a smile — part grimace, nearly a sneer. ]
He wouldn't know my face from a crowd, Faraday.
[ which is good, because otherwise, chisolm never would have let her on this case. catching sight of someone recognizable would obliterate their cover, and as much as she wants to take down bogue, she knows that kind of risk wouldn't have made it past the agency.
fortunately, bogue's never seen her face, as far as she knows.
her husband's, on the other hand... ]
In fact, I doubt very much he knows I exist.
[ she drops a few more clothes into her suitcase, not looking at faraday as she adds, ]
[ He freezes, staring at her, the word rolling around in his head.
Husband.
Hell.
He had heard the rumors, of course, about how Emma was married – is married? – though he never put much stock into them. It didn’t matter, really, whether or not she was hitched, so long as it didn’t affect her work. So long as he didn’t have to suffer through hearing one half of a telephone conversation during their downtime, filled with sweet-talk and pet names.
The two of them did well to keep their private lives and their professional lives discrete, though admittedly, Emma was far better at it than Faraday. Faraday tended to let things seep through, or didn’t seem to mind overly much when his vices reared their heads while they were ostensibly on the clock.
But this is a personal history he had no idea about.
He’s not sure if it’s impressive or infuriating. ]
[ it's the first she's ever mentioned matthew, of course.
she's never addressed the rumors, never cared what people might want to say about her, because it doesn't matter. she's there to work, and she's a good agent; she does her job, she brings in results, and her personal life and history are none of the others' concern. maybe it should have come up at one point or another with faraday, but the insistence she's always had to keep personal distance with the man made that far less realistic for her. ]
Because I haven't been for a long while now.
[ and it's all because of bogue.
she didn't need faraday to know about her dead husband, didn't need to share those incredibly sensitive details, but...here they are, talking about it anyway. ]
Faraday shifts in his seat. Fidgeting, really, though he’d never admit as much. ]
I— I’m sorry.
[ He watches as she busies herself, wrestling with the words that crowd on his tongue. He’s got so many fucking questions, now – and considering how many he had before, that’s saying a goddamn lot.
But no, stick to the easy stuff. Yes, no, either, or. Whatever story Emma has to tell, it’s certainly a difficult one, one she’s kept close to the chest. Better for them both to pick away at it than trying to dump it out all at once.
So the easy question. (The hard question.) ]
Did Bogue…
[ he frowns to himself, shifts the crutches to rest against his opposite shoulder. ]
[ emma just shrugs off his apology. she isn't looking for condolences, and his sympathy is clearly not the reason she's sharing this with him now. it's the fact that he deserves to know why she's so invested in this mission, why she'd let herself slip, and why this matters so damn much to her.
if her head is anywhere other than 100% focused on their objective, she owes it to him to tell him why.
talking about matthew just happens to be a part of that.
the next question...she's grateful he asks, but at the same time, she doesn't want to say it out loud. this is better than spilling her guts for him to scrutinize in one fell swoop, but it still brings along pangs in her chest, an old, sore wound being reopened.
her knuckles go momentarily white on a cord she's been coiling, before she forces herself to relax. ]
Yes.
[ short. to the point. not offering the specifics because as she stands there across the room, part of her is remembering exactly how matthew looked right before bogue fired that gun. ]
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no subject
I've been sleepin' just fine, thank you.
[ ...well, that's sure a lie.
but the point is that she had slept, hadn't just been sitting there worrying herself a hole in the ground. she'd honestly been sleeping off so many of her damned sleepless nights from the last week. all those hours in front of a screen, monitoring that shipyard, refusing to take some proper downtime because how could she actually sleep with the confrontation with bogue looming ahead of her?
she'd passed right out in the chair by his bed, in reality. ]
I want to be here.
[ admittedly, that desire may dwindle the longer faraday is awake, because that much concentrated time around him while he's yakking her ear off is not especially appealing — never has been, and despite whatever...weird concern she may be feeling, it certainly doesn't sound like the most enjoyable way to spend her evening. ]
no subject
[ There's a touch of good humor in his voice as he says it – and he has history on his side to back him up. Partners though they are, that's never exactly extended to spending personal time with one another. Faraday's not exactly sure where hospital visiting hours falls on that spectrum between personal and professional, but he has to assume it's more the former than the latter.
And he doesn't want to be treated like she owes him something. Especially not when she's the one who took the risk in finding him in the middle of a warzone and carting his useless ass out.
... He should thank her, he knows, but the words don't come easily. Not even while he's still at least a little high on painkillers.
So he tries for the practical approach instead: ]
Sleepin' in a chair ain't real sleep, Cullen. You don't need me to tell you that.
no subject
and damn him, if he isn't right.
the hours she'd spent in the prior week awake and focused, all of that stress and tension had simply been building up to that conflict with bogue, and...now it's over (for the time being). bogue had slipped through their fingers, and as enraging as she finds it, her body has also finally started to let go of that tension and anxiety.
it's a big change, after the week she's had. ]
...I suppose you're not wrong.
[ but she still doesn't say he's right.
she gives him another stern look, but she can only hold it for so long before it melts with a sigh, and she rubs a hand over her eyes and the dark circles that have gathered there. she feels like she needs to sleep for 72 hours straight, and given that there's no immediate mission to focus on...maybe she could manage that. ]
I could do with a real bed.
[ real bed. real sleep. actually unwinding.
she needs it, badly.
reluctantly, she pulls herself up from the chair, stretching her tight, aching muscles, and glances back at faraday on the bed. ]
Text me when you're about to be released.
[ it's not phrased like a request, because she sure as hell doesn't mean it to be one. ]
no subject
And she looks as worn as he feels, besides. He remembers well enough those sleepless nights, finding her in their safehouse in the dark, face illuminated by the screens. Eerie, sometimes, the way she stared at those feeds with a mad sort of focus. ]
I'll text you.
[ A mild agreement, because her order didn't seem to brook any argument. (Although Faraday thinks if he gets bored enough, he might just make an escape before they sign-off officially on his release. It's something he used to do before they became partners, something he's since done on milder hospital visits, when some well-meaning doctor or nurse suggested overnight observation.) He licks his lips, hesitates, then just comes right out with it: ]
You're tellin' me about Bogue, after this.
[ He matches her tone. It's not a request, either, and he's tired of her dancing around it. ]
No more dodgin'. You hear me?
no subject
maybe the least that she owes him is an actual explanation.
(finally.)
with a slow exhale, she finally, reluctantly nods. ]
...fine. But only once you're out.
[ when he's on (less) pain killers.
she'll explain it to him then, and it'll be...a lot. the first time she's openly discussed what happened to matthew, other than the debriefs with chisolm and the agency. she'd talked about it after the fact, then refused since.
this will be new for her — and difficult, to say the least. ]
no subject
The text to Emma couldn't possibly go out any faster.
His leg isn't healed yet – won't be for some time, at least – so they offer him a pair of crutches, bring a wheelchair to his room, the latter of which he refuses immediately. A matter of pride rather than practicality. He's not so useless that he needs to be carted around because of his bum leg.
(Again.)
Emma arrives, brings him a spare set of clothes from the safehouse, which he quickly pulls on. (Or at least, as quickly as his injuries allow; the bruising on his back from the bullet impacting his vest proves to be a bigger problem than he initially expected.) A loose fitting tee and dark sweats. Nothing fancy or jaw-dropping, but almost anything would've been better than that damned hospital gown. He's glad to be out of it at last.
He signs all the forms he needs to (and probably gave away a kidney in his haste), but at last they say their goodbyes and let him loose onto the world. Faraday hobbles along after Emma as they leave, his crutches clicking and creaking as they bear his weight, and as they reach the elevator to ride down to the lobby, he leans back against the wall, looks her over critically. ]
You manage to get any sleep?
no subject
she isn't especially bothered by the extended stay, but while the safehouse is actually fairly nice, she misses her own place and her personal things. she doesn't get homesick frequently, but the stress of this particular mission has left her with a desire for the familiar, for something she trusts and makes her feel safe.
she's dug up a lot of old demons this time around, and hasn't much enjoyed seeing them again.
glancing at faraday in the elevator, she just nods. ]
More than I needed, probably.
[ and yet she still looks exhausted. ]
How's the leg?
no subject
[ Which isn’t entirely accurate. The wound had been stitched together, but it still twinges, still aches. The bottle of painkillers clicks quietly in his pocket, but pride keeps him from taking too many of those. He’ll just self-medicate with a few bottles of vodka if he absolutely needs to.
He peers at her, doesn’t seem entirely convinced that she’s slept at all, and it shows in the furrow on his brow, in the thin set of his lips. The look that silently calls bullshit.
The doors ping quietly, slide open to spill them out into the hospital’s lobby. A quiet flow of people in and out, soft and subdued, and Faraday hops along with Emma as they move through to the car waiting outside. ]
When are we going home?
[ Because Emma’s not the only one itching for something familiar. With their work being what it is, neither of them spend much time at home. But this job has been— rough. He has a fridge full of beer with his name on it, and sleeping in his own bed sounds like a goddamn luxury. ]
no subject
emma might have opened faraday's door for him, if she hadn't expected it to be met with protests, and instead, waits on the driver's side to watch him (make sure he doesn't drop his crutches or something else inconvenient). ]
It ought to be tomorrow, if we're lucky. Maybe we'll catch a flight tonight.
[ the agency had been waiting to book travel arrangements for them, at least until they knew when faraday would be on his feet again. ]
I'm waitin' to hear back on the situation.
[ she hopes it'll be sooner rather than later, because, admittedly, more days in the small space with faraday isn't too appealing as a concept. there's only so long she can spend concentrated time with the man before his constant talking starts to wear on her nerves.
maybe he'll spend most of that time asleep. that would be nice.
however, she remembers the conversation he expects them to have, and the dread of it just sits in the pit of her stomach. ]
no subject
[ It’s a good thing she doesn’t open the door for him, because he would have kicked up a fuss, would’ve pouted and complained about not being an invalid the whole way back. He manages getting into the car himself, if not a little awkwardly. He leaves the crutches in the back seat, balances and limps his way back to the front and slides in. Not ideal; his doctor surely would’ve frowned in disapproval at him, but what the doc didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
The ride back to the safehouse is mostly silent, what with Faraday riding out his exhaustion and the last dregs of the painkillers in his system. The rocking of the car is soothing, leaves him a little sleepy – but he keeps himself from dozing off by sheer force of will alone. Straightens in his seat to keep his head from tipping against the window. Once they’re there, he manages getting out of the car on his own, once again, retrieving his crutches himself.
The safehouse is a welcome change, and he feels himself relax as they pass through the doors. It’s not home, by any means, but it’s a change of scenery from the whites and pale greens and constant murmur of doctors and nurses and patients. It’s quiet in a way Faraday doesn’t usually appreciate.
Too damn bad he breaks that quiet almost immediately, though. ]
You didn’t toss my cigarettes, did you?
[ because he would kill for one, right now. ]
no subject
No, I did.
[ said matter-of-factly. ]
Smoking slows your healin' time, you know.
[ (emma also thinks his smoking is disgusting, but this had just been a good excuse to get rid of the cigarettes.) ]
Buy more when we're back home, if you're really needin' some.
[ 'but don't do it around me,' is the unspoken addition. ]
no subject
I believe I might actually hate you, right now.
[ Though there’s no heat in his words, aside from a thread of irritation. Emma disliked his habit – but then again, which of his habits didn’t she dislike? – and he’s none too surprised to hear she had chucked his pack while he was laid up.
He sinks onto the nearby couch, propping his crutches up against the arm. His leg gives a little flare of pain, now that the drugs are wearing off, and he digs the heel of his palm into the top of his thigh, trying to relieve some of the pressure. He stays mum on the subject, though, instead grumbling, ]
You’ve got no one to blame but yourself when I bite your head off.
no subject
Lord save me from the ill-tempered cripple.
[ her lips give the slightest twitch of amusement, but then she's looking back at the computer screens, clicking through messages and files, until she finally comes across their travel information, freshly delivered by the agency. eyes scanning the email, she's at least relieved to know they'll be leaving that night — with very much emphasis on "night."
as she prints their itinerary, she gets to her feet to start gathering up her things — and faraday's too. she doesn't mind doing the packing, though it's entirely because she'll get it done faster than if he tries to do his own right now. ]
I hope you're prepared for a proper red-eye tonight.
[ but at least they're going home. ]
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Tonight? That soon?
[ He sounds surprised, but not displeased, and he scoots forward in his seat, tracking her movement around the room. When she starts gathering up his things as well as her own, he frowns, getting to his feet. ]
I can do all that myself, you know.
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You sit back down.
[ sure, he could do it, but it would take him far longer than it will her, and she needs something to busy herself with. it's a way to avoid her exhaustion and eagerness to be home (and also faraday, just a touch). ]
If you try'n help, I'm just going to end up running right into you.
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(Well, so has Emma, he allows, though he doesn't know the extent of it. Doesn't know the ins and outs of it.
But a petty part of him also adds, She's not the one with a hole in her leg.)
He huffs out an exasperated breath and sits – but on the arm of the chair, rather than on the couch proper. Easier to stand from there. He pulls his crutches over, rests them against his shoulder between his legs. For a long moment, he just watches her, eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a solemn line. Then, ]
You doin' all that so you don't gotta talk to me?
[ Brightness in his voice, but his expression is solemn. ]
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she doesn't look at him, but instead just shrugs. ]
If I truly didn't want to talk, I'd leave until the flight.
[ which is true enough. if she really wanted to avoid him, she just...would. she wouldn't stick around, would only be there in time for them to travel, and that would be that.
she doesn't want to have this discussion, but she also isn't actively running from it. ]
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[ Though he wonders if she really would, considering the state of him. Not so useless that he couldn't fend for himself, but hindered enough that he still requires help, even if his pride may not allow it.
Still, it wasn't a refusal. It wasn't an invitation, either. It just was. He watches her in profile, or from the back, as she moves around, collecting their things. Watches thoughtfully, quietly, nudging the crutches back and forth to let the metal fall lightly against his shoulder.
Start with the easy questions, he supposes. Yes, no, maybe. Either, or. Chip at the ice until the whole frozen lake gives way. ]
Did you know about Bogue before you started workin' here?
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Yes. I dealt with him at my last assignment.
[ she'd transferred after everything with matthew, had uprooted her entire life to remove herself from it all, but that had been years ago now. she'd settled into her new job, her new home, and even a new partner, and by changing it all, she'd had a chance to move on. there had been no closure, which was probably the worst part about it, but she at least doesn't live with the reminders every day.
she doesn't offer up much more than that, instead continuing to fold clothes, gathering up the occasional essential to toss into their bags. ]
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Faraday falls quiet for a second again – ostensibly to let her gather her thoughts; in reality, to formulate her next question. Then, ]
Does Bogue know you? [ A pause, and he clarifies, ] Seems you've got a deep history. Ain't sure if this is one of them "sworn enemy" things.
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He wouldn't know my face from a crowd, Faraday.
[ which is good, because otherwise, chisolm never would have let her on this case. catching sight of someone recognizable would obliterate their cover, and as much as she wants to take down bogue, she knows that kind of risk wouldn't have made it past the agency.
fortunately, bogue's never seen her face, as far as she knows.
her husband's, on the other hand... ]
In fact, I doubt very much he knows I exist.
[ she drops a few more clothes into her suitcase, not looking at faraday as she adds, ]
It was my husband he encountered directly.
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[ He freezes, staring at her, the word rolling around in his head.
Husband.
Hell.
He had heard the rumors, of course, about how Emma was married – is married? – though he never put much stock into them. It didn’t matter, really, whether or not she was hitched, so long as it didn’t affect her work. So long as he didn’t have to suffer through hearing one half of a telephone conversation during their downtime, filled with sweet-talk and pet names.
The two of them did well to keep their private lives and their professional lives discrete, though admittedly, Emma was far better at it than Faraday. Faraday tended to let things seep through, or didn’t seem to mind overly much when his vices reared their heads while they were ostensibly on the clock.
But this is a personal history he had no idea about.
He’s not sure if it’s impressive or infuriating. ]
I— didn’t know you were married.
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she's never addressed the rumors, never cared what people might want to say about her, because it doesn't matter. she's there to work, and she's a good agent; she does her job, she brings in results, and her personal life and history are none of the others' concern. maybe it should have come up at one point or another with faraday, but the insistence she's always had to keep personal distance with the man made that far less realistic for her. ]
Because I haven't been for a long while now.
[ and it's all because of bogue.
she didn't need faraday to know about her dead husband, didn't need to share those incredibly sensitive details, but...here they are, talking about it anyway. ]
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Faraday shifts in his seat. Fidgeting, really, though he’d never admit as much. ]
I— I’m sorry.
[ He watches as she busies herself, wrestling with the words that crowd on his tongue. He’s got so many fucking questions, now – and considering how many he had before, that’s saying a goddamn lot.
But no, stick to the easy stuff. Yes, no, either, or. Whatever story Emma has to tell, it’s certainly a difficult one, one she’s kept close to the chest. Better for them both to pick away at it than trying to dump it out all at once.
So the easy question. (The hard question.) ]
Did Bogue…
[ he frowns to himself, shifts the crutches to rest against his opposite shoulder. ]
He killed your husband?
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if her head is anywhere other than 100% focused on their objective, she owes it to him to tell him why.
talking about matthew just happens to be a part of that.
the next question...she's grateful he asks, but at the same time, she doesn't want to say it out loud. this is better than spilling her guts for him to scrutinize in one fell swoop, but it still brings along pangs in her chest, an old, sore wound being reopened.
her knuckles go momentarily white on a cord she's been coiling, before she forces herself to relax. ]
Yes.
[ short. to the point. not offering the specifics because as she stands there across the room, part of her is remembering exactly how matthew looked right before bogue fired that gun. ]
Didn't have the time to stop him, either.
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