[ when emma first became an agent, she'd thought she'd come out the other side with a great partner: someone she'd bond with, come to rely on, and trust implicitly. the sort of partnership that might even span her career and determine the course of her missions, there to account for her own failings and create a truly impressive team.
what she ended up with was a mouthy, arrogant, royal pain in her ass, who's way too cocky for his own good.
if emma had a dollar for the number of times in an hour that she rolled her eyes at faraday, she'd be able to retire (and what a reprieve that would be). when first assigned, she'd even put in for another partner after their intial field test together, only to be told to suck it up and make it work. no amount of finagling or otherwise could change the agency's mind, and ever since, emma's been learning to work with faraday.
probably the most frustrating thing about it is that he's actually good. he's not a bad agent, by any means, and is, in fact, incredibly impressive. it's just that damn attitude of his that puts emma off so badly, and if she could slap a strip of duct tape over his mouth, oh, she wouldn't hesitate some days.
but still, the way they move through their work together soon becomes a well-oiled machine, and their assignments keep popping up left and right, only to be handled with grace and efficiency. he balances out her weaknesses, and she his, easily making up for their own failings to the point that they do become an admirable team. she's just come to accept that as long as she keeps the amount of time she has to spend with him to a purely professional setting, she can handle it. he's not the sort of man she'd see in her downtime, but, then again, emma doesn't often spend her days off with men — or, really, anyone from the agency. she works ungodly hours as an agent, which doesn't lend itself well to outside friendship (and it's not like she could tell other friends what she did for a living), and she effectively sees herself married to the job.
(rumors circulate the agency that she used to be actually married, had a husband and everything, but the story changes nearly every time about what happened to him — and emma certainly never brings it up.)
even less conducive to friendship or romantic entanglements are the missions that easily take weeks to complete. the extended time with faraday is always a little grating for emma, but considering the amount of work they're constantly doing, she figures it balances out well enough. but these undercover missions? these are the real struggle, and the newest one that chisolm has presented them with is going to be one hell of a ride.
"You're got to be kidding me," was all emma could manage when she read the brief, because with this new type of cover, oh, this is going to be a whole new kind of pain.
"Make it convincing," chisolm said, "make it work."
"convincing."
emma's still mentally grumbling over their assignment, over the cover they're expected to keep. acting like they're involved? in front of mass amounts of people? lord help her, this is going to be the most difficult mission she's had to date, she just knows it.
if emma was better at appreciating the fun possibilities of an assignment, she might realize that an opportunity to wear incredibly nice clothes, stay in a fantastic hotel, mingle with the haut monde of society (well, maybe not that part) while attending such a fantastic party could be a pleasant side effect of needing to go undercover for the event. but, really, she's just thinking about all of the time they'll have to spend being a plausible enough couple while engaging with those incredibly rich individuals.
joy of joys.
but it's all necessary, she knows, the easiest and most successful opportunity to uncover one of the biggest international arms deals the agency's seen, even if that does mean they have to put themselves right in the middle of it to dig up all of the names and appropriate evidence. it's the sort of mission she knows she and faraday can handle, but— this added undercover element is throwing her slightly off balance.
with everything set up in their hotel room — surveillance, weapons, emergency supplies — emma is just finishing getting ready for the evening's party. mingling is the name of the game for the evening, making contact with specific individuals, and, above all, trying to figure out where and when the deal will go down (and where all those damn guns are being stored).
emma puts a final pin in her hair before reaching for the tiny thigh holster she plans to keep under her dress for the evening; she can't carry her usual weapons, conscpicuous as they would be, so this will have to do. glancing over at faraday, her expression is all business. ]
[ it's the waiting that's the worst part of it all.
it's knowing that bogue is within reach of the agency (of emma), and that if they can catch this deal, if they can catch them all in one fell swoop, bogue will be done. it'll be the last nail in bogue's coffin, and emma can finally find the closure that she's been dying for all these years.
the memory of her husband can finally be at peace when bogue sees justice.
when emma truly finds the righteousness she's sought for so long.
she needs this, in ways she'll never be able to articulate to faraday (and in so many others that she absolutely refuses to try). she's on edge for the next few days, so distracted by her ungodly level of focus that she can't even spare a thought to the party, to the kiss with faraday, to...whatever it was that she'd been feeling. all that matters, and all that will matter until this is over, is seeing bogue finished.
there's a lot of setting up to be done, and they work out of a small safehouse a few miles from the docks. calls are made, agents and additional backup are provided, and, of course, all the weapons they could possibly need are there and waiting for them. surveillance is key until the night in question, and emma spends unreasonable hours watching screens, practically living off of coffee, and not...sleeping especially well. she needs to be well-rested, she knows it, but she can't bring herself to settle down.
not this close to such a pivotal moment.
when the night of the deal finally rolls around, emma is ready. she won't be going in personally (because that's not her strong suit), but she'll be watching faraday and other boots on the ground. her responsibility will be keeping her partner alive from a distance — her specialty, really — and while it rankles her just a touch to know she won't be able to see bogue's face, not quite in person, she knows she's better off finding her perch and staying there.
faraday will need all the help he can get, after all, given how few other agents are going to be ground support. he and emma are a good team, absolutely, but the agency is far more concerned about keeping other backup in the peripheral — as a last resort.
but this? she can handle this.
she's in position, finishing her setup with her rifle, and she runs a quick check of the earpiece that keeps her connected on a secure channel to faraday. ]
I say this every time, but please try not to do anythin' stupid tonight.
[ there isn't really humor in her tone, because now is not the night for it. ]
[ Escaping from the shipyard was— difficult. Not so difficult as to be impossible, thankfully, but difficult enough that by the time they reach the outskirts, Faraday is ashen, entire body shaking with the effort of putting one bum leg in front of the other. His injured leg threatens time and again to buckle underneath his weight, but Emma steadies him, her arm wrapped firmly around his waist to keep him upright.
Fitting, really. Appropriate. Except Faraday doesn't bother to take the time to appreciate the artistry of it.
It's a wonder they escape without any further injuries, though Faraday doesn't have a mind to offer up his thanks as they make good their retreat. By the time the other agents are pulling him away, his head is clouded with a haze of pain, sweat standing out on his forehead. He has just enough smart-ass left in him to mumble, "When do I get the good painkillers?" as they drag him away.
After that, Faraday doesn't remember a whole lot. An ambulance ride and a tech cutting into his clothes. Someone telling him the bullet nicked an artery, and Faraday murmuring, "Yeah, that sounds right," just as he let exhaustion finally claim him. At some point, they must have taken him into surgery, must have patched him up, must have deposited him into a quiet, private room to recover.
It would logically follow, considering that's where he wakes up.
The machinery beeps around him quietly as he comes to, the blinds and curtains drawn to block out the worst of the mid-morning sunlight. (And thank God for that, because even that dim light is enough to make his head ache.) His skull feels like it's been stuffed with cotton – not too dissimilar from waking up after a long night of drinking, all things considered. He feels heavy. Tired. And oddly chipper, though a quick glance at the crook of his arm leading to an IV drip tells him that's probably the drugs more than anything. He runs a hand over his injured leg, finds the bandages there, and decides to leave well enough alone.
A quick examination of the room, then. One door, closed, leading out. One small window, covered. One red-haired woman in a chair, quietly dozing—
... Huh.
Faraday stares at Emma, caught between amusement and surprise, unsure why he's a little warmed by the idea that she might have been waiting all this time. (The drugs, he tells himself. It's the drugs.) She probably hasn't, though. She probably just dropped in, happened to pass out – unsurprising, considering the night they had. ]
Emma.
[ It comes out hoarsely, throat dry and sore. He coughs a little, licking his lips afterward. His voice is a little less of a mess when he tries again. ]
emma remembers these days vividly after her husband's death, and she hasn't been inclined to revisit them. however, the unfortunate nature of her partner's injury, and the fact that recovering from a gunshot isn't the easiest thing in the world, means that she and soon after, faraday, while he gets back up to snuff, are stuck with the unpleasant reality of desk duty. mountains of boring paperwork, followed by, inevitably, more paperwork occupies her days, all while sitting across from faraday.
(who never shuts up, because of course he doesn't; he's like a rambunctious child who's just been told he's not allowed out to play in the rain. too much energy bottled up with limited outlets.
emma just happens to be on the receiving end of most of his boredom-inspired antics.
like precariously placed cups of coffee — saved only by her reflexes. or rubber bands fired at her from across their shoved-together deskspace (though that behavior was quickly extinguished by emma first confiscating the rubber bands themselves, and then firing one final snap right at faraday's cheek).
emma will deny that happened until the end of days.)
she also has to deal with her own fallout from the bust with rivera and bogue. a psych eval after what happened with faraday is the obvious route, but chisolm is additionally insistent that she get herself cleared because of the incident with bogue. emma consistently tells sam that she's fine, and bogue's alive, isn't he? she'd had plenty of opportunities to take that shot, and she hadn't. she'd done her job. she'd pulled her partner out alive instead of sacrificing his life or the agency's standing for her own revenge.
she did the right thing.
(doesn't mean she isn't still haunted by how close she'd been to ending that godforsaken ghoul of a man.)
it takes nearly four months of paper-pushing before faraday is cleared for fieldwork again. he's told to take it easy, of course — as easy as faraday ever does — but he's given the green light. emma has never been so relieved to get the go-ahead for a mission in her life, but the resurfacing of a particular arms dealer makes keeping them on reserves less realistic.
bogue is making appearances again, popping up in the darker, wealthier segments of society, but he's also quieter about it now. there's been photographs, brief sightings, stirrings of new deals and new contraband — but he's careful. they can't ever pin down his location, and it's going to take some real digging.
fortunately, that's a particular domain where emma and faraday happen to excel.
dressed to the nines, emma weaves through the quiet but steady hum of atmospheric conversation. she's taking point tonight, for the sake of keeping faraday out of the way and minimizing his risk, but that doesn't mean he's far off. she can glance to her side, catch sight of her partner, and then return her attention to the room at large.
the party is much smaller than their last undercover work, more intimate, but the people attending are easily of the same caliber of before. rich, entitled, and dangerous. fortunately, in her appropriately expensive black dress, with that practiced smile and well-rehearsed air, emma fits right in. she's gotten used to this kind of environment, and while she's not comfortable, she manages to pull it off, to walk just right and get exactly the kind of attention she needs.
she's subtle as she reaches up to brush her hair behind her ear, just barely adjusting the comm in her ear. ]
Remember you're staying out of the way tonight.
[ emma is the focus here, and while she's not exactly the biggest fan of this style, the "honeypot" is an easily worked angle.
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someone take this au away from me
what she ended up with was a mouthy, arrogant, royal pain in her ass, who's way too cocky for his own good.
if emma had a dollar for the number of times in an hour that she rolled her eyes at faraday, she'd be able to retire (and what a reprieve that would be). when first assigned, she'd even put in for another partner after their intial field test together, only to be told to suck it up and make it work. no amount of finagling or otherwise could change the agency's mind, and ever since, emma's been learning to work with faraday.
probably the most frustrating thing about it is that he's actually good. he's not a bad agent, by any means, and is, in fact, incredibly impressive. it's just that damn attitude of his that puts emma off so badly, and if she could slap a strip of duct tape over his mouth, oh, she wouldn't hesitate some days.
but still, the way they move through their work together soon becomes a well-oiled machine, and their assignments keep popping up left and right, only to be handled with grace and efficiency. he balances out her weaknesses, and she his, easily making up for their own failings to the point that they do become an admirable team. she's just come to accept that as long as she keeps the amount of time she has to spend with him to a purely professional setting, she can handle it. he's not the sort of man she'd see in her downtime, but, then again, emma doesn't often spend her days off with men — or, really, anyone from the agency. she works ungodly hours as an agent, which doesn't lend itself well to outside friendship (and it's not like she could tell other friends what she did for a living), and she effectively sees herself married to the job.
(rumors circulate the agency that she used to be actually married, had a husband and everything, but the story changes nearly every time about what happened to him — and emma certainly never brings it up.)
even less conducive to friendship or romantic entanglements are the missions that easily take weeks to complete. the extended time with faraday is always a little grating for emma, but considering the amount of work they're constantly doing, she figures it balances out well enough. but these undercover missions? these are the real struggle, and the newest one that chisolm has presented them with is going to be one hell of a ride.
"You're got to be kidding me," was all emma could manage when she read the brief, because with this new type of cover, oh, this is going to be a whole new kind of pain.
"Make it convincing," chisolm said, "make it work."
"convincing."
emma's still mentally grumbling over their assignment, over the cover they're expected to keep. acting like they're involved? in front of mass amounts of people? lord help her, this is going to be the most difficult mission she's had to date, she just knows it.
if emma was better at appreciating the fun possibilities of an assignment, she might realize that an opportunity to wear incredibly nice clothes, stay in a fantastic hotel, mingle with the haut monde of society (well, maybe not that part) while attending such a fantastic party could be a pleasant side effect of needing to go undercover for the event. but, really, she's just thinking about all of the time they'll have to spend being a plausible enough couple while engaging with those incredibly rich individuals.
joy of joys.
but it's all necessary, she knows, the easiest and most successful opportunity to uncover one of the biggest international arms deals the agency's seen, even if that does mean they have to put themselves right in the middle of it to dig up all of the names and appropriate evidence. it's the sort of mission she knows she and faraday can handle, but— this added undercover element is throwing her slightly off balance.
with everything set up in their hotel room — surveillance, weapons, emergency supplies — emma is just finishing getting ready for the evening's party. mingling is the name of the game for the evening, making contact with specific individuals, and, above all, trying to figure out where and when the deal will go down (and where all those damn guns are being stored).
emma puts a final pin in her hair before reaching for the tiny thigh holster she plans to keep under her dress for the evening; she can't carry her usual weapons, conscpicuous as they would be, so this will have to do. glancing over at faraday, her expression is all business. ]
Are you nearly ready?
N O P E shoves it back in your hands
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and then faraday was an idiot: incident #238
it's knowing that bogue is within reach of the agency (of emma), and that if they can catch this deal, if they can catch them all in one fell swoop, bogue will be done. it'll be the last nail in bogue's coffin, and emma can finally find the closure that she's been dying for all these years.
the memory of her husband can finally be at peace when bogue sees justice.
when emma truly finds the righteousness she's sought for so long.
she needs this, in ways she'll never be able to articulate to faraday (and in so many others that she absolutely refuses to try). she's on edge for the next few days, so distracted by her ungodly level of focus that she can't even spare a thought to the party, to the kiss with faraday, to...whatever it was that she'd been feeling. all that matters, and all that will matter until this is over, is seeing bogue finished.
there's a lot of setting up to be done, and they work out of a small safehouse a few miles from the docks. calls are made, agents and additional backup are provided, and, of course, all the weapons they could possibly need are there and waiting for them. surveillance is key until the night in question, and emma spends unreasonable hours watching screens, practically living off of coffee, and not...sleeping especially well. she needs to be well-rested, she knows it, but she can't bring herself to settle down.
not this close to such a pivotal moment.
when the night of the deal finally rolls around, emma is ready. she won't be going in personally (because that's not her strong suit), but she'll be watching faraday and other boots on the ground. her responsibility will be keeping her partner alive from a distance — her specialty, really — and while it rankles her just a touch to know she won't be able to see bogue's face, not quite in person, she knows she's better off finding her perch and staying there.
faraday will need all the help he can get, after all, given how few other agents are going to be ground support. he and emma are a good team, absolutely, but the agency is far more concerned about keeping other backup in the peripheral — as a last resort.
but this? she can handle this.
she's in position, finishing her setup with her rifle, and she runs a quick check of the earpiece that keeps her connected on a secure channel to faraday. ]
I say this every time, but please try not to do anythin' stupid tonight.
[ there isn't really humor in her tone, because now is not the night for it. ]
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healthy coping mechanism? what's that. can u eat it
Fitting, really. Appropriate. Except Faraday doesn't bother to take the time to appreciate the artistry of it.
It's a wonder they escape without any further injuries, though Faraday doesn't have a mind to offer up his thanks as they make good their retreat. By the time the other agents are pulling him away, his head is clouded with a haze of pain, sweat standing out on his forehead. He has just enough smart-ass left in him to mumble, "When do I get the good painkillers?" as they drag him away.
After that, Faraday doesn't remember a whole lot. An ambulance ride and a tech cutting into his clothes. Someone telling him the bullet nicked an artery, and Faraday murmuring, "Yeah, that sounds right," just as he let exhaustion finally claim him. At some point, they must have taken him into surgery, must have patched him up, must have deposited him into a quiet, private room to recover.
It would logically follow, considering that's where he wakes up.
The machinery beeps around him quietly as he comes to, the blinds and curtains drawn to block out the worst of the mid-morning sunlight. (And thank God for that, because even that dim light is enough to make his head ache.) His skull feels like it's been stuffed with cotton – not too dissimilar from waking up after a long night of drinking, all things considered. He feels heavy. Tired. And oddly chipper, though a quick glance at the crook of his arm leading to an IV drip tells him that's probably the drugs more than anything. He runs a hand over his injured leg, finds the bandages there, and decides to leave well enough alone.
A quick examination of the room, then. One door, closed, leading out. One small window, covered. One red-haired woman in a chair, quietly dozing—
... Huh.
Faraday stares at Emma, caught between amusement and surprise, unsure why he's a little warmed by the idea that she might have been waiting all this time. (The drugs, he tells himself. It's the drugs.) She probably hasn't, though. She probably just dropped in, happened to pass out – unsurprising, considering the night they had. ]
Emma.
[ It comes out hoarsely, throat dry and sore. He coughs a little, licking his lips afterward. His voice is a little less of a mess when he tries again. ]
Emma. Wake up.
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emma makes hot af bait tbh
emma remembers these days vividly after her husband's death, and she hasn't been inclined to revisit them. however, the unfortunate nature of her partner's injury, and the fact that recovering from a gunshot isn't the easiest thing in the world, means that she and soon after, faraday, while he gets back up to snuff, are stuck with the unpleasant reality of desk duty. mountains of boring paperwork, followed by, inevitably, more paperwork occupies her days, all while sitting across from faraday.
(who never shuts up, because of course he doesn't; he's like a rambunctious child who's just been told he's not allowed out to play in the rain. too much energy bottled up with limited outlets.
emma just happens to be on the receiving end of most of his boredom-inspired antics.
like precariously placed cups of coffee — saved only by her reflexes. or rubber bands fired at her from across their shoved-together deskspace (though that behavior was quickly extinguished by emma first confiscating the rubber bands themselves, and then firing one final snap right at faraday's cheek).
emma will deny that happened until the end of days.)
she also has to deal with her own fallout from the bust with rivera and bogue. a psych eval after what happened with faraday is the obvious route, but chisolm is additionally insistent that she get herself cleared because of the incident with bogue. emma consistently tells sam that she's fine, and bogue's alive, isn't he? she'd had plenty of opportunities to take that shot, and she hadn't. she'd done her job. she'd pulled her partner out alive instead of sacrificing his life or the agency's standing for her own revenge.
she did the right thing.
(doesn't mean she isn't still haunted by how close she'd been to ending that godforsaken ghoul of a man.)
it takes nearly four months of paper-pushing before faraday is cleared for fieldwork again. he's told to take it easy, of course — as easy as faraday ever does — but he's given the green light. emma has never been so relieved to get the go-ahead for a mission in her life, but the resurfacing of a particular arms dealer makes keeping them on reserves less realistic.
bogue is making appearances again, popping up in the darker, wealthier segments of society, but he's also quieter about it now. there's been photographs, brief sightings, stirrings of new deals and new contraband — but he's careful. they can't ever pin down his location, and it's going to take some real digging.
fortunately, that's a particular domain where emma and faraday happen to excel.
dressed to the nines, emma weaves through the quiet but steady hum of atmospheric conversation. she's taking point tonight, for the sake of keeping faraday out of the way and minimizing his risk, but that doesn't mean he's far off. she can glance to her side, catch sight of her partner, and then return her attention to the room at large.
the party is much smaller than their last undercover work, more intimate, but the people attending are easily of the same caliber of before. rich, entitled, and dangerous. fortunately, in her appropriately expensive black dress, with that practiced smile and well-rehearsed air, emma fits right in. she's gotten used to this kind of environment, and while she's not comfortable, she manages to pull it off, to walk just right and get exactly the kind of attention she needs.
she's subtle as she reaches up to brush her hair behind her ear, just barely adjusting the comm in her ear. ]
Remember you're staying out of the way tonight.
[ emma is the focus here, and while she's not exactly the biggest fan of this style, the "honeypot" is an easily worked angle.
men are just predictable enough to fall for it. ]
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have a tiny novel while i'm supposed to be asleep apparently
wow you sleep-write really well
asleep-me has her shit together more than awake-me tbh
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