elusive ✘ | ✘ auto

I graduate college on Friday. 

“ — Well, I won’t be in London much longer, so will this afternoon work? I’ve got a flight this evening. ” Roman isn’t sure if telling this mystery agent was a solid life choice but few things ever are. Still, they didn’t want to start the chain reaction of an international manhunt just because they didn’t want to speak to an ISA agent. FUCK.

“ — …..RIGHT. ” This hardly boded well. They didn’t like being noticed by the government. It tread too close into the realm of having to explain this kind of shit. Prying eyes and curious minds stickings their noses into places and loosening the threads that Roman had tied for themself. “ I’m gonna go on a limb and assume this isn’t an elective set of questions? ” 

✕ ✕

HE LEANED back again on the bed and smirked at her, holding out his hand.           ❝A’right, well let’s SEE.❞

@unyieldingconviction liked this for a starter.

“ — What on earth does someone from the ISA want with a person like me? ” They are staring down the business card in their hand like it’s bit them, bewildered and vaguely perturbed. They haven’t done anything that would garner their interest, at least not if they done their job well. 

✕ ✕

He cast a glance over his shoulder,               ❝How strong is it?❞

       “Bad choices are the best choices - Don’t be a dry arse.” Sebastian lifted his hand to call the bartender over. He ordered a whiskey for himself and a Hurricane for her before sitting back, arms folding. “Smile, sunshine - The world’s not gonna end if you have a drink with me.”

                        The worst case scenario was always a likely bump in the road, but he didn’t want to dwell on the kind of situations he usually worked his whole life to prevent. The fact that he was still alive and breathing was proof in itself that she should be more CONFIDENT with his survival methods. It wasn’t a bad idea to think ahead or about the  ‘ what if’s ‘  that surrounded them, but it was a mentally draining practice and they both needed to remain as SHARP as possible. He’s aware she expected to hear more; to feel assured that he had thought out everything in bullet points, but even the most well-prepared plan could easily fall to pieces and they would be back to square one. 

                        For a moment, he thought Kori would do just that        push him to reveal more than he was letting on; as if he was sugarcoating their circumstance for the sake of helping relieve doubt and FEAR when that hadn’t been his intention whatsoever. His gaze immediately descends to her hand when it encompasses his and she speaks, solemnly, with a voice far too foreign to truly belong to her. When he looks up, he swallows hard at the image of salt-stained drops caressing her cheek. The door opens, but before she leaves the vehicle, he leans over and with his free hand, wipes the tear with a gentle stroke; hoping she UNDERSTOOD that she wasn’t alone in this.

❝ We’re going to be okay, Kori. You believe me when I say that, right ? ❞

       The feeling of his hand on her cheek caused her to pause immediately - it wasn’t like him to touch her either, not by a landslide. Her heartstrings tugged in her chest, eyes closed. What a predicament they were in.         The two of them had been through other stressful situations. Jobs and trips with deadly consequences. They’d both seen men and women come and go. This, however - this kind of stress was something that the two of them hadn’t experienced together before. 

       She turned back to him, door half open, and inhaled sharply. His voice was incredibly reassuring, but she knew that neither of them would ever be truly safe again. It showed in her features.

      “It isn’t you that I don’t believe in,” she said. Her voice was as hollow and vacant as before. But her eyes were serious, panicked, wet. “At this point, the agency doesn’t care about facts. They’ll find us, and without  prior questioning, separate us-” Her voice cracked, but she remained focused. “-and torture us until there’s nothing to find and nothing left of us. We’ll never see each other again if we miss one step.”

       Her hands were shaking. Perhaps his validation wasn’t enough.

                       He’s more than GRATEFUL for the change of pace in their conversation. GLAD to have passed the time with lighthearted topics than their initial start. It truly lessened the tension in his body                 in his heart. 

❝ I’m sorry, but I just don’t really see that with you. ❞

                      Honesty is the best policy with William. Someone who enjoyed eating THAT much should have easily been double the weight she was and from the looks of it, he had believed she NEVER had time to eat at all. Possibly even worried about whether she gave herself enough breaks for lunch and dinner considering the stress of their jobs.

       The woman straightened a bit at that, but with a smirk on her features to signal that she didn’t take it to heart.  It wasn’t the first time that someone mentioned her weight, and if he didn’t know her, she’d be offended - but he had a point. A steak person would be much thicker, more healthy looking.

      “How rude of you,” she said, exaggerating. “I’ll have you know that I have steak for dinner at least twice a week. You just don’t know the full story.”

       It was about time he found out. They worked so closely that it made sense for him to know her limitations, restrictions, and weaknesses. 

“Understood. Follow me.”

Jesus shows the back of a man who rarely bothers to check if he’s being followed – an imperative used once should suffice. He expects to sets of feet to make sounds behind him, and he does – the guard joins them without crossing the learned boundaries of his boss’ personal comfort.

The kitchen is a more elongated replica of an operating theatre, white and pristine, yet with the modern design it avoids appearing boring. It expands into the space dividing it with the enormous living room, and the place is marked with a black matte bar counter. Jesus slips behind it, a massive ghost in the half-light of the nighttime apartment and his pale attire – a simple T-shirt and sweatpants. He is fully aware they make him somewhat lose his stature and poise, soften his frame and turn him into a simple man of the house found everywhere across America. Somehow Mandell brings the sense of safety not only with her services but with her presence as well. She sees every aspect of his life as closely as a mother, as inquisitive and passionless as a doctor. She is a force he does not need to impress or negotiate, she simply…is.

“Do you like Baileys?”

       Before following him, she took one quick glance at the men behind her  - guards, tech, and artillery - and went on her way. They knew what to do without her instruction, and would be fine for a few minutes. She’d use the drink, and time with him, to assure herself that he wasn’t in some kind of shocked state. She didn’t want to deal with the paperwork of a medical evaluation.

       She was tired. Very tired. The agent was so used to it, however, that in the five minutes that took her feet from her bed to her car, she knew to put a bit of powder over the purple tinge in her eyes.         That, her hair in a hair-tie, jacket, gloves, phone, keys, wallet, out the door. It was the quickest she could afford, as she had come to genuinely care for her client. The thought of him in danger bothered him. She, god forbid, cared.

        Her gloves and jacket were removed on her way to his kitchen. At one point, she couldn’t help but stare at the counter top - much better than her own. Even the counter was impressive, but she instead averted her eyes to look at Jesus.

       “In my coffee” she replied honestly. “I try not to drink it too often, but this is an occasion, if any.” She returned his glance with a small smile.