[ He recognizes that sound, even now, even though it's been a long time since he's paid her office a proper visit. (That's the sort of thing that happens when you've seen someone at the bottom of the barrel and they've seen you there, too. It brings you a lot closer than almost anything else would. You don't forget something like that.)
As he listens, he treads through the apartment he's staying in, finally coming to a stop by the window as he keeps the phone by his ear. Storm clouds are rolling in. Good cover, for tonight, though the worst will have to let up by morning. He's got enough of a layover between here and Beijing that a little delay won't matter too much, but he's always been the punctual type.
Bigger. Badder. [ There's a dry sardonism to Akker's voice which means that she's amused. ] Fee-fi-fucking-fo-fum, Agent Marling.
[ There's a very good chance that this conversation is off the record, that she's calling not on the Project's dime and so the 'Agent Marling' is somewhat tongue-in-cheek. Even when it's on the record, she can't bring herself to call him that seriously; even when things go south and some investment gets scrapped and it's Iain's name dangling on the hook, she never gets angry with him, never flaunts her security clearance and never pulls rank. (It'd be cheap, a slight to the understanding that they have and have had for going on nearly ten years now. Besides, you don't do that to a friend. ]
Been trying to get a hold of M. [ M. Short of Moneypenny. Now, short for Marling. ] She's giving her people the run around for the past week and a half. [ A beat. ] Not in Beijing, is she?
[ "Friend" is a word that Iain doesn't really quantify as easily as the rest of the world, but Akker falls into the category without question. (Arguably, he doesn't quantify anything the same way, but that's another story for another day.) "Friends," way back when, had meant people who could hook him up, People who could keep his name relevant and people who could keep him as jumped up as he had been, back then. "Friends," now, means extra baggage. Surplus. Unnecessary weight. Akker isn't unnecessary to him, not by a long shot, but "friend" is the closest word for what she is to him than anything else. ]
Tell you when I get there. [ Not a yes and not a no, just the polite way of saying that, married though they might be, and though they might work together now and again, they don't always report to the same offices, and it isn't the sort of thing that's in his job description, anyway. (Akker is one of the only people who actually knows who Marling is married to, partially because she's the only person Iain had bothered to tell, sending through a short email with only the barest details, as was his usual custom.) ]
[ Tell me about your friends, Staff Sergeant Marling. Those were among the first words she'd ever spoken to Iain — that and her name, her part in the Project, a perfunctory this seat taken even though it wasn't really a question (nobody in, nobody out, except for the doctors; those were the rules until he was given the all-clear). She hadn't really meant friends, of course, she'd meant his squad, but Akker had phrased it anyway just to see his reaction (if any), curious if he'd remain reticent and closed off for the duration. ]
As a favor, Iain, [ and her tone changes — not soft, not earnest, not playing any card beyond it'll make my life easier even though Akker knows he's not Marling's babysitter any more than she is.
[ He still hadn't completely mastered himself, then. He'd winced, like he'd been startled out of a reverie — not because of the word friends but because of the question itself — the line of his lips twisting as he considered the answer. (Read the file, haven't you?)
Momentarily: ] Taipei.
[ A beat. ]
'M going, day after t'morrow. [ (Leave it to me.) ]
[ (Read the file, haven't you? that's what he'd said and Dr. Akker had just shrugged with one of her shoulders, as if twelve dead men hadn't been laid out there, one after the other, page after page, like some morbid a la carte. I don't read files, Staff Sargarent, I read people. And what I read from you is, you're not finished yet.)
In the silence that follows, Akker's chair squeaks again and there's a faint whispering sound of ballpoint pen on paper. (He implies leave it to me and he will, but Akker hasn't gotten where she is and kept her position by not being ahead of the ball at all times. Eventually: ] Thanks.
[ A beat, then: ] So. What's the official tally? [ Circling back to an earlier question of how are you sleeping. ]
[ (You're not finished yet. And that had been his loyalty won, right then and there, because when you have nothing, a statement like that means everything.) ]
Not too little, not too large. [ Fine. Average. Not noncommittal, because he's never that way with her, and not a lie, because he's come out of the habit of telling them a long time ago. He hasn't told a lie since going into Iraq. There's no room for lies in that kind of war, and no room for lies in the way that he chooses to live, now. ]
Mm, [ she hums, thoughtful and equally not noncommittal. More scritching of her pen now, no more pointed or quick than when she'd scribbled down Taipei. Just because the call's not on record in any capacity doesn't mean she's stopped looking out for him (she's pretty certain that'll never happen, ever). ] Good. [ That's the doctor in her talking. A beat, then: ] I'm glad. [ And that's the friend.
A few more notes, reminders of calls she should make afterwards. Stalling, maybe, before she tells him: ] Next time you're settled for more than a few days, drop me a line. Dr. Connors has something you might be interested in. [ Chemistry. A delicate subject when it comes to Akkers and Iain's one of the few people to know why. ]
[ He knows, but he never brings it up on his own and he never tries to rub that knowledge in. Trust isn't the sort of thing he gives away easily and he knows her well enough by this point to know that it's not something she gives away much, either. (Maybe that's what friends means.)
Although, to be fair, he doesn't talk much in general. ]
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As he listens, he treads through the apartment he's staying in, finally coming to a stop by the window as he keeps the phone by his ear. Storm clouds are rolling in. Good cover, for tonight, though the worst will have to let up by morning. He's got enough of a layover between here and Beijing that a little delay won't matter too much, but he's always been the punctual type.
Mildly: ]
'Ve dealt with bigger.
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[ There's a very good chance that this conversation is off the record, that she's calling not on the Project's dime and so the 'Agent Marling' is somewhat tongue-in-cheek. Even when it's on the record, she can't bring herself to call him that seriously; even when things go south and some investment gets scrapped and it's Iain's name dangling on the hook, she never gets angry with him, never flaunts her security clearance and never pulls rank. (It'd be cheap, a slight to the understanding that they have and have had for going on nearly ten years now. Besides, you don't do that to a friend. ]
Been trying to get a hold of M. [ M. Short of Moneypenny. Now, short for Marling. ] She's giving her people the run around for the past week and a half. [ A beat. ] Not in Beijing, is she?
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Tell you when I get there. [ Not a yes and not a no, just the polite way of saying that, married though they might be, and though they might work together now and again, they don't always report to the same offices, and it isn't the sort of thing that's in his job description, anyway. (Akker is one of the only people who actually knows who Marling is married to, partially because she's the only person Iain had bothered to tell, sending through a short email with only the barest details, as was his usual custom.) ]
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As a favor, Iain, [ and her tone changes — not soft, not earnest, not playing any card beyond it'll make my life easier even though Akker knows he's not Marling's babysitter any more than she is.
More lightly: ] I'll owe you one.
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Momentarily: ] Taipei.
[ A beat. ]
'M going, day after t'morrow. [ (Leave it to me.) ]
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In the silence that follows, Akker's chair squeaks again and there's a faint whispering sound of ballpoint pen on paper. (He implies leave it to me and he will, but Akker hasn't gotten where she is and kept her position by not being ahead of the ball at all times. Eventually: ] Thanks.
[ A beat, then: ] So. What's the official tally? [ Circling back to an earlier question of how are you sleeping. ]
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Not too little, not too large. [ Fine. Average. Not noncommittal, because he's never that way with her, and not a lie, because he's come out of the habit of telling them a long time ago. He hasn't told a lie since going into Iraq. There's no room for lies in that kind of war, and no room for lies in the way that he chooses to live, now. ]
Usual.
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A few more notes, reminders of calls she should make afterwards. Stalling, maybe, before she tells him: ] Next time you're settled for more than a few days, drop me a line. Dr. Connors has something you might be interested in. [ Chemistry. A delicate subject when it comes to Akkers and Iain's one of the few people to know why. ]
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Although, to be fair, he doesn't talk much in general. ]
Connors. Got it.