[ Arguably, she gets paid to listen and as well-acquainted as Dr. Akker is with the dossiers of most of the men and women who walk through her door, there are few she knows better than Iain Marling's. Why that is isn't a subject of debate nor even open discussion. But it is what it is and has been for a while now.
Her smile is a little more obvious, though still far from overt. ]
Agent Marling. [ The line is secure and always is when she calls. (It has to be.) ] Afternoon where you are, isn't it?
[ There are few Dr. Akker knows better than Iain Marling and there is only one person that Iain Marling has ever let know him as well. (She's also one of the only people who knows his full name, and one of the only people who's ever seen him express anything besides a careful blankness.
There'd only been the very beginnings of grey in his hair the first time they'd met. He'd been labeled damaged goods when he'd been pulled out of the army, the only survivor of a horrific bomb detonation, a skinny slip of a man who didn't know what to do with himself and didn't know where to go.
Needless to say, things have changed a lot since then.) ]
Halfway t'rough, [ comes the response from the other end of the line. ] Daylight's burning.
[ There is a very clear line in Iain Marling's records, a line that is just as sharply delineated as in his personal past as well. After it there are expected listings — mandatory checkups and regulatory evaluations done mostly by a far of Iain in the field — granted those listings are few and far between but such is necessity with a deep-cover agent like Iain. The less there is on file, the better (the higher up the food chain you go, the more readily the bureaucrats you find there understand this sentiment). But as sparse as things marked after the line can be, before the line is even sparser.
There aren't very many people left who knew what Iain Marling was like back then. Arguably, there's nobody left &mash; nobody but Dr. Akker.
Where the government saw a wasted investment, a broken toy soldier not worth the solder to mend him back together, she'd seen a wealth of potential. Sixth months, she'd said to her superiors at the time. Sixth months and if there isn't any progress, I'll cut him loose myself. ]
Busy day? [ Small talk. Iain hates it but there's a point to Akker's small talk (and she part of her likes seeing how many hoops she can get him to jump through before he stops). ]
[ Where the government had seen nothing, she'd seen everything, and for that, he owes her his life. It's a debt he's keenly aware of, and one he works to repay day by day, on the books and off. (He's made it clear to her in the past that should she ever need him — ever — he'd only be a phone call or a note away. Even at his worst, he's an extremely dangerous man.) ]
Be busy t'morrow, [ he says, and there's the sound of a door opening and closing as he speaks. (He knows she knows he hates small talk, but there's a point, and more than that, there's very little he won't do for her. Six months after nearly being condemned to the gutter, he'd turned into one of the project's most valuable assets.) ]
[ Unfortunately for Iain (and unfortunately for Dr. Akker a well) the enemies she's made over the years are somewhat resistant to his particular brand of both danger and charm. Iain Marling might be able to kill a man just as easily as he could make a man wish he were dead, but bureaucracy isn't the sort of thing you stab and addictions — well, they're the ones that torture you and not the other way around.
Still, the offer is noted and her gratitude is given. Akker doesn't have friends, not in any traditional sense, but Iain is as close as she gets to them (on good days, at least). Maybe he'd saved her just as much as she'd saved him, only her situation had been a little more between the lines, a little less explicit but no less desperate.
Her end of the line is quiet. If Iain listens hard enough he may recognize the creak of her office chair muffled beneath her breathing. ]
Careful. Jetlag's a bitch. [ The implication: how're you sleeping? ]
[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Her smile is a little more obvious, though still far from overt. ]
Agent Marling. [ The line is secure and always is when she calls. (It has to be.) ] Afternoon where you are, isn't it?
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There'd only been the very beginnings of grey in his hair the first time they'd met. He'd been labeled damaged goods when he'd been pulled out of the army, the only survivor of a horrific bomb detonation, a skinny slip of a man who didn't know what to do with himself and didn't know where to go.
Needless to say, things have changed a lot since then.) ]
Halfway t'rough, [ comes the response from the other end of the line. ] Daylight's burning.
✆
There aren't very many people left who knew what Iain Marling was like back then. Arguably, there's nobody left &mash; nobody but Dr. Akker.
Where the government saw a wasted investment, a broken toy soldier not worth the solder to mend him back together, she'd seen a wealth of potential. Sixth months, she'd said to her superiors at the time. Sixth months and if there isn't any progress, I'll cut him loose myself. ]
Busy day? [ Small talk. Iain hates it but there's a point to Akker's small talk (and she part of her likes seeing how many hoops she can get him to jump through before he stops). ]
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Be busy t'morrow, [ he says, and there's the sound of a door opening and closing as he speaks. (He knows she knows he hates small talk, but there's a point, and more than that, there's very little he won't do for her. Six months after nearly being condemned to the gutter, he'd turned into one of the project's most valuable assets.) ]
Beijing.
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Still, the offer is noted and her gratitude is given. Akker doesn't have friends, not in any traditional sense, but Iain is as close as she gets to them (on good days, at least). Maybe he'd saved her just as much as she'd saved him, only her situation had been a little more between the lines, a little less explicit but no less desperate.
Her end of the line is quiet. If Iain listens hard enough he may recognize the creak of her office chair muffled beneath her breathing. ]
Careful. Jetlag's a bitch. [ The implication: how're you sleeping? ]
✆
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.