“No worries, I need to get cleaned up anyway. Boothman will throw a fit if I show up to our meeting like this.” He grinned, moving out of the doorway with a jaunty wave. “I’ll see you later.”
Thompson hummed conversationally as they made their way to the ballistics lab to review the test results. “It’s good to see the two of you getting along,” he noted.
Syler wasn’t too sure about that.
Twelve
Things continued on like that for the next week and a half. At every turn, Syler found himself running into Agent Dufault or finding evidence of his recent presence. He seemed to be a permanent fixture in operations, alternating between flirting with his staff and ingratiating himself into Syler’s acquaintance and good graces.
Presently, the man had interrupted him lugging several boxes of technical manuals and reference books into his new office, intent on clearing them out of his apartment and housing them where they could actually be of use. Dufault had simply found him in the hallway outside the parking garage loading a dolly and taken the thing from him without so much as a by-your-leave, neatly directing the cart back towards operations as though this was the sort of work a man in shiny black oxfords and a shoulder holster was meant to do.
“Hello again, Dufault,” Syler started, making a move to grab the cart back. “I’ve got it under control, actually, but thank you for the help.” Arthur neatly maneuvered out of the way, waving him off.
“Not a problem at all, sweetheart. Just tell me where they’re headed.”
Syler frowned. “I’m not actually a helpless damsel, you realize.”
“I’d never insult you like that,” he replied seriously. “I’ve seen what you can do with both computers and hand grenade modifications. Operations, right?”
“If I say no, will you give me the cart back and tell me why you’ve been playing the part of my personal assistant for the last two weeks?” Thus far, he’d been pretending it wasn’t happening, but it was getting increasingly weird to have what amounted to his own personal pet assassin. Coworkers aside, men like Dufault didn’t generally seek out the company of raging computer nerds like himself. Certainly none of the other field agents had taken such an interest in him or the goings-on of operations beyond occasionally dropping by in a fit of boredom to see if any new prototypes needed testing. It was bewildering.
Arthur affected a hurt expression. “Is it really so hard to believe that I want to get to know you?”
‘Yes,’ Syler thought. “Incredibly,” he said out loud. “If this is a new infiltration technique you’re trying out, I feel obligated to report that it’s scaring the technicians and not nearly subtle enough.”
The other man barked a laugh, bringing the dolly to a stop beside the elevator. “See? That. That right there,” he replied, gracing Syler with a broad smile. “It just makes me try harder.”
“Well, the food is a nice touch,” Syler mused, stepping into the elevator after Dufault. In the days since their shared meal, Syler often found stray sandwiches appearing at his elbow whilst running ops and hot take out containers at his desk when he returned from the labs. “The coffee too. Creepy since I’ve never caught you refilling it, but nice. Are you angling for a miniaturized missile launcher on your next assignment or just practicing discreet drops?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, darling,” he countered, eyes glinting with mischief. Syler narrowed his eyes as the man leaned closer. “Maybe I just want to make sure the most valuable mind in the CIA is well fueled before my next assignment. Although, if you’re offering—”
“No miniaturized missile launcher for you.” Arthur pouted. “I’ll send you out with your beloved Sig though. Those kebabs were excellent.”
Arthur grinned. “Fair trade.” The elevator doors dinged open, and Arthur stepped out, heading briskly towards the operations department security doors. Syler led him through to his office, pointedly ignoring the increasingly mystified stares from his staff at his recently acquired shadow.
Arthur whistled when he brought the dolly to a stop in the office, carding a hand through his short blond hair. “You really did need more space, didn’t you?” Of the six shelves, three were almost entirely filled with manuals, a fourth with prototypes, and the fifth with tools and components, absolutely none of it in anything resembling order. There might just be enough room for the boxes on the dolly. Syler was contemplating forgoing his view and putting a seventh shelf in the space where the window overlooked the bull pen. “I hope there’s not more coming.”
“That’s the last of it,” Syler replied, starting to work unpacking the manuals. Arthur moved to help him. A short while later, he dropped the last of the manuals onto his desk, resolving to find space for them later, and cleared a small stack of paperwork off of his chair to sit, tucking it next to the overflowing incoming requests box on the corner of his desk.
“My favorite part,” Arthur commented idly, yet somehow fully conveying his horror, “is how this is just an expansion of what the command desk used to look like.” The man had the air of a consummate neat freak. Oh, career military…
“My apartment, actually,” Syler replied, settling into the chair. Arthur moved to take a seat in the visitor’s chair, but quickly changed course to lean against the desk when he saw that it was housing a spare computer monitor. “It’s a work in progress.”
“You need more seating,” Arthur replied, “and possibly a maid.”
“For that,” Syler sighed, “I would give you an entire box of miniaturized missile launchers.” Syler’s office phone rang, announcing the end of his working lunch, and he shot an apologetic look at Dufault, waving him on his way.
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The next morning was another early start for Syler, who received notification
