“Never,” Syler responded brightly. “One of the many upsides to being a computer nerd is that no one expects me to have any concept of fashion whatsoever. It saves so much time. Besides, it’s vintage.”
Arthur blinked. “Vintage?”
“Yeah, online thrift stores. So convenient.”
“I’m introducing you to mine before Thompson retires,” he announced. “You can thank me later.” The elevator door chimed, admitting them to the Director’s floor. Arthur crutched out slowly, his handler beside him scanning over a tablet with the mission report from Mexico.
“Mm, well, I suppose you do have time on your hands now.” Arthur glared at him as he held open the door to the Director’s waiting room. “You can plot it all out during the meeting.”
---
“That could have gone worse,” Syler commented as they returned to the operations bullpen. Arthur had followed him for lack of anywhere better to be. Going home to wallow just didn’t appeal right now, no matter how much he hurt. Syler unlocked his office door, wherein Arthur gratefully dropped onto the couch, stretching out with a groan. The other man tutted, tucking a pillow under his ankle before returning to his desk. “Get some rest, Dufault. You’ve earned it.” He turned to look back at his agent.
Arthur was already asleep. He sighed, moving to cover the man with the throw tossed over the back of the sofa. Only fair, he thought. It had been his gift.
Sixteen
Arthur woke to the sensation of a hand carding through his hair. He turned to nuzzle into the palm, content, blinking his eyes open only when the hand retreated. “That’s nice,” he drawled, voice sleep rough.
“It’s late, Dufault. I’ve ordered us dinner.” Arthur hummed, chasing after his handler’s voice as he came more fully back to wakefulness. He winced, ankle throbbing painfully. Syler passed him a mug and a pill. “Pain meds and I’ll take you home after.”
“You’re spoiling me,” he returned, swallowing the medication and heaving himself up. He managed to sit mostly upright, body refusing to cooperate further, sore and aching approximately everywhere. God, he hated getting old.
“You say that like you weren’t spoiled before,” Syler replied, settling into the recently vacated section of sofa. Arthur shamelessly leaned against him for support, accepting the take away box. It didn’t smell nearly as heavenly as the burger had.
“What is this?” he asked, eyeing the veritable cornucopia of greenery inside of the container, liberally dotted with thinly sliced beef, a small container of soup steaming in one corner. He poked his fork at the salad with suspicion.
“Healthy person food, as suggested by Miranda.”
“She really does hate me.”
“She orders me pad thai. Maybe if you were nicer...” Syler trailed off, digging into his own box. Arthur grunted, refusing to dignify that with a response. They ate in companionable silence, Arthur going loose as the medication kicked in, relaxing deeper into his handler’s side, left leg propped awkwardly on the end of the couch and right foot braced against the floor to keep himself upright.
“Good this is awful,” he groused, stabbing half-heartedly at a piece of arugula.
Syler’s shoulders quaked, mocking him silently. “Not very good at taking things slowly, are you?”
“Can’t stand it,” he agreed. “Haven’t sat still since I left Iowa.”
“Iowa?” Syler repeated, stunned.
“Born and raised. Small town American ideal. Mother was a homemaker; father was a hard nosed asshole whose one and only instance of open approval was when I joined the service,” he paused, setting aside the take away container, grimacing. “I don’t visit much.”
Syler set his own meal aside. “Can’t say that I blame you.”
“And you, sweetheart?” Arthur settled against him more firmly, eyes drifting to the bookshelf of half-finished prototypes and overflowing component bins, wondering at the type of upbringing that lead to that.
“Rural fucking nowhere.”
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “I take it you don’t visit much either.”
“Didn’t really fit in,” he agreed.
“Any family?”
“My mother’s dead.”
“Father?”
“Deadbeat.”
“Well don’t we just make a pair,” Arthur remarked, swinging his good leg up onto the couch and stretching back out, head in his handler’s lap, unabashedly vying for another scalp massage. Syler huffed, reaching for his tablet instead. Arthur pouted winningly until long, thin fingers settled into his hair, scratching lightly.
“You’re shameless,” he noted, pulling open a document Arthur couldn’t quite make out from this angle.
“I’m injured,” he replied, tilting his head to get a better look. “What is that?”
“Latest reports on Pyrona. Tell me what you make of it, will you?” Syler passed him the tablet. Arthur fitted his hand over Syler’s, trapping it on the edge of the tablet, scrolling idly through it as his handler’s free hand carded through his hair.
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “More attacks on financial institutions, more stolen funds, more purchase orders. What are we up to now, eight companies? Nine?”
“Ten, and beyond the encryption surrounding the orders themselves, nothing tying them together or pointing to who made the orders. Also, to be frank, I doubt the companies receiving these orders even realize what’s happened.”
“Explain it to me like I’m five.” Arthur tilted his head, chasing Syler’s fingers for a particular itch. Syler smiled absentmindedly.
“So, a normal security system consists of layered firewalls. Think the walls around a castle, yeah? And advanced security systems often utilize multiple layers of firewalls so that if one is penetrated, it notifies them to investigate before the attacker is all of the way through.”
“I follow.”
“Often, the most valuable information is partitioned off within additional firewalls beyond those that defend the entire system itself and each layer of the wall has a particular key that grants you access. Hacking, in layman’s terms, is just finding a key before the guards show up to escort you out.”
“So what’s so interesting about this encryption?”
“Selective location, for one. It didn’t stand out with Oliveria, because his entire computer network was surrounded with Pyrona’s encryption protocol to prevent remote access, but the others only have discreet Pyrona-style encryption around what, presumably, corresponds to the orders Pyrona has made and they’re
