worthallthis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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pennysheets2022-10-24 10:32 pm
worthallthis) wrote in pennysheets2022-10-24 10:32 pm
Entry tags:
Rescue from Bakerstreet - Layla and James
Continued from here.
"I haven't had kebabs before," he admits after a moment, squinting at the plates on offer. "I've had lots of rice." Rice is cheap and filling, and though he can't make it himself, given his lack of a stable kitchen situation or even any understanding of how it's made, he can get a lot of it at take-out places, and it was one of the easiest things on his stomach in the earliest days, recovering from the drugs.
He shakes himself a little out of memory. "I'm sure it's good." Then he finally drifts over to the table to sit down and try these kebab things curiously.
He shakes himself a little out of memory. "I'm sure it's good." Then he finally drifts over to the table to sit down and try these kebab things curiously.
She gives him a little smile, and sets a cup of coffee down at his place. She's on her second, too much caffeine for this time of night, but it's been weeks since her circadian rhythm actually knew what the hell it was doing. If she's not careful, she'll wind up fully nocturnal.
"I'm making a supply run tomorrow. Let me know if there's anything you'd like, and I'll pick it up for you."
"I'm making a supply run tomorrow. Let me know if there's anything you'd like, and I'll pick it up for you."
He looks blank for a moment, staring at the coffee, trying to compute what someone else might pick up for a supply run for him. "I'll think about it," he finally comes up with. Maybe he can make a list once he verifies what he still has. "I need to get my stuff. I can do that tonight."
Though "tonight" will be soon, here. The sun is going down, and it'll be dark before too long.
Though "tonight" will be soon, here. The sun is going down, and it'll be dark before too long.
The blank expression is a little unsettling, and coupled with his slightly-forlorn appearance, damp and bundled up in the overcoat, it's enough to stir faint embers of anger in the pit of her stomach.
What had they done to this man?
She swallows the question - too prying for so short an acquaintance - and nods. "All right," she says. "After you've eaten."
She eats her own meal in silence, sunk deep enough in thought that she doesn't feel the need to fill it with conversation. Only when they're both done with the food and she's sipping the last dregs of her coffee does she venture, "You said there'd have to be rules."
What had they done to this man?
She swallows the question - too prying for so short an acquaintance - and nods. "All right," she says. "After you've eaten."
She eats her own meal in silence, sunk deep enough in thought that she doesn't feel the need to fill it with conversation. Only when they're both done with the food and she's sipping the last dregs of her coffee does she venture, "You said there'd have to be rules."
He's been cradling his coffee mug, not thinking much of anything, which startles him a little when she speaks and he realizes it. Not even threat analysis. Apparently he no longer considers her a threat. Huh.
Then the words filter through, and he shakes himself a little. "Yes. Rules. To keep you safe. If I have nightmares. Do not touch me or try to wake me up. I might wake up and try to hurt you without knowing it's you. If I start shaking or the arm makes loud rattling noises, do not touch me. If I start speaking in another language and act confused, don't touch me, either." He pauses. "Actually. Probably a good idea not to touch me no matter what unless I ask you to." Which he kind of doubts will happen, but he should make that exception available just in case.
Then the words filter through, and he shakes himself a little. "Yes. Rules. To keep you safe. If I have nightmares. Do not touch me or try to wake me up. I might wake up and try to hurt you without knowing it's you. If I start shaking or the arm makes loud rattling noises, do not touch me. If I start speaking in another language and act confused, don't touch me, either." He pauses. "Actually. Probably a good idea not to touch me no matter what unless I ask you to." Which he kind of doubts will happen, but he should make that exception available just in case.
Layla nods solemnly, though that spark of anger flares a little higher. "Okay," she says. "I can manage that. With one caveat. If you're hurt or out cold, I'm--"
She pauses briefly, looking him over, and amends what she was going to say to, "I'm going to at least try to haul you somewhere safe, even if you're not able to ask. It shouldn't come up, but just so we're clear."
She pauses briefly, looking him over, and amends what she was going to say to, "I'm going to at least try to haul you somewhere safe, even if you're not able to ask. It shouldn't come up, but just so we're clear."
He blinks owlishly, then looks from her, down at himself, and actually quirks a small smile. "You can try," he agrees. "If I'm not conscious. If I am semi-conscious and don't know what's happening, and I will try to hurt you." He remembers now, clearly, hurling techs away from him in confusion. "In that case, just shout at me until I move myself."
Layla frowns at that, biting the inside of her lip as she turns it over and over in her head, before finally nodding her agreement. "All right," she says. "If that's what you need me to do, I've got some practice shouting at people."
Usually not people who are hurt and should, in any sane world, be helped instead of yelled at, but she'll make do with what she has.
After a moment, she asks, "What languages do you speak?"
Usually not people who are hurt and should, in any sane world, be helped instead of yelled at, but she'll make do with what she has.
After a moment, she asks, "What languages do you speak?"
Being yelled at is absolutely more familiar than being helped. "I don't know." He looks vaguely apologetic about this. "A lot. Usually if I need a language for a mission, I just start speaking it, but I don't remember how many I actually have." He pauses, then admits, "Sometimes my accent and slang is out of date. Like I learned it decades ago. But mostly I can blend in."
"Those tend to vary by region anyway," Layla says. Then, because she's curious, adds in Arabic, "The Arabic spoken in my home city and the Arabic spoken in Morocco are very different."
He switches languages smoothly, almost automatically upon hearing her do so: "I speak Arabic. Not sure which region. I might know a dialect or two." He can imagine, knowing what he knows of HYDRA and the world history since the 40s, that he'd been inserted into more than one Middle Eastern country, and so would need to know how to understand the local variations. Though his blue eyes would have stood out no matter how well he spoke.
His own accent does in fact sound closer to Tehran than Cairo.
His own accent does in fact sound closer to Tehran than Cairo.
"You almost sound Iranian," she says, switching back to English. "Or at least like you learned there, for long enough to gain fluency. You really don't remember the learning process for any of your languages?"
French, this time, with a heavy Parisian influence.
French, this time, with a heavy Parisian influence.
He hitches his right shoulder, half a shrug. "They mostly come from HYDRA. So I would rather not remember how they drilled me in them. HYDRA wiped my memories pretty regularly, anyway. That one, though. I think I knew that one before." He remembers a face. A hat. A manic smile. An accent. A sense of fond protectiveness. Nothing else.
"They did what?" she asks, eyes gone wide with mingled horror and outrage. The string of gutter curses she mutters were...probably not part of any formal education, at least.
No wonder he reacts badly to disorientation and confusion.
"No wonder you're blowing up all their shit."
No wonder he reacts badly to disorientation and confusion.
"No wonder you're blowing up all their shit."
He looks, if anything, a little amused by all the swearing. Weary, but amused. "Yes," he agrees. "That. And the part where the world needs protecting from them. They can't be allowed to regroup."
It's definitely a factor in not wanting to be touched when he's confused. And, in fact, in how often he winds up confused.
He sets down his mug. "And my brain is still pretty fucked. So. The rules."
It's definitely a factor in not wanting to be touched when he's confused. And, in fact, in how often he winds up confused.
He sets down his mug. "And my brain is still pretty fucked. So. The rules."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks, painfully earnest and painfully young. "Keep you anchored in the here and now? Or anything I should avoid, other than touching you if you're not unconscious and bleeding out?"
His expression slides into blank as he thinks. Though he's kind of bemused by the question, he does consider it seriously. It does seem in character for her, somehow; also, it's less cute than sad... but still a little cute.
"I don't know," he says finally. "I'll think about it, though. Maybe there is. I'm still piecing this shit together myself."
"I don't know," he says finally. "I'll think about it, though. Maybe there is. I'm still piecing this shit together myself."
"All right," she says, and sits back, surveying the emptied table, and the shadows creeping across the floor.
"Do you want a lookout while you get your things?"
He does not, she thinks, probably need one. It still feels right to offer.
"Do you want a lookout while you get your things?"
He does not, she thinks, probably need one. It still feels right to offer.
"That's okay. You can stay here and guard the base. It's a much better one than mine," he says with the ghost of a smile. "And then I won't have to redo all the security checks." And he might not want to let her see just how much better hers is. It would, he thinks, make her worry more.
He finishes his coffee and picks himself up. "I won't be long."
He finishes his coffee and picks himself up. "I won't be long."
It would definitely make her worry more - and make her all the more furious with the people who did this to him.
Six months later, a year, long enough to gain a little more confidence in her ability to operate in the field unsupervised, and she might push the issue. At the moment, however, she accepts his answer with a nod, and a, "Watch your back out there."
Six months later, a year, long enough to gain a little more confidence in her ability to operate in the field unsupervised, and she might push the issue. At the moment, however, she accepts his answer with a nod, and a, "Watch your back out there."
It's better than he thought it would be, living with another person. It only takes him a day to start listening for her breathing rather than being startled by it, and he sleeps better than he ever did in his own squats. She's quiet, but not too quiet, certainly not as quiet as he is, and smart when he keeps expecting her to do something stupid. Even better, she cooks, and he watches over her shoulder most of the time, if he's not neck-deep in HYDRA data on his laptop or hiding in his room from some stupid brain malfunction, mostly related to said HYDRA data but sometimes from something seemingly innocuous. He hates brain malfunctions in general, but he hates them more in front of Layla.
None of those brain malfunctions have given him a new target yet, but Layla has her own mission in this city to do anyway, and the whole reason he's still here is to help with that. So he spends some time outside the safehouse casing the location, with or without her company, and looking over her plans so he's familiar with what needs doing.
Time to find out if he can still take orders. He gets his gear ready and watches her getting geared up, out of the corner of his eye.
None of those brain malfunctions have given him a new target yet, but Layla has her own mission in this city to do anyway, and the whole reason he's still here is to help with that. So he spends some time outside the safehouse casing the location, with or without her company, and looking over her plans so he's familiar with what needs doing.
Time to find out if he can still take orders. He gets his gear ready and watches her getting geared up, out of the corner of his eye.
It doesn't take Layla long to adapt to his presence, making room in her space and routine for another person. It's familiar, having someone there - comfortable, even, though he's quieter and more reclusive than most of the people she's shared camp with. She can't predict the things that will make him go to ground, but she learns the sound of him preparing to emerge, and takes to having a mug of something warm ready for him, coffee or tea, simple and soothing.
She doesn't expect him to be interested in her cooking - the process, and not just the result - but after the third time catching him watching her with that odd intensity of his, she begins to replace her occasional humming with occasional commentary, explanations of why this ingredient or that, things he can take with him when they part ways.
It's only fair; between watching him work while they case the location and what comments he makes on her plans, she certainly has enough to take away from the partnership herself.
The day of, she checks her equipment twice before she begins to slot it in place, brisk and efficient. She may still be more used to a very different type of job, but there are marked similarities between preparing for an expedition in dangerous terrain and preparing for a heist. Most of what she tucks away is thieves tools, lockpicks, a small mallet, a couple of aerosol cans, useful tech, and a couple of knives meant more for utility than violence, though she could stab someone in a pinch. One larger combat knife is strapped to her thigh, reachable through the pocket of her cargo pants if she really needs it, and she has a gun in a holster at the small of her back.
She shouldn't need it. If she does need it, things will have well and truly gone sideways. But if it gets that bad, she wants to be prepared, to not be dead weight.
To, ultimately, not be dead.
She doesn't expect him to be interested in her cooking - the process, and not just the result - but after the third time catching him watching her with that odd intensity of his, she begins to replace her occasional humming with occasional commentary, explanations of why this ingredient or that, things he can take with him when they part ways.
It's only fair; between watching him work while they case the location and what comments he makes on her plans, she certainly has enough to take away from the partnership herself.
The day of, she checks her equipment twice before she begins to slot it in place, brisk and efficient. She may still be more used to a very different type of job, but there are marked similarities between preparing for an expedition in dangerous terrain and preparing for a heist. Most of what she tucks away is thieves tools, lockpicks, a small mallet, a couple of aerosol cans, useful tech, and a couple of knives meant more for utility than violence, though she could stab someone in a pinch. One larger combat knife is strapped to her thigh, reachable through the pocket of her cargo pants if she really needs it, and she has a gun in a holster at the small of her back.
She shouldn't need it. If she does need it, things will have well and truly gone sideways. But if it gets that bad, she wants to be prepared, to not be dead weight.
To, ultimately, not be dead.
Don't worry, Layla. There is no way you are going to end up dead on this mission. There's nothing your new partner won't do to keep you safe at this point.
He is loading up with more weapons than tools, though he's keeping a very curious eye on her tools. He can pick a lock, if it's not too complicated, but that's a lot of interesting little gadgets. Maybe he needs to branch out.
"What is the requirement for taking out hostiles?" he asks. "Lethal? Or not?" If it were him, if it were HYDRA, he wouldn't hesitate. But this isn't HYDRA, and it's her mission.
He is loading up with more weapons than tools, though he's keeping a very curious eye on her tools. He can pick a lock, if it's not too complicated, but that's a lot of interesting little gadgets. Maybe he needs to branch out.
"What is the requirement for taking out hostiles?" he asks. "Lethal? Or not?" If it were him, if it were HYDRA, he wouldn't hesitate. But this isn't HYDRA, and it's her mission.
Her fingers skate over her equipment, one last check that everything's secure, that nothing will come free at a bad moment and give her away.
"Non-lethal," she says. "Evade if possible."
She could say that it's bad business to leave bodies on this kind of op. It is. But deep down, it's mostly the fact that no one they encounter tonight should have a vested interest in harming either of them. They're hired muscle, there to protect things, and having a shitty boss shouldn't be a death sentence.
"Non-lethal," she says. "Evade if possible."
She could say that it's bad business to leave bodies on this kind of op. It is. But deep down, it's mostly the fact that no one they encounter tonight should have a vested interest in harming either of them. They're hired muscle, there to protect things, and having a shitty boss shouldn't be a death sentence.
"Okay," he says, without inflection. It makes the job harder, especially with two of them, but he can do it.
It means he leaves the rifle behind, though. He turns to her to let her lead the way out. "I can drive," he adds. "If you want." It gives her the chance to focus on the op and give him any last-minute details, if she wants to. He already knows the guard rotation and how to disable the security system so it doesn't make an alert to whoever's monitoring it. He doesn't actually know what she's going in here for, because that isn't actually important.
It means he leaves the rifle behind, though. He turns to her to let her lead the way out. "I can drive," he adds. "If you want." It gives her the chance to focus on the op and give him any last-minute details, if she wants to. He already knows the guard rotation and how to disable the security system so it doesn't make an alert to whoever's monitoring it. He doesn't actually know what she's going in here for, because that isn't actually important.
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