Dollhouse fic - Enemies of My Soul, Conspirators in Pajamas; pg-13; Chapter 8
Title: Enemies of My Soul, Conspirators in Pajamas (An Epic Alias-Dollhouse Crossover)
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence... and um, sexual situations?
Characters: Adelle, Dominic, Topher, Claire, Vaughn, Marshall
Pairing: Adelle DeWitt/Laurence Dominic; Jack Bristow/Irina Derevko
Disclaimer: I do not own Dollhouse. Or Alias.
Notes: Spoilers for season 1 of Dollhouse and season 5 of Alias
Also: brief backgrounder on the alias characters with pictures! and the previous chapters
Author's notes: More of a filler chapter, but has some plot points and heartfelt conversations. lol. I lost my beta-reader to work and poker, so... there. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for all the mistakes.
Adelle was brought down by fatigue-an aftereffect when the drug was being flushed out by her body. So, for their second week in Ibiza (the third week for the entire operation), they stayed mostly in their suite. He didn’t mind at all. Their first week on the island had been busy, and even though he enjoyed going around and absorbing the sights and sounds of the place, he also enjoys staying in the hotel doing nothing.
Laurence noiselessly sits on the bed. Adelle is turned away from him, still asleep. He leans back on the headboard and stretches his legs in front of him. He then puts the laptop on his lap and begins to read the news online.
Calamities, breakthroughs in science, historical mysteries, solved, child prodigies… nothing earth-shattering has happened so far.
He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for. He has a feeling something is looming ahead, something dark but equally liberating. He just doesn’t know what it is.
After a while, she starts moving-tossing and turning and basically making him bounce on the bed. He hears a soft sigh.
“Why do I have a feeling you have that awful habit of working in bed?”
Laurence glances to his side and see that she’s curled up next to him, her head by his waist. “This isn’t work.” He says.
She looks up, takes a peek at the computer then gives him a brief smile before dropping her head back on the pillows.
The mood between them after her ‘epiphany’ is now lighter, easier. It’s as if there was a dark, heavy veil gloomily hanging between them and the drug had managed to lift it up.
“You want breakfast?” he asks after a few minutes, when she doesn’t make any move to get out of the bed.
“No, thank you.”
“What do you mean no, thank you?” he says, mimicking her manner of speaking. He closes the lid of the laptop and puts it on the table by the side of the bed, “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“I’m not hungry.” She reasons.
The past few days, they’ve been having almost the same conversation. He asks her if she wants breakfast; she’ll always decline. He mocks her answer, she gives a defense but in the end, he’ll still manage to convince her to eat something.
“I can’t really allow you to not eat anything.” He says. Laurence shifts his position and reclines beside her. He turns his body so that they’ll be face to face.
Adelle closes her eyes and sighs, “Why am I even attempting to argue you with you?” she asks, “For all I know, breakfast is all ready there, waiting.”
“No.” he answers, “But I’ve already ordered breakfast. I just told them to wait for my call again because you’re still asleep.”
“Hmm…” a ghost of a frown flits on her face, “I’m not hungry, Kyle.”
“What kind of loving husband am I if I don’t take care of my sick wife?” he asks. Ferguson had gotten wind of what had happened to Mrs. Ascott and had apologized profusely.
“I don’t want to eat.” She repeats, almost petulantly.
He can understand why she doesn’t have any appetite at all, but he’s not going to allow her to let her have her way. She needs strength; if he has to shove food down her throat, then so be it.
“You’ll need your energy when we jump off the cliff.” They haven’t reviewed Plan B-not yet. They haven’t had the time to do that.
Adelle opens her eyes and looks at him, “Oh, all right, then.” She says and pulls herself up to sit. She pushes her hair away from her face and straightens up, “But I won’t be able to finish it.”
He can’t figure it out, he finds something endearing about the way she can look so sleepy and so dignified at the same time.
Laurence keeps himself from smiling as he slips off the bed, “You don’t have to finish it. I just need you to eat.”
As he goes to the phone to call room service, Adelle falls back on the bed and hides her head under the pillows.
~*~*~
Topher raps on the door twice before sliding the door open and letting himself inside Dr. Saunders’s office. He hides his hands behind his back and smiles to the doctor in greeting.
“Hey there, Doc.” He says and closes the door, “You finished with Dom’s blood?”
Dr. Saunders looks up from the papers on the table and shakes her head, “You just gave them to me an hour ago, Topher.” She says and turns her attention back to what she was doing, “I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Well, I’d given them to you earlier if they arrived earlier.” He says and slowly approaches her desk, “The spy guys sorta want to know how the blood work’s coming.”
“Tell them it’s not done yet.” She says, not glancing up.
“Okay.”
He doesn’t make any move and just stands in front of the table. She doesn’t pay any attention to him and continues working on… whatever she’s working.
“Don’t you have imprints to work on?” she asks after a few minutes.
Topher takes a seat on one of the chairs in front of the table, “Done with those.” He says. Ivy has gone off to get him some jujubes and he doesn’t have anyone to talk to-not that he minds, but he just learned something fantastical that he feels the need to tell it to somebody who doesn’t know it.
“Don’t you have anything else to do?”
He makes a face, “Not at the moment, no.” He replies. He waits. But she doesn’t look up. “Doc, doc, doc.” He says as unhurriedly and deliberately as possible.
Dr. Saunders sighs, exasperatedly and looks up from the papers, “What is it, Topher?” she asks.
“You haven’t heard?” he asks, almost excitedly.
“Heard what?”
“When Dom got that reaction? DeWitt got loaded… high. Drugged up. On the job.” He reveals. “It’s the most unbelievable news I’ve heard in the past week.” His eyes and grin widen, but he doesn’t get any reaction.
She raises a brow, “I don’t see why this is relevant.”
“Oh, c’mon, Doc.” he throws his hands up, “Why are you acting like this is all normal?”
“It’s not.” Dr. Saunders fixes the papers and stands up to put them in the file box, “Getting drugged in clubs is a frightening, yet normal, occurrence, Topher.” She turns away from him and starts filing her papers.
“But this is DeWitt we’re talking about. Adelle Frakkin’ DeWitt.” He says as he stands up and walks towards her. He can’t really imagine what DeWitt did. For one thing, there probably weren’t any trampolines in that club party. Or munchies. His brows wrinkle. Definitely no munchies, “Okay, yeah, she got high when we were exposed to Rossum’s memory drug, but this… illegal drugs, Doc!” his eyes widen, “It’s unimaginable!”
“It’s not like she took it knowingly.” Dr. Saunders says patiently, as if she’s talking to a child, “And besides, drugs being distributed in clubs don’t have very nice side effects when the system’s trying to get rid of it. DeWitt’s probably currently experiencing some of them right now, and it’s not going to helpful in their eng-mission.”
“Well, of course.” He answers. Dr. Saunders looks at him. The scars on her face are very obvious under the light. He turns away from her.
“Was that all you wanted to say, Topher?” she dryly asks after a few minutes, when he doesn’t say anything else.
“Uh, yeah.” He replies. He then goes towards the door, but before he leaves, he whirls around, “Dom’s blood work.” He reminds her. She’s already by her desk again.
“I’ll bring it up as soon as it’s done.”
~*~*~
The bus he’s riding for almost thirty minutes halts at the bus stop. Michael Vaughn stands up from his seat and walks towards the exit.
There are only a handful of people who got off at this station- and there isn’t anyone who was with him when he got on the bus, which is good.
He waits for the bus to drive away before walking in the opposite direction. Vaughn keeps his head down and he walks for a few blocks before arriving at what seems to be an abandoned building. He looks around discreetly, making sure that he’s not too noticeable, and goes inside.
The stairs are at the very end of the hallway. He noiselessly goes through the dark corridor with his hands shoved in his pockets. He’s aware of every single sound and every single shadow in the building.
He goes down to the dimly-lit basement and heads straight to the fuse box. He then takes a card from his pocket and taps it on one of the sensors. He hears a soft beep and a hidden door cracks open by his right.
Vaughn closes the fuse box and goes inside the room before the door automatically closes.
There are already two people inside, one male and one female, seated by the huge table in the middle of the room, surrounded by computers, wires, pliers, screwdrivers and a large container filled with jellybeans.
The man hears him come in and looks up, “Hey, there. V- Mr. Green.”
Vaughn smiles at Marshall. The woman turns her head and looks at him.
“Mr. Green.” She greets.
“Mr. Plum, Ms. Jones.” He says. It’s his second day back after three months of absence. He regrets not being able to be with Sydney and Isabelle, but he couldn’t find it in himself to extend his vacation when the operation is severely understaffed.
The computer at the far end of the table is his to use. Vaughn sits in front of it and types in his password. After a few seconds, the monitor brightens and the two messages pop on the screen. The first one is from Jack. It has several mission directives-one of which involves the second message that came from Rachel.
Vaughn memorizes the first message before deleting it.
He looks away from the monitor and glances at Marshall. He’s concentrated on soldering a very small piece of hardware.
“Mr. Plum, can I speak to you in private?” he asks after logging himself off the computer.
Marshall looks at him. Vaughn sees that Ms. Jones seems to be focused on the watch she’s modifying.
“Um, yeah, sure.” he answers and stands up. Vaughn follows suit and they go towards the other room. Vaughn shuts the door.
“Jack’s asking if you’ve finished hacking into their computer network.”
Marshall nods his head, “Yep. The worm’s planted.” He answers, “I’ve accessed thousands of files, there are more of them- as in terabytes more, but don’t worry, they can easily be copied. They are highly encrypted, though, but I think I can crack it.”
“Think?” Vaughn asks, “We need those files, Marshall.”
“Hey, don’t worry. I can do this, hello, it’s me, Flinkman.” He grins, confidently. “Although it will be easier if Rachel was here. We can split up the work.”
“Do they know that their network’s been compromised?”
“Yeah… yeah, they know. They just think it’s someone trying to break in and I made it look like the hackers were going for their super secret science info. And I think they got themselves a hacker too, to fight back the attack. It’s kinda cool, actually… you know, thinking about it.”
Vaughn frowned, “Won’t they find the worm?”
“No. No, no. The worm is actually quite simple. You see, I got the inspiration from one of the National Geographic Specials when Mitchell had a fever and I couldn’t sleep…”
“Marshall.” He says, almost in a sigh, “Get to the point, please.”
“Uh, okay, yeah, so, anyway it’s not one of those multiplier worms that immediately take up space in the memory, like the ones you get on the ‘net… mine latches itself on other files only when a copy on our server has already been made. Then, when we have all the copies, I can run the backdoor programming of the worm and destroy the original files.”
Vaughn nods his head, “Okay.” It sounds like a good plan, but it also sounds complicated. But this is Marshall Flinkman. Most of the time, complicated to them is simple for him, “Thanks, Marshall.”
“Oh, Vaughn, um, Carrie and I are going to have a barbecue this Saturday. We were wondering if you, Syd and Isabelle can come.”
Vaughn puts a hand on his shoulders as they went out of the room and back to the huge table.
“I’m sure we don’t have any plans during the weekend. I’ll ask Syd.”
~*~*~
Today is different. Today, they didn’t let housekeeping in, nor did they lounge out in the balcony. Today, they stayed in bed the entire time because she wasn’t in any disposition to move while Laurence liked working with pillows around him.
Adelle sits up and turns her body so that she’s facing him, “Do you mind if I ask you an NSA-related question?”
It’s been bothering her for a while now. She can remember bits and pieces of conversation they had the night she was drugged-she remembered what she had said, but she could remember very little of what he said.
Laurence looks up from the laptop and takes a glance at her, frowning, “What kind of NSA-related question?”
She neatly folds her hands on top her lap, “What exactly is it that you do, the agency itself?”
He knits his brows, “I thought you knew.”
“The NSA monitors the exchange of communication for the security of your country.” That is the general description of what the agency is all about, she thinks. However, Laurence doesn’t seem to be the kind of person who’s willing to exchange his gun for a computer.
“That’s what the Agency does.” He shrugs, “I mean, that’s what the public knows we do. There’s going to be a huge difference when you’re actually with the NSA.”
“So you monitored communication? You stayed in the office most of the time?” she asks.
“Uh, no.” he answers, “I don’t belong in that department.”
“Then, what did you do?” she asks again, slightly bemused.
He brings down the monitor of the computer and straightens up, “If I tell you, I get to ask you questions too.” He says, almost pointedly.
She considers this for a few seconds. She knows that if she lightly treads on the personal questions, he’d do the same. She already has an idea on what he might ask and she probably can answer them truthfully.
“I suppose it’s only fair.” She finally answers. She tilts her head to the side, “What do you do for the NSA?”
“My line of work goes more along the lines of a field agent for the CIA.” He says, then adds, “Then, sometimes it goes along the work of an FBI agent.”
She suddenly remembers that his father and grandfather hadn’t agreed to his choice of career, “Your family, have they accepted what you do for a living?”
“They’ve come to terms with it. They didn’t really have any choice; I was pretty stubborn about it.”
Adelle wanted to ask why he wanted to be an NSA agent, of all occupation possible, but she stops herself from doing so. She was fringing into the personal questions. If she asks any more, she knows he’ll ask more about her - something deeply private - and she doesn’t want to risk it.
She stares intently at him.
“That’s it?” he asks. His blue eyes are dancing in amusement.
“Yes, I suppose those are all the questions I want to ask.” She answers.
“So,” he starts without missing a beat, “Who taught you?”
She looks at him blankly, “Who taught me?” she repeats.
“Well, maybe I should have said trained.” He says, shrugging his shoulders, “Who trained you to assemble a gun, move around stealthily?” he says. She can hear the humor in his tone.
“Oh, that.” She starts to fiddle with her fingers, “SIS.”
“So, you're a spy?” He only seems mildly surprised. She actually thought that, that (secret) fact was one of the most surprising and random information about her.
Adelle slightly shakes her head, “Not really. I was more of an analyst.” She says. Which wasn’t quite true.
“How old were you when you got recruited?” he asks, curiously.
“Nineteen.” It was a windy that day, she remembers. She was seated on a bench in front of the library, eating a sandwich, alone and feeling terribly lonely, when a man approached her.
“What’s your best time? Assembling a gun?”
She closes her eyes for a few seconds, “Two minutes, forty-seven seconds.” She says as she opens her eyes again.
“Does your family know?” the look on his face tells her that he’s genuinely serious about the question.
Adelle tries not to look away from him. It was only fair to have him ask that question. She did ask about it first, “I don’t have a family anymore.” She answers, keeping her voice even.
“Oh.” The expression on his face softens. Adelle feels her chest tighten, but she takes no notice of it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. They’ve been long gone.” She brushes away his apology and asks lightly, “Is that all?”
“Just one more.” He says, “What did you for Rossum, initially? You're pretty good with the administrative stuff, but I don’t think that’s what you did when you first got hired.”
No one asked her that question before, with that justification. Everybody just assumes that when Rossum employed her, it was for a managerial position.
“I was a medical researcher. Stem cells.” She answers.
He stares at her. “That sounds… fun.” He says after a few seconds.
“It is, actually.” She takes a deep breath and smiles at him (albeit a little uncertainly). Laurence smiles back at her.
They fall into silence. Somehow, she feels a bit enlightened. It was the most truthful exchange she has had outside of Roger, outside of the drugs. But she doesn’t know if she likes it. It made her feel a little bit exposed. She’s forgotten what it was like to have an actual conversation with someone who isn’t an Active, a client or an employee.
“Do you want to see pictures of the cliff? To prepare yourself for Plan B?” Laurence asks after a while.
She can feel her eyes drooping but she nods her head, “Yes.” she says.
For the next hour, they discuss how to go about Plan B. They’ll be brought to Ferguson’s house by one of the CIA operatives and they’ll be extracted at the bottom of the cliff by another CIA operative.
They go over the guards’ rounds, the security measures, and the location of the manuscript.
Laurence tells her that he’s actually excited about Plan B. He says it’s going to be a lot like bungee jumping, except that it will be dark. And a little bit more dangerous.
Adelle just nods her head.
She doesn’t tell him that she’s terrified of the thought of jumping off a cliff.
chapter nine
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence... and um, sexual situations?
Characters: Adelle, Dominic, Topher, Claire, Vaughn, Marshall
Pairing: Adelle DeWitt/Laurence Dominic; Jack Bristow/Irina Derevko
Disclaimer: I do not own Dollhouse. Or Alias.
Notes: Spoilers for season 1 of Dollhouse and season 5 of Alias
Also: brief backgrounder on the alias characters with pictures! and the previous chapters
Author's notes: More of a filler chapter, but has some plot points and heartfelt conversations. lol. I lost my beta-reader to work and poker, so... there. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for all the mistakes.
Adelle was brought down by fatigue-an aftereffect when the drug was being flushed out by her body. So, for their second week in Ibiza (the third week for the entire operation), they stayed mostly in their suite. He didn’t mind at all. Their first week on the island had been busy, and even though he enjoyed going around and absorbing the sights and sounds of the place, he also enjoys staying in the hotel doing nothing.
Laurence noiselessly sits on the bed. Adelle is turned away from him, still asleep. He leans back on the headboard and stretches his legs in front of him. He then puts the laptop on his lap and begins to read the news online.
Calamities, breakthroughs in science, historical mysteries, solved, child prodigies… nothing earth-shattering has happened so far.
He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for. He has a feeling something is looming ahead, something dark but equally liberating. He just doesn’t know what it is.
After a while, she starts moving-tossing and turning and basically making him bounce on the bed. He hears a soft sigh.
“Why do I have a feeling you have that awful habit of working in bed?”
Laurence glances to his side and see that she’s curled up next to him, her head by his waist. “This isn’t work.” He says.
She looks up, takes a peek at the computer then gives him a brief smile before dropping her head back on the pillows.
The mood between them after her ‘epiphany’ is now lighter, easier. It’s as if there was a dark, heavy veil gloomily hanging between them and the drug had managed to lift it up.
“You want breakfast?” he asks after a few minutes, when she doesn’t make any move to get out of the bed.
“No, thank you.”
“What do you mean no, thank you?” he says, mimicking her manner of speaking. He closes the lid of the laptop and puts it on the table by the side of the bed, “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“I’m not hungry.” She reasons.
The past few days, they’ve been having almost the same conversation. He asks her if she wants breakfast; she’ll always decline. He mocks her answer, she gives a defense but in the end, he’ll still manage to convince her to eat something.
“I can’t really allow you to not eat anything.” He says. Laurence shifts his position and reclines beside her. He turns his body so that they’ll be face to face.
Adelle closes her eyes and sighs, “Why am I even attempting to argue you with you?” she asks, “For all I know, breakfast is all ready there, waiting.”
“No.” he answers, “But I’ve already ordered breakfast. I just told them to wait for my call again because you’re still asleep.”
“Hmm…” a ghost of a frown flits on her face, “I’m not hungry, Kyle.”
“What kind of loving husband am I if I don’t take care of my sick wife?” he asks. Ferguson had gotten wind of what had happened to Mrs. Ascott and had apologized profusely.
“I don’t want to eat.” She repeats, almost petulantly.
He can understand why she doesn’t have any appetite at all, but he’s not going to allow her to let her have her way. She needs strength; if he has to shove food down her throat, then so be it.
“You’ll need your energy when we jump off the cliff.” They haven’t reviewed Plan B-not yet. They haven’t had the time to do that.
Adelle opens her eyes and looks at him, “Oh, all right, then.” She says and pulls herself up to sit. She pushes her hair away from her face and straightens up, “But I won’t be able to finish it.”
He can’t figure it out, he finds something endearing about the way she can look so sleepy and so dignified at the same time.
Laurence keeps himself from smiling as he slips off the bed, “You don’t have to finish it. I just need you to eat.”
As he goes to the phone to call room service, Adelle falls back on the bed and hides her head under the pillows.
~*~*~
Topher raps on the door twice before sliding the door open and letting himself inside Dr. Saunders’s office. He hides his hands behind his back and smiles to the doctor in greeting.
“Hey there, Doc.” He says and closes the door, “You finished with Dom’s blood?”
Dr. Saunders looks up from the papers on the table and shakes her head, “You just gave them to me an hour ago, Topher.” She says and turns her attention back to what she was doing, “I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Well, I’d given them to you earlier if they arrived earlier.” He says and slowly approaches her desk, “The spy guys sorta want to know how the blood work’s coming.”
“Tell them it’s not done yet.” She says, not glancing up.
“Okay.”
He doesn’t make any move and just stands in front of the table. She doesn’t pay any attention to him and continues working on… whatever she’s working.
“Don’t you have imprints to work on?” she asks after a few minutes.
Topher takes a seat on one of the chairs in front of the table, “Done with those.” He says. Ivy has gone off to get him some jujubes and he doesn’t have anyone to talk to-not that he minds, but he just learned something fantastical that he feels the need to tell it to somebody who doesn’t know it.
“Don’t you have anything else to do?”
He makes a face, “Not at the moment, no.” He replies. He waits. But she doesn’t look up. “Doc, doc, doc.” He says as unhurriedly and deliberately as possible.
Dr. Saunders sighs, exasperatedly and looks up from the papers, “What is it, Topher?” she asks.
“You haven’t heard?” he asks, almost excitedly.
“Heard what?”
“When Dom got that reaction? DeWitt got loaded… high. Drugged up. On the job.” He reveals. “It’s the most unbelievable news I’ve heard in the past week.” His eyes and grin widen, but he doesn’t get any reaction.
She raises a brow, “I don’t see why this is relevant.”
“Oh, c’mon, Doc.” he throws his hands up, “Why are you acting like this is all normal?”
“It’s not.” Dr. Saunders fixes the papers and stands up to put them in the file box, “Getting drugged in clubs is a frightening, yet normal, occurrence, Topher.” She turns away from him and starts filing her papers.
“But this is DeWitt we’re talking about. Adelle Frakkin’ DeWitt.” He says as he stands up and walks towards her. He can’t really imagine what DeWitt did. For one thing, there probably weren’t any trampolines in that club party. Or munchies. His brows wrinkle. Definitely no munchies, “Okay, yeah, she got high when we were exposed to Rossum’s memory drug, but this… illegal drugs, Doc!” his eyes widen, “It’s unimaginable!”
“It’s not like she took it knowingly.” Dr. Saunders says patiently, as if she’s talking to a child, “And besides, drugs being distributed in clubs don’t have very nice side effects when the system’s trying to get rid of it. DeWitt’s probably currently experiencing some of them right now, and it’s not going to helpful in their eng-mission.”
“Well, of course.” He answers. Dr. Saunders looks at him. The scars on her face are very obvious under the light. He turns away from her.
“Was that all you wanted to say, Topher?” she dryly asks after a few minutes, when he doesn’t say anything else.
“Uh, yeah.” He replies. He then goes towards the door, but before he leaves, he whirls around, “Dom’s blood work.” He reminds her. She’s already by her desk again.
“I’ll bring it up as soon as it’s done.”
~*~*~
The bus he’s riding for almost thirty minutes halts at the bus stop. Michael Vaughn stands up from his seat and walks towards the exit.
There are only a handful of people who got off at this station- and there isn’t anyone who was with him when he got on the bus, which is good.
He waits for the bus to drive away before walking in the opposite direction. Vaughn keeps his head down and he walks for a few blocks before arriving at what seems to be an abandoned building. He looks around discreetly, making sure that he’s not too noticeable, and goes inside.
The stairs are at the very end of the hallway. He noiselessly goes through the dark corridor with his hands shoved in his pockets. He’s aware of every single sound and every single shadow in the building.
He goes down to the dimly-lit basement and heads straight to the fuse box. He then takes a card from his pocket and taps it on one of the sensors. He hears a soft beep and a hidden door cracks open by his right.
Vaughn closes the fuse box and goes inside the room before the door automatically closes.
There are already two people inside, one male and one female, seated by the huge table in the middle of the room, surrounded by computers, wires, pliers, screwdrivers and a large container filled with jellybeans.
The man hears him come in and looks up, “Hey, there. V- Mr. Green.”
Vaughn smiles at Marshall. The woman turns her head and looks at him.
“Mr. Green.” She greets.
“Mr. Plum, Ms. Jones.” He says. It’s his second day back after three months of absence. He regrets not being able to be with Sydney and Isabelle, but he couldn’t find it in himself to extend his vacation when the operation is severely understaffed.
The computer at the far end of the table is his to use. Vaughn sits in front of it and types in his password. After a few seconds, the monitor brightens and the two messages pop on the screen. The first one is from Jack. It has several mission directives-one of which involves the second message that came from Rachel.
Vaughn memorizes the first message before deleting it.
He looks away from the monitor and glances at Marshall. He’s concentrated on soldering a very small piece of hardware.
“Mr. Plum, can I speak to you in private?” he asks after logging himself off the computer.
Marshall looks at him. Vaughn sees that Ms. Jones seems to be focused on the watch she’s modifying.
“Um, yeah, sure.” he answers and stands up. Vaughn follows suit and they go towards the other room. Vaughn shuts the door.
“Jack’s asking if you’ve finished hacking into their computer network.”
Marshall nods his head, “Yep. The worm’s planted.” He answers, “I’ve accessed thousands of files, there are more of them- as in terabytes more, but don’t worry, they can easily be copied. They are highly encrypted, though, but I think I can crack it.”
“Think?” Vaughn asks, “We need those files, Marshall.”
“Hey, don’t worry. I can do this, hello, it’s me, Flinkman.” He grins, confidently. “Although it will be easier if Rachel was here. We can split up the work.”
“Do they know that their network’s been compromised?”
“Yeah… yeah, they know. They just think it’s someone trying to break in and I made it look like the hackers were going for their super secret science info. And I think they got themselves a hacker too, to fight back the attack. It’s kinda cool, actually… you know, thinking about it.”
Vaughn frowned, “Won’t they find the worm?”
“No. No, no. The worm is actually quite simple. You see, I got the inspiration from one of the National Geographic Specials when Mitchell had a fever and I couldn’t sleep…”
“Marshall.” He says, almost in a sigh, “Get to the point, please.”
“Uh, okay, yeah, so, anyway it’s not one of those multiplier worms that immediately take up space in the memory, like the ones you get on the ‘net… mine latches itself on other files only when a copy on our server has already been made. Then, when we have all the copies, I can run the backdoor programming of the worm and destroy the original files.”
Vaughn nods his head, “Okay.” It sounds like a good plan, but it also sounds complicated. But this is Marshall Flinkman. Most of the time, complicated to them is simple for him, “Thanks, Marshall.”
“Oh, Vaughn, um, Carrie and I are going to have a barbecue this Saturday. We were wondering if you, Syd and Isabelle can come.”
Vaughn puts a hand on his shoulders as they went out of the room and back to the huge table.
“I’m sure we don’t have any plans during the weekend. I’ll ask Syd.”
~*~*~
Today is different. Today, they didn’t let housekeeping in, nor did they lounge out in the balcony. Today, they stayed in bed the entire time because she wasn’t in any disposition to move while Laurence liked working with pillows around him.
Adelle sits up and turns her body so that she’s facing him, “Do you mind if I ask you an NSA-related question?”
It’s been bothering her for a while now. She can remember bits and pieces of conversation they had the night she was drugged-she remembered what she had said, but she could remember very little of what he said.
Laurence looks up from the laptop and takes a glance at her, frowning, “What kind of NSA-related question?”
She neatly folds her hands on top her lap, “What exactly is it that you do, the agency itself?”
He knits his brows, “I thought you knew.”
“The NSA monitors the exchange of communication for the security of your country.” That is the general description of what the agency is all about, she thinks. However, Laurence doesn’t seem to be the kind of person who’s willing to exchange his gun for a computer.
“That’s what the Agency does.” He shrugs, “I mean, that’s what the public knows we do. There’s going to be a huge difference when you’re actually with the NSA.”
“So you monitored communication? You stayed in the office most of the time?” she asks.
“Uh, no.” he answers, “I don’t belong in that department.”
“Then, what did you do?” she asks again, slightly bemused.
He brings down the monitor of the computer and straightens up, “If I tell you, I get to ask you questions too.” He says, almost pointedly.
She considers this for a few seconds. She knows that if she lightly treads on the personal questions, he’d do the same. She already has an idea on what he might ask and she probably can answer them truthfully.
“I suppose it’s only fair.” She finally answers. She tilts her head to the side, “What do you do for the NSA?”
“My line of work goes more along the lines of a field agent for the CIA.” He says, then adds, “Then, sometimes it goes along the work of an FBI agent.”
She suddenly remembers that his father and grandfather hadn’t agreed to his choice of career, “Your family, have they accepted what you do for a living?”
“They’ve come to terms with it. They didn’t really have any choice; I was pretty stubborn about it.”
Adelle wanted to ask why he wanted to be an NSA agent, of all occupation possible, but she stops herself from doing so. She was fringing into the personal questions. If she asks any more, she knows he’ll ask more about her - something deeply private - and she doesn’t want to risk it.
She stares intently at him.
“That’s it?” he asks. His blue eyes are dancing in amusement.
“Yes, I suppose those are all the questions I want to ask.” She answers.
“So,” he starts without missing a beat, “Who taught you?”
She looks at him blankly, “Who taught me?” she repeats.
“Well, maybe I should have said trained.” He says, shrugging his shoulders, “Who trained you to assemble a gun, move around stealthily?” he says. She can hear the humor in his tone.
“Oh, that.” She starts to fiddle with her fingers, “SIS.”
“So, you're a spy?” He only seems mildly surprised. She actually thought that, that (secret) fact was one of the most surprising and random information about her.
Adelle slightly shakes her head, “Not really. I was more of an analyst.” She says. Which wasn’t quite true.
“How old were you when you got recruited?” he asks, curiously.
“Nineteen.” It was a windy that day, she remembers. She was seated on a bench in front of the library, eating a sandwich, alone and feeling terribly lonely, when a man approached her.
“What’s your best time? Assembling a gun?”
She closes her eyes for a few seconds, “Two minutes, forty-seven seconds.” She says as she opens her eyes again.
“Does your family know?” the look on his face tells her that he’s genuinely serious about the question.
Adelle tries not to look away from him. It was only fair to have him ask that question. She did ask about it first, “I don’t have a family anymore.” She answers, keeping her voice even.
“Oh.” The expression on his face softens. Adelle feels her chest tighten, but she takes no notice of it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. They’ve been long gone.” She brushes away his apology and asks lightly, “Is that all?”
“Just one more.” He says, “What did you for Rossum, initially? You're pretty good with the administrative stuff, but I don’t think that’s what you did when you first got hired.”
No one asked her that question before, with that justification. Everybody just assumes that when Rossum employed her, it was for a managerial position.
“I was a medical researcher. Stem cells.” She answers.
He stares at her. “That sounds… fun.” He says after a few seconds.
“It is, actually.” She takes a deep breath and smiles at him (albeit a little uncertainly). Laurence smiles back at her.
They fall into silence. Somehow, she feels a bit enlightened. It was the most truthful exchange she has had outside of Roger, outside of the drugs. But she doesn’t know if she likes it. It made her feel a little bit exposed. She’s forgotten what it was like to have an actual conversation with someone who isn’t an Active, a client or an employee.
“Do you want to see pictures of the cliff? To prepare yourself for Plan B?” Laurence asks after a while.
She can feel her eyes drooping but she nods her head, “Yes.” she says.
For the next hour, they discuss how to go about Plan B. They’ll be brought to Ferguson’s house by one of the CIA operatives and they’ll be extracted at the bottom of the cliff by another CIA operative.
They go over the guards’ rounds, the security measures, and the location of the manuscript.
Laurence tells her that he’s actually excited about Plan B. He says it’s going to be a lot like bungee jumping, except that it will be dark. And a little bit more dangerous.
Adelle just nods her head.
She doesn’t tell him that she’s terrified of the thought of jumping off a cliff.
chapter nine