Ilad, Isabel
The room that Ilad has settled into for the duration is not the height of dignity: the bed is a large four-poster done up in patterned blue and white, but it's a little difficult to find someplace else in the room to be than the bed itself, it being a somewhat close if cutely furnished space. An appropriated mug of coffee has turned up from somewhere, possibly filched from the breakfast service; it is now propped against Ilad's hip as he sits with his legs folded on the bed, laptop computer a glow of heat in his lap, back straight.
Isabel has neither filched coffee nor delicious croissant. What she has is a look of sleepless restlessness and an undeniably wary expression as she steps into Ilad's room and pulls the door quietly closed. She glances around to him, running a hand over the tight pull of her ponytailed hair, and says "Morning."
"Good morning," Ilad greets her companionably enough, accented as heavy a drape as it ever is across his words. He looks comparatively rested, the bastard; the coffee he rarely drinks probably helps with that impression. He folds the laptop closed and sets it aside, saying mildly, "Thank you for coming by."
Isabel isn't quite sure what to say to that, so in the end she settles for a nod and a noticably belated, "Sure," as she tucks her arms across her chest and hovers awkwardly in the doorway.
Ilad rises from the bed in a fluid unfolding of his limbs, perhaps finding more ease coming to rest in his tall, straight pose, with his hands folded loosely behind his back and his gaze leveled upon her features. "I understand that this field mission is taking on some decidedly personal implications for you, Ibis," he says.
Isabel snorts quietly and dips her head. Her gaze picks out a spot halfway up the bedpost as she answers, "In terms of understatments, that one rates high," she agrees.
"It is a talent I have," Ilad says with an inclination of his head to her in return. His mouth twitches up just slightly at one corner, appreciative acknowledgment perhaps of her candor. After a beat's silence, his gaze skipping over her and then away to mark the drift of white and mildly curtain that drapes the narrow rectangle of a window in here. He says, "Are you all right?"
Isabel lifts her gaze briefly to settle on Ilad while he watches the curtains. There is a telling span of silence before she looks away again and answers, "With this? No. Not really."
Ilad's pause is of a measured quiet before he so much as glances back at her again, as though the intensity of his ordinary scrutiny is a breach of her privacy in which he would rather not indulge. He says, "Any commander is only as able as his subordinates. He owes it to them to do his utmost to see them fighting fit, hm?"
Isabel responds with a brief laugh and a longer glance at Ilad this time. She might even go so far as to meet his eyes. "I hate to break it to you," she says, "but I don't know that there's much to be done in this instance. Much as I appreciate the thought."
Ilad's eyes are dark and thoughtful, focused on her again as she lifts her glance to meet his. He tips his head just slightly. His voice as he speaks again is very quiet. "Is it your desire, then, to follow Ms. Hartley's advice?"
"Advice. That's an interesting way to describe it." Isabel breathes out and loosens one arm from its fold to rub her hand across her face. There is another long silence stretch taut between them before she says, "I think I ought to."
Ilad's eyebrows twitch up. He looses slightly from his ordinary erect carriage, drawing a hand from behind his back to run his knuckles along the curve of his jaw. "You show an uncommon wisdom, then," he says quietly. "You have great value to me as an agent in the field. But your duty does not require you to face something so personal, and neither will I."
Isabel's teeth dig hard against her lower lip as she dips her head in a nod, tight with the jerk of it. She is silent for a moment before she says, "I want to talk to her."
Considering for a beat, Ilad blinks. He says, "So do I, I think," and turns his hand outward before letting it fall, both hands resuming their clasp behind him. "Until we can locate her, however..."
"Yeah," Isabel says. She scrubs her hand across her mouth and then tucks her arms over her chest again, buying a brief span of silence. "But I'd like to try the bar. Before I go home. Just me."
Ilad nods once, thoughtful and quiet. "Very well," he says. He cocks an eyebrow. "Though if you should find out anything useful, I would appreciate the heads-up, hm?"
Isabel's lips twist briefly as she fixes on Ilad. "I haven't entirely forgotten my job," she answers.
"I would never imagine that you had," Ilad says. He extends his right hand, held out towards her in the offer of a clasp.
Isabel hesitates noticably, but briefly, before stepping forward to unwind her arms and take Ilad's hand. She squeezes it tightly, if shortly. After a moment she adds haltingly, "If it turns out that Jack's really-- involved in all this. Just. Remember that-- he's fifteen. And-- just-- "
Ilad's skin is uncommonly warm, febrile heat glowing through his skin as he meets her in a firm grip. "I will remember it all," he says, his voice quiet and his tone assured as he releases her hand, bowing his head to her in an inclination that bears as firm a respect as that offered in his handshake. "My word."
Isabel looks convinced, and with convinced she looks relieved. She nods and reclaims her hand to tuck it around her then. "I'll try the bar today," she says. "Tonight. If she doesn't come--" Her shoulders lift in a helpless shrug and her gaze drifts away. "Anyway."
Ilad agrees with a once more quiet, "Yes," and folds his hands loosely behind his back again, stilling where he stands.
"Okay," Isabel says, and nods once more before she turns to pull the door open and exit.
Personal, professional.