Endgame
Title: Endgame
Recipient: therck
Author: daegaer
Genre: Manx-centric. Gen.
Rating: G
Notes: Thank you so much to puddingcat for her mad beta-reading skillz!
There were new powers in Kritiker, ones who looked at what was becoming known as the Takatori incident and saw only incompetence instead of victory, petty personal problems rather than tragedy played out in the public arena. Agents shuffled as much blame to the dead as they could, and kept their jobs by the skin of their teeth. Or they saw the way the wind was blowing and hastily transferred to affiliated groups overseas. Or they defended their choices, and were fired.
Manx looked round her apartment and wondered how soon she'd have to move. It was far too much rent now that she really was an executive assistant. She should be grateful to Birman for finding her the job. The business world would be interesting for a change. So what if her new boss tried to back her into corners? Ordinary women in ordinary jobs had to deal with that sort of thing all the time. She couldn't expect every superior to be like Shuuichi. Don't be maudlin, she told herself as the tears started to rise. You should have taken Birman's advice. Birman had always been less sentimental, and hadn't wasted much time in laying a convincing trail that put all her involvement with Weiss at Shuuichi's door. Her period of probation was almost over, and she'd soon be reinstated on full pay. Manx grimaced; she'd gone a different route and made a principled stand. She'd defended Shuuichi's actions and her own part in them; she should have expected the outcome.
She took a deep breath and went to her wardrobe, selecting a skirt that hit just below the knee. There was no point in giving her boss an excuse to put his hand on her leg. Her bright, short skirts were shoved to one side, making room for the longer, dowdy clothes she'd bought since. Shuuichi had never put his hand on her leg, no matter how short a skirt she'd worn to work. He'd looked, sometimes, and she'd told herself that was enough.
* * *
She always took the same train home. She hadn't been groped during the journey for weeks, not since she'd broken four sets of fingers in a row. The regulars knew better then to try anything, which made a nice change from work. It was, therefore, with both incredulity and outrage that she felt someone pat her bottom. She grabbed for the offending hand but it was gone. She turned round to glare, and froze.
"Hiya, gorgeous," Schuldig said. "I hate your clothes." He grabbed her wrist as she tried to jab him in the balls with stiffened fingers. "Play nice," he said. "You're outnumbered - look over your shoulder."
She looked, and met Crawford's eyes, amused behind his ugly, unfashionable glasses.
"Oh, please," Schuldig said. "Like your Takatori boyfriend wore anything better. Here's our stop. Don't scream, you really don't want to annoy us."
"I have nothing for you," she said. "I'm not with Kritiker any more - all the codes have changed, I can't tell you anything."
"We know," Crawford said behind her. "We want to tell you something." He took her arm and pulled her towards the door, Schuldig following close behind. People got out of their way as if they didn't even know they were doing it, and Crawford was the first person to step off the train.
"I hope you like Italian food," Schuldig said, and laughed at her incredulous face.
* * *
"Why should I do anything for you?" Manx asked as the coffee was served. She believed very little of anything they had said over dinner. She didn't believe in demons, and wasn't ready to accept that a terrorist organization wanted to summon one. If she found herself suddenly believing, she told herself, she'd know her mind had been manipulated.
"You want to vindicate your late, lamented boss. To do that you need your old job back," Schuldig said.
"Being responsible for bringing down the leaders of Eszett will get it for you," Crawford said. "All you need do is point Weiss at them, and take the credit. Tell Weiss we're involved and they'll jump at the chance. They take our existence so personally - a professional flaw, as I'm sure you agree."
He added a precise two flat spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee and stirred it three and a half times counter clockwise. Manx wondered if it was a deliberately infuriating habit.
"She's on to you," Schuldig murmured slyly at Crawford.
"Why are you telling me this?" Manx said. "What's in it for you?"
"We get the Eszett leaders weakened," Crawford said, lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug. "We can just slip away unnoticed."
"No one slips away when Eszett is looking," Schuldig said. "All we want is a distraction at the right time. It's a good outcome for you, us vanishing, yes? You lose nothing by doing this. More coffee?"
"What did you really do for Takatori Reiji?" she asked, wanting to buy a few moments to think.
"Guarded him," Crawford said easily. "Until he fired us. We could have saved his life, I suppose, but I wanted to do your people a favour that could be called in later."
"That's a lie."
"You really think Weiss could have killed him if we'd been there? Would you have preferred us to have been there?"
She thought of Shuuichi and kept all expression off her face.
"No," she said at last. "I'm glad you weren't."
"I remember you at the party," Schuldig said. "You looked fantastic - your kimono, your hair -everything."
He looked like he meant it, like he didn't care that it was an inappropriate thing to say to someone who'd been an enemy and who would be again.
"I remember you," she said crisply. "You looked like you were in the mafia."
They both laughed, Schuldig whispering something into Crawford's ear.
"All right," Crawford said. He pulled out his wallet. "This is our treat. You can leave first; you'll feel more secure that way."
"I haven't agreed to anything," Manx said.
"You will." His smile seemed quite genuine. "I know you don't believe in the supernatural, in demons and occult ceremonies, but if we and Eszett believe in them then that's what matters as far as this information goes, isn’t it? And I believe I am accurate in saying you will choose to work with us." He took the envelope Schuldig handed him and slid it across the table. "All the information is there."
Manx stood up, then took the envelope. She stepped back from the table, keeping her eyes on them.
"Brad," Schuldig said, like he was reminding Crawford of something.
"Schuldig wants us to pay for your taxi home," Crawford said, holding out two neatly folded bills. "He's secretly chivalrous, you see."
"Because you did look lovely at the party," Schuldig said, "And as an apology for the train."
Manx took the money and left. There was no point in being impractical; a taxi would be expensive.
* * *
In her apartment, she laid out the plans and blueprints on her table. Auditorium, she noted and, sacrificial altar. She blinked. Perhaps Crawford was right, and it only mattered if Eszett believed in this nonsense. Maybe she really would let Weiss have this information, it couldn't hurt.
She prepared for bed and turned out the lights. Alone in the darkness, she let herself smile. Crawford had been so sure she just wanted to get back into Kritiker's good books, and that she'd throw Weiss into danger to do so. What a fool. If she did it, it was only to finish what Shuuichi would surely have wanted, and she wouldn't let Weiss do it alone. Birman would help her to give them the information they would need, while she could help them more directly, being free from Kritiker's orders to stand back. The blueprints showed plenty of places she could hide, and easily emerge where she'd be the most help to Weiss. She might not live to get her job back, but Shuuichi would understand.
Foresee that, Mr. Crawford. If you can, she thought, and had the first unbroken night's sleep she had had in months.
Recipient: therck
Author: daegaer
Genre: Manx-centric. Gen.
Rating: G
Notes: Thank you so much to puddingcat for her mad beta-reading skillz!
There were new powers in Kritiker, ones who looked at what was becoming known as the Takatori incident and saw only incompetence instead of victory, petty personal problems rather than tragedy played out in the public arena. Agents shuffled as much blame to the dead as they could, and kept their jobs by the skin of their teeth. Or they saw the way the wind was blowing and hastily transferred to affiliated groups overseas. Or they defended their choices, and were fired.
Manx looked round her apartment and wondered how soon she'd have to move. It was far too much rent now that she really was an executive assistant. She should be grateful to Birman for finding her the job. The business world would be interesting for a change. So what if her new boss tried to back her into corners? Ordinary women in ordinary jobs had to deal with that sort of thing all the time. She couldn't expect every superior to be like Shuuichi. Don't be maudlin, she told herself as the tears started to rise. You should have taken Birman's advice. Birman had always been less sentimental, and hadn't wasted much time in laying a convincing trail that put all her involvement with Weiss at Shuuichi's door. Her period of probation was almost over, and she'd soon be reinstated on full pay. Manx grimaced; she'd gone a different route and made a principled stand. She'd defended Shuuichi's actions and her own part in them; she should have expected the outcome.
She took a deep breath and went to her wardrobe, selecting a skirt that hit just below the knee. There was no point in giving her boss an excuse to put his hand on her leg. Her bright, short skirts were shoved to one side, making room for the longer, dowdy clothes she'd bought since. Shuuichi had never put his hand on her leg, no matter how short a skirt she'd worn to work. He'd looked, sometimes, and she'd told herself that was enough.
* * *
She always took the same train home. She hadn't been groped during the journey for weeks, not since she'd broken four sets of fingers in a row. The regulars knew better then to try anything, which made a nice change from work. It was, therefore, with both incredulity and outrage that she felt someone pat her bottom. She grabbed for the offending hand but it was gone. She turned round to glare, and froze.
"Hiya, gorgeous," Schuldig said. "I hate your clothes." He grabbed her wrist as she tried to jab him in the balls with stiffened fingers. "Play nice," he said. "You're outnumbered - look over your shoulder."
She looked, and met Crawford's eyes, amused behind his ugly, unfashionable glasses.
"Oh, please," Schuldig said. "Like your Takatori boyfriend wore anything better. Here's our stop. Don't scream, you really don't want to annoy us."
"I have nothing for you," she said. "I'm not with Kritiker any more - all the codes have changed, I can't tell you anything."
"We know," Crawford said behind her. "We want to tell you something." He took her arm and pulled her towards the door, Schuldig following close behind. People got out of their way as if they didn't even know they were doing it, and Crawford was the first person to step off the train.
"I hope you like Italian food," Schuldig said, and laughed at her incredulous face.
* * *
"Why should I do anything for you?" Manx asked as the coffee was served. She believed very little of anything they had said over dinner. She didn't believe in demons, and wasn't ready to accept that a terrorist organization wanted to summon one. If she found herself suddenly believing, she told herself, she'd know her mind had been manipulated.
"You want to vindicate your late, lamented boss. To do that you need your old job back," Schuldig said.
"Being responsible for bringing down the leaders of Eszett will get it for you," Crawford said. "All you need do is point Weiss at them, and take the credit. Tell Weiss we're involved and they'll jump at the chance. They take our existence so personally - a professional flaw, as I'm sure you agree."
He added a precise two flat spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee and stirred it three and a half times counter clockwise. Manx wondered if it was a deliberately infuriating habit.
"She's on to you," Schuldig murmured slyly at Crawford.
"Why are you telling me this?" Manx said. "What's in it for you?"
"We get the Eszett leaders weakened," Crawford said, lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug. "We can just slip away unnoticed."
"No one slips away when Eszett is looking," Schuldig said. "All we want is a distraction at the right time. It's a good outcome for you, us vanishing, yes? You lose nothing by doing this. More coffee?"
"What did you really do for Takatori Reiji?" she asked, wanting to buy a few moments to think.
"Guarded him," Crawford said easily. "Until he fired us. We could have saved his life, I suppose, but I wanted to do your people a favour that could be called in later."
"That's a lie."
"You really think Weiss could have killed him if we'd been there? Would you have preferred us to have been there?"
She thought of Shuuichi and kept all expression off her face.
"No," she said at last. "I'm glad you weren't."
"I remember you at the party," Schuldig said. "You looked fantastic - your kimono, your hair -everything."
He looked like he meant it, like he didn't care that it was an inappropriate thing to say to someone who'd been an enemy and who would be again.
"I remember you," she said crisply. "You looked like you were in the mafia."
They both laughed, Schuldig whispering something into Crawford's ear.
"All right," Crawford said. He pulled out his wallet. "This is our treat. You can leave first; you'll feel more secure that way."
"I haven't agreed to anything," Manx said.
"You will." His smile seemed quite genuine. "I know you don't believe in the supernatural, in demons and occult ceremonies, but if we and Eszett believe in them then that's what matters as far as this information goes, isn’t it? And I believe I am accurate in saying you will choose to work with us." He took the envelope Schuldig handed him and slid it across the table. "All the information is there."
Manx stood up, then took the envelope. She stepped back from the table, keeping her eyes on them.
"Brad," Schuldig said, like he was reminding Crawford of something.
"Schuldig wants us to pay for your taxi home," Crawford said, holding out two neatly folded bills. "He's secretly chivalrous, you see."
"Because you did look lovely at the party," Schuldig said, "And as an apology for the train."
Manx took the money and left. There was no point in being impractical; a taxi would be expensive.
* * *
In her apartment, she laid out the plans and blueprints on her table. Auditorium, she noted and, sacrificial altar. She blinked. Perhaps Crawford was right, and it only mattered if Eszett believed in this nonsense. Maybe she really would let Weiss have this information, it couldn't hurt.
She prepared for bed and turned out the lights. Alone in the darkness, she let herself smile. Crawford had been so sure she just wanted to get back into Kritiker's good books, and that she'd throw Weiss into danger to do so. What a fool. If she did it, it was only to finish what Shuuichi would surely have wanted, and she wouldn't let Weiss do it alone. Birman would help her to give them the information they would need, while she could help them more directly, being free from Kritiker's orders to stand back. The blueprints showed plenty of places she could hide, and easily emerge where she'd be the most help to Weiss. She might not live to get her job back, but Shuuichi would understand.
Foresee that, Mr. Crawford. If you can, she thought, and had the first unbroken night's sleep she had had in months.