“I’d like to make it permanent,” she concluded.
---
Syler realized with no small amount of trepidation, god help him, that he’d managed to be imprinted on by a field agent. Case in point, said field agent was lounging outside the Director’s office door, leaned casually against the wall, patient as a dog waiting for his master. Syler contemplated idly whether there was anything he could do to discourage the behavior.
“Hello sweetheart.” Probably not.
Syler sighed, hitching his bag up higher on his shoulder, and started back to the operations department. “Agent Dufault,” he replied, resigned to the man falling into step beside him like an unshakable blond shadow.
It wasn’t that he disliked the agent, Syler reflected. He just wasn’t sure what to make of him. Trying, the Director had said. ‘Overwhelming,’ Syler thought.
Perhaps it was to be expected, he considered. All of the field agents were adaptable, seamlessly adjusting to the demands of their environment least a misstep got them killed. Still, Dufault seemed to be something else entirely. Larger than life, always on, a deluge in human form. The man never seemed to break rhythm. Charismatic and overly familiar one moment, and a consummate professional the next. He slipped from enthusiastic flirtation to clinical detachment and back again so smoothly that it wasn’t until it was over that Syler could take stock of the damage. It was as though he’d been an agent for so long that he’d forgotten how to turn it off and be a proper person again.
It all left Syler off balance and on edge, never quite comfortable despite the easy back and forth between them. He couldn’t tell what was serious and what was for show, and that left Syler feeling defensive. To be told that this was Dufault when he’d developed a preference…
“Penny for your thoughts?” the man asked, pulling Syler abruptly from his musings. He glanced over at him, wrong footed. The taller man leaned in close to him, reaching around to open the door to the operations branch, and Syler was suddenly aware that they’d arrived at his department. He shook his head and stepped passed Dufault. “Come on, what’d Boothman want? If it left you speechless, I have to know.”
Syler huffed. “Apparently, I’m being punished.”
Arthur blinked. “For what?” He looked prepared to defend Syler’s honor. Touching, but also terrifying.
“Competence,” he replied, setting his bag down at the command desk and moving to review the files that had come into his inbox while he was away. The desk was honestly too small for both command and bureaucracy to coexist. He’d only just managed to clear the thing before he’d left for that meeting. Arthur fixed him with a questioning look. Syler sighed. May as well rip the bandage off.“I’ve been permanently assigned to act as your handler.” He paused. “Whenever convenient,” he amended.
“Ah.” Arthur grinned, slow and pleased, rocking back on his heels and settling his hands into his suit pockets. “I won’t have to bully the minions into fetching you anymore.”
Syler glared. “Don’t call my staff that.”
“You call them that all the time!”
“They’re my staff! It’s different!”
“Whatever you say, dear.” His grin went wolfish. “As long as I get you to myself.”
“More like as long as I’m stuck with you by myself, thanks.” He flipped a file open, quickly scanning over the acquisition request and signing it before slipping it into the outbox for the Colonel to approve.
“You know, I’m sure you’d change your tune if we just had a proper chance to get to know each other,” Arthur started, leaning in close, and, oh no, not this again. Syler turned to fix him with a stern look, but the edge of his chair caught a precariously situated stack of hardware near the corner and sent it tumbling across the floor. Syler swore, stooping to gather the components. Arthur’s hand caught his shoulder, crouching down to collect them for him instead. “You really need a proper office,” he commented.
“If I can ever perfect the cloning process, I’m sure I’ll find the time to clean out the old deputy’s office. As is, the room is a death trap of Civil War-era requisition forms and broken equipment,” he sighed, accepting the parts from Dufault and checking them over for damage. “Thank you.”
“Have you ever considered delegating?” he asked, straightening and resuming his casual stance against the neighboring desk. “I hear that’s a job perk in management.”
“Ah, yes, finding someone else without the time and piling onto their workload. A sure fire recipe for success.” He set the components aside, probably salvageable, and finished approving the last two mission allotment forms before one of the senior system technicians called for him over the intercom. “Excuse me, Dufault. I need to oversee the server upgrades.”
“Of course. Have fun with your tech, S. I’m told it’s your version of Christmas.” Syler huffed a laugh and waved his goodbye, heading down the hall towards the server wing. Arthur waited until he was out of sight, before heading into the office of the former Deputy Director and surveying the damage. He let out a low whistle.
Well, he did have a free afternoon.
---
Syler stumbled back into the operations bullpen shortly before seven p.m., exhausted, left sleeve slightly singed, and hair smelling faintly of ozone. It just wasn’t a server upgrade without a small electrical fire. He settled heavily into his desk chair, reaching for his keyboard by muscle memory, and startled. Three monitors, keyboard, mouse. Nothing else.
“What the hell?” Even his name placard was gone. He glanced frantically around the room. The minions still on staff were all diligently at work at their respective stations, apparently unbothered by the cosmic fuckery taking place at the command desk, before settling on the open door to the Deputy Director’s office. Well, his office, he supposed, for all that he’d only been in it once before promptly shutting the door on that particular waking nightmare.
A shiny gold placard proclaiming S. Perrin, Deputy Director, Operations had been fitted into the door slot. He proceeded over cautiously, hazel eyes wary, wondering if he’d finally started having vivid dreams about work, and stopped short as he nudged open the door.
“What do you think?” He jumped, spinning to face the agent who’d crept up behind him. The other man grinned, all schoolboy charm. His suit jacket was missing, shirt sleeves rolled up, illegally broad shoulders on full display. ‘Oh,’ Syler thought faintly, ‘oh no.’
He was saved from his treacherous brain by the sight of a take out bag dangling from the other man’s hand. “Is that curry?” Syler sniffed, stomach choosing that moment to make itself known.
“Well spotted,” he answered.“Now, what do you think?”
“Is it for me?”
“The office or the curry?”
“I find that I’m not feeling especially particular at this very moment,” Syler admitted, resisting the urge to make grabby hands.
Arthur laughed. “Good news then, the answer is yes to both.” He pressed his free hand to Syler’s shoulder, guiding him gently into the repatriated office. Syler’s eyes first settled on the half dozen entirely empty bookshelves—god help him, space to put things—before coming to the wide oak desk containing his laptop, filing trays, and other various knick-knacks. His missing name placard was located in the upper right hand corner closest to the door. It was lovely.
“Well?”
“If I wake up now, I’m going to cry,” Syler replied, settling into the comfortable office chair with a groan. Arthur beamed, shutting the door before taking up residence in the visitor chair opposite him.
“Shall we eat, darling?” he asked, unpacking the meal without waiting for an answer. Syler found himself helpless to do anything but stare.
“How did you even manage this?”
“I can’t give away all my secrets, now can I?” Syler accepted the take out container that was passed to him, mumbling a thank you automatically. “Although, if you must know, I have connections.”
“Do
you now?” Syler raised a brow, voice somewhat muffled as he hastily swallowed a mouthful. God, he was absolutely ravenous. He took back every terrible thing he’d ever said about the man, menace or not.
“Mmhm. Janitorial staff took care of the broken equipment and the mailroom keeps an industrial shredder.” He paused to take a bite of his own meal. “I’m assuming you’re not overly concerned with what happens to the thirty year old requisitions forms.”
“Whether destroyed or lost in the former black hole of this room, it makes no difference to me.” He set down his fork, eyes meeting the man across from him. “Dufault, thank you. Really.”
Arthur hummed contentedly. “Of course.” His eyes took on a sly look, playful and bright blue. “Now, what do you say you tell me what you meant when you said you were ‘conscripted’ into working here, hm?” Syler threw back his head and laughed.
Overwhelming. The man was absolutely overwhelming.
Eleven
The following morning found Syler back in operations bright and early to oversee the outfitting of an agent on his way to Egypt. He set his bag on the command desk automatically, still muddling through the infinite fog that was morning, waving limply to Maria as she made her way over.
“I hear someone got new digs,” she announced, brown eyes twinkling.
Syler blinked and glanced over at the door to his office, shut up but with the blinds drawn open for the first time in memory, allowing a clear view into the now usable interior. He’d completely forgotten until now. The sleep deprivation really must be catching up with him. “Ah, yes. It’s actually really nice now that it’s cleaned out. No more nightmare fuel.”
“Mmhm,” she hummed, teasing. “And who do we have to thank for that, huh S?”
“Agent Dufault is apparently trying to work his way into my good graces before whatever stunt he pulls on his next deployment.” Maria gave him a knowing look. Syler refused to rise to the bait.
“I hear you’re his new handler now,” she continued, tone entirely too cajoling. Why was he friends with this woman?
Syler turned towards the break room, intent on securing a cup of coffee if he was going to be subjected to ridicule this early in the morning. “As per the Director’s decree, yes. You can all rejoice; he’s my headache now.” He moved to the coffee maker and frowned to find it empty. The night shift had apparently been too busy gossiping to start another pot. He set about making a fresh batch and waited for the inevitable needling to resume.
Reyes did not disappoint. “I also hear that he brought you dinner.”
Syler huffed, breath disturbing a stray curl. He really needed to get a haircut. “Do you think it’s safe to assume I’ll have gray hair by the end of his next mission?”
“Well,” the petite woman replied, “that’s certainly one interpretation. On the other hand...”
Syler groaned. It was too early for this. “Maria,” he whined, turning back to face her beseechingly.
Her eyes glinted mischievously. “I’m just saying, S, he’s easy on the eyes.”
“He’s my agent. We work together.”
“And?”
“It was just a nice gesture!” She fixed him with a disbelieving look. “He flirts with everything that moves. You can’t seriously think—”
She cut him off, expression wicked. “Oh, more than think. I’m confident.”
Syler was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of Agent Sampson, ready to be briefed and outfitted for his infiltration assignment in Egypt. Bless the man and his punctuality, this day might be salvaged yet. He exited the break room, decidedly not fleeing, thank you very much, desperately hoping that would be the end of it.
“Think about what I said, boss!” Maria called after him cheerfully.
---
By nine a.m., he was safely ensconced in his new office, knee deep in reviewing the performance logs from yesterday’s server upgrades. He reached for his coffee, frowning when he was met with an empty mug, and shook his head, preparing to grab a refill.
“Morning sunshine.” Syler startled, eyes darting to the doorway. Dufault lounged against the frame casually, clad in slim gray joggers and a thin white t-shirt, faintly darkened along the edges with sweat and at least two sizes too small. He must’ve just left the downstairs gym. Syler swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “How’s the new office treating you?”
Syler cleared his throat, shoving aside thoughts he was choosing to blame on Maria’s meddling. “I’m still not totally convinced it’s actually mine, to be honest. Although, they’ve started redirecting the paperwork here already, so maybe they’ll let me keep it if I stay quiet.”
“Mm, don’t tell me my favorite hacker has a case of impostor syndrome,” he teased. Syler flushed, cursing whatever combination of sheer exhaustion and misplaced gratitude that had led to him sharing the story of his hiring the night before. “Oh, you’re cute when you blush.”
Syler schooled his expression into a veneer of professionalism. “Can I help you with something?” He made a show of pulling up the mission docket. “I don’t see any pending assignments for you.”
“Can’t I just come see how you’re settling in?” he asked, sliding his hands into his pockets as he did. His shirt rode up over his hips. Syler refused to look. “I put a lot of sweat equity into this place. I just want to make sure it’s working out.”
“It’s absolutely wonderful, yes, thank you,” Syler returned a touch awkwardly. A brief silence stretched between them that the agent seemed in no rush to fill. God, what did the man want from him?
Arthur huffed out a breath, apparently amused. “So, what do you say—”
“Agent Dufault!” came the booming voice of the Colonel from behind him. “Good morning! Is Syler in there?”
‘Oh bless, I’m saved,’ Syler thought, watching as Thompson’s head appeared over Dufault’s shoulder in the doorway. The Director of Operations surveyed the room, nodding his approval, eyes twinkling behind his glasses.
“I haven’t seen this room usable in half a decade. Did it take you all night, S?” Alright, saved was a relative term. Syler sank deeper into his chair, resisting the urge to pull his hair out in frustration.
“Erm, no. Dufault did it while I was overseeing the server improvements yesterday,” Syler replied, desperately hoping the upgrades would provide a distraction.
“Oh, that was kind of you, Arthur.” The Colonel clapped him heartily on the shoulder.
“Well,” Arthur replied, “it seemed only fitting that our new deputy have an actual space of his own. We can’t have the NSA luring him away with promises of a corner office.”
Thompson barked out a laugh. “Too right! Perrin’s my only hope of retiring by my 70th birthday!” He winked conspiratorially. Syler bit back a groan. “Say, I hope you don’t mind, but I need to steal him away for a bit.” He turned his attention to Syler. “I’ve just gotten back the trajectory readings on the new missiles. I’d like a second pair of eyes for the adjustments.”
“Of course.” Syler grabbed onto the lifeline, pushing back from the desk and collecting his tablet in one smooth motion. Any port in a storm. “Sorry to cut this short, Dufault.” He really, really wasn’t. His entire brain was in danger of short circuiting if he stayed in this room any longer. Maria was a devil.
“No worries, I need to get cleaned up anyway. Boothman will throw a fit if I show up to our meeting like this.” He grinned, moving out of the doorway with a jaunty wave. “I’ll see you later.”
Thompson hummed conversationally as they made their way to the ballistics lab to review the test results. “It’s good to see the two of you getting along,” he noted.
Syler wasn’t too sure about that.
Twelve
Things continued on like that for the next week and a half. At every turn, Syler found himself running into Agent Dufault or finding evidence of his recent presence. He seemed to be a permanent fixture in operations, alternating between flirting with his staff and ingra
tiating himself into Syler’s acquaintance and good graces.
Presently, the man had interrupted him lugging several boxes of technical manuals and reference books into his new office, intent on clearing them out of his apartment and housing them where they could actually be of use. Dufault had simply found him in the hallway outside the parking garage loading a dolly and taken the thing from him without so much as a by-your-leave, neatly directing the cart back towards operations as though this was the sort of work a man in shiny black oxfords and a shoulder holster was meant to do.
“Hello again, Dufault,” Syler started, making a move to grab the cart back. “I’ve got it under control, actually, but thank you for the help.” Arthur neatly maneuvered out of the way, waving him off.
“Not a problem at all, sweetheart. Just tell me where they’re headed.”
Syler frowned. “I’m not actually a helpless damsel, you realize.”
“I’d never insult you like that,” he replied seriously. “I’ve seen what you can do with both computers and hand grenade modifications. Operations, right?”
“If I say no, will you give me the cart back and tell me why you’ve been playing the part of my personal assistant for the last two weeks?” Thus far, he’d been pretending it wasn’t happening, but it was getting increasingly weird to have what amounted to his own personal pet assassin. Coworkers aside, men like Dufault didn’t generally seek out the company of raging computer nerds like himself. Certainly none of the other field agents had taken such an interest in him or the goings-on of operations beyond occasionally dropping by in a fit of boredom to see if any new prototypes needed testing. It was bewildering.
Arthur affected a hurt expression. “Is it really so hard to believe that I want to get to know you?”
‘Yes,’ Syler thought. “Incredibly,” he said out loud. “If this is a new infiltration technique you’re trying out, I feel obligated to report that it’s scaring the technicians and not nearly subtle enough.”
The other man barked a laugh, bringing the dolly to a stop beside the elevator. “See? That. That right there,” he replied, gracing Syler with a broad smile. “It just makes me try harder.”
Covert Affairs: Partnership : A Covert Affairs Romance (Book One) Page 5