nadiatehrani:
Caught off-guard by the sudden stream of information, stuck somewhere between being impressed and being irritated, she schooled her features into something less sour and something more indifferent. ââ-So you are good for something, after all,â she said after a moment, eyebrows raised in the surprise she couldnât quite hide. Credit was given where credit was due. It was the closest heâd ever get to a compliment, and even then, there was the ghost of contempt. He just got lucky, he just found the right pieces to put together, to complete the puzzle but just not quite.Â
âLaurel wouldnât be the first. Most politicians are two-faced like that, saying one thing and doing something completely different. But itâs a lead, and sheâs someone worth keeping an eye if she might be working against him. She wouldnât be the only one lying to McGee about something, though, so donât count your luck just yet. But better to be doing something than sitting around, waiting to get shot.â Sheâd never admit he was right out loud, but he was just thatâthe sooner they got out of here, the better.Â
With that, she picked up the gun heâd left on the table, the sudden weight in her hand feeling a little like victory. What kind of agent would lose his gun, anyway? That was a lie she saw through the instant he said it. âYou? Okay with what Iâm doing? Miracles do exist!â she exclaimed facetiously. The more he tried to scratch underneath her carefully crafted facade, the more sheâd resist. âAnd here I thought you finally got used to it.â Â
Connecting the dots had been the duty of all agents stationed at the event, and now, it was a point of pride. Sandro clung onto this tiny victory as though it were a weapon and a shield in equal measure, ready to strike or defend on a momentâs notice; it was something accomplished alone, and he delighted in the surprise written into her features, a new mask for a countenance that normally boasted little more than vapid disdain. He was almost tempted to compliment her on it, but even that was too much risk for far too little reward, her satisfaction be damned.Â
Her spoken rationalization of his plan was confirmation enough that she knew heâd been some kind of right, even despite shirking certain responsibilities in favor of eating the forbidden fruit of the criminally rich and embarrassingly famous. There was a âyesâ buried somewhere in the rubble of her words, and Sandro flocked to it like an architect dying to dig into uncharted territory, finally free of the continuous barrage of ânoâ.
Although her sarcasm wasnât lost on him, his ears heard past it and deeper into a perceived truth heâd never thought heâd hear. His eyebrows quirked upward in surprise -- a thoroughly unexpected emotion among the usual sea of condescension and disdain. Was that an...omission of sorts? The man couldnât help the barking laugh that escaped him as they turned the corner into the nearby stairwell, pleased with himself even without any form of confirmation. âYou gettinâ soft on me, Tehrani? That sounded an awful lot like you admittinâ to being Public Pretender No. 1.â He spoke as though it were a casual detail, and not something that corroborated the opinion heâd held right from the start, though the sense of calm was interrupted at the slight trail of blood dripping from the top of the stairs. He motioned silently to her -- you first -- as his fists raised, searching the stairwell for any sign of a threat. He mentally bemoaned the growing semblance of guilt in the pit of his stomach, willing it to return to the more comfortable place of self-satisfaction, though he knew that, like all good things placed in the hands of misguided men, it was bound to abandon ship at the first sign of a threat.
