❂ Slowest Burn: Part 3❂ Chamber X OC
“Do you think we’ll all make it back?”
Flare and Chamber have a discussion about the upcoming mission and agree something doesn’t seem quite right.
After the briefing adjourned, Flare followed Chamber back to the dorms. She listened to the Frenchman chatter as they walked, a foreign word slipping through every now and again.
“—and then Yoru took the… em, what do you call it in English… le napperon- ah, the tablemat! Anyway, he took the tablemat and pretended to wear it as a cape so he would look like Sova! He did the most wonderful impression—”
The story faded into the background of her mind as Chamber continued to chatter. The uneasy feeling from earlier had returned and taken root in the pit of her stomach. There was something off about this mission compared to the others, and the fact that she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly it was only made things worse. She had a very bad feeling about it.
“Mon ami?” Chamber’s voice broke through the fog of doubt clouding her mind and she looked up. The sign for the dorms hung from the top of the vaulted ceiling, swaying gently as Viper opened the courtyard door just to the left of it to go outside. “Have you been listening at all?”
“Yeah,” she replied hastily, not wanting to let on that she hadn’t really heard anything he’d said for the entire 15-minute walk. “Well, mostly. Somewhat. I—”
“Mon ami,” he chuckled at her response, “You do not have to lie. I know I can be a bit boring to listen to—”
“Oh, that’s not it at all! I—”
“—But you do seem distracted by something. Would you care to share what it is?”
She hesitated, unsure of how to explain the thoughts rattling around in her head. They didn’t make sense to her, so they definitely wouldn’t make sense to him. “I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling I have, really…”
“Well, I am listening. I would hate to know you have troubles in need of sharing but no one to share them with. Would you like to go to a cafe and talk?” Chamber asked, his tone adamant but not so pushy that she would feel uncomfortable declining.
That was one of the things she admired about him, actually. He had this uncanny ability to know exactly where one’s boundaries lay, and he knew exactly how far to push without overstepping them. It wasn’t a surprise he was a confidant for most all of the agents there.
“Well, it’s about our briefing, actually.”
“Ah, I see. So no public spaces allowed, then.”
“In that case,” he tapped an inquisitive finger on his chin, “we can go back to my dorm and I can make you some authentic French pressed coffee? Made by a real Frenchman, what do you say?”
She had to say, having the opportunity present itself to rid her mind of the strangling doubts before they left for exfil the next morning sounded incredibly appealing. After all, even a moment of hesitation in the field could mean the difference between life and death.
“Yeah, okay. That sounds nice. Thanks, Chamber.”
“Ah, but the pleasure is all mine, mademoiselle.”
A few moments later, they reached the door of Chamber’s room. She had to say, the one thing the Protocol did that made life in the compound that much easier to navigate was putting nameplates on the doors of each agent so that they could find each other easily if need be. What was even better is that each plate was representative of the inhabitant, a custom design that suited them to a T.
In her case, the plate was emblazoned with stunning pearlescent letters on a white background and trimmed with delicate gold designs. She quite loved the way it reflected the shimmering glow her abilities put off.
In Chamber’s case, however, the plate was a much darker gold with purples, blues, and oranges that faded into each other and was bordered in a deep black etching. Then, at each corner of the plate’s rectangle, the metal morphed into a gold fleur de lis. It was all so very ‘Chamber.’
“Here we are,” he hummed as he punched a number into the door’s keypad.
The door beeped an affirmation and a robotic voice called out, “Welcome, Agent 2245 Chamber,” and swung open on silent hinges.
“Come in and make yourself comfortable, mon ami. I’ll start the coffee.”
As Flare walked in, she found that what she could see of the room was an odd intersection between exactly what she expected and beyond what she could have imagined. The man had incredible taste, and his dwelling reflected it.
That was something else that had caught her by surprise when she first arrived here. The so-called dorms were not the tiny cinder block prisons she imagined they would be. Instead, they were built on the scale of a single bedroom home, each one sporting an entire living room, kitchen, balcony, laundry room, etc. And because the Protocol was so selective and the application process was so extensive, each room was tailor-made to make its inhabitant feel right at home. She still remembered the shock she had felt when the Protocol asked her what sort of furniture she wanted.
“What furniture?” She had asked, incredulous.
“Within reason, of course.” Her superior had affirmed. “Each agent gets a $35,000 budget to decorate their room as they please.”
If she had been sipping a drink when she heard that, she would have spit it everywhere.
Regardless, she had chosen a design that best reflected who she was and gave the interior decorators most of the freedom. “Wood floors and a fireplace in the living room. Other than that, the rest is up to you.”
And boy had they done their research. They had to have looked into her preferences at some point, actually. How else would they have known to choose modern styles and an entire reading nook?
With Chamber, however, she found it much more likely that he had been the opposite—very particular about his style and very adamant that everything be up to his standards. He certainly struck her as that sort of gentleman.
His living room was the epitome of vintage French glam, with white and gold furniture and plenty of glass. The statement piece of the room, however, was the solid white grand piano that rested in the corner. And judging by the fact that there was not a speck of dust on it, she guessed it was an item well-loved.
She settled into the soft and quite austere couch without issue, taking in the sweet, nutty scent of a well-brewed specialty coffee. The smell was soothing, and reminded her of the fragrance she caught whiffs of every time she passed the Frenchman in the hallways.
He must have coffee quite often.
“All finished, ma cherie!” Chamber walked back into the room with a coffee service tray in hand. Atop it, two glass mugs rested on saucers alongside a small milk pitcher and sugar bowl. He made his way over swiftly and with the utmost grace, setting the service down on his coffee table and settling onto the side of the couch opposite her. Close enough to comfort if needed, but so not close that it might be misconstrued.
How very Chamber. She smiled to herself as she poured the milk into the coffee and stirred it with a tiny spoon. Once she finally looked up, she noticed him staring at her with a bemused smile.
“You seem to be smiling to yourself,” He noted, sipping from his cup. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Oh, nothing important,” she replied, “You’re just a very interesting person.”
“Interesting? But mon ami, just a moment ago you thought I was quite boring.”
“You were the one that said that, not me!” She laughed.
He chuckled in response but said nothing. It was an action that she had learned was meant to open the space for a new topic of conversation, his way of inviting her to speak what was on her mind.
She took another sip of her coffee, relishing in the silence as she gathered her thoughts. “There’s something about tomorrow’s mission that doesn’t sit right with me.” She said finally.
Chamber cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, the smile fading ever so slightly from his face. “Like what?”
She heaved a sigh in response, not quite sure how to answer. “Honestly, I don’t know for sure. I’ve read up on the Fracture Reactor quite a bit, the engineering behind the fault and whatnot. It’s highly unstable, and even a small explosion would kill us all. And they want us to go in there, guns blazing? It just doesn’t seem like a smart move.”
“And then,” she continued, “there’s the fact that they opted to sit Brimstone out on this mission. If it was so important that we succeed, why would they employ a man who’s only led a few teams in the past?” She stopped rambling, realizing at once how that must have sounded. “Not that I think you’re incompetent or anything!” She added quickly. “Just the circumstances don’t quite make sense compared to how the Protocol usually runs things.”
Chamber sighed, replacing his coffee cup on its saucer. HIs previously jovial mood was nowhere to be seen, and she briefly wondered if she had offended him.
“I don’t blame you at all, mon ami.” He said after a moment. “I know I am not the most experienced leader the organization has, and certainly not more so than Agent Brimstone. I would be lying if I said the same doubts hadn’t crossed my own mind.”
As he spoke, he brushed a hand through his hair, prompting a few stray wisps to fall down in front of his eyes. He was uneasy, she could see that now. He was just much better at hiding it than herself.
Chamber steepled his hands in response, resting his chin atop them. “Well, all we can do is keep our guard up and try not to make any mistakes. Whatever they may or may not be hiding, I have faith that we can handle it.”
Another moment of heavy silence settled between them. The words Chamber had offered to her had done a lot to quell the swirling doubts in her mind, but they were still there nonetheless. Deeply rooted and slowly growing, like a toxic plant that refused to die.
“Chamber…” she said after a moment, stomach knotting at the question she was about to ask. “May I ask you something?”
His eyebrows piqued at her hesitation, and he reached out, taking both of her hands in his. “Of course, Flare. Ask me anything.”
“Do you…” The words caught in her throat, some impassable barrier keeping them from coming out. She swallowed, then tried again. “Do you think we’ll all make it back?”
She wasn’t sure what she had expected in answer, but it certainly wasn’t the sorrowful gaze that clouded his features. It was gone as quickly as it came, a ghost of an expression, but she knew she had seen it.
He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, looking at her with the softest smile he could muster. “Of course, ma cherie. I will make sure of it.”
She nodded hesitantly in response, flashing him a smile of her own. “Thank you.”
He released her hands and she stood, picking her yellow manila folder up from the table. He mirrored her, and she said, “I should probably get going. I’m sure it’s going to take a while to go over this brief.” She held it up, flashing a smile.
The tall Frenchman in front of her smiled back, but concealed just behind his eyes was another emotion. Understanding, with a touch of pain. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her without warning.
“Forgive me if this is too forward, but you seemed like you could use it.” The man whispered, the vibrato from his voice resonating in her ears as he rested his chin atop her head. He then pulled away without warning, moving his hands so that one rested on each shoulder, and stooped slightly so they were eye to eye. “Please do not worry, cheri. I promise I will make sure everyone gets back safely, and I do not make promises lightly.”
She wasn’t sure what it was about those words over the others he had given, but they settled over her fear like a blanket, and a wave of relief washed over her. She trusted him and his adamant determination, even if the promise he made was slightly out of his power to keep.
“I know, Chamber. I trust you.”
He backed away, giving a curt bow. “In that case, mon ami, make it a point to have a nice night. I will see you in the morning, bright and early.”
With that, the Frenchman walked her to the door, waving a friendly goodbye as she made her way back down the hallway to her own dorm.
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