hazards of the job
Amitiel inhaled softly. There was no need for both of them to lose control or their cool. So, he decided to just intervene. He signaled the Emmanuel to take a deep, long inhale to siphon every ounce of tension into his belly before exhaling it all in a heavy, exhale. “Remember. Clarity only comes to those who refuse to let other’s cloud their perception.” His badge read James, W. Wynter was only to help the humans adapt easier.
“Do you need five?” He was concerned for the man. Amitiel allowed him to feel it, as well. He just didn’t want him to feel as if he was prying. He softly caressed his shoulder to bring awareness to his own body and to let those simple frustrations go. “Shall I start doing a bit of filtering? Or better yet, how can I be of help to you and your efficiency?”
If he could siphon every ounce of tension from his belly, he would end up with a tumor. Maybe a bad case of diverticulitis if God had a sense of humor. At Wynter’s arrival, Emmanuel took a step back. He begot breathing for a low, urgent growl.
“Right, James.” Wynter outside the office. James when he was feeling feisty. He hadn’t had his afternoon nap yet. Obviously.
Wynter was spouting his hippie nonsense again, the man placing himself between Emmanuel and what had to be the next homicide victim at Celestial Tower. The brief intermission was all it took for the begrudging dsi agent to take full advantage of their new situation. The imbecile of a witness stared at them dumbly.
He motioned at the new agent by the door. He was still green, plastic badge pinned neatly to his crinkle cut uniform.
“I need thirty.” With a quick pat, he tagged the agent off, eyes meeting Wynter’s only as he was headed toward the door.
“You’re taking me to lunch.”
