openmisc | Exercises in Romantic Tension

Exercises in Romantic Tension

The job was supposed to be simple. A popular, up-and-coming app company in Massachusetts had stumbled onto a bit of technology that might threaten Goddard and their CEO had, so far, been resistant to softer negotiations. It's easy to think you're invincible when you develop an app at seventeen and skyrocket into popularity and money and easy retirement by twenty five, apparently.

Enter Kepler's team. Maxwell, down with the flu, would provide remote support to Kepler and Jacobi. Jacobi had told her that it was fine, this was more of a 'manly type' job anyway, which, of course prompted her to ask, if that was the case, why Jacobi was there.

Score one for Maxwell.

Playing Candy Crush on his phone in the passenger seat, one foot pulled up, Jacobi yawns. "How much longer?" he groans, glancing at the afternoon sun out the window. It's not warm enough to penetrate the cold winter day, and Jacobi reaches over to turn up the heat. "Can we stop for coffee? I haven't had Dunks in forever. Since the last time we were on this coast."

He sucks air through his teeth, failing his level. So much for that.

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He glances over, and doesn't say a word because he says that, but he also knows that Jacobi's probably commiserating with Maxwell over 'Colonel Helicopter Dad' on that phone. The comment on being down both of them gets a dissatisfied grunt; that would have been... unfortunate. Doable? Certainly. But unfortunate.

"She is being useful. Maxwell on cold medicine still better than no Maxwell."

His departure from the car is significantly more smooth, as Kepler's (thankfully) always been a furnace of a man. If the cold bothers him at all, there's no indicator of it. Instead, he's locking the car and stepping purposefully towards the doors. There's a glance at Jacobi, but just to make sure he doesn't get run over while texting.

Jacobi might have his nose buried in his phone, but he's still an agent. Armed to the teeth and situational awareness high enough to step around a single piece of gum on the ground. He's not letting anything slip by him. And he's highly aware of the man with him. "I can get coffee if you want to get gas," he says without looking up.

He does hold out a hand expectantly. "Before I fucking freeze to death out here."

Kepler's expense card is slid into Jacobi's hands as smoothly as if he was pickpocketing one out of it, and if he shares a little of his warmth through the shared touched for a moment, so be it. He'll give Jacobi a quick smile.

"Mitchell Koenig," he'll note, the name on the card, so Jacobi knows what to expect. Then he's dipping past him to get back to the car. "You've got five."

A pause.

"And I want one of the seasonal ones with sprinkles too."

Jacobi, after all, knows his coffee order (coffee, no sugar, let it see the tiniest drop of creamer before it runs screaming). But if they're stopping at a donut shop, he's getting a goddamn donut.

His fingers curl, just slightly, at the touch, but it's gone in a flash as he comes back to himself with a blink. "Right," he tells him, arching a brow. But he stays the comment for a moment (sprinkles, really?) because he's not really surprised, just judgmental every time.

He whistles as he walks across to the shop, charming as always. And when he comes out, balancing a tray with two drinks and a bag in one hand, it's within his five minute time frame. But only just.

"Oh my god, this town sucks," he mutters, getting back into the car where it's warm.

The car has Kepler in it, the heat blasting on his side, the gas tank full and as soon as Jacobi's inside, they're pulling out to head for the highway again to get to their destination.

He doesn't ask for the card back. He has full faith it'll find it's way back into his wallet once they're at their temporary base of operations, namely a small rental property a street over from their mark's own home.

He does hold his hand out for the coffee.

"Something the matter with the donuts, Mr. Jacobi?"

He situates himself in the seat, coffee in Kepler's hand, though he's careful to not actually make contact with him. The bag is placed on the console between them and Jacobi finally buckles his seatbelt, taking out his phone as he sips at his own coffee.

Sweet caffeine. He might be gloating about it to Maxwell.

"No, donuts are fine. But the place is run by half-trained idiots. Two of them? Obviously dating. Too busy flirting to notice that they almost - almost - gave me decaf. I watched - his hand - touch the decaf, and I swear my whole life flashed in front of my eyes."

He rolls his eyes.

Kepler will blow on his, carefully, and then sip as he gets onto the highway again, all smooth as silk. Doesn't even burn his lips on a bump.

"I? Will never understand 'decaf'. It's an accident waiting to happen."

He shakes his head with deep disapproval as he gets into the fast lane again and settles them in for the ride. Then, and only then, does he go for his donut.

"What'd you get?"

He glances at him out of the corner of his eye as he takes another drink. "Um - " He falters a moment because surely he doesn't mean the coffee? He knows he always gets the same coffee - oh.

"The one with the chocolate cream inside," he answers, waiting for Kepler to get his before he reaches for his own. "The only one worth having. It's like - two desserts in one. You get the donut and you get the filling."

He leans back, taking the most indulgent bite out of it and then getting rewarded by having to lick the chocolate from his hand in a rather undignified manner.

"And then? You get the aftertaste," he says with a rueful shake of his head. Leave him his icing and sprinkles. Chocolate cream has him tasting the whole thing for ages, until he can brush his teeth. Nu-uh.

He takes a bite of his own, follows it up with a sip of his coffee, balances the two like a goddamn juggler with how easy it is even as he keeps his hand on wheel. One does not ask how he does that unless they want a story.

"Chocolate cream is an 'only in the office' for me."

He glances over at Jacobi just as he's licking the cream off and thankfully he knows how to keep his eyes on the road. Because it's...

Hmm.

"Nah, boss, I'm going to respectfully disagree there," he tells him, not noticing him looking over.

"That's where the coffee comes in. It's a symphony of flavors, you know. You have the donut and the cream and the coffee. I didn't go to culinary school or anything, " says the man whose recipe repertoire includes sandwiches, cup noodles, and a kickass charcuterie board - "but I know how to pair together coffee and a donut better than any cop on the beat. But...uh....you just keep your sprinkles."

He huffs and shakes his head.

"Sprinkles... offer heterogeneity," he says with some authority, "providing a textural counterpoint to the softness of the donut, and bursts of extra sweetness. Sweetness which fades quickly, giving the coffee a chance to get in there and cleanse the palette. They also don't contribute much to the scent, which means the coffee clears the board for ever. bite. to be unique? And perfect."

"Sprinkles taste like sweet chalk," he protests, not buckling under that authority. There are some things that he will concede - this is not one of them. He isn't going to back down on this.

"There's not textural counterpoint because they're not crunchy. They give. I would take nuts over sprinkles if you're looking for texture."

He's digging his heels in on this one.

"Nuts are preferred," he agrees with a quick nod, "and, were they an option? I would have chosen them. But..."

He gestures vaguely ahead of them.

"Our target? Has a brazil nut allergy. A rather severe one. And. Any nuts? Could, potentially, be contaminated such that close communication. Could prompt an allergic reaction. So..."

He spreads a hand.

"I make due."

"As long as you acknowledge the superiority of nuts," he says, watching his hand, finishing his donut. He snorts at his words, though. "Is that what we're calling it now? Close communication?"

That's definitely Plan A. He doesn't expect Plan A to work.

Instead, he takes out his phone again to text Maxwell.

"Talking to one another in a confined space or a distance of less than a foot," he says amiably, "would be what I consider 'close communication'. If it gets closer, well-" and he can't help a short, easy laugh, "it's been a while since I played the raven. But if it gets the job done..."

He definitely doesn't look over at Jacobi.

He grunts. "Where's the file on this guy again?" he wonders, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning. They have only a little while until their destination, but he can still work for a while. He twists to go between the two seats and digs through his bag, brushing against Kepler's arm, trying not to think about the warmth of it against his side.

He pulls out his laptop and sits back down in his seat, opening it.

"I still say we shouldn't even fuck with the guy. We can get all we need from his computer."

Kepler will watch him with part of one eye, not really acknowledging anything until the laptop is open and Jacobi says something-

"The problem being. that our mark? Doesn't let the computer. out of his sight. At any point. Our recon said he even sleeps with it on the bedside table."

"What a fucking weirdo," he mutters, pulling up the information he has. "So are we doing the boring job of just...persuading him to take Goddard's deal? And if he doesn't - then I get to blow his shit up?"

He threads one hand through his hair, keeping it there as he stares at the screen. They've gone over the plan a hundred times, but he always likes to hear it.

And he likes to bother him.

"We're less focused on him," he admits with a shrug, "and more on his proprietary software. The goal? Is to get him to think we want him to sign a deal. Then, when he says no, we cripple his infrastructure in a way that looks like an accident. And swoop in for the kill."

A quick flicker of a smile.

"We'll get the same assets? Half the price."

Strange how that small flicker of a smile happens at the same time as the skip of his heart. Or maybe it's the way that he says "cripple his infrastructure." That could also be it.

Jacobi likes that part, too.

He raises his eyes over to him as he takes another drink of coffee.

"What if he says yes? I'm very persuasive, you know," he says, knowing that he isn't. Not in the short term. Not for a job like this.

"Maxwell spent last week looking at the offers he's been receiving." Because of course she did. "I got the numbers: I plan to offer him an understandable amount well under what he'd expect. Goddard runs the industry; it won't be unexpected that we'd bid low."

He pulls up another screen on his laptop and shrugs, setting the cup in the console. "Spent last week," he mutters. "When she still thought she was going with us." He closes the screen once he's seen what he needs and stares out the window at the buildings passing by.

"I can't believe they waited this long before calling us in."

"Mr. Cutter wanted to ensure that they aren't aware of just how... key their software is. So. Slow on the draw."

And they do what Mr. Cutter says. Because that's how this works.

"Think of it this way. The quicker we get this done? The sooner you're bothering Maxwell in person."

"Getting the flu? No thanks," he grumbles, but he knows that's exactly what's going to happen. But he's not actually upset about the job. He's not upset about any of it. He likes working and gets antsy when he's at home too long.

He just accepts that there are things that he doesn't get to know and that's fine.

Doesn't mean that he has to like the way it works.

"Is that it?" he asks, gesturing to a rather nondescript building as they stop at a light.

Kepler makes a soft noise, as if to say 'right, except that I know exactly what's going to happen' because it's not as if he isn't aware that Jacobi and Maxwell are platonic soulmates. But as for the question, he nods. And keeps driving past it.

"Our accommodations are listed as being in the hotel there," he points off of the steering wheel, "and we'll actually be there, under an assumed name. I have a couple of SI-4 staying in the room to make it look occupied. They should already be there."

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