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 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."

He knows that, of course, but it's good to hear that the plan's going the way it should. The hotel does look nice and he glances at it longingly before he picks up his coffee to finish.

"Lucky," he mutters. "Sitting around doing fuck all." Which he knows is not the case. But he's allowed to be a little salty about it.

Kepler glances over at Jacobi and doesn't say anything. He's actually going to be having the SI-4 boys handling most of the paperwork and logistics that Maxwell couldn't do from her sickbed, as well as the ones Jacobi would have had to do himself. He'll mention it when he needs to balance some stick with a bit of carrot.

"Nonsense, Mister Jacobi. They don't get to figure out how to blow up a building full of servers in a way that looks like an accident."

He slips his thumbnail in his mouth, between his teeth, as he stares out the window thoughtfully, empty coffee cup in his other hand. "Good thing I brought all my stuff," he laughs, mostly to himself. Because he knows exactly how to blow up a building full of servers in a way that looks like an accident.

Servers are tricky things. they get a little too hot and they melt down. They start fires. "This is exactly why I wanted thermite for Christmas last year."

That and he wanted to take it out to the range to see what he could melt with it.

The answer?

Everything.

"And you're confident you can set this all up. with a trigger set two weeks in the future. which won't be detected by anyone in the interim?"

If this was simple, he wouldn't need Jacobi.

He turns to look at him blandly. Of course he's sure. He doesn't have to say it.

"I just need the access and Maxwell can walk me through the servers so I don't hit anything vital when I stash it. One will catch fire first and the others in succession right after, hot enough to burn through everything. The fire will take care of it all." He waves a hand at him.

It's simple to Jacobi.

"The words you were looking for. were. 'affirmative, sir'," he says, but it lacks the bite it would have if he hadn't had the plan already worked out. He knows his people are the best. That's why they're his people.

"You'll have a limited time in the server location. The window is in your briefing."

It's not long at all, really. About five minutes time.

"I know that," he says. But, because he knows he's already right up against the wall, flirting with insubordination, he adds: "Five minutes, sir. I'll do it in four."

It's easy, in these car rides, to let himself get a little too friendly, to follow his lead and fall a little too far, too informal.

Then he gets the leash yanked, even softly, and he steps back in line.

The thing about that leash is that it's not nearly as one-sided a tug as it looks. There's a part of him that'd been starting to enjoy the drive and enjoy Jacobi's company. That wanted to put his arm out and settle behind Jacobi's headrest. But he can tell when the sting hits for Jacobi, which is why he adds.

"Hey, look at it this way. SI-4's doing our paperwork. So... you're free to get it down to three if the challenge moves you."

"Oh sure, a challenge." He rubs the back of his neck and turns, placing his laptop back in his bag as they get closer to their destination. "Three minutes," he repeats softly because if Kepler wants him to try for three, then he will try for three, as long as he's not sloppy.

"I'm going to need another cup of coffee before I head in there." But he at least has the blueprints memorized.

"You've got a day to figure out your logistics and assemble your gear," he says with a tilt of his head as he pulls them into the parking lot of the hotel they're staying in. He gives Jacobi an encouraging smile.

"Don't look so dour, Jacobi. They might be staying at the four star business accommodation. But. We? Get 'magic fingers'." He tips his head to his bag. "I even brought quarters."

Jacobi just stares at it and then stares at him. Oh you're kidding me he screams with every bit of nonverbal language he has. But he just sighs and gets out of the car, grabbing his bags from the back, slinging the backpack over one shoulder and the duffel bag over the other before he turns to wait on Kepler.

"One day. One day I'll get to be the guy who stays at the Hilton."

"Noted for future assignments," and he does mean that, and Jacobi would know that he meant that. But Kepler can't help that he's delighted by the low-tier delights they had in store for them.

Except, perhaps, for when they get in and discover-

"...I definitely booked two beds."

He steps around him, like he might be able to properly see another bed suddenly manifest in front of them. Oh wonderful.

But -

He laughs. Because what else can he do? Of course the universe continues to hate him.

"At least it's not Berlin, Sir," he points out, setting his bags on one of the chairs. He takes out his laptop and starts to set up shop automatically.

That cracks a smile on his face as he turns to Jacobi.

"That it is not, Mister Jacobi, that it is not."

And he'll start walking in with his own things, pulling out the luggage stand, putting his bag on the stand and opening up to start setting up his own section. Most of what he has is a collection of suits, some spy gear (effectively) and his own laptop.

"You have Maxwell up?"

"Forty two seconds, sir," he tells him, glancing back over his shoulder, mentally filing away which suits he brought. Mostly because it lets him know the sort of confidence level he should have and because, well, imagination is a hell of a thing.

"She's doing her security checks."

Once she's there, he sits back and gestures to the laptop. "Dr. Sneeze Queen is ready if you want her."

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