A Strange Duality
Order is the very air he breathes. Logic is his religion. He finds satisfaction in the darkness that haunts his underground lab, perfectly able to cope with it. He finds peace in maintaining the alphabetical organization of his bookshelf, each cover sent away to be changed if it managed to not match his very peculiar fashion sense. He ensures his laboratory is spotless before leaving the main room to a tiny bedroom each day, typically into the very early hours of the morning.
He works tirelessly with his Tumbler, constantly making adjustments and dealing with the very uncontrolled minds, which approach him annually after his proposal for extra training. A select few truly pass his requirements for the marksmanship badge. However, it would defeat the point of having high standards if he were to lower the requirements, so it stays, and students file in and out of his mind, some getting farther than others.
His fingers type away at the keyboard as he makes minute adjustments to the Brain Tumbler. A piece of hair falls into his face so he flicks it back out and returns to his work, balanced carefully in his desire for control and sanity. Science gives him a chance to exert a sense of rationality onto his life, so he accepts his passion for it and promotes a slight aura of a mad scientist, lacking the usual accompanied insanity.
He wasn't always comfortably situated inside his laboratory. He can remember the days of being an active agent before becoming a babysitter for uncontrollable children at a government-run summer camp.
The clicking noise created as his gloves tap each key resounds in the empty space.
He can remember, at least, the missions involving the strongest levitator he had met. He can recall the first time she had allowed him inside her mind, somehow terribly tacky with the neon coloring, and intriguing in the whole setup, how little sensors pursued him, how the mind seemed to accept him just as he was. In that, he found another way he could accept his lot in life as a scientist. He can recall the first time she was inside his mind, how out of place she looked in a colorful dancing outfit inside his black and white mind, everything hidden from sight. He can recall her caring disappointment at the apparent lack of fun inside it.
He can recall the first time she requested the dour scientist as her partner for a psychic mission involving a psychic overwhelmed by his power. He can recall stating that it was a fine example of how control was the only way to be a strong psychic, and her reply that too much control led to a very boring dance party. His retort was that dancing, by nature, was uncontrolled, and therefore an unacceptable pursuit for him, regardless. She simply gave him a knowing smile and continued to drive, fingers thrumming a steady beat.
His fingers miss a key, and he was forced to delete the mistake and rework it.
He can recall approaching their target, forcing himself and his partner into the chaotic mind. Not unlike Oleander's disorganized and emotion-wrought mind, he found himself attacked by a horde of sensors. He enjoyed the challenge, then, putting the whole ordeal into perspective. He, the epitome of control, was challenging the very inner workings of this psychic, the pinnacle of chaos, and so he destroyed the sensors and created an area of silence.
His partner could, too, take on her own sensors, and each step forward, he was forced to battle double the amount she was. He didn't mind it so much, though his mind was silently cursing the time it was taking for him to get through to the central node of the mind. As they forced their way deeper, stronger sensors had taken after them. Strength won out and soon they stood in front of a large column of bottled electricity.
He pulled her back, then, and readied a psychic blast. Even in the midst of the disorder, he could hear her silently searching for a way to prevent shutting down the brain of the insane psychic. The focus of his mind was released and the column shattered. They opened the door and found their ways back into their bodies. The psychic slumped to the ground, brain-dead.
He recalls seeing the tears sparkling in her eyes at the sight. He recalls the thought he had then, that anyone who would cry so easily over the death of such a distasteful thing was hardly worthy to be an agent. But as soon as she looked his way, dressed in her tactfully colorful outfit, somehow stuck in the past and looking to the future, he could see why she was considered by human standards to be the vague term of 'beautiful'.
His fingers continue to type away. His eyes are focused on the screen.
He can recall a mission in which he and his perpetually warm-hearted partner were forced to jump out of a burning building, his partner catching them both with her skill in levitation. The worst physical injury he received were the bruises resulting as they tumbled down a hill. He can remember being dazed looking up at the sky after it and seeing her face as she accidentally – or not so accidentally, he was still deciding the truth – found herself atop him. He can recall the smile on her face and the steady blush, which spread across her cheeks.
His fingers miss another key. The agent backspaces a few more times and continues his thought process as his eyes watch the screen through the darkening feature of his sunglasses.
He remembers the distaste he felt when his heart skipped irregularly in that instant, under her slender fingers. His contained mind rebelled against an uncontrollable force and rejected it. Like any force of nature, though, he found it wasn't under his direction, and he found himself noticing just how strong his partner was.
He continues. This isn't productive: reminiscing days gone by while attempting to work. Even still, he finds his mind summoning images of his dark-haired partner.
Though he delights in logic and control, he finds a different sort of attraction in loving his partner. With the loss of control that comes with attraction, comes a sort of delight. He can both control, and not control, it. It's a strange duality he's come to appreciate.
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Author's Note: ^^;; I guess it went a little longer than I thought. I hope you enjoyed it, just some small drabble. I don't think I need to tell you who's who, I hope? And it was very intentional to switch between past and present tense, so I hope that didn't bother you too much.