Two.
Trust
One month had passed since Stubbs found Agent Haque wandering around Behavior and Diagnostics. One month filled with various surprises that almost always included the mysterious woman in some form or another. Never as the perpetrator – no, Agent Haque seemed to have taken Theresa's warning to heart – but always the observer. Whenever things got out of hand or even the hint of something suspicious was occurring, Agent Haque could always be found somewhere nearby. And because it was Stubbs' job to oversee these issues, they were running into each other quite a lot.
He had quickly learned that she loved the color black, wore only tactical, tight-fitting pants that stretched over her lithe and long legs like a second skin and a strange black armored vest with a long-sleeved shirt that always had its sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and had a knack for disappearing from rooms without anyone noticing.
If it hadn't been for the gawking stares of the other employees in the Hub, Stubbs would have thought he was seeing a ghost. Or was hallucinating the woman altogether. There was something eerie about her, yes, but not necessarily a bad eerie. Just… eerie. Neutral eerie. Strange.
Aside from her affinity for black clothing or her strange ability to disappear on command, Stubbs hadn't learned a single goddamn thing about the woman. Frustrating, to say the least. It was his job to know things. Everything. The functionality of the park and the safety of the park's hosts, guests, and employees relied on his ability to gather information and sort it into various categories that ranged from benign to threatening. And Agent Haque… well, he didn't quite know where to put her. He didn't even know her first name, for fuck's sake.
So when she finally spoke to him after a month of mostly silence – not that he hadn't tried to strike up a conversation – he was more than a little stunned. They were in the park, in Sector 22 of all places, watching as a group of techs excavated a strange mass of bodies that had been buried six feet below the earth.
It wasn't terribly shocking to find that a body had been buried. Especially a host's body. In fact, it happened all the time. Part of their programming allowed the hosts to bury their dead, and the dead hosts had tracking devices imbedded in their pearls to make it easy to find and dig them up. No, that wasn't strange at all.
What was strange about this particular excavation, and what had brought him and, as he assumed, Agent Haque to the scene, was the unusual details surrounding the deaths of the hosts that had been tossed into the mass grave.
Each and every one of them had had their head's cut open, almost surgically so. Almost as if whoever had sliced them open was looking for their mind pearls, which were thankfully protected by three layers of titanium so as to make such an endeavor impossible, since they carried valuable IP.
Who in the park would be interested in getting their hands on a mind pearl? And why?
He was watching the third body get placed on a tarp when Agent Haque spoke up behind him, nearly startling him.
"Have you cross referenced the guest list with any doctors? Surgeons? Even someone like a veterinarian or former military medic? Mortician?"
He was so surprised by the number of words that passed her lips that he could only stare at her in silence for several long seconds. A silence in which he yet again remembered how unusually beautiful she was. Her short hair which was usually pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck was loose and flowing lightly in the breeze coming off the water beyond the cliff before them. The setting sun caught strands of the chestnut color, highlighting them in various shades of red, bright as any fire he'd ever seen. Foresty green eyes blinked at him; once, twice. She cleared her throat and cocked an eyebrow.
Shit, that's right. She'd asked him a question.
Looking down at the pad in his hands, he nodded gruffly. "Yeah. I'm working on that right now. We have nearly two dozen doctors in the park currently. Five of them are surgeons. One specializes in brain surgery. I have someone back at the Mesa looking over his trip right now, trying to figure out if he was in this sector recently. No vets, no former military medics, and no morticians." Not surprising, really, since one night's stay at the park was about $10,000 US. Hell, Stubbs didn't even make enough to vacation here. Not that he'd ever really want to.
"Hmm." Agent Haque tapped her chin thoughtfully. It was unlike her to ask him any questions, especially regarding something they were both looking into. He stared at her askance, wondering if he should pose a question of his own.
"And if it's not the surgeon, or any of the other doctors for that matter? Then what?" she asked him, watching as yet another body was pulled from the grave and tossed unceremoniously on the tarp at their feet.
Stubbs stared, somewhat horrified, at the host's mutilated face. Human beings' capacity for cruelty never ceased to surprise him, here. Of course, the hosts weren't really people – they were technology. Or so management told him incessantly if he ever even showed signs of sympathizing with them. But fuck if it wasn't easy to believe they were people. Or to want to believe it. How someone else could inflict this level of pain and suffering on another being, human or not, went beyond Stubbs' ability to understand.
"I know," Agent Haque said sadly, staring down at the bodies stacked haphazardly and carelessly in front of them. "It's… unusually cruel treatment."
Stubbs tried to shrug. "Management swears it's just pleasure and entertainment to some of our edgier guests. I guess I just don't see the fun in doing shit like this."
Agent Haque studied him carefully. Her lips pursed – he still thought they were a fucking security breach, themselves, because they were so goddamn sensual all the time. "If you get a lead," she said suddenly, backing away from him towards the elevator that would lead down to the tunnels, "let me know."
Shit. That was the first time she ever asked that they partner up. He could have easily said no. For fuck's sake, he didn't even know this woman's first name. He didn't know why she was in Westworld or who had hired her or anything vital whatsoever. So why the fuck did he actually agree? "All right. But only if you do the same."
There was one of her smiles again – tugging at her lips, revealing a small dimple in her left cheek. "Of course. Fair's fair."
000
Stubbs didn't spend a lot of time in his apartment. It was a bit too lavish for a man like him, even in its minimalist state. Ten years in the military instilled in Stubbs a sense of practicality that would probably never leave him. What did he need all this space for? He hardly owned anything. It was just a place to sleep, and on occasion, to get away from the constant buzz of park life.
He had taken that evening to rest up, sit on the couch for a bit with a book in his hands, to collect himself and think.
A lot of strange things had been happening lately. Strange things he wasn't made privy to. As head of security, the cagey atmosphere that had taken up residence through the Hub, particularly Behavior and Diagnostics, only made his job that much more difficult. People were keeping secrets. Something was going on, he was sure of it. Something that went beyond a crazed guest slaughtering half a dozen hosts in the middle of the park before cutting into their heads. It made him more than a little uneasy. He had a job: prevent catastrophe, secure the guests, secure the hosts. A job handed down to him by Ford, himself. But that job was getting harder and harder to do.
A knock at his door startled him from these thoughts. His eyebrows drew together as he stared across his living room at the black door, trying to puzzle out who would look for him in his personal quarters rather than try to reach him on his communicator.
He didn't have friends here. No secret romance, either. That only left…
"Agent Haque," he said with some surprise once he had opened the door to reveal the woman. She was dressed slightly differently than earlier that day, having traded in one pair of black pants for another and switched out her archetypal combat vest for one of the same color, make, and style, but with sleeves. "Is something wrong?"
Agent Haque offered one of her practiced smiles. "Can I come in?"
Stubbs stood there awkwardly for a second, his mind working a mile a minute. There was nothing wrong with her coming in, of course – surely, she wanted to talk about something related to work. That wasn't the problem. The problem was… he had never had anyone else in his apartment before. Especially not a woman. A woman who looked as stunning as Agent Haque.
Which also wasn't a problem, he rushed to reassure himself. Why would that be a problem? They were colleagues. Currently working together on a case. Not a problem, no.
"Sure," he said, stepping aside to allow her entrance.
The agent stepped inside as if she owned the place. It didn't surprise Stubbs in the least – it was so characteristic of the quiet, intimidating, and confident woman. She surveyed his living room and kitchen with a sharp eye, quickly absorbing little details here and there, before her gaze rested on the book he'd discarded on the coffee table.
One of her dark eyebrows rose. "I didn't take you for a Stephen King fan," she noted, nodding at the book.
Stubbs rubbed the back of his neck a little sheepishly. "I'm not. My brother is. He mails all the books he reads to me whenever he finishes them. Thinks I spend too much of my time working and all that."
Agent Haque gave a brief nod of understanding. "My mom's the same. Last week, she sent me a cookbook. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a cookbook?"
Her face was screwed up in confusion, and Stubbs nearly cursed himself for finding the look rather cute. And for the woman to even share that much information about herself was groundbreaking in itself.
He grinned. Shrugged. "Cook, probably?"
Agent Haque snorted. "Do I look like I cook?"
"No," he admitted with a slight laugh. Were they actually being friendly?
"Exactly. It's just a waste of paper." She seated herself in one of the chairs surrounding the coffee table, cocking her foot up on her knee, and gestured for Stubbs to sit, too.
He tried, very hard, not to roll his eyes at that. They were in his own goddamn apartment and she was offering him a seat.
"It's late." After he sat down, he glanced at his watch with a frown. "So I'm guessing you have news on those hosts who had their heads carved up?"
Agent Haque probably made an exquisite poker player. Her expression gave absolutely nothing away. "No, not yet."
She left it at that but continued to stare at him. Pick him apart.
Stubbs started to fidget. Pulled at a tiny loose thread on his Henley. "If that's not it, then why are you here?"
"I wanted to ask you something."
Another silence. Didn't look like she was going to jump right in and ask him. Actually, she seemed content to just sink back into her chair and watch him.
He was familiar with the tactic. Had endured it constantly in the military once he'd reached a decent rank. Intimidation. See if your target tries to break the silence. Analyze what they decide to talk about. Coax an answer from them.
Settling back into his couch, Stubbs crossed his arms and met her green-eyed stare, challengingly. "Can we skip the intimidation and get to the part where you ask me the question?"
Agent Haque smiled, but this time was different than all the other times. This time, this smile… it seemed genuine. She grinned and even her eyes lit up a little as she looked at him. He was completely enraptured. "That's what I like about you, Stubbs. You're a very direct man. Honest. Not a bull-shitter. I respect that about you."
"… Thanks?"
"Don't mention it. Seriously," she added, though her eyes sparked with some mischief he was beginning to recognize as innate to her personality. "I have a reputation to uphold." She settled her hands on her knee, templed her fingers, and leaned forward. "Anyway. Why did you do it? Why did you betray Ford and your company and kill all those hosts? Cut into their heads to get at their mind pearls? Greed? No," she answered for herself, looking Stubbs over like she was reading him as he began to panic, to grow even more confused, to become disoriented at her crazy line of questioning. "You're not the greedy type. Too practical. Out of a sense of righteousness? You don't like the way the hosts are being treated, so you lure them to Sector 22, command them to hold still while you slaughter them – humanely? Hmm… Slice into their heads to get at the mind pearls only to realize you stupidly didn't do your research? That you can't get to them because there's three layers of titanium in your way. But what, you were planning on getting ahold of some IP, trying to smuggle it out? Free them? There are some details I'd need to work out if that's your motivation."
Finally having enough of her absurd and frankly startling accusations, Stubbs stood, his hands coiled at his sides, anger flashing in his bright blue eyes. "What the hell are you talking about, Haque? Fuck, you think I did that to those hosts?" He still couldn't fathom the level of cruelty those poor hosts had been subjected to. The carelessness towards human – no, not human, not quite – towards life.
Agent Haque sat back in her chair once more, carefully studying Stubbs. He could see her take stock of him: the rise of his chest as he breathed heavy with anger, his hands that had turned into white-knuckled fists, his clenched jaw. She took all of this in and nodded to herself. "Good," she said at last. "I was about ninety-five percent sure you had nothing to do with it, but I like to be certain. Very certain."
Stubbs stared down at the enigmatic woman. Anger, frustration, confusion, and even fear warred for dominance inside him. A full minute passed like this as he tried to get a grip on himself, on the situation, on this fucking frustrating woman.
"Do you think this is funny?" he asked her, all kindness washed from his tone. If his voice quavered a bit, she either didn't notice or more likely ignored it. "Is this a joke to you?"
"No," Haque said simply. "I find a great deal of things to be funny, Mr. Stubbs, but not this. Whatever the fuck is going on in this park is dangerous. Do you realize that? Do you know what kind of trouble you're all in?"
Where was all of this coming from? What the hell did she know that he didn't?
"I don't understand."
"I know," she said. "And that's why I trust you."
000
"Stop," Stubbs said, holding one hand up to keep Agent Haque from speaking further while his other pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Just… hold on a minute, okay? You're seriously trying to tell me that, what? You're investigating something here at the park, something you 'can't tell me about' for my own protection, and you want me to 'just trust' you for… what? Why the fuck should I trust you?"
He'd had enough, honestly. After she'd admitted to trusting him, Agent Haque had launched into some diatribe about how, if management continued to run things the way they were, lots of people were going to get hurt. Or killed. Most likely killed, she had surmised. And if Stubbs just 'trusted' her in return, if he just 'helped' her, she could save them all. She could fix things.
Yet she had offered nothing up. No evidence, no story, no reason to trust her. Didn't she realize how ludicrous this was?
"I don't even know your real fucking name," he added, hands coming down to rest at his hips as he spun on his heel and fixed a glare on her. It was even more frustrating that she didn't even blink. "I know next to nothing about you. Why the fuck should I trust you?"
"Because you want to," she said.
Because you want to. For fuck's sake. What was he, an open book? Could she read him that well? This was all such bullshit. This was all so fucked.
"What makes you think I want to?"
Her lips quirked. Instead of amusement in her eyes, though, he saw pain. "Because you're a good man, Stubbs. You want to trust me because your instinct is telling you to. Has your instinct ever been wrong?"
He didn't want to deign that with an answer. It would only make her case stronger.
"Stubbs," she said, standing finally, finally getting as worked up as he was. She stepped closer to him but stopped midway. Realized it wasn't very professional. "Stubbs, come on. I can't… I can't tell you why I need your help, yet. I can't. I need to secure a few other things before I do that. But this park… these people…" When she looked up at him, he saw fear in her eyes. Real fear. Not even the best actress could fake it like that. The protector in him wanted to wrap his arms around her and comfort her, tell her that nothing bad would happen to her so long as he was around. But the rational part of his brain knew that this was a woman who needed no comfort. This was a woman to be reckoned with. A predator. So why was she afraid? Or better yet… who was she afraid for? "These people," she continued. "They're not who you think they are."
They aren't, he agreed. As things had steadily started degrading over the past few months, Stubbs had come to this realization himself. "Then tell me who they are."
"I can't."
She was frustrated, too. She wanted to tell him. That much was clear. "Why can't you? Who's keeping you quiet?" The thought struck him – even a fearsome woman like the one before him could be extorted. Could be used or threatened. Someone might have something on her. Might have a muzzle over her mouth and a leash around her neck. "Is someone…" he paused, wondering how to word this right. "Is there someone who poses a threat to you, Haque?"
Haque blinked. Pressed her mouth into a thin line. He couldn't make heads or tails if that was an affirmative or a negative, though. "I'm not worried about myself. I'm worried about the people here. The good people here."
But it needled at Stubbs. "But should you be worried about yourself?"
Something flashed in her eyes. It was brief, lingering hardly a second, before it was gone. Wrapped up tight under her many layers of mystery and enigma. "If you help me, you'll be helping a lot of good people."
He cared about that. Of course he cared about that. But she had dodged his question, and he was beginning to worry. "Are you a good person?"
She tossed her hands in the air, frustrated, and spun away from him. "You're asking all the wrong questions. At least, to the wrong person." Facing him again, he could read the weariness on her features, the exhaustion in her eyes. "Stubbs. I want to help you. I want to help everyone. Please help me do that."
But there were still so many holes in what she was telling him. So much he didn't know…
Committing to stepping towards him this time, Haque stood just a foot away from him, now, her eyes searching his. She could read him like an open book, he realized. "You want to trust me. At least let me help you do that." Her fingers curled at her sides and she sucked in a deep breath, staring at her toes for a brief moment, steeling herself. Then she canted her chin once more and held his gaze, determined. "My name is Zora. Haque is my real last name. But my first name is Zora. You can call me that, if you like, but only when we're alone. Don't slip up on that. I don't like it when people know my name."
It seemed, as he ravenously took in everything she was telling him, he was having trouble forming thoughts of his own. "Zora?"
She nodded. "Yeah. It's Arabic. Means 'dawn'. Not a fucking soul in my family speaks Arabic, though, so gods know why my mom chose it. She's an anthropologist. Off somewhere in the world right now but still has the time to send me fucking cookbooks. She wanted a girly daughter. A daughter whose hair she could braid." Agent Haque – Zora – offered him a wane smile. "She got me instead. Got my first motorcycle at fifteen years old. She was still trying to clip flowers in my hair. When she realized who I was, though – who I am – well… bless her soul. Seriously. She still wishes I was a girly, obsessed-with-pink-and-my-future-wedding kind of woman, but fuck if she isn't secretly proud of me." Zora searched his eyes again, and Stubbs could read how vulnerable she had just made herself. Had she ever told anyone that? Had the mysterious and enigmatic woman who preferred silences over words, who made no friends but made enemies, ever told anyone what she just told him?
Probably not.
So why him?
"Zora," he said again, testing the name out, feeling sloppy with those two syllables he hadn't known went together. "Why are you… Why did you tell me that?"
"Because you want to trust me. Because I need you to. You're the only one I can trust here, Stubbs. I… I've been in worse situations, believe me, I have. But there's something about this park, about the people running it… It makes me nervous."
Maybe it was bad judgement. Maybe it was his heart driving him more than his brain, right now. Maybe everything was just fucked, anyway, because he knew she was right. There was something wrong at the park. Something wrong about the people he worked with, the people he worked for. So many fucking maybes.
"Okay," he finally said, watching relief flood her deep green eyes. "Okay, Haque… Zora. I trust you."
