AN: Apologies for the super-long delay! I had some work travel and other unexpected things come up, but mainly (I realize now) I was mentally stuck on working out a certain event that comes later in the story, and now that I've more definitively sorted out what happens, I feel much more at ease with everything that comes in between. So. Many thanks to happymelt, midsouthmama, and faireyfan, who beta and pre-read. Thank YOU for reading!
Chapter 7: Binding Operators
The agents' clinic is in lockdown mode, with the six of us and Aro holed up in a grey waiting room and Emily sequestered among surgeons and nurses somewhere beyond a pair of heavy steel doors. All nonessential personnel have been released. Jenks sallies back and forth with news for Aro from time to time. Sam paces. He's changed out of his bloodstained clothes, but his long dark hair is greasy or worse.
"Listen up." Aro is the picture of calm, having had a good ninety minutes to compose himself since what he's now calling an 'unfortunate accident.' "I know you're—we're—all focused on Emily, but I'd be failing you if I didn't address how this incident affects our work."
Edward is the only one who makes eye contact with Aro. The rest of us gaze out of windows or at the floor. I watch Edward's face. I can see him not so much listening to Aro as reading him.
"Your covers are all intact at this point. Sam was right to assume the worst, but…outsiders were not involved." Aro clears his throat. "As for your resources, they know only that you were called to an emergency debrief. Bella, Charlie is going to find a few backdated emails reminding him about an all-day service project you're doing with the Cullens."
I grumble to myself and nod. I've had to condition my poor dad to think he's forgetful about emails by peppering his account with read messages and sent replies he's never seen and can't recall.
"And your colleague, of course, deserves and is receiving state-of-the-art care. Lest any of you think otherwise, Sundial regards her mission as a success, albeit one that involved tremendous personal sacrifice. She flipped a digit on her C-4 calculations and overtreated the barrier. As far as Sundial is concerned, it was a simple mistake anyone could make—she did nothing wrong. Though we are all disappointed, of course, that her options for the future are now more…limited…I hope every one of you knows how sincere I am when I say she transitions out of the organization with honor."
Overtreated the barrier. She blew the hell out of an old wooden warehouse gate and caught a good portion of the shrapnel with various parts of her body.
Bree stares at the wall between us and the surgical suite as if she could look straight through it. "Wait—won't the doctors and nurses see her face?"
"I don't think that will be a problem," Aro says.
Sam freezes, turns on his heel, and stalks away. A few chairs teeter and squeak against the linoleum as he brushes by.
Aro grimaces. "I only mean that they are treating her like any other collateral Jane Doe. A high-value Jane Doe, at that—of course." He scurries off after Sam, who is pacing on the sidewalk outside now.
Bree looks at me, wide-eyed. I give her a tight-lipped smile. There's nothing I can say that will reassure her. Like most people who've just met Emily, Bree's main impression is of her beauty. Other attributes—her kindness, her fierce loyalty—are more important, but Bree doesn't know those sides of her yet.
Edward leans forward in his chair and rests his elbows on his knees. "Her face? Do you think it's bad?"
I shrug. I can't talk about this.
Leah, on the other hand, has no problem vocalizing anything. "Well, what do you think? We know for sure her earlobe was severed. You don't lose an ear without part of your face going along for the ride."
Jacob shakes his head, grim disapproval on his face. "Would you cool it? Jesus, Leah. This is your friend."
Edward tunes them both out. He's watching me now, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. His knee starts bouncing when he gets to the same point I'm at: The facts don't add up. C-4 for a wooden warehouse gate? A seven-year veteran letting a bad calculation override her gut check about how much to use?
This isn't the time or the place to get into it. I shake my head and go find Sam.
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Aro looks at me with obvious relief when I approach Sam and him on a bench in the sun. He fumbles with his phone and makes an excuse to go back inside.
Sam groans when I take Aro's place beside him on the bench. "You know the drill, Swan. I have no comment. Not even to you."
"Don't worry. I'm not here to question you."
We watch a few ducks playing in the pond for a while. It's clearly an artificial pond—perfectly symmetrical, with a statue of a naked boy spitting water in the middle.
"You know, when they first put Edward on my second channel, it took a lot of getting used to. This would have been, I guess, three years ago?" Sam nods next to me. His eyes are closed. "It was almost too easy to reach him at any time of day or night…I was afraid of annoying him. I distrusted my own instincts, because I found myself wanting to tell him things I never cared to tell Aro on the first channel.
"I struggled for a long time. I was sure there had to be a trick. Some sort of bait and switch. Or another of Aro's tests. I guess I began to forget about that, though. I let myself trust Edward."
My eyes burn when I remember this. It pains me even now to acknowledge that I have Aro to thank for the most valuable thing in my life. This friendship.
"For him, too, it was awkward at first. He was worried he would interrupt time with my dad. He didn't want to interfere with my privacy."
Sam doesn't say a word but leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs. His head drops down. If he was Edward, I would rub his back in between his shoulder blades, but I don't know if Sam would welcome that sort of thing.
"But now that we've both adjusted, I can't imagine not hearing his voice in my ear ten times a day. Fifty times a day. First thing in the morning. Last thing before I fall asleep. He can tell by the sound of my breathing if I'm cold. He can hear in my voice how I feel."
Sam's body shudders slightly. He lifts his hands to prop up his head. He speaks barely loud enough for me to hear—the way we've all been conditioned to, I guess. "I knew it was coming, but it wasn't supposed to be like this. Her disconnecting, I mean."
I nod. It's usually done quietly in Jenks' office, with the partner present. "It's just going to be an adjustment again. That's all. You'll still have the same relationship you always had, right? Only more like normal people. That might be good."
He twists so I can see his face in profile. He's frowning. "Five years, Bella. She's been connected to me like this for five years. I'd never try to make her stay, but I don't know what to do without her."
"What do you need? If she could hear your voice right now, what would she say to you?"
He looks at the unnaturally green grass and huffs. "She'd say I need to get over myself and forgive her."
I study his face, wondering what he isn't saying. Forgive her for what? He stares back, willing me to read his mind. When I hear the tick-tick-tick of the automatic sprinkler system activating, followed by a welcome bath of white noise, I see a look of determination wash over his face. He leans in.
"Keep Edward close, Bella. Get him closer, even. Don't let him feel like he needs to keep anything from you. It's too dangerous."
I open my mouth to ask him to explain, but he shakes his head. The little spark of fury in his eyes dies down again, replaced by a dull glaze.
He walks away from me and bends to put his head in the sprinkler's line of fire, pink-tinted water dripping from his hands as he drags them through his hair. He rinses and rinses until the water runs clear.
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Jenks orders Chinese food for us, and we eat huddled over takeout boxes around a bright white rectangular table. Everyone but Sam, that is. He's finally been allowed to go in and see Emily. Edward avoids conversation by studying the book Mrs. Cope gave him. He's on his second pass through it, this time with a pen in hand to underline whatever strikes him. I think he likes it because it reminds him that there are other ways of living.
Aro peers at the cover. "A Moveable Feast. Interesting choice of reading material, Edward."
He shrugs. "Discard bin."
"Hemingway fan?"
"Not particularly. Honestly, I was kinda hoping for a how-to manual on the catering business." He looks Aro squarely in the eye. His voice is flinty. "For my second career, you know?"
Edward shoves away from the table and throws his napkin down.
Aro doesn't even blink. "Passionate boy. He's deeply affected by this business, obviously. Leah, dear, have you got any extra sweet and sour sauce?"
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When it becomes clear that our vigil will last overnight, Aro has headquarters send Carlisle orders to call Charlie to say we missed the last ferry crossing. I listen in silently until Charlie asks Carlisle to put me on. I apologize. I promise we're studying, and say that Esme is a strict mom. Carlisle sticks to the script. If he wonders why I'm mixed up with Edward's secret business, he never lets on.
It isn't necessary to keep us all here, since we're not under siege. But Aro seems to sense that we need to be together now. Either that or he senses that he can use it to his advantage. He leads us down a corridor to a sort of makeshift lounge in what used to be a patient waiting room.
He pulls a remote from somewhere and draws our attention to a large flat screen T.V. bolted to the wall. "I apologize if the timing is somewhat…awkward. But it occurs to me that several of you are nearing your zero year, and the program has decided it does not benefit you to have that experience shrouded in mystery. Even Bree should know what is in store for the rest of you. I'm available for any questions, of course."
The video he plays for us is all top-notch production values, all Technicolor scenes boasting of exotic dream destinations and a year of respite, all expenses paid. We see people summiting mountain peaks, piloting sailboats, reading in shaded hammocks on the beach. Alone, always alone. A voiceover hints at the opportunity to select a new identity and make a fresh start—wherever and with whomever you choose. This last part, this reference to carrying over some relationships, seems like an add-on, shoehorned in.
I glance at Edward to see if this changes his cranky demeanor. He doesn't seem to register the information though, focused as he is on the screen. He stares at the pixelated blobs where faces should be, searching for signs of humanity.
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Aro indicates that this wing also houses sleeping rooms. He gathers us around as if to make bed assignments, but then appears to have a change of heart. He gestures for us to do as we wish and leaves us be, saying, "Mind the little one, obviously."
Sam isn't in any condition to take care of Bree. Edward begins to step forward, but Leah stops him. "Wait. Jake will go with Sam. Let Bree stay with me."
None of us can sleep, though. Edward finds an old Xbox console in the lounge, and we take turns playing Grand Theft Auto. I stretch out on the couch and let exhaustion take over. I come to at some point in the night and find a blanket draped over me. Edward is asleep on the floor, a spot of drool darkening the carpet under his cheek. I rouse him, and together, we stumble to an unoccupied room with a softer place to sleep and better blankets.
As I'm drifting off again, I hear his breath in my ear. "Don't ever get hurt. Promise me."
"Hey. Hey. You know I can't—"
"Just promise me."
"Of course. I promise, okay? Just go to sleep. You're delirious."
"The tunnel," he says, lighter than whispering. "Did they have you use it?"
I shake my head, shivering and pulling him closer.
"Me neither."
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We go to see Emily in the morning. Her face—what I can see of it—is swollen with bruises and whichever meds do that to a person. That's not the part that gives me chills. She looks impossibly peaceful. It's not a haze; her eyes peeking from layers of gauze are clear. It looks like relief.
"Hey, B." She sandwiches my hand between hers. More gauze. Edward hangs back. "I'm okay, you guys. Don't look at me like that."
I guess I keep looking at her like…however.
"Okay, whatever." She laughs softly and pets my hand like I'm the one who needs comforting. "Everything's going to be fine. I'm getting my life back. I'll see you again. On my own terms."
She's practically giddy.
In the car on the way home, Edward flips open his bag and shows me a Mylar assignment pack, shaking his head. It just wouldn't be like Aro to let us catch a break; this is the job that would have gone to Bree. He closes the flap again just as quickly.
We drop him off first, and when I get home and power up my off-the-grid laptop five minutes later, I find a terse message from him. She did it to herself. I don't know how, but that's no shrapnel accident. Not a single hair singed.
A second message appears while I'm reading the first. I guess no Volturi career for her. It's genius, really.
I don't answer him by email, but over the SatCom. I pinch my earlobe. "Edward. I know. She's okay. It'll be okay." I listen to him breathing. The strangest impulse strikes me; I feel the words I love you poised on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I say, "We'll be okay." It's the best I can do. Maybe it's the same.
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He offers to drive me to Evergreen Manor the next morning. On the ride over, he asks if they might find a use for him if he sticks around for the day. Lauren snags me before I even take off my jacket.
"Hey, Bella. Mrs. Cope wants to go to the bank, but the van is in the shop." She steers me by my elbow down the main corridor, talking as we walk. Edward follows close behind us. "Can you take her? She likes you. She even asked for you."
"Well, I came here with this one. He's not on Evergreen's insurance." I look over my shoulder and watch his face, knowing what Lauren will suggest. He'll need to have his FauxPrint prosthetic fingertips on him in order to get cleared.
"They can add him." Lauren looks back and forth between the two of us. Edward nods his head subtly for my benefit. "You'll do it, though? Assuming he doesn't have a warrant out for his arrest?" She laughs to show me she's only kidding.
"Yeah. No trouble at all," Edward says. He flashes me a smile that's three parts Attentive Boyfriend, one part Wary Operative.
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Mrs. Cope is bleary-eyed in the van. She clutches the paperwork Lauren sent with her, which I soon find out has to do with accessing her safe-deposit box.
"Right this way," the official says to us. He seems to know Mrs. Cope. "Are these two with you, Shelly?"
She nods. "From Evergreen."
He leads the three of us down a corridor. Mrs. Cope lists a bit to the right as she walks. Edward offers his elbow.
What used to be the vault has been repurposed to house the safe-deposit boxes, apparently. The room is like something out of an old gangster movie, with high ceilings and a heavy mahogany table surrounded on all sides by walls composed of sealed metal compartments. Together, Mrs. Cope and the bank official retrieve a solid-looking rectangular steel box. We follow them to yet another room, this one a nondescript beige square with a plain desk and two chairs.
Edward makes a circuit of the perimeter, furtively sweeping the room for bugs with his Signal Detector. He's on edge because our IDs and thumbprints weren't taken when we entered the vault, which is a pretty serious security lapse. Mrs. Cope looks at him askance. I shake my head as if to say: Boys. I take a seat when she pats the chair next to her.
"Every young lady should have pearls. Just humor me and let me see how they look on you." I blush and let her drape a strand around my neck. I can easily sneak the pearls back into her stash when she's not looking. She nods approvingly, slipping a similar strand around her own powdery neck. "You never know when the occasion will arise, hmm? Look at it in the light—here, just look." She hands me a small makeup compact from her purse and points to the dimmer switch on the wall.
As I move to the wall and brighten the lights, our banker backs out of the room, closing the doors with a heavy clink. I'm torn between checking my reflection in the compact mirror and interpreting the expression on Edward's face.
All at once, I find myself taking into account the variables inherent in this scenario. There are a lot of them. Too many, when you consider the things people keep in safe-deposit boxes.
I take a step toward Edward out of reflex, goose bumps cropping up on my arms. I can actually see the hairs on his neck standing at attention. We both realize at the same time that we've turned our backs on Mrs. Cope. Slowly, ever so slowly, we turn around. Edward's cold hand on my wrist mirrors the ice in my veins.
She's standing near the far wall, drawn up to her full height. Her shoulders are square and straight, her arms folded. She's holding an old-school Signal OverRyde remote in her hand. Her countenance has transformed completely from what it was a moment ago. Her eyes are piercing and steady. Her voice, when she speaks, rings with authority.
"Listen closely, you two. Sorry for the ruse, but this is just about the only bug-proof room in Seattle. The average customer spends eighteen minutes in here, and we're already at 2:18, so forgive me if I skip the niceties and cut to the chase. We won't get two chances at this, so I need you to listen carefully. Hear me out—ask questions later. First things first: Do you trust me?"
"But you—"
"Yes. The dementia con. Oldest trick in the book. Effective, but goddamn, it takes a toll on the body." She cracks her neck and shakes the tension out of her shoulders. "No matter. I asked if you trust me. If the answer's no, I have you escorted out and I turn your SatComs back on." She waves the remote when she says this. "No harm, no foul. If the answer's yes…well. Can we carry on?"
She glances at Edward's bag. That's twice now. The sealed Mylar assignment pack peeks out from under the flap.
I look at him, finding the answer I need, then at her.
"Mrs. Cope—or whoever you are—yes, we trust you."
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