Naomi, Raye... and a special guest.

[americanagent]

[It's been years since Naomi last saw this particular penitentiary. Or any penitentiary for that matter. Prisons had become a thing of her past when she had retired from the FBI. Still, there is something familiar in the air that never quite leaves her system - the old way of seeing things, and the old way of thinking. She feels more at home now, walking toward the barbed wire fencing, than she has in years of shopping along the LA streets, carrying bags of groceries, and winter clothes, or summer clothes.]

[She's still thinking as she walks - one step, and she's thinking of London, two and she's thinking of the areas surrounding it - especially Essex. Three, and she's thinking of poisons, delivery systems...]

[And she's counting her steps as she walks, waiting for Raye to ask her again if she's sure she wants to do this, and remind her that she's no longer an agent, and that England is outside their reach anyway. But there's a thought in her head, lodged hard, and she can't shake it lose. So she holds her packet of photographs under her arm and she walks on.]

Comments

[americanagent]

[For the most part, Raye keeps his eyes on the pavement ahead of them, focusing only on reaching their destination, but he can't help throwing little glances over at Naomi every few steps. He tries to keep his mouth shut.]

[They already had the conversation, several times, in fact. He questioned her endlessly, and she would answer the same way every time. Stubborn. She'd always been stubborn, and that was one of the things he loved about her.]

[But sometimes he wishes she would try and be just a little more cooperative.]

...I know what you're doing, you know. You're waiting for me to try and talk you out of this again. That's what you're expecting, right?

[He falls silent for a second, two, three - then sighs loudly as he reaches his limit.]

You don't have to do this, Naomi.

[americanagent]

[Naomi raises her head, and then shakes it.]

I'm sorry, Raye. I don't have any choice.

[The warm air whips around her face, and she pushes her hair back, behind her ear.]

[No one would listen. No one even looked. And she was in no position to get the attention of someone who could, at least not anymore, and not without gathering more evidence.]

[americanagent]

Don't you? You're not an agent anymore, Naomi. This isn't an assignment. It's not even a case! And this...

[Raye pauses, watching her as she walks, and watching the way her hair ran a little wild in the breeze, the way it always did despite her best efforts to tame it. That determined set of her mouth. He sighs again.]

Even if you do have to talk to someone, does it really need to be him?

[americanagent]

It is a case.

[A case across the ocean, a case no one saw but her.]

And I know I'm not an agent, but that's no reason to let people die. If there were someone else to talk to... if there were any other choice...

[She glances back at Raye, almost apologetically.]

It has to be him.

[americanagent]

Naomi...

[Stops himself and shakes his head. It was utterly impossible to reason with her when she got like this.]

[Not that that was reason enough to stop trying.]

What are you expecting from this, anyway? Do you honestly think he'll help you?

[americanagent]

Yes. I think he will. I can't explain it, but I know he will. He...

[Naomi picks up her step.]

Raye. Don't you want to know the truth?

[americanagent]

The...

[He quickens his pace to keep up with her.]

Is that what you're looking for, the truth? Or are you just going to keep searching until you find someone who will tell you what you want to hear?

[Raye stops, and frowns at himself. That may have been a little too harsh. But he also knew that it was true, in a sense; how else would she have been driven to this point?]

[Still, he softens his voice a little as he follows up the accusation.]

Look, even if you're right, they do have people there to investigate for them. People whose jobs are just that. If there is a truth, they'll find it. You don't have to get involved.

[americanagent]

People who are still trying to decide how to even begin approaching this situation, even though the way is clear.

[Naomi stops before the entrance and turns on her heel to face him.]

If there is even a chance that I can help, I have to do it. People are dying.

[She lowers her head slightly, and then looks back up at him.]

Thank you for helping me get permission to come here. I know you don't approve, but this is something I must do.

[americanagent]

[Raye looks at her face, feeling that little tug of conflict whenever she got the idea to do something she shouldn't be. He smiles a little, both soft and a bit tightly.]

[Women.]

Hm. Well, if you think this is what you need to do... I understand. I don't get it, but I understand.

So, are you ready?

[americanagent]

Yes. But.

[Naomi pauses. This was the difficult part.]

I have to go in alone. He may not speak freely if someone else is there.

[americanagent]

[For a split second, Raye's sure he heard her wrong, but he quickly understands that's only wishful thinking.]

[He squeezes his eyes shut against the realization, but it's still there when he opens them again. Why did she do this to him?]

Naomi... you couldn't have mentioned that earlier?

[americanagent]

[lowers her head, not quite able to look him in the eye.]

It's important, Raye.

[americanagent]

[Raye presses his fingertips against his forehead, not entirely able to keep his exasperation contained. But when he lowers his hand he sees Naomi with her head down, unable to look at him directly, and he sighs in resignation.]

[She'd made up her mind already, anyway. That much was obvious. It really was impossible to argue with her.]

Ahh. What am I going to do with you?

[shakes his head]

You're really sure about this?

[catchthemgone.livejournal.com]

[If Paul's honest with himself, he's pretty sick of this job. He's pretty sick of the dark rooms and the cold walls, and more than anything else, he's sick of the guy in the cell just behind him.]

[Not that the guy can do anything, really. But he's just weird. And creepy, and...]

[...well Paul's had his share of dealings with weird people, but this guy...]

[He sighs and checks the time. Two hours till the end of his shift. Then he can get away and see the sun again, and get that freak out of his mind.]

[Two hours.]

[He starts counting seconds.]

[backupcorrupted.livejournal.com]

[In his cell, he leans heavily against the door, watching the guard closely and counting the seconds in his head. It's almost as if he can feel the tension and disgust coming from the other man, or maybe he doesn't, and there isn't anything there at all.]

[Either way, he's used to it, and he doesn't care.]

[Seconds tick by and once they reach a sufficiently large number, he speaks - his voice sounds harsh, and a little forced.]

Paul.

Paul.

[catchthemgone.livejournal.com]

[Paul presses his lips together, cursing the idiocy that make him tell this freak his name.]

...what.

[backupcorrupted.livejournal.com]

[drops his hand down from the bars to his lips, biting on his thumbnail]

Paul Bergeron. Common etiquette states that you should face the person addressing you.

[lowers his head a little and rests his forehead against the door]

I have something to ask you. This is vitally important.

[catchthemgone.livejournal.com]

I'm not turning around, you freak.

[Paul really could use a drink right now.]

What is it?

[backupcorrupted.livejournal.com]

[mutters in a hoarse whisper, to himself, but not necessarily quiet enough not to be overheard]

Breach of etiquette. Fine.

[then, he presses his forehead against the door bars as if trying to push his way through, and raises his voice again]

How has your health been lately, Paul?

[catchthemgone.livejournal.com]

[Paul blinks, his muscles tensing, and he turns to face the cell without thinking]

What the hell kind of question is that?

[backupcorrupted.livejournal.com]

[stares at Paul without blinking, or moving, really... except for a slight twitch of his lips which might be a smile, although it's hard to tell]

A personal one. And I am expecting an answer. It won't do you any harm to tell me.

[catchthemgone.livejournal.com]

[scowls]

My health is fine!

[backupcorrupted.livejournal.com]

[continues staring, then tilts his head to the side slightly]

An accident then? Something unforeseen. A traffic collision most likely, judging by the time.

[slumps suddenly, still leaning against the door and still with his eyes fixed on Paul]

How boring. Paul, you wouldn't happen to have any fun hobbies, like skydiving, would you?

[catchthemgone.livejournal.com]

What?

I--

[the communicator at his side buzzes suddenly, and Paul nearly jumps out of his skin.]

Fuck!

[plucks it off of his belt and hits a button before pressing it to his ear]

[backupcorrupted.livejournal.com]

[narrows his eyes and presses himself against the door, apparently trying to get close enough to hear... but of course he can't, so instead he wraps his hands around the bars, though one of them grips tighter than the other]

Problem?