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[11thstreet]

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[11thstreet]

Uh — not stock prices and fuckin' BitCoin. That shit's for lameass losers.

[he's not really beating the candy crush allegations, though, is he?]

Where were you killing them? In Lameass Loserville?

[unfazeable]

No. Various countries around the world, actually. Covert assignments from the government.

[does he not believe her? he sounds like he doesn't believe her.]

I know what I'm talking about. If you've got any other highly-trained operatives to talk to, they'll agree with me.

[11thstreet]

Yeah, I've got another highly-trained operative to talk to. Me.

[if he were, like, twelve, and not a man in his 40s, this would come in the tone of so suck it. maybe it still does.

belatedly, he wonders if he should've said that. they're all done with ARGUS now, but harcourt still might have his head? well, too late for that now.]

And what I'm telling you is that not every dude is so lame to be looking at fuckin' stock prices and BitCoin all the time.

[a beat]

Maybe I'll give you Candy Crush.

[unfazeable]

Well, maybe, you can just periodically monitor sitrep on your phone, so you don't wind up texting something tactless to a woman whose partner was just murdered by a psychopathic livestreamer yesterday.

[it actually sounds more like, well, MAYbe you can just PERiOdically monitor SITREP on your PHONE so you don't wind up TEXTING something TACTLESS to a WOman whose partner was MURDERED by a PSYCHOPATHic LIVEstreamer YESterday. she lays down her hairbrush.]

I think you can get notifications while playing Candy Crush. That'd work.

[11thstreet]

[that actually makes him take pause. oh, he thinks. oh, he says, out loud — not directly into the phone, but maybe the receiver picks it up.

lifting his free hand, he rubs at the back of his head, thinking.]

Okay, you're right, that was fucked up, and I'm gonna apologize to her. And I'll keep a closer eye on my phone in the future.

[another pause.]

Happy now?

[unfazeable]

Ecstatic.

[and then, not as sharply,]

You're all right, Chris.

[11thstreet]

Yeah?

[there's an audible shift in his voice, too. something softer; maybe a hint of the smile he's wearing now.]

You know, you're not so bad yourself. Thanks for the kick in the ass.

[after he'd just said to dean, like, fucking yesterday afternoon that he's not sure anything ever made her happy, but details!]

[unfazeable]

Yeah.

[to be fair, when he's not sneaking around performing wet ops ambushes, chris walking around the room sounds like a percussion band. and he laughs like a bullhorn. well before you add in the absolutely deafening music.

(she's started to like the music. a little.)]

You're welcome.