Work Text:
Swift is accustomed to handling pressure. Even before his time at Targent, Agent Swift had always been good at making do; he handled school and work and the expectations of his peers and family.
While he isn’t eager to be seen as boastful, Swift is rather proud of his position under Commander Bronev. The position as a right-hand man was difficult to achieve and harder to maintain.
Bronev was their figurehead. He called the shots and set things into motion with his words and the flourish of his pen upon paper. Swift’s job is to make it happen. He’s the wind beneath the leader’s wings.
Somehow, Swift is barely treading water at the moment. He doesn’t resent his job, no, but there are times where he wishes that he could ask Bronev for some extra assistance. Perhaps, when he got a free moment, he could organize for more administrative positions to delegate tasks to.
As it stands, the agent has quite a few files on his desk. Reports about the increasing threat of the infamous bug who refuses to be squashed (a man by the name of Descole), appraisals of the City of Harmony, working theories about the Infinite Vault, and papers to be signed on how to handle the interference happening with the Garden of Healing. That, at least, could probably be passed to Bronev.
The man massages his temples. Beyond the work related to the Azran and their overarching goals, he’s dealing with the agents directly. There were bounties to be drafted for defectors, behavioral incident reports, and there was supposed to be a new batch of fledgling agents to be named and personally seen to by Swift.
The work never ends, but it’s quite literally what he signed up for with this position.
Swift can handle it. Even if this is his second (third?) day without sleeping, even if he has to wear sunglasses to combat the eyestrain from reading fine print all day, even if his office is a shoebox with a light that flickers every so often. There’s just not enough time to take a pause.
A knock at the door startles him from where he was just about to start nursing his third cup of coffee.
“Enter.”
The door creaks, and Swift mentally catalogues that as another thing to fix when he has the time. It’s Agent Finch. He’s scheduled to meet her on Saturday at noon. Was it that time already?
Not to seem caught off-guard, he beckons the young woman in.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon. You may be seated.”
She sits as he shuffles the files on his desk, trying to find the necessary two. Their meeting was for two purposes: a resolution to Kingfisher’s termination and to conduct a second evaluation of Finch’s capacity to continue field work.
“If I may, sir?” At his nod, she continues, “Why am I here? Commander Bronev cleared me.”
“I’m aware. Consider it a second opinion.”
Swift wasn’t technically assigned to appraise her, but Bronev shouldn’t be cross with him for doing so.
So long as his protegee passed his test, that is. He can’t imagine that his superior would be very pleased if he made the executive decision to remove her from her mission in London.
Kingfisher was unremarkable, he thinks as he flips through the meager file that they have on the former agent. His real name was Markus Kelly, recruited from the ads put out for a ‘security’ position. There’s a disciplinary sheet from a lower administrator putting on the record that he’d been harassing one of his female colleagues, and the incident had been resolved by sending the injured party to be stationed somewhere else. No punishment was put on record.
If Swift allowed himself to have such personal vindictive thoughts, he’d say that Kingfisher had it coming. It was unfortunate that his loss of life accompanied trauma on the end of one of their most valuable members, though.
“Sir?”
Swift shakes his head to clear it. “Yes, right.” Focus. “Also, you can just call me Swift.”
“Alright. You can call me Emmy, then.”
He resists the urge to cringe. It wouldn’t be good to establish any sort of familiarity, even if he’d technically breached that upon their initial meeting by offering some personal details to her.
That whole mission was the cause of their current mess, and Swift won’t let himself feel too guilty for not living up to his typical standards of behavior. He doesn’t know what Bronev was even thinking when they went to the cliffside town in the first place. If only he could pick his superior’s brain.
“Well, Finch,” He emphasizes the use of her agent name, hoping to subtly deter her from getting too comfortable. Their commander gets enough flak for supposed favoritism, and Swift isn’t eager to hear commentary about how she has both of the leaders in her pocket. “This meeting is a formal resolution to the incident with Kingfisher.”
He doesn’t miss the woman’s flinch at the deceased agent’s name. Not a very strong start.
“Am I allowed to ask why Bronev’s evaluation wasn’t enough?”
He sighs. “Commander Bronev isn’t technically in charge of your case, so I have the authority. And, if I’m allowed to say such a thing, the report he signed was… lacking.”
Swift doesn’t ordinarily badmouth his superior (for a multitude of reasons) but he feels that it’s pertinent here, especially if Agent Finch was asking for a direct reason. He really shouldn’t say anything off about Bronev to his protegee, but Swift’s cognitive functions might be the slightest bit impaired at the moment.
“Lacking how?”
Figuring that it can’t hurt to actually show her what was written, Swift opens her file.
If it weren’t for the thickness of her file (a testament to her prowess and controversy), one would assume that Emmeline Altava, designated Finch, was a regular, run-of-the-mill agent. Her file begins with a picture of herself in uniform in case a body requires identification, along with the fledgling graduation assessment that someone in the previous administration had signed off on.
Swift flips through the respective folders in her file, because her file is full enough to require subsections, and plucks Bronev’s field clearance from the end of the incident reports.
It states, simply, that Emmeline was fit for field work and exempt from extraneous missions until further notice. Nothing on the woman’s reactions, mental state, or affirmation that she’d agreed or confirmed the report. The report on her side of what happened in the cave is under higher clearance, meaning that Bronev, the man to question her, is also the only one able to access any documents reporting what happened in the cave. Entirely lackluster, and if anything were to prove later down the line that she wasn’t fit for missions, the trail would lead back to Swift. He was, after all, the one to handle incidents between agents.
From behind the shade of his glasses, the right-hand man watches her. Finch reads the slip of paper placidly enough and then returns it to him. “I’m afraid I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like. It seems fine enough to me?”
He resists the urge to sigh, instead sipping at his coffee to give himself a second.
“It’s supposed to be more thorough than this, and it would reflect badly on me if it came out that I allowed you back to work if this was all that was said on your clearance.”
“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.” Emmeline looks a bit cowed.
Her report deems her as a spitfire, prone to argument, disobedience, and aggression. Her disciplinary file is a laundry list of threats, fistfights, and trips to the infirmary. It’s a stark contrast to what he’s actually seen of her, though maybe it’s a testament to her respect to the man that raised her.
Respect wasn’t quite the word. In Bronev’s presence, Finch was a fly on the wall. She addressed Swift politely, if not a tad eager to overcome formality.
Fear, then. Obedience. Deference to authority.
He can’t say that her demeanor after terminating Kingfisher was anything close to her natural state, and he’s not sure that their initial conditions for meeting encouraged her to act normal either.
There was a healthy amount of fear to be held towards authority, Swift thinks, but he doesn’t relish in others fearing him like he knows some others to do. And that’s a good quality, because it means he’s in a leadership position for the right reasons.
“Let’s begin.” Swift takes another swig of his coffee before setting it down. His hands tremble as he leaves through other files on his desk for a scratch piece of paper. He could type up a proper report later when he had the time. “Has your physical health fully improved since the incident? Are you having any lingering symptoms from the head trauma?”
Agent Finch shakes her head, the brunette curls bouncing around her shoulders. Technically, agents were required to have their hair up, and when inside the Nest a uniform was required during operation unless exemption was made for stealth missions. Emmy hadn’t come in uniform, choosing instead to wear a yellow sweater over a white blouse.
Swift should correct her, but he doesn’t. Their meeting is supposed to be quick anyways, and her purpose in the Nest is expressly to meet him, as far as the man is aware.
The man himself had shed the uniform jacket and his hair is falling loosely around his shoulders. The platinum ends are fried and frizzy, but he hasn’t had the time to redye the roots or care much for the bleached parts. Someday soon, when the workload lessens.
“No lingering headaches?” He rattles off symptoms, checking her reaction throughout. “Light sensitivity, fatigue, brain fog…”
“No, sir.” Unless the agent had the best poker face of all time, she appeared to be truthful.
“Very well. Have you been experiencing any trauma symptoms after the fact?”
Finch hesitates. Long enough to indicate uncertainty.
“I’d like to remind you that lying here is a punishable offense.” Swift tacks on, “We can’t support unreliable agents, Finch. Termination is on the table if you lie in an attempt to stay on the field.”
The woman grimaces. “I wasn’t planning on lying, I just wouldn’t qualify my experience as a trauma symptom. I think I’m just reacting weirdly to what happened. Nothing bad, just weird.”
“Could you describe it to me?”
“Well, my nervous system is just having a field day all the time, haha.” When her attempt at a joke falls flat, Finch continues more quietly. “Ah- particularly, I’ve noticed that I get a rush of adrenaline when people are behind me. Being in confined spaces is- I’m trying to avoid it, because it feels like I can’t breathe. And rain. Rain reminds me of it. Rushing water in general, actually, reminds me of- um-” Emmeline shuts her mouth fast enough that it clicks, and she shrinks back in her chair. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”
Swift only hums and continues writing on the report. It’s too early to make an official diagnosis, but the agent appears to be experiencing significant post-traumatic stress symptoms. Claustrophobic and ombrophobia, in addition to some kind of hypervigilance, based on what she’s saying. It’s difficult to say whether or not she’s understating the severity of the symptoms without observation, but Swift isn’t eager to send her to someone that would test it and potentially traumatize her further. Emmy has been through more than enough.
“And does any of this interfere with your mission? Has anyone suspected anything because of the presentation of these symptoms?”
Finch shakes her head. “Layton is a bit concerned but didn’t push too hard for me to explain the source of my behavior. I haven’t lost awareness of my surroundings or really panicked too hard about things, I just feel sort of sick thinking about it.”
“And that’s to be expected.” Swift makes his own attempt at humor, “I don’t suppose you found the trip here very enjoyable, then.” The Nest is located in a notoriously rainy area, likely an attempt by the Azran to protect the obelisk residing at the center.
Her ensuing giggle is pitchy. Forced. “A little, yeah.”
Swift’s office would be an ordinary size if it weren’t for the old clutter he didn’t have the time to clean out. As it stands, there’s hardly room for his desk and two chairs. He thinks it was a storage closet before. It mustn’t be pleasant for the woman if she’s claustrophobic.
Considering that he’d never been in a situation that required meeting Targent’s previous administration, Swift doesn’t know what the penthouse at the top of the Obsidian Tower looked like before. He is, however, certain that there was room for two desks in the large room. In Swift’s very tired professional opinion, Commander doesn’t need that much space to do his work.
“For the record, you know that exemptions from other missions means that we expect higher excellence in that which you’re assigned?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, exactly…?”
Bronev clearly hadn’t explained the terms and conditions fully before signing off, then. “Your desertion from the scheduled inquiry with Dr…” Words are failing him. Swift blinks a few times, trying to regain his focus.
“Schrader?”
“Yes, Schrader, thank you. Dr. Schrader.” Swift wants to smack his head on the desk. He really needs to finish this meeting quickly so he can take a nap. Or chug more coffee in hopes that the caffeine will help him think. Or both. “Leaving your post made you liable for termination, and it was only due to the discovery of the City of Harmony that saved you from getting in real hot water. I made that clear to you.”
“Right. And the mission with you and Commander Bronev and…” Finch falters, voice cracking before regaining its strength. “That one was to prove my loyalty.”
Swift nods, even if he doesn’t think it’s truly the case.
Bronev stayed mostly at the Nest, as did Swift. To have even one leader leave was odd, not mentioning two. For as skilled as Bronev was as an archaeologist, it wasn’t really much better than any of the other ones that they had on deck. To have both leaders leave for a weekend-long mission was unheard of in Swift’s time as second-in-command, but he’s not one to question the older man.
He thinks it was meant to be the commander’s evidence to Swift that he’s not playing favorites. By having the young agent almost singlehandedly solve Azran riddles when presented with translated texts, it meant that his (minimal) praises of her usefulness weren’t unfounded. To many agents around the Nest, Emmeline’s name was synonymous with nepotism.
From an objective standpoint, Agent Swift could see where the allegations came from. Most of her disciplinary file after Bronev’s rise to power had the addendum that infractions were handled personally by a ‘higher authority.’ Whether or not it means she got off scot-free for threatening violence against Agent Crake or sending Agent Mallard to the infirmary, it was hard to tell.
There were additional signs: Emmeline’s seemingly-endless access to the Commander’s office, her important station for a current long-standing mission, etc.
But Bronev didn’t treat her particularly specially, from the brief interactions during the mission that Swift was privy to. When the two had entered the helicopter, the commander had been in a foul mood and his protegee had hardly made a peep. After Emmeline emerged from the flooded cave, soaked to the bone and splattered in blood and other matter, it had been Swift that procured her a shock blanket while the elder man tried to provoke a response from her. He stayed with her as Swift investigated the cave and cleaned up the body.
Once Emmy was mostly back to herself, Bronev had pushed for an immediate interrogation. Agent Swift was the one to cut her off, recognizing that the young woman was well beyond her limits. Bronev fought him on it, wanting it done and dusted.
Swift thinks that if Bronev was wont to playing favorites, he wouldn’t have tried prying about the incident at all. If anything, he seemed to lean on the side of excessively harsh towards the young agent in an attempt to appear uncaring.
It’s all perplexing.
Finch clears her throat and it takes everything in him not to jump. He’d definitely been spacing out.
“Apologies. As I was saying-”
“Are you alright?”
Swift blinks at her, surprised at the concern in her gaze. “Yes.”
Finding his coffee cup nearly empty as he goes to have another sip, Swift sighs.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Agent. I’m quite alright. As I was saying, being focused on only one mission means that we expect you to be flawless. Longer, more thorough reports, proof of high investment and the like. And, for the record, if you go AWOL again, there’s no guarantee that you won’t be terminated from your position. We’ve had agents executed for less.”
Agent Finch shrinks under his gaze. “Right. I’m still on thin ice.”
“There’s been no inquiries about Agent Kingfisher, and I’ve kept a tight wrap on the cleanup such that no rumors spread about your involvement. Nonetheless, Emmeline, you remain a source of controversy. Perfection on your end is pretty much the only way we can justify keeping you around.”
She grimaces. “I understand. Thank you for your leniency.”
With another heavy sigh, Swift picks his pen back up and scribbles some ending notes. “I think I might need a signature later from you, but other than that we’re done here. You’re officially on the record to receive no punishment for terminating Kingfisher and cleared to continue your mission in London.”
“Oh! Great!” Emmeline stands quickly, beaming. “Am I good to go, then?”
“Unless we have further business.” Swift stands as well, ignoring the headrush. “I’ll follow you out.”
“Oh, where are you going? I have a little bit of time till the next plane to London.”
He lifts his coffee cup. “I’m out.” Swift closes the two open files on his desk and grabs his keys from inside one of his desk drawers. Not that anyone has a particular incentive to break into his office, but one never knows.
Their reputation has been growing a bit seedier recently. They aren’t exactly screening for quality of character when recruiting fledgelings.
“And you’re sure that you’re alright?” The young woman presses as he slips on the uniform jacket and adjusts the fit of the belt.
“Yeah. There’s just a lot of work to be done.”
As the two exit his office, Swift locks up while squinting around. For as much as the shitty light in his office didn’t help the eyestrain from paperwork, the hallways of the Obsidian Tower were brightly lit and the sunglasses clearly didn’t adequately prepare him for it.
“I can probably work something out with Uncle Leon to get you some time off. You seem like you could use a vacation.”
Unsure if she’s trying to be kind or if she’s trying to butter him up, Swift waves her off. “If it’s not my job, it would have to be Bronev’s. He’s got enough on his plate too without a double workload.” Or it would have to go to someone less qualified, and Swift hadn’t yet handpicked any safe candidates to lessen the load of his position.
Anyone helping him had to have good intentions, lest there be a leak of any classified documents. At worst, it could cause an insurrection like that of before Bronev took power.
It’s better to just handle the lot of it himself.
“If you’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
Agent Finch seems relatively levelheaded, but she couldn’t be his first pick of assistance. Then they’d really never beat the allegations of nepotism.
They part ways as Swift enters the breakroom, with Emmeline giving a spirited wave and him responding with a nod. Thank god the croissants were still stocked.