Page 67 of Gates of Tartarus

“Reed?” he says shortly.

“I’m sorry, Madds. I don’t understand.”

“Agent Smith, or Smith, please, Reed. This is what I’m talking about. We’re…” he pauses, searching for the right words, then just bites them out, “we’re not friends, Reed. We’re teammates.”

I startle back, physically, from the force of the words. Maddox… Smith... has put unusual weight behind them, and they hit me like a punch in my chest.

“Oh.” I can’t think of anything else to say, and he looks at me with pity in his eyes.

“I’m sorry to put that so bluntly, Reed. But we are all co-workers. Deeper than that. There is a strong – mutual, I hope – respect for each other, for our individual and unique skills and abilities. But friendship is something different. And it leads to disaster. On this team there is one lead. Me. And I’ve been soft. Which led to your accident. So moving ahead, we’ll be changing some things. No more TV lunches…” he nods at Jonah and me, who both furrow our brows in protest, “... No. You eat lunch; you meditate; you work out... But we’re nothanging outon the job. Donovan–” he motions to Walker, “will be leading daily training sessions from now on. Not your informal workouts together, although they’ve been decent. We need to step things up. And Reed…” caution enters his voice, like he’s about to say something I don’t like.Well fuck you, because this entire morning has been you saying things I don’t like, I think to myself. The air in the room is stifling, tense, almost tangible as it pushes against me. All of the men look grim, like they understand and agree with Smith’s assessment of the situation and I’m the only one who thinks he’s crazy.Which maybe means I’m the crazy one.

Watching him through narrowed eyes, I wait for him to continue. “I’ve discussed things with Seef and our Babylon contacts about the best way forward with you and the media coverage. We all think it’s best if you sign a contract–” he holds up his hands placatingly, “ashort-termcontract with Babylon. Not just as a consultant, but as an employee. They can bury things and influence things in ways you can’t imagine, ways they can’t when you don’t officially work for them. Tanaka has already agreed to sign on for a six-month period to get him out of the SPD’s Public Relations oversight.” Ridiculously hurt that Deo made a move like that without cluing me in, I turn to him, but his eyes are locked on Smith’s and are narrow with anger. “Right, Tanaka?” Smith prompts, motioning to me.

Deo sits stiffly in his seat and bites out, “That’s correct.Agent Smith.”

Smith nods, satisfied. “As Tanaka will have to run through some remedial personnel classes next week for Babylon employment, not the least of which being when it’s appropriate todischarge your fucking weapon,” for the first time Smith’s voice deepens with frustration and anger, “it would really be best if we could get you on board, and you two can take the classes together. That will also take you off SPD’s radar entirely, which will give things a chance to calm down. As you won’t be working for them anymore, they won’t have to field responses about you to the press.”

Staring at my hands, I try desperately to think through my options. On the surface it doesn’t seem like a bad thing to move to Babylon temporarily, but pieces on the chessboard are being moved without my knowledge or consent, and, in this exact moment, I can’t tell the difference between Gomez and Smith.

“And Jonah?” I ask quietly.

“He’s a bit more difficult, only because of the length of time he has left on his initial employment agreement. Should he wish to move over, it will take some maneuvering but can be done.” Jonah stays silent beside me.

Finally looking up, I meet the tight, cold eyes locked on my own. Donovan is staring at the table, and Deo, beside me, has his jaw flexed so tightly I can hear his teeth grind against each other, but Smith – Smith is just glacial, waiting for my response.

“No,” I say softly but firmly.

“No?” Smith’s eyes widen in surprise. “Reed, you understand that your handler has moved over to…”

“Without consulting me,” I interrupt bitterly. “I understand. But I won’t sign a contract with Babylon when I know next to nothing about its structures, operations, hierarchy, pay scale, benefits, etc.”

“They won’t protect you if you’re not officially on their payroll,” Smith cautions, and I laugh, bitterness like broken glass shattering the sound.

“Of course. Of course. I’ll agree…” I say slowly, thinking it through, “to a non-binding, one-month trial period.”

Smith sighs, looking down at the notes in front of him, and his shoulders tense. “They are requesting the right to limited,limited, blood samples, MRI and CAT scans, and observational testing, as part of the contract negotiations.”

“You... you…” I stutter, at a complete loss for words, then I shake my head. “Of course they are. You and fucking Gomez are peas in a pod, you know that?”

Smith looks up at me, frustration and something close to desperation warring in his eyes. “You’re something of an unknown, Reed. And valuable. Babylon are the good guys. I promise you that. But even good guys study and take advantage of all the tools in their arsenal.”

“Iamnotatool,” I whisper viciously. “I’m... I’m ahuman being, Smith!” I say desperately. “This is mybody.Mybody. And I don’t consent for anypartof my body to be used or studied or poked or prodded inanyway.” Unable to help myself, I turn to Deo with tears and hurt floating in my voice. “Youagreedto this?” I all but whisper, almost unable to force the words out.

He locks eyes with me immediately, not looking away from mine. “I wasn’t given achoice, Kai,” he replies softly. “Please believe that. And itjusthappened, or I would have said something to you. I didn't have a chance. I will remind you that you have a negotiating power I did not, in this instance.Youhave the power here. Use it.”

Looking back at Smith, disappointment heavy on my face, pulling at my skin so it looks like a mask, I shake my head. “One month. No medical testing. Observational testing only in so much as my normal work day, nothing extra or outside. Whatever you see you can report back and that’s it. No scans. No bloodwork. Nothing that relates to me on a personal level. And,” I say sweetly, causing Smith to tense, “please let them know that at the end of the month’s time, I will be removing myself from their rolodex.”

Smith sighs and nods. “Noted,” he replies shortly. Donovan is stone-still next to him, biceps flexed out, knuckles white, but he doesn’t speak. Deo is doing six-stage breathing next to me, like he’s working hard to control his temper, but his emotions are a limpid pool of cold water when I reach for them. Jonah, though. Jonah is a flame of anger and indignation, white hot, and I move from my place next to Hideo to sit by him, grabbing his hand in mine and clenching it in my cold fingers. He grips mine just as tightly, and we sit facing two different factions, Hideo on one side, Donovan and Smith on the other.The seas are getting stormy, I think.And I don’t know how to navigate these waters.

Smith, though, just continues like our entire team didn’t just get blown up and put back together in ragtag pieces. “So. Our plan moving forward. Next week will be devoted to logistics and classes for Tanaka and Reed. Shotridge, we need you to recert for marksmanship, and you’ll be training on several other weapons with Donovan, with the hope that we will be able to move you over to Babylon’s payroll as well. Assuming you want to make the change.” He adds as almost an afterthought, then continues. “I have co-ordination to work on with the British team, as well as several telecons that I’m required to attend. Donovan and Shotridge will also be running down leads on your motorcycle accident, though two of the main suspects are currently indisposed, having had an unfortunate, late-night run-in with several unknown, suspected gang members.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Who?” I ask.

Smith and Donovan very studiously donotlook at each other. Both their bodies and necks tense, eyes locked ahead of them, but Donovan’s lips twitch ever so briefly in a small smirk. Smith ostensibly checks the notes in front of him. “Hmmm… two officers by the names of... Markel and Posta? I think that’s correct. They were drunk, headed home from a bar, and were set upon by unknown assailants. Both are currently in the hospital with several broken bones.” Smith’s hands flex slightly on the table, an involuntary motion, and I narrow my eyes at him, noting the faint bruising around his knuckles.

“And when did this happen?” I ask shortly.

“Tuesday night,” Donovan answers.

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