xp_velocidad: (shades)
[personal profile] xp_velocidad posting in [community profile] xp_logs
Dom and Gabriel get to know each other a little better while on a job.

"Okay, okay, I've got one: would you rather be sticky for the rest of your life but not feel like it, or feel sticky for the rest of your life but you're not?" Dom fixed her current surveillance partner with a look far more serious than the question perhaps warranted, but then, she took time-wasting very seriously.

"Huh." Gabriel's tone didn't appropriately convey the amused look on his face. "Be sticky or feel sticky." He continued to look in front of him, shifting slightly as his eyes followed the flight of a pigeon. "If I'm sticky, that's, like, being a human roach motel, right? But then if I feel sticky I'd want to shower and oh my God, how am I even seriously contemplating this?" He sighed, turning to look at her. "How long have we been sitting here now? Forever, or forever and ever?"

"Approximately always," she told him with a beleaguered sigh. "This is our life now. Sitting and watching an empty alleyway while everybody else we know goes on with their normal lives. We'll probably miss their funerals. We'll definitely miss their weddings. Unless they hold them in the alley. D'you think we can convince them it's a good idea?"

"Might take some muscle. Stranger things have happened in alleys though." He looked back at the empty alley. "Though I guess not this one." Gabriel idly began picking at his cuticles. "Beginning to think all of Sydney's stories of exploits are giant lies."

"I dunno, live as long as he has and you're bound to have some interesting times," Dom reasoned. "But yeah, if he ever tries to tell you it's all tuxedos and martinis and James Bond shit you have my permission to hit him. And remind him of the time we had to be smuggled onto an arms base in a truck full of pigshit."

"He didn't say that exactly," Gabriel conceded after a brief silence. "But he suggested there'd be more tuxedos and martinis and James Bond shit. And there was nothing said about dung, so that's a fun surprise." He began tapping his foot idly. Being able to move so fast made it impossible for him to sit this still for this long. "Please tell me it's okay if I smoke. Please."

"Yeah, sure, knock yourself out." Dom shifted in her seat; even the most comfortable cars began to feel confining after a few hours. "Live fast die young, isn't that the saying?" She snickered. "Though I guess we're not going to be banging on the dashboard..."

"Mhm," Gabriel made a noise of assent as he shifted to dig a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He tried not to look too relieved as he tapped one out and, in a quick, powers-aided gesture, lit it and inhaled. "Live fast, die young," he repeated, as if he'd just now heard her words. "If she only knew. That's not without its disadvantages."

"Oh yeah?" She had gotten more comfortable discussing the whole... mutation thing in recent months - it was hard not to when one was literally surrounded by it day in and day out. "Like what?"

"Okay, well, like..." He shifted to look at her, being careful to hold the cigarette so it wasn't blowing smoke in her face. "Right now. I can accomplish two hour's worth of shit in 10 minutes on a really good day. A really, really good day, sure, but still. Point is, doing things normally is excruciating. Feels so inefficient. Having to sit still for this long might legitimately be killing me."

"So what do you do in the other twenty-three hours and fifty minutes?"

"Try to cope with being bored and impatient. And look for distractions."

"So is that why you hooked up with the whole 'espionage' thing? As a distraction?" She barely hesitated before reaching over to grab the pack of cigarettes off the dashboard and extracting one for herself. The scent was really getting to her and her willpower was not good on stakeouts.

"A little," Gabriel admitted. "But it's more, like..." He tapped ash out the window. "I don't know. This feels like it's actually doing something. Not slinging drinks or flirting for tips or making small-talk with lushes. And I dunno," he looked at her, a little sheepish, "I mean, for someone who didn't go to college, the pay's pretty good. Not that money's a good reason for doing anything, but you know..."

"Are you kidding? Money's a great reason to do something. In case you hadn't noticed, we kinda need money to live," Dom pointed out. "Screw 'making a difference' - what's the point of that if you can't eat?"

"Well, fine," Gabriel relented, "it was mostly about the money, and, like, 5% fantasy of being a gay Latino James Bond." The cigarette was down to its butt, and he flicked it out of the car. "What about you?" He cast a glance at her for a few seconds before returning his focus to surveillance. "Just stumble into this?"

Dom grimaced; this story wasn't nearly as cool or epic as she wanted it to be. "Kind of? The Agency asked me to come in for an interview and... I did. And then they hired me."

"I mean, okay, that's actually awesome," Gabriel said, turning to face her more completely. "I mean, they asked you. That means you were kind of a badass. Are," he waved a hand after the quick correction, "whatever. I just happened to live in the building."

She knew she liked him for a reason. Smirking, she gave a shrug and leaned to ash her cigarette out the window. "You seem to be doing pretty well to me. I'm sure you'll work your way up to 'badass' in no time."

"Oh, please," he waved a hand. "I'm Sydney's errand boy, at least for a few more years, I'm sure. But I'll get there. Or I won't." He shrugged, not really committed one way or the other. "And I'll find some other job that has me sitting in cars for hours. Valet, maybe."

"Well, hit me up if you need any recommendations for that," she told him. "Though you'll probably have to hold off on the whole smoking-in-cars thing. I hear that's a no-no."

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