Log: Garrison/Morgan

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Kane and Morgan meet up for a drink in the city. The conversation, as always, is largely insane.



Hell must certainly involve filling out incident reports in triplicate. There had been a spiteful part of Garrison that had considered changing minor words between each of the documents, so any future crosscheck would completely breakdown the system as all three forms would not correspond and there would be no way to determine the original copy. He imagined it would create some kind of bureaucratic vortex that summoned the Elder Gods of Accountancy into being, devouring the hapless clerks and administrative assistants they appeared in front of.

It was entirely possible he was working too much.

Taking a cue from his own boss, Kane clocked out at a reasonable time, checked that his training schedule and his hand-to-hand classes were clear, and decided to take the night off. It took one call to arrange company, and Kane walked into Finnigan's with his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, and the staff already waved at for his pint.

"Never work in the public sector. Word to the wise."

Morgan was comfortably curled on on a bench of a booth in Finnigan's with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to balance her book on them. Her pint sat on the table, still cold but barely touched. The red eyes flicked upward at the sound of the voice and she gave Garrison a little smirk. "Aye, but I've no great aspirations to serve the public even if it would be government consent to walk around with a gun. Granted, she carried a gun on her anyway, even though the New York state penal law banned concealed carry for ordinary citizens. Why didn't she choose to hole up in a state with an open carry permit? Like Vermont or Massachusetts or Kentucky. Of course, then she'd have to be in those states. Jersey had licensed open carry, but it was Jersey. Oh the woes of wanting to bear arms!

Refocusing on her newly acquired companion, Morgan watched as a pint was placed down in front of Garrison and she arched a white eyebrow. "So, not loving the FBI lifestyle at the moment?"

"When my major case right now is solving the 'what happened to Form 37B?', no. Duncan has decided that the penance for my absence is to get the paperwork overflow from the other agents until I'm back in the swing of things." Kane accepted his pint from the waitress and took a long draw from it. "How about you? How's Snow Valley working out?"

"Better than playing Where's Waldo, I'm sure." She shoved a bookmark to keep her page before putting the book down on the table and pushing it over to the wall so it was out of the way. Garrison got a little shrug. "Snow Valley's fine. I am minion bitch extraordinaire! I don't mind, really. LeBeau's still not forced me into paperwork and a cubicle so that makes me happy. And with that as the trade off running around doing deliveries and mildly spying on various people is a field day! Besides, I get to run about looking like a cute, harmless girl. People love talking to little, Irish Aoife."

"Makes intelligence work sound like trying to pick up in a club." Kane hung his jacket from the side of the booth. He began to roll up his sleeves, obviously physically separating himself from the office as well as mentally. "I used to get odd postcards sometimes from Pete, really cool random ones from cities I'd never even heard of. We used to call them the 'don't ask' cards, since every time we asked why he needed to be in Koen Kaen, Thailand, the answer was always 'don't ask'."

"It pretty much is," she told him and sipped at her beer. "I mean, you've got to figure out what will get them to talk without suspecting you. Aoife's perfect because most people want to talk to pretty girls and most people don't expect shy girls to pull a gun on them if they need to." Morgan shrugged. "It's win/win unless you do something that makes me pull my gun anyway." The idea of don't ask cards made her smirk, though. "Maybe I'll start sending you postcards if I ever get sent anywhere obscure and vaguely interesting, or anywhere that at least can pass as vaguely interesting even if it's not."

"I don't know. I think postcards might end up be admissible as evidence or something at the World Court." Kane said lightly, teasing her about the highly illegal element that freelance intelligence work of their type represented. "Still, wacky African postcards do get the attention of the mailman. Or the femailman, as the case may be."

"Only admissible if I write things on them that could be used against me. A codename and none of my own DNA on them and you won't have anything to turn over to the World Court on me anyway." She'd spoken in that singsong way children did about others being in trouble and then smiled at him. When the smile was gone it was replaced by a small pout. "Though, you wouldn't really turn me in, would you?"

"It all depends on the circumstances. I trust you to be smart enough to avoid the kinds of things I'd have to turn you in for." Kane said, somewhat seriously. He'd come to terms with the things Wisdom's crew did, largely by coming to terms with his own father. He trusted them not to start working for the highest bidder, or to start trying to amass power on their own. He also trusted them not to get too close to his own circles, where the decision would be made for him. "Or, at the very least, smart enough to keep me from finding out."

Morgan tapped the tip of her nose, "Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! Who says you need to not have fun when you can just make sure the authorities don't find out?!" Morgan sighed melodramatically and reached across the table to take his hand and pat it reassuringly. "See, Gar, this is why we'd never work. You'd be forced to be so upstanding and there's all these things I just couldn't ever tell you so as to not compromise your sexy and manly position as Man With Gun and to keep my ass out of jail because I'm really not up for being Bertha's bitch. I hope you understand. Our love can never be." She'd kept up the big, honest eyes and the soap opera voice of serious regret until the end when she'd paused, blew him a kiss across the table and released his hand.

"See, I think it has more to do with you being completely nuts." Kane said wryly, although not seriously. "Or the fact that I'm Canadian, and there would be a point in which automatic weapons would not be allowed in the bedroom, and then where would we be? You sulking out in the living room, cradling some German made autocannon while I was left channel surfing infomercials and wondering if my life really is missing a egg shaped knife that can make perfect potato chip cuts every time."

"Being nuts isn't so bad, love." Morgan waggled her eyebrows, "I taste like almonds that way." Her elbows propped up on the table and Morgan perched her chin in her hands. "Oh, no worries about the weapons, love. I'm not really an automatic weapon kinda girl. More a manual or semi-automatic. I prefer the guns you can chose to put into semi mode. There's just no beauty in shooting an automatic weapon. No real marksmanship involved. Though your life really is missing one of those potato chip knives. We could take that to bed!"

"Regardless of what you taste like, I can't imagine a scenario in which I'd enjoy taking ripple cut chunks out of each other during sex. Call me old fashioned, but I kind of prefer to stick to the basics, and just toss in the odd gimp or small portable generator when the urge strikes." Garrison replied over the lip of his glass as he took a sip.

Morgan slouched down further in her side of the booth. "See, and this is why our love could never be. You don't respect my desire to be ripple cut and deep fried!" Only years of practice helped the metamorph keep a straight face when she said that. Her expression morphed into a pout and she took a long drink of her pint to console herself.

"And here I thought only financial analysts were interested in blue chips." It was a typically awful pun, as both of them walked the conversation off the end of the metaphorical pier.

Morgan blinked owlishly at Garrison, not sure she really had a quip for that one. "Yeah, no, I've no follow up to that one. Point for the Canadian."

"Beer is brain fuel for us." Kane said, setting his glass back down. "So, did I miss any good gossip about the Brownstone while Pete's been at Muir?"

"Jake Gavin asked Adrienne out and then told me she was a tease because I said she would ditch him and come to my bed." Morgan shrugged as if to absolve herself from blame there. "But that's all I know. I don't really pay all that much attention, honestly."

"Adrienne's going on a date? I thought she was committed to her self-imposed nunship?" Kane said, more than a little surprised. He'd seen Jake on the journals, although didn't have a clue who he was. Since coming to the school, Adrienne had always kept a certain distance to people, especially in the sense of welcoming relationships. With her history, he couldn't blame her, so the change was unexpected.

"Aye, Adrienne on a date. It all seems a bit accidental, honestly, but," she shrugged. What could they do about it? "I already told him I'd chop his hands off and keep them in jars if he put them anywhere she didn't want them, but he seems decent enough and I don't think Wanda would keep him about as she does if he weren't. It'll do Adrienne some good to go out with someone she didn't orchestrate asking her in the first place for a change, even if it does send her a bit off balance. Besides, I think he's a little too terrified of me making good on that threat to do anything that would put him in the traumatic experience category."

"Fear will keep the locals in line? Morgan, you should know that the more you tighten your grip, the more systems will slip through your fingers." Kane atoned, although not surprised that her response had involved terrifying the guy. Just wait until Adrienne met some big mogul or something. It would likely involve Morgan rappelling down the side of a skyscraper, armed, breaching security to say 'don't hurt my friend' at gunpoint.

"It was an effective and appropriate strategy given the target," she insisted nonchalantly and drained the rest of her beer. "He has a thing about people cutting bits of him off. You find the weakness and then you exploit it for your needs, in this case my needs were that he not force anything on Adrienne lest I actually do kill him." Despite the lightness of her voice there was the sense that she meant every word of that.

"I can't imagine Pete would have anyone around that would try." Kane set his empty glass next to hers. "Alright, I need to drive back home. Any more and I'll need a couch to crash on, which sets up the whole ripple chip scenario as a possibility, and that's just too frightening to consider."

"Pete's not really in a position to be callin' the shots, love," Morgan told him, though his comment about the ripple chips made her pout. "Aye, well, fine, break my ripple cut heart, why don't you? Bloody heartless Canadians!"