Chapter Text
Bradley felt strangely calm about all of this. Perhaps it was the matter of fact way they all talked, like this was nothing out of the ordinary, the spy agency and the plots and the plane crashes. Maybe it wasn't, for them, and that, if anything should've spiked panic, should've set alarm bells ringing. It didn't though. He wondered what that said about him.
The woman, Loveday apparently (his closest ally and would be killer apparently) looked to be wrapping up whatever one-sided conversation she was conducting through her watch - how did that even work? - and Hitch was saying something about helicopters and weather conditions, could helicopters not fly in snow that seemed like a design flaw, like bees in rain, though that was disproved, or was that the book - Lovedays watch beeped and he startled.
"So how does that work?"
Something passed over Lovedays face as she turned her impassive gaze from the street outside to him, though it was gone before he could identify it. She looked confused for a second, then glanced down at her watch.
"Same basic principle as a phone. Radio waves through satellites and wires. Just smaller"
"That's what I mean, how can it be so much smaller, how does it all," he paused, searching for the right word. "...fit?" he finished lamely.
"That's a question for Hal."
"Hal?"
"Weapons and tech division, he's the go to for anything technical"
Weapons. That threw him for a beat.
He looked at the woman in front of him, with her hardened features and flintstone eyes and wondered at how many could've died by her hand, whether she'd ever killed anyone. Aside from him, he supposed, technically. What would a secret agency use weapons that, by the looks of things, were miles ahead of the public sphere of knowledge, for. Were they preventative, defensive? or was the agency the aggressor? Ruby had said they were good, but she was a child, how much did she know, how much could she know.
There was a light clink, then the watch appeared in his eyeline, lying on the table. He picked it up and with one look at Loveday knew she could see exactly where his thoughts were leading him.
"Ask."
He considered her for a moment. The rigid set of her shoulders, the way her eyes shuttered over when he met them. She's scared, he realised with a jolt. She's scared that whatever answers she'll have to give won't be enough.
"Coffee?"
"Excuse me?"
"Would you like some coffee? Or tea, they've got a nice herbal one I think, somewhere in the back if you prefer that kind of thing?"
"That's not what you want to ask."
He laughed at that. "Yes it is."
"It's not."
"It is."
"No it-" Loveday cut herself off abruptly, glaring. That made him laugh harder, the juvenile nature of the game delighting him.
"Yes it is. I would like to have coffee. With you."
She stared at him. He tried to keep his expression open, fighting the grin threatening to take over his face. Her expression didn't change, a painfully careful blank facade. New strategy.
"I do have one question, actually."
"Yes?" Her voice caught.
He held up the sleek watch by the strap, letting it dangle between them.
"What else can this do?"
Seeming to accept his deflection, Loveday provided a brief overview of the functions of her watch that he was still turning over in his hands, which seemed to be equipped with everything but the kitchen sink.
Trying to mask his enthusiasm somewhat, Bradley quipped,
"So a swiss army knife but in a watch and with a grappling hook?"
"Your swiss army knife has a laser?"
"There's a laser?!"
The corners of her mouth twitched up and she gestured for him to hand the watch back to her.
He grinned and clutched the watch to his chest.
"Bet I can guess."
She faltered for a second, then nodded.
"Go ahead."
He turned it over slowly in his hands, tracing over the bumps and ridges with the pad of his finger, searching for any memory, for some dormant instinct to drive his hand. After about forty five seconds he looked up at Loveday who was quietly observing his lack of progress, her head tilted slightly to the right and a fond look in her eyes that inexplicably made his chest ache. It was gone in a blink, so quickly Bradley almost believed he'd imagined it, except, how could he, he didn't even know she could look like that, at anyone, and suddenly the missing years in his memory, that he'd resigned himself to letting go, seemed incredibly important.
The weeks after he left the hospital no one quite knew what to do with him. Walt had given him free use of the spare room above the diner to heal his leg and let his wounds scar over, accepting his rather inept help around the diner as payment. It was meant to be temporary, his stay in the diner and his stay in the town but after a month or two, when it became clear that he couldn't remember where he'd come from or who he'd left behind, his residence became more permanent; life went on, and judging by the rather glaring absence of visitors,he may not have had anyone to leave behind.
That hurt sometimes, because how could it have been that there was no one out there, not family or friends, not even an overly involved coworker to report him missing. He found himself wondering who he must have been, before, to be left so acutely alone. There must have been someone, he knew they must have existed because he would wake up missing them, half asleep, blearily searching the other side of the bed, the realisation they weren't there robbing him of sleep.
The watch forgotten, he got to his feet, "do you think you can get my memories back, is that even a possibility or - or am I just a… a lost cause."
If Loveday was thrown by the drastic change of tone and topic she didn't let it show.
"Yes." She said simply. "We have a doctor specialised in cranial injuries who studied under one of, if not the best, memory specialists out there." She paused for a moment. "At the absolute least you'll have an explanation as to why you can't remember if her treatment doesn't work, though that's a rather pessimistic outlook to start with."
Her assurance, whether genuine or meant merely for his benefit, was working, the words washing over him like a balm.
"I'd like to think I'm an optimist." He smiled.
"Yes."
There it was again, that jolt of realisation, that she knew him, maybe better than he knew himself. Definitely better than he knew Bradley, he knew Mo. How much of who Mo was, who he was was simply an echo of Bradley? Did she see him now when she looked across the table?
"You know me." The joke fell flat. His smile felt strained and Loveday didn't break whatever mask she was putting on, just tilted her head slightly, considering him. Her lips quirked up into a slight smile and she suddenly looked unbearably sad.
She shook her head, looking down, breaking his gaze.
"Maybe."
He couldn't bear to see her sad.
"Maybe? Come on, what am I allergic to?"
"Gerbils and kiwi."
"Kiwi huh?" He paused uncomfortably. He hadn't known about that one.
"Didn't know about that one, I'll have to keep it in mind," then he grinned, "It took me a nasty run in with Sven's 'little family' to discover that first one"
She nodded up at him, looking simultaneously amused and slightly concerned, and Bradley belatedly realised he was still on his feet. He shifted uncomfortably then brightened.
"Tea!"
Her eyebrows rose.
"Or coffee. Are you hungry?"
- -
"What was it exactly I did for you then?"
LB looked up from the blueberry muffin he'd pilfered from the yet unboxed delivery sitting in the back of the coffeeshop, looking the most confused he'd yet seen her, eyebrows slightly furrowed, seemingly somewhat alarmed by the question.
"What was my role? What… function did I perform at spectrum?"
"Oh." Her expression relaxed back into that frustratingly unreadable blank gaze then she frowned again, "Redfort didn't explain?"
"I flew planes?" He shrugged, it was a miracle he was conscious of anything ruby had said at all really.
She nodded wisely, "Not untrue."
He waited. Silence.
"Well?"
She took a bite of the muffin and looked back at him blankly. Bradley groaned and let his head drop onto the table.
"You were Spectrum's golden child. All round field agent. Ace code breaker. Like a jack of all spades except you were master of all. Hard not to be, you passed the selection process by age 7, all that natural aptitude fostered in accelerated conditions." She paused for effect. "Head of party planning committee."
"Your super secret spy agency has a party planning committee?"
She looked at him accusingly and he grinned with dawning comprehension. "My legacy."
She hummed noncommittally.
"So…age 7 huh? That seems." He paused, searching for a way to soften the words, then gave up "wildly unethical."
"Oh I know."
"...Ruby?"
She sighed heavily, "I know."
He gestured to her to continue.
"She was brought in to crack one code, in a fortified office with constant supervision, stole several incredibly valuable pieces of technology - including your old watch by the way, she still has it, and directly disobeyed all safety measures she'd been given. She did crack the code and - " She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose as if what she was about to say was incredibly painful, "were it not for her direct intervention we would have likely not intercepted the jade buddha in time"
"I won't tell her you said that."
She grinned down at the table, head cradled on her hand.
The smile faded, "She already has a live in armed guard, training in specialised martial arts and self defence, an escape device on her wrist at all times. She knows about the agency, were I to block her access and withdraw all contact not only would she be more vulnerable to potential attack from enemies but she would never stop trying to find ways back in. She'd likely succeed at some point." She shrugged helplessly, "There's not much else I can do and unconsenting memory removal procedures are not in consideration."
"Were they ever?"
"According to my past superiors." She paused, "past-past I should say, the one before me was rather less open to unethical resolutions than his predecessor, to give him his due credit."
"...Good that's in the past." He said, for lack of anything else to say - unable to grasp at the myriad of questions that arose at every new sliver of information she revealed. Then something dawned and he smiled.
"Must've been a big day when you replaced him." he leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially, "Did I plan your celebration party?"
He had meant to see her smile again, in that surprised way, as if he'd caught her off guard, like she hadn't meant to, or maybe look at him again with that inexplicable fondness written across her face. The kind of look that made him feel warm and excited and far too pleased with himself.
He hadn't meant for Loveday to freeze, eyes glazing over as she broke his gaze, blinking quickly. She looked down and shook her head, then took a deep breath.
"You did." She coughed, pressing her fingers to her mouth. "I'm sure it would have been incredible." Her tone was off. Just barely. She shook her head again and straightened back up, her mask firmly back in place. Her voice was flat and reminiscent of when she'd first spoke when she said:
"You had test flights for the shuttle program all through that month and I was still adjusting to the demands of the new position. It was going to be the following year, once things settled for the both of us." She smiled sardonically, "I'm afraid your funeral rather eclipsed it."
"Ah." He wanted to do something. Take her hand maybe. "Apologies."
"Not accepted. The funeral coordinator was incompetent, truly, how hard is it to colour coordinate with black? If it's any consolation the party planning committee was never the same"
He wanted to do something. What was the custom here, what was the acceptable thing to do, the right thing to do.
Before he could do something decidedly foolish like grasp her hand or do away with the distance of the table and pull her close, Robbie leaned out across the counter and called:, "10 minutes to close Mo, wrap it up."
Loveday turned towards the voice, seeming surprised by the presence of another person. He had, truth be told, entirely eradicated Robbie's existence from his mind, given the circumstances, but he'd assumed, what with the superspy training or whatever, she'd be more aware of her surroundings. With hindsight, she was probably more justified in forgetting they were not alone. Given the circumstances.
Circumstances he still was barely beginning to understand. He needed to see her again. See them all again. Meet this specialist who could return his past to him.
He wanted to see her again.
-
The night was cold and still as they stepped out of the diner, heavy snowflakes muting the glow of the streetlights and casting a dreamlike aura on the scene.
This was mostly lost on Bradley, who was looking out at the half snow-covered road anxiously, "You're sure you're safe in this weather? The roads can get awful icy."
Loveday smiled calmly and dipped her head. "Definitely."
He was, again, struck dumb by the quiet assurance that she held, finding himself unable to doubt her, the certainty of her capabilities becoming as firmly affixed in his belief system as Walt's belief in little green men and flying saucers.
"So I'll see you tomorrow." This had been established as they were leaving the diner, and Bradley had checked twice in the 5 minutes since, still unsure that the entire day hadn't been some strange, fanciful dream.
Loveday had been kind enough not to mention it.
"At the bench at the top of Fowler road. 3pm." She confirmed again, seeming quite content to stand ankle deep in snow and recite the same dance they'd been doing since Robbie kicked them out. He should probably make sure she was definitely safe to drive in the weather. For continuity. She might laugh again.
He should let her get on.
"Well…" he faltered, grasping for the right words, something that could somehow convey the strangeness of the entire evening, and his gladness at it.
"...It was good to see you again."
Loveday huffed a laugh, nodding, and held out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you Mo."
They shook hands.
The night air was biting. Her hand was warm.
-