Black Tie: Book One of the Sparrow Archives

by Kieran Strange

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, entirely numb, willing himself not to think about anything and pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist. But judging by the worried look James Flint gave him as he pulled open the squeaky sliding door and stepped out onto the balcony, he had a feeling it was long enough for his entire face to turn red raw in the cold.

  “I keep forgetting you have a bloody key,” the younger agent grumbled, as Flint disappeared back inside for the split-second it took to grab the blanket off the back of the couch.

  “And I keep forgetting you become self-abusive after a tough day on the job,” Flint retaliated without any hesitation, draping the blanket around his shoulders after a quick sniff to check its cleanliness and settling on the wooden stool across from him. “Do you want me to make you a cuppa?”

  “Not all British people’s problems can be cured with tea, James. Though kudos on using the lingo correctly.”

  “I’m not trying to solve your problems, kiddo, I’m trying to warm you up. You look like a popsicle.”

  “Did you come here to give me my twenty bucks back?”

  Choosing to ignore his agent’s remark for more important topics, at least for now, Flint shifted on the low, wobbly stool. “I see you’ve been smoking again.”

  Cabe snorted as his supervisor and friend regarded the cracked ashtray on the patio table next to him. A still-smoldering butt sat amidst some of its own ash in the bowl. “Relax. It’s herbal.”

  Flint fixed him with a level stare. “You only smoke when you’re distressed.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m distressed,” said Cabe a little defensively, avoiding his eyes to look past him, into the distance again. “I’m... maybe feeling a bit... lost?”

  On his tiny stool, Flint leaned forward. One of his hands found Cabe’s knee beneath the blanket and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Need someone to help you find yourself again?”

  Cabe chuckled, still not making eye contact. “And that would be so you, wouldn’t it?” he almost sneered, and while he wasn’t being rude outright there was a definite smattering of scorn dusted over his words. “The shepherd, bringing back the strays? Strengthening the weak?”

  Huffing out a heavy sigh, Flint sat back on his stool and half-lidded his eyes in very mild exasperation. “I’m not offering myself as a Christian, Cabe. I’m offering myself as a friend.”

  “Hey, if you wanna be such a good Christian and love Jesus and all that, why don’t you wear a cross?” The question was completely out of left field and phrased in a way that could easily be seen as offensive, despite their close friendship. There was a sharper edge to his tone, one that could cut, but Flint had seen it before; in fact, he had been expecting it. Anyone who knew Cabe well enough would be expecting a defense strategy, something Cabe himself probably wasn’t even fully aware he was doing. A subconscious gatling gun, ready to open fire on anyone who came within a hair’s breadth of trying to help heal his heart.

  Because he’d seen it before, and because he was prepared for it, Flint had very little trouble in brushing the comment off with a shrug visible beneath his blanket. “Eh. It’s sort of a Second Commandment thing, sort of a Bill Hicks thing.”

  “Bill Hicks?”

  “The comedian. Okay.” Flint readjusted himself on the stool again. Cabe had spent vast amounts of time on that stool when he had company, and his guess was that his supervisor’s asscheeks were already both asleep. “Let me put it to you this way: if Agent Boone came back tomorrow, how do you think he’d react to us all wearing tiny gold I.E.D.s around our necks in his memory?”

  A snort of laughter rushed out of Cabe’s nose, and he absent-mindedly reached down for the partially-drained beer bottle he’d forgotten was chilling underneath his seat. “Touché.”

  “Good, well. I’m glad that’s over.”

  “What?” asked Cabe, gulping his beer.

  “Oh, the defensive outburst. The part where you try to scare away anyone who senses you might need someone to talk to.”

  Eyes once again boring dead ahead, Cabe took a very long, very slow sip of his beverage. “... maybe.”

  “Are you at least at the point where you’ve stopped hating yourself yet?”

  “Um.” Cabe narrowed his eyes even more in thought. It was a good question. That was quite often the first hurdle he had to overcome: hating himself, blaming himself, and telling himself he was a terrible person. The type of person who let their partner and boyfriend die on the job... “I’m not a hundred per-cent on that. I’ll let you know when I’m close.”

  Flint nodded, and sat back against the damp guardrails. A silence that wasn’t really in any way uneasy descended upon the little balcony, save for traffic down below and, in one of the other apartments, somebody shredding a lone electric guitar with way too much distortion... the sounds of Seattle. Sounds Cabe had come to know, love, and take comfort in.

  “You know,” he said after only about a minute, kicking one of his sneakers up beneath his blanket to prop his foot up on the table, “I fucking love this view. The skyline? Sometimes I sit here and just... I just stare at it for hours and hours on end. I forget I’m even out here.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Flint agreed with a nod, having craned his neck sideways during their silence to observe it himself.

  “I’ll say. My whole life I wanted to live in a place that looked like this, like all the cities I’d seen in video games and comic books and movies... I thought I’d feel like a superhero, like I’m standing in Metropolis or Cloud City and everything is all... futuristic and fabulous.”

  “And now you’re here, you’re thinking you don’t really feel much like a superhero?”

  “... kinda. Maybe. I dunno. Is that sad?” Finally tearing his eyes away from the bright, silvery skyline, Cabe dared to lock them with his supervisor’s. Despite the fact that Flint was one of the least judgmental people he knew, he was still afraid of what he might see in them. “Does that make me five years old again?”

  Flint’s tawny-brown eyes, however, were full of little more than warmth, compassion, and sympathy. He was leaning forward again to address his friend, though he didn’t risk any physical contact this time.

  “I don’t think it’s sad at all,” he said honestly. “I think it’s more sad that you don’t think the things you do for a living are very super. Or at least very heroic.”

  Cabe chuckled bitterly. “You think I’m a hero?”

  “I think there’s a man in Portland right now who wouldn’t be alive if you weren’t.”

  … Elliot. Cabe’s stomach twisted itself back into a knot, wedging itself firmly up against his lungs and making it more difficult to breathe.

  Flint seemed to sense it, because he sighed very quietly and wrung his hands a little. “Cabe. I’m trying to be your friend, but I also have to be your supervisor. If you don’t start talking, I may have to consider putting you on temporary leave until we can figure out exactly what’s going on with you.”

  That seemed to strike a chord in him. Of course it did – Flint knew exactly which buttons to press with any of his agents, but with great power came great responsibility, and he never seemed to use his mystical, magical ability to manipulate them unless it was for the greater good.

  With a heaving groan, Cabe released all of the air in his lungs. Apparently, there was no getting out of this... part of him, a very small and subconscious part, was ecstatic.

  “All right,” he started timidly, “I haven’t exactly decided how I wanna phrase this out loud, so... bear with me, okay?”

  Flint nodded with utmost understanding. “Take your time.”

  Verbalizing it all was bizarre. Despite how many times he’d gone over it all in his head, to say it out loud made it matter, made it real. All of a sudden, there was no running away anymore. “When I was stood offstage watching Ellio – Mr. Wright give his speech, at the gala... I... I started running through my exit strategies, y’know? Like I’ve been trained to do. I
imagined all the possibilities, how I would react in each case... and... I, uh...” Cabe dropped his foot down off the table and put his beer back on the floor, tucking both legs up protectively under the blanket as he tried to dissolve himself into the canvas seat. Flint seemed to sense his hesitation, but patiently said nothing.

  “I guess it just freaked me out. Messed me up, how far I was willing to go... what I was willing to do to make sure he got outta there in one piece. To... to myself.” His one good arm locked itself around his knees and pulled them closer to his chest, which wasn’t an easy thing for a man his size to do in a camping chair. “I dunno, I’ve always... I’ve always taken my job seriously and done what it takes, but...”

  “Have you thought much at all about why?” Flint took his slowly increasing panic as his opportunity to step in. “Or perhaps when you first started to notice your willingness to throw yourself into harm’s way?”

  Cabe let go of his knees to scratch distractedly at his nape. “I dunno, um... I guess, maybe a year? Since the Boston sting in February?”

  Both men sat very quietly as a sense of realization dawned suddenly between them. Boston... Boston had been rough for everybody involved, which had been two pairs of Field Agents, four handlers, and three techs. Their recon target, a small newly-formed wannabe terrorist organization protesting a new anti-Anomaly state law, had somehow discovered that two of their members – both Anomalies – were plants, double-agents working for an unknown third party.

  To cut a long story short – because Cabe really didn’t enjoy revisiting it – six days later, an I.E.D. planted on one of their vehicles took the lives of two handlers and a Field Agent. For Cabe, the cold, dead, static look in Agent Benson’s eyes when they had all heard about the bombing, the moment she realized her partner was dead, had hit far too close to home.

  It was Flint who finally had the nerve to speak up. And when he did, his voice was gravelly, weak with emotion. “Agent Boone... Aaron... he was an outstanding asset to this team. Dedicated, diligent, daring... progressive almost to a fault.” He gave a soft, sad smile. “He was one of the only Field Agents who clocked as many hours a week as I did.”

  The thick lump in Cabe’s throat was trying to dissolve into tears. “You miss ‘im?” was all he braved muttering, not trusting himself with any more words than those three right now. Despite the fact he knew crying might be inevitable at this point, he fought to delay it. At least until Flint had left.

  His aforementioned supervisor jerked his head in a stiff nod. “Every single day.”

  The lump was rising up the back of Cabe’s throat and into his sinuses. Thankfully, Flint was a merciful man, and he didn’t wait for his agent to carry on the conversation.

  “He was also one of our best teachers,” he said as he averted his eyes to the skyline, probably so that Cabe wouldn’t feel the pressure of his gaze during what was obviously a painful topic. “All of that dedication and diligence, and that recklessness that drove me insane on at least a weekly basis... he passed all of those qualities onto every agent he trained and worked with. His energy, it was... infectious. Debating with him was a riot.”

  Cabe was aware of Flint’s eyes on him for a moment or two as he checked him for a reaction, before continuing. “Personally, Cabe... I’m not entirely surprised we’re having this talk. Do you... do you mind if I hazard a theory...?”

  “Shoot.”

  The one-word reply was stiff and short, which only served as more evidence that Flint needed to be the one doing the majority of the talking here... helping the young agent, who had been suppressing and ignoring his feelings of guilt, shame, and mourning for over a year now. “Aaron was a good, good man. But he was an even better ally to the Anomaly populace. It was his work, but it was more than that – it came close to borderline obsession. There was no rally he wouldn’t attend, no phone call to his state senator he wouldn’t make, no town hall meeting he wouldn’t crash to demand justice for the Anomalies of America. He was beyond dedicated to his cause.” Flint paused for a moment there, likely reminding himself to inhale. Or maybe just making sure he didn’t overload Cabe’s broken heart with memories.

  “That dedication, Cabe... that... spirit. That energy. It doesn’t just go away when you die.” Again, his supervisor leaned forward. He probably could see the tears that were starting to well up, balanced precariously on the rim of Cabe’s lower eyelids as he didn’t dare blink for fear of setting them free. “Sparing you the religious crap, I think... I think that energy may be in you, Cabe. And if you don’t believe in that sort of mumbo-jumbo –”

  “Saying words like mumbo-jumbo makes you sound old,” Cabe deadpanned, his mouth dry and throat scratchy as he continued to wrestle back his emotions.

  Flint’s lips cracked in a gentle smile. “If you don’t believe that, we can take a look at this from a psychological standpoint. You lost your lover and your partner to the same people who kidnapped you and dragged you out into the Mojave Desert. I don’t know what was going through your head for the two days you were out there...”

  Cabe flinched a little, and his head turned as casually as it could to hide the single tear that had managed to sneak out while he wasn’t paying attention to it.

  “But I can imagine a little of it. I imagine you were afraid. I imagine you were angry, and upset, but you had to push all that aside to survive. And Cabe... I don’t think you ever stopped pushing it away. I think one of your methods of coping with Agent Boone’s passing was putting yourself under intense internal guilt and self-blame, so much so that you are now convinced you can keep it from happening again…” Flint paused just briefly, looking down at his knees. He may have already come to terms with Aaron Boone’s death, but there was no doubt it still hurt him to mull over. “I also think you dealt with it by subconsciously trying to honor his memory... to push yourself to do whatever it took to protect the Anomalies under your care, and to dedicate your life to W.A.R.D., just as Aaron would’ve wanted you to. As he taught you to.”

  Several seconds’ more silence fell before Cabe finally reacted to everything his supervisor and friend had just been brave enough to share with him. His head turned slowly, slowly, and when it did, Flint would be able to see the tears that were now streaming down his face, soaking his stubbled cheeks and leaving his eyes red and swollen.

  “I...” Cabe paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and pinching the bridge of his nose, before hesitantly managing to utter, “... I have a problem... don’t I?”

  Flint sighed and clasped his hands in front of him, visible through the folds of his blanket. “I can’t be the one to tell you that, Cabe. I’m sorry. Only you can be the one to say it.”

  Cabe nodded a little, and closed his eyes again. He thought about that time, when he had awoken in the hot, stuffy trunk of a moving car only seconds after seeing his boyfriend blown to smithereens. He thought about how he had felt, the stress and rage and unexplainable agony that had pierced his gut and left him feeling hopeless, helpless, and absolutely shattered.

  And then, he recalled the last ten months. He traced back those missions where he had lost himself to that ever-growing, ever-burning desire to put himself in harm’s way, to do whatever the job took. Leaping off buildings... attacking insanely powerful Anomalies with office furniture...

  He sighed, shuddered, and opened his eyes again. The tears made it impossible to see clearly, his supervisor just a blurry lump of blanket when he finally raised his gaze and mumbled brokenly, “I think... I think I have a problem, boss.”

  Even if what he had been admitting to wasn’t that he was trapped in some sort of fatal downward spiral and that he was finally begging desperately for help, there was no way on God’s Green Earth that James Flint would’ve taken his confession with anything other than class and compassion. Once more, his now much colder hand extended to place itself calmly – but with strength – on Cabe’s blanketed knee.

  “Good guy,” the supervisor said placidly, and for a mome
nt, when he wiped his eyes with his good hand, Cabe could’ve sworn he saw tears in the other man’s before he pulled back with a couple of pats to his knee.

  Cabe’s forced exhale was shaky. “Wicked, all right, so... what happens now...?”

  “Tonight? Nothing.” Flint shook his head. “Tonight you get to rest and recover from everything you just went through... I’m talking about both at WrightTech and our chat. We’re not going to revisit any of this until you’ve had a good night’s sleep. Well – not the professional side of it anyway.”

  “Do I gotta take time off?”

  There was no doubt Flint could sense the anxiety that idea caused Cabe, just from the tone of his voice, and he quickly shook his head again. “After everything you did tonight? No, of course not. Our team would be dead in the water without you, and I know Agent Dasilva wouldn’t be happy if I put you on extended leave. Besides, I’m not entirely sure Elliot Wright would be too pleased if we replaced the man who saved his life tonight.”

  “How long was he funding W.A.R.D. without knowing about it?”

  “Until last week.” Flint’s grin was small but mischievous. “He chewed my ear off about that. Said I should’ve been straight with him about the exact resources his money was going to. He’s one of those people who thinks he’s always on a need-to-know basis, regardless of government or international security clearance.”

  Cabe frowned, for the first time not because of the memory of the man he’d lost. “Is he gonna pull his funding?”

  “After tonight? I very much doubt it. Especially when only two days ago we were looking over plans for an increased sponsorship, including electronics and other tech.”

  “He’s a good bloke,” said Cabe, before he caught himself, and the tiny curve of his lips that had started to appear was gone again. Flint, of course, didn’t miss it.

  “You feel adulterous.”

  Cabe’s head snapped up. Mostly because it hadn’t been a question, it had been a blunt statement. “What?”