Innuendo champion

Her bemusement wasn't faked at all as she went home for that book she had promised Jack would lie in wait for her. She settled in with the newspaper first of all, carefully angled away from any camera. She practically absorbed the information, rearranging and adding her mental calculations on their files, the mission and comparing it to her pre-existing information. She pursed her lips.

For all that she learned about them, she wasn't closer to the actual truth of these men. What did it matter that their connections tended to the criminal side? That they had a disturbing hobby of aiding and abetting people her Agency would rather not come into contact with? They were employed at the large conglomerate Techlaza where the shares alone was estimated in the millions. If that didn't automatically qualify them on their watch-list, she didn't know what would.

She said as much on the next regular phone call to her handler. Milton sounded just as eager as her to forget their former interaction and told her bluntly, "If it had been easy, this mission would have been done already."

That it was the truth didn't make it any easier.

The pattern continued the next day. Blake took the main part of her internship while Jack was off on his own business. Excepting a few calculating looks and a bit too many questions about her personal life to be casual, it was almost like they had returned to status quo. Or at least morphed into some semblance of it, because her relationship with Blake had always been from the onset something that bordered on watchful with a side of suspicious. There had never been anything in-between. Milton's statement that she was rushing the mission haunted her every time she thought that Blake should just get on with things. Taking it slow would mean a more lasting relationship. It was good, to be getting closer to these men in a capacity that they couldn't simply throw away. She knew that.

It didn't mean, however, that she had to like it. The fondness simmering in her gut was similarly ignored, attributed to the impatience that dogged her steps.

If anything, the fault laid in Naomi. The persona and mask felt more natural than ever. Her smiles brighter if only because they were more genuine when she laughed at a joke Blake told. The way Naomi would ask Jack with sarcasm practically dripping from her lips if his right hand would mind the competition. His answering guffawing laughter lingered still in her mind.

Even Walter Hunt, friendly and polite, would share more about his life as their meetings on the park bench continued during the week. The love of his life, buried. The son that while he never named him Jack to her, Naomi knew could be nothing else with the adjectives he described him with. The stubborn, distant, rejecting and warm son of his.

Naomi Barrett was solidifying by the days that went by.

The observant Helen sought out her presence more during lunch hour. The woman explained it was because "woman have to stick together" but considering the twenty different women on this floor alone with all of them occupying a wide range of jobs, she suspected it was more because Naomi showed interest in the magazine Helen had been carrying one day. Her love of art museums coupled with Naomi's ready discussion about history matched pretty well. That the woman could point out gossip about her mission targets were just a bonus.

Ryan and Marvin, more usually than not, could be found hanging by Sidoh's after work. She couldn't quite shake the odd feeling she had about them. Naomi, on the other hand, thought them a riot.

"Know the best part about gardening in your free time, mate? Getting down and dirty with your hoes." Ryan snorted into his alcoholic beverage of choice, chortling even as he tried to convey the gravitas the joke needed. He didn't notice the way Marvin choked on his own drink, a panicked glance thrown at her.

Ryan did notice when Marvin elbowed him. "Ouch! What? Was it too much for your little..." He trailed off when he noticed her.

The awkward silence they held as they shifted in their seats while she stared them down was seriously tempting her twitching mouth. By now, they really should know better. She was always game for an innuendo or two.

"Oh?" Naomi tipped her head to the side, eyes slowly raking Ryan up and down. "Is that why you're always so tired?" She affected a hum of understanding. "I guess it's tiring taking the matter into your own hands. Especially when you can't even hire some help."

It took them a beat. They stared at her, stunned, before they burst into laughter at her amused smirk. "You had me scared witless there for a moment, Naomi! Don't do that!"

"What?" She blinked innocently at them. "Was it too much for your delicate senses?"

Marvin couldn't stop laughing. Every time he calmed down, he would happen to see Ryan's pout or her waggling eyebrows, and then he would be off again, laughing until he was bent over the table. They attracted quite a lot of amused stares from the rest of the bar for the noise until she waved at them in apology. Perhaps she would tip the bartender for the trouble.

"Alright, alright! Fine! You got me." Ryan turned to his friend, grouchily asking, "Can you please stop laughing now?"

Marvin made a valiant attempt at doing so. His face flushed with the exertion he was putting it through. "Hmh. I can – I can do that." He sounded breathless when he added, "Not everyone can last that long after all."

Ryan groaned, long and meaningfully. The smile playing about his lips ruined the illusion though. "Hey, at least I tried. Not everyone can hit the mark on the first try, as I recall you saying."

Marvin patted his shoulder. "Yeah, I did," he said, a joking grin stretching across his face. "Didn't expect you to live up to my expectations. Way to make us look bad, kid."

The younger man returned the smile sweetly. "It's the least I could do."

"Actually, the least you could do is nothing," she piped in casually, buffing her nails against her chest. "Trust me, I'm an intern. I know my shit."

Ryan spluttered and Marvin began laughing again. She peered down at the drink he was cradling. He was bordering on his second pint and from experience, he would cut himself off there. It was getting late anyway. If she wanted their conversation to go anywhere, now was the time to steer it.