Work Text:
Advection Fog
Meteorology
fog caused by the movement of warm, moist air over a cold surface
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As soon as the boss gives the order to carry the equipment and three of the dots back into the warehouse the teacher skips off down the long tunnel to oversee the proceedings. He doesn't do much more than stand in the way and wring his hands, to be honest. At one point he asks if he can keep the hazmat suit because he's grown attached to it, whatever that means, and then pouts for a full minute when they tell him that they'll have to thoroughly decontamine it anyway and they'll just leave him another one in case he needs it. He pats the thing with a solemn nod as it is carted away and then actually gives it a short, silly salute.
The other agents grin at each other - charmed by the weird guy or mocking him, it’s hard to say - but Carl watches these antics with a sense of mild befuddlement as he waits by the car for the boss to finish her call. He's been briefed on the teacher, knows that he is some kind of prodigy in his field and that the only reason he hasn't won a Nobel prize yet is because he nuked his own career by mouthing off to the wrong person in front of an audience. Carl finds this incredibly stupid and incredibly relatable. There's been a time or two in his life where he’s also wanted to punch a superior right in their stuck-up face.
But linking this man to the genius on paper is getting harder and harder by the minute. Carl watches as he confidently throws the little bean bag into the air just to get distracted by something, making him miss the catch and get bonked on the head instead.
Carl snorts and immediately schools his expression when the boss glances his way.
Whatever. Not his circus, not his monkeys.
The boss finally finishes her call and Carl gets ready to follow her into the car when she stops and looks at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Carl blinks.
“Wherever you are going?”
He hates that his answer has turned into a question somehow. This is one of the better assignments he’s had and that’s in large parts thanks to her. A capable woman who knows that she doesn't know everything (a trait that is depressingly hard to come by in the higher echelon) and doesn't mind her professionals getting a bit snarky with her as long as they get the job done. But she hates it when people don't know what they want. She is under a lot of pressure where you have to make decisions on the fly, hard decisions, and she doesn't need people around her who are being modest or can't articulate what they need to finish their task.
Which is why her willingness to put up with the teacher is such a surprise.
Oh... Wait. Oh no, wait!
She pointedly stares past him at the man who is apparently about to become Carl's monkey. The guy is awkwardly thanking the agents for their hard work and offering them…candy? What the hell?
Boss watches the spectacle with no expression at all and then looks back at Carl with a very expressive tilt of her head.
“You can't be serious?” Carl asks.
“I don't do jokes. And someone has to keep an eye on him.”
Carl groans and runs a hand over his face.
“But why me?” It won't only be him, he knows. He'll have his team with him, a few trusted agents who he has worked with for years (and who are currently sneakily accepting chocolate covered peanuts from the guy.)
But this still feels like a personal blow somehow. Did he do something wrong? Is this what he has been reduced to? A glorified babysitter for a scatterbrained teacher?
There is that half smirk on her face, the one that either enamors you or makes you shit your pants, depending on whether or not you are on her good side.
“You told him your name.” Her answer throws him and she can tell. He opens his mouth but she carries on. “Your real name.”
“And?”
“You never do that.”
It's not like the agents aren't allowed to tell civilians their real names, it's just that Carl usually doesn't. But, to be honest, almost none of the people the boss is meeting with bother to get to know his name, least of all hold out a sweaty hand in greeting. He was just… caught off guard. Which is pretty embarrassing and not something he wants to dwell on.
“So?” Carl is uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is going and just happy that his agents are too busy arguing about the best flavor to notice this little standoff. “I slipped up. Happens to the best of us.”
“Yes, it does. But not you. And also,” She glances at the teacher again who nods his head to the candy fueled argument going on around him but remains mute and looks a bit lost now that there’s nothing more to do. He fiddles with his glasses and stares into the distance. She presses her lips together and Carl can't help but think that she looks… worried? Conflicted? Some emotion he can't pinpoint because he's never seen it on her face before. “He volunteered in the end but I’m not sure he knows what he’s gotten himself into. This project is a high risk profile. The whole world watches us and not all of them favorably. He needs someone to… keep him in check.”
Carl thinks she was about to say something else, something not quite as professional. Something a lot more soft.
But this is Eva Stratt they are talking about and Eva Stratt doesn't do soft. This is strictly business and that guy is just a security risk that needs supervision.
And apparently that supervision is going to be Carl because he made the mistake of letting his guard down and being a bit too friendly on a Tuesday afternoon. Serves him right.
As if sensing his defeat she focuses back on him and smirks. All traces of that something else are gone.
“Dr. Grace is your responsibility now. Keep him alive and make sure he doesn't kill any more aliens.”
“No promises,” he mutters under his breath but before the boss can comment on that the teacher is suddenly right there, at his elbow. Only Carl's extensive training keeps him from jumping. For someone so clumsy the guy is freakishly silent on his feet. Must be the threadbare sneakers.
“Hey, can someone drive me to my apartment real quick? What with the government approved kidnapping and everything I didn't really bring a change of clothes and-”
“I'll leave Carl here with you,” the boss interrupts him. “As security.”
The teacher blinks, his eyes fitting from the boss to Carl and back. “Security? Uh, alright then?”
“Good luck, Dr. Grace.”
“You too. I guess? Have fun abducting more scientists and stuff.”
She nods and slides into the waiting car and Carl watches her drive off, trying not to feel like he got left at the pound. This is the first time he's been reassigned by her and it sucks.
Grace mutters something under his breath that sounds like ‘didn't even deny it’ and then turns to Carl with a bright smile.
“Well. It's just us then, huh? Saving the world. The Petrova buddies. Starsky and Hutch. Ernie and Bert. Kicking Astrophage and taking names.”
Carl pinches the bridge of his nose. So this is his life now, isn't it? But as his aunt always used to say, look at the bright side of things. Ever since the Petrova line has been discovered it's been nonstop crisis meetings and traveling for him. He was getting kind of worn out, not that he'd ever admit that. Watching the teacher stare into a microscope for hours on end will be like a vacation compared to the last few months.
The next few days should be rather uneventful at least.