Chapter Text
“Hi, my name is Gekko. I’ll try my best to help you all,” is all the new agent says when he introduces himself, and Iso notes that he’s rather timid. At least, he is for someone who wears a bright green sweater and chequered pants—a rather bold fashion choice by his standards. Decidedly neutral on the whole affair, Iso settles for staring impassively at the bag strapped over his shoulder. It reminds him a little bit of a washing machine, but that’s beside the point.
The point is that Iso should be able to see something past his eyes; a swirl of emotion, a dash of colour or of memory. And yet, he doesn’t. They’re warm, but they lack the light someone his age should have in them. There must be some reason why, though Iso can’t find it in himself to care. It’s none of his business. And besides, he shouldn’t be judging people based on their looks alone. That would be rude; he was taught better. Not even his time with the Scions of Hourglass could erase all the lessons he’d learnt through the sharp whip of a belt, a slap on the wrist, a shouted reprimand. Not even after he was taught to kill, to maim, to silence, could he forget.
So he purses his lips and averts his gaze to the holographic board behind the new agent. The expression on Gekko’s face is hard to figure out as he scurries to his chair, sitting down after he’s said his part and nervously giving the rest of the room a once-over. His eyebrows are pinched together like he’s thinking, and the line of his mouth wobbles even as no other words come out. Strange. Iso takes note of that too. It might be useful for something later. What exactly? He doesn’t know, and it confuses Iso when he realizes that he’s still thinking about Gekko. He already decided that whatever is up with him is not something he should be poking his nose into.
Brimstone calls the meeting to a finish not even ten minutes later. The holographic board flickers as he passes through it, reaching over to clap a large hand on Gekko’s shoulder as he tries to stand from his chair. Surprised, he lets out a noise that’s halfway between a squeak and a gasp, something that Iso quietly thinks would be more suitable if it came from a mouse. This must be a conversation he shouldn’t be a part of. All of the other agents present for the meeting have already left, and he should do the same. Iso doesn’t exactly know why he stayed behind, and the rational side of his brain refuses to conjure up a reason for him.
Or, he would have, if Brimstone hadn’t called his name, effectively halting Iso in his tracks. He pivots around slowly on his heels. “Yes, commander?” comes his own reply, curt as always.
“I need someone to show Gekko around,” he explains, “can you do that for me?”
Iso blinks steadily. Once. Twice. Logically speaking, he isn’t the best choice. He barely interacts with anyone in the Protocol unless he absolutely has to. Social interaction is the furthest from one of his best skills. Even before his life devolved into one of calculated violence, there was little need to learn about what was socially acceptable. He went to school just like any other kid, and studied hard, with the hope of becoming a doctor. The way he looks at his life now, he might as well have travelled in the completely opposite direction.
But ah, he’s digressing.
Any other agent, Chamber being the prime example, would be a better option. At least the French man has plenty of experience within the social field. He is—no, was—a contracted killer, and ex or not, it wouldn’t mix well with what he’s gathered about Gekko’s history. Or the lack thereof, at least. What Brimstone is planning is lost on him, but he inclines his head regardless and nods silently. Disobeying orders leads to repercussions—ones that Iso would rather not face.
Satisfied, Brimstone ushers Gekko over. His tanned face has paled significantly since the beginning of the meeting. Iso cannot hazard a guess as to why. It’s not his job, so he tries not to focus on it as he leads Gekko out of the door, holding it open for him. He gets a small, murmured ‘thanks’ in response, and Iso barely catches it. If it weren’t for the complete silence that greets them in the hallway, he wouldn’t have heard it at all. Iso shrugs it off as nerves. Gekko looks young, even younger than him, so the Protocol’s ethos must all be new to him. It would explain why his skin is so pale, why his eyes can’t seem to settle on one place at a time, why his hands tremble at his sides. That’s when it clicks in Iso’s head; maybe he’s scared. It’s not as though he’s never seen that look before. Perhaps he was just trying his best to ignore it.
Then again, Iso reassures himself once more, it isn’t any of his business, nor is it his job to console Gekko’s fear. He doesn’t even know the first thing to tell someone who is scared; and he’s certainly not the right person to speak on that regard. Fear is not a look that suits his own face very well. He doesn’t remember the last time it was there, etched onto his skin like a brand. He’s forgotten what it feels like. It’s not part of his job, but what it might do, however, is get in the way of the effectiveness of his tour. Any and all information Iso might choose to tell him could end up being lost on his ears, and that, decidedly, would not be good.
They stand in the hallway next to each other for a moment, so Iso takes the initiative and begins to walk down the hallway. For the first few seconds, no footsteps sound after him, so he looks back. His gaze lands harder than Iso means it to, and the first thing he sees Gekko do is flinch. The movement isn’t dramatic. In fact, it’s rather subtle, something small that Iso only notices from years of seeing other people do the same when they see him. He takes one step towards Gekko, punctuating the movement with what he hopes are quiet words of affirmation, “Come on, lets get going. I need to show you around.” Still, Gekko says nothing, but the hands clenched at his sides seem to relax by a fraction.
That will have to be enough.
When Iso resumes his slow walk, footsteps sound. Gekko trails behind him. Behind him. Not next to him. The echo of his shoes against the floor is a constant reminder of his presence. Iso is not wholly uncomfortable with it, but he can’t say that he enjoys having company, either—he’s not used to it. His music fills in the gaps where others’ words would be, and the space inside his head is far more pleasant than his immediate physical surroundings. But he has a job to do. He can go back to his playlist later, when nothing more is expected or demanded of him.
They turn down several corridors. Doors line either side, and each is plastered with a unique number. They’re individual to every agent; Iso’s is twenty-two. He reckons, as the Protocol’s newest addition, he’ll be twenty-three? No, twenty-four, after Deadlock. No question is thrown at him, but Iso can tell that Gekko wants to ask about them. It’s obvious enough from the way his steps seem to stutter, scuffing against the floor like he’s dragging his feet. “These are the agent dorms.” he states matter-of-factly, waving a hand around stiffly, “The numbers are different for everyone.” Audible or otherwise, Iso doesn’t wait for a reply. It doesn’t take a lot out of him to get used to the silence and he should stop expecting one. Perhaps it should be unnerving, but it would be… uncouth of him to push Gekko into talking.
When he’s ready, he will. If and when, that is.
A few more turns later, and the hallway opens up into a larger space. There’s a tinted glass window that covers the entirety of the wall to their right. Right next to it is a small door. “This is the shooting Range.” he says, “If you’re not familiar with guns just yet, you’ll want to start spending more time here.” Latching one hand on the door, he applies pressure to the handle, but Iso stops when he hears a sharp hiss from behind him. Pure instinct is what forms the purple ball of ambient energy in his hand. It’s only when he turns around and his brain makes the connection that the sound came from Gekko, does it fade away until his hands fold back into his jacket. Oh. Right. Iso makes the assumption that Gekko hasn’t even seen a gun before. Now probably isn’t the best time to bring it up; he only needs to give him a tour. That’s all there is to it. Getting used to the Range can wait until another day, when he’s not this visibly uptight.
Wait. That’s… not part of his job. Gekko’s acclimatisation is none of his business. Unless they’re assigned to the same team for the next mission, Iso can only remain a bystander in this story.
Blinking owlishly, Iso retracts his hand and backs away. The line of Gekko’s shoulders visibly relaxes. And then, unexpectedly, he speaks, “Thanks.” His words are still as shaky as before, and it’s only a repeat of his earlier gratitude, but Iso nods regardless and continues on past the Range. It must be a can of worms that Gekko refuses to open, and Iso will resolutely stick to what he’s allowed entry into. He stoically takes note of the agent’s rudimentary experience with guns, though it does make him wonder: if he’s so touchy around the topic, then why recruit him? Violence, admittedly, whilst not the Protocol’s main aim, is still necessary in achieving their aims.
He’d already been meaning to stop by the kitchen after the meeting concluded, so Iso is more than happy to take Gekko there. The door opens with an issued hiss, and Iso slides it open with ease. He’s immediately greeted with the rich scent of butter and that familiar, all-too-cheery voice: Chamber. The French agent in particular is still an enigma to Iso. Outside of business hours, he hasn’t actively tried to spend more time with the man, so he’s still not close to figuring out the mystery hiding behind his square frames… But that’s okay. Chamber is a frightening man, and not just out on the battlefield. Whilst his skill with a sniper is second to none, his charming disposition is equally as disarming. And distracting, too. His build is somewhat coltish, with long, slim legs, wide shoulders and a winning smile so bright he wonders if Phoenix gets blinded by it on occasion. Before the First Light struck, Iso would not be surprised if he had seen Chamber on the cover of a magazine prior to becoming a sharpshooter. If not for Iso’s iron-clad will, he might not have been able to stomach working with him. However, the same cannot be said for Yoru. He can barely even stand being in the same room as him for mission briefings, let alone a full ride on the VL/TR.
A large plethora of interventions were made following that revelation. Yoru never did like to settle for less than what he thought was owed him.
“Bonjour, Iso.” Chamber is quick to break the silence. He’s turned towards them now, so the broad expanse of his back is pressed against the stove. The sight of him wearing an apron is one Iso has seen far too many times to be surprised by, but Gekko next to him can only gape. To which is an opportunity that Chamber gobbles up with evident relish, “And oh my, is this the new recruit?” He flips the spatula in his hand in one smooth, graceful movement. There’s too much flamboyance injected into such a simple gesture.
“Yes,” Iso sighs, shaking his head when Gekko gasps, clearly impressed by the stunt. It’s a small, almost meaningless thing, but he feels something in his chest flutter at the mannerism. Iso mentally notes that one down too, even though he isn’t exactly sure why, “this is Gekko.” Likewise, he turns to the agent next to him, “And Gekko, this is Chamber.” To say that Chamber is just a ‘gun specialist’ is rather a grand underestimation of the French agent’s talents, but he isn’t clueless to Gekko’s clear aversion to weapons talk, so that’s all he settles on omitting that bit for now. His name and face are already enough to set him apart from the rest.
The corners of Chamber’s lips twitch, and he lets out a delighted laugh at Gekko’s reaction, “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
“You weren’t at the meeting.” Gekko suddenly blurts out. Iso raises an eyebrow. Hm. It seems the shakiness from his voice has disappeared now. That’s a relief, at least, though what replaces it isn’t much better. Interest. Curiosity. Mild as it is, it’s slightly worrying.
At that, Chamber’s free hand waves away at the truth—a bad habit of his. “You’ll have to excuse me for my absence. I had… ah, other things to attend to.” Since meeting Chamber, he’s learnt to simply stop questioning his vague answers, learnt to stop trying to fathom the bottomless mysteries of his past. All he knows is that he used to serve in the French military, and that’s more than enough to explain his skill with guns. As for why he acts the way he does—so open and sociable—is still lost on him. Although, he’s aware that several other agents hold deep grievances against him, and Iso knows that there must be some smidge of truth to their accusations at the very least; even if Chamber has never attempted to get chummy with him before. Not to the extent other agents have had to face.
All he knows is that Gekko can’t—or rather, shouldn’t—exactly fraternize with him until he can stop being so dainty around the mention or idea of guns. So when Gekko opens his mouth again, presumably to ask about what exactly Chamber means by ‘other things’, Iso takes the initiative to cut in, clearing his throat. “We’ll leave you to your cooking, Chamber. It smells delicious.” Part of him almost feels ridiculed, like he’s being left out of a joke, when Gekko’s lips downturn into a frown as he’s gently urged towards the door.
Case in point. Brimstone should have asked Chamber to show Gekko around, not him. Maybe he wouldn’t be so… scared.
Chuckling, Chamber turns back around to tend to his food, “Of course. I’ll make sure to save you some.” he calls after their retreating backs, though Iso isn’t quite sure if he’s talking to him or Gekko. The latter, he assumes. Chamber is already aware that Iso has a bias toward certain foods. He’s polite enough not to turn down the offer, but he hadn’t been the one salivating at the smell. Or the sight. Iso’s stomach twists, betraying him.
“Couldn’t we have stayed longer?” is the first thing Gekko asks him after the door closes behind them. So it really was Chamber. Hm.
Tilting his head, Iso casts Gekko a sideways glance, “Do you like him?”
Gekko shrugs, “I dunno. He seemed nice.” Chamber is many things. ‘Nice’ is not one of the words he would use to describe him. Not at all. He’s… unpredictable. ‘Nice’ only when it benefits him.
Iso just nods and carries on with the rest of the tour, but the thought continues to linger at the back of his mind, gnawing at it like a mouse with a piece of cheese. Really, it’s none of his business. Chamber is with the Protocol now. The chances of him doing something that will actually put his fellow agents in harm’s way is close to zero. But not exactly zero, his traitorous mind whispers. And that isn’t his problem. This is business. Nothing more, nothing less. The only responsibility he has is bound to the Protocol itself, not its members.
He shows Gekko the laboratory, the rooftop terrace, and the hangar, and then that’s that. His job here is done. “Do you have any questions?” Iso adjusts the cuff of his gloves. His fingers instinctively twitch as he fixes a loose strand of his hair, aching to switch on his earbuds and lose himself in the sound of his music. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Right up until the last second, he still has a duty to relieve every last one of Gekko’s lingering curiosities.
And that’s exactly what he does. But it’s not in the form of an answer. It’s in the form of a clumsily worded reassurance. “How…” Gekko stops. Takes a deep, shuddering breath in. Starts again. “how long did it take you to get used to… you know,” he motions vaguely with his hands, and Iso cocks his head in confusion, “things around here?” Now that throws Iso off balance. That’s certainly not what he expected, and worse still, he doesn’t have a real answer for it. Even now, Iso wouldn’t even say that he’s properly settled in. There’s still a fine layer of tension between him and some of the agents, and it’s far from a comfortable arrangement. Then again, he supposes that’s how his work has always been: nonoptimal. That’s also how the world has always been.
Really, Iso should reassure him. He’s not the best at lying, but he could at least try it for once; take a page out of Chamber’s book. Instead, he tells him the hard and honest truth. “I still face difficulties with working in a team.” It’s rather embarrassing when he admits it out loud. Sage knew what she was getting herself into when she let him stay, regardless of where he’d come from—what his goals had been. Of course, he was eternally grateful to her, but people don’t change. He couldn’t simply stop being a cold-blooded killer, even after he realized that the ethos the Scions of Hourglass believed was incorrect. It wasn’t easy to forget what had been beaten into him, but perhaps that was why the Protocol had let him stay: his services were still needed.
Killing was all he could do. All he was, and is, good at. He isn’t meant to be doing this. Any of it, really. Talking, reassuring, pretending that Gekko could easily fit in like a puzzle piece. None of what the Protocol did was easy, and none of what Gekko was going to have to do would be easy, either.
“What we do is hard, and it’ll be just as hard for you to adjust to that.” Iso comments. He has to be logical about this. State facts, and nothing more. Involving his personal emotions will tip him over into imbalance, “But I’m sure you’ll have an easier time than me if you’re concerned about social matters.” Iso carefully observes the changes in Gekko’s face and posture as he speaks. He takes note of the way he nods along slowly, his lips pursed as he listens.
And then, Iso’s gaze subconsciously seems to slide elsewhere. He’s got freckles. Lots of them, all sprinkled underneath his eyes and crossing over the bridge of his nose. They’re not close enough that Iso can distinguish one from the other, but he can still see that they suit Gekko.
“Right.” Gekko shoves a hand in his pocket as he turns to leave, “Thank you, um…” He blinks at Iso like he’s just forgotten something important. They stand like this for several more seconds, where Iso patiently—and rather awkwardly—waits for Gekko to elaborate on why he’s got that look on his face again. His eyebrows are knitted together and he’s chewing his lip, a hand raised to sheepishly scratch the back of his neck, “Uh, what’s your name again? I don’t think the old guy ever thought to mention it.”
“Iso.” he replies quietly, dropping his gaze.
“Iso…” Gekko repeats thoughtfully. The name slides off his tongue like syrup, “I’ll be sure to remember that. Thank you, um… for the tour.”