Work Text:
JANUARY 03, 1977
CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA, UNITED STATES
13:04
Claire was well-versed in every form of anger there was. Knowing exactly how the human mind worked and every possible response to any given emotion was a part of her job, both as a psychologist for the CIA and her former double life as an undercover operative for the KGB. And she could count on one hand the number of people whose minds she knew better than Russell’s. To her, he was rather predictable. She could predict every possible reaction to any given situation. His anger was quiet and cold and everything about his general demeanor kept anyone from pressing him on emotional matters more than he would like them to.
Unfortunately for him Claire took great joy in testing for weak points. If ‘joy’ was the appropriate word, at least. She couldn’t think of a better one.
To her credit it wasn’t a one-sided affair. Although they had different personalities they did both share an air of mystery (even if most of her cards were on the table these days), and that was a previously charming aspect of their relationship. Their dedication to coy half-truths was endearing. Now it was annoying, mostly to Russell. She was not above weaponizing that, though in this case it was less for her own entertainment and more for the sake of navigating an already difficult set of changes.
She deserved most of his anger and that of her other CIA colleagues, but she wallowed in self-hatred enough at home. Both of the self-inflicted and Russell-Adler-inflicted variety. She did not have the energy to bear the brunt of his pendulum between anger and indifference at work, not when they and their colleagues had better things to worry about…granted, her status as a spy and infiltrator within their ranks was a serious issue, but that had clearly been handled by the powers that be and she was no longer an active threat. The information she offered whenever asked as well as the constant, allegedly subtle surveillance both at work and at home spoke to that. She pretended not to notice it.
But that was easy to ignore.
Russell was not.
Between the (largely peaceful, if one didn’t bother looking past the surface) divorce, the loss of Mikhail, her still healing arm and the permanent nerve damage, the growing distance between her and the colleagues she was closest to—Hudson, Scott, Weaver, even Mason and the list kept going—and their well-founded distrust and suspicion…the emotional distress was weighing on her. It made it difficult to focus. All she could think about was how fragile everything was and how much it all fell apart. Misha no doubt would have told her that it wasn’t entirely her fault, but Kyrill and Russell would both disagree. Maybe she just wanted absolution under the guise of tolerance. Forgiveness was what she really wanted, but no amount of atonement had been enough thus far and likely never would be. Either way, something had to give.
It was easy enough to corner him. When he wasn’t handling something abroad he spent most of his time glued to a desk, like most everyone when they were here in Langley. He rarely went out for lunch, rarely even ate lunch, and no matter what her opinions were on the topic of smoking were a large portion of people felt the need to ruin the air for everyone so it was unlikely he’d be taking a cigarette break outdoors. Especially not in this cold. So he was, predictably, in his cubicle.
He either didn’t notice her approach or he was ignoring her, but judging from the way he almost jumped when she appeared at the side of his desk and dropped the files she’d brought with her it seemed the former was more likely. He looked mildly surprised as he looked at the large stack and then back up at her, before his brow pressed down and he went back to his blocky computer. Emails, from the look of things.
“The psych evaluations you requested as part of your requisition,” Claire explained without missing a beat, immediately breaking the silence. She did her best to sound to the point and professional without being curt, hoping none of her nerves were showing through. “Should have every report since the individuals preliminary examinations.”
Russell barely glanced her way, taking a drag on his cigarette. “I’ll look them over when I get the chance, thanks,” he said, voice flat and tone dismissive. “Anything else?”
“There is,” she said, trying to sound casual. And in control. She wasn’t, she was well aware of this, but her whole life revolved around faking it until she made it. This was no exception. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Figured you might. Didn’t think you’d come all the way up here for this,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in his seat. He pushed back from his desk, letting it swivel her way. “What is it?”
Claire cut to the chase. “Could you at least pretend to view me as a colleague and not a nuisance?”
“It’s a professional distance, Claire, I don’t know what you want from me,” he said, less cold than he could be but certainly not friendly.
“I’m not your enemy,” she said.
He gave her a look. “Debatable.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve never been an enemy of you or anyone else in this building,” Claire told him, voice firm but keeping it steady. He wasn’t going to have her bristling. She wasn’t prone to outbursts and shouting matches, she wasn’t about to start now. “I’m doing my best to prove that I’m on the ‘right’ side of all this. I’ve cooperated. The least you could do is treat me with some degree of civility.”
“Noted.” He took his glasses off—those ridiculous transitional lenses, because he was too good for regular glasses—and wiped them clean, not looking up at her as he did. When he was done he straightened up in his chair and stared off at nothing in particular, gears clearly turning in his head. He still avoided looking at her when he spoke again. “You can’t pretend nothing happened, you know. I’m not playing that game.”
“There’s no game,” she said, frustration prickling throughout her body. She huffed out a breath. “You’re an adult, you ought to act like one. You don’t have to pretend nothing happened, or pretend I’m a saint, but this is our job we’re talking about and you need to learn to at least tolerate me instead of stonewalling me like a child.”
“I’m not going to be your friend, Claire,” he said, looking back up at her.
“You’re not listening to me.” She lowered her voice, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation. And as a prayer for some kind of patience, because Lord knows anyone dealing with him needed it.
“Tell me what I’m not hearing, then,” he said, raising his voice a bit. He wasn’t shouting, that wasn’t the way either of them argued. His default response to any degree of stress was this same detachment. Neutral emotions, low-talking unless you pressed him, which Claire was doing at this moment. “Because from where I’m standing it looks as though you think that this deal you’ve worked out with Caine and Hudson gives you a clean slate. It doesn’t. Not with me.”
“That’s not the impression I was trying to make,” she said, swallowing the knot tightening in her throat. “I know it doesn’t fix anything, least of all with you. I know that.” Claire chewed at the inside of her cheek, briefly looking away from him, around the office to see who else might be listening in. Very few people, none that cared. Focused on their work and their own conversations. She could feel Russell watching her the entire time, while she tried to find the best words to communicate. “You don’t have to pretend nothing happened, you don’t even have to forgive me. But we work together, like it or not, that’s the way it’s always been and it’s not changing. But you can hate me on your own time, not here when we’re both just trying to do our jobs.
There was a tick in his jaw as he looked away again.
“All I’m asking is that you tolerate me, Russ.” She wanted to believe she was getting through to him, but she didn’t know anything anymore. Least of all anything related to him.
He was quiet for a while. Then he finally pulled his chair back to his desk, turning his shoulder towards her as he stamped his cigarette into the glass ashtray on his desk. She dropped her arms to her side, letting out a defeated, worn sigh. She wasn’t going to fight with him. She gave him a chance, though. Eventually he sighed again as well, flexing his fingers like he was already itching for another cigarette. He tended to do that when he was stressed. His voice didn’t give it away, though. “I’ll do the best I can.”
Claire could only blink, staring at the back of his hair. She said nothing.
“Is that it?” Russell asked her, tilting his head slightly.
“It is, yes.” She took a breath, turning back the way she came. “I’ll leave you to your day.”
So she marched away, not looking back. She’d completed what she’d come there to do. There was a truce, however shaky it was, and that was the best she was going to get out of him.