for decadency
Aug. 29th, 2013 08:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nevermindgenevaIt's another Monday and the building Dean has worked in for the past three years hasn't changed. A big, impressive, but still fairly ugly office block on Roosevelt Road, a much nicer lobby with either Tanja or Sandy, the receptionists, and one of five security guards screening who's coming and going. Today, it was Randy who checked the metal scanner and handed Dean his gun back, and Dean gave him a smile in return, as per his usual morning routine.
The office itself is the same, too, except for the desk directly adjacent to Dean's. It used to belong to Bela, and used to be covered in neat, tidy stacks of impeccably managed paperwork, with a small glass figurine of a cat being the only personal affect on display. The past month, only looking at Bela's desk would piss Dean off. As well as get him horny, but that's over now. It never really started, since they had sex a total of one time. It was enough to shatter the thin wall of professional politeness between them and to make being partnered up with her akin to torture. Lucky for him, Bela proved her proactive decision-making skills and applied for a transfer, which was granted not two weeks ago. She took her remaining vacation days and headed down to her new office in New York, leaving behind a pristine, empty desk with not a speck of dust out of place to be taken over by Dean's new partner.
Whom he'd never received a file on. HR had promised that it would be in his inbox first thing Monday morning, but when he booted his computer up, there was no email. A quick call got him a few basic details from HR, as well as an apology about their system being down. If there's one thing HR never runs out of, it's excuses for being late with the paperwork.
Now, Dean's sitting at his desk, watching the little digital clock in the corner of his computer screen creep towards 10 am. He's still got the short email from HR pulled up, listing the few basic details on his new partner—DHS, 32 years old, an undergrad degree in Latin Studies and a masters in cryptology, desk jockey in the DHS DC office for the past few years. Goes by the name of Castielle Novak and is registered on the supernatural register as a nephalim. Dean had to wiki that one, but now he can't decide what he's the most worried about: his new partner being a geek, his new partner being DHS, or his new partner apparently being the offspring of an angel and a human.
He's very curious, though. Maybe being half angel makes you hotter? Another glance to the clock on his computer screen tells him that he has to wait two more minutes to find out. Enough time to loosen his tie a little and walk over to the coffee machine in the corner to get himself a fresh cup.
The office itself is the same, too, except for the desk directly adjacent to Dean's. It used to belong to Bela, and used to be covered in neat, tidy stacks of impeccably managed paperwork, with a small glass figurine of a cat being the only personal affect on display. The past month, only looking at Bela's desk would piss Dean off. As well as get him horny, but that's over now. It never really started, since they had sex a total of one time. It was enough to shatter the thin wall of professional politeness between them and to make being partnered up with her akin to torture. Lucky for him, Bela proved her proactive decision-making skills and applied for a transfer, which was granted not two weeks ago. She took her remaining vacation days and headed down to her new office in New York, leaving behind a pristine, empty desk with not a speck of dust out of place to be taken over by Dean's new partner.
Whom he'd never received a file on. HR had promised that it would be in his inbox first thing Monday morning, but when he booted his computer up, there was no email. A quick call got him a few basic details from HR, as well as an apology about their system being down. If there's one thing HR never runs out of, it's excuses for being late with the paperwork.
Now, Dean's sitting at his desk, watching the little digital clock in the corner of his computer screen creep towards 10 am. He's still got the short email from HR pulled up, listing the few basic details on his new partner—DHS, 32 years old, an undergrad degree in Latin Studies and a masters in cryptology, desk jockey in the DHS DC office for the past few years. Goes by the name of Castielle Novak and is registered on the supernatural register as a nephalim. Dean had to wiki that one, but now he can't decide what he's the most worried about: his new partner being a geek, his new partner being DHS, or his new partner apparently being the offspring of an angel and a human.
He's very curious, though. Maybe being half angel makes you hotter? Another glance to the clock on his computer screen tells him that he has to wait two more minutes to find out. Enough time to loosen his tie a little and walk over to the coffee machine in the corner to get himself a fresh cup.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-29 08:57 pm (UTC)Sleep, when not balanced by appropriate amounts of activity, leaves him restless and impatient. Sunday, the day he arrived in Chicago, amounted to almost no activity. He took a cab to Dulles rather than trouble Daphne to do him a final favour by driving him; permitting him to stay in her apartment—what used to be their apartment—the last three weeks while his transfer was approved was good deed enough. That required sitting for two hours in DC traffic. The plane ride consisted of sitting for another five hours, and then another hour in Chicago traffic in the cab to the motel. When he moved in with Daphne two years ago, and began sleeping with her each night, his need for food disappeared entirely. Without requiring dinner or breakfast, he settled in for a night of watching television at the motel and went to bed early at 10PM.
Now 9AM, Castiel has been awake for three hours, and dresses in his suit and trench coat for half of it. In an hour, he has his induction meeting with Victor Hendrickson, the director of SCI's Chicago headquarters. Accounting for one missed train connection and a leisurely walking pace, it will take no longer than 35 minutes to travel from his motel to his new place of work. Even if he allows himself to be ten minutes early, he still cannot leave until 9:15.
The clock on the television clicks over to 9:02 as he watches it. He has been staring at it uninterrupted since 8:41, when he absolutely could not check his hair or his tie one more time. The files the DC office gave to him before he left Friday afternoon could be reviewed once more, but he has read them so many times he knows most of the information by heart. All the same, they sit next to him in a neat pile on the bed. The thickest file is a statistical report on SCI Chicago's investigations and lock-ups over the last two years. Chicago's purview covers the entirety of the Midwest, from Detroit to Omaha and Minneapolis down to Kansas City. It's the largest jurisdiction under SCI control, but its case numbers are only one percent of what DHS handles in one year. It's both a very small and a very large office.
The second file is the personnel file of Hendrickson. Castiel has found it benefits him to know for whom he is working and what kind of character they possess. Hendrickson, from what Castiel can tell, is hard but fair, and prizes hard work and strict obedience to the rules more than anything. Very little phases him. His record comes with several distinctions of merit. It wouldn't surprise him if in a few years Hendrickson found himself on the fast track in DC or New York to higher office.
Hendrickson's management preferences seem to clash with Castiel's third file. Winchester, D. peaks out from the label tab, slightly bent from how many times Castiel has thumbed it. This is his new partner. His first partner. He's never been permitted in the field before, except as an emergency translator. Dean Winchester appears to relish hard work but very little else. His file lists minor citations for both misconduct to authority and sexual misconduct on government property. There are two charges of misconduct to authority on Castiel's record, so he tries to keep an open mind about similar charges on Winchester's—but the sexual misconduct concerns him. He detests working with people who make crude and demeaning jokes, having been the butt of enough of them for most of his life. Otherwise, Winchester seems to be a model agent: six years in law enforcement before he joined SCI three years ago in 2005, a degree in criminal psychology from the University of Minnesota, and an impressive case record. All at the age of 29. There's also a photo attached, the same stock identification photo that all federal agencies require on file. If Castiel had to guess, it must be a few years old—his own is from 2002, when he first joined DHS. The photo is black and white, but it's still apparent that Winchester is—attractive. He has nice eyes—and very likely terrible handwriting, Cas decides, judging from the self-satisfied smirk.
The fourth file is Castiel's own. The first four pages detail his basic information—name, birth date, education, specialities—and the rest provides information regarding his compliance with the Supernatural Creatures Registration Act of 1987, his registration ID number with a photocopy of his registration card, his registration information from 1987, 1997, and last year in 2007, including all of the addresses he has ever lived at, details of his abilities as a supernatural being, and a list of sworn affidavits and agreements of behaviour he swears not to partake in keeping with registration law. His work history with DHS isn't listed until page five. The two journals he was published in during grad school aren't mentioned until page seven.
Given that HR couldn't access their electronic files last week, he knows this is the only full copy of his record that SCI currently has. It's tempting, very tempting, to forget his duty for a moment and not deliver it to Hendrickson as he was told to do. At the very least, he could remove the first four pages that list his species as nephilim. Surely losing the page with his basic information wouldn't be such a terrible loss to HR. After all, the automated system likes to insist that his name is spelled as Castielle, thereby ensuring that his pay checks some times wind up delayed by a further two weeks while he waits for correction and re-print.
It's tempting, but in the end he doesn't. He's been registered on the National Supernatural Creatures List since he was eleven years old. When they lifted the ban on supernatural beings holding federal positions and he applied for DHS, he knew his professional life would be dogged by his full compliance and cooperation under the SCRA. So far—perhaps it hasn't been entirely worth it, but he finally received a position where he might be able to do some good. To work in the field. To prove himself, and others like him, to be working for humanity instead of against them. Throwing a fit now would get him nowhere. Instead, he places the files in a small duffle bag, checks his tie one more time, and leaves to take the El to downtown Chicago.
He times it perfectly. At 10AM on the dot, he enters through through security, submitting to the physical pat down by the dubious looking security guard. Salt, iron, holy water, and silver have no effect on angels—and therefore no effect on nephilim—but his registration ID make him susceptible to higher security protocols. Finding nothing on him but a Bic pen and a pair of aviators in his coat pockets, the guard finally lets him go on his way. He takes the elevator to the fourth floor, where the department for active field agents is located. Hendrickson didn't leave instructions of where to meet him besides a suggested time of arrival. Castiel hopes further instructions will be shortly forthcoming; he hates not knowing what to do.
Pushing through the office doors at a brisk walk, Castiel takes in his new office area. It's open planned, with tiled flooring that looks like it comes from the 1960s and was cleaned around the same time it was put it. There are no cubicles. Instead the desks are shoved together in pairs front to front, with stacks of paperwork or personal picture frames to divide them. There's only one open desk, and—a man who looks very much like D. Winchester's photo sitting at the adjacent desk. Summoning up all the charm he possesses, Castiel marches over, arms loose at his sides. He stops right next to Winchester's chair.
"Hello. My name's Castiel. I am your new partner."
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Date: 2013-08-29 09:35 pm (UTC)He swivels his chair around, making a last-second wager with himself—tightly tied-back ponytail and glasses, he gets to head out for drinks with the boys tonight, open hair and contacts, he spends at least two hours at the gym—before he's turned around all the way and his eyes fall on—someone. Not Castielle Novak. It's a guy in a trenchcoat, dark hair, big eyes, and an expression like he's heading for a court appointment deciding about the fate of Ted Bundy. Dean frowns and has about 20 seconds to wonder who the newcomer might be—IT? PA? HR, to tell him they made a mistake and his new partner won't be arriving until in a week?—before the man stops next to his chair and announces that he's Dean's new partner.
Dean's fairly sure that his expression doesn't make the best first impression. He can't help it; this isn't the uptight-but-hot librarian he was expecting. The man's eyes catch his attention, though; eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to cut wood. Shit. Stop staring.
"Hey!" He pushes himself to his feet, holds out a hand, summons a hopefully friendly smile. The thought crosses his mind that this is the first time he's been assigned a male partner. Maybe Jerry from two desks over made good on his threat and told HR that Dean needed to be saved from himself and assigned a partner he wouldn't end up fucking on day three. His jaw tenses a little at the thought, but he keeps smiling. "Sorry about that. HR told me your name was Castielle—which I guess is spelled without the French part."
Smooth, Winchester. That didn't even make sense. He shakes his head; never mind. "I'm Dean. Welcome to Chicago, Castiel!"
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Date: 2013-08-29 09:54 pm (UTC)"My name isn't French, Agent Winchester." He squeezes Winchester's hand harder for a second in order to impress the point on him. No introduction requires this amount of—bounce. "It's Biblical. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm sure we'll enjoy working together."
Though monotone, he actually means it sincerely. Never the best at inflecting tone in to his voice, each statement comes out in the same low pitch, one step away from a growl. It might be best if he spent his lunch break jogging. He didn't bring his work out clothes with him but the restlessness from this morning—like hell are they nerves—might make relations with his new coworkers strained. He doesn't want to make a bad impression. Turning away from Winchester, he swings the duffle bag onto the empty desk and unloads his four files in a stack on the desk. The final object left in the bag Castiel sets down at a perfect 45 degree angel from the corner of his new desk. It's a bobble-head bulldog that Anna gave him four years ago for his birthday. Since then, it has been the one and only piece of personal decoration in his work-space. Seeing it here makes the desk feel a little bit more like his.
"I'm meant to meet with Director Hendrickson to complete my induction paperwork and go on a tour of the premises. Can you tell me where to find him?"
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Date: 2013-08-29 10:31 pm (UTC)"Oh, I'm sure." He's about to point out Castiel's desk to him, but the other man's one step ahead of him. Dean watches him dump his duffle bag onto the polished wood and start pulling files out. Looks like HR in DC did manage to provide Castiel with his file. Distracted by working to catch a glimpse of the file labels while trying to seem like he's not attempting to catch a glimpse of the file labels, Dean doesn't notice the bulldog until it's sitting there in the corner of the desk, its head bobbing up and down and drawing attention to it. Well. At least it's not a glass cat. With that thing on his desk, Castiel can't mock Dean's set of one-inch Batman-and-Robin action figures, or the '67 Stratocaster keychain dangling from his desk lamp.
He glances back up at Castiel when he mentions Hendrickson, and shifts at the question. "Office at the end of the hall, can't miss it. He's not in yet, though. He wrote me an email earlier, asked me to forward his apologies that he won't be able to make it." That's not quite the truth, Hendrickson said nothing about apologies, but maintaining a friendly relationship to his staff isn't exactly his strongest suit. Dean smiles again. "You'll have to make do with me. I'll give you the tour, and I'll introduce you to Annie, who handles all the paperwork around here." Hendrickson's PA, who is definitely a wizard with paperwork, but very difficult to convince to overlook it when other people are late with theirs.
He waves a hand, indicating Castiel to follow him. "You've found your desk, let me show you the rest of the place." He waits for Castiel to catch up as he leads the way towards the door. "And maybe afterwards, you'll let me take a peek at your file? I see you've got mine. HR made a lot of promises, but they never came through on sending me yours."
He tries to keep his expression open and friendly, but he can't help his eyes flicking once up and down to give Castiel a once-over as he remembers that the man he's talking to is a nephilim. Not human. That's gotta be a first in the department.
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Date: 2013-08-30 09:15 am (UTC)If they aren't signed with 72 hours, he'll lose permission to take this position. He's been on the job for ten minutes.
Nervously he cheats a glance over his shoulder at Winchester. "You are—acceptable." As far as a tour guide goes. He'll confront Hendrickson when he arrives later. Following Winchester when he beckons, Castiel casts his eyes around the office again, prepared to take in details, trying to ignore the sudden press of anxiety.
So caught up in trying to act normal that he almost misses the speculative once-over Winchester gives him. Between his agitation from this morning and the added weight of nerves, the look raises Castiel's hackles. "Agent Winchester, I want you to know that I have read your file, including the three charges of sexual misconduct. Whatever thoughts you are entertaining about my being—" He pins Winchester with his best don't-fuck-with-me glare. "I suggest you quit."
It's not that he suspects Winchester actually had a sexual motivation for the look. No, it was purely curious, analytic—a silent exclamation of how it's so gosh darn surprising that such creatures manage to look so human. But Castiel isn't ready to rock the boat on his first. Accusing his partner of prejudices will get him nowhere. And he is curious how Winchester views his sexual misdemeanors.
"I'm sure HR will have my file available for you shortly. When will Agent Hendrickson return?" He wants his paperwork signed and approved as per regulations as soon as possible.
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Date: 2013-08-30 11:18 am (UTC)"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. You look almost nothing like a girl." He holds the other man's eyes for a moment, making sure that he got his message across. He likes girls. Not uptight male geeks in trenchcoats. He just hopes Castiel won't develop a weird thing for him. There is nothing more awkward.
He gives it another couple of moments, then pulls his mouth into a fake-genial smile and continues to head for the door.
"He'll be in later." And until then, you'll have to contend yourself with him. He holds the door open for Castiel to pass through into the corridor, deliberately polite. "After you."