Cameron had clipped a cigar for himself and was quietly puffing it as he got started, tapping away on a computer with soft hums. His peripherals picked up on something moving, and he glanced over to spot the person he was seeing everywhere peering at him through his window. He slid back from his desk slightly in the wheely chair that hugged his body better than anything ever, just sort of returning the gaze with a stern expression of his own. He gestured the other inside, standing from his chair and moving to shut the blinds. His suspect had been caught, so there was no reason to keep the blinds open any longer.
“I didn't order any food,” Cameron huffed loudly as the other entered his office, tilting his head up slightly in an imposing way as his gaze flickered over the other. “And you don’t exactly look like the delivering type.” His English was heavily laced in that thick, rumbly Russian accent, but it was still clear and strong.
Annnnnnnd shit. Deimos froze when the man made eye contact with him. He had a couple options. He could just simply ignore the look and the gesture, and just walk away. Or he could fess up to watching Cameron for the past couple weeks, but that would be just plain stupid. So Deimos chose to try to keep up the act, walking in somewhat shyly. Trying to present himself no more that a meek deliver man lost in a building as he entered Cameron’s office. “You didn’t? I’m so sorry, I got a little lost. Do you know anyone that ordered breakfast in this building?” Deimos chose to ignore the second comment, trying to capitalize as much as he could on the first.
Deimos took the opportunity to let his eyes flicker over everything in the office, trying to memorize where everything was, planning what he could use as a weapon if things went south. And if things did go south… well, he hadn’t planned to assassinate Cameron today, but he might just have to. It wasn’t ideal, and surely he’d leave tracks, but he didn’t want to underestimate Cameron. If it put his own life on the line, he wouldn’t hesitate to stab Cameron’s throat with an office pen if that’s what it took.
Cameron huffed smoke from his nose, letting the rings spread out over his messy, cluttered, and almost never clean desk, and fill the room with what smelled like a sweeter aroma, rather than an acrid smell which is more associated with the heavy sticks of tobacco. He let the other speak, but his heavy, doughy eyes didn’t seem very overjoyed with what his ears were hearing.
“I don’t think anyone in this office eats nothing for breakfast,” Cameron answered after a few moment’s thought, landing on the small bag. “If anyone orders anything it’ll be for everyone. So perhaps you have the wrong floor.” His voice was dry and slightly suspicious, his hand already inching up to his pockets, which held a phone and a small knife he kept with him everywhere. This was definitely the man he kept seeing every which way he turned, catching sight with the brown eyes. The feigned shyness didn’t seem to affect the bigger man that much, and the times Cameron had seen the other previously helped him understand exactly what he was dealing with. Well, not exactly. Cameron would just have to play his cards right.
Deimos looked at Cameron shyly. “Oh? I’m so sorry then, I should take my leave.” Nothing. I am nothing to you, I’m not a threat. I am nothing. No one, just another forgettable face in your day to day life. Deimos silently willed, knowing he’d be in deep shit soon if he couldn’t get out of here and lay low for a little bit. Maybe he’d been sloppy the past couple weeks. What would his father think of him, if he saw him right now, speaking with his target like this? Disappointed. My father would be disappointed. In Deimos’ career, any attention was bad attention, and this was extremely bad attention.
It’d only be worse if he tried to leave now, if he rushed out too fast. That could only cause more suspicions. What if Cameron called the cops, saying there was a suspicious man in the building? He’d be on their radar, which was something he could not afford. For all any government entity knew, Deimos did not exist. He preferred to keep it that way.
“Why should I let you leave?” Cameron asked, the single question enough to pierce through any thought bubble, his suspicion rising slightly at the sudden want to leave. He settled down in his spinny chair again. He wasn’t afraid of looking less significant; he already had the upper hand in this situation. He huffed rings out of his nose again, his hand slipping into his pocket and pulling out his phone, which he waved back and forth slightly, as though considering to use it.
Perhaps calling the police would be the best thing to do. This man obviously wasn’t going to leave him alone anytime soon. Even after this, Cameron was sure a week later he would appear right back in the gym on a treadmill or as Cameron walked nonchalantly to the grocery store in the middle of the night. Obviously this man had something he needed to do, but he simply wasn’t doing it. Is that what brought him here today?
Of course allegations are just allegations… Cameron knew nothing. Yet.
Annnnnnnd double shit. Deimos swallowed, eyeing the phone. Please please please just put the phone away, no pictures, gosh please no pictures, Deimos silently prayed. If Cameron took a photo, he whole career- no, his whole life would turn to shambles. “I have to deliver this to someone eventually, no?” Deimos replied softly, subconsciously chewing on the inside of his cheek. This was such a dangerous position he was in right now, and he knew one wrong word and he’d be done for. One wrong word, and Cameron might call the police. One word word, and Cameron might take a photo. One wrong word, and Cameron knew very well his own life could be as in danger as Cameron’s was right now.
But Deimos wasn’t exactly in the right position to kill him, was he? He hands were tied by the sheer probability that someone could walk in at even a hint of noise, see him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it when someone called the cops and they were put on his trail. And Deimos’ father would be absolutely furious if he was caught or even just on the radar. Deimos relied on completely stealth, and it was so easy to slip up when it came to assassinating people.
Cameron crossed one sassy leg over the other, sitting back in a relaxed sort of way, puffing his cigar.
“Mmhm. Sit down, then.” He gestured to another spinny chair on his left, originally an intern’s he had been shadowed by for a while. She had left it with him after accidentally breaking the mechanism that worked the elevation of the seat. It was much lower than the chair Cameron sat in, and especially so when he turned to face it. He was almost looming over the other man, except they both were in the same general zone of height, and both sitting.
Cameron hadn’t been thinking of a picture, but as soon as he turned on his phone and saw that little picture icon on the lock screen, he’d immediately be reminded of the feature on his phone. Currently he was busy memorizing the features of the man. To his very American-esque eyes, how they pointed up and the sharp eyebrows at a fine point, and the dark eyes with the rounded nose and thick lips. Ah, Cameron probably didn’t look Russian, but this man definitely not Russian. It was laughable, actually.
“Where are you from?” Cameron finally asked after his observation.
Deimos knew he was being backed into a corner, but he couldn’t find a clear, easy way to escape. So he slowly sat down, regretting the action even more as he noticed how short he seemed with the chair in comparison to the other male. He didn’t know what was coming -well, he knew it’d be very bad- but he was tight lipped. Deimos had been trained to withstand torture, he’d survived that. He survived starvation, knives, almost drowning, intense heat, and many, many more things. He could survive whatever this man was planning.
“Canada. Just above the Great Lakes, my parents moved north from the states when I was a baby,” Deimos explained, making himself make eye contact with Cameron. It was a complete lie, but not an unbelievable one. Deimos had practiced his story, many, many times under his father’s pressure. Deimos knew his fake identity almost better than he knew himself. He wasn’t going to mess this up. He couldn’t.
“Canada. You don’t have the accent,” Cameron observed, his dark eyes still unreadable and strange. They were steady under the careful gaze of the other man, the Russian not backing down.
Cameron honestly wasn’t planning anything. He was considering to just sit this man down and chat with him idly until he couldn’t take it anymore. Psychologically drag him out and torture him on the brink of insanity until he couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes words were the best form of torture, and they were both sitting in an open office on a Friday morning, and the only weapon in the room was Cameron’s knife.
“Not all Canadians have distinct accents,” Deimos pointed out swiftly with a casual shrug, though internally he was scrambling. Out. He needed out right now. What was he going to do? When was he going to make the first move? Deimos was convinced he’d see blood before he left his office. He just didn’t know whether it’d be Cameron’s or Deimos’ blood, he didn’t know if he’d leave the office victorious or in a body bag. Or worse, he could end up walking out with shackles on his wrists.
Deimos knew very well Cameron was a dangerous man. He had yet to see what he could do, but he didn’t doubt it. And slowly, seeds of fear grew in his chest. What ifs spiraled out of control, and he broke Cameron’s gaze to quickly sweep the room with his eyes. Weapon, weapon, need a weapon, what will I do if he comes at me head on?
But Deimos made himself keep a straight face, the only hint of his panic with how his eyes moved a couple seconds ago.
(I’m gonna head to bed. I’ll be on almost all day tomorrow. Goodnight!)
(lmao I was just about to go looking for this. Good morning!)
(Lol, also I prolly won't be on much until school is over oof, so my responses will be pretty slow, but I'll try to get on during lunch or something)
“I’ve chatted with a lot of Canadians. They are very distinct from the other English-speakers of our world.” Cameron hummed, almost shouting out Aha! after his words as he saw the other’s gaze flicker away nervously and stare around the room, barely stopping his own face from lighting up. He kept it solid and steady, careful to keep his gaze buried into the other’s eyes.
“You seem nervous,” Cameron finally observed as the other man steadied himself to look back into his eyes.
(Lol, also I prolly won't be on much until school is over oof, so my responses will be pretty slow, but I'll try to get on during lunch or something)
(same lol. I have a bunch of tests today too since I missed Friday last week.)
Deimos pursed his lips, "Well, I lived very close to the US border, so I can see why you may be confused," Deimos said with artificial sweetness, "Though please don't assume me to be like them, I have standards." Deimos chewed the inside of his cheek more as he made himself stare at Cameron. This was going horribly wrong, and so far Deimos didn't know how to fix it, other than reversing time itself of course.
"Maybe I'm a bit nervous to get my food delivered, I don't exactly want to get fired from my job," Deimos told him, but he couldn't stop his gaze from flickering around the room one more time. He needed something to defend himself, now.
“You have standards,” Cameron just simply repeated back at the other, squinting slightly. “That’s something an American would say. Where are you really from, guy? You’re not fooling anyone.” He sat back more in his seat, huffing his cigar more. He was almost finished with it. His left hand still toyed with the phone he pulled from his pocket, a reminder of the deadly blows that Cameron can lay down on this man. But his hand was starting to straighten out slightly, ready to pose it up for facial recognition and unlocking.
Deimos saw the phone move and panicked a little more. He had dealt with things worse than this, he really did. But it was just something about this that had him freaked out. Maybe it was the height difference with the chairs, it felt all too familiar to Deimos. And Deimos knew he'd curse this moment a thousand times when he blurted, "Stop." He swallowed, his eyes shifting from Cameron's face to the phone in his hand, and back again. "Put the phone away and I'll tell you where I'm from," Deimos said softly, chewing on the inside of his cheek so much that he tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.
Cameron complied, setting the phone on his muscular quad for safekeeping in case he needed it in a snap. He obviously didn’t trust this man enough to not have his phone out and ready.
“This is the most I’ll do,” He finally said in his heavy, thick voice, his eyes still squinted slightly. He didn’t say anything else, just tossed his head slightly to tell the other to start speaking. Cameron had finally cornered this man, now with his doughy eyes never leaving his flickering gaze, he must admit that this man was really quite the coward. If he wanted to stand and leave, Cameron simply would’ve allowed him to. This wasn’t America, but one was still able to leave a room.
Deimos watched the phone as it was set down. "I'm from America," He finally confessed quietly, but not meekly. "Why does it even matter? I need to deliver my food," Deimos told him, trying to regain his composure. He was fine, Deimos was fine. His shorter height didn't mean he was disadvantaged, he was still a killer. Deimos was a weapon, he was a machine. He did not have 'human error'. Deimos didn't realize the thoughts weren't exactly his own, but they fueled him nonetheless.
Deimos formed his mouth into a tight line turned his face to steel, relying on his vigorous training. He'd trained for this, he'd endured interrogations before.
“From America. Right, there was no need to lie, then,” Cameron huffed with a sneer, spreading smoke over the other from the last few puffs of his cigar, before crushing it into a pan at his shoulder.
“I think it matters is because you’re not from here. It feels as if everywhere I turn I see you. You make me suspicious.” He tapped his now free fingers on the screen of his phone, still scrutinizing the other man, slicking his dark hair back and readjusting his legs so they were spread with his feet tapping on the ground.
Deimos shrugged it off, “Small town, is it not?” He crossed his arms over his chest, keeping eyes contact this time. “It’s only natural that I explore around a little bit after I’ve moved here.” Deimos crossed one ankle over the other and leaned back in his seat, trying to appear casual and calm. He wouldn’t give Cameron the power of panic over him, at least not anymore. He’d learned that lesson many, many years ago.
Deimos kept eye contact as he said softly, “May I go now? I’m sure I’ve humored you enough.” Deimos still needed to not seem threatening, since it seemed everything else was shit. For all this man knew, he was just a creep stalking him with no other motives in mind, for all he knew Deimos wasn’t a murderer.
Cameron grabbed another cigar from his desk, clipping the butt and lighting it before offering it to the other.
“Would you like a cigar?” Cameron asked, knowing full well that any suggestion of a disagreement would make the “delivery guy” upset more. Cameron knew damn well this town wasn’t exactly small; the influx of interns came from the wave of Russians coming from larger towns. So seeing each other so often all the time wasn’t exactly a coincidence, in his opinion.
Deimos eyes the cigar carefully, all his instincts telling him to decline. He knew very it could easily be laced with something unsavory. He knew very well that drugs would only hurt his performance. He opened his mouth to turn the offer down, then closed it like a fish taking in air. “Okay, I suppose,” Deimos finally said, taking the cigar and inspecting it. He cautiously tried it out, clearly unaccustomed to smoking, shown by how he awkwardly held the cigar. Deimos’ father had smoked from time to time, but Deimos never really got into it. Besides, he’d been kept on a tight leash when he was in training, Deimos knew they wouldn’t have hesitated to deal out punishment had they caught him smoking something.
