She nods and then she'll pull out her communicator.
"Hello, Admiral?" and she makes the request accordingly. Then she clicks off the communicator; no 'need to know' between them. Not from her. But the second request won't be until they've cleared a few things up.
"And what I'd like with the weapon is an agreement that if I provide you with a firearm, that, baring extenuating circumstances that would make it impossible, that's the weapon you use while we're paired. Acceptable?"
She asked. Right there in front of him. Nothing feels different as yet, but she asked. At her stipulation, unexpected gratitude or not, his brows knit slightly. "The only one?"
"You'd have a copy of my gun," and she'll pat the handgun in the holster at her hip. "And it'd work the same way: one shot knocks out anyone or anything, per the Admiral, no harm done to them other than maybe a headache if they hit the floor too fast on the way down. You need to stop someone or something? You can. And you won't kill them."
"They're put to sleep. I've only used it once, but he woke up about a half an hour later when my friend went to go check on him."
She walks over and takes her own chair.
"If you're concerned about locking someone down, I could specify at least five minutes to get them secured. What're you seeing as a use case for this that the length of unconsciousness is a concern?"
"Less concerned about that than I am concerned about... keeping a threat eliminated."
Ah, that's why it bothers him. Or part of the reason. The risk, the inefficiency. Yeah, people come back here, but not instantly, and they don't come back well and ready to fight, locked down or not.
She's trusting him: the means to restrain just about anyone. It's not nothing. But it's also not something she thinks he's going to take. She's watching him.
He sucks on his teeth as quietly as possible, irritated and once again unsure why. Normally the uncertainty wouldn't bother him, he wouldn't think much about it, but there's not a whole lot else to do here other than think about what he can't name or doesn't feel.
He sits back in his chair, studying her face in turn. "Have you never killed anyone?"
She doesn't look at all flummoxed. She sees true. She knows what she sees.
She tips her chin towards him.
"Why is killing them more important than saving them a week's worth of suffering? The people who'd care for them a week's extra work. The infirmary extra supplies."
She turns her hand, palm up.
"It's pretty obvious you don't like non-lethal neutralization. But instead of offering a potentially more efficient alternative, you question whether I've ever killed someone."
She looks back at him.
"You don't strike me as a straight up sadist. Anger is the next best guess. Add to that the fact that, nice or not, I've put you off kilter most of this discussion..."
Hold on he's just gonna sit and stare for a second, slightly alarmed. That's a lot more of an answer than he wanted.
He answers the part that he can think to explain. "Keeps whoever had to be put down from hurting anyone for a week."
As for the care and supplies, well. He himself doesn't care. So the infirmary or a warden has to spend some time on someone who got themselves killed. The Admiral can just conjure more supplies up, as far as he's aware. Logistically, it doesn't matter.
"I..." And lo, there's a tingle of frustration at the edges of the empty.
It's what he does. It's what he's for. It's the whole point of him, anymore. He's a weapon, and a good one, and that's the whole thing right there. He doesn't know how to explain what's so perfectly obvious.
"I'm not sure what you're looking for from me, Agent Anderson."
He finds, to his own frustration, that he wants her to yell at him. He wants her to scream insults into his face like a disappointed drill sergeant. Then at least there would be a pattern in all this that's familiar. But that smile is so infuriatingly kind and all he can think about is her hand in his hair, comforting him on that bloodstained couch while he faded out of the world for the umpteenth time.
That's what creates enough of a crack for him to voice what should be self-explanatory. What the drill sergeant and the CO and even the researchers at Project Aegolius knew.
"It's my job." He's the property of the US Army. It's what he does.
She opens her mouth to answer when there's a beep from her communicator. She'll play it for him to hear that her request has been granted before she nods in satisfaction and puts it back away.
"All done."
She folds her arms again.
"Do you like your job?" And she'll pause just long enough before adding- "or do you think it's your only option?"
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"Hello, Admiral?" and she makes the request accordingly. Then she clicks off the communicator; no 'need to know' between them. Not from her. But the second request won't be until they've cleared a few things up.
"And what I'd like with the weapon is an agreement that if I provide you with a firearm, that, baring extenuating circumstances that would make it impossible, that's the weapon you use while we're paired. Acceptable?"
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"You'd have a copy of my gun," and she'll pat the handgun in the holster at her hip. "And it'd work the same way: one shot knocks out anyone or anything, per the Admiral, no harm done to them other than maybe a headache if they hit the floor too fast on the way down. You need to stop someone or something? You can. And you won't kill them."
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He does. It's sensible enough. He can't help resisting the prospect, and he can't entirely understand why.
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She has some ideas about why, about what he really wants. Why he's an inmate after everything that happened to him.
"But not what you were hoping for."
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He draws his chair out and sits again, slowly, watching her out of the corner of his eye to see if she's all right with him sitting down.
"How long does it last? The tranquilizer." For lack of a better word.
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"They're put to sleep. I've only used it once, but he woke up about a half an hour later when my friend went to go check on him."
She walks over and takes her own chair.
"If you're concerned about locking someone down, I could specify at least five minutes to get them secured. What're you seeing as a use case for this that the length of unconsciousness is a concern?"
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Ah, that's why it bothers him. Or part of the reason. The risk, the inefficiency. Yeah, people come back here, but not instantly, and they don't come back well and ready to fight, locked down or not.
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"And if I threw in some, let's say some cable zip ties?"
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But not all.
And he just... It doesn't feel right, somehow, to be armed and still comparatively harmless.
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She's trusting him: the means to restrain just about anyone. It's not nothing. But it's also not something she thinks he's going to take. She's watching him.
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He sits back in his chair, studying her face in turn. "Have you never killed anyone?"
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"I have."
But her eyes settle on him again.
"Do you think killing people here will make that anger you've got raging around your insides get any better?"
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"Ma'am?"
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She tips her chin towards him.
"Why is killing them more important than saving them a week's worth of suffering? The people who'd care for them a week's extra work. The infirmary extra supplies."
She turns her hand, palm up.
"It's pretty obvious you don't like non-lethal neutralization. But instead of offering a potentially more efficient alternative, you question whether I've ever killed someone."
She looks back at him.
"You don't strike me as a straight up sadist. Anger is the next best guess. Add to that the fact that, nice or not, I've put you off kilter most of this discussion..."
She shrugs.
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He answers the part that he can think to explain. "Keeps whoever had to be put down from hurting anyone for a week."
As for the care and supplies, well. He himself doesn't care. So the infirmary or a warden has to spend some time on someone who got themselves killed. The Admiral can just conjure more supplies up, as far as he's aware. Logistically, it doesn't matter.
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"No. It doesn't. Or you're gonna tell me you couldn't pull a trigger a day after you woke up?"
She shakes her head.
"But here's the thing: even if you were right? That's not handling a crisis, David. That's meteing out a punishment."
She tilts her head to one side.
"And how you said that: 'had to be put down'. That's not how you talk about people, David. That's how you talk about rabid animals."
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Then he remembers why he's here, who she is to him, presumably why he can speak freely.
That makes the reply a lot easier.
"Yes, ma'am."
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"So do you want to talk about that anger?"
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"I'm not angry."
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She's open to hearing what else you've got, David.
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It's what he does. It's what he's for. It's the whole point of him, anymore. He's a weapon, and a good one, and that's the whole thing right there. He doesn't know how to explain what's so perfectly obvious.
"I'm not sure what you're looking for from me, Agent Anderson."
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"I'm looking to understand how you feel and what you think. Those things are important to me."
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That's what creates enough of a crack for him to voice what should be self-explanatory. What the drill sergeant and the CO and even the researchers at Project Aegolius knew.
"It's my job." He's the property of the US Army. It's what he does.
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"All done."
She folds her arms again.
"Do you like your job?" And she'll pause just long enough before adding- "or do you think it's your only option?"
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