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They say “All good spies are paranoid”, but Bell feels they have some good reasons to be just a little bit paranoid.
Firstly, there is no place to hide away in here.
The safehouse is spacious, sure. But between the darkroom, the sparse sleeping area with their bunks, to the wide open garage with the big looming blackboard, the lack of privacy is clear.
Secondly, wherever Bell steps, they feel like they are being watched.
no— they know they are being watched.
It's not like Adler is hiding the fact that he is keeping an eye on them. Those stupid tinted sunglasses can't hide it, the man isn't exactly subtle about it.
And if it's not him, then it's Park leaning back in her chair to track them with her lidded eyes, like a cat stalking her prey. Making the hairs on the back of Bell's neck stand on end.
is she suspicious of them being ex-KGB? who knows.
At least Sims isn’t constantly keeping track of them, not openly at least. He is upfront about not enjoying their company.
Sometimes he even jabs them with a little joke, but even though they have a shared past in Vietnam, there is little camaraderie between them, the jokes are more often than not, on their behalf.. Refreshing really.
With everyone else being so.. so fucking high strung.
Everyone but Lazar, Lazar is a lifeline in the fact that he's so laid back, always oozing a scent of comfort and relaxation.
Lazar doesn't seem to care enough to make fun of them either. He's all brute force and security, a solid wall of a man, yet with a kindness in him.
But at the end of the day, more interested in food, or the armory.. Or punching the everliving fuck out of the bag he’s got set up on the far side of the garage, blocking off the big exit there.
Not that there is anywhere to go. They've been told to stay put, and sit tight while they wait for new mission intel, new secretive phone calls from the CIA.
Adler wouldn’t let them sneak away anyway, they are still working after all, deciphering documents and translating Russian radio chatter for the team.
And thirdly, the longer they stay cooped up in the safehouse ,the more obvious it becomes that things are kept hidden from them.
Not a hard puzzle to connect. Phone calls taken in quiet, hushed voices when the team thinks they are sleeping. It's not a good feeling to know they are being excluded, but sometimes the team has different security clearances, Lazar brought that up with them when prodded about it, and that might be one logical conclusion.
It lightens the sting a little.
Bell hasn't read much of the other’s dossiers, most of the information being blacked out and redacted, if they even had any available to read in the first place.
And they honestly can't recall— almost anything from the CIA meetings that Adler insists they have been on. Its very strange, but things are usually kept tightly under wraps, and they understand why.
There can be bugs and spies everywhere.
From their mixed scents in the garage, and the close proximity living quarters, it would make sense that most of them are alphas and betas, themselves included, that much is obvious.
Trying to guess Parks is a little fun game Bell has made for themselves, not openly, since its not something required to know for the job. But a spy should be able to figure these things out easily.
extra challenging perhaps, with Adler insisting Bell is scent blind. Reminding them about the time they both had a close call on that gas attack back in Vietnam, and that they probably wouldn't pick up the finer notes anymore because of that.
But he’s wrong, they can.
—
Because there is a strange smell.
Under the rust, mildew and cold air there is this strange different scent giving them a feeling of unease, a light almost floral, artificially sugary smell that comes and goes, and they can't seem to place it at all.
It started a few days ago, when the wind hit the large metal fans above the garage door just right, making them creak and pull in a cold draft. And at first Bell thought it was Park's perfume, but a little chat with her cleared that up, and she, with a smirk, called them cheeky for asking.
It's only natural for a spy to be a little bit paranoid, but this is very different. The others aren't commenting on the smell but it's obvious they have noticed it, he’s noticed Lazar make a face at times, as if something reeks.
Adler and Park started popping outside for ‘smoke breaks’, where nothing had been stopping them from smoking indoors before, mind you.
And Sims? He doesn't even know where Sims fucked off to, he comes and goes as he pleases, probably having some supply connections he meets with.
Trying to track the source of the scent down is pulling Bell around in circles in the safehouse, literally sniffing around.
Until Adler barks them to settle down and give it a rest, grabbing them by the back of their neck, scuffing them and guiding them to sit by his desk. He sounds mad and Bell feels bad about it, Adler sighs and tells them to “have a drink and get some rest.”
It's an order.
And Bell has no choice but to resign and accept it, Adler's sunglasses barely hiding the fact that he's annoyed when he pulls a dark bottle and a glass out of the desk drawer.
Glancing over while uncorking the bottle, looking Bell up and down, as if to see if they are ok.
"Something to take the edge off." He calls it.
Tells Bell to “keep the spying to outside the walls”, while pouring a generous glass. That it's probably something that the draft is pulling in, strange scents from the city. “Just relax and take a moment to sit down and breathe, i need you sharp”, to focus on the missions, on the intel.
Bell drinks it without question.
Handing the empty glass back to Adler with a grimace, Bell feels the familiar burn and warmth of alcohol spread from their throat out. It's probably true. The draft, that they should let it go and focus on other things. On their work. Finding Perseus is more important than sniffing out whatever that smell is after all.
Bell sighs, feeling a little woozy, the rather shite excuse for alcohol Adler gave them hit harder than they thought it would, the lack of sleep and constant stress probably had them run more ragged than they expected?
No, it's not exhaustion, this feels different, warmer. Their head is getting heavy, and slowly the safehouse grows fuzzy, out of focus.
They can feel themselves getting grabbed before their knees give out, and getting walked over to the corner where they have a small couch and some chairs set up.
Whatever was in that bottle had to be something strong.
Bell sinks into the musty pillows, glancing over, heavy lidded to watch Adler turn a chair around and straddle it, leaning his arms on the backrest with an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers, watching carefully.
“Take five, Bell”
Bell squirms under his gaze and pulls their legs up from the floor, better settle down and try to relax before things get too hazy.
The warmth inside them sinks lower, almost as if the alcohol, or whatever they were given, had kept its burn for much longer than it should, molten metal on the inside.
And the strange floral scent grows stronger.
—
Bell doesn't know how long they were out for, seems like they really needed that nap? From what they can see, it's dark out, and the ceiling lights are off.
A single lamp perched on Adler's desk is doing its best to cut through the darkness.
They can hear Parks' soothing voice and Adler's deep rumble before any words make themselves clear. A hushed argument?
Willing their eyes open slowly, Bell doesn't even try pushing themselves up, their head feeling heavy as lead and hot, a fever?
Parks voice raises slightly, making it through their brain fog
"It's clear as day what this is, Adler. I don't care how much the CIA claims it shouldn't happen, you can smell it just as well as the rest of us.” She throws her hand out “Bell is clearly in hea- oh.." cutting herself off mid gesture as their eyes connect, and hers soften. Bell watches her turn towards Adler, briefly shushing the man before she walks over to kneel by the couch.
She looks almost worried?
“Awake already?” she smiles
Bell nods weakly
She reaches for the edge of Bell's balaclava and gently pulls it up and off, murmuring softly about getting them cooled down a little, using it to wipe their face as she unbuttons their jacket.
Park seems to reel back a little, reacting to something?
"Poor thing.." she tuts.
Everything smells so much clearer now without the mask, Hyacinths, Lily of the valley and a bright saccharine syrupy smell and it's making Bell gasp for air, shuddering on the exhale.
It's the smell they've been walking in circles around the safehouse over, but so much stronger, and its-
The click of a Zippo lighter pulls their attention up and away from Parks gentle expression, towards Adler, casually lighting up a cigarette behind her, crinkling his nose, the flicker of the lighter reflecting off his sunglasses.
Bell watches him inhale deeply, their eyes drawn to the red orange ember.
"We both know the easiest and quickest way to pull them out of this, Park. If it is what you say it is."
"I'm aware."
Bell isn't sure what's going on.
Crossing her arms loosely with a catlike smirk not intended for Bell at all, Park gets back up only to lean over the couch, running a gentle hand through Bell’s sweat soaked hair, her nails scraping across their scalp, before turning to face Adler.
"Well then. They are -your- protégé" She pats his shoulder.
Bell can't help but think she sounds a little smug about this, whatever it is.
"I'll be at my desk."
And with that she walks off through the smoke left drifting lazily from Adler's cigarette and into the darkness of the safehouse.
Their eyes follow the trailing line of smoke back to Adler.
It's quiet.
Looking into those dark sunglasses doesn't give them much to go by, Adler remains stone faced as always, but there is something else there, it's almost like he is contemplating what to do.
The large scar stretched over his face, pulling slightly at his upper lip.
Bell groans, whatever this fever they've gotten struck by is, they just need some more rest, right? Maybe some tea and a paracetamol? But at the same time it feels different from any other fever they've ever had before.
It's warmer, settled differently and making it hard to focus on more than one thing at the time.
Focus..
Adler's lips move.
Bell's thoughts linger in their own silence until they notice they've been staring at Adler's lip scar.
Not taking in any of what the man had said.
So Bell hurriedly looks away, anticipating getting yelled at again, releasing a raspy little whine, feeling feverish and pathetic, wanting to roll over and bury themselves into the dusty pillows.
Only to get pulled back by the shoulder to face Adler as he sinks one knee into the couch cushions, making them dip with the weight of him as he settles down between Bell's legs.
Warmth, tobacco, wood, leather, iron, the scent hits Bell like a door slammed in their face, making them shudder.
Their own pulse rushing loudly in their ears.
They feel Adler’s hands on their sides, slipping in under the waistband of their pants.
Warm big hands, meeting clammy sweat-soaked skin, pulling them into position.
"Allright, let's get you sorted, we got a job to do"