director_global: (that's not good)
[personal profile] director_global
Every so often, it's important to provide little incentives for those who support you. Nathan Stark is well aware of this, which is why he currently happens to be walking across the lobby of Global Dynamics with Fargo at his side.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, sir," Fargo nearly babbles.

"No need to thank me, Fargo, you've earned it." Stark doesn't bother to slow his pace. If Fargo can't keep up -- one way or another -- then that's his problem. "Having your own office is a rite of passage. It's a symbol of status and rank; tells the world you've arrived."

Reaching the elevator, he strides in; Fargo darts in to join him just before the door closes and the system activates.

The door slides open on the second level. Before Fargo can step out, Stark forestalls him with a small shake of his head.

"Not yet."

As the elevator continues, a look of almost puppyish hope floods into Fargo's expression.

"Section Five?"

Stark slants a sideways look at him--

--I'd have hoped you were self-aware enough to know better than that--

--and allows himself a small, superior smirk. "Pace yourself."

The elevator comes to a stop at Section Four. This time when the doors open, Stark steps out and starts down the utility corridor, walking briskly along the unfinished concrete floor past the pipes and myriad loud noises.

"What's down here?" Fargo asks.

Stark turns to look at him with mild surprise. "You. And your new office." With a wave of his hand, he turns once more and continues on his way down the hall.

It's a long, long way, but eventually they reach an unmarked door, where Stark comes to a stop. Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

"Congratulations, Fargo."

Stark grandly gestures for Fargo to precede him into the old storage room replete with junk and illuminated by a single buzzing fluorescent light.

"You deserve every square foot of it."

With a smile, Stark claps him on the shoulder and leaves him to it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Several hours later, the combined efforts of Fargo, Spencer, and Henry Deacon have gone a long way towards eradicating the mess. While Henry has headed back to the garage, taking a box full of files with him for later investigation, neither Fargo nor Spencer is ready to call it quits just yet.

"Check this out!" Fargo calls, pushing a metal shelving unit aside to reveal a very old, and very large, computer console. "Think it's a stereo?"

Spencer snorts. "Sure. First generation iPod."

Refusing to be baited, Fargo continues to fiddle with an assortment of buttons and switches. "How do you turn this thing on?"

After a moment, Spencer's unwilling curiosity draws him over. Fargo glances at him. "It's got keyholes."

Spencer brightens. "And we got keys. I saw some in the desk over here."

One mad scramble later, Fargo holds up a couple of keys.

"These two match." He tosses one to Spencer. "Here, go unlock your side-- on three. Ready? Set, go!"

Both turn their keys; nothing happens. Spencer snorts again, this time in disgust and disappointment both.

"Just another old piece of useless junk." He sighs. "That was almost exciting--"

The rest of his words are drowned out by an ominous whirrrrr as the console activates, accompanied by flashing lights, a loud siren, and a helpful electronic voice informing them all,

"Primary firing sequence initiated. Weapon will deploy in twenty-four hours."

As the red LCD of the countdown clock flickers into life and clicks over to 23:59:59, Fargo moans and reaches for his cell phone.

Mere seconds later, it's all too clear to Nathan Stark that despite his best efforts, he still hadn't managed to put Fargo's office quite far enough away.
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Nathan Stark

March 2010

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