QT: Selected Servicing Ch. 05

Part Five - "Needed To Be Forgettable"

January 6 th, 2021

Fiona had been growing increasingly concerned as she watched Andy watch the Brian Morrison trial, because Andy's concentration had been slipping. He'd mistakenly called a few of his partners by the wrong name, something he'd never done before, and while nobody had publicly bristled much at the momentary blip, it was so fundamentally unlike Andy that everyone had privately gotten more than a little worried about it.

He'd spent most of the last two days studying every bit of data and reportage he could about the trial, the defense, the prosecution, the laws, what the implications were for everyone involved and how the law was going to be fundamentally rewritten by this very case. He wasn't worried for himself, obviously, but Andy's mind was like a Swiss clock - it had dozens of spinning gears and wound very tightly. His brain was always going, always thinking, plotting, planning, preparing, laying foundations, setting up bulwarks.

The whole world was still changing, and Andy was still working on keeping as many people safe as he could.

To be fair, the changes were meant to be keeping people safe, but Andy had a knack for spotting when people were exaggerating their intentions to make themselves look important, and based on what he'd told her over the last couple of days, he'd written off most of the people talking about setting legal precedent based on the Morrison trial as 'short-sighted.'

They weren't just going to need a couple of new laws here and there - entire categories of the law were going to need to be invented to keep up with the changes that the Quaranteam serum was inflicting upon society. While the New Daughters of the Revolution had negotiated pardons for all their behavior, what kinds of laws would they need to cover when a man in a Team was being abusive to his partners, or a woman was being abusive to the man. They were related problems without being the same.

"Andy, love," Fiona said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "You've got nearly four legal pads full of notes. Maybe it's time you need to take a break from paying attention to this."

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he nodded. "Believe me, Fi, I get it. I'm sick of all this myself. It never stops, and they're setting so many precedents here, it's terrifying. This... this disaster is shaping the direction of law for the next fifty years! Whatever comes out of this, that's the starting point we're all going to have to live under."

"You think the lawyers on both side don't know that?"

"I know they know that... that's why they're both playing it so incredibly cautious!" He threw up his hands before rubbing them over his shaved head. "They know that this case is going to be studied for years and years to come, and so everyone's treading very carefully, making sure not to say anything too far out of line or push too hard on the judge. But we need people to push. We need to challenge anything that's people thinking in non-precedent setting approaches."

"Andy. Baby. You're not a lawyer. Let the lawyers do their jobs and don't try and tell them how to do it. You'll only frustrated yourself and them."

He laughed, picking up a legal pad before tossing it on top of the others. "You're right. Of course you're right. I can't do a damn thing about this, and I need to let them figure out the first few stages before I worry that we're in trouble for the next few." Andy gestured casually at the television. "It's just... it's strange to know you're literally watching history being made. Usually you don't get that kind of hindsight in advance. That's why they call it 'hind'-sight, you know?"

"You need to focus on something else for a while," Fi said. "Maybe we should take a break and focus on something more fun."

"You want to do some more shooting down on the firing range?" Andy said with a smirk. "Sooner or later, I'm actually going to get better at using firearms, and both you and Lexi know it. I've shown definite improvement from the last time."

"That's what I'm worried about," Fiona said. "That you're going to A) get good at it, and B) like the idea of carrying a gun, like you're Ian Fleming or something crazy like that. You're not Bond, James Bond, Mister Rook."

"It's not like I'm asking to carry an Uzi every where I go," Andy said with a grin as Fiona pulled him to his feet. "I could get one of those Derringers on a spring-loaded extender on my forearm, and it would be hidden beneath my sleeves all the time."

"Alright, again, A) you don't wear long-sleeve shirts, Andy, like, ever, and B) you'd show it off to literally anyone who asked, which means it wouldn't be a surprise for very long, now, would it?"

"I swear, I just want to have a little fun now and again. Why's that got to cause everyone a bit of frustration?"

"Because we're trying to keep you safe, Andy, and you want to keep something incredibly deadly on you at all times, which is the exact opposite of safe."

"I want to be helpful," Andy said in frustration. "And that means being able to lend a hand to my own self-preservation, rather than just depending on Lexi and Melody all the time to make sure I'm safe. I don't like you thinking I'm some shrinking violet who wants to be taken care of all the time. Not to imply that they're not capable of it, obviously, but I want to contribute to my own well-being, you know, at least now and again."

Fiona took his hands in hers and made him look directly into her eyes. "Andrew Ian Rook, nobody and I mean nobody here thinks you're not doing your part, okay? You're a good man, Andy, and everybody here knows it, and nobody thinks you're sitting back and coasting on the work of others to keep you safe, babe."

"I hope you're right, Fi."

"Besides, where's my man who doesn't give a fuck what anybody else thinks? I remember that interview you gave to Entertainment Weekly after the release of 'Werebears' where you were just like, 'You know, sometimes you miss the mark, and you just pick yourself up and try and do better with the next one.' Where's that guy?"

"That guy was shitting himself that he'd just killed his literary career with one bad year," Andy laughed. "And he was doing any damage control he could do while still trying to look cool enough to not be bothered by it. Sci-fi fans can be like rabid dogs - they get one whiff of fear on you and they're out for blood."

"Nobody's looking for blood now, babe," Fi said, leaning her forehead against his. "People are just glad you're still around, still writing books, still telling stories, and still taking care of us, whether they know it or not."

"Thanks Fi," Andy replied. "I hope you're right. It's been sort of hard to gauge the reactions, despite the fact that I've done a dozen or so other interviews since the '60 Minutes' piece last fall."

"You don't trust the comments section on the internet?"

"Never read the comments section of anything on the internet, Fi," Andy said, shaking his head. "That way, madness lies."

"I guess NY Times readers don't really count as a comments section."

"Not especially, no."

"Hey, speaking of the firing range, I was hoping to talk to Lexi today about her background, but I know she can be a little touchy in talking about it. Do you think you could come with me for this one?"

"Sure, although you may want to compartmentalize your notes."

"How so?"

"Into 'Things you can easily use' and 'things you need to clear.' The CIA takes their security very seriously, so I imagine off-the-record she can tell you all about the mission where she got scarred, but whether or the CIA is okay with you publishing any of that is anyone's guess."

"Lots of the people who would be embarrassed by that shit are dead now, so we'll see if anyone cares about that kind of thing."

They turned off the television and started to walk the mansion, looking to see where Lexi was. When he was staying at the house, the security team didn't feel the need to be by his side all the time. There was a level of implied security at the house that meant Andy could often be left to his own devices, and that the security members could relax a bit.

Lexi and Melody both had their own individual interests, and Fi had seen Andy do everything he possibly could to encourage them both to follow their passions, and as it turned out, Lexi enjoyed gardening, so Katie had helped her set up a fenced off area in the backyard where she could stretch her green thumb at will.

"You know," Andy said as they walked up to Lexi, who was tilling a new patch, clearly having given up on something and starting something new. "I've never understood the desire to do work for relaxation. This is fun?"

Lexi looked up at him with a strange smile. "This is fun for me," she said. "It's slow paced, it doesn't have a timer on it, and I feel like I'm making progress a little bit at a time. And if I screw something up, all I've lost is a bit of time and some seeds. Nothing high stakes, nothing big or dangerous to worry about."

"That much I can understand," Andy said. "You know Fiona's been doing a bit of interviewing for our family, in an effort to... well, I guess to have a sort of history of the family, to be part of the book she's working on."

"You know if we talk too much about my background, you'll have to get government clearance to publish your book?" Lexi asked Fiona, as the older woman just smiled.

"Lexi, darling," Fiona said with a wry smirk. "Between Andy's clearance, your CIA background, Melody's Ranger training, not to mention our association with Phil, anything I write is going to require a whole lot of government clearance anyway. So, in for a penny, in for the whole bushel."

"You're mixing your metaphors."

"I learned it from my husband."

"C'mon, let's go get inside and sit down," Lexi said, looking up at the sky. "Looks like it's going to rain any minute here. I thought California was in a drought."

"No dry spell lasts forever," Andy laughed. "Even mine washed out eventually."

They headed into the house and moved to sit on the porch, a roof over their heads and a series of screens keeping the bugs out. "I'm not sure what the interest is," Lexi said, "but you're interested, so I guess, where do you want me to start?"

"At the beginning?" Andy suggested. "I mean, whatever point you think is best, Lexi, but what Fi's trying to learn is really what makes you tick."

"Oh, well if that's what you want to know, I guess we start back near the very beginning and go from there. My story starts like a lot of immigrant stories."

* * * * *

It turns out Katie and I have a lot in common. Both of us come from first-generation immigrant families. My parents, Arturo and Gabriella Coleman, moved to San Diego, just after my dad graduated from National Autonomous University of Mexico with a degree in aeronautical engineering in 1973. He knew there was good work at Boeing, so he applied and got in, and set about immigrating with his pregnant wife and his brother, Rodrigo.

In 1974, my mother gave birth to my older brother, Bernardo, but unfortunately, he was born with a birth defect, and he never set foot out of the hospital, dying a month or so after his birth.

My mother, in an effort to not think about it, ended up taking a job at a local taqueria and found she had something of a knack for it. Before my father knew it, she had decided to open her own competing taqueria, fed up with management that didn't seem to give a shit about authenticity, and she struck it out for herself in 1977 with Gabby's Best Tacos.

Of course, all of this was made more complicated when in 1979, she got pregnant again and gave birth to my older brother Juan in February of 1980, but she'd set up the restaurant well enough that she could step away for a while and focus on raising my brother for the first year or so. She came back to the restaurant in late 1981 until early in 1984, she got pregnant with me, and I was born, as you all know, on December 31st, 1984.

Dad worked a lot, but he always made time to spend with me and Juan, who was being called Jacky by that time, and made sure we knew we were loved. Dad and Jacky both loved football, and I liked it a lot as well, as Dad tried to take us to as many Chargers games as he could, which gave Mom a chance to spend time at the restaurant and make sure everything was going great.

The neighborhood was especially multicultural, and I was trilingual by the time I was eight - English, Spanish and Farsi, to talk to the Iranian couple who lived next door and let me help tend to their garden when I had the time.

But Jacky was my personal hero - he took care of me and taught my all the important lessons about life. He knew my favorite shows and always played the best games with me. He was only four years older than me, and he didn't resent me like some older brothers do - he saw it as his goal in life to both protect me and to expose me to everything cool.

He was good at it, too. Kept me ahead of the curve on just about everything, and he even threatened to beat up Karen Wilson when she said my dress that I wore to her 10th birthday party made me look fat.

Ha! Sniff. Just... Shit!

Fuck, I'm sorry. Just... just give me a minute, okay? I... I don't talk about this a lot. I felt like I worked through this when I was younger, but sometimes... sometimes it still feels pretty raw, even though this was over twenty years ago. I guess we never really get to let go of all our trauma, do we?

On November 11th of 1996, my brother and my uncle Rodrigo went to a Chargers game together because Mom had to work, and Dad had to take me to my ballet recital. Yes, I did ballet when I was younger and no, I don't want to hear any jokes about it. It was at Jack Murphy Stadium against the Detroit Lions, and we beat them 27 to 21. I like to think that my brother and uncle were happy when they left the stadium.

I'll never know, because halfway between the stadium and our house, they were t-boned by a drunk driver running a red light, who killed them both, as well as himself. They told us it happened too fast for my brother and uncle to really feel any pain, but you can imagine what it was like for a girl to lose her big brother.

Jacky had been my idol. He'd been cool, he'd been smart, he was a good student, and he was seemingly liked by everybody. I'd picked up my tastes in music and movies from him, and I wanted to emulate him in every way I could, and then he was just suddenly gone.

Dad likes to say that was the point when Cop Lexi was born, but that process took a few years, I think. I put away the ballet shoes and started taking martial arts training. I joined ROTC when I was in high school and that was where I made the decision I wanted to get into law enforcement, something my father wasn't happy about, but could understand. It wasn't that he didn't think I could do the job; he just worried about his little girl's safety, you know?

It was a very rough few years, adapting to life without Jacky around. He'd been my rock, and without him, I had to work to figure out who I was without going crazy from missing him. I sort of put a lot of structure into play, making sure there were rules and order. It would've driven Jacky crazy, but I think he would've recognized it as what I needed at the time.

I didn't have a lot of friends in high school, and I didn't date that much either, although I did lose my virginity to Bobby Masterson senior year during a party where we were both way too drunk for our own good, and he was a shitty lay, on top of that.

By that point, I was planning on going into criminal justice with the intent to become a cop afterwards, and so I enrolled at UCLA although I didn't know anyone else who was going there. So I got paired up with this absolutely loopy girl from Ohio named Jenny, whom you know, and she was the biggest breath of fresh air ever. She was so insanely positive, it was nuts. I wanted a fresh start, and I'd been called Alexis all my life, and I decided I needed a change, so I told her to call me Lexi.

Pretty early on in our tenure as roommates, Jenny told me she liked both boys and girls, and after a night of her and I experimenting and fooling around, I told her in the words of comedian Jackie Kashian, "Nope. I'm going to need the pointy bit." But that didn't bother her, and we had a fantastic time and remained roommates for all four years, moving off campus after the first year, and bouncing between one great apartment we could barely afford to the next.

We both dated, and I mean a lot, and I think between the two of us, we gained something of a reputation as big partiers, which was sort of funny, because I don't think any of our parties ever really got out of hand. But we were big socialites, and while I'd like to say we knew lots of people, I don't think either of us had that many close friends.

Just before winter break of my senior year, I had a visitor meet me after one of my classes and I immediately knew the meeting was going to be incredibly different. The guy wasn't wearing some incredibly expensive suit. He didn't look all that remarkable. And yet, he had a level of confidence to him that I'd never seen before. He was in his early fifties, and he looked, well, he sort of looked worn out. It would be a while before I learned exactly how carefully cultivated that look was, but eventually, I'd learn he'd spent a lifetime developing everything he needed to be forgettable.

His name was Agent William Blackmill, and he worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. He was in recruiting, and he thought I would be a natural for the Agency. They don't generally do much outgoing recruiting these days, but Blackmill was one of the few people left allowed to do 'freelance scouting' and he thought I'd be a good fit, seeing as I already spoke several languages, having picked up Russian, French, German and Portuguese in college.

Once I graduated from UCLA, I went to go train at the training facility known as The Farm, which is sort of like CIA college. I was an exceptional student, and I picked up a lot, and found I had a knack for lots of things. You're there for as long as you need to be, but within a year, I graduated third in my class, and was deployed to South America.

I can't get into what I did too much but for about ten years, I worked with a variety of different revolutionaries and guerilla fighters, doing what I could to try and topple regimes that were bad for us, and just generally trying to make life better, not worse. I mostly worked in South and Central America, but occasionally found myself in Canada or the Middle East. I also learned how to fly anything I could get my hands on - planes, helicopters, you name it... Driving too, although that was a little easier. Still, there's something fun about learning how to drive a tank in the middle of the jungle from a couple of guys who openly admitted they just stole it from some Russians a few days ago.

I had a number of relationships over the years, but nothing ever got too serious. Up until the end. In January of 2017, I was working with some contras in Peru, and I had ended up shacking up with a guy named Ignacio. We both knew it wasn't going to be anything long term, but we found a sort of rough solace in each other's arms, and that was enough for us.

We got word the cartel was sending a squad to wipe out the entire village, and our orders were to bug out and let it happen, something I wasn't going to put up with, Normally I was happy to follow whatever orders came down the chain of command, but I'd been embedded in that village for five months, and I'd definitely gone a little native. The idea of leaving all those people to die, I just couldn't square it away. So I dug in and prepared to fight.

It was a rough couple of days, and eventually the CIA sent some people back to retrieve me, but by that time, I'd taken a Molotov cocktail to the chest, and had been pretty badly burned, although we'd driven off the soldiers. Ignacio was dead, as were about half of the villagers.

I never went back there.

They brought me back to the States and I spent several months recovering. With the burn scars on my neck and chest, I was recognizable, which is the worst thing for someone in the Agency. They didn't want to deploy me to the field, and so I was stuck with desk duty, and the world's biggest chip on my shoulder. They were giving me shit tasks because I was on the shit list. The last thing anyone wants on their op is an agent they can't trust.

In January of 2018, a year after the accident, the CIA and I parted ways, and I went into the private sector. I started in private security, mostly for celebrities visiting the middle east. Again, I spoke Farsi, and I didn't have any interest to returning to Central or South America. It was easy work, mostly, and if I could've kept doing it, I probably would've, but the person I was covering for made a recovery and returned to work, and that put me back at square one.

After that, I joined a PMC, sorry, private military company, called Greyfield in Afghanistan that was a far more of a shit show than I'd ever seen. Everything was in disarray and six months later, when my contract was up, I couldn't get on the first plane back to the states fast enough.

And that was sort of where you found me, Andy. Or, rather, where Jenny sent you to get me. I was back in LA, unemployed, living in a tiny little apartment the Agency had put me up in while I was still attending therapy. They still wanted me back, or at least wanted to make sure I wasn't going to start spilling state secrets everywhere, so I was doing 'consulting work' and on the CIA's payroll, but I wasn't really doing anything.

* * * * *

"Were you glad when Jenny called?" Andy asked.

"I was... relieved," Lexi sighed. "I knew some of what was going on with DuoHalo, but I didn't know anyone who I felt comfortable partnering up with when they came to me, so I just stayed at home, laid low and took care of myself until it became time to start casting a net. I took the Oracle test and they had some potentials, but... I mean, what it came down to it was that they were low percentages, and mostly, they were just looking to use me as a bodyguard for bigwigs. I couldn't tell Jenny any of that, but I told her I wasn't doing well, and hadn't figured out what to do with my life, and that was when she suggested I pair up with you."

"I remember when you got here," Andy said. "You were... well, cold probably isn't fair but-"

"No, cold is pretty accurate," Lexi laughed. "I felt like I was without a purpose, and I didn't really like the look of myself in the mirror. I remember the day when I showed up at the New Eden inoculation center, I met Niko on the base and found out she was one of your partners, and I got to talk to her about you for a while. Between that and what Jenny had told me, I was convinced you were a good guy with a noble heart and would be worth protecting."

"How much changed with the regeneration?" Fiona asked.

Lexi whistled calmly. "A lot more than I thought would. I remember the feeling of Andy orgasming and then just this intense whiteness overwhelming me. When I woke up, I felt... I felt very different. I didn't have the low-level chronic pain I'd had for years, and I tried to remember the experience of the Molotov cocktail hitting my skin, and I... I still could? But it was distant. Impersonal. Like I'd seen it in a movie or on television, not like it had happened to me. And I... I didn't feel as angry or sad about it anymore. I didn't realize it, but my PTSD was gone, completely dissipated with the regeneration. But I also felt a strong sense of purpose, for the first time in several years, since the beginning of when I joined the CIA, back when I was looking to dish out justice for Jacky. It was... it was transcendent, almost religious. It was like my life had been running on a couple of dying batteries and then someone plugged me back in and I jolted back to life. The regeneration? It was more than just my skin and my scars... it regenerated me and brought me back to life," she said. "And that's why I told you what I told you, Andy. How your life is the most important thing to me. You didn't turn away from the scars, and I genuinely believe if I hadn't healed, you'd still have been happy to have me by your side. But I did, and here we all are."

Andy laughed a little bit, giving her a little nod, reaching over to squeeze her hand, seeing her tear up a little bit. "Here's hoping nothing ever happens to any of us, Lexi, but if it does, I take comfort in knowing you and Mel and Niko have got me covered better than anyone else possibly could."

"I still think we need one more," Lexi said, squeezing his hand, grinning coyly at him. "Niko's a lot less of a bodyguard since she's pregnant with your child."

"Don't tell her that," Fi giggled. "Or she'll come down here and chew your head off. The last thing any of us are going to do is tell her she's less of a badass, especially since she's likely going to be the first mother in the house."

"Never argue with a woman who carries a gun for a living," Lexi agreed. "That's just good common sense."