Trouble Child

Trouble Child
by Sorcha Ravenschild

NC-17 for underage and graphic m/m slash (song lyrics follow story this time)

Birkoff kept his eyes down as Operations led him around the comm center, introducing him to the people who would be his co-workers. Invariably, each person gave him a look that said, "Why aren't you in school, kid?", which he quickly tired of. He began responding with his best "because I'm smarter than you" smirk; it might not win him any friends, but at least people would know he wasn't going to apologize for his age.

Operations showed him where he'd be working, and as he took his seat, he was conscious of the speculative gaze of every person in the room being focused on him. It felt like spiders running over his skin, and he shivered.

A strong hand clamped on his shoulder. "Don't let 'em get to ya, kid," Walter murmured. "You wouldn't be here if Ops didn't think you were ready."

"I'm not so sure of that," Birkoff muttered, but he mustered a smile for Walter before taking stock of his surroundings. The work station was exactly like the one he'd trained on, so that wouldn't be a problem. The room was much larger than he was used to, however, and he wondered if he'd ever be able to get over the feeling of too much space around him.

Thankfully, he found that as the first few days passed and he became absorbed in his work, he no longer felt either the space or the curious glances from operatives who were seeing him for the first time. He didn't bother explaining his presence. It was obvious that he was the new head of Comm, and that was all that mattered. If anyone questioned his ability to do his job, they could take it up with Operations.

***

Exhausted and hungry, Michael walked through the comm center without looking to either side, intent on finishing his debriefing quickly so he could shower and grab a bite to eat and a nap. He headed for the briefing table and slipped into his usual seat, muttering a greeting to the others without looking up.

"Michael." Ops acknowledged his presence with a nod, then looked him over. "You're looking...alive, if not well."

Michael shrugged. "I'll be fine after some rest and a meal."

"I have no doubt of it." Ops moved toward the head of the ta the then stopped. "Oh, by the way, Michael, since you were out of contact during the last phase of the mission, you'll not have spoken with our new head of Comm."

Michael stiffened, knowing from the tone of Operations' voice that he was about to deliver a bombshell. He sat up straight, forcing himself to look around...and made direct eye contact with Seymour Birkoff.

"Mr. Birkoff is proving to be quite a capable replacement for Diana," Ops continued. "I'm sure the two of you will work well together."

Birkoff raised one hand slightly in greeting, and Michael nodded. He'd long ago learned how to push aside distractions, and it wasn't until the debriefing was over that he allowed his mind to consider the implications of the way Ops had given him the news. Apparently, his suspicions had been correct; the surveillance mission two years ago had been as much about him as it had about Birkoff.

He realized, as he walked across the comm center, that he'd been careless. He'd assumed that, because his part of the assignment had ended, it was over. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he'd been careless in regards to this situation.

He left Operations' office, knowing that he'd done what was necessary. Ops might very well have known about the disrupter all along, and might have been testing him, to see if he would report it, or if he would let sympathy for the boy override his sense of duty. It wouldn't be at all unusual, in Section.

That didn't ease the vague discomfort that he felt, though, when he passed Walter in the corridor. He reflected, somewhat resentfully, that Walter had had no right to ask him to go against his orders, and that he, not Michael, should be feeling as if he'd done something wrong. He avoided Walter for the next few days, until he was feeling like himself again.

During those few days, however, he was restless, and one night, he found himself outside the door of the observation room. Before he really considered what he was doing, he punched in the code to open the door. Somewhat to his surprise, it still worked, and he slipped inside. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the window.

The other room was completely empty.

Michael stared for a moment, then cursed himself softly. No doubt, Ops already knew that he was down here, had even counted on the fact that he would be. Perhaps he hadn't passed the test after all.

He headed for his quarters, wondering if Ops would call him on this...wondering what they'd told Seymour - no, Birkoff, Walter had said - when they'd come to move him. Michael wondered if he'd been afraid, or confused...or if this sort of thing happened enough that he'd grown accustomed to it.

He squelched that line of thought ruthlessly, before he could ask himself why it even mattered.

Caught up in memory as he was, Michael didn't even notice that he was being watched as he left.

***

"Well, that was interesting," Madeline commented, gazing down on the comm center. "I thought Michael covered very well."

Operations shrugged. "It's no more than he's been trained to do. Personally, I would have liked to have seen no reaction at all."

"Do you think anyone else noticed?"

"I doubt it."

She turned to face him. "Do you think Birkoff noticed?"

"He didn't appear to. Of course, we have no confirmation that he even knows he was being watched."

"He knows. He's too clever not to have figured it out." Madeline turned back to the window and gazed down at Birkoff. "They'll be working together quite a bit."

"Yes."

"You're aware that the potential exists for a situation to develop."

Ops turned away from the window, gesturing for Madeline to join him. "There's always the potential for a situation. Our responsibility is to make sure that a situation doesn't become a problem."

Madeline nodded thoughtfully. "And if they do become involved? Michael is very much in control of himself, but Birkoff is another matter. Young men are prone to acting without thinking in such matters, and I'd say especially so in the case of someone with his unusual upbringing. He might lead Michael into something he wouldn't otherwise consider."

"Any difficulties will be dealt with," Operations said curtly. "You sound almost as if you feel sorry for the boy."

"And you sound defensive," Madeline replied calmly. "I'd love to continue this little chat, but I have work to do." Before Ops could reply, she was gone.