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How do you solve a problem like Caveira?
"Mike, would I have endorsed her if I thought she was going to be a problem?"
Julien "Rook" Nizan looked up from his own internal musings and tuned his ears. There weren't many people who called Thatcher by his given name; the SAS operator's call sign had been Thatcher for three decades, so for someone to address his so familiarly was odd.
The young french operator felt somewhat bad for eavesdropping, but the Rainbow Base's canteen wasn't exactly the place you went to talk privately. "You shoulda seen what she did to that kid the other day," Thatcher continued. "Now Six is on my ass to sort her out. Sure, give the job to the fookin' old guy, he's like everybody's gran, is'n'e?"
Rook reflected on the fact that Thatcher's accent made "fook" the only possible accurate spelling.
"In my professional opinion, Mike, she isn't a sociopath." The man talking to the older operator wasn't unknown to Rook. He was Rainbow's psychologist. Rook had been interviewed by the man, and saw him once a month for therapy, which was a prerequisite for Rainbow's operators.
"So what am supposed to do with a fookin' soldier who not only volunteers to interrogate a prisoner but jumps at the chance?" Thatcher shook his head. "Jaysus, what she did to that kid."
The shrink shrugged expansively. "I dunno, promote her?" He sighed when Thatcher gave him a look. "Alright, bad taste. But if you want a reason to drum her out, I can't provide a medical one." The psychologist checked his watch. "Look, I have to go. It was good catching up, Mike."
"Hey, same to you, Eddie. Tell the wife hello."
Rook picked up his drink and wandered over to Thatcher's booth. The older man glanced up and treated him to a grin, and Rook pointed his thumb at the retreating psychologist as he took a seat. "Talking about me?" he joked.
Thatcher snorted. "Talking about Caveira."
Rook sensed that Thatcher wanted to talk. The older man had been something of a mentor for the young French operator, so he asked, "Want to talk about it."
"Fook it, yeah, I do." Thatcher leaned forward in his seat. "Caveira has been giving me a headache, me and most of fookin' Rainbow. You hear what she did last operation?"
"The one in Madrid?"
"Yeah. Textbook shit, White Masks were moving some Ricin. We went in, me, Doc, Cav, and with Ying behind the wheel. It goes great, we capture a few fookers, Cav volunteers to interrogate one, some fooking radicalized teenager, and before we know it she blows off one of his knees and the tip of his elbow."
Rook blinked. "Ah."
"Fookin right, 'ah'." Thatcher tapped the table for emphasis. "That's not even it. Since she joined she's barely said five words to anyone but Cap, and whoever she has talk to she's pissed off."
Rook realized he'd actually never really talked with the Brazilian woman, though he had spent one-on-one time with nearly every operator in Rainbow. "Wasn't she partnered with Doc?" It was common practice to pair up operatives from other units, to form cohesion and share tactics.
Thatcher let out a huff. "Not after Madrid. Christ, as far as I know the only person she has as a friend in the world is Cap, but that's only because Cap could make friends with a hungry alligator, fookin' saint. Doc got along with her alright, but know what she did? She was using his injections to keep the terrorist she was interrogating from passing out. Can you believe that shit? How many times have you seen Doc angry, I mean really angry?"
Rook thought for a moment. It was rhetorical, of course, but he thought anyway. "Only a few times."
"Yeah, and how many times has he laid hands on someone 'cuz he was so angry? Never, eh?" Thatcher leaned forward and dropped his voice. "Mate, he picked her up off that terrorist and he just about put her through a fookin' wall. He was so mad she was using his kit to interrogate the bastard he didn't stop speaking French for five minutes."
"So Doc doesn't want anything to do with her now," Rook said.
"Too right. I'm not against pulling out the thumbscrews if we need the information quick, know what I mean? I'm no saint. But he was a prisoner and odds were he didn't know shit. That's the fucked up part, though, he knew something, and he wouldn't stop talking to Doc when he was trying to fix him up. We got two more leads from that young bastard alone." Thatcher sighed heavily. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't have her in the unit. She don't work well with others, don't trust nobody, and nobody trusts her because she's like a female Hannibal Lector. I put in a complaint and Six told me to do what I thought best. The fookin' nerve."
"Because now you've got to judge her impartially?" Rook grinned as Thatcher finished his drink disgustedly.
"Right. And honest to God she's a fookin' asset. I don't care about the torture." Rook grinned again at the bold faced lie. "But she doesn't fit in the team. She's new, sure, but she's not so new that she shouldn't get along with the others. Now, anybody that put up with her because she was Doc's partner isn't going to."
It was impulsive, but the idea had been in the back of Rook's mind for a while. "Partner her up with me."
Thatcher raised an eyebrow, and Rook responded by ticking off on his fingers. "I can put up with her. I'm patient. I know what my bio says, 'Trustworthy and trusting', right? You say she doesn't fit in, maybe I can help her fit in. You can put me on any team and I can work with anyone, so maybe I can ease things along."
It wasn't bragging, and Thatcher knew it. Rook was a solid anchor, a cornerstone for any operative team, and he was even capable of leading a team in the field, very effectively. He was one of the younger operators, but he was more responsible than some Thatcher could name. In fact, it didn't seem like such a bad idea, the more the SAS operator mulled it over. Rook got along with everyone, and if he couldn't get along with Caveira that might be the straw needed to make the decision of whether or not she stay. "Hell, you want to take her off my hands, Julien, why not. I'll partner her up with you, and give you two weeks. You tell me, then, whether you really think she can become an effective part of a unit, and she stays. You think she'll become a liability and I tell Six I want her out."
As Thatcher excused himself and Rook finished his drink, the young GIGN wondered what he had gotten himself into.
"Hello. Taina, right?" Rook had his hand out, and Caveira was regarding it with crossed arms.
Thatcher had brought her to the indoor shooting range that morning, all but dumping her at the step. Rook was wearing his entire kit, down to the "Rhino" trauma plates, but minus the balaclava.
He noted, with only a very small amount of chagrin, that she was slightly taller than him. He was used to being shorter than most of his fellow operators, but it still rankled a bit.
After a moment she took his hand and shook it. "Yeah. Julien, right?"
"You got it." He noted that her accent was more lilting than how she talked in the field. She always wore the skull makeup in the field as well, and she looked...softer without it. He understood that, gearing up and psyching oneself up for the field was common. He wore a balaclava for the same reason. "Did Thatcher tell you why you're here?"
"You're my new babysitter," she responded. She had crossed her arms again, plain closed behavior.
"I suppose you could say that. I'm your new partner for the next couple weeks, for team building. But did he tell you why you're here this morning? Non?" Rook pointed to his armor. "We're doing trust exercises."
Caveira snorted. "What, like a trust fall?"
Rook retrieved his .357 Magnum revolver from its holster and offered it to her by the barrel. "Not exactly. I want you to shoot me."
There was a pause, but he knew there would be. She automatically reached for the grip, as anybody does when someone hands them something, and he let it drop so that she either catch it or let it clatter to the ground. She fumbled it for a brief moment before looking at him incredulously. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, absolutely." He tapped the trauma plate. "This can stop that round. It has before, many times. So, to build trust." He went into a parade rest stance, feet wide and hands behind his back. "Aim at my chest, and pull the trigger."
Caveira looked down at the gun, and back up at him. "Uh, no way, Frenchman."
Rook smiled. "Don't be a pussy." Caveira looked up sharply, and he just smiled back at her. He thought for a moment, and remembered that she had ten brothers. "I dare you." Got you, he thought, as she furrowed her brow.
She raised the revolver with a frown and pulled the trigger. He grunted as the bullet hit his trauma plate. It felt like being kicked by a mule, but it was right there, a silver mushroom stuck slightly into his armor. Right in the center; she was a good shot.
Caveira raised an eyebrow. "I thought maybe it wasn't loaded."
"I wouldn't lie to you. Now, your turn."
It took her a second to realize what he meant, but as understanding dawned, she shook her head emphatically. "No fucking way."
"You get shot at all the time," Rook argued.
"Yes, but I don't get hit all the time, Frenchman," she retorted. "No way am I letting you shoot me, even if I had double the armor you have on."
Rook shrugged. "Alright."
Caveira blinked."What?"
"I said that's fine with me. Absolument. I can't blame you." He removed his helmet and started to work at the velcro pads that kept his armor on. "Let me get out of this, and we can go do something. We're stuck together now, right? Do you run track?"
"Yes," Caveira said tentatively.
"Wonderful! I'll race you, then, we can see who is faster."
The next few days should have been unpleasant. It was clear that Caveira was opposed to being assigned a partner, but Rook could be incredibly patient. The first day was spent at the track, and then at the canteen. Caveira retired early, and he knew it had to do with him.
The second day, he was waiting in the cafeteria for her, dressed in gym clothes. Rainbow wasn't strict on procedure, but the operators were disciplined enough to keep their own schedules. Rook was in the habit of waking up even earlier than most others.
He hadn't pegged her as a morning person, but she wasn't a zombie before the first cup of coffee as he had guessed. Nevertheless, she seemed less than pleased as she ate and he sat quietly across the table from her. He didn't rush her as she ate, or glance at his watch, or stare at her. He seemed content to wait for her to finish her breakfast before going to morning exercises, prepared to wait happily, seemingly forever.
He knew that it drove many people crazy.
He thought he could actually hear her patience snap, like a wire drawn too tight. She put her fork down gently and asked, "What is wrong with you?"
Rook blinked at this. "I'm sorry?"
"Don't you have, I don't know, things to do?" she said, spearing a grape with her fork. "Don't tell me you're planning on following me around like a puppy for the entire two weeks."
Rook scratched his chin. "Well, I was hoping you would follow me, some times. I'd like to get your opinion on some armor I'm working on, I know you're very good at shooting in the chinks left out. I heard Alexsandr was looking into some subsonic rounds for armor piercing that might interest you." She just stared at him, and he shrugged. "We're partners. Whatever you may think, there's very little different from you and I being partnered than, oh, Monika and Meghan being partnered because Meghan wants to brush up on her German."
"Oh, yes," Caveira snorted. "Am I supposed to pretend that I wasn't partnered with Doc because they wanted someone to keep an eye on me, and that I'm being partnered with you for the exact same reason?"
Rook smiled. "Well, it's a little more than that. If I don't think you're a good fit for Rainbow or incapable of working well within a team then Thatcher is going to use that to throw you out. That's the little bit of difference that I mentioned."
"And who the hell are you to pass judgement like that?" Caveira asked, anger seeping into her voice.
Rook, however, kept his pleasant tone. "I've been partnered with over six of the current operatives here. Each one I did the trust building exercise with, and by the end of two weeks, they've all let me shoot them as well. Because I'm not here to pass around body armor, Taina. Any recruit or other operator could do that; I instill a sense of trust. That's my speciality. You interrogate people, but when the three other GIGN operators were recruited, all three of them asked for me to come along. They needed a medic, a point man, and a tech whiz, but Twitch, Montagne, and Doc all asked for me because as much as I'm a good operative, I've proven my trustworthiness over and over."
There was a pause, and Caveira looked around. A few other operators were looking at them, but her eyes met back with Rook's, who hadn't looked at anyone else. The French operative grinned. "Not that I mean to brag. Are you going to eat that cantaloupe?"
The following days gave Rook an insight into why Caveira hadn't made any inroads into many of the rest of Rainbow. They trained in PT and hand to hand combat every day, practiced at the shooting range, and made rounds to other operators to discuss tactics and gear. Throughout it all, Rook was the only active member of the duo. He did most of the talking, the appointment keeping, and Caveira only spoke up or participated when he asked her directly.
But, if Caviera was an immovable object, Rook was an unstoppable force. He would ask her opinion, her thoughts on the subject, relate things being discussed to her and her own expertise. Over the course of a few days, she found herself speaking up first, only to stop his questioning.
The worst part of it all, she thought rather un-rationally, was that he seemed sincere in all this. She looked at him, and she was very good at reading people, but he only radiated cheerfulness and sincerity like a supernova. The fact was, she realized in the privacy of her own brain, hating Rook would be like hating a baby rabbit or puppy. It could be done, perhaps, but any sane person couldn't do it.
About a week into becoming partners, a few operatives were called in to put together a plan to investigate a White Mask cell in France. All four GIGN operatives were present, as was customary for an op concerning a member of Rainbow's home country, and Caveira accompanied Rook.
Blackbeard of the United States SEALS was present, as was Thatcher and Glaz. Rook waded in, as comfortable with the other men and women as anyone could be, shaking hands and exchanging formalities. Caveira, however, stood mostly to the back, and was aware of a certain coldness from several of the GIGN members. Eventually, the op briefing was finalized, with Doc, Twitch, Rook, Blackbeard, and Glaz being chosen as a five-man team, but Rook raised a hand. "I'd like suggest my being replaced by Caveira."
There was a small silence that Rook let grow. Caveira looked up sharply, but he was just studying the map. Thatcher raised an eyebrow. "Alright, why's that?"
"She's as quick as me, but she's much quieter. I would be going in with Twitch and Doc and Blackbeard, with Glaz on overwatch, but with Caveira, you would have the option of sending her ahead to scout in the case that they have jamming for Twitch's drones."
Thatcher nodded. The proposal made sense. They needed a fifth, and Rook was always a good candidate to fill an open fifth position. But with Caveira, they would have more utility owing to her speciality. The older man looked at Doc, who gave the tiniest of shrugs.
"Are you willing to join this op, Caveira?" Thatcher asked.
The Brazilian woman blinked, shook herself, and said, "Yes, of course."
"Then we'll go with Rook's idea. Suit up, we leave within the hour."
As they left, Caveira ran up to Rook and, making sure they were out of earshot of anyone, spun him around and asked, "Why did you do that?"
"Pardone? Why did I do what?"
"None of the people on that team want me there. They would rather have you a hundred times over, so why recommend me?"
Rook smiled. "Come on, what do you think I am? There was a need that was not filled, and you could fill it. You're right, they didn't want you there so they didn't consider asking you, but you're a fairly obvious choice." Caveira crossed her arms, and he sighed. "I need you to understand something. I'm not taking pity on you, or trying to steer you to some greater truth. You aren't a case that the golden boy Rook has taken on, to try to save. You are a highly specialized operative working with a very, very select group of other highly specialized operatives, and it is in your best interests, and mine, that you get along with them!" The French operator's voice rose, and Caveira realized this was the first time she had ever heard him agitated. "This isn't a schoolyard! So you and Doc don't get along, who cares. Are we supposed to separate you forever? He can get over himself, you need to get over yourself as well."
He stopped, and there was silence for a moment. "Nice speech," Caveira said.
"Thank you," Rook huffed. "I've been preparing it for a few days. My mother always said that I'm a natural mediator. I like people to get along, and in this line of work its so very, very important. Thatcher asked me to see whether or not you are capable of being in this team, and to me that means making every chance for you to be. If I have to work on you, or work on the team, I'll do either, or both."
Caveira said nothing, then she went and got ready to depart.
At the end of the second week, Rook asked Tatcher to meet him in the indoor gun range. The SAS operative strolled in to see Caveira in parade rest with one of Rook's trauma plates on her chest. The French operative raised his revolver and shot, and the Brazilian operative grunted and took a step back as the bullet slammed into the armor.
Thatcher nodded and said, "Wonderful. I look forward to working with you, Caveira." He turned to go, and looked over his shoulder at Rook. "And for fook's sake, Rook, do some trust falls or something next time. Those fookin' trauma plates are expensive."