"Really?" You give him a teasing look as you take a seat. You're dying to go through the papers he surreptitiously cleared away. Can you find an unobtrusive way to search this place? Worth thinking about.
"Really." Ortega nods and sits down as well, leaning back, looking relaxed.
"So how did you manage that? You're competent, but you're no tech wizard."
"Only because I short them out." Defensive as always.
"And because you don't have the patience for it."
"That's fair," he admits. "Angie did it."
"Lady Argent? I didn't know she had other talents than tearing into people." You rub your throat, a little unnerved. Another unknown, it looks like Argent has more layers than you suspected.
"She's got a way with technology. Most people don't know that, so keep it a secret, alright?" The wink is downright conspiratorial.
"No problem. Who would I talk to anyway?"
"She'd tear me a new one if she knew I told you, so hopefully not even her." There's a quick glance toward the door that tells you he's not as sure of the privacy of this place as he pretends.
"We don't have the best track record when it comes to polite discussion." That's an understatement. Your throat still hurts.
"She's not easy to get close to, but…"
"But you've managed."
"I never minded the effort." Stubborn idiot. Your life would be easier if he had just let go.
"That dig is not even subtle," you say with a groan, resisting the urge to facepalm.
"It wasn't a dig; it was a fact." The wink is a smug one. "The best things in life take a bit of effort."
"Speaking of which," you say, quickly changing the subject…
"Speaking of which," you say, quickly changing the subject. "What on earth have you told Herald? He's treating me like I'm his personal hero."
"I'm actually innocent here," Ortega says, holding up his hands. "Herald was a fan before he joined."
"Somehow, I doubt that you've made things better."
"I might have elaborated a little on your exploits."
"Please, don't."
"What? I'm not lying."
"When you tell a story, it might as well be a lie. It sounds a lot grander than in real life."
"Garrett Helton…" It's never a good sign when he looks at you like that. "Do you really not see what everyone else is seeing? That you've done amazing things? That you're a hero?"
"I don't want a fan club," you say with a groan. "I never did."
"Sorry to disappoint you; you already have one," Ortega chuckles. It looks like the whole situation amuses him to no end. "And you had one back then. Why not let people look up to you a little?"
"Because they shouldn't!"
"Come on," he teases, in that oh-so-familiar way. "I know you like your privacy, but admiration doesn't hurt."
"I'm not interested in that," you snap, harder than you intended. "And it's my choice."
"I suppose you're right." He looks a little sheepish.
"Why not sit back and let me live my own life? You don't need to fix it." It's that meddling attitude that makes Ortega so dangerous. You shouldn't have come here at all.
"You have a point." A moment passes, and then he cracks a grin. "Not a point I'm going to listen to, but a point nonetheless."
There is a moment of silence as you both look at each other, and then you feel the urge to move. It's always like that, you can rarely be relaxed together. Ortega is fidgety more often than not, and when he doesn't move, it's unnerving enough that you need to. You get out of the chair, stretching your back, watching him looking at you.