The Agency: Zeki and Aaron

Excerpt:
Aaron held the buttons in the palm of his hand as if they were combustible. They unfortunately were not.
“These are worthless,” he gritted.
The disinterested man he was addressing looked up. “Did they hold your shirt together?” he asked blandly. Aaron nodded reluctantly. “All right then, I don’t have time to listen to your complaints, Trimmer.”
Aaron clenched his jaw. “Listen, Chum, when you provide equipment and say it works, I expect it to do what you’ve said.” Aaron couldn’t figure this section head out. Although he had never been easy to get along with, and certainly not a genius by anyone’s standards, his promotion a year ago had inflated his ego and ruined the department. Aaron tried to pay attention again.
“Funny thing, Trimmer, but this stuff always works for everyone else. You’re the only one that comes in here to bitch about how things don’t measure up.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” Aaron clipped out. His English accent became more pronounced, the angrier he got.
“Well, go moan somewhere else. The Old Man’s got me buried down here and I don’t have time to fool with you.” The man jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Go see the new guy.” He sneered. “The rag-head. I’m sure he’ll set you right up. Maybe give you something that will shut you up.” He muttered something unflattering about The Old Man hiring an enemy right into the heart of The Agency and then turned back to his project, essentially writing Aaron off as unimportant.
Aaron didn’t appreciate being dismissed, not at all. Still, he knew when to give up. He wouldn’t get anything further out of Randall Philco without direct orders. He considered shooting the arse-hole, but decided that would be more trouble than satisfaction…just barely.
Back out in the hall, he noticed a new nameplate on the lab next door. Scanning the embossed letters, he read: Zeki al-Filastini, Ph.D. So this was Philco’s rag-head.
Aaron glanced through the window and saw someone hunched intently over a microscope. All he could see was dark hair and denim jeans under a white lab coat.
Aaron pushed the door open. “Excuse me?” he said to garner the young man’s attention.
The man looked up and Aaron found himself lost for a minute in a dark chocolate gaze, wholly fixed on him.
“Yes?” the scientist asked, a confused frown on his very sweet-looking face.
Not the most promising of starts, but Aaron pressed on. “I’m looking for Dr. al-Filastini.”
“That is me.”
Aaron’s eyes widened. This pretty little guy didn’t look old enough to have a Ph.D. Still, he was hardly going to argue the point. Aaron held out the buttons. “I have a complaint.”
The young man eyed the buttons and looked Aaron up and down. “I don’t sew buttons,” he said finally, turning away.
Aaron snorted. “Good thing. These buttons are explosives,” he paused. “They’re supposed to be, anyway.”
That grabbed the other man’s attention. The buttons were unceremoniously scooped from Aaron’s palm and thoroughly examined. “What exactly is your complaint?”
“They don’t work once they’ve gotten wet.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t swim before you blow things up.”
Aaron had a scathing retort ready to go when he saw a shy flash of humor in the deep brown eyes. He found himself grinning instead and turned it into a wry smile.
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind next time.” He smiled at the other man, extending his hand for a shake. “Aaron Trimmer,” he introduced himself.
After a moment, the other man took it, pumping it once, firmly. “Zeki al-Filastini,” he said, letting go, and then dipped his head mumbling, “I told you already.”
Introductions over, the buttons were placed on the counter, and Zeki turned his attention back to his microscope.
The feeling of being shelved washed over Aaron and his benevolence toward the attractive young brunet started to fade. “Well?” he demanded, pinning Zeki with a look.
Zeki glanced up at him through an inky sweep of dark lashes. “You need them right now?”
What difference did that make? He wanted them now. “Yes.”
“No, you don’t,” the other man countered, rolling his eyes.
Aaron frowned, miffed. “How do you know?”
“Because if you needed them now,” he swiveled on his high stool, “we’d be having another conversation entirely.”
Aaron leaned against the wall, momentarily stymied. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “Right, then. I need them by tomorrow.”
Zeki flashed him a look of disbelief, but he nodded. “Okay, in that case, I will have them for you by tomorrow.”
Aaron waited for him to pick up the buttons and start working on them. That didn’t happen. Instead, he went back to his microscope, tweaking knobs and staring intently. Aaron wanted someone to act as if he mattered, as if the fact that he was the one out there getting beaten and shot at and tortured made some kind of difference to someone. He pointed at the defunct gadgets. “You’re not even looking at them.”
Zeki sighed but kept his eyes focused on whatever it was he was looking at. “You are a very good spy,” he mumbled. “I am a very good…gadget maker. Tomorrow, I assure you, they will be ready.”
Aaron tapped his foot impatiently for a moment, consciously deciding to hold off taking his angst out on the man until the next day; when he knew he’d find the worthless buttons right where he’d left them.
He turned on his heel and left the lab, returning to his office to write up his report regarding the last failed… the same mission in which his buttons, and their lack-luster performance, factored largely.