Overture
'Tony.'
'Yep. What?'
'The new IP Manager is here.'
'Uh-huh.'
He dropped his phone haphazardly back onto its receiver, his gaze having never left his computer screen or the list of immigration processing upgrades NSA had sent him. They wanted the LA branch's analysis and sign off on the upgrades by tomorrow, and Tony could feel himself growing increasingly tense as the minutes flickered past. He only had a few hours left to wade through this very tedious and time consuming chore, and, though he knew it'd be a stretch, finishing it felt just within the realm of possibility – provided no one interrupted him and no new threats decided to rear their ugly heads between now and when the night shift came in.
Shift. He supressed a cold grimace at the word "shift". The few young analysts who came in at night to monitor the light incoming flow of intelligence were hardly real CTU agents. Their only purpose was just to keep an eye on things in case an active code came in at three in the morning, at which point they were trained to do absolutely nothing more than call in the day shift, the real shift.
Tony hovered over one of the new cross-referencing protocols NSA was just itching to implement when the phone rang again.
'Almeida?'
'Tony,' came George's voice, flagrantly derisive. 'The new IP Manager is here.'
'Yep. Heard you the first time.'
'Yah, Tony, IP Manager means the position directly beneath yours,' he explained, hardly patient in any respect. 'That means she's your problem.'
'She's not my problem,' he corrected. 'I'm busy doing the –'
'The NSA thing, yeah I know,' George said. 'But what I'm doing is more important, so go meet her, bring her in, show her around and be – I don't know – nice or something.'
'I didn't hire her,' Tony said stubbornly. 'That means she's your problem.'
He wondered if he had any sort of reasonable right to feel vaguely annoyed over the fact that he'd been cast out during the hiring process. George, Hammond and Chapelle had commenced the whole lengthy procedure from over at division several weeks ago, and Tony had been kept firmly out of the loop. Thrilled as he'd indubitably been to escape the extended company of the three men, he couldn't help but feel mildly chagrined. George could stay holed up in his office if he so pleased, as could Chappelle and Hammond, but Tony's position demanded that he exhibit a more hands on approach with the rest of the staff. Shouldn't that at least loan him some, if only minor, control over the choice of people who comprised it? Apparently not.
'You're gonna help me weed out a new systems analyst,' George said, as though he knew exactly what Tony was thinking. 'Will that make you feel better?'
The fact that George was well aware of his irritation at being left out failed to thrill him. He did not want his boss to form the opinion that he was some childish egotistical upstart (if he hadn't already) and this highly undesirable prospect alone was enough to cajole the slight twinge deep in his head into becoming a full blown headache, the likes of which sat in the front of his skull and thudded nastily.
'I don't care, George,' he said, in what he dearly hoped was a very blasé tone.
'Of course you don't. The IP Manager is still waiting. Her name's Michelle Dessler. Chop chop.'
The click in his ear signalled the end of the exchange upon which he let out an aggravated growl under his breath and shoved himself out of his chair. He wanted to be left alone. Really, that's all he wanted. In life both at home and at work. He'd withdrawn into himself in almost irreversible ways in the last few months. He hadn't seen friends, not that he had loads, hadn't spent any serious time in the company of his younger brother, hadn't much bothered to phone his parents in Chicago. He knew he couldn't be a barrel of laughs to work with either, not that he'd really been before …
After that day…well, things hadn't been great. He wasn't a heartbroken man, he wasn't upset, nor did he feel a massive all-consuming sense of betrayal…it was more the guilt that was getting to him. If only he'd noticed something…if only he'd been more alert, or more receptive to the signs…had there been signs? He didn't really know. All he did know was that Jack's wife could've been saved if only he'd taken the time to look properly at the woman he was sleeping with. Then again, she'd fooled them all.
He couldn't remain violently furious at himself for too much longer. But he was. That was the problem. He was furious. And he wanted to stay that way. Fury helped right now. It helped him look past women altogether. It helped him remember the kind of deceit they were capable of. Not all of them. He wasn't generalising… at least, one day he wouldn't. Right now, it was easier that way.
Hell, it wasn't as though he'd had innumerable exquisite experiences with women. The two leggy girls he'd "dated" in high school had been pretty cold. Of course, looking back now he knew they'd just been young, as inexperienced as he, and self-conscious; all the things that had made them come across as aloof and disinterested. He'd routinely see them at parties, where he'd go outside in the dark with them and mess around until their parents came by to pick them up, usually well before midnight. Then he'd proceed to send them slightly hangdog grins at school until the next party came round. It suited him, but apparently not them, as the first soon turned her attention onto a guy in the grade below without telling him and the second upped and moved to Ohio with her family, again without telling him.
After an array of sloppy one night stands in college, he mellowed into the dating process with an overconfident sandy blonde. She bailed on their relationship a few months after he joined the marines. A career as a soldier was not what she had expected him to choose and Tony shrewdly assumed she'd unconsciously been hoping for some corporate number who practically slept in a suit to become her spouse. It hadn't hurt too much to lose her. She had been the kind of person who ironed her bed sheets.
He'd dated a very tanned girl five years his senior while he'd worked at the Transmeta Corporation but it reached a natural end fairly quickly. It was around this time he took up with a woman with freckles and sleek black hair who worked downstairs. He'd enjoyed her greatly, but she annulled their relationship once he got the job at CTU. She'd been exceptionally ambitious, and his good fortune seemed to annoy her. When she turned tail he had seriously lamented the loss, something he expected to have bothered him but didn't. The girl had been great in bed. Spectacular, really. He was well within his rights to lament that.
Then he'd had a two week fling with a woman his brother shoved his way, but he stopped calling her after that. He wasn't sure what it was, but something about her really annoyed him. Her voice, possibly? Or the way it never ceased? Something.
Then Nina. If possible, the ache in his skull intensified with the thought. A big part of him went into the relationship for almost no other reason than to get one over Jack, a way of asserting his own sort of authority or male-ish dominance, something that was stifled at work. He rubbed hard at his eyes. Maybe the opinion George was no doubt currently building of him was accurate. Maybe he was a childish egotistical upstart. He didn't want to admit it but it did explain his time with Nina. It was entirely possible that if Jack hadn't had a history with her, Tony probably wouldn't either. Unfortunately, Jack had once publicly shot him down in a department meeting, and, less than an hour later, he'd suddenly found Nina somewhat alluring. Even during their relationship, he'd subconsciously added her to his collection of reticent lovers. What was it about him that attracted these cold, composed women? He'd never minded before, in fact, he'd almost liked it. He'd found it a little hot.
It had been months since that day, the day Terri Bauer had been murdered, and Jack was gone. CTU had lost a lot of people, some had transferred away from the madness, others had been relocated, some had been killed. It was a different place, but Tony didn't mind. He didn't want camaraderie or friendship at work. He just wanted to do his job. He wanted to do it as well as he could in the vain hope that if he saved enough lives or eradicated enough danger it might just cancel out the poison that had been that day.
Now, they were still hiring in, still upgrading the place, and Tony was delegated the glamorous task of shepherding in new arrivals. He stalked to the doors, turned the corner and made his way to the security station in the corridor, acknowledging the guard with a dismissive nod of his head. He then glanced at the new woman. Melissa? Whatever.
'Hi,' he said hastily, fully aware that he was still losing precious time on the NSA thing. 'Name's Tony Almeida. Follow me please.'
He turned on his heel and strode back into the office, not even bothering to check if she was following him or not.
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