The first time they met, Agent Myka Bering, FBI, had a headache. It started with the lack of coffee in the morning because Claudia had decided the previous day that disassembling the machine was an excellent solution to her boredom and Artie wouldn't let them leave the building. The headache really got going when Pete decided to use the file as a Frisbee and she gets a face full of paper describing James MacPherson's years at the University of London.
They were getting close though-to MacPherson. He was selling classified information-how the bastard was getting it, they weren't too sure-but they would put a stop to it. And they'd take down his buyers too.
Myka was sure of this because this team was good.
Even though Pete was now attempting to take his shirt off while Artie tried to cover Claudia's eyes and Steve protested loudly that that'sreallynot necessary.
"Can't we be professional for five minutes?"She demanded. valiantly resisting the urge to facepalm-her head might not take the strain.
Of course, that's when their boss walks in. They all go still as Mrs Frederic stands in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, inscrutable as always. Pete very slowly smooths his shirt down over his ribs (thank god) and Steve lowers himself back into his chair.
This is why I need coffee.
"Agent Nielson," Frederic said matter-of-factly, unperturbed but with a twist of disappointment to her mouth that made them all wilt under her eyes, "This is Agent Wells from the Embassy," Embassy?"She wishes to speak with you." And she was gone, just like that.
In her place was another woman, boot heels clicking against the floor, thumbs looped into her belt, smiling with a sort of confident amusement, like this was all quite the joke. They all wore suits but she was in cream and brown and pinstriped vest.
Her eyes were dark, close to black, when they met Myka's and she realised she was staring. She felt heat creep up to her face and she resolutely tore her eyes away, focusing on the table in front of her.
"Hello," Pete smirked.
"Agent Nielson," A crisp London accent coloured her voice. It was the sort of voice that could crawl under your skin, if you let it, "A pleasure." She held our a hand to shake. He didn't take it but glared at her from under thick eyebrows. Her smile grew. Myka decided that she strongly disliked this random English person who had sauntered into their Meeting room like she owned it, like she was certain of something. Of everything.
"What does M16 want?" He asked coldly.
"M-I-6, if you please Agent Nielson." He glared at her and she spread her hands in the air, "We prefer SIS in any case."
"What. Do. You. Want?" He bit each word off, even as Myka processed 'MI6'.
"We're aware you're investigating James MacPherson for espionage and murder," Her eyes slid to the photo of said suspect and Myka resisted the urge to shove it under her folder, "You should know he was one of ours."
"Of course he was," Artie sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Was?" Myka asked. Agent Wells shifted her body toward her. She had one too many buttons of her white shirt undone and Myka could see the smooth skin of her collarbone.
Wells shrugged, "Mr MacPherson went rogue. Mightily inconvenient of him to do so in America."
"So you want us to take him out for you," Steve surmised, eyes narrowed.
Wells smiled brightly, "I'd prefer to consider it as just us helping each other contain a very dangerous man."
Artie made a disgusted sound and refocused a sharp glare on her. Wells met it evenly.
Myka tapped her fingertips on top of the table. She didn't trust this spybut she had the hunt in her and if the SIS could put them a few steps ahead of MacPherson, they might get him before he stole more information, before he killed again.
They might find out what the guy was doing this for.
"What are you suggesting?" She asked.
Wells reached into her bag and pulled out a thick file and dropped it on the table with a thump.
"Enjoy." Then she placed a small rectangular card in front of Myka, her hand brushing her shoulder. Myka stiffened as the Englishwoman spoke, still too close, "In case you need to contact me."
And then Agent Wells left the building as abruptly as she'd arrived.
Muttering to himself Artie went to their white board and wrote 'UK Secret Investigative Service' under the photo blu-tacked there. After a moment he added AGENT WELLS, SIS in black block letters.
Myka shuffled her papers, staring at Wells' number. Why give it to me?
"...MI6 doesn't usually do that, right?" Claudia asked.
"She was hot."
"Pete."