Author's Note: This is the first time I have been brave enough to publish one of my stories! I hope that you enjoy it, and if you have anything to say, either review or message me, I'd be glad to hear from you!

This is very O/C heavy, but if you bear with me, Tim, Rachel, Art and Rachel will be making a much greater appearance!

Disclaimer: I am not in any way affiliated with FX. All views in my works are mine and mine alone, and any names and references used are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated by myself. I also, being from England, have very little idea how the FBI or the USMS operate. If any of my information is incorrect, please let me know and I'll be happy to correct it!

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale

'Come on in.'

Exhale.

G opened her eyes and stood up instinctively, flexing her fingers and looking at the man standing in front of her. To her right, her boss, James Burke, also stood, but she avoided eye contact, choosing instead to heed the invitation of the fatherly figure beckoning her into his corner office. She took a second to scope him out. Large guy, maybe late fifties. No hair but a kind face. He wore a checked shirt – as so many in this fine state of Kentucky did – with cream chinos and a tan gun holder slung around his back, Glock tucked neatly under his right arm.

G was lead into a sizeable space decorated in rich wood. Glass doors separated the office from the rest of the room, which was littered with desks and filled with busy people. On the back wall of the office was a large, bronze star bearing the American eagle, around which the words 'United States Marshal' were inscribed. To the left of this hung the American flag. The patriotism this room exuded was enough to make G want to turn and run. But she held fast, throwing the gentleman a warm, calculated smile. He fixed her with a slightly guarded one and gestured for her and her boss to sit across the panelled desk.

'Glad y'all could make it.' His Southern accent was strong and G stifled a smile. She loved the sound but everyone in Kentucky sounded slightly hillbilly because of it.

'Thank you for having us.' James replied coolly. G turned to look at her boss. At 45, he was one of the youngest ASAC's at an FBI office. She was proud to work with him and he was a good team leader. Every fibre of her being wanted to run back to Washington with him and continue her (almost) perfect life. But fate had dealt some shitty cards and Lexington, Kentucky was where she'd ended up on this late October day.

The gentleman in possession of the office smiled again and flipped open a file. Donning the thin, frameless glasses that hung from his neck, he began to read.

'Supervisory Special Agent Gandhi. Organised Crime division, FBI. 83% conviction rate, figured in the top 10th percentile at Quantico for training, extensive experience in firearm management and special ops.' He flipped the file shut again and took a seat himself, settling himself comfortably with an ease that said he'd enjoyed this office for a damn long time.

'You're highly qualified, I'll give you that.' He nodded approvingly at G, who remained impassive. She tried to relax into the leather seat but she was on edge just being away from home, let alone trying to adjust to the idea of working somewhere completely new.

Chief Deputy Art Mullen surveyed the young lady in front of him. She looked around the age of his eldest, maybe 26 or 27. Black hair, smooth, honey coloured skin and high cheekbones painted a pretty picture. Her credentials were faultless but it was the hunger, the ambition in her wide, amber eyes that sealed it for him.

'I'm sure that you'll make a fine addition to our team, Miss Gandhi.'

'Just G, please.' G said it without thinking and then realised she probably shouldn't have. She met the eyes of the gentleman in front of her.

'Thank you, Deputy Mullen.' She added with a genuine smile this time. This department was taking her in with no reason to do so apart from strengthening relations between the FBI and the Marshal Service.

'Just Art, please.' He countered back with a wink. G could tell they were going to get along.

NB: ASAC stands for Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge for anyone who may have been wondering :)