Her first day at CONTROL as an agent—not a student—is the hardest. She barely knows her way around—they only came here once during training—and all the advice her professors gave her is becoming mixed up in her head.

Stand straight. Look people in the eye. Remember you're Agent 99 now and you want to make a good impression. Let the bigwigs boss you around on your first day—they're testing you, and if you pass, they won't be so hard on you next time. Don't be nervous—it looks bad.

It's that last one that gets her. She's a newcomer, in an almost totally unfamiliar environment, and all they can do is tersely order her not to be nervous?

Apart from that, though, she's doing pretty well. Her neck aches from hardly moving from its perfectly straight position and she's begun taking mental notes on the eye colors of everyone she's come across.

As for the bigwigs, she's followed every single direction they've given her to the letter. It's mostly just running little errands and such—that's what they do with rookies for a mandatory period of at least two weeks—but, nonetheless, she's tried to prove herself competent. The agent she's been assigned to is a gentle, middle-aged woman, and looking into her eyes you can tell she's seen too much, that working for CONTROL has scarred her. Still, she has a smile for everyone, especially 99, and a beautiful, clear voice that seems to tenderly caress the words it emits, like a longing hand against fine mink.

###

It's when she's delivering a notice to someone or other about the shortage of properly trained dogs that she stumbles into his office. It's quite accidental, really; she's lost her balance, and reaches out to the wall for support; instead, she feels herself twist, and then she's in another room, somehow at the foot of a bookshelf behind a desk where a man is sitting, pen in hand. He looks up, shocked by the clatter, and swivels around to see her in a heap on his floor.

"Are you alright?" he asks tersely, standing up serenely and gallantly offering her his hand. She gratefully accepts it and pulls herself to her feet.

"Yes, sir. I'm fine." She raises her hand in a salute, as she was taught to do upon meeting her superiors, and she can't help but squeeze her eyes shut. The nerves are starting to build up; she doesn't remember the last time she was this shy or apprehensive.

Don't be nervous—it looks bad.

His echoing voice jolts her back to reality.

"I see my new secret entrance worked. But I don't believe we've met, Agent…"

"99." she says mechanically. "I'm 99."

"Pleased to met you, 99. I'm Agent Q." He extends his hand and she shakes it.

"A pleasure, sir." She replies quietly, unable to force her eyes to meet his.

"You must be new." He remarks. "No one at CONTROL actually follows the saluting 'regulation.'"

"Oh, I'm sorry…" she says, swallowing and lowering her eyes until they're safely directed at her feet.

"Oh, no, don't apologize. It's fine, just unnecessary. Besides, it's not your fault. We really need to replace some of those idiot teachers at the local academy; their ideas are pretty outdated. Besides," he says in an undertone, "that was the academy and those were the professors 86 graduated from…"

"Sir?" she asks quietly.

"Don't you know about 86? Well, you'll learn soon enough. Now what's this?" he inquires, pulling the paper out of her hands.

"A notice from Agent 66 to Agent 89 about the dearth in CONTROL dogs."

"Oh? Well, it would have made its way here somehow. Everything does. I'll save you the trip."

"Thank you?" she replies, quiet and hesitant.

"Look me in the eye, Agent."

"Do I have to?" Her voice is timid.

"Yes. You have to."

Reluctantly, she brings her head up, caution in its every move, and gazes into the limpid pools that he calls eyes.

Brown eyes.

"Stand straight. Look people in the eye. Remember, you're Agent 99 now, and you want to make a good impression. Don't be nervous—it looks bad. And remember, it's all part of letting the bigwigs boss you around on your first day. They're testing you, and if you pass they won't be so hard on you next time."

She looks at him curiously, wondering why on earth he's parroting her professors' words with such accuracy.

He answers her question without coaxing.

"Do remember that, 99. There's nothing here to get nervous over. We're all family at CONTROL, and every single one of them was once where you are now. Save your jitters for your missions. That's where you'll need them."

She feels her eyes begin to slide down again but pulls them back up, regaining their contact with the man. Something in her wonders if he's an angel, sent to comfort her in a time of need, but her common sense kicks in and she eschews the notion.

"Thank you sir. I'll take that under advisement." she answers carefully. His eyes crinkle as he smiles gently.

"Not to worry, 99. Based on that reply, you'll make a great agent yet. I hope we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"Likewise."

"Well," he grins and gives her a small salute, "Dismissed, Agent. But you'll have to leave through the front door. The bookshelf isn't round trip."

She returns the salute, if only in jest, and gives him the only even slightly military phrase she knows.

"Aye aye, sir."

###

Later, as she's doing some filing, 99 asks Agent 66 if she knows an Agent Q. The older woman looks a bit puzzled, but finally she replies, "Not personally. But everyone's heard of him. He's the Chief of CONTROL, you know."