Chloe fidgeted with the rim of her worn paper cup, staring down the dregs of coffee at the bottom. Leaning back into the cheap plastic chair she sat in, she went over the decisions in her mind that had led her to this point. Regret ate at her insides, and she contemplated the battle between two of her passions. Currently, she was faced with the turmoil of her work mixed with her relationships. Well, her relationships were sort of always her job. Her assignment. The first rule of being undercover is to not get attached to your "assignment." To compartmentalize. Understand to keep your personal feelings separate from your professional ones. But Chloe hadn't really been one to keep her desires in check. Her mother had always complimented the power of Chloe's passions from since she was a little girl. When she was five, and Chloe had heard the sounds of Donnie Ellert being picked on outside through an open window, she immediately leaped into action. She abruptly dropped the crayon she was coloring with, abandoning her project, and fearlessly rushed out the door to confront the bullies. That was where it had started.

Her mother had recanted that anecdote numerous times, particularly in relation to Chloe's newest occupation. She described Chloe's passions as if they were rampant horses that couldn't be bridled even if she tried. In hindsight, Chloe believed she probably shouldn't have taken the career path that she did, but at the time she had sincerely believed that becoming a cop would help people to take her more seriously. An attempt to harness her vibrant desires, and channel them for the greater good. So why did she feel that wasn't the case now? She stooped forward and placed the used cup on the floor, glancing at her partner before pulling at her red and black buffalo check button-down and settling back. That was one of the benefits of being undercover, she could wear whatever she wanted. She didn't miss the uniform.

The advancement of her position from cop to agent had happened far quicker than she had expected it to. She had become quite comfortable in her day to day life of highway duty, filing reports, and late-night patrols, but as time passed her passions of catching criminals expanded and she wanted more. She grew restless in what became mundane activities, so when the chance came to advance her position to Agent earlier that year, she had promptly jumped at the opportunity. Not she didn't think that being a cop wasn't important, protecting the public should never be underrated, but she always felt she could do more. And now, staring at the cold cement ground of an abandoned warehouse in a beaten-up chair, she wondered what would have happened if she had settled.

"You alright?"

No.

Chloe glanced over at her partner who was looking at her questioningly from an adjacent chair with a hint of concern. Swanson was a nice guy, he understood the urges that drove her to achieve her goals. He got her and tried to help her understand the reality of the criminal world in an attempt to guide her in some way. Honestly, sometimes she thought he worried a bit too much. She always hated how he could tell when she was feeling a bit off.

"Yeah, let's just get this over with."

He gave her an imploring look and they both stood from their chairs. Swanson took the lead down a deserted hallway, and they approached a heavy metal door that led to a storage closet. Chloe reached for the handle, fingers slightly shaking with her other hand at her holster. Swanson grasped her forearm reassuringly, and pulled her back.

"I know this is hard, but we have to get this information. Too much is at stake."

"I know."

"The mission always comes first."

"I know, Swanson." The frustration in her voice singed his touch and he relinquished his hold.

"Sorry, I just.. We're running out of time. And I have to do what I have to do here. And I see your face when I do." His face scrunched up in sympathy. She wished she could shake him until that expression fell. Chloe turned back to stare at the door.

"It doesn't mean anything."

"..It's understandable to have lingering feelings after a relationship assignment, Beale."

"I don't.. It's not.. You-"

"I'm just saying. We have to go in focused, or she'll walk all over us."

He said gripping his partner's shoulders, meeting her gaze. She could tell he was begging her to understand the seriousness of his words.

"I am focused."

"If you say so." He stared at her harder for a few moments, before shrugging, turning, and fixing his tie in his warped reflection on the door.

"Ready?" He reaffirmed, running a hand through his curls.

"As I'll ever be."

They exchanged a glance, pulling firearms from their holsters before entering.

"Show time," Swanson muttered and swung open the door.

She had seen it before, but the scene unintentionally broke her heart the same amount each time they re-entered the tiny space.

She's the assignment, Beale. She's a criminal.

The dingy closet smelled of rust and blood. It was dark, and the only light was a faint glow of a street lamp outside that peeked through the corner of a blacked-out window that had peeled slightly. The rough cement was slightly damp under her boots, due to a light but constant leak from last night's storm. Chloe listened harder. The faint drips were paced with ragged breathing. In the center of the room, she took in the sight of a small figure.

Beca.

The light from hallway filled the storage closet, causing the brunette to flinch but keep her focus on the floor. Despite her arms being duct taped to a small chair, she flicked her ring finger and thumb together with her left hand, over and over. A nervous tick Chloe had noted in her reports to signify Beca's anxiety. Her black blouse was torn, causing the neck to dip dangerously low. Dark eyeliner was smudged across her eyes, and smeared even further up her face. A purplish black bruise festered under one of her eyes, and a dried gash contrasted the porcelain skin at her cheek. A slow smile crept to her face as she realized who had entered, causing her to grimace when her lip split yet again from the stretch. Yet Beca's fascinations appeared to never leave the ground.

"I missed you while you were gone," She rasped.

Chloe's insides lurched at the sight of Beca. What she had done to her. Swanson had, technically, but it had been because of her actions.

Your actions are your job. You've done nothing wrong.

Her assuring thoughts did nothing to quiet the guilt.

The door closed behind the partnership, and Swanson flipped on a switch. A pale artificial light flickered to life overhead, revealing more of the injuries the smaller woman suffered from. Bruises patterned her body, and angry red burns peeked out from the edge of her shirt. Beca's eyebrows scrunched together from the sudden harsh lighting. Chloe watched as her eyes adjusted slowly, and rose to meet her own.

The pain in Beca's stormy gaze was imminent, her eyes were glazed but her dark blue irises blazed with emotion. Chloe's heart fluttered at the intense stare, never wavering. In all the time they spent together, rarely had Beca ever delivered this kind of relentless eye contact. It was as if she was looking for something, anything from the redhead. "Desperate" would never have been a word Chloe would use to describe Beca, and even in the past hours of interrogation, Beca had not shown any sign of weakness. However, under her blatant glare, a flash of pleading could be seen in Beca's eyes. The intensely layered look phased Chloe, and she felt herself take a step back. Swanson grunted his disdain at the exchange and pushed the brunette, chair and all, backward slightly.

God, Beale. Get a grip.

She attempted to gain control over her actions, readjusting her hold on her 10 mm and glaring at the small brunette over the barrel. This was where they were now.

"So this is the point we've reached, huh?" Beca whispered and her voice cracked on the last syllable.

Chloe's chest constricted as the small girl looked down in defeat. The redhead narrowed her eyes at her ex-lover's form, and felt a white-hot rage boil up from her stomach. Beca could still read her thoughts. Though so much had happened, the two were still synced despite being on different ends of the spectrum. It was enough to make Chloe scream. Beca's shoulders began to shake at Chloe's lack of response, and she hunched over. From laughter. Beca was laughing at her. Her pain, her situation. Chloe released the safety on her firearm and cleared her throat.

"Beca, this could have been over hours ago. Just answer Agent Swanson's questions, and we will be on our way."

Beca was exhausted. Contrary to her snark, Chloe could tell the hours of interrogation were finally catching up to her. With the energy she could muster, Beca rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the floor. However, the agent knew because of the glassy and unresponsive nature of usually attentive eyes that Beca would most likely lose consciousness soon. Beca snickered again, her disbelief apparent in her grimaced expression. Still with resolve, she again lifted her vacant eyes to meet electric blue ones.

"Fuck you, dude."

Chloe winced in a prediction of what would happen next. She knew it was all part of her line of work, but she didn't think Swanson had to be as rough as he was being with her.

"You think you're pretty funny." Swanson glowered. "That's fine. We have all day."

Chloe tried to keep her expression steady as Swanson punched the small woman square in the jaw. A second jab was delivered to her gut, causing her to keel over as far as she could in the small chair and the duct tape restraints to cut into her skin.

"Again. Where are the prints." He asked calmly. "Or we can keep playing this game."

Beca regained control of her breathing, then swallowed.

"Glad to see how much I mean to you," She wheezed, the question clearly directed at the redhead.

Chloe met her glare with silence. It was her turn to break the eye contact.

"Also, glad that I get to help you with your power trip, Mr. Swanson." She smiled sarcastically to him, her pearly white teeth laced with blood. The male agent delivered another right hook, snapping the brunette's head backward with even more vigor than the previous punch. Beca spat out a mouthful of blood, eyes boring into Chloe's as a single trickle of blood leaked down from her nose.

You shouldn't care about her. You shouldn't be attached. You've been trained better than this.

"Where are the prints, Mitchell." He growled, yanking her head backward by her hair and forcing her to break attention from Chloe to screw her face up in pain.

"I hope the FBI will be happy to know their best agent had been getting fucked pretty regularly," She spat.

Swanson and Chloe had been partners for some time now, so though it was small, Chloe could definitely recognize signs of surprise on his face as minute as they were. He released her and the redhead's cheeks flushed red, whether it was out of embarrassment or anger she couldn't tell. Beca opened her eyes lazily, but the fire behind them was undeniable as she spoke seemingly only to Chloe.

"Yes, sir. Agent Swanson. She likes it rough, in the shower.." Her eyes grazed down Chloe's form. "Or being tied up. The very idea-"

Chloe felt her insides clench.

"Shut up, Beca."

Beca closed her mouth in a thin smile. Shaking her head.

"Just Beca? Not 'Oh Beca' or 'Harder Beca..?"

The hot rage flared.

"I said shut up." Chloe hissed as she took a step closer, bringing the tip of her weapon inches from Beca's aquiline nose.

Beca gave her a patronizing look. Shrugging, she stretched against the tight restraints before relaxing back into the chair.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?"

6 Months Earlier

Chloe watched a small black bird swoop down and perch on a flag pole protruding from a nearby skyscraper. She was on the 11th floor of the bureau, which sounded exciting, but looked like an ordinary office space. The entire west wall of the bureau was made up of windows, giving the perfect view to the other buildings outside. A little depressing, if she thought about it. Her first few weeks as an agent were in a word, uneventful. The bird flew off, and she redirected her attention back to her desk. A family of smiling red heads beamed up at her from beside her computer in a bedazzled frame. A hot pink pen cup sat next to that, with writing utensils of varying sizes and colors. A small sketch of a microphone leaned against the cubicle wall that her artistic friend had drawn for her after she had sung in an acapella competition. The trophy she had won from said performance proudly lay side long the portrait. Everything had its place, but with a hint of fun. Her coworkers had told her she didn't take the position seriously enough, and stated that she was wasting her time with her youthful attitude and positivity.

What they didn't realize was that Chloe was a firm believer that it is essential to work hard, but there is no harm in adding a little spice to the job. Makes it more endurable. At least that was what she thought. The past few weeks had definitely started to drain her confidence. She stared at the large stack of reports her fellow agents had asked her to file with reluctance. So far, her job had consisted of doing paperwork and occasionally picking up coffee for anyone who had been with the Bureau longer. But that's what happens with any new job. You have to climb your way up the totem pole to gain any sense of respect. Chloe accepted that. But the desk work was becoming unbearable. She stared out the windows again, putting off the reports.

"Oi. Look alive, ginger."

Chloe snapped out of her daze to greet Amy. Her co-worker and college friend. It was 3 o'clock, that time of day Amy would practically dance down the rows of desks delivering briefs of assignments. Surprisingly, Amy had assisted her in getting this position regardless of the Australian's rambunctious behavior. With those words, the larger girl had tossed a hefty manila envelope onto Chloe's desk, knocking over the vibrant pen cup.

"For me?" Chloe questioned.

"No. I just make special deliveries of empty envelopes to Wendy's restaurant look alikes because I feel like it." Amy rolled her eyes. "Don't be an idiot."

Chloe didn't respond and shifted the thick envelope to the side momentarily. Amy coughed, and when Chloe looked up she found the blonde to be disappointed at her lack of response.

"But seriously, congratulations Chlo. The chief said this was the opportunity of a lifetime." Chloe scrambled to rearrange her desk contents, placing the pens back into the cup and squinting at Amy in disbelief.

"He said that?"

"Oh sure. No entry level agent has really had these chances this early on. Real piece of work. I told him you would have it all under wraps because you were a ginger." Chloe squinted even further. "Feisty." Amy clarified, bringing her hands up to imitate bear claws.

Chloe redirected her attention to the hefty assignment, hands shaking with excitement as she opened it. A myriad of opportunities flashed through her mind. Could it be terrorists? Other national threats? Underground drug rings? The mafia? She could handle the mafia. They were just misunderstood, most people are. They just need someone to communicate with them, right? Or if worse came to worse, she could result in kicking ass. Both of these were great options in her book.

A picture of a small brunette girl tumbled onto her desk. Her excitement dwindled and she glimpsed up to her old friend who had delivered the specifics.

"Really, Fat Amy?" She sighed. Holding up the still of the girl. "She looks ferocious."

"Looks can be deceiving. That squirt could be a mess of trouble. It's always the smallest dingoes that pack the greatest wallop." The blonde leaned over to get a better look of the photo. "And it's Agent Amy, now."

Ignoring Amy's ridiculous request to yet again change her name, Chloe peered in disbelief at the tiny pale woman in the picture. She was wearing a dark pea coat, an obscene amount of eye liner, and crossing some sketchy street at night while looking over her shoulder at the camera.

"She would be 100 pounds, maybe, soaking wet," Chloe stated, her eyes widening as her mind caught up with what Amy had just said.

"Could be a lot of trouble? So, we don't even know if she poses any kind of threat?"

"Hey. I don't make the assignments, I just deliver. The bossman said you would be on surveillance." She winked and pointed at the photo. "Well if it's any consolation, she does look just like your type. So, if anything you can enjoy staring at her instead of out the window like an idiot."

Chloe's cheeks reddened to match her hair. "What? I don't- I don't have a type. Totally inappropriate, Amy. Not to mention she's some sort of criminal?"

Amy's grin widened. "Might be a criminal. Plus, she's all dark and mysterious. Totally your type. Brooding, misunderstood. Do a little bit of surveilling yourself. Just to make sure she's 100 pounds soaking wet."

Chloe choked on the air like a fish out of water.

"I—Y-you- "

"Just calling 'em like I see 'em. You've been out of the dating game for way too long. I'm getting concerned my Pippi will die alone. Work should not be your only love!" She affirmed and hip checked Chloe's chair on her way over to Swanson's desk. Chloe sat in silence, still attempting to string words into anything intelligible.

"Hey! New assignment!" Swanson rolled over in his chair like an excited puppy.

"Y-yeah.." Chloe stuttered, coming back to reality and pulling the rest of the brunette's documentation from the envelope.

"Whatcha got?"

"Solo assignment, sorry Swanson." She sympathized, gesturing to the red "SOLO" stamp marked across the envelope. He huffed out a disappointed breath.

"Sure, give the new kid the assignment. Makes perfect sense!" She feigned a look of hurt that he took seriously, not wanting to upset the redhead. "Hey! Totally okay. I'll be walking you through everything! What type of assignment is it? You gotta take someone out? Repossession? Arrest?"

Chloe knew if she didn't stop him now, he never would stop talking.

"Shh Jess, trying to read." She stated as she scanned over the brief.

Beca Mitchell

11/5/1993

Female

Brunette

5' 2"

Los Angeles, CA

Owner of Locked Night Club Venue

1 Account of Assault and Battery

1 Account of Disorderly Conduct

2 Accounts of Resisting Arrest

Person of interest has shown suspicious signs of activity in relation to corporate and criminal means. Several proprietors of large corporations have been tracked to frequently attend subject's night club to meet with known crime ring leaders in order to arrange illegal business activity. It is unclear whether or not the subject is directly involved with such conspiracy, but may have more information concerning said illicit actions. Subject is allegedly in a romantic relationship with Luke Carren, a highly wanted criminal. Subject maintains a persona of disagreeable behavior, rejecting various agents who have attempted to make contact in the past and resisting arrests.

Objective: Develop contact with subject in order to obtain information regarding criminal activity and any beneficial information concerning Carren. Infiltrate venue, and extract /expose information of corporate fraud in order to convict the participating offenders.

Assignment Field Time: Unknown

Assignment Type: Solo Undercover

Chloe thumbed the photo again of the brunette who stared intensely at the camera. She mused how she wouldn't have wanted to be the person who had taken the shot. The woman did have a certain of beauty to her though... Her face was narrow, and delicate but fierce at the same time. Chloe stared into the deep eyes that locked onto the camera. Dark... But afraid, somehow. She seemed to be an emotional burrito. How could someone who looked so innocent and small be involved with the likes of Luke Carren?

"Anything good?"

Chloe dropped the file at Swanson's words. "What? Yes! Good. Got it. Good."

"Okay, weirdo." He scrutinized rolling away to his desk where Amy had just dropped some paperwork. "Give me the deets later."

"Beale!" A voice barked from the back of the bureau. Chloe whipped around, scooting the photo further away from herself and swirling around to face the chief of the bureau. A large man, with beefy characteristics and a handlebar mustache that would make even the most dedicated hipsters jealous.

"Yessir?" She almost squeaked.

"My office. You ship out for the Locked assignment tomorrow morning."