What does a police officer, a hacker, an ex-assassin, and a lawyer have in common?
A tragic memory haunted by the only person who knows the truth.

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Julianna Callaghan
Age: 26
Occupation: Police officer

Beep, Beep, Beep

Almost as soon as the irritating sound began, it ended and Jules decide it was okay to succumb to peaceful sleep for just ten more minutes. That is, until last nights activities crashed over her like a bucket of cold water. She had slept with her teammate and co-worker Sam Braddock, Team One's newest recruit straight out off JTF2. In other words, she was fraternizing.

Tentatively, she opened her eyes and, sure enough, she was met with a pair of piercing blue eyes. His voice, raspy from sleep, sent a shiver coursing through her body. How could something so wrong feel so right?

"Morning, Jules." He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet kiss.

She smiled shyly in response, feeling self-conscious. That in itself was unsettling. Julianna Callaghan was hardworking, independent, stubborn, and all around strong. She did not become goo in the presence of men (or more specifically, Sam) or worry about chipping a nail or applying a gallon of make-up. She was in the Strategic Response Unit for crying out loud.

Yet she couldn't deny the odd feeling in her stomach or the flutter in her heart.

But she could ignore them. And she did.

She propped herself up on one elbow. "Morning." She breathed out, her eyes scanning his toned body, half-covered by her bed sheets. "We, um, should get going. We need to be at HQ in 30."

Sam, on the other hand, let his eyes wander as he drank in the beauty before him. Jules was naturally gorgeous. Brown curls, olive skin as soft as silk, toned body, the perfect mix between feminine and strong. His heart fluttered as he thought about how he could wake up like this, with her by his side, everyday of his life and it still wouldn't be enough. His twinkling eyes rose to meet her hazel ones. "We should."

They both didn't move for awhile. The warmth and comfort too enticing.

With a sigh, Jules rose first, careful to keep a cover on her bare body. "I'll take a shower first, then you - and make it quick," she punctuated this with narrowed eyes meant to be intimidating but that he seemed to find adorable, "and then I'll make breakfast, we eat, and get outta here in record time!"

He chuckled, "Sounds like a plan."

She threw him a smile and a snarky response over her shoulder before closing the bathroom door shut behind her.

"I always have a plan, Soldier."

***
As soon as Jules entered her locker room at HQ she knew something was wrong. Sinking dread filled her stomach and goosebumps racked her body. Her posture stilled as her sharp senses, acquired by years of training, scanned the room to find the source of discomfort.

A single black envelope taped to the mirror.

Drawing her sidearm, she quickly cleared the locker room. Nothing out of place. Except for the envelope, of course.

Holstering her gun, she carefully approached the elongated vanity across the front of the room and took the envelope. It was simply black. No name. No sender. She knew it was for her because she was the only female in the SRU and therefore the only one who entered this locker room. Except for the janitor, but she highly doubts it's for the elderly man who cleans the locker rooms weekly.

Carefully removing the tape, she turned it over and opened the flap. A single white piece of paper rested inside. The dread returned as her fingers reached inside and pulled it out. It intensified once she read the typed words.

"We are more willing to repay an injury than a benefit, because gratitude is a burden and revenge is a pleasure."

Meghan Damien
Age: 25
Occupation: Hacker

Meghan never thought she would see this day. Although, it was unavoidable really, but she was, after all, an optimist. And she's good, like really good, at what she does. Not that she's full of herself either.

"Ms. Damien, according to the law I must sentence you to, more or less, five years in prison. However, you're abilities are valuable to the government and it would be in our and your favor to strike a deal." The older man who had introduced himself as Agent Quentin informed her, tone neutral, eyes intense, daring her to decline.

Meghan's right eyebrow raised skeptically. "So if I work for the government, I don't go to jail?" Agent Quentin nodded. "Wow then okay." She smiled, but then her expression turned contemplative. "Will I always be in handcuffs? My hands hurt. I don't like handcuffs. And I need to work and I obviously can't do it in these. Unless I was a prostitute." Her eyes widen as her words caught up to her. "But I'm not. I wasn't offering either. I just have a tendency to babble when I'm nervous. And I'm nervous. I've never been arrested before. And I will stop in... three... two...one."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she looked up to a stunned Agent, obviously not expecting a thing she said. That's usually the reaction she receives.

Agent Quentin shook his head to clear his thoughts. This girl was something else. Quickly regaining his thoughts, and control of the situation, he leveled her with a look. "The government's demands are these: A field Agent, one of our best, will be assigned to teach you the ways of the FBI and make sure you do nothing illegal or try to escape while under our watch. Understood?"

"Very." She nodded for emphasis, then slightly tilted her head. "Can you take off the handcuffs now?"

Agent Quentin responded by getting up and around the table before retrieving his keys from his pockets and unlocking the cuffs.

At that moment a well-built man with sandy blond hair and stubble walked in, his presence demanding attention. "You called Quentin?"

"Jonas." The older man acknowledge gruffly. "This is your assignment." He motioned towards the blond, who huffed at being called an 'assignment'. "Meghan Damien, this is SSA Oliver Jonas."

Meghan gaped. "I know who he is." Jonas and Quentin raised an eyebrow at her. "No, I don't know know him, but I've seen him all over the news." She corrected. "It's very nice to meet you Mr. Jonas."

"Please, Mr. Jonas was my father. Call me Oliver." His smile was charming, but Meghan could see it was fake, forced.

"But he's dead." She flinched. "I mean murdered." Her eyes widened in horror. "But you're not. Which means you can hear me babble...again. Which will end...now." She took a deep breath, bracing herself to see his expression. He probably hates her for bringing up his past like that.

Tentatively, she looked up. She was met with an unexpected emotion. Not angry, annoyed or mocking. He looked amused. The good way. He actually smiled. Well, a half-smile. But it was genuine. And beautiful.

Their eyes locked. Intense blue on gentle blue.

A clearing of the throat brought her back to reality. What the hell was she doing making googly eyes to a government agent? She was a criminal - okay, ugly word - a hacker for crying out loud! In her defense, it's his fault for being that good looking. She's pretty sure it's illegal to be that good looking.

"It isn't. But thank you, I guess."

Eyes wide as saucers, she squeaked, "I said that out loud didn't I?"

He nodded, his eyes twinkling with mirth and a smirk grazing his features.

She flushed the color of her shirt. Bright. Red.

"Come on, let me take you to your office." Exiting the interrogation room, he motioned for her to follow.

That's when she realized at one point Agent Quentin had left the interrogation room. Relief and dread flooded though her. Relief because he hadn't been there to witness her making a complete fool of herself. Dread because she was alone with the illegally hot agent.

Groaning, she followed him, starting a new, and hopefully exciting, chapter of her life.

As soon as she saw the glass walls, and therefore the office inside, she was captivated. The office had a curving desk at the right side center, state-of-the-art computers along its surface. To the left, were plush looking couches - one on the back wall and the other on the left one - and a center table completing the set. Along the right wall of the left side there was a large mahogany bookshelf, waiting to be filled. Her favorite part, however, was the mini fridge and coffee maker at one corner. She was speechless. A first for Meghan.

"I'm taking you like it." Oliver's deep voice broke her reverie.

"Yes! I love it!" She almost squealed. Almost.

He chuckled. "I guess I'll let you set up. I'll be back in an hour." He paused on his way out. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Meghan."

She blushed a light shade of pink. "Nice to meet you too, Oliver." She gave a little wave as he left. Leaving her to her brand-new government issued office!

Taking one last appreciative look around, Meghan made her way to the desk, taking a seat on the light brown office chair. Setting her purse down, she reached in for her tablet and its connections. Expertly plugging it into the monitor, she turned on the system. The hum as the computers turned on made her smile in satisfaction. That is, until every screen turned black and bold, blood red words flashed across them.

"Confession is always weakness; the grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence."*