"I'm gonna meet Daniel Craig."

She's facing away from him, focused on the three choices in front of her. He had no idea why she called him up to her office - seeing the scenario now, and he doubts he could actually help her.

But it did grant the opportunity to do what he had wanted.

"If you were me, what would you wear?"

"Hmmm?"

As far as she was concerned, Charlie had just finished his session with Rebecca. He had told her his side of the events. They were building up the barricade for whatever that sonnovabitch Dantana was to throw their way.

She knew that they were going to win. Dantana was in the wrong here, and to pit himself against experienced people in the news industry was laughable. His experience of eight years was no match to Will and Mac's.

It doesn't even reach the tip of Charlie's.

What she doesn't understand is why Charlie wasn't on that same plane with her.

On this kind of occasion, there would have been banter back and forth as to why going to this premiere was just her idea to get into Craig's zone. Her response would have been that she has always been in his zone - Charlie just doesn't see it. He would dismiss that, but would say, "You should wear that", while pointing at his choice.

Tonight, Charlie was not doing any of those.

Instead, he favoured looking outside, watching the lights dance as another day was about to close.

"Say something," it comes out as an order.

He faces her, and it's when she sees his age.

He's tired, she can tell, and that man who faced challenges head on was gone. Right now, he's someone who is tired of running and fighting, someone who is on the brink of lying down to wait for his damnation.

His face is that of someone whom he knew, led people astray.

Damn Jerry Dantana and Genoa and everything that it was doing to them.

"Charlie, are you okay?"

He smiles at her.

"The black one. It looks nice and simple, but a slight touch of Bond villain."

He gets up and sets the tumbler back into the mini bar. A quick peck on the cheek, then a good night.

It's her turn to watch the lights dance, distracting her long enough from the folded paper on her desk.

—

Leona,

Relax. This isn't a resignation letter.

It's the letter introducing my resignation letter.

That one was drafted, weeks ago, when calls to our firing were louder than ever. When our best buddies from the other networks could no longer contain their glee of taking "the media elite" down. They've been waiting for this day long enough.

And I think it's about time we gave in.

I have failed Will, Mac, the ones working for me and with me. I should have seen this a mile away, but something about being "the media elite" blinded me. We were so confident about this story, it's potential to change and inform, that we did not fully check everything else. Small details led to a huge downfall. In that sense, I failed you, and I lost your trust.

By the time you've read this, I have told Rebecca Halliday everything. Knowing you and your friendship with her, you will discuss whatever I have told her, but definitely with more mocking. There's gonna be one anecdote which you might find interesting. But that will explain more or less why the fuck we are here.

Thank you, anyway, for giving me another shot at this kind of life. Even though there were times when I thought you're just getting by or not minding what we did down here. And I am sorry I caused this huge headache for you - you don't deserve this.

At least when we're gone, Reese is going to have a smoother, wrinkle free face. Tell him he's starting to look like me, that should scare him straight.

Always at your service,

Charlie

—

"Get it back!" Leona had yelled at them.

Mackenzie nearly jumped out of her skin. Will's grip on his seat tightened. Both of them instinctively turned to Charlie, who was trying to read her right now, which was harder right now, considering that she was stoned out of her mind.

(Was she?)

Rebecca breaks the silence by inviting the three of them to a coffee session to further discuss things.

"Oh no Becca, Skinner stays."

Rebecca looks on to Charlie, who merely shrugs as a reply. Soon, they all leave, letting Charlie and Leona have the room to themselves.

"What the fuck is this Skinner?" she asks the moment the door was closed.

He pretends not to know, until she pulls out his letter.

"Paper?" he replies. She crumples it into a ball with one hand and throws it at his face.

"Listen to me, you weak ass, bourbon loving fucker. You are going to fight Dantana. You are going to beat him up, make him grovel and bring his head on a silver platter - delivering it straight to me at my feet. Is that understood?"

"That's so much violence that I could not possibly handle."

"Weak ass." she repeats.

"Leona."

"You are going to work for me until you can no longer breathe. I will continue to see your smug, happy go lucky face downstairs, guiding those young minds into news people you've always ever so dreamed about. You will not quit on me Charles Skinner."

The two of them look intently at each other.

Judging by the slight puffiness in her eyes, she's been crying hard, and it wasn't because she missed Daniel Craig.

He's no longer wearing his usual ensemble of old man's jacket and bow tie. He's already assuming the civilian life.

Not on her watch.