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Finn woke up earlier than usual, dragging himself to the bathroom so he could look somewhat presentable for his meeting with the director. He took a quick shower, made sure he was clean-shaven, and did the best he could with his somewhat floppy and uncontrollable hair. In high school, he'd kind of gelled it up in the front, having thought it made him look cool. But now as an adult, Finn felt it made him look juvenile not his age, and he stopped. Of course without the gel, his hair just kind of… hung there limply, a permanent case of bed head. Whatever. He was a guy, it wasn't like he was supposed to waste hours fretting over his appearance like a chick anyways. The boss would know if he'd overdone it this morning, and Finn was pretty sure that looking like he'd tried too hard was almost as bad as appearing like he hadn't tried at all.

It had been nearly five years since Finn had begun working as a field agent for the CIA, and never once had the director asked him to come to his office before now. He'd heard whispers, rumors at best, about how only the elite specialists were ever called into Schuester's office, and when they were it was so he could plop a big, juicy case into their open palms. Finn was itching to get his hands on something huge, so he could finally prove himself as a capable member of the force. He's mainly dealt with small fry before now, building up his rep within the newly established NCS (National Clandestine Service).

He was in the counterterrorism unit, wanting nothing more than to protect his country like his military father before him. And when he'd gotten the job, he'd assumed that meant being the American James Bond, going undercover to fabulous parties thrown by arms dealers and diamond thieves. But no, so far Special Agent Hudson had only been given desk jobs – researching targets, making connections between seemingly unconnected criminal activities, listening to the radio chatter and reading through extremist blogs in search of any valid threats. He'd thought he'd found a few, maybe. But as soon as he reported them to his superiors, the case files would disappear from his desk and the information would be strictly classified to only the highest ranking officials.

In other words? It was gone to someplace he couldn't reach it.

Finn never personally got to see any of his discoveries through until the very end, and after five years of being denied the chance to do so he had been starting to get pretty stir crazy. The thought of quitting had crossed his mind several times, surrendering to a realization that maybe he wasn't as unique and special as his mother had told him he was. So this meeting with Director Schuester could not have come at a better time.

Finn parked his truck in the normal place outside the Langley Headquarters, checking one last time in the review mirror to make sure his tie looked okay before grabbing his briefcase and opening his car door. No sooner had his bulky 6' 3" frame straightened itself out again after being cramped up in the cab of the truck did he hear a shout in his direction.

"Hudson. Dude, the fuck? What happened to you last night?"

Noah Puckerman sauntered over, a look of mixed disgust and confusion painted all over his face. Puck had been Finn's closest friend in the CIA since they were just interns together, fresh out of college and looking to make a difference in the agency. Puck had chosen the counterintelligence route, keeping America's secrets safe from the outside while his buddy sought to steal information from the other side. That's why Finn was convinced he was even remotely successful – Puckerman had shared everything he knew with Finn, and vice versa. Finn knew how to get around encryptions because Puck taught him how to write them, and as a consequence Puck knew what the hackers knew, and could try and safeguard against it.

Basically, they were the perfect team. A team itching to see some action.

"Last night?" Finn questioned, quirking an eyebrow as the two buddies made their way into the office building, producing their clearance badges for the secretary at the door Brittany, even though she knew them both by now.

"Yeah dude. We were going to go cruising for chicks in D.C. You never showed up at the bar!" Puck reminded him, looking like he was genuinely insulted that Finn hadn't wanted to join in on this drunken escapade the night before the biggest career meeting of his life.

But the pathetic thing was, the mystery meeting wasn't even the reason Finn hadn't gone. He hated when Puck dragged him out on those kinds of things, because his friend was always trying to pressure him into taking one of the overzealous D.C single women home with him. But ever since Finn's ex-girlfriend Quinn had cheated on him six months ago, he hadn't really felt like getting back out there in the dating scene. If anything, he felt like crawling into a hole and never dating another woman again. He hated Quinn for what she'd done. Hated that he couldn't trust women anymore, that he felt a hole in his heart when he thought about her.

"Yeah, uhh… Didn't wanna be rusty for my first meeting with Schuester. This could be big stuff, dude." He apologized, but one glance at Puck's face told him that his mohawked friend didn't buy it.

"Whatever, man." Puck quipped as they stepped into the elevator. They both pressed the respective floors they needed, Finn nervously fussing with his tie as the machine jolted into motion. He could all but hear his heart hammering, but his very apparent nerves didn't seem to deter his friend. "But when Schue offers you a promotion or some shit in five minutes, promise me we're going out to celebrate."

"If." Finn clarified, glaring at Puck out of the corner of his eye. "If I get a promotion. I don't know what he wants from me. He didn't say." Puck rolled his eyes at Finn, just as the doors dinged open to the Director's floor.

Finn moved to step out, and was surprised when Puck followed him. A smarmy smirk was painted onto his friend's lips. "Are you kidding me? Like hell I'm letting you walk to this meeting by yourself. Moral support, or … whatever." He trailed off. Finn and Puck made a habit of not being overly dramatic with their friendship; neither one of them was emotional like a girl, but little things like this were enough to remind them of how important they were to each other.

Finn chanced a glance at his best friend, offering him a grateful smile. But his eyebrows raised in confusion, since Puck's eyes were wide and staring into the clear glass door of Schuester's office. He looked like he was staring at the answer to eternal life, or a brand new motorcycle with his name on it. "Holy fuck…" Puck breathed, whistling lowly and shaking his head. "Who in the hell is that?"

Finn turned to look ahead of him into the director's office, and it only took him a fraction of a second to see what Puck was seeing. Because while yes, the elusive Director himself was sitting at the desk in front of them… it was who he was talking to that had seemingly taken both his and Puck's breath away.

It was a woman with flowing brown locks that effortlessly draped across her small shoulders, which were the same shade as coffee with just the right amount of crème, and were seemingly silky smooth. Her flowery red scoop neck top had left that patch of skin exposed, but the long sleeves kept the rest of her upper body covered up. She was lounging on the director's desk, much like an old school jazz singer perched on top of a piano, which caused the hem of her black pencil skirt to hike up just a little bit; nothing indecent, but enough to cause the shit-eating grin to appear on Puck's face. Toned legs flowed from beneath the hem of the skirt and a pair of shockingly red heels swung absentmindedly over the edge of the desk. For her feet not to reach the floor, Finn had to deduce that this woman was pretty short. But the way she was holding herself made her seem larger than life.

Okay, she definitely did not work here. If she did, Finn was sure a beauty like that would not have been a secret. Especially not from a womanizer like Puck.

"Fucking hell, dude. Tell me that's not Schuester's new wife or some shit." Puck all but pleaded. Finn was about to respond when the director looked up from his mirthful conversation with the beautiful stranger, catching Finn's eye and waving him into the room.

"I gotta go…" he choked out, leaving Puck standing in the hallway, his eyes still visibly glazed over as he stared at the woman on the desk. Great, thanks Puckerman, he mumbled to himself as he crossed the seemingly endless few steps that remained between him and the office. Make me more nervous why don't you? He swallowed hard, steeling his nerves, before twisting the metal doorknob and entering the office.

"Ah, Special Agent Hudson. Just the man we were waiting on." Director Schuester greeted, sending him a small smile as Finn shut the door.

"We, sir?" Finn questioned, even though the answer was pretty obvious; the other half of this 'we' was the woman who was hopping off the edge of the desk, straightening out her skirt with her back still turned to him. Finn had been right – he would be at least a foot taller than this woman if she wasn't wearing heels.

"Hudson, this is Rachel Berry. Rachel, this is Special Agent Finn Hudson."

The woman turned when she heard herself being introduced, and it took every ounce of Finn's self control not to allow his eyes to bug out of their sockets. He was used to "small town" beauties, having grown up in Ohio only to move here to a suburb in Virginia. Southern belles – lithe, graceful women who looked like they should be porcelain dolls. Women like Quinn; blonde hair, blue eyes, delicate features. Nothing striking about them. Just an overall impression of practiced perfection, manicured over years of dedication to an ideal.

This woman… no, this force standing in front of him? This was no country darling. Her deep brown eyes smoldered as she looked at him; they were almost twinkling a bit, crackling with a fire that he'd never seen in a woman before. He couldn't see a single trace of makeup on her skin, even though it was glowing. She had her hands resting on her slender hips, and a somewhat playful smile on her lips. She seemed… he couldn't describe it in words. All he knew was that she was definitely not from around here.

The woman, Rachel, walked forward a few steps, raising one hand to tap a finger on her chin thoughtfully. He followed her with his eyes, swallowing hard as she very blatantly scanned him up and down. She took her time walking in a slow circle around him, taking him entirely in as he awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The Director merely sat in silence, observing the two of them.

"Uhh…. Sir?" Finn questioned finally as Rachel came around again to his front, folding her arms across her chest and cocking her hip to one side. She narrowed her eyes a bit, before turning back to the Director and opening her mouth for the first time.

"I think I can make this work." She said, her voice wrapping around the room like music. It was not the soft, silver bells tone of Quinn's voice that he'd come to associate with women. It was strong, clear and commanding, like she felt she owned this room, even in the presence of the Director of the CIA.

"Make what work?" Finn asked stupidly, feeling like he was in high school all over and was once again was the last person to get the joke.

"Hudson, you're going undercover." Director Schuester explained, and Finn had to actively stop himself from grinning and doing a victory dance right there in the office. He got a mission! A real mission! "And Ms. Berry here is going to be your acting coach."

Pause…. Wait, what?

"Sir?" Finn questioned, and Rachel smiled a bit before answering the question herself.

"According to Will here," Rachel began, and Finn all but cringed as she used the freaking Director of the CIA's first name like they were old friends. Did this chick know who she was talking to? "While your aptitude for discerning possible threats is extensive, your…. subtly leaves much to be desired and needs to ameliorate before the Agency feels comfortable activating you in the field."

"Ummm…. In English, please?" he asked, his cheeks heating up as he realized that despite his college education at OSU, he hadn't understood half of what had come out of that Rachel girl's mouth.

"You're as discrete as a fireworks display, Hudson." The Director said with a small laugh in his voice, moving some papers around on his desk. "If we sent you out there now, we'd be sending you home to your mother in a body bag within the week."

Well fuck. Finn frowned, all the air having been taken out of his sails from the news he was getting an assignment. The Director motioned to Rachel then, who it seemed had never once taken her eyes off of Finn.

"This is why we've brought in Rachel Berry. She's a former Broadway star with an impeccable acting background. She's perfect to coach you on how to behave once you're undercover."

"And, to make sure you don't mess up, guess who is going to be constantly at your side?" Rachel asked with a beaming smile.

Wait… seriously, what?

"With all due respect, sir, she's an outsider. How can we be sure we can trust her with such a delicate subject as national security secrets?" Finn questioned, and for the briefest moment saw a flash of sorrow and regret in Rachel's eyes. But like a pro, she brushed it off before Finn could be sure of what he saw, and the Director shook his head.

"Ms. Berry has some very… potent reasons for wanting to do her job properly. Don't you, Rachel?" he asked, and she nodded. Finn wasn't entirely sure he liked this tone the Director had taken on when addressing the girl in front of him. It was… reserved, almost cold. Calculating, like he held a gun to Rachel's head.

"Well then… Rachel, you know the schedule." The Director said, getting up from his desk and motioning to the door, which both Rachel and Finn took as their cue to leave the office. They shuffled out, the awkwardness hanging in the air between them. Once the door shut behind them, Rachel tucked some hair behind her ear and looked up at him. She didn't look like she was going to explain the Director's comments, although Finn was dying to know.

"I'll meet you at the coffee shop on Addison tomorrow at 9 AM to brief you on the assignment and begin our first lesson." She said, but this was a totally new Rachel from the beaming, confident woman he'd seen in the room before Schuester brought up her secret reason for doing this job. She was toned down, maybe a bit shy… but overall this cloud of sadness just seemed to cling to every pore and fiber of her being. It was tragic. Finn's first impulse was to hug her, but fuck, he didn't even know her.

"Uhh….Kay." he muttered stupidly, and Rachel nodded before disappearing down the hall in a swooping flash of red and luscious brown hair.

"Dude… Who is that and where can I get her digits?" the smarmy voice of Noah Puckerman asked from the waiting area outside the Director's office, and Finn just frowned at him.

"I…. I think that's my new partner."