A/N- Based on a small disagreement between friends. I am going to win, this is just proving my point. May be more that a one-shot if you guys like it enough.
The best way to deal with something you know nothing about is to find someone who knows something about what you are trying to do.
I walked down the streets of the crowded Miami mall area. To my left and to my right were tables, most filled with teenage girls, gossiping I assumed.
"Robert sooo should not have played Edward." One girl was saying, while her friend shook her head.
"But who else would have! He looks the part." She said in response.
"Taylor looks more his part. I love it when he does the whole-wherewolf-with-no-shirt thing." The first girl said, giggling. I shook my head in amazement.
There are several things that scare regular, forty year old men, Most of them don't apply to spies. We are not scared of guns, or being robbed, or our wife cheating. But there is one fear all men have in common. Teenage girls. The meanest, cruelest person I have ever met is five foot four and fifteen years old. I have literally met warlords who are kinder. But sometime you do what you gotta do.
I stopped short when one of the girls, who was in a group of about five, stepped into my path.
"Excuse me." I said politely, trying to move around her.
"You must be Michael." She said, examining a chip in her bright blue nail polish and not letting me pass.
"Nope." I said, smiling charmingly and attempting to walk away again.
"I'm Rose." She told me, looking up and grabbing my wrist. She looked into my eyes and I had the strange feeling that she knew more about me than she was letting on. I turned slowly, so that I was face to face with her, watching out of the corner of my eyes as her friends stood.
"You're Rose?" I demanded, not believing a word that came out of this girl's mouth. She nodded.
"This is Madi, Vicky, Veronica, and Sarah." Rose pointed out each girl in turn.
Not everything is always at it seems. If a girl says that she is the leading expert on something, but she is only fifteen, sometimes your best bet it to hear her out.
"So, Rose, I still don't know why you stopped me. I have a meeting to get to." She rolled her eyes at me.
"We should talk somewhere more private, Rose." Vicky whispered in Rose's ear, who nodded and began to walk away. After a few paces, she looked aver her shoulder at me.
"Aren't you coming, Michael?" She demanded, her voice sickly sweet.
"I don't think so. Like I said, I have a previous engagement." I said. Rose stalked up to me.
"If I screamed right now, every police officer in Miami would come running. Who do you think they are going to believe if I claim sexual abuse? Michael Westen will be smiling for the cameras." She hissed in my ear, and I knew that she was right. Rose smiled at me and walked away, well aware that every male eye was following her. I sighed and fell into step beside her, putting on my sunglasses and a smile.
"You know, I have heard of children in small Russian farming towns who run and hide under their beds when they see a charming smile and a pair of sunglasses." Rose told me, looking up to gauge my reaction. I tried hard not to show my surprise.
"Is that so?" I asked, conversationally. She nodded to Madi, who opened the door, to what appeared to be a small yogurt store. Not everything is what it appears to be.
"Welcome to Miami, Michael." Rose said. her voice sent chills up my spine. I looked around in well-disguised amazement. The walls where white. The floor was white. Everything was blindingly white. I was glad that I had my sunglasses on.
"Where the hell am I?" I demanded, my voice betraying my surprise. Rose smiled, evidently pleased with herself.
"Miami. Florida. Earth." She looked at my frown.
"Oh, you mean where are you now, huh? We call this place Miami. It is out headquarters. " She said, motioning her friends back out to the mall. Then it was only us.
"So, Rose..." I began, unsure what to say to this young girl. She looked me up and down, again, as if she was memorizing every detail of my face.
"Before we begin, I need you to read and sign these forms. They basically say that you will tell no one who I am, what I do, how you met and/ or heard of me, ect." Rose handed me a thick stack of white papers with several dotted lines that demanded my signature.
It is best to avoid doing anything that might compromise later cover IDs. So make it up as you go along. Never use your real name and always have a story behind you.
I took the papers from her hand. Michael McBride. I scribbled in messy cursive at every line. Rose took the papers and raised her eyebrows at the name that I had put.
"Michael McBride? Really Michael, don't you think that cover is a little overused? I know a very upset Mr. O'Neil who is looking for a Michael McBride. Maybe you want to reconsider." Rose handed me a new stack of the same forms. I thought for a minute before signing Jimmy Glinn. Rose read it over again.
"What would Victor think, Michael. I don't think he liked Jimmy very much." I frowned, as she handed me a new stack of forms.
Father Peter. "When did you become a priest, Michael? I think pretending to be on is a federal crime." I growled at her and pushed the papers away.
"I am done with this." I spit, angrily, turning on my heal and marching away.
"You don't have photo identity, do you Michael?" She asked, her voice calm and cool. I don't stop walking.
"You know all about me, it seems. Do I?" I demand, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I believe you have on under the name Dwaign Wingger. I will accept that." Rose tells me, pushing yet another stack of papers at my retreating form and holding out her hand for the ID that she says I have. I pause for a moment. She is right that I do still have that driver's license, it hasn't been flagged, yet, and I really do need her help. I stop and turn slowly. Rose smells victory and a closed mouth smile graces her face again. I pull my wallet out of my pocket and slid the small square of plastic into her hand. I scribbled my 'name' across the forms.
"Thank you, Michael, um Mr. Winnger." She rolls her eyes.
"I am still going to call you Michael." She decrees. I roll my eyes at her.
"Rose, if we could get to business..." I trail off, leaving the end of my sentence to her.
"Ah, yes. One of Michael Westen's clients needs thy razor sharp mind and fists of fury." I looked her up and down. There was no way she could know that I was thinking of what Victor had said to me at that moment.
"Something like that. Yeah." I said, backing away minutely.
"And you need my help?" Rose asked humor in her tone. I nodded my head, tired of playing her game.
"So you need help with the hairy guys, huh? That's Veronica's area of expertise." She nodded to herself and then looked up at the look on my face.
"No. Okay then, the spookies? You'll need Madi's help with them." Rose specified and again looked up from the thick book she had grabbed off a shelf behind her.
"Hmm, no again. The green dudes? That's Sarah." She didn't seem to find the answer she wanted on my face.
"No? Really? Okay then, spell-casters? That's Vicky." I grabbed Rose's face when she looked to study my face this time.
"I don't need help with werewolves, ghosts, zombies, or witches." I growled, my eyes flashing. Rose looked shocked.
"That means you need help with... That's my area. You couldn't possibaly know that... How could you..?" Rose sputtered before getting herself under control.
"Well you really are Michael Westen, aren't you?" She asked, calm, cool, and collected again.
"Yes and I need help with a..." I was cut off my Rose. She smiled and showed me her teeth for the first time. They were sharp points, the tips tinged red. She filled in the last word of my sentence.
"Vampire."