Due to popular demand, I'm not changing POV.

I've not really entered a summary to this, but I'm finding it hard to write one without giving too much away. Apologies for anyone confused. Just drop me a line and I'll explain as best I can.

Enjoy.


Freak Show

After being ushered out of the building into the clean, reasonably nice smelling air, Agent Dunham began to assault me with questions. Definitely the over-protective mother hen.

The truth is, I didn't know anything.

I got hounded up here, involuntarily. So when she asked what I was even doing here, I couldn't help but shrug my shoulders.

An eyebrow was raised in my direction.

"Do you even know what we do?"

"You deal with the weird and the wonderful." I dead-pan.

"Listen, I don't want my unit infiltrated by some rookie who doesn't even know what we're dealing with." She hissed, right in my face. "I don't even know why Broyles sent you."

She began to walk away, long blond hair swinging from a messy ponytail. I smile a little at the remnants of what looks like watermelon that laced the back of neck.

I jog to catch up with her long strides, wiping my finger across her neck to remove said fruit. I show her and her lips twitch upwards ever so slightly.

"I know what you do." I say softly, wiping my fingers on my coat sleeve. "And I know what happened."

Her eyes narrow slightly, unbelieving.

"You lost a team member. You're one down."

"We have plenty capable agents right here. Why would he fly you up from D.C?"

"Don't ask me! I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be." I laugh slightly.

She chuckles under her breath.

"What experience do you have?"

I draw in a sharp breath, before releasing it in a laugh.

"Where to start. Coffee?"


Snow was beginning to fall lightly as Olivia, Peter and I sat huddled in the corner of a small pastry shop just around the corner from Harvard. I sip my black coffee, marvelling the hot liquid as it falls down my throat.

"So, what makes you think you're special enough to work with us?" Peter asks, his arms crossed on the table and inquisitive blue eyes peering right at me. I place my mug down carefully and copy his stance, and choose to ignore the apparent grin on Agent Dunham's face as she tries to hide it behind her mug.

Smirking, I draw an envelope from my trench coat pocket, and slide out a piece of paper, with three single letters emblazoned at the top.

ZFT

Their eyes widen with some sort of understanding, as I launch into a description, however tame, (we are in a public place, after all) into what I have seen. My connections, supervisors, and everything needed included.

Turns out, it's all quite similar.

By the end, the table is littered with documents, reports and witness statements all drawn from my 'Mary Poppins' style briefcase, which was hidden under the table.

I sigh audibly, leaning back in my chair, reaching the end of a rather disturbing story involving a prostitute and pyrokinesis.

Peter winced at all the right moments, and once, Olivia spat out her coffee. She ditched the mug after that, settling for picking a loose strand on the tablecloth wide green eyes watching me intently.

It must feel nice to know you're not the only one in your nightmare world, and despite my frosty welcome, they seem to be warming to me.

"Well..." Olivia stands suddenly. "I have one thing left to say."

She extends a hand in my direction for the second time today.

"Welcome to the freak show, Louise Mitchell, you're gonna love it."

Oh, sarcasm.

Just what I like.


The hotel is a mess. Why the FBI couldn't splash out a little until I get an apartment, I have no idea.

Pulling my hair back into a bun, I pad into the bathroom and splash my face with water, wiping off my thin layer of make-up. Just enough to get me by without the world think it's Halloween.

But hey-every day for me is Halloween now. Why not vamp it up?

I ponder tomorrow while dabbing on some moisturiser. In the bright light of the bathroom, my amber eyes seem bright, and open.

I know I'm not bad looking. But I'm certainly not aglow with some ethereal aura like good Agent Dunham. Scars still graced her brow bone and forehead, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for what this division has put her through.

I want to take some of that from her, let dome weight fall onto me.

It's the least I could do.


I kick off my scratchy, hotel covers and swing my leg out of bed for the third time that night. I stand, stretch, and rub at cramp in my left leg.

Sleep escapes me whenever I have anything on my mind. Not exactly a good habit in my line of work, but I do try. I live off of caffeine pills and coffee, and it wreaks havoc on my temper.

First real day on the job and I don't want to let that shine.

Sitting upright against the headboard, I wonder, again, why Broyles brought me here. Sure, I have experience, but I was busy enough in D.C with all the wacky things happening.

Just a week ago for example, I was plagued by a man with the 'chemistry of life'.

Cheesy title, but that is what he called it.

He managed to transform DNA, alter it, and mutate whatever nucleotide her wanted to create 'super soldiers'.

In his lab, we found a man who's skin couldn't be penetrated, the whole epidermis as tough as leather. Not to mention the woman who had a gestation period of two days, in which she could give birth to over 100 of these awful creatures a year.

That was not a pretty show.

Unfortunately, we lost her to extreme exhaustion and dehydration, and I couldn't help but mourn for her. She was such a sweet girl, at only 21. When she opted into the trials, she foolishly thought it was a fertility study.

Flipping off the switch, I'm plunged into darkness once again, but contrary to any normal person, I'm glad there's no silence.

Have a happy honeymoon Room 235.

Okay, it may be a little awkward.

Please review, I do need guidance. :)