WASHINGTON D.C.
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
17 MARCH 2009
He had been staring at her through the thick, plexiglass window for at least a few minutes now. And it made him feel like a creep. He was a creep. It was hard not to be when the main job in this internship was to watch her vitals fluctuate after she took her vitamins. Four times a day, every day. And it felt wrong. Like stalking. Federally- funded stalking.
But today, there was a rumor going around the research facility that could change a few things. Someone had finally put an end to Albert Wesker, meaning that the princess might be freed from her tower…
He winced at his own mental dialogue. All this time in the lab was turning his brain into mush. Still, there were worse government internships out there. His roommate, Freddy, was stuck gathering soil samples for the DNR for hours on end. Watching Sherry Birkin was a hell of a lot better than watching dirt.
Beyond the plexiglass window, Sherry looked up from a book she was reading. Straight at him. Damn, how long had he been staring again?
She waved and gave a small smile, the PA system echoing a tinny version of her voice in the observation room where he sat, "Hi Peter."
He had to have been blushing up to the tops of his ears, but he hesitantly pushed the comm channel's "talk" button, "H-hey Sherry." He had to say something. Anything. "What are you reading?" Smooth. Because he hadn't asked her that fifty times already.
"Same as yesterday," her smile morphed into an amused grin. They repeated this conversation at least four times a week. Asking Sherry 'What's new?' or 'How was your day?' almost seemed cruel. At least Peter was getting paid to sit in a white room all day.
Still, in order to have a conversation, he had to provide something new. He liked talking to Sherry, even if he was miserable at it. Peter was brilliant: the star of his genetics program at Ivy University, specifically requested for a highly competitive internship program with the top officials of the US government. But he couldn't string two sentences together around the pretty blonde.
Not even when they were separated by twenty feet, two armed guards, and a liberal amount of plexiglass. Shit. He was hopeless.
"Your cell count looks good today." God damn it. Why couldn't he just. Speak normal.
"…Thanks." Her normally cheerful voice had a bit of a resigned edge to it as she started to turn back to her book.
He looked down, appropriately mollified until an idea occurred to him. Peter knew he wasn't supposed to tell her. Not yet, not until his supervisors had cleared the intel with Simmons and the other big wigs. But he was tired of seeing her sitting on her bed, alone and sad, and he hated that he was part of what made her stay there. And. And he kind of wanted to be the cool guy, for once.
So what the hell, Peter pushed the talk button on the speaker system, "They, uh…They got him I guess."
Sherry looked up from what she was reading- Peter snuck a peek and saw Animal Farm printed along its creased spine, he'd have to get a copy from the library when he got off work- and frowned in confusion, "Sorry?"
He cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses with the heel of his hand. As much as he…admired her, having her undivided attention was absolutely nerve-wracking, "Wesker!" Sherry winced. Shit, he kind of yelled that into the microphone, "Sorry, Wesker. The BSAA killed him in Africa-" the rest of his explanation fell off as he stared at her.
Sherry Birkin had gone very, very still. And her face paled as the grip on her book went limp, Animal Farm toppling over onto the sterilized floor of her bedroom. It was a testament to Peter's priorities that he instantly grew concerned about her not finding her place again when she picked it back up.
Silence hung between them, two armed guards, twenty feet, and a liberal amount of plexiglass. Peter bit down on his lower lip, tugging on the collar of his lab coat. Maybe it had been a bad idea to tell her? She looked upset. There was a rumor that Sherry had known Wesker from before, but rumors around this place flew faster than monkeys throwing shit so-
"Does that mean…" Sherry's voice was so quiet it was almost smothered by the sounds of the machines measuring her heart rate and brain waves.
Peter gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "Yeah. I think you might be getting out of here soon."
He was so going to be on beaker-cleaning-bitch duty for the next six months of the internship, but it was worth it to see actual joy in Sherry's expression for the first time.
CHAPTER ONE: DEBRIEFED
WASHINGTON D.C.
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
21 DECEMBER 2013
"OH NO! The fight's out!-"
Her fist connected against the solar plexus.
"And I'm about to punch your LIGHT'S OUT-"
An exhale and her leg swung into the man's ribs with a quick snap-kick.
"Get the fuck back, guard your grill-"
She followed the kick's momentum for a full turn. A backswing with her arm, and her elbow connected with the bridge of his nose.
"There's something wrong, we can't stand still-"
A quick grunt of triumph and she turned, swinging her leg up for another attack. The heel of her sneakered foot connected mercilessly with the top of the man's head on its descent.
"-I've been drinking and busting two-"
Her breathing was starting to come in pants as she swung out her fists in quick, boxer's jabs. Her workout shirt sported sweat stains as the rubber dummy received the ultimate beating of his rubber dummy life.
"-and I've been thinking of busting you-"
And then someone grabbed her shoulder from behind.
"-upside your motherfucking forehead!"
Instinctually, Sherry reached over and grabbed the man's wrist, using the momentum against her assailant and ducking low. The man was lifted slightly and then vaulted over her shoulder as she made the best of her low center of gravity. His hand snagged around the chord of her earbuds-
"And if your friends jump in, OH GURL-"
-and ripped them out of her ears before he tucked into a roll and stood up effortlessly, iPod dangling from his outstretched hand.
Sherry blinked as she processed what had just happened. Across from her stood a man gracefully stepping out of his thirties. Dressed in jeans, a navy t-shirt, and a black leather jacket, he radiated a casual air of "don't screw with me". Blond hair fell into his eyes as he stared at the earbuds in confusion.
Her eyes widened, as she stood, "Leon! I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"
He brushed her off with what passed for a smile on him- a faint tug at the corner of his mouth, "My mistake. Should know better than to sneak up on an agent."
…Even though she had been an agent for over two years, Sherry still felt a definite glow of pride hearing it being acknowledged by one of the two people she held in unconditional respect.
She took the interruption to run the back of her hand along her forehead, wiping off the sweat from her workout, "What are you doing here?"
Leon didn't answer, instead staring down at the innocent looking earbuds like they were new Los Plagas samples, "What the hell is this?"
"MOVE, BITCH! GET OUT THE WAY-"
Sherry could feel the hot flash of red burn up from her neck to the base of her ears, "Luda."
"What?"
"GET OUT THE WAY, BITCH! GET OUT THE WAY!"
"Ludacris. He raps."
"Wraps what?"
"Music."
"This is music?"
She shrugged apologetically before reaching for the earbuds. Leon let them slide from his fingers without any resistance, "It helps me time my kicks."
He sighed, shaking his head but the offended expression finally dropped from his face, "You've been working hard."
Overworking, more like it. In the last six months, the repercussions of Lanshiang had been dire for national security. Between the outbreak at Tall Oaks, the assassination of President Benford, and the revelation of Simmons' dark side, nearly every branch of government force had been upended, overturned, and shaken more than a pair of maracas. The C-virus had been stopped before it could go global, but it still managed to get a few punches in. Trust was scarce these days, and Simmons had destroyed not only the NSA, but the confidence and cooperation the agencies used to have in each other. USSS, CIA, DSO, NSA, BSAA, FBI, or any other acronym- it didn't matter. Tension was thick and those working in FOS had their work cut out for them.
Sherry looked down as she wrapped her earbuds' chord around her iPod, stowing it in the pocket of her worn gym sweatshirt; stifling the request for some bitches to presumably get out of the way, "Just trying to make a difference."
Her gaze was intent on the floor, so she missed the frown of concern growing in the corners of Leon's mouth, "You've already made plenty."
"Not really," Sherry glanced back up to Leon, "Not like you or Claire."
His stare, which Sherry was beginning to believe could puncture steel, bore into her before he spoke again, "…how is she?"
The younger agent smiled, glad that in his own reservedway, Leon had let her make her own decision. Sherry knew the older DSO agent would understand the need to be out in the field more than anyone, even Claire. After seeing what had happened in China, Sherry knew it would be impossible for her to ever have a desk job. There were monsters out there, and she had to do what she could to save the world from B.O.W.s. She'd been spared their fate for a reason.
Super girl.
The nickname popped up in her brain from time to time, like a habit she couldn't kick.
"Claire's fine, but busy. All her e-mails come from the TerraSave server," Sherry made a big show of rolling her eyes, "And she tells me to take a vacation."
Leon smirked. "Married to the job. Can't imagine what that's like."
Sherry grinned, "Me either."
He lifted up his arm, pulling his jacket sleeve far enough back to reveal a wristwatch, "Debriefing's in twenty."
She felt a knot of dread sink in her stomach, "Sorry. Must have lost track of time."
Leon gave that titanium stare again, before jerking his chin in the direction of the DSO's locker rooms, "I'll wait."
Sherry grabbed her gym bag off the floor and jogged to go change out of her sweats. It wouldn't look good to be late to the first meeting with the new Chief Security Advisor.
The locker shut quietly as Sherry made quick work of the buttons on her shirt, tugging down on its tails after she was finished to straighten the crisp linen. It had been a while since it was required, but Sherry still knew how to line the creases, how to present herself in a formal meeting with a superior.
She bent over, folding her sweatshirt and moving to put it in her bag when a blinking blue light caught her attention. Sherry sighed, knowing it was her phone; the light was an indicator for a new message. Probably one of the fifty other agents or coordinators awaiting another report. That was the thing that never got mentioned in the movies: after the world was saved, the heroes had to file things in triplicate. Leon's plane crash alone had accrued several million dollars' worth of property damage, and for every civil suit that was resolved, three more sent out subpoenas.
Smoothing her short hair into something resembling order, Sherry exchanged her phone's place in the bag for her gym clothes, flipping it open.
1 MESSAGE
JAKE M
A small, soft smile graced her features at the familiar name. Since China, she hadn't seen her former…protective charge. Too many external factors interfered: her work, his work, pending reports, pending court cases, training, restructuring the government, synthesizing his blood into a vaccine, distributing the vaccine…the list went on. And as much as she found herself missing the asshole, she was currently grounded from field work or leaving the country until Lanshiang was cleaned up and the government was tidy. Jake, not being an American citizen, had certainly gotten off easy with the pay cut. Imagining the mercenary up to his elbows in official statements did have its charms, however. If for no other reason than seeing Jake scowl a hole through them.
Despite everything, they were still able to stay connected. As pen pals.
Ignoring the fact that she had a debriefing in about ten minutes on the other side of the building, Sherry opened the message.
Super girl. In New York. Here for three days…be nice to see you there.
Disappointment sunk like a rock in her stomach, and Sherry shut the phone without replying.
Debriefing first, figuring out Jake's bullshit second.
Five minutes later found Sherry and Leon sitting in the waiting room for the CSA's office, the latter staring at her as he folded a leg to rest on the opposite knee.
"You okay?"
Sherry took a deep breath, straightening out her shirt again. This was a no-wrinkle meeting, "I'm fine."
"You're sure?"
"Just some bad news. Don't worry about it."
"If you say so."
A buzz sounded from her pocket. Sherry quickly retrieved her phone from her waistcoat.
1 MESSAGE
JAKE M
She hit open. Of course she hit open.
You mad?
Sherry sighed, shutting the phone closed. Yes, she was mad.
"Hot date?"
She snorted, sliding her finger over the screen to put her phone on silent, "No."
"I'll ask one more time, and then I'll leave it alone. Everything alright?"
Sherry went to say it was, but reconsidered her answer. "It's nothing I won't be able to handle. Personal problems."
Leon looked as if he were about to say something, but the secretary behind the desk pressed his ear piece to his head.
"Yes, yes. Of course." The aide looked up from his computer screen, "She'll see you now."
Leon stood, rolling his shoulders, "Ready to face the dragon?"
If Sherry didn't know the man next to her so well, she would have missed the flicker of humor in his expression as they walked into the office.
"And as you're no doubt aware, Agent Kennedy, while your…expedience in regards to the property damage forms on the charter plane incident has been noted, there are several discrepancies between the personal testimonies," Ingrid Hunnigan placed a simple manila folder in front of her, then opened it to several paper-clipped bunches of files.
Beside her, Leon arched a brow, "Such as?"
Hunnigan looked out at him over the rims of her glasses, "Such as the circumstances surrounding the actual crash."
"What was wrong with the report?"
"While yours and Agent Harper's accounts align, it's been noted that several passengers have testified to excessive use of force and, as a certain…" Hunnigan's lips pursed as she turned over a bundle, "Mr. Gregory McCaulson stated, 'The man flew us into buildings not even after five minutes of being behind the controls'."
Leon looked as if he wanted to protest, thought better of it, and instead asked dryly, "So. Rewrite?"
A ghost of a smile flashed on the new CSA's face, "Rewrite."
Leon wordlessly slid the manila folder to him.
Before their return from Lanshiang, Sherry had never met with the shining star of the FOS, but from what she understood, Ingrid Hunnigan was a capable, dedicated woman. And the only woman fit for the promotion, seeing as a multitude of organizations were waiting for the other multitudes of organizations to screw up somewhere, so the incident of Tall Oaks and the President's assassination could finally have a pinpointed source of blame. The CIA blamed the USSS, the USSS blamed the DOS, the FBI had it out for the BSAA- the finger pointing was endless. As the most elite unit of government's forces, the head of the DOS held a considerable amount of power and influence.
But they didn't need power. Too much power had gotten them into this situation. No, what the United States needed more than anything in this time of crisis was organization. Enter an efficient agent of the Field Operations Support, the only branch the others could tolerate. As little as Sherry knew about the political machinations of bureaucracy, even she could support Hunnigan's promotion as a smart move.
If nothing else, the woman was brutally competent with paperwork. Her admonishment of Leon complete, Hunnigan turned to face her.
"Agent Birkin, you've completed the write-up of the Muller case?"
That dull, disappointed sensation was back again. "Yes, sir."
Hunnigan nodded, "And Mr. Muller received the compensation he requested?"
All fifty dollars of it. Jake had been proud to inform her that he had spent it on a new jacket and a bottle of vodka, "Yes."
The CSA gave a thoughtful hum, withdrawing another file and flipping through it with purpose. She stopped about ten pages in, "As I suspected. Agent Birkin, do you have a finalized proof of transaction?"
A receipt? "…no, sir."
"Please see to it that one is drawn up and forwarded to Mr. Muller's current location, with a copy being faxed to Accounts Payable."
It was nice to know that Hunnigan was on their side.
"Yes, sir."
"Now, the real reason I've called you in," Hunnigan brushed the files to the side of her desk, folding her hands primly in its former place, "You'll be pleased to know that you've both been cleared to return to active field work."
Sherry's heart skipped a few beats in excitement. She hadn't even hoped there would be a possible end to the paperwork parade before the year ended.
"About time," was all Leon offered, though Sherry knew it didn't take psychic abilities to see he was just as relieved.
Hunnigan smiled, "I agree. Bio-terrorism doesn't stop just because we're up to our eyes in civil cases. Your files and reports have been reviewed by the action committee and international clearance has been returned. Access to service weapons has been made available." She faced Sherry, and Sherry wished she didn't see what looked like pity in the older woman's eyes, "Simmons' treason, if nothing else, exposed the liabilities of the chain of command and mission processing as they stood. I'm in the process of restructuring both to prevent further incidents like the one regarding Jakob Muller."
Sherry closed her eyes, taking a deep and steadying breath. Simmons wasn't her fault. She had been reminded, multiple times, that Simmons wasn't her fault.
It still felt like it was her fault. Even now, it stung to be reminded of how close she had been to delivering the exact ingredient necessary for global bio-organic decimation. How close she had been to another, bigger Raccoon. How close she had been to endangering Jake, to forcing him to be locked up in the basement of some research facility for the rest of his life while they poked and prodded at him with syringes and scalpels-
Leon tensed beside her, making Hunnigan shift slightly in her seat.
Sherry kept her expression calm.
Hunnigan cleared her throat after allowing her point to sink in, "Agent Birkin, you will report directly to me and one other agent for all your future assignments."
Another agent? Despite the lack of field experience, Sherry was still a fully-fledged member of the DSO. Whatever Simmons' prior involvement with her was, she had earned her title just like anyone else. Making her accountable to another agent was akin to saying she needed a babysitter. "Sir?"
"I'm afraid the matter is not up for discussion. Agent Kennedy will be your secondary point of contact effective immediately."
From Leon's expression, it was clear this was new information for him as well, "Now wait, if it wasn't for Sherry the vaccine-"
Hunnigan held up a hand, "For what it's worth, I agree completely on matters of Agent Birkin's merit," Sherry was met with her brown, earnest stare, "You went above and beyond the perimeters of your assignment, Agent Birkin. Please don't allow any other opinions to dissuade you of that."
Numbly, Sherry nodded, "Then why-?"
Hunnigan gave a pained sigh that contrasted with her matter-of-fact personality, "To be blunt? Politics. Many outside of the DSO view your connection with Simmons as circumspect at best, incriminating at worst. The unfortunate downside to a top secret mission is the details will not be made accessible outside the higher levels of the FOS and DSO," she rolled her shoulders back, sitting up straighter, "You will have to re-establish your reputation through successful missions before you can put Simmons behind you, where he belongs. I intend to help you with that,"
Hunnigan turned to Leon, "Agent Kennedy, you're dismissed. I look forward to seeing you at the gala tomorrow."
His face was fixed in a permanent scowl, a small comfort for her current situation. If nothing else, Leon was at least in her corner. Sherry knew that for a fact. He nodded to Hunnigan before briefly resting his hand on Sherry's shoulder, "We'll talk later."
"Okay," Sherry whispered, wishing she at least sounded more confident for a woman who ruined her career before it really began. He withdrew his hand and offered a morose looking smile before retreating.
Hunnigan watched the door until Leon walked through it, waiting to speak until it shut behind him.
"I have an assignment for you. Top secret and high priority."
Sherry's eyes went wide, "But you-"
"-just said that I intend to help you with Simmons. He was a, pardon my language, utter bastard and I hate to see good agents have their reputations sullied by scum." The older woman continued sharply, "So let's start by cleaning up one of his messes. I have every confidence that once you are returned to the field you'll prove you've earned your position in the Department of Security Operations- not that you haven't already."
She had struck her nearly speechless, "Thank you."
"Thank me after you've read the debriefing, Agent Birkin," Hunnigan turned to her computer, eyes dashing across the screen faster than Sherry had believed humanly possible, "The details will be delivered to your personal files in forty-eight hours. You will have an additional seventy-two hours to put your affairs in order and prepare for international travel."
She nodded. It felt good, to be given something to do. Something to accomplish. And as easily as changing from her sweats to her no-wrinkle linen shirt, Sherry resumed the role of an active government field agent. "Right. Expected mission duration?"
"Over six months."
"Understood."
A smile broke out on the stern woman's face, making her appear almost a decade younger, "Good," she paused, before seamlessly redirecting the conversation, "Have you been briefed on the security details for President Howe's gala tomorrow evening?"
Sherry grimaced. The gala had been organized by the former Vice President, and meant to serve as both a fundraising campaign for the North American chapter of the BSAA as well as a silent commendation ceremony. Silent, as those who were being commended were all being commended for top secret missions that stopped the potential global outbreak of the C-virus. Officially, it was a fundraiser and memorial dinner for President Benford. Unofficially, it was meant to be Howe's expression of thanks to those involved in Lanshiang and Tall Oaks.
It was going to be four hours of black-tie hell.
She and Leon were invited to represent the DSO on paper, and to be guests of honor off of it. Same with Chris, Helena…and Jake. Who obviously wasn't coming, though he no doubt received several invitations. Two from her.
She'd have to reply to him, eventually. Especially since it looked like she was going off the grid.
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. I trust I don't need to stress the importance of polite sociability?"
Because all of the agencies would be represented at the gala. Because all of the agencies were currently at each other's throats. Because Sherry secretly suspected Hunnigan had organized this on purpose to force mingling between them. And, as she understood now, to cement their reputations on a positive note.
"No, sir."
"Thank you, Agent Birkin. That will be all."
Sherry nodded politely at her dismissal, leaving the office and almost immediately checking her phone again.
4 MESSAGES
JAKE M
CLAIRE R (2)
LEON K
…she'd check her phone later.
Right now, Sherry was in desperate need of a punching bag.
And probably more Ludacris.
And maybe a Long Island iced tea.
Whatever the specifics of her next assignment, Sherry had the steadfast knowledge that it would be a difficult one.
Next Up: A Fancy, Awful Party. Also more on Sherry's textual anger