(mentions of the governor, drug cartels, and low-key darus/desus)
"Evil in this world can no longer be personified by horns and a pitchfork. Within the realm of what we perceive to be our reality, evil has taken the form of ignorance, apathy to that which seems beyond our control. It is an invisible bind we are only too eager to claim as our shackle to excuse our inaction; a shackle even the most entrusted of government officials have dared to maintain…"
Rick blinked at the Pulitzer Prize winning article in front of him. The words pulled him in and swirled around in his head.
This was her: Michonne Anthony, award-winning journalist and the woman he'd accosted earlier at the coffee shop. Her written words were passionate yet poignant, a reflection of the woman herself. Although, upon consideration, what he'd provoked in her earlier was more akin to indifference than passion.
He sat up in his desk chair at the thought of their awkward encounter, rubbing his palm against his sprouting stubble on his cheek. I should've shaved this morning, he thought to himself, a meager attempt at putting her clear disinterest in him out of his mind. He narrowed his eyes at the superficial thought. Not that a clean-shaven face would have made things go smoother with her but it definitely wouldn't have hurt his chances. He shut his eyes and shook his head irritably. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn't about their awkward encounter. This was about scoping out a possible threat.
He opened his eyes and carefully scanned beyond the glass walls of his small office at the U.S. Customs and Border Protection headquarters. Luckily, no one else had picked up on his unexpected interest in the audacious journalist. His officers continued working at their desks, their attention far from what was on their supervisor's mind. Giving one last critical glance, he returned his attention to his phone and swiped at the glowing screen, intently studying the rest of her file, determined to learn as much as he could about this mysterious woman.
She was a talented, undercover journalist who'd dedicated her career to exposing corruption and crime among the rich and powerful. She had a history of battling government officials, business CEOs, and department leaders all on her own. She had spent years proving how truly powerful the pen could be.
But not all her battles were victorious.
Upon opening a document, the bolded words "Photographer Murdered in Cold-Blood" appeared on his phone screen. It was an article written months prior to her award-winning editorial. He scrolled down to a picture of her. A serene smile lit up her face. She looked happier, less haunted. She stood next to a guy, holding his arm tightly. The caption read 'Michonne Anthony, New York Impression reporter, and former fiancé, Mike Harrison, New York Impression photographer, killed on assignment.'
He knit his brow and continued scrolling. They'd been on assignment in Sierra Leone when the photographer was brutally murdered. The article briefly mentioned it had been investigated by the bureau.
Considering the bureau's notorious ability to hand off cases like this until they eventually got lost in the shuffle, he knew nothing significant was ever done about it. It explained why shortly thereafter she wrote her article shedding light on U.S. government ties to drug and diamond smuggling in Sierra Leone. It led to the resignation of a number of government officials and two U.S. senators, winning her several accolades and a Pulitzer Prize along the way.
He scraped his teeth against his bottom lip. So that was it; the look in her eye. Death could do that – take a piece of a person and replace it with a distinct blend of anger and doubt. It would eat away at a person, eroding away at their will to live. He'd seen it in fellow agents. He saw it every time he looked in a mirror. It was a heavy burden that rarely ever lost its weight.
Yet, regardless of her loss, she persevered. Instead of allowing herself to succumb to the temptation of despair, she exposed and pressured those that were responsible. She found hope – a possibility of justice – in the midst of a harrowing experience.
If what she'd achieved in her short thirty-two years of life were any indication, this incredible woman was an exceptional force to be reckoned with.
So why was she in El Paso?
His stomach twisted uneasily. Michonne Anthony didn't seem like the kind of reporter who traveled to an infamous border town for the sights. She was here for a reason, possibly one that could blow his cover.
He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. As fascinating as she was, he couldn't afford having her on his trail. He couldn't fuck this up. He'd dedicated enough time serving his country and these long-term undercover jobs were starting taking their toll on him. This was his chance to finally get out of the field but if he didn't hold up his end of the deal, he'd be looking at another stint in god-knows-where.
He quickly deleted all his files on her, all the important bits safely stored in his mind. Maggie, his assigned analyst – or as he liked to call her his 'guardian angel' – had sent it to him after their brief coffee shop encounter. She'd put together dozens of articles and documents on this mysterious woman in a matter of minutes. He still found it unnerving how quickly she could pick up on his thoughts through grainy footage of surveillance cameras but she must've figured this woman had piqued his interest.
He glanced up again at his officers, the quiet hum of office sounds seeped in through his open door. He'd been posing as a supervising U.S. Border and Customs agent for the past ten months and his vigilance had paid off. Everyone was quick to believe the whole small-town-cop-turned-border-official story. Nobody suspected a CIA agent working amongst the ranks. He just needed to keep it that way.
His phone vibrated in his hand and dimly lit up with a message.
She's on assignment.
The words disappeared as fast as they had appeared. Leave it to Maggie to follow up on his silent suspicions.
A somber cloud of worry passed over his features as a nagging feeling pulled at his gut. Confirming that the daring reporter was here for business not pleasure only added to his trepidation. He was rarely ever wrong when it came to his hunches.
If she was here to take him down, it put them on opposing sides. He'd have to put up a fight and he was certain it wouldn't end with them on good terms. He forced down an unexpected feeling of regret bubbling in his gut.
Details in progress. Now stop pouting and get back to work.
He looked at the screen with a small smile. It scared him how well she could do that from a remote location in some basement the CIA kept secret hundreds of miles away. It made him question his stance on ESP.
You can thank me later old man.
His eyes softened as he shook his head. Though he'd never met her, he had a soft spot for the smart kid who gave him a hard time.
"What's up?" His shaggy-haired partner, Daryl, leaned against the doorway, looking at him curiously.
Though they worked closely together, Rick had not revealed the truth to him and had no intention of letting him in on it. It's not that he didn't trust him. In fact, he was probably one of the few people in his life he genuinely trusted. It was a matter of maintaining his cover and protecting him. Plausible deniability would be key if it all went to shit.
He couldn't tell him he was texting with his assigned CIA analyst about a possible threat to his undercover assignment so he glanced up at him before shaking his head dismissively. "Ah, it's nothin'. Just...family." He turned off his phone and shoved it into his back pocket, mentally berating himself for drawing attention to himself.
"Huh, didn't know you had any."
Rick peered up at him carefully. It was true. He didn't share things about his personal life, not even to his partner. Any details he gave away could work against him later on. Again, plausible deniability. Not to mention, there was the fact that he didn't have much of a personal life to speak of.
An unfamiliar pang spread throughout his chest. He lowered his gaze and turned his attention to his keyboard, quickly changing the subject. Now wasn't the time to contemplate his lack of a social life. "So what did you find out about our truck?"
Picking up on his reluctance to share, Daryl quirked an eyebrow but dropped it. He stalked over to a chair and inelegantly plopped down with a grunt. He shrugged. "Turned out to be legit. It was just deliverin' a bunch of fruit. We raided it but didn't find anythin'."
Rick held back an exasperated roll of his eyes. It looked like the lead they'd been following for the past week fell through. Yet another in a list he'd racked up in the past few months and they all pointed to a single drug lord that went by the name 'the Governor'.
This last lead was supposed to finally link drug smuggling to a group that went by 'La Leña', a group that was rumored to be led by 'the Governor'. They'd planned it down to the smallest detail. This was going to be the operation that would help all the pieces fall into place but somehow they'd managed to elude them once again.
Rick stood from his chair and made his way to the other side of his desk, leaning against its edge as he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "It's been eight months and we haven't been able to tie anything to 'em. We still don't know who this 'Governor' is and now I have the head of the department breathin' down my neck expectin' some sort of progress."
He sighed heavily. This had been one of the most frustrating assignments he'd ever taken on. It seemed like at every turn, they ran into a wall that would materialize out of nowhere. The group was careful but the probability of them eluding capture for this long was impossibly high. He lightly pinched at his bottom lip as he contemplated the situation.
He was back at square one. Only this time, his earlier suspicion was starting to take form. What was once just a series of unlucky coincidences, were turning into an oddly consistent pattern. Maybe this would be the key that would lead to definitive answers. He pushed off the desk and began pacing, once again thoughtfully rubbing his hand over his stubble.
Daryl eyed Rick carefully. He could see the wheels in his head turning. He rasped, "What?"
Rick paused and looked at him knowingly. There was only one way this group could be a step ahead of them every time they had a lead. He had shared his suspicions with his partner before.
"You still think it's a leak," Daryl surmised by his expression.
He shifted his stance and shrugged, his hands on his hips. "What else could it be?"
"I don't know, man. But it ain't gonna be easy to prove."
Rick nodded thoughtfully. At least he didn't disagree with his theory. Though, he was right. It wasn't going to be easy to prove that their department was involved somehow. It meant they'd be opening a dangerous can of worms. He had a short list of names he'd already gathered, names of which belonged to those that that could easily destroy his career with a simple phone call. Or – if his suspicions proved to be true – names of those who could easily arrange a believable death at the hands of the cartels they aided.
A knock at the opened glass door startled the two men. They looked up and saw the young rookie that went by Jesus beam at them. He held up his hand as both a greeting and to excuse his intrusion.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt but there's a lady in the lobby asking for the person in charge." He pointed in its general direction with his thumbs as he informed them with a smile.
Daryl narrowed his eyes in annoyance and gruffly asked, "Who is it?"
Rick held back a smirk. He found it particularly entertaining how his partner interacted with the cheerful, young rookie standing before them. It was like watching an amusing classic cartoon where the bright-eyed optimist eagerly trailed after the incurable grump. He crossed his arms, holding back his glee as he witnessed their interaction.
The young rookie shrugged unthinkingly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I didn't get a chance to ask," he replied, inspiring the shaggy haired man to roll his eyes in detestation. Sensing Daryl's annoyance, he froze in realization. "Wait…should I go ask?"
Rick winced at the young officer's painfully trusting nature. This kid's obliviousness wasn't going to win him any favors here, especially from his resentful partner. Nonetheless, he wasn't in the mood to observe this incurable optimist's imminent rejection. He'd witnessed enough of that for one day. He waved his hand dismissively. "I got it."
"You sure? I can go–"
He held up his hand again and gave him a reassuring shake of his head. "Don't worry about it. I got it."
Jesus sighed gratefully, "Thanks, Rick." He turned to Daryl but the irritated grump had stood from his chair and shoved past him before he could direct another word to him.
"Looks like I didn't score any brownie points with that move," he mused almost sadly, his eyes following Daryl's retreating form.
"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I don't think he's keepin' score," he reassured him as he followed the young rookie out the door.
On their walk to the lobby, Rick continued mulling over his next move. He would need to start investigating his list of suspects. He'd need Maggie's help with backgrounds, Daryl's help with keeping track of anything suspicious in the department, and possibly some sort of decoy to keep the attention off of him. He'd need to be resourceful with the latter; he didn't want to get too many people involved. Too many people increased the odds of the wrong people finding out. For now, he just needed to deal with one crisis at a time, starting with the supposed lady asking for the person in charge.
He just hoped it wasn't another disgruntled elderly lady attempting to get her neighbors deported. More often than not people treated this place like a suggestion box at an all-you-can-eat buffet; vocally dissatisfied by the fact that their every petty – mostly racist – whim wasn't being met. When did protecting the country's border turn into customer service for the intolerant and prejudiced?
Although, his irritation quickly subsided as he realized who was waiting for him. His gait slowed as he blinked in surprise.
She was a vision to behold in a tailored, expensive-looking black jacket, tight skirt, and high heels. Her dreadlocks were swept back from her radiant face but her gaze was locked on the screen of her phone.
His heart beat faster as he took in her stunning transformation from disgruntled coffee shop stranger to professional journalist who'd earned his complete respect and captured his full attention within the span of a couple hours. To say he was in awe would be an understatement.
He swallowed thickly as he approached the woman who would soon change his life.
Yeaaah, sorry about the long wait!
I mean with all the Richonne goodness going on in the show, I kinda got distracted. :)
I hope you enjoyed this chapter; it was more of an intro to Rick than anything. I'm currently revising the next chapter where we will get another Richonne interaction. Cross our fingers, that should be up soon!
Special thanks to my beta, michonnesbooty on Tumblr. She kicked my butt into gear and I am ever so grateful. Thanks!
Anyway, thank you sooooo much for all your support and reviews! All the love and interest has certainly helped boost my creativity! Can't wait to hear from you again!
Your slow-writing Richonner,
semul