Thanks to Caranath, Zenfrodo, bhar, max2013, ukfan101, hlahabibty, SnowPrincess88, and Xenitha for their lovely words, and thanks to all who read chapter 1 without leaving a review. (If you do, I respond to everyone.) As promised, here's chapter two. Enjoy!


Rookie FBI agent Kara Malone took a deep breath and checked her reflection in the glass of conference room door. She still wasn't used to the shorter haircut, even if Lynne felt it made her look older.

"Face it, Kar," her older sister had said when Kara had been home on leave, "with your hair halfway down your back, you look about twelve. You're short and cute, and all anyone is going to want to do is lean down and pinch your cheeks. Even with the gun, bad guys just aren't going to take you seriously."

"I've been wearing it up." Kara pulled her hair into a pony tail and twisted it into bun on the back of her head and leaned against the headboard of her sister's bed. "Like this. I can just keep doing that."

Lynne frowned, her green eyes narrowing. "No. With the dark suit and the bun, you'll look like a kid trying be a stereotype. All you need are glasses perched on the end of your nose and a finger at your lips. Shhh." She reached behind her sister's head and unwound the twist of hair, folding it to different lengths. "There. Just below your shoulders. You can still put it up when you run, but it will look more professional when it's down." She laughed. "Might even make you look fifteen. Sixteen if you're lucky." She had laughed then ducked as Kara launched a pillow at her head.

Looking at her image now, Kara had to admit Lynne had been right, she did look more like she belonged in the office and not in a park, waiting for her turn on the swings. "Here goes," she muttered. She grasped the door handle and pulled it open. Once in the conference room, she found an empty seat at the foot of the table, where she would have a good view of the rest of the participants, and frowned slightly as she realized was the youngest in the room. Again. She pulled out her notes and scanned them, double- and triple-checking the details she already had memorized and waiting for the other rookie to get here.

The door opened again, this time admitting an agent who appeared to be about fifty, with gray eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and the requisite dark-colored suit. He nodded to all of them, and Kara returned the gesture along with everyone else. This was Special Agent Arthur Vickers, the agent who had come in from the Washington bureau to take charge of this mission. She craned her neck to see if anyone else was behind him. The door swung closed without anyone else entering.

"Thank you all for coming," Vickers said, the door swinging shut behind him, "but I'm afraid this is going to be a very short meeting." He huffed out a breath. "We need to push back the operation. The timeline is now unspecified."

"We have to postpone the mission?" The words were out of Kara's mouth before she could stop them.

Silence blanketed the room, the older agents sitting around the table shocked by their junior colleague's outburst.

Vickers laid both hands on the table, palms down, and turned his gaze toward the speaker. "Agent Malone, right? Yes. We have to postpone the mission." He lifted a hand to curtail the protest he assumed was coming, then cleared his throat, making sure he had everyone's attention. "We got a call from the Denver office this morning. Carl DeMillo was injured yesterday." One of the other agents gasped. "He was hit by a car while out grocery shopping. His right leg was broken in two places. It's being investigated, but all indications are that it was an unfortunate accident; the brakes on the other vehicle failed." Vickers let out a breath. "And since the only available people with his specific skill set who look the right age are still in Quantico right now, we've hit a wall. I refuse to send in a newbie who hasn't finished his training."

"So what are we going to do in the meantime?" A stocky agent in his late thirties asked, his voice sounding exasperated. "We've put in a lot of surveillance time on this case. I'd hate to see it fall apart."

"None of us want that, Mel," Vickers said with a sigh. "But until we can find a computer geek with detective experience..." His voice trailed off, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"What if we brought in a contractor?" All eyes turned to the bottom of the table. Kara could feel her face warming and wanted to shift in her seat but forced herself to remain still, knowing the more senior agents at the table would take the motion as a sign of uncertainty, of weakness.

"A civilian?" Vickers stood, surprise etched in the lines around his eyes. "Agent Malone, I know you're anxious for your first mission, but we can't risk it. You know how dangerous this could be."

Kara Malone's brown eyes met the Vickers' grey ones. "I do." She swallowed. "And I think I know just the man for the job."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Whoa. There's still stuff in here!" Frank watched as his younger brother Joe craned his neck around the room. "I would've figured you'd be done with this last week or something." A grin formed on Joe's face, amusement evident in his blue eyes as he shook his head in mock-disappointment. "You're slipping, Frank."

Frank looked around the half-empty room that had been his home for the past four years. With the posters and pictures taken down and the pile of neatly stacked, but still mostly empty, boxes on Roger's side of the room – Don't think about that, he told himself – it looked more like a storage closet than a dorm room. The only indications that someone lived there were the sheets on the long, narrow bed, the towel folded over the bed frame, and the plastic cup on the desk holding a razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste. And my clothes in the closet, and the books on the bookshelf. Why didn't I finish packing this morning? He ran a hand through the hair falling into his eyes and stifled a yawn.

"Frank?" His mother's voice startled him, forcing him to focus on the fact his parents and brother were staring at him, waiting for a response. "Your brother needs to get back to school. If you're tired, we can skip dinner, and I can wait while you finish packing and drive home with you." She tilted her head to one side, examining him with narrowed eyes. "Or, rather, drive you home. You look exhausted."

Joe cocked his head to one side, mirroring his mother's movement, his left foot tapping out a furious pattern on the cracking linoleum tiles. "Make up your mind, 'bro. As much as I want food, I've got finals tomorrow and Tuesday, and I could use some last minute cramming."

"Joseph, give your brother a minute," their father said. "It's not every day he graduates from college." Fenton gave his older son a fond smile, then his voice took on a teasing note. "Just don't take too long, son. We wouldn't want Joe to miss his study time." His gaze turned toward his younger son, one eyebrow raised. "It will take him longer to get back to school with all those snack breaks he needs."

"Hey!" Joe spread his hands out in front of him. "It's not my fault I have an efficient metabolism."

Laura shook her head. "Efficient isn't the word, I would use, dear. Over-enthusiastic comes much closer."

Frank started to laugh, choking slightly as the yawn escaped. He blinked a few times and looked at his family with bleary eyes. "Maybe we could do the celebration after Joe's semester is over I think," he swallowed down another yawn, "I'll crash here tonight and finish packing tomorrow. I can get up early, load up the car, and be home before lunch."

"Are you sure, dear?" Laura's blue eyes showed a glimmer of worry. "I don't mind helping you pack and doing the driving."

"I'm sure." Frank could feel his shoulders slump. "Mostly, I don't want to have to unpack the car to find my pajamas when we get home. I'm wiped out."

"That's what you get for being an over-achiever, 'bro. If you'd stuck with just one major..." The sentence cut off as Joe lurched to the side to avoid Frank's open hand aiming for the top of his head. "You missed..." Surprise was evident in his voice. "You must be tired."

"That's what I've been telling you." Frank looked at them all. "Dad, you and Mom should go home, and Mr. Metabolism can head back to school. I'll get a good night's sleep and come home tomorrow."

A few minutes later, the room was quiet again. Frank leaned against his desk, sighed, and pulled a battered copy of Mansfield Park from the book shelf. Most pathetic college graduate ever, he thought as he stretched out on the bed and opened the book.

Several hours later, his cell phone rang, Joe's voice crackling through the receiver. "You're reading, aren't you?"

"Tell me you're back at NYU and not talking on your phone while driving."

"Worrywart."

"Joe!"

"Hey, calm down. Traffic was light. I'm at my desk. Books are open and everything." There was a pause. "I just wanted to say congratulations. You did a massive amount of work. I couldn't have done what you did and stayed sane."

Frank rubbed his eyes. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

"It was. Just don't let it go to your head." Joe snorted. "I still think you're a freak."

"Thanks." Frank's voice was dry. "And, uh, just so you know? I didn't miss this afternoon."

"Huh?"

"The dope slap. I didn't miss. I was being nice and not scrambling your brains while you still had two finals to go. Now go study." Frank clicked the end call button, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning Frank rose early and slowly packed up the rest of his belongings, feeling strangely reluctant to finish. Although he knew graduating meant he and Joe were one step closer to opening their own agency, he felt as if he were in a holding pattern. Studying for his degrees had been challenging and had given him a goal to meet; now he had to wait a year for Joe to finish school, and while he knew he would be working with his father during that time, it almost felt like taking a step backwards when what he really wanted to do was run forward as fast as he could into the unknown. He sighed. It'll be good experience, he told himself. There's still a lot more I can learn from Dad.

Finally, he loaded everything in the car but one last box. He picked it up and gave the room a cursory glance, making sure he hadn't missed anything. He hadn't. Dust on the bookshelf outlined where his books had been for the last few years, and white, cement block walls stared back him, institutional and empty. He let out a long breath. "Time to go," he muttered.

The knock on the open door startled him enough that the box slipped from his grip and landed on the floor with a loud thud. As he bent over to pick it up, his heart pounding, he heard a throat being cleared.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Hardy. Have you got a moment?"

Frank froze, cursing inwardly that he had allowed someone to get that close to him without his being aware of it. The voice was familiar. Female, young, a trace of a Boston accent... Turning slowly as he rose, an unmistakable sense of déjà vu stole over him. Same suit, same stance, shorter hair, now pulled back in a pony tail instead of twisted into bun on the back of her head. He stopped himself from letting out a sigh.

"Agent Malone. What can I do for you?"

Outwardly she looked exactly the same as she had when she had knocked on his door in January, but something seemed different about her. Other than the haircut, Frank thought. She looked... unsure. At their first meeting she had exuded a confidence that had bordered on disdain, obviously only requesting his assistance because she had been been ordered to. Now, she radiated a tense uncertainty. He put the box down on the bed, and gestured to the desk chair. "Please, sit down."

She nodded in acknowledgment and crossed the room in efficient strides. Frank sat next to the box and gave her an expectant look.

Silence settled on them like a blanket of fog, growing more uncomfortable with each passing second, and Frank had to fight the urge to tap his fingers on the box, to make himself remain still, to school his features into an impassive mask. Don't jump, Hardy. Keep it calm, he thought. She came to you.

The corner of Malone's mouth twitched, almost as if she could read his thoughts. "You're probably wondering why I'm here." Her voice cut through the silence without diminishing the tension in the room.

He nodded, trying to keep his brown eyes from betraying a flash of curiosity. "The question had crossed my mind."

Malone leaned forward as she spoke, a strand of hair escaping from the hair band, and brushing her cheek. "I'd like to offer you a job."