A/N: I know I'm late. You know how summers are-you forget the date, the time, everything. A week after graduation (yup, I'm finished with high school!) and I'm already forgetting what it is like to have a schedule (and it feels kind of good, too!). Anyway, better late than never.

Chapter Three: Suck It Up

"Anderson."

Auggie looked up from the file he was skimming, surprised to hear his name, let alone be called by Arthur Campbell. Though he'd made an effort over the last few months to imitate Jai Wilcox's fluid casualness, and had been rewarded by two overnight exchanges (one in Switzerland, the other in Liechtenstein), Arthur had yet to address him in a briefing. He forced down some of his excitement before letting himself process what Arthur was saying.

"…will be going with Mace on this one as back up."

Auggie almost lost his cool. He hadn't allowed himself to hope that he'd be chosen to be part of the mission Arthur had spent the last fifteen minutes detailing. After all, it was a delicate assignment. It certainly wasn't a job for a rookie, even if said rookie had been doing covert ops for almost three years. "Sir?"

Arthur paused and addressed the former soldier. "You speak Italian, don't you?"

Auggie blinked. "Yes—with an accent."

"Spanish, correct?" Arthur answered his rhetorical question. "We know, just keep your mouth shut as much as possible." Arthur continued as if he'd never been interrupted. He slid Auggie and Mace another file each across the table. "You leave at 2100. Dismissed."

Everyone filed out of the room while Auggie processed the assignment. Now that he felt the blue, stamp-emblazoned file full of the information he needed to know to assist the legendary Philip Mace ensure two families signed a contract that would lead to the collapse of both their infrastructures, reality began to set in, and he realized what he was actually going to do. With Philip Mace, the man who reminded Auggie so strongly of James Bond, he half-expected a British accent every time the man opened his mouth.

~OOOOOOO~

Auggie left the Agency soon after the briefing. He unlocked his apartment and immediately sat down on the second-hand coach he'd recently acquired. He made himself comfortable before pulling out the mission details and reviewing his first official alias.

For a first alias, it wasn't too shabby. Augusto Aspesi, an Italian citizen born on August first, 1976. He was two years older than August Anderson, but their histories was similar. Almost too similar. Auggie was a little miffed. He got that he'd never truly been "undercover", but he'd been the top of his class in acting at the Farm—never once dropping his character. That hadn't, apparently, meant much after so long, though.

Auggie curbed his frustration and continued his close reading. Augusto had been born in Rome, but at the age of four, his father had moved his family to Santiago, Spain. The powers-that-be (or whatever the people who set up cover-identities were called) had left most of the rest of Augusto's life up to his employment two years ago as a personal assistant to Henry Callan (AKA Philip Mace), an internationally recognized negotiator from the U.K., open for embellishment, which helped Auggie palate the many similarities.

Auggie was just about to start gathering the necessary items, having decided what "Augusto" would need, when someone knocked on his door.

Auggie stuffed the folders under the couch in a single, smooth movement born of years in a dorm and barrack. He perked his ear against the thick door—making a mental note to install a peephole ASAP—but hearing nothing, steeled himself before sliding the door open.

"Sir?" Auggie cried as soon as he saw who was behind the heavy industrial door.

Philip Mace didn't reply with more than a nod before he pushed passed the confused agent into the apartment. He spared the space a glance only long enough to register the layout, and less than a second later was in Auggie's bedroom, eyeing his wardrobe.

Auggie, almost recovered from the man's appearance, closed the door and followed Mace into his bedroom. "What is going on?"

"I thought it would be obvious," Mace replied. He glanced critically at a dark pinstripe before shoving it back on the rack.

"You're packing my bag?" Auggie could honestly not tell which made him angrier: Mace's audacity or Mace's apparent distrust of his fashion sense. "I am very capable of picking out my own clothing!"

Mace pushed another suit aside and turned to Auggie. "This is not about you. How Augusto Aspesi looks and acts reflects on Henry Callan, which directly affects the outcome of their mission. But…" Mace sat down on Auggie's desk chair.

Auggie was a confident man who'd been out of high school long enough to know what happens to the guy who thinks he's the smartest kid in class, but Mace's cool reprimand returned him to sophomore year in senior calculus and the pain of being corrected hurt like the world was ending. He had the terrible need to prove himself, prove to his classmates that he knew the answer, that he wasn't just another wannabe. But Auggie was no longer in grade school. This was the "real-world" and in the real world ego had no place. So as much as it twisted his gut and as bad as the flavor in his mouth was, Auggie shoved it down and asked, "How should Augusto dress?"

Mace showed no sign that he recognized that he'd won, and Auggie was grateful for it. "What do you remember about disguises from the Farm?"

Another wave of that bitter taste hit Auggie's tongue. "It wasn't my favorite class," he admitted, doing his best not to glare at the older agent.

"Not surprising. Jackson couldn't keep a robot awake—there is a reason he was assigned to the Farm. Unfortunately, it is one of the most important aspects of being a good spy.

"Wardrobe 101: dress to the stereotype. Use them to sell your character. Quick—personal attaché. What is he wearing?"

Auggie answered at once; visualizing had always come easily to him. "Level of work reflected by off-the-rack and barely tailored suit. Muted colors; shoes that have been polished habitually. Stripped ties with a dark tie clip."

Mace nodded once and returned to Auggie's somewhat limited closet. He pulled out three of Auggie's suits and put them on the bed. "Like these?"

Auggie glanced over the outfits. They were all nice, but the navy was one from his first summer internship at a software company his sophomore year of college, before he'd started spending a good portion of his free-time at the gym, and a sleeve on the black pinstripe had a worn patch near the end from when Auggie had spent a full semester of college transferring digital records onto paper for a particularly paranoid-of-all-things-digital dean of admissions.

Auggie returned his gaze to Mace. "Yeah."

"Good. Pick your ties."

Though Auggie would never admit as much to anyone, including himself, by the time Mace left two hours later, having ensured that Auggie wasn't going to embarrass Henry Callan or blow the operation, Auggie felt more sure of himself than he had since he left his unit.