A/N- Hey everybody. This is the last update for all of my stories! *Jumps up and down. Spins in circles. Acts generally like a happy idiot.* Ahem. I hope you're all as happy as I am. I know it's taken awhile, and I'm excited to finally have accomplished it. Ummm, so this is where the story is going to go kinda AU since the season premier is obviously different from what I've written. Sooooo, that's it. Love you all. Follow me on twitter (V_SteckerEpps)
I followed Jackson through a series of hallway, counting my steps and memorizing turns, just in case. It wasn't long before we reached an office, Walcott's name clearly on the door.
"Please, step inside Mr. Westen." He said, opening the door with a keycard and holding it open for me.
Glancing quickly around, I did as he suggested. The room was bland. Tan carpet and off-white walls. In front of a large wooden desk there were two brown leather chairs. With the exceptions of a few picture frames on Jackson's desk, the rest of the room was bare.
"You should think about redecorating." I suggested, sitting in one of the brown chairs as if i owned the place.
One trick to looking calm and relaxed in any given situation is to actually be calm and relaxed. If that isn't possible act confident, snarky, and sarcastic.
Jackson looked around as if noticing the color-scheme for the first time.
"I suppose you're right." He laughed lightly. I grinned, and followed him with my eyes as he sat down behind the desk.
"So, decorating tips aside. Why am I here, Jackson?" I asked, in only a slightly patronizing tone.
"Well isn't it obvious, Mr. Westen? The Agency requires your services." He smiled nervously and I had to suppress the desire to slap the grin off his face.
"Just like that?" I demanded, my voice going cold. His smile fell and he paled slightly.
"Yes. Just like that." He stammered. I shook my head but let the subject drop. There was plenty of time to find out what I wanted to know.
"What's the mission?" I demanded. Flustered, Walcott pulled a file out of a stack on his desk.
"A heroin dealer in Miami needs to be taken care of. He's been causing trouble with his shipments. They sometimes interfere with CIA classified shipments." He read, before handing the file over.
I smiled a little to myself. Not a word of this file was redacted. Despite his stressed appearance Jackson Walcott had some obvious pull.
"What's his name?" I questioned, reading through the file myself.
"Carmello." Jackson answered, and my head snapped up.
"Is that a problem, Mr. Westen?" He asked innocently. I got the sudden feeling that this man knew much more than he was letting on.
"Not at all." I spit out. File in hand, I stood up and reached out to shake Walcott's hand.
"I'll be in touch, Mr. Walcott." I said, as nicely as I could manage. Instantly the flustered man was back, his confidence gone.
"How will you...?" He questioned. I held up his wallet and slowly pulled out a business card. Tossing the wallet on his desk, I showed myself out of the room without another word.
