Author's Note: Yay for new chappie :) hope you guys like it too! thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter, and as always, enjoy reading and feel free to review~
It was all over in a flash.
The bright lights, the audience, the dancey music, everything in that nervous, heartpumping moment as I let everyone see exactly who I was. All those unknown strangers sitting cross-legged as I felt their eyes crawl all over me, they didn't care who I was at all. And that was how I liked it.
Three more trips around that dizzying runway with gorgeous, silky cloth that felt like nothing on my striding legs, as I stood for a second in that spotlight with the best look I could muster, it felt like eternity.
Eternity as all the models and I scattered behind the stage as the show ended.
Eternity as I heard the soft, rain-like claps that I knew were meant for me, too. Eternity as instincts took over; I ungracefully slipped off the indigo blue strappy heels that would cost a fortune I could not afford, and slipped away, still dressed in my midnight blue beauty.
The claps had disappeared from my ears. Slipping away unobtrusively, I somehow found a little corner tucked away from all the people, all the attention that I now hated.
It was a weird sight: Me, a tall, long limbed creature, bending and folding into myself as I settled in a tiny space between an ordinary closet and a tower of cardboard boxes that were on top of each other like building blocks.
The sudden rush of adrenaline I had felt earlier was ebbing away, until the only thing I could hear in that tiny space was my deafening breathing.
Memory works best.
My eyes strained from my hiding place as every single detail clicked in: the empty wrinkles and spaces in his suit now filled with weapons and ways to stop anyone in his way. The cold, steely aura paired with the stuffy, choking smell of his cigarettes.
I know him.
The doubt about his organization was completely clear now. CIA. Training to keep your instincts alive and your emotions dead.
The reasons for his existence at a fashion show were limited. Especially why behind the scenes? Tailing me is impossible; all those operatives from Saudi Arabia should know. He is here for a mission.
And I want to know why.
"Morgan," he greeted me casually, but his eyes were already scanning the area for anything with a risk of danger.
"Operative Travis." I smiled thinly. He raises his eyebrows not in surprise, but rather in smug amusement. "Thank you for coming."
We were in a musty, darkly lit Chinese restaurant with red everywhere. A plastic cup of water with perspiration beading the outside sat before me.
He settled in the seat across me, just like before.
"It's protocol, as you know. I do have a question for you."
I took a long sip of my water, pacing my time as I thought.
"It seems like you're in a rush, Operative. But all right, how about question for question?" I asked.
He nodded. "How did you know the code? It changes every five hours, for every different mission."
The code he was talking about was something nearly every mission had: an emergency only call out to anyone who knew the code and where to meet. The idea was basic in structure, but in real life it got sticky. Details and times and location changed everything. And the chance of an ambush was always possible, therefore the passwords were guarded with high security.
"I know it does."
He leaned back, clearly unsatisfied. "That is not an answer."
I sighed, then slowly I brought up a folded note of paper. I slid it across the sticky table halfway.
He gingerly reached for it.
"I did your entire team a favor, you know." And I did. Usually, local mafia or gangs rarely caused trouble to missions. But a bit of a scramble of hands and you could be shot right in the head with a special gang trademark bullet. I had just gotten rid of some danger to their team, right under their noses.
Travis narrowed his eyes, first at the paper, and then at me. "Fine. Your turn."
I smiled. "What is the current mission you're on?"
He stared at me. "What the hell are you saying, Morgan?"
"I'm sure your hearing is in perfect condition."
"You are a CIA operative. You know why I can't tell you."
"I was a CIA operative," I corrected. "And I believe you were all up for recruiting me, a former CIA operative, for this mission. Isn't it a felony, to involve a civilian in a mission?"
He rubbed his face, sighing. "You were one of the best of our organization, Morgan. You survived that mission in Londo-"
In a flash, there was a dull thunk that effectively cut off his words, as his eyes traveled down to the dull dinner knife stuck in the table, held by my hand.
"This is why you were dismissed," he whispered softly, his eyes glittering.
"You didn't answer my question, Travis," I coldly whispered, my eyes narrowed.
-
"He's what?"
Travis glared at me. "Don't make me repeat myself."
I kicked a pebble away, hitting the wall as it bounced off. "Sebastien Martin is a protectee of the CIA."
"Officially he's known as Sebastian Fontaine, for security. He's at high risk for being targeted by certain organizations. Surely you recognize the names, Morgan. If you didn't, you would have been dismissed a long time ago."
"The French ambassador," I spoke quietly, as the situation began to link itself back together. There were several political disputes this past year within the inner government of France, and diplomatic disputes between the other countries of Europe.
"Does he know?"
The man nimbly slid out a cigarette, holding it in his thin lips as he looked at me coolly.
"You know the answer, Operative Morgan."
It's been awhile since someone had called me that. "I'm not," I whisper, my voice scratchy. I'm not the CIA Operative that was on that mission in London. I'm not the one that killed her. That's not me.
But it was as if Travis had known exactly what my mind would say, the dread truth that I would go to lengths to avoid.
"You can't ever change who you are, Morgan."
-
It all escalated from one Sunday morning.
"Welcome," I airily smile, keeping that plastic sales associate face on; Amanda had finally decided that was the best face for me after scaring some Bulgarian tourists away with my scowls. "There are some weekend sales and new arrivals right over here," I drone.
"Really?" A soft, deep voice asked. It sounded far too familiar for my taste. "What about you?"
"Excuse me?"
Just then, Amanda bursted out from the back room with a streak of blush on her chin with some metallic objects (accessories?) tangled up in her hair.
"Sebastian! I'm so sorry, I forgot completely. And you're early, as always."
Sebastian?
I took a careful look at the man again, whose voice sounded too familiar. There was no way I couldn't have recognized him. But as I looked closer, looking for certain things that identified Sebastian, I could see a faint outline of the man I had met a few weeks ago. Thick, black glasses covering his ivory green eyes, a long, heavy orange scarf covering his natural features with ease. His tall, masculine shoulders and arms stuffed in a figureless coat that cuts his shoulders into thick, muscle-less lumps.
I marveled at his appearance change, noting, with a little envy, the simplicity and quality of his disguise.
Now, Sebastian thinly smiled at Amanda, sliding a hotel stationery note onto the clear glass of the counter in front of me. I could slightly see some of the words: sunday, museum.
"I take it that means you can't go?"
Amanda sighed. "You know me too well. But I have a perfect replacement."
I got a sinking feeling as Sebastian raised his brows and looked at me.
"Madeleine?"
But Amanda kept it up, nodding at she swiped the paper and looked at it, humming. She didn't even blink at the name change."Yes, yes, Madeleine here," and she paused, before continuing, "she needs some more experience for this store, sweetie, so you'll go with Sebastian right?" Her attention was turned to me.
I tried to come up with an excuse, anything, really, to get me out of this spot. I wasn't going to put myself into a CIA mission, not when I'm a civilian. I don't even want to be in the proximity of this matter.
"I'm not really inter-"
"Good." Amanda said firmly, cutting me off and spinning me out the door, hooking my arm with Sebastian's. "Get me some of that chocolate, you hear?"
Sebastian chuckled as we got chucked out the door, me stumbling midstep as Sebastian gracefully saved me with a scoop of his arm around me.
"Thank you," I managed, getting back into a balanced position.
He tipped his head, leading us to a car stall as he rummaged around for a key in his pocket.
"So, what are we doing?" I asked.
My question hung in the cold, air conditioned car as Sebastian kept his eyes on the road, turning at a left intersection. I thought I heard a tiny sigh from him as he finally stopped in front of a tall, ornate building.
"Well, Madeleine," he finally said, turning to me for the first time, a lopsided smile on his face, "what do you want to do?"