Epilogue:
August Anderson sat on the same stool at Allen's Tavern he'd occupied three years ago to celebrate his first week at the Central Intelligence Agency. In some ways, things were eerily the same—he was alone, the tavern was quiet—Auggie almost expected Philip Mace to sit down and ask him how his week had been. But at the same time, things were so very different.
Three years ago, the man sitting in that stool was only Lieutenant August Anderson. Today, he was still Lieutenant Anderson, but he was also Augusto Aspesi, Arnold Transy, Austin Argyle, Lance Addison, Peter Smith, and Juan Garcia. He wasn't "Rookie" or "Hey you!," he was Auggie. He was the master of one-nightstands, causal suits, and occasional sweater-vests. He was the chameleon three times recognized for his work, and the Agency's up-and-coming. He no longer worked at the boxlike desk that faced the midpoint of the Department of European Affairs' wall, but at the desk at the back of the Domestic Protection Division's bullpen, in the ideal position for surveillance and cover. He'd turned thirteen assets, made countless contacts, completed a host of missions, and cemented his name in the never-to-be-published history books.
He'd returned a veritable hero after his Italian mission, only to find he'd been transferred. Scott's words from all those months ago had turned out to be prophetic, as he had been moved to the DPD. It had been a shock to find the legendary Philip Mace had retired from the Agency two months into Auggie's mission, but Auggie had forced himself to understand. Now the old ex-agent worked at the premiere private security firm on the eastern seaboard, and every couple of weeks he and Auggie would eat lunch together at a local café and Mace would do his part to keep Auggie sane.
Life was far from perfect—Auggie still had the nightmares, just as vividly as they'd always been, just as Mace had once said he would—but he'd learned to drink tea and sex his way through the really bad days as per Mace's advise. He worked hard, pushed himself to the extremes so that no one could ever say he wasn't worthy of his recognition, so that he'd never have to feel the pain of underestimation again. He worked long hours; if he wasn't on an overnight mission, he was often the first at his desk in the morning, and almost always the last out at night.
Or he would be until tomorrow.
Little did he know, in less than twenty-four hours, his boss would meet him on his way into the building and hand him a folder and send him to a certain conference, where he'd first lay eyes on the woman who'd knock down the upcoming row of dominoes that would lead to the next set of crossroads. The next stage was about to begin.
A/N: There you go: the second and last story in the "Rookie Auggie" trilogy. I hope you've enjoyed his journey. Maybe you'll see me again in 2012. Until then, goodbye fanfic. Au revoir!
Comic.