Emma wasn't sure how long she spent in Agent Jones's office, waiting for him to return. But the longer she sat in that hard chair, the more the effects of the last few days seemed to take their toll. So in an attempt to distract herself and keep her body going, Emma pushed herself back to her feet and began examining every inch of the space.

There were cracks in the skirting board close to the door, likely from where someone had slammed it too hard. The paintwork was chipping and peeling in places, suggesting that it hadn't been touched for a few years, and the ceiling was full of tiny little holes. Either Jones or his predecessor had been a fan of throwing things at it – pencils, judging by the size of the marks. The carpet hadn't fared much better. While it looked like it had worn thin around the door and close to the desk, there were some small holes appearing in odd places too. Someone should probably check that out, she thought idly, as she turned her attention to the more personal touches Jones had added to the room.

There were framed diplomas on the wall from ivy-league colleges, which wasn't at all surprising given his choice of profession. Between the diplomas and the awards, there was a picture of some kind of sports team that Emma didn't recognize, but she assumed he was a fan of. And on his desk was a framed image of Agent Jones himself, with his arm wrapped around a dark-haired woman. His girlfriend, most likely, as his hand rested a little too low on her hip for the woman to be a friend or family member, and Emma hadn't noticed a ring on his finger earlier in the day.

The sound of the office door opening snapped Emma out of her snooping, and she mentally berated herself for not listening hard enough to have predicted that action. She was a spy, she should have been aware of what was happening around her at all times. But the pain and exhaustion of the last few days had seen Emma's usual self-defense mechanisms fading.

Agent Jones said nothing as he made his way into the room, around the desk, and dropped down into his seat. He took a second just to straighten up the picture that Emma had been looking at before he turned his attention up to her.

"I'm sorry that took so long, Emma. You uh… you wrote a lot. I've never actually seen anyone sit and write that much before. Our team will need time to verify everything that's in your statement before we can do anything else. But between you and me, there's a lot of stuff you put in there that even I know about, so I think my superiors are gonna want your services. We've been looking to put another double inside of that organization for years now, and we've been trying to dismantle it for as long as I can remember."

Emma considered Agent Jones's words for a moment before she sunk down into her seat with a huff.

"Are you okay? Are you in any pain?" he asked, misinterpreting the sound. "I can get you -"

"You're playing me."

"Excuse me?"

"You're playing me," she repeated. "You just said, 'We've been looking to put another double inside of that organization for years now,' which implies that you already have one. As you haven't yet verified my statement, I can only assume that you told me this because you think I'm looking to spy against you, and I'll report back to my superiors that there's already a leak in their organization. Or, maybe you think I'm looking to become a triple agent and I'm going for the ultimate double-cross here. Either way, you're trying to play me."

"I'm not trying to play you, Emma," he replied gently. "I'm uh… I've just never had to deal with a walk-in that's actually been an asset before. I probably said more to you than I should have. And you being… well, you, picked up on that. But I didn't say it because I'm trying to play you. I said it because I truly believe you. And I trust you – even if you can't bring yourself to trust me yet."

Emma took a moment to scan Agent Jones's face. She still didn't trust the man. She hadn't known him long enough to be able to do that. And after everything that Gold had put her through, Emma wasn't sure she could ever trust anyone else again. But she also couldn't detect any hint of deception in his features. Either he was truly unskilled when it came to handling people like her, and had made a genuine mistake, or he was a better spy than she was.

"You're uh… you're free to go home now, Emma. Wash up and rest a little. Maybe see a dentist too," he added, and she couldn't help the small snort of laughter that followed his words. "We'll be in touch when we've verified your statement and made a plan to go forward. If you have to return to work before then, make sure you act as normally as you can while you're there. Although, something tells me that you won't struggle with that."

Emma gave him a small smile and Jones flushed a little at it. She was a truly beautiful woman, underneath the bruises, swelling, and dried blood. He hated that she'd gotten caught up in such a huge mess.

Jones cleared his throat and opened the top drawer on his desk. After reaching inside he pulled something out and slid it across the table as he closed the drawer again. "This is my number. Memorize it. If you need anything, you can call me."

Emma's eyes flew across the information printed on the small piece of white card, taking in Jones's full name, title, email address, and contact numbers before she nodded her head confidently and then stood from her seat.

"Thank you for your help, Agent Jones."

"It was an honor to meet you, Emma."

He held out his hand for shaking and she grasped it firmly in her own, before releasing him and heading for the door. Emma couldn't wait to get home and sleep for the rest of the week.

In the days that followed her trip to the CIA, Emma took Jones's advice and visited a dentist to sort out the mess Mikhailov had made of her mouth, while getting as much rest as she could.

When she finally started to feel a little more like her old self, she took up jogging again to help improve her fitness levels. Whenever she was out she would smile at each of her neighbors when they said good morning, and pick up papers for those much older than herself that struggled to do so. To anyone watching, it would have looked like Emma was finally settling into her new home and learning to move on with her life. But behind closed doors, Emma felt completely dead inside. Everything she did reminded her of Walsh, and the longer she went without hearing from the CIA, the more she felt like she was failing him.

On the one month anniversary of his death, Emma became aware of the fact that her usual jogging route often took her past the cemetery. So after turning off her music and contemplating her options, she finally detoured inside.

Emma hadn't been back since the funeral. Coming to see him without being able to tell him that she was slowly avenging his death, felt wrong. And while she hadn't made any strides yet in taking Gold and his organization down, she had at least taken that first step.

But when she finally found her way over to the plot that Walsh's parents had buried him in, Emma was surprised to find someone already standing over his grave.

"Dad?"

David Nolan turned slowly to face his daughter, his hands tucked in the pockets of his long trench coat. Emma hadn't heard from him since the day he'd saved her life in the parking garage. And given how much he disliked Walsh, the last place she expected to run into her father was at her dead fiancé's graveside.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've been watching you for a few days now. I figured you'd come here eventually. You just needed some time to work up the courage to do so."

Emma took a small step closer but didn't say anything else. Her father hadn't answered her question yet.

"I asked if I could be the one to give you this," he finally stated, withdrawing one of his hands from his pockets and holding out a phone. "I really hope that you know what you're getting yourself into, Emma."

She took the device from him and turned it over in her hands. There was nothing unusual about it, which had her brow creasing with confusion.

"For what it's worth, your statement had Midas quite shaken," David continued. "I don't think I've ever seen him that way before."

Emma's eyes snapped up to meet her father's at the sound of the CIA director's name falling so easily from his lips. It didn't take her long to connect the dots and find her own answers.

"It's you! You're their other double."

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