Disclaimer: I don't own Inside Job!

Title: Salt helps the heart grow colder

Summary: Reagan gets the last word after getting fired in episode one

...

"Heyo, Oregano!"

Reagan kept marching as Brett caught up to her, chattering on about how he'd made an oregano pun and "did you get it?" as if anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together wouldn't get it. Reagan. Reagan-o. Oregano. Her fingers dug into the cardboard box of her things.

Her whole world fit into her scrawny hands.

And now her usurper was here to gloat.

"This might come as a surprise to you, but I don't get paid enough to deal with your antics," she spat. "What do you want?"

"Technically, you don't get paid at all anymore," he said, then winced, then barreled on before Reagan could spit on his shoes. "A-Anyway. I just wanted to say I'm really sorry."

Reagan stopped. She stared him down a moment. It started off blank, then confused, then settled into a low, simmering anger. "You're sorry?"

Brett ran his fingers through his ginger hair and laughed awkwardly. It was salt in the wound, Reagan's shoulders bunching defensively. "Well, yeah. I- I didn't mean for that to happen. I mean, I thought we were partners!" He shrugged, clearly still digesting all he'd just been accused of. "On the plus side, you're so smart, I bet you'll have a new job in no time!"

"New job?" she echoed. Regan laughed. It was a little maniacal, but she forgave herself for that this time as Brett backed up a little, clearly concerned. "New job my ass! Do you know how long I've worked for this? My whole life! I've been spending the past twenty years gearing up to run this company. But your white bread middle class dick just waltzed in here and undid all my work!" She poked him in his admittedly well-toned chest. Lots of anxiety pushups. "That's all you've ever had to do. So, no. You don't get to walk in here and say sorry and make bad puns like that makes it all okay."

"Okay, that's a liiiiittle presumptu-"

"And I don't give a fresh fuck! I'm a free agent of chaos with no potential for unemployment!" Reagan shoved the box into his chest, feeling a sadistic piece of satisfaction at his oof as he stumbled further away. "I'm an angry, repressed scientist with daddy issues. I'm fucking feral, man. I'll steal your genetic matrix and hack into your dreams to give you nightmares about showing up in your boxers. I'll break into your house and make a better alarm system that will keep you out. You ever talk to me again and I'll make that sound like fun."

Brett took yet another step back, bonking his head against some glass. "Okay, okay! I can see you're... upset. That's valid."

"Fuck you," she said, surprisingly blasé. Reagan shifted the box up, delighting his flinch, and snorted. "This company is going to shit with people like you in charge. At least, this way, I won't have to pick up after you when you have to show some actual goddamn qualities."

She turned and strolled away, unaware and uncaring of the rapidly growing anxiety in her ex-coworker's chest.

Author's Note: For a buddy!

-Mandaree1