An imperfection that mars or impairs; a flaw or defect.
(Middle English blemisshen, from Old French blesmir, blemir, blemiss-, to make pale, of Germanic origin
"So, the verdict?"
"It's too soon to tell."
"What do you mean? You've had the jes for three months! Three months, I might add, in which I could not get to you because I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE YOUR OFFICE IS!"
"I have assistants. You could have asked Ling if it was really important."
"Sir, you must have even a preliminary opinion as to how the rest of his training will go. Hell, the first week we met you informed met hat someday I'd be a top agent under you. And you can't give me your opinion on Tippin?"
"He's doing better than we anticipated."
"How much better?"
"A lot. All earlier estimates are void. It's like all he wants to do right now is learn everything he can so ... he can show up the second agent Bristow, even though she'll never know he's in the CIA. Hell, Tippin doesn't even know he's in the division that monitors the Bristows and those like them."
"What exactly are you saying? I though he was a sarcastic hardass on the outside and a gummy bear on the inside. Strawberry flavor and all that rot. Now you're telling me that he's Señor Super Intern Tippin? Sir, give me a break, with all respect."
"No, I'm not telling you he's lost his sarcasm. We all keep that in this business. We have classes for the slow learners."
"As I recall, I excelled."
"I just get this feeling that Tippin is pushing himself too hard. Before before, I wouldn't have even considered him as a field agent."
"Don't go there, sir."
"Fredericks, in all honesty, I think that Tippin wants to be trained as more than a jockey. He wants out there, to be in the heat of it all. I think that he could become a good one too."
"He's not gone through any of the courses that our normal agents have! Tippin has had almost no training in any other language than his own his IQ barely scraps genius! He's a chewable gelatin animal for God's sake! You're saying that you think he could be a double agent?"
"Maybe within the United States on lesser jobs yes. If he had an adequate handler."
"Oh, no."
"Come on. I hear that Bristow is getting pretty damn cozy with Vaughn."
"Bastard's taking all my glory. And Bristow seems to think that he doesn't need a handler so much anymore as he needs to be in charge of every frelling thing. It's as if he expects us to forget that he knowingly betrayed his country!"
"You still don't like him for that, do you?"
"I like the guy plenty. He's my agent. I have a certain fondness for my cases. Hell, I even enjoy his company when he isn't being Mr. Secret Spy, which, let me tell you, is pretty damn rare. What I do is resent the fact that he has climbed as high as he has after his past."
"The second agent Bristow betrayed her country too, you know."
"She didn't know! It was unwitting. She came to the CIA after she found out. Bristow started it all, sir. Johns, he started it. Maybe I do need someone untarnished."
"So you think that Tippin would be a good replacement for Bristow?"
"Hell, Johns, I'm getting old. Maybe Tippin would be a good slowing of pace."
"I'm not so sure the boy wants to go slow, Fredericks."
"In his defense, sir, I'm sure he's going plenty fast for him. But I'm used to watching the Bristows both of them! and Tippin will be a walk in the park after the shenanigans that duo has pulled. Talk about your father-daughter activities."
"Fredericks, one more thing before we leave."
"Going so soon? I was just getting comfy in my chair. I always knew you had buns of steel. There's no way you can mold these chairs that fast and then leave. Unless you have your own cushion. Do you have your own cushion?"
"Idle chitchat gets you naught."
"I never understood that. It doesn't even rhyme."
"I just made it up, you dip."
"There was something you wanted to tell met?"
"I think you'd be good for him. He needs you."
"I won't be his friend."
"He's got plenty of friends. He needs somebody to trust."
Junior special interns got the bad end of somebody's fist more than a few times a day, Will reflected as he rubbed with care some liquid foundation into the tiny bruise above his eye. It was less of a hitting situation than many people practicing their pantak jabs on him. He flinched as he circled with a little too much vigor the bruise.
Will frowned at himself in the mirror before carefully replacing the lid and tossing the foundation underneath his sink, in a basket full of other make-up supplies. He grinned ruefully at himself.
"Thought you'd never wear all that girly-stuff," he cawed to his reflection. The reflection didn't respond. "But now you're off to work covered in more powders and pastes than you've ever seen in your entire life."
He combed his hair up, disheveling it for the best affect on Ms. Stacey Jacobson (who had loudly declared in a room full of lower level officers, or lloyds, that she liked his hair like that), inwardly pondering the wisdom of a highlighting. Once he was thoroughly convinced that he was tatty-headed, he straightened his jacket blue, like his eyes, and didn't he know it and headed out of the bathroom.
On the way past the hall mirror he noticed something that he hadn't previously. There, on the other side of his face, away from the bruise, was a humongous pimple. It was like a case of Acne Gone Bad, complete with a white top and red edging. Will gasped.
There were several things he could do. He could try to pop it. However, pimples had a tendency to bleed and get red and irritated and stay longer if Will tried to squeeze them. He nixed that idea. His second option was covering it up with more foundation. Will thought, though, that maybe it needed to breath. Did pimples breath? They needed oxygen, didn't they? Weren't there pads called OxyClean?
So Will took the third option, ignore it, and hoped that nobody looked real close at the hairline above his ear.
The drive to the newspaper building where he worked was no more interesting than ever. Once, in a fit of paranoia, Will thought he saw a car following him. Very carefully, he took a left turn, then a right, then went into a drug store parking lot. Nobody was behind him, and he grinned at himself.
Once at work, Will made it up to the thirteenth floor in the elevator and climbed the last flight by himself, a smirk on his face. It had taken in three weeks to realize that he didn't need to climb all fourteen flights of stairs to the Pepsi machines.
Knopf and Roger Modarressi, both of whom were constantly at their posts on either side of the machine during the day shift, nodded at Will while he gave his almost robotic recitation of his name. Modarressi asked Will about his sister's kids.
"Doin' okay," Will replied. The men moved the machine over. "'Bye, Modarressi. 'Bye Knopf."
Wilkinson and Godat spotted Will at once and came scurrying over, casting furtive glances over their shoulders. Will recognized what the two young lloyds wanted with him, and slowed his pace so that the three of them would intercept.
"Do you have it?" Will queried in a stage whisper.
"Do I have it?" Godat asked with incredulousness. "Does the internet spread falls rumors? Of course I have it, Will!"
"Phil," Wilkinson warned.
"I'm just askin'," Godat cried, "if young Will thought I was crazy. Mentally unstable. Insane. Loco! No estoy loco, Will! No estoy loco!"
"Dude," Will commented. "Phil."
"You on crack or somethin'?" came from an amused Wilkinson. "Just show him already."
"Right," Godat drawled. "Doug's right. Okay, so, here it is." This last part was spoken with a great flourish. Out Godat whipped his suitcase and from hence withdrew the gold of the conversation.
"Wow," breathed Will. "That is one nice edition of the Incredible Hulk."
"Oh yeah, baby, and it could be yours for the low, low price of " Godat was interrupted by a bright female voice.
"All right, lloyds, I got your fit reps, so if you want 'em come and get 'em!"
Will whirled around to face the speaker, the lovely young Ms. Stacey Jacobson, on whom Will was not ashamed to admit a small, half-jesting, and completely harmless crush on. It didn't hurt his reputation that Stacey, herself a jessie, like Will enough to not snub his company. The lloyds working on the paper would gaze with jealousy when she didn't single him out in a group to tease him in her wicked humor.
Jacobson gave a conspirative winked at Will while addressing the lloyds gathered around her as she dispersed their fitness reports. Hands pushing forward, they looked like beggars around a socialite handing out trinkets. Will waved to her (she waved back! she waved back! Will decided his day was definitely starting good the lloyds gave him murderous looks) and continued on to the back hallway.
"I'll see you for drinks later?" Jacobson hollered.
"Yeah," Will called, and grinned. No need for the lloyds to know that he was going to be playing pool with Jacobson's boyfriend, now, was there?
After going through the closet security system and entering the common room, which would lead him to the almost inaccessible (for a jessie) underground offices of where ever in the hell he worked, Will waited by the elevators for Ling, who was his morning appointment, to work on his physical tests.
"You're on time, Jes," bellowed Ling as she turned the corner from where she had been. Will wasn't allowed beyond certain points in the building. Once he had tried to follow Ling around the corner and she had not very kindly shown him the underside of her boot. (This encounter, however, was not without its benefits: when it seemed likely to storm, Will's elbow now ached slightly.)
"Yes, ma'am," Will mumbled. He had found out long ago that this tiny Asian woman with the huge eyes was best dealt with in short sentences and absolutely no staring. Ling had accused him of profiling her as one of his as she put it child pornography fantasies. Will ascertained that it was a better idea just to watch her with a blank expression and little to no conversation.
Of course, Ling was not always bite and bark both. Many times he found that she really was trying to help him become a better intern, and, in turn, a good agent. She oftentimes spoke with harshness towards him well, most of the time but sometimes she stayed late after she'd already been with him all day and helped him practice his moves over and over until he got it.
"I think we're finally drilling some sense into you. Johns will be pleased. I hear he was just about to give up on your altogether. We just had a meeting about you an hour ago, Jes. Do you want to know what it was about?"
"Sure," answered he in a solid tone.
Ling began by taking a deep breath. This, Will assumed, was for the better to holler with. "You have consistent results in physical tests you overstrain yourself. Do you understand what that means? It means that it is almost as bad if not worse than if you had not tried hard enough or if you were not able to meet enough of the physical requirements! We do not need a tired intern on our hands who collapses at the first sign of trouble! I have given this lecture to you four times already "
"Three," Will couldn't help but interject.
Ling rolled her eyes. "It's called tough love, Tippin. I've done nothing that'd hurt you dangerously, and you're becoming a better fighter for it. You wanna know why you were put with me, Jes? A very junior special intern? Because I'm the best. The only way you'd ever learn was from the best."
"Is the best called for beatin' me all the time?" inquired Will, a little at his end's rope.
Ling grinned. "Get better."
Will laughed; he couldn't help it. "I should buy stock in Cover Girl."
"Today, Jes," Ling informed him, her tone changed, "you will be meeting your handler."
Will knew enough about where he was to be more than a little surprised.
"I thought I was going to be a handler," he told Ling. Then he corrected himself. "I thought I was going to work as an intern to a handler so that I could figure out as to whether or not I'd make a good one. Or I was, ya know, gonna stick to research. I'm good at research."
Ling sucked on her teeth, a habit of hers Will noticed when she was about to tell him something she wasn't supposed to.
"We're thinkin' on tryin' you as a field agent. But that's all under the d, so keep your mouth screwed tight." Ling paused, then smirked at him. "I don't wanna know if your mouth screws, okay, just, keep it to little girls."
"Hey!" Will protested, half-heartedly.
Ling looked at him with raised brows ... then looked again.
"Good God, what the hell is that?" she screeched.
"It's a pimple," Will cried, covering his cheekbone with his hand.
"Jesus, Jes! You wash the foundation off at night and you don't get those huge things. You could fit half the building onto that thing. Remind me not to look at you again!"
"My pleasure," muttered Will.
"Come with me," Ling sighed.
Ling turned and began striding straight towards the corner. Will lingered a little, unsure if she really meant for him to follow her around the edge. She had, after all, made him an instrument of weather forecast the last time he wanted to turn the corner. Ling came to an abrupt halt and, without looking at him, motioned for Will to walk.
Ling could speak and stroll at the same time, and demonstrated her amazing ability for Will as he made his second traipse into the inner common room.
"No matter how pretty you think Agent Fredericks is, stay away. He's happily married to a huge woman, and if she thought some perv was layin' puppy dog eyes all over her man she'd drop kick you to hell and back. Got it clear, Jes? We're givin' you more than tech-hood, be proud."
As it turned out, Will was rather frightened of his handler. Fredericks was a tall black man. He wasn't just a tall person either, he was a man of immense proportions. A man with whom Will was certain he could never, in his wildest, most crazy, and insane dreams, win a fight with. Will reckoned that he would be out cold by the end of the handshake.
"Tippin," was said by Fredericks. His voice had a strangely flat texture, almost like Johns', but not quite. It was, for one thing, quite a bit bigger than Johns' voice. Johns was a medium-sized man. Fredericks was a giant!
"Sir," squeaked Will.
"Let's get started, shall we? We're going to be changing your training, going to make it much more intense. You will have to meet with Ling here more often than you currently are " (Will gaped at him like a fish; he was already seeing Ling far too much for his liking he was beginning to suspect that this was some elaborate joke that Ling had cooked up, perhaps with the help of Jacobson) "and you're going to have to delve much more heavily into your accumulative studies."
"Uh," articulated Will.
"Good, I'm glad you agree," Fredericks declared. "You'll be training with a team that has been handpicked for this. You're going need to be ready in about a month to be placed in the home of an affluent family as a tutor for their three young children. You'll get more information later, I probably imagine. I should keep what you know now to a minimum. It's more exciting your first time if you get all the information at once. It overwhelms you and makes you feel like you're going to puke."
"Yeah," agreed the J.S.I. wholeheartedly.
"Then follow me," and Fredericks lead Will not to what he had assumed would be a reception area but another set of elevators altogether! So this was what the jessies were missing out on? Another pair of doors that opened into a small room? Will would have rolled his eyes, but he was all too aware of the agent Ling watching him.
When Will had exited the elevator that the jessies all used he had done so into a small, busy room, the first of several that would be filled with young men and women, none more than about ten years his senior, working on computers, sitting at tables with papers spread all about them, or eating hastily and trying to not spill on whatever report they were working on.
It should have occurred to him that older men and women didn't just disappear.
The room he entered was about three times the size of the other. Will was also pretty sure that the elevator had gone down lower, so he guessed that this entire structure was under the underground offices. Would that make them sub-underground offices?
Being a junior special intern oftentimes made Will's head hurt.
Will was lead (he always seemed to be following someone, like it was a giant game of follow the leader) through two rooms, three security systems (a piece of cake once Will watched the others give their information), and down a corridor, which in itself was unusual, before the entourage collected in a medium size room with twelve good-looking computers, a overhead view screen, and five other people.
"This is the team you'll be working with," Ling monotoned in an able mimic of Fredericks. The mocking did not go unnoticed, Will observed, and Ling was actually pinched by the agent. Ling went back to her normal voice. "Say hello to Agents Austin Ferman, Jonah Wentworth, Stephen Dollahite, James Joseph Ben, and Stan the Man, who don't need no other name, ya here?"
Will found himself shaking several hands at once, with names being thrown at him. It seemed that Agent Ben liked Jim Joe at least, he thought it was Agent Ben and Wentworth muttered Jones and Dollahite, a tiny little man, boomed in a huge voice, "Steve."
"Yo, I hear you have some previous time with my good friends, Lloyds Wilkinson and Godat," creeled out either Agent Ferman or Wentworth, Will wasn't sure as to which. Both men were above-average height, had dark eyes, and shady colored hair. Maybe they were clones, Will mused.
Agent Jim Joe Ben was easier to tell, if not for the fact that he was blonde, grinned a lot, had a Brooklyn accent, and kept jabbing his finger at his chest saying, "Jim Joe," over and over, as if Will was some sort of mentally challenged intern. Will could not for the life of him understand why Agent Ben wanted to be known by not just two but three first names. It was too far beyond him for Will to even try, so he gave up after a few minutes try.
Short little Agent Dollahite with the deep voice had a way of talking over other people that annoyed Will. His hair was long, much longer than Will's own, and he'd had to keep it trimmed a certain length. Will glared at Ling, he smiled merrily at him, and decided that it had been part of a phasing of his and he was so going to kill Ling.
Stan the Man, it seemed, was a woman. More specifically, she was a tall, lean, brunette agent with almost black eyes and a nose that had been broken and never fixed. Her lipstick was dark red and her eyes were bare. This was not a person, Will decided, to mess with.
"I'm Agent Stanley," she breezed. "You're the jessie?"
"Jessie Tippin," Will stuttered. "Will Tippin."
"I've heard a lot about you," Stanley informed him. To Will it did not seem that the things she had heard were good. "I work in equipment, mainly weapons."
"Excuse me?" gasped Will.
"Guns to shoot with. Darts to inject with. Laser bobbits target the guns and darts and various other things. I make sure the agent, or, uh," and she almost sneered when looking at him, so he turned his head towards the bruise and away from the pimple, "junior special intern is able to fulfill their objectives by keepin' them loaded and ready."
Shoot? Inject? Loaded? Loaded as in stoned? Will had no idea what Stanley was talking about, but he thought maybe she dealt in drugs. He edged away from her.
Oh yeah. Working with this bunch was going to be interesting.