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Prompt #36: Seperation - The seventh-floor bigwigs had no idea what they'd done.

Words: 1,173

Auggie was inconsolable after the order came down from above.

Annie would argue differently, but Auggie knew it was his fault. He'd talked her into going into the field with her, knowing her limited ability to manually hack, and the system she was trying to access had no remote signal to allow Auggie to remain off-site. The op had gone slightly sideways, resulting in the blind tech straining his wrist from a fall and the agent getting a gash along her leg. The mission itself was completed with limited fallout, but two days later, Joan had come into Auggie's office and told the pair that the shadowy heads of the CIA had ordered their immediate seperation.

Annie was gone the next morning. As in reassigned. As in across the ocean, working in a CIA office in London.

After she'd gone, Auggie had moved into her guesthouse in an attempt to be near her, however vaguely. Being surrounded by her things helped a little, but not enough. He missed the woman who had made the space come alive. Who made him feel alive.

She tried to call him as often as possible. From what Auggie could tell, the separation was affecting Annie badly as well. Her tone was flat and tired, and the snark all but vanished from her voice. But she would always open with a joke or a quip about London air, and the concern for his well-being was almost tangible. So for her, Auggie always managed to smile and joke around.

After three months of pretending everything was all right, he was strung out and tired. It was stupid, he knew. Auggie himself had warned her; nothing was ever really permanent at the CIA, and it was best to work on that assumption. But that was when he knew she'd still be able to see him, talk to him, touch his sleeve in public greeting or thread her fingers between the spaces of his in private longing.

But now she was gone.

Because of him.

Clara Piper couldn't help grimacing sympathetically as she watched Auggie type through decryptions with the air of an automaton. He rarely laughed anymore. His appetite waned. The spring in his step disappeared overnight. But professionally, he powered through her work as if he were a machine.

After three months of this new Auggie Anderson, she was ready to go crazy.

Scooting her chair closer to her boss's desk, she rested an elbow on the glass surface and said, "C'mon Boss, let's blow this joint."

"You go ahead, Clara," he said tonelessly, fingers never leaving his keyboard. "I want to finish this."

"C'mon sir. It's after ten-thirty." The DPD was as quiet as a cemetary and just as bare of life. The only reason Clara was still burning midnight oil was because Dexter had fallen behind on his paperwork and she didn't want to get in trouble for his filing late again. "I'm going to meet Dexter at Allen's. Taking your advice about plying him with beer to get him to open up. Want to come along?" she tempted, rising from her seat. When he gave a listless shake of his head, the younger tech headed out to her car.

Dexter was sitting at their customary corner table when she arrived at Allen's. He looked up when she arrived and asked, "Where were you? It's almost eleven. I was about to call the National Guard."

"Tried to tempt Auggie into coming with, but he didn't bite." She slid into his seat and sighed. "I'm worried about him, Hill. He's still hurting."

The older man shrugged helplessly. "Auggie and her...well, you can't just rip apart two people as close as they were and expect the two pieces to heal clean."

Clara smiled at his words. "You're waxing unusually poetic tonight."

"Did it turn you on?" She muttered a quick Portuguese swear. "Don't tease me, sweetheart, I'll think you want me to do what you say."

"You're an ass." But the wobble in her tone betrayed her. She was just as worried about the pair as Dexter was. "I just wish there was something we could do to help them..."

"Is that so?" Both rookies looked up to see their boss standing over their table. "Because if that's the case, there's something I could use your help with."

Three months without him was hell.

But now she was going home. Annie didn't know how many strings were pulled or who orchestrated her return to D.C, but she didn't give a damn. All she cared about was seeing Auggie again. It was almost an itch, making her twitchy and irritable all the way to Heathrow Airport. The flight seemed unending, like she was stuck in an airless box. Her fingers drummed frantic patterns on both knees until they were wheels-down in Dulles.

Once she disembarked, Annie was relieved to hear Clara's voice calling her name. The two women chattered excitedly as Clara led her through the airport and into the backseat of an unfamiliar car. Annie looked at the driver and smirked. "Dexter Hill. How did you ever convince Clara to let you drive anywhere?"

"She asked for my help, Annie. Have a good flight home?"

His words were entirely too innocently said. The seasoned agent started putting the pieces together. "You two did something, didn't you?"

"No idea what you're talking about," Clara responded as they started to drive.

"Clara..."

"You know a guy called Mortimer?"

"I know one of the CIA's movers and shakers is supposedly called Mortimer," Annie said slowly. Their identities were guarded more securely than the nuke silo codes. "Why?"

Dexter chuckled. "Let's just say that Joan and Arthur have got a mighty good friend high up on the food chain, sir. Someone who believes you and Anderson really aren't meant to be separated." The car pulled to a stop. "Curbside service."

"Where are we?" Auggie opened the door and gaped as Clara unloading her bags. "Clara, you brought me home?"

"We brought you home, Annie." There was a hitch in her voice that painted the image of a Puckish smile on her face. "Got you a housewarming gift too."

The way she said it made Annie's heart start pounding in expectation. She didn't realize she was walking until her feet took her to the open backyard gate. Her eyes landed on the opening front door of her guesthouse. Or, more specifically, the brown-haired man currently standing on her guesthouse threshold like some sort of wonderful I'm sorry gift from the universe.

His lips pulled back in a smile she'd been seeing in her dreams for the past three months. "Annie? That you?"

Words failed her, so Annie ran into his arms and kissed him hard enough to answer his question.

Awwww. Yeah, can't keep them apart.

Sorry it took so long! Can I still get some reviews? Please? *puppy eyes* We're almost to 300...