Depressing one this time. Sorry.

No One's Gonna Love You, by Band Of Horses.

Kept it subtle, hope you pick up on things.


026. Cureless

--

We are the ever-living ghost of what once was.

--

Her new codename was Laura. Laura Eckert.

-

That's what it said on her travel papers.

-

It also said she was German, blonde, busty and blue eyed.

-

He'd heard a lot of mentions of her through his sources. He wasn't keeping tabs on her because he was worried or anything. Of course not. Never.

He wasn't worried about her recent assignment in Prague where she'd calmly assassinated a senator and his family because the CIA caught wind of his plot to depose the current democracy. That's what they said.

Or the story the analysts chatted excitedly about- how she'd spent weeks seducing her mark only to 'take care' of him a second time. Maybe the ease in which she submitted to that order would've caused some worry. But not too much.

NSA personnel didn't usually enter CIA halls, so he'd never seen the frigid atmosphere that workers described she exuded. He wouldn't believe she'd screamed at another agent and pulled her gun on him for accidentally bumping into her. The fear of her that sent the lower ranked scuttling at her presence was normal. Nothing wrong with a bit of old fashioned veneer building to repel personal attachments.

And since partners rarely kept in contact with each other after long term assignments, her lack of communication was fairly normal too. The comradeship they'd built together (that had always been hidden) and with their asset had been professional at best.

It was to be expected that she would excel up through the agency ranks, completing mission after mission with full success and efficiency. He tried to convince himself that she'd ascended two security clearances in half a year was purely her youth, potential, and skill; being hailed as the next big thing of the American undercover world.

Half a year. Nothing to worry about. He had his own assignments to complete, people to kill, guns to clean, and civilians to bully. He was a busy man.

He wasn't in denial at all.

Unlike a certain CIA woman whose career he'd kept up with.

He was almost jealous of the quickness and ease she'd slipped from her last personality as 'Sarah Walker' into this new 'Laura' woman.

And how suspiciously easy it was for her to give up any memories of a failed assignment to fit seamlessly into her hew persona.

Not many agents would be able to get rid of emotions that quickly. Especially one that failed, crashed and burned as this one did.

But She had.

Naturally, his suspicion of her attachment to her asset was off the mark. Sarah was a highly trained operative, he had probably misread her protection of the asset and thought they were real feelings.

There wasn't any other explanation.

If that was true, and Agent Walker was not compromised, Agent Forrest's appearance to 'evaluate her performance' near the end of their working relationship had to have been for another reason entirely. And her report that Walker had been deeply compromised must've been code.

Sarah Walker had just seduced another mark, she'd just ruined another man, another life. All in a day's work.

That must be it. Because to think about it, not that he was thinking or mulling over his former partner's transformation- she hadn't even turned up to His funeral on the day they were to report back to Langley.

She'd clearly moved on.

Sarah Walker was just another professional.

--

--

It's looking like a limb torn off

Or altogether just taken apart

We're reeling through an endless fall

We are the ever-living ghost of what once was

But someone,

They could have warned you

When things start splitting at the seams and now

The whole thing's tumbling down

Things start splitting at the seams and now

If things start splitting at the seams and now,

It's tumbling down

Hard.

--

--

Even when he put it at the back of his mind, the whole mystery of her amazing transformation of character surged up the next time he set foot in CIA headquarters.

Very inconspicuously (because he was the utmost soldier who didn't show his feelings), he kept an eye out. Not for her. Never-

There.

His eyes zoomed into her like she was a magnet, narrowing in scrutiny as she strode measuredly towards him without a nod or an acknowledgment, clearly intending to pass him without a word.

Two months ago, there wouldn't have been the severe eyebrows, the level, piercing blue eyes that radiated flinty coldness and complete detachment. Her mouth would not be a straight line, pursed together in displeasure. Her clothing wouldn't be crisp, perfectly cut and arranged, hair not in a tight bun and her walk would not be the clipped staccato steps that echoed through the white hallways.

John Casey just could not reconcile himself to this picture he was looking at now.

Two months ago, he could imagine her leaning on the front of the Nerd Herder with Chuck Bartowski next to the beach at sunset. She'd have gleaming, soft eyes as she stared at him with a smitten beam on her lips. Her posture would've been relaxed as she stood very close to him, maybe even with their shoulders touching. She'd be wearing casual chic, hair free flowing, no red, clothing that reflected Chuck's easygoing nature.

And two months ago, Chuck Bartowski would not have been six feet under, in a wooden box and still as stone.

But then, unable to help himself, John turned even more to watch her departing stature.

A glint of metal drew his eyes down.

Suddenly he found it hard to breathe. A hand constricting his heart and it felt unnaturally loud as it tried to thump it's way out of his chest.

He closed his eyes tightly and looked up to the ceiling to withhold the burning feeling. Major John Casey could not help but think of the irony that he was now the sentimental one of the two.

With his second glance at Laura Eckert he noted with new clarity, the brittleness in her shoulders that looked as if they would crumble at any moment. He saw the tension in her spine, the painfully straight posture, the working of her throat.

He knew she'd seen him. He could still read her better than he had any other partner.

His hand darted out in a flash to clamp down on hers in a bruising grip, his fingers wrapping around the obnoxiously and cheerfully, twinkling bracelet that encircled her right hand.

The sharp pointy bits jabbed painfully into his skin. Not unlike the bitter thorn in his heart at what Sarah had become.

She wrenched her hand away violently, and almost tenderly cradled the piece of jewelry (almost a cardinal sin to wear as it allowed you to be identified) as she made sure it wasn't damaged.

But the damage was done, he'd steered her to face him, and when she looked up angrily, he could see the pain, the aching loneliness, glistening in her eyes.

All his doubts drained away.


Why are the line breaks so small??

I'm still see-sawing on whether I should've ended it on the note that he saw the bracelet, which is a symbol in it's own right, and a huge significance that she's wearing it, especially in her line of work (not to mention successful career). But I decided to indulge my penchant to overwrite and kept it there.

My first draft was more emotional, but it didn't fit with Casey's character, or Sarah's new one.

I hope the whole bracelet-huge-defining-moment worked. :)

Oh and if you have a fav story, go to .net/topic/49974/14522145/1/ to vote for it and your favourite authors!

Pwease review :( even though this little drabble's quite Charah-murder...