Just a bit of angst here. Brace yourselves, there'll be lots more coming.

David Nolan held the phone in his hand, with a grip that was probably tighter than necessary if his white knuckles were anything to go by.

"Are you sure?" The hint of trepidation in his voice was something he would have much rather done without, especially given that he was supposed to embody an image of leadership and strength, being at the head of the American CIA, but the information he was getting was so sudden and so full of dreaded consequences that he couldn't stop himself from losing a tiny bit of his composure right then.

This was an operation whose organization he'd been involved in himself, given how important it was and how the information they were set on retrieving was essential. He and the few agents he'd let in on it had planned it all out, from the start right to the point where agent Humbert would be set to pass between the pods of the offices once his return to America was scheduled. They'd taken in every possibility, every risk, and with that in mind, despite the danger, David had thought (or hoped, at the very least, which was something he usually liked to have when conducting an operation of such magnitude), that everything would run smoothly from thereon, after convincing himself that there was no better preparation he could make, why should he believe that this operation would fail? (Then again, David Nolan and his wife were known throughout the security service world to be impossibly optimistic, even in the direst of circumstances).

That he was getting the sudden news that Humbert was now dead could only have one implication, one that he had certainly not hoped for or been counting on. This operation of his had been extremely well planned-out, he was certain that nobody outside the world of the secret services had ever had the faintest hint as to what it was they were up to, and with Graham now dead, there was little doubt left as to what it was that had transpired. Someone had been on to the whole planning, someone knew they had been onto Underworld before Humbert had even set foot into the gang he was supposed to go undercover into earlier that night. Someone had obviously sold him out before the sliding doors of the sleek-looking CIA headquarters building itself, someone who obviously must have had access to their information on the operation without him ever being aware of it.

And someone who had access to that level of secrecy was obviously a very serious threat to his service and countless other lives he was sworn to protect.

"Positive. Agent Humbert was one of the best, he wouldn't lie."

Queen's reply was taut, to the point and brief, just like it had always been, even when she'd been back in the field, and David was glad to see that old habits seemed to die hard –it had been one of the skills that had made her a very good agent in the first place. And with that, he knew there was little else he could do but take her words for the honest truth, that they did indeed have a big problem on their hands and that he'd just lost one of his new young recruits. On a personal level, David might not have been on the best of terms with Madam Hood, not one for constant sarcasm or witty retorts, but he had to admit that she had been a damn fine agent while she'd been under his wing all those years ago, and that, despite whatever personal feelings he held towards her and her towards him, Regina had always been dedicated and done her job to the very best of her ability above all else.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his desk chair, not for the first time glad he could actually sink into it in times like these, when the weight of the world threatened to crush him under its pressure and he could just imagine himself hiding away from it in the cold leather beneath his body. He rubbed at his sore eyes, which still stung after spending too much time focused on his screen skimming through his countless emails, and were now letting him know that the sleep deprivation he was putting them under was not appreciated, knowing he would rather not be dealing with an issue such as this one at this hour.

It was long passed half ten, and the only reason David had not left for the night himself was because he had files to sort out on his own monitor (otherwise, he and Mary-Margaret would probably have left eons ago) and it had taken quite a bit of time for him to get the reports on the device up to date.

If he were completely honest with himself, he really did not wish to have to deal with an issue as important as the one Queen had just informed him of at this hour, but given that it was just that –important- there was no way he could allow himself, as head of his country's security service, to simply brush it off and tell himself that he'd see to it tomorrow.

Not when it involved Operation Shepherd.

Operational fiascos were to be expected in his line of work, the occasional wrong turn had happened countless times before and David had usually done relatively well help his service and team recuperate from them, they were bound to happen at some point or another and he knew how to deal with them. But from what Queen was saying, this wasn't simply a mistake from Humbert's (granted, had been a young agent, eager to go out on the field and prove himself yet still polite and never overbearing –from what he'd heard of him at any rate-, there was the tiniest chance he might have made a mistake which had ended up selling him out, but David doubted that that was what had happened quite strongly). He could still picture it, how he had sat up straight at his desk, the young agent right across from him, stern features and rigid body alert as he'd explained the very real danger he was about to put himself into by accepting Operation Shepheard. Humbert had understood the implications of what he'd said, knew of how dangerous what he had been about to attempt was, there was no way in David's brain that his death could be related to a mistake from his part.

And judging by what Queen had just told him, he was right.

"All right." He said brusquely, knowing better than to lose himself in the thousands of different scenarios Humbert's operation could have played out had he not died. "Thank you for the heads up, we'll take it from here. Stay safe, we might need you in the upcoming weeks, although I promise to try and limit your implication."

And with a quick note of gratitude at the other end of the line, he disconnected, not wanting to dwell on what had happened with Regina, which would ultimately keep her apart from her family, a family she would probably need to help shake off the initial shock of the turn of events.

Quietly, David placed the phone back on its stand, on the left side of his computer monitor where it inserted itself into the black framework with a little click before he leaned back into his desk chair, sighing deeply and bringing his hand to his forehead in an attempt to wipe away the headache he could feel blossoming there.

What a mess, he thought grimly, just when he'd been sure the CIA was on to their target, of course something like this would happen. Not only had he lost a potential link to Underworld they might have had, but now he also had to deal with the very real possibility that someone in the security services might sell any of them out to the group at any moment. And here he'd been hoping to have an uneventful evening spent classifying his reports… It would seem like that would unfortunately have to wait for another day. Not that David really knew what to do at the moment, the news that he'd lost his agent still numbing most of his senses (apart from the long cord of guilt, of course that one horrible emotion was the one he simply had to deal with right now, wasn't it?), and what had been a dangerous operation he'd still been optimistic about only hours before was now turning into a nightmare he didn't want to have to face right now.

Luckily enough for him, Fate seemed to have decided to grant him a small dose of respite, for a while at least, when the soft knocking on his office door alerted him to Mary Margaret entering, his wife carrying what could only be described as a very-much needed cup of coffee in her hand (David guessed he would probably need more of them if he was to see to this mess over the night, but this was nice for starters).

"David? Everything all right?"

Well maybe the cup of coffee wouldn't be so heavenly after all, his wife's concern definitely leaving no room for him to lie (besides, it was bad form to lie in his line of work anyway, and David knew Mary-Margaret would be able to read right through him anyway).

Looking back up towards her, he took a sip from the mug first, enjoying the way the hot liquid did wonders to his sore throat, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through his chest and momentarily putting Queen's information out of his mind as he hummed his thanks. But of course, his wife wasn't one to be fooled, especially not by the likes of him after several years of marriage, she knew him too well, and even when he tried to hide behind the mug, hoping to conceal his worry over the way their case had turned out, Mary Margaret was too smart, and with a hand on her hip and that haughty look she sometimes resorted too when she felt the need to pry certain bits of information out of him, she stood back up to her full height.

"David, I know when you're hiding something from me." And what had begun as a command turned into a plea when her eyebrows crinkled up, apprehension and a slight degree of fear, as if she already knew she ought to dread the answer, crept upon her delicate face. "What happened?"

And with the way she sat down on the side of his desk, David knew he certainly wasn't going to be able to make her leave without telling her everything first. He knew keeping information from her was wrong of him, that it went against their work ethic and how they had always promised that in regards to their job, any information would be immediately shared with the other, but at the same time he found himself wondering, was it really that wrong for him to want to spare her the pain she would undoubtedly go through if she knew?

Her small hand in his however –firm, strong, anchoring him here with her- had him realize that, if anything, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her, not Mary-Margaret, whom he knew would never deserve it from him. With yet another deep sigh (or was it a yawn? It was hard to tell at this hour, and David did feel like his reunion with his bed that night would be a wonderful encounter when it happened) he leaned back in his chair and looked at her directly in the eyes, wanting to make sure that, above anything else, she believed him.

"Operation Shepherd is down. I just got a call from one of my assets telling me that agent Humbert is dead, his cover was blown."

The heavy silence that fell in the room felt incredibly oppressive as it weighed down on his shoulders in the wake of his words, his wife's eyes blows wide and mouth hanging open, the full comprehension of what this meant for them slowly dawning on her.

"Wait, wh-what?" She blinked several times while shaking her head, as if doing so would make the whole thing fake, a lie Mary Margaret would deem in very poor taste. But, like the adult she was, David saw her take in the information, saw how her brow then creased with sorrow and how her now downcast eyes seemed to glass over as the news fully hit her. She might have been head of the CIA along his side, a partner of sorts for their job as well as their private life, but where David had long ago sacrificed a lot of his ability to openly empathize and express his mourning of his past colleagues, Mary Margaret had managed to somehow retain that part of her that still capable of displaying how she felt to the world. She always made it her job to get close to her agents, get to know them, make them feel welcome in their job and always remembered to express how much she appreciated everything they did in the name of the values they defended as members of the CIA (that, while the concepts they were fighting for may not be able to sow them their gratitude, she still could), and on the one hand, David really admired her for that. Of course, the downside was that when they lost someone, it always took more of a toll on her despite his support, and Graham Humbert had been a charming young man –polite, down to earth and practical- she had really placed high expectations on and had hoped to see have a long and successful career. Only he would never ever get to do that now.

Sniffling slightly, knowing that now was not the time to dissolve into an emotional wreck, Mary Margaret straightened her back and stood tall in front of her husband, the reminder that duty always came before whatever personal hurts she might be dealing with in an attempt to show him that she would stand by him in all of this.

"Should we tell-?" She began hesitantly, knowing that condolences to his family were in order (not that it would make up for their pain in any way but as her only means to pay her respects to the young agent, she was inclined to break the news to them herself if the need ever arose), but before she could finish, David's computer emitted the distinctive 'bing' sound it always did when an incoming message for him arrived, and quickly setting aside any hurts she might be feeling, Mary Margaret focused on letting her husband know she would be there for him in whatever task they might have to see to now with the incoming message.

David brought a hand to his mouse, scrolling though his email box until he found the bolded message he'd just received, pausing his cursor over it for a moment when the unread electronic mail appeared to be from an anonymous source with no specific subject to it either. Gulping, he turned to Mary Margaret for a moment, seeking her support for them to continue before clicking it open.

The email itself was blank, and David couldn't decide whether he was to take it as a good sign or rather as something to worry about, but his marriage to Mary Margaret having helped him develop an unhealthy dose of faith (or so his colleagues sometimes said), he carefully moved the mouse to the attachment on the top right hand side and clicked on it, knowing there was little else he could do. It took a moment for the file to load, probably due to the poor connection his office sometimes had at late hours like these, but being the patient man he was, David waited for it to open with baited breath.

It was Mary Margaret who lost her composure first when the image flashed on his screen, gasping and turning away from it almost immediately, as if doing so would help her erase the burnt image now imbedded on her eyes while David could only sit there, shoulders slumped and mouth almost hanging open as he took in the gruesome sight.

The agent on the photo was unmistakable –middle-aged man, brown hair parted to the side, scruffy beard, his heart flipped as he took in what remained of agent Humbert, and the head of the CIA really had to try hard to keep control of his shaking hands, for what had been done to the young man was definitely not helping. That he had been brutalized before death was evident, as the many gashes marring his face and the remains of bruises on his neckline attested to, and as David's eyes trailed over the corpse, he had to admit that it made him physically ill that his orders had brought such a brutal treatment (and death) to his once promising field officer.

The main problem, though, did not lay with Graham's body unfortunately. While David would have much rather spent his time organizing a proper memorial service for the dedicated man, the small note beside his head was what made his stomach drop and cold sweat break out on his forehead.

Much like the photograph, it was simple, plain, written in black ink and, more importantly, went straight to the point.

We know.

H.

It took a moment for it to fully sink in, a blissful moment David sought refuge in, for those few seconds were, for him at least, the only chance he'd ever have at finding refuge in not fully understanding yet. As long as the nail hadn't been driven in, David clung to the light-headed feeling the shock had brought on to him, finding solace in not having to deal with the implication right at that moment.

"They knew we were on to them." Mary Margaret's defeated voice was the claw dragging him back into this nightmarish reality, and while David would have much rather remain safe in his wonderful inner-world of ignorance (because, as they say, ignorance is bliss, and he would have wholeheartedly agreed at that moment), he had a duty to do, and his wife's tiny statement hammered in the fact that they now had a very serious problem to deal with.

Saying it aloud made it all the worse for her, because it meant that they had sent Humbert out for nothing, that he had been doomed even before she and her husband had directed him to the location, and it made her insides twist when she remembered encouraging Graham to go out, saying it would be a first experience for him and that if he was careful, it would be fine. It simply wasn't in her nature to be a pessimist, it never had been, and Mary Margaret had never taken such a terrible turn of events into consideration –some might have called her out on her unhealthy dose of faith in the preferable outcome, but it was simply how she worked, how she got by every day with the hope that she was doing some good in this world.

Maybe this time she ought to have been a little more realistic.

David seemed to be, for when she looked at him again, his eyes had flickered away from the monitor to the pile of folders on the side of his desk, and knowing her husband and how he thought things out, she immediately stepped in front of them, hiding them from his view and well-intent to shut that stupid idea of his down before it even had the chance to blossom.

"I know what you're thinking David, but no, I'm not about to let you do can't risk sending another agent in there undercover, it's way too dangerous."

For a moment it seemed like he wanted to argue, his features creasing as if he felt affronted with her shutting down his blossoming plan, but whatever he might chose to say to rebuff her, Mary Margaret's foot was firmly put down. She was most certainly not about to let any other agent of theirs get even close to the possibility of such a terrible fate befalling them too..

"But how do you suggest we get to them then?!" Had he not been so overly tired and extremely worried for the safety of his agency, David's voice probably wouldn't have sounded like the tone he used when crying out in outrage, but this wasn't any normal situation, this was definitely a matter that was now putting all of his agents at risk, and as director, it was his duty to do anything to bring Underworld down before they caused any more casualties. Once corpse maimed to the point Humbert's was was more than enough for him, he didn't thin he'd be able to stomach another. "Humbert was the closest we ever got Underworld so far since they've popped up on American soil. What they've done to him, they'll certainly do again, don't think for a moment they'll just stop at that. I can't risk the lives of other agents simply because they threaten all of us. It's not what we do here, in the CIA." And that was a decision he would stand by firmly, as long as his service was threatened, he would not bow down to their possible oppressor until they were fully dealt with.

Mary Margaret, for her part, sighed, partly because she was simply exhausted (because it was far past closing hours and the lack of sleep she'd had over the past few days was quickly catching up with her), partly out of frustration with her stubborn husband –she loved him, but sometimes his pride and morals could really make him what veered more into the pig-headedness area- and partly because this whole horrible feeling of defeat was beginning to weight on her shoulders. She wasn't akin to such a notion, and she certainly didn't like what she was experiencing of it. By the Gods, she understood David, he was her husband after all, and they each understood how the other worked, but she was still unwilling to let him plunge head-first into an operation of this magnitude alone and at this hour, to say the least, it would be very insensible of his part.

As it was right now, with Humbert now dead and the short but precise message they had received, they were obviously not going to have much chance at catching Underworld by themselves: for all that Mary Margaret had a heavy dose of faith, she wasn't stupid either, and even she could agree that by themselves, they weren't going to be able to get very far –Hell, David had been after them for months now with still next to nothing to go with, much to his chagrin. No, being stubborn and continuing to snoop around for them by themselves would be a waste of time. Maybe it was time for a different approach, she thought, one with the help of someone who also might still have an interest in Underworld.

"Whatever we decide to do David, we can't do this alone, not anymore, and definitely not if it will cost us the life of another agent." The next part, she was rather hesitant to say aloud, given how her husband wasn't on the friendliest terms with the other woman, but if anyone might be able to help them, it would be her. Besides, there was definitely no harm in trying, even if it lead to nowhere, at least she'd have the satisfaction with knowing they had at the very least done something. "Maybe it's time we let Mills in on this problem." And she put her hands up in a defensive manner before continuing, not leaving the other man the time to interrupt her. "Remember, the Brits also have an interest in them to, they've been after Underworld about as long as we have, maybe they could help us. It would be in both our interests, wouldn't' tit?"

The last part, she added on impulse, hoping it would be enough to swing the scales in her favor and have David actually consider making a call, although with how tense his relationship with the red-headed woman was known to be, she still couldn't be entirely certain.

After all, Zelena Mills was known to be a severe and upstanding woman, one who did not stand attitude and who worked very hard, being the director of their British brethren at MI5. David did have to admit to himself that he'd heard of her on several occasion, especially when it had come to dealing with a bomb diffusion in the center of London a few years ago. Word had spread of how well she'd handled the situation and had massively helped the rather young director both gain respect from the security service world and admiration from several of her neighboring colleagues. David himself had had a few occasions where he'd met her, mainly for brief updates on intelligence they shared or deemed the other country might have use of, and any of those meetings had always presented him with the qualities he kept hearing about but, from past experiences they had shared working together, David would have preferred not to have to deal with her on top of everything else. By his standards, he had enough to be dealing with already, an irritating red-headed Brit was definitely not something he particularly wanted to add to that list.

"Surely we can do this ourselves." He protested, already lifting the files on the left hand side of his desk, flipping though them briefly in the hopes of finding a suitable agent to set on the case and thus be able to dismiss Mills entirely. "I know agent Björgman would be up to the task he's skilled when it comes to keeping a low profile, maybe we could use him, let him out in the field to gather info- "

"David, Kristoff is an analyst, not someone we send into the field." Mary Margaret sighed, placing her hand son her hips, knowing it was going to come down to her convincing him if she was to get him to do this. "This isn't simply an small operation gone wrong, this is a breach in our security. You told me yourself, Humbert was sent undercover with very few people in on it, only five or six people excluding you and me. Whoever sold him out knew about what we were doing and knew where we were sending him tonight, they know about our looking into the group and they obviously thought that letting him die instead of, say, asking for a ransom, would be safer than letting Graham escape with whatever information he might have acquired. We can't risk somebody else's life while that group is still out there: we've got a major problem here in our security organizations, a problem that could put us all at risk, we need all the help we can get. If it might involve MI-5, you have to call her."

And judging by her tone, this was final, Mary-Margaret wasn't about to settle for him choosing any other option than calling Mills, and if her reasonable arguments hadn't won him over, when David saw the pleading look in her eye, he sighed and gave in. Maybe it wasn't what was deemed professional, to comply to the charms of your wife, but like they say, old habits die hard, and this one was one David was rather loathe to let go of anytime soon.

"All right, all right, I'll do it." He eventually conceded, putting his hands up in a placating manner as he scowled at the smug grin on his wife's face. "But it's only because you asked."

And if he'd been in a foul mood for a moment, the co-director was quick to snuff it away with a quick peck on the cheek before leaving the room, claiming she needed another coffee of she was to stay the whole night up. Her unhealthy dose of optimism was something David wished he could sometimes share in (now, for example, would be a very good time), but being the more level-headed of the couple, he was quick to get back to his duties, namely, sliding the files Ruby had brought him in earlier. There was nothing he further he was about to do concerning underworld tonight –overtiredness never really gave the best results, after all, and so he flicked through the files one by one, taking his time to evaluate and observe the strengths and weaknesses fledglings entering his service (and maybe he was doing it to put off the calls he was supposed to make to Mills, but David wasn't about to admit it to himself).

First up came the expert engineer Kristoff Björgman his wife had just mentioned a moment ago –tall, broad, mid thirties and seemed to have rather good records behind him, Will Scarlett, slightly younger, more into the trade of supervising arms dealing and gang-related crime, Archie Hopped, much older but seemed to be more into the psychological aspect of things and sought to understand hate groups and their motivations –probably a fine man too but not what David was after.

Sighing, he rested his hand in his head as defeat was quick to creep up on him again, this time the fear of not having an adequate agent up to the task as each page ended up being turned over and put on top of the other pile –at least it had been until he reached about the three-quarter mark of his bunch. David was after someone smart, discreet, intelligent, someone like-

Emma Swan.

The bold letters stood out at the top of the page, followed suit by the picture of a rather young looking woman, blonde, probably in her thirties, and as he skimmed through the file, David dared to hang on to that little bit of hope his wife so loved talking about. Reading through the agent's details, not even realizing he'd shoved the rest of the pile away, David clung to the pieces of paper like a lifeline, finally something positive had come out of the day.

He didn't even wait for Mary Margaret to return before pulling out his mobile phone and typing in the 10 digit number inscribed on the file before bringing the device to his ear s it rung, David praying for the agent to pick up faster until finally someone picked up at the other end of the line.

"Swan."

Practical, firm but still a hint of politeness in her tone. David smiled, it would seem like she'd been trained well.

"This is Nolan, director, we need you in here as soon as possible. I might have something I want you to look in to."