Just a quick reminder guys, this is an AU (as in Alternate Universe fic)! Please keep that in mind as you read, thanks. :)

I'm thinking I'll try to keep the chapters short and concise. Probably longer than the first chapter, but around 1,000 words or so because I can knock that out quickly and move on to the next chapter. I think it's my special way of tricking my brain that I'm not doing anything different from my usual writing and hopefully avoid losing inspiration.

Oh, and once (a while ago) Whoaa Kayy used this song in one of her oneshots a while back, appropriately titled Annie. Safetysuit actually performed at my college a little over a year ago, and I must say this is one of my favorite songs from them.

$4$

Annie, don't be shy here
Annie, don't just lie here
Looks don't make the world go 'round
But it comes around

- "Annie," by Safetysuit

"—and unfortunately, we cannot reveal any more information until the body has been investigated further. When we have new information, we will release it to you. Thank you. Any questions?" Annie finished up her press release, staring out pleasantly at the sea of eager reporters, cameramen, and photographers ready to shout out more questions. She had written the press release in the twenty minute drive to the crime scene, grateful for the bout of traffic and two red lights that allowed her to read over it for any errors as she glanced at the manila file containing all the information they'd collected thus far for what had to be the 50th time.

Joan wasn't exaggerating when she said the press was swarming the crime scene. There had to be at least two dozen individual crews, all representing different syndicates, some local, some regional, and a few national. This was going to be all over the 5 o'clock news, with her face connected directly with the press release and, by extension, the entire FBI.

That wasn't too daunting or anything.

She hadn't been chosen to give the press release by accident; she was on a first name basis with a lot of the reporters in the crowd, but even more than that Joan needed someone she trusted. It didn't hurt that Annie was young and pretty and blonde, too—there was a reason so many women that looked just like her went into broadcast journalism instead of press release work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Typically, Joan left her alone. Annie rarely went out in the field to actually present the press releases. It was more common for her to write them, and then some higher ranking Fed to present the report to the crowd. She was more comfortable with it that way.

Annie let the reporter from the Post (and the same newspaper that created this mess in the first place) ask the first question. She knew him vaguely—his name was Tom Schmidt and he had been lobbying for her phone number since they were first introduced her second day at work. At the time, he had been harassing Rossabi for more information about a known drug dealer they were investigating for possibly smuggling arms shipments between the US and Africa. Rather than watch it turn into a brawl, she stepped in and kept Rossabi from decking Schmidt (like she knew he wanted to).

"Miss Walker—" She barely stopped herself from frowning. She was 28 and an agent for the FBI, for God's sake—a Ms., not a frigging Miss. "—what is your reaction to the recent allegations that Hashim Taya was actually murdered by a hit ordered by the CIA?"

Annie's carefully arranged composure under the lenses of all the cameras broke. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and a small smirk twisted her lips. A hit ordered by the CIA? Really? "Well, Mr. Schmidt," she replied slowly, unable to believe any journalist would take some cockamamie story like that seriously. "My reaction would be that I would have to wonder what you put in your coffee this morning to think that's a plausible theory."

At the derisive snickering from the other journalists, Schmidt's face colored. She took that time to address the rest of the group, "Allow me to assure everyone here, that while the FBI in no way speaks for the CIA or any of their people, no undercover, secretive, black ops mission was created for the purpose of assassinating Hashim Taya. As previously stated, we are investigating all leads that might lead to Mr. Taya's murderer, but that does not include investigating absurd conspiracies."

Yet again, more muted chuckles. Annie smiled a little wider—good, Schmidt was put in his place and the rest of the crowd was convinced (for once) and (temporarily) placated that the FBI knew what they were doing—and continued asking for questions.

The crowd of reporters had mostly dispersed two and a half hours later, but she was still standing off by the sidelines, making sure no one (particularly no one with a camera) went anywhere near the body. And for the last two and a half hours, no one had.

Until two men walked up to the taped off yellow and black plastic with what looked like every intention of crossing it. Except neither were FBI agents.

"Excuse me!" Annie called out, raising her arm to get their attention and nearly sprinting in her stilettos to reach them. Only one of the men looked over at her. He had dark, toffee-colored skin and wavy black hair and looked pretty cute in a clearly professionally tailored suit. "You're not allowed to come back here."

Tall, Dark, and Handsome smiled charmingly. The other man, as pale as Charming was dark, stood next him, holding onto his elbow. Odd, but then she noticed his eyes seemed far away and he was holding a collapsible cane. "I'm sorry, we were just taking a walk," Charming explained, grinning even wider and flash a set of even, white teeth that would make any orthodontist proud. "I didn't realize they were roping off the area today. What happened?"

A little breathless (from the run, not from his smile—she wasn't 16 anymore), Annie smiled back. "I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to explain that. If you don't mind, the agent over there will be able to direct you around the cordoned off area."

"Oh, sure," Charming replied beguilingly. "No one got hurt, did they? Is that why you have the tape up?"

He sounded too earnest and eager, and if her flag hadn't already been up from the beginning, it would have been doing the Texas two-step right about now. Even his blind buddy looked over at Charming with disbelief written all over his face. He was also badly attempting to hide his smile, one that looked like it might even be cuter than Charming's.

"Everything alright here, Walker?"

Annie turned around, watching as Rossabi and their team leader, Special Agent Schwimmer, walked towards her. So Charming's antics had attracted more than just her attention. Good to know she wasn't completely inept out in the field.

Rossabi had got a funny look on his face, like the cat that swallowed the canary, and Annie was instantly curious about what he knew that she didn't. "Yeah, Walker, these two aren't bothering you, are they?"

Annie looked skeptically back at Charming and his cute blind friend. "No, I'm fine," she answered after studying the two of them for several seconds. "I'm just explaining to these two nice men that we've cordoned off the area until further notice and they can get around by following Agent Lyle. No problems."

"Yeah," Rossabi drawled, grinning widely. "Wouldn't want you guys getting lost." But the glint in his eyes said he hoped exactly that.

She felt her eyebrows rising a little. What was going on here that she missed? She was still a newbie, and rarely got out on the field, but it felt like there was something happening here that she should have recognized.

The blind guy seemed to take the hint. "Look, we didn't mean to cause any trouble," he said, beginning to take a step back. "We're just going to—"

"We were supposed to be at the press release," Charming cut him off sharply, and she didn't miss the way the blind guy shot him a dirty look in response. Apparently, there was no love lost between the two of them. "But we hit a lot of traffic and I guess missed our chance. We were hoping to get an interview." He said that last sentence to Scwimmer specifically.

"What do you think, Walker?" Schwimmer asked with an almost imperceptible smile. Her boss was usually buttoned-up to an extreme degree, so anything to make him amused had to something good.

Rossabi glanced over at Schwimmer and added, "They more paparazzi?"

Annie snickered and scrutinized Charming's wardrobe. "Uhh, considering he's wearing shoes that cost about the average journalist's monthly salary, I'd say no."

The smile she returned to Charming was brittle.

"We've already spoken to your director about this," Schwimmer said, almost sounding bored. "You have the information you need, and that's it. Go about your day, men."

Charming looked ready to argue, but his blind friend must have gripped his arm tighter or something because he glared at him for a split second but then turned back to Schwimmer and answered tightly, "Yes. Thank you, Special Agent Schwimmer."

As the men started to walk away, Annie couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "Are those guys Feds, too?" she whispered. "What director do they work under?"

Schwimmer frowned a little bit as he studied her—not like he was disappointed in her, more like he was annoyed about what they just had to deal with. "The director they work under isn't one of ours—it's the Director of Clandestine Services."

The size of Annie's eyes doubled.

"They're CIA?"