Okay, this chapter is obscenely long compared to everything else thus far, but I do believe there is an important reason for this (don't all of you look at me like that, read the chapter and you'll see).

To date, it's June 23rd, and I will tell you my fingers are itching to start posting this on because I desperately want to see what you guys have to say about this latest crazytrain I've embarked on. But, I know the second I start posting I will magically lose the drive to finish this monster, and goddammit, I've made it past the Chapter 5 Mark of Doom, it can't die now.

So I'm writing this with the prayer that Future Me won't post this online in the next couple days… Do you hear that? I said no posting until it's finished!

…Alright, I'm going to go back to writing and stop acting like a schizophrenic…

$4$

So scared of breakin' it, but you won't let it bend
I wrote two hundred letters that I will never send
Sometimes these cuts are so much deeper than they seem
You'd rather cover up, I'd rather let them bleed

- "Misery," by Maroon 5

Annie walked down the hallway, adjusting her cream Coach slingbacks self-consciously one last time. She wasn't sure if she was imagining it or it was real, but she felt like everyone was staring at her as she walked down the hallway. It wouldn't be that surprising—most of the people in her department were already well-acquainted with her goings on after Ben Mercer and the Armenians, and an attack outside Allen's, a known spook bar, was more than enough to warrant extra attention from even the most boring and staid agents.

"Ohmigod. Annie!"

Turning around so sharply on her heel she nearly stumbled out of her shoes, she watched as Caitlyn sprinted down the hallway. With every harried step she took, her flip-flops slapped loudly against the freshly polished floor. Annie grinned to herself. Okay, now no one was staring at her—and everyone was staring at Caitlyn.

Annie knew from experience that Caitlyn didn't actively try to stand out—but in a place like the FBI, and when you looked like her, it tended to happen. A lot. She had been a computer nerd for all of her life, and a good girl to boot. Like most people, college changed her, and her wardrobe, too. By the time she started working for the FBI, it had been become ingrained in her.

She never wore the sensible shoes required of the female agents—she stuck to flip-flops in bright colors and Chucks when she was 'dressing up.' Her work outfits almost always consisted of jeans or flowy skirts, and it was a very bad day if there wasn't bright, electric blue somewhere in her wardrobe.

In short, it was hard to look away.

Caitlyn didn't seem to notice everyone's stares as she grabbed Annie's arm. "Have you heard yet?" she said in a stage whisper.

Annie's eyebrows arched in confusion. "Cait, I just got here like five minutes ago," she explained quietly. "What am I supposed to have heard?"

Caitlyn kept walking, half dragging Annie along. "They brought Auggie in," she said, her light blue-green eyes wide and frantic.

"What?" Annie asked blankly, her whole body going numb. "Why is Auggie here? Who brought him in?" Shaking her head, she added, "When did this happen?"

"I don't know," Caitlyn replied frantically. "Maybe early this morning? Late last night? All I know is, I walked into the bullpen today to talk to Agent Schwimmer and there's Auggie, standing there chatting with Director Campbell and looking all hot and nerdy like he always does."

Annie wanted to argue about the "all hot and nerdy part," but she somehow managed to keep her tongue in check—until Caitlyn took one look at her face and said, "Oh, don't bother arguing. You know he's adorable. You're just being overprotective in case Stu's friends turn out to be jackasses. Don't argue about that part, either—I know what you're thinking. You were totally checking him out last night, in an is-he-going-to-hurt-my-best-friend kind of way. It's really sweet, but you know it would be also nice if you checked out a guy in the real sense of the word."

"Phrase," Annie autocorrected, blinking down at her friend as if she was an alien that had beamed down in front of her. Because, seriously, did Caitlyn spill some LSD in her cereal this morning?

"Whatever," Caitlyn replied airily, throwing her free hand up in impatience. She was still pulling Annie along, and the two of them were headed straight for the bullpen. "You ought to be dating more. You know Danielle would agree with me, too."

Frowning, Annie rebutted, "Yeah, but Danielle's way of helping involves her introducing me to rejects that work at the World Bank. Are you going to do that to me, too? Because I can't take more than one in a year."

"Of course not. However, I wouldn't be against you making nice with Auggie…"

Annie's only response was a stern glare.

"I bet he's here because you got mugged last night," Caitlyn swiftly changed the subject. "I mean, why else would Director Campbell want to speak to him?"

Oh, Annie had a few ideas…

"Walker!"

Caitlyn immediately detached herself from Annie. Joan was headed straight for them, her face completely expressionless. Behind her, Rossabi, Schwimmer, and Auggie followed. There was no way this meant anything good. "I need to speak to you," Joan instructed, never once glancing at Caitlyn. She didn't add the word alone, but then her tone more than implied it.

"Got it," Annie replied, sending her best friend one last, retreating glance. Caitlyn had no idea why Auggie was there—that more than likely, this had everything to do with his real day job and nothing to do with her almost getting mugged last night.

Joan turned on her heel, walking back towards her office. Auggie lagged a little farther behind, but when she saw something that looked like uncertainty cross his face, her hard façade melted a little. "Do you need a hand?" she said, keeping her voice low so no one could hear them.

Auggie's eyebrows furrowed. "Shouldn't you be busy trying to drive a stake through my heart?"

She smirked slightly at the sarcasm and replied just as drily, "Even if I do think you guys are the devil, I'm not a completely horrible human being. If you trip on something and faceplant, I don't want to have to feel guilty for laughing at your pathetic ass."

He grinned back, apparently satisfied with her response, and reached over, his hand bumping against her wrist. She stilled her movements, waiting as his fingers travelled up the length of her arm before settling right above her elbow. "Ray Charles ready to go," he quipped, leaning in closer to her and giving her a taste of his cologne—it would be easier to hate him if he didn't smell good.

"Stop trying to make me like you," she grit out, pointedly ignoring more stares from the other agents as they walked leisurely back to Joan's office. As much as she so didn't want to deal with whatever Joan had to dish out, she really did not feel like being the center of attention in the fish bowl.

"I'm not trying to make you do anything," he countered easily, still grinning to himself. "If I did, I would probably be sporting a black eye by now. You don't seem like the type to take orders too well."

Annie huffed. "I take orders just fine," she argued. She did… most of the time. At least, she listened to almost everything Joan said. It was only when some of the pushy, misogynistic agents started barking assignments at her that certain things were forgotten.

"I'm the head of the Tech Ops Division in the CIA," Auggie replied. So that was what he did. He truly was a computer nerd. "I've seen your file."

She was genuinely surprised for a few seconds. How did he…? "That's illegal," she said, half growling. "You can't have access to an FBI agent's files."

"Ah, but you can when you work for the CIA's Tech Ops Division," he replied, grinning even wider than before. And damn him for making that smile look so friendly and charming. "C'mon, you didn't really expect us to not to a background check on you, right?"

Annie flushed. How deep was this background check of his? Did it say anything about her and Ben? About what happened with the Armenians? She wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

She was too happy when they walked through the door into Joan's office. If he knew anything—anything at all—about her and Ben, she didn't want to hear about it. She was much more content to ignore him and his stupid cologne and do whatever Joan needed of her for the day.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Joan lowered the blinds. Her office walls were almost entirely made up of glass—Annie thought that might have contributed to her "Ice Queen" nickname from some of the male agents—and turned on all of them. "What I tell all of you does not leave this room," she said, deadly serious.

Annie glanced at Auggie, who had dropped his grip on her arm but was still only a couple inches from her. Was he getting read in on an assignment? An FBI assignment?

"As all of you know, Mr. Anderson over here is a member of the CIA," Joan began, crossing her lightly tanned arms over her chest. "Under normal circumstances, something like this would not be happening. But, unfortunately, these are not normal circumstances."

"The ambassador that was shot yesterday wasn't just attempting to bridge communication and international relations in Pakistan. Shortly before he died, we had intel leading us to believe he was leaking sensitive information—documents, e-mails, and conversations—to a known terrorist cell set up in southern France. That's where the CIA comes in."

"We've been on this sleeper cell's trail for the better part of two years," Auggie contributed, and she arched an eyebrow. He was giving them information. Not a common trait for most CIA agents. But then, the one she knew turned out to be the polar opposite of 'open.' "We even managed to infiltrate one of our guys. He's been deep undercover for six months now. We can't afford even the tiniest slip-up if we have any chance of getting him out alive."

Joan nodded encouragingly. "As a result, it's been decided that the most beneficial decision would be to work together." At the shocked looks on Rossabi and Annie's faces, she smiled briefly. "I understand that this may be difficult, but it is absolutely necessary. If we're careful, we can keep from blowing the agent's cover or having to pull him or her out of an active mission."

The three men all nodded, completely understanding. Annie understood, too, but it wasn't the mission itself that had her pausing. "Uhh, Joan?" she began, and then winced inwardly. You're a big girl, Walker. Use your big girl tone and try not to sound like such a feminine dumbass straight out of training. "I have one question." There. She sounded significantly more self-assured.

When Joan tilted her head, Annie took that as a sign to continue on. "I get what we're doing here and why we have to be careful—I don't want to get anyone killed, FBI, CIA, or civilian—but… why am I here?"

It was a relevant question. She shied away from fieldwork and spent her days behind a computer putting together speeches for other agents to recite to the press and making nice with journalists. She wasn't exactly a kickass Special Agent.

"You gave the press release yesterday," Joan said, her enunciation clear and concise, like the woman herself. "The men that attacked you last night were not run of the mill muggers. After questioning them we learned that they intended on kidnapping you and handing you over to the very same terrorist cell connected to Hashim Taya."

A bubble of panic started in her chest, and she could feel it started to double and rise. "Why?" she asked, plaintive. Did they know her? Did they know her family? Oh God, were Danielle and Michael in danger?

Joan must've recognized the fear and panic in her younger agent's eyes, because she swiftly shook her head no. "We have no reason to believe your family is in any immediate danger," she assured her. "The terrorists won't use someone to get to you—they're using you to get to someone else."

And with that statement, she knew.

"Annie—the terrorists are Armenian."

$4$

Yes, I'm aware I'm evil. Also—

"Writing is the socially acceptable form of schizophrenia."

- E.L. Doctorow

(Just thought you guys should know…)