I might turn this into a full story, if you'd like. Enjoy the long, over due chapter (school's to blame for the wait).
Chameleon furiously looked over her work. Paper was scattered everywhere on the desk before her, a pen in her mouth and her eyes wild. She crossed off a new sentence on one of the papers and since it looked like a mess, she crumpled up the paper and threw it in the nearest trash can. She returned to her work.
Missions were great and all, but once they were complete, the daunting task of writing a report came along. Writing reports weren't hard, Chameleon knew that. She could handle it. Writing about someone who most likely wasn't supposed to be there, however, that's a different story. What was she supposed to say? This guy interfered my mission. Oh, and I think I might be in love with that idiot! It might sound good enough for a possible romance novel, but not for an actual report. The Director will read it. Why would she let him know that? Or anybody, for that matter.
Ever since that encounter with the agent that deemed himself Cryptic, Chameleon had been hoping to never see him again or she'd be tempted to punch him in the pretty face (not that she thought he had a pretty face, anyway.)
She was too lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the one piece of paper sitting under her elbow. The paper was wrinkled, the title reading "Reasons to Avoid Mr. Smirker Cryptic" with a line drawn through Mr. Smirker.
Chameleon let out a small laugh at the title. She flattened the paper on the desk and began to read it.
Reasons to Avoid Mr. Smirker Cryptic
A List by Duchess, Bookworm, and Chameleon with approval from Macy McHenry
1. Even though Cryptic had assisted Chameleon on her previous mission, his presence wasn't necessary and she was still pretty ticked off about it.
2. Cryptic had made her feel all sorts of things she had never felt before. And, as in denial about it as she was, one of those feelings she hoped to repress but couldn't was the butterflies.
3. Because it isn't the right time to fall in love. (Who needs men when you've got butts to kick?)
Chameleon still felt a little embarrassed about telling her friends of her most recent mission. She was even more embarrassed (well, more enraged actually) to learn that her three trusted and loved best friends had listened in on the conversation between her and Cryptic via coms unit. What she and the young man Cryptic had said to each other wasn't exactly the nicest-scolding the other and such-but she couldn't live with the fact that her friends heard everything.
Chameleon's cheeks flushed a dark red. She pulled her desk drawer open and placed the list there, slamming the drawer shut and returning to her work. She wasn't going to think about the list. She wasn't going to think about that cocky green-eyed young man with his know-it-all smirk and-
Chameleon stopped her train of thought there. She certainly didn't want to delve into that part of her mind. Shaking her head, she realized that one way or another, her work was going to get done and no matter how much she didn't like it, she would have to include Cryptic in the report. It was a rule that you must write about the people encountered during the mission. She would just have to deal with it.
By the time she finished, an office person walked by calling, "The Director would like to see you, Operative Morgan."
Grinning, Chameleon pushed her seat away from the desk and scrambled to her feet, walking in the direction of the Director's office.
She felt confident, great. The Director was just calling her to discuss her last mission or possibly to assign her a new one. She believed that everything was going to be fine.
At least that was until she walked into the Director's office.
And saw the young man seated in the chair.
Her face grew pale, her palms felt clammy. She tried to reach for the door, the door that was so close yet so far away, but fell frozen in her place. She couldn't move. She willed her feet to turn and make a run for the door, for home even, but she couldn't.
The young man turned and sure enough, he was wearing his signature smirk. Suddenly she knew that nothing about this meeting was going to be as amazing as she'd pictured it to be. It was him, the green-eyed young man (or Mr. Green-Eyed Smirker, as deemed by her friends) sitting in the Director's office like he had the right to be there.
She had last seen him on her previous mission, where he had waltzed into the area (okay, so maybe he hadn't waltzed but he had interfered with her mission), claiming that he too was a part of it. She still couldn't believe how easily she allowed the young man to get in her way. After that, she vowed to not let anyone from then on to do such a thing to her.
Yet, the look on Mr. Smirker's face made her want to forget all about it.
"Gallagher Girl," He finally said, gesturing to the empty chair next to him.
Another reason to avoid this young man: the nickname he had given her.
It took a few moments, a few mental pep-talks, and she was moving across the room to the seat. She cursed mentally, praying the Director would hurry up and break the tension that hung in the air.
He leaned in close, his lips to her ear as he whispered, "I'm still available if you need a partner."
He leaned back into his seat, and Chameleon wasn't sure if what she saw was real or not. He winked at her. Cryptic winked at her and she didn't know if it was her imagination or the actual winkage that made her perceive it that way.
She hid her embarrassment with a witty comment. "If I ever need you, I won't call you because you'll probably be there even before I pick up the phone."
It was meant as an insult, but the young man didn't think of it as one. Instead, he laughed, his voice somewhat teasing as he said, "You know it."
Chameleon felt her face grow red in frustration. Cryptic wasn't an easy guy to break but she had tried to anyway. Angry at the young man, she turned to the empty office chair, imagining the Director materializing there and talking to them, dismissing them as soon as he had finished. She wanted to leave quickly since Cryptic was getting on her nerves and she didn't think that most people passing by the building would enjoy seeing a young man dangling out the window by his ankles. That would just put a damper on their mood. And confuse them.
Surprisingly, for the remainder of the time until the Director had walked in, the two operatives had lapsed into silence. Chameleon hated to admit it, but she liked it better when he was irritating and bewildering, not peaceful and quiet like then. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, stunned to see him looking back. She shifted her eyes back to the Director's seat and sure enough, the Director was sitting there, glancing up at the two operatives (literally raising his head high enough to get a good look at them).
Chameleon jumped. When she thought of the man materializing into the seat, she hadn't expected it to actually happen. Either that or she hadn't noticed him coming in. Yeah, she thought as she regained her posture, definitely the latter. She nodded to the Director.
The Director was a man of five foot two-not a very imposing height but to his enemies, he was a dangerous opponent. He had slicked back black hair, a bold spot located at the back of his head. His eyes were a dark brown, so dark they could've been black. Bags were under his eyes, showing that he got little to no sleep every night. He could be considered average built, but his height made one believe that he was one fluffy giant teddy bear, as described by his wife. His face displayed no emotion-like any good operative should know how to do-but traces of worry and concern was evident, as they always were.
The man rocked in the chair, but Chameleon knew he was swinging his feet angrily because they just barely reached the floor. They never did. The Director stopped fidgeting and nodded at the two agents, "Operatives Goode and Morgan."
"Director," Was the operative's response.
"I believe you two know why you're here," The Director said, leaning forward on the desk. When the two operatives didn't respond, the Director pulled out a manila folder from a desk drawer and placed it in the center of the desk.
"Why was Cryptic on my last mission?" Chameleon blurted.
She received a questionable look from the Director, and a smirk from the aforementioned young man. Chameleon really wanted to get rid of the smile on Cryptic's face-it was infuriating, yet pleasant at the same time.
The Director sighed. He looked towards Cryptic, as if waiting for approval. Cryptic gave a small nod. "Another source told us that you might be...pursued by someone," the Director said simply. "Someone who wishes to only bring the worst upon you."
"Who?" Chameleon demanded. She ran through her head the list of people who might want her-which, being a spy, it was a very long list. "Why do they want me? Is that why he"-she jabbed her finger in Cryptic's direction-"hindered my mission? To be my bodyguard?"
Chameleon knew that she was acting unprofessionally but she couldn't help it. She needed to know more.
Cryptic's smirk disappeared and his mouth became a straight, thin line. "Even if you wanted to know, we can't tell you. You don't have that high of a clearance." He shrugged casually. "Besides, you don't want to know. You're better off that way."
Chameleon felt her anger growing. Cryptic had told her during her mission that she didn't have the right amount of clearance to know about many things. Now, being told that again for a second time made her wish she had that kind of clearance. Not knowing something when you lived your life on a need-to-know basis was killing her. But maybe Cryptic was right. There were things that you absolutely didn't want to know. She should be able to tell from experience.
The Director looked between the two operatives. It was unbelievable how he could remain so calm. That's because he's a great operative, Chameleon thought.
Another thought crossed her mind, "How long have you known this?"
Both the Director and Cryptic didn't respond.
Chameleon realized that she was asking the wrong questions. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Nothing," Cryptic was quick to answer. "We'll take care of it for you."
If Chameleon had a strong urge to punch the young man in the face, it might've been right then and there. She was already furious with not knowing, but for Cryptic to act like he knew everything, it made her want to be a part of it. It was her safety in question-shouldn't she be allowed to do something about it?
"Actually," The Director began, sliding the manila folder closer to the two operatives, "You can do something."
Before the two operatives could speak, the Director continued. "We're going to catch your pursuer and you're going to join in on the mission."
"No," Cryptic demanded, his tone strict. "She can't be a part of this; it's not safe."
Chameleon puffed out her cheeks. She was sick and tired of people telling her what was good for her and what wasn't. She was a well-trained operative. She could help herself.
The Director's face was stoic. He didn't seem at all bothered by this. Maybe because there were other operatives who had gone through the same thing she was going through then. The Director probably learned not to get too attached to it. "Operative Morgan won't know as much about what's going on, but we'll let her know enough to go through with this."
"But it's not worth the risk," Cryptic said, and Chameleon had to wonder when he cared so much about risks. Cryptic reasoned, "She's safer off the field; at headquarters or something. There, she'll be protected. But don't let her walk into this, having no idea what going on."
The Director furrowed his eyebrow. "This concerns Operative Morgan. If anyone will decide what's best for her, it'll be her."
Both the Director and Cryptic turned to face Chameleon. Cryptic gave her a look, one so cold and rude; she got shivers down her back. She apprehended that the young man could be scary if he wanted to.
"Who else is on this mission?" She asked, trying to avoid Cryptic's gaze.
"Two other operatives from Blackthorne," Chameleon made a sour face when the Director said that. If she had to deal with other people from Blackthorne, they'd better not be an exact copy of Cryptic. (Because if they were, that would be unfortunate.) The Director continued, "Operative Sutton, with a few other operatives to cover your trail, of course."
"Operative Baxter?" questioned Chameleon. "McHenry?"
"Baxter's occupied in MI6 and McHenry will be one of the operatives protecting your trail," The Director told her. Chameleon waited for the Director to list the one name she was hoping would never come. "And Operative Goode," He nodded to the agent besides Chameleon who had gone silent. Perhaps it was his own way of showing his anger.
Chameleon mentally cursed. Just when she was certain that this was the last time she would ever see Cryptic, guess what happened? She got to see even more of him. But if she wanted to get answers, she would have to put up with it.
"Will you join the team following your pursuers or will you let us arrange a safe house or such as Operative Goode had purposed?" The Director asked.
"Think about what you're getting into, Gallagher Girl," Cryptic said, leaning closer to her. Chameleon looked straight at him and she wished his eyes weren't so green or that his voice wasn't so…seductive. He could've convinced her to do just about anything he wanted her too. But not today. Not ever. "Once you agree and walk out of here, there's no turning back. Your safety depends on whoever's got your back-which won't be that many people. Whatever you do, don't be stupid."
Chameleon let out a small laugh. As tempting as he and his words were, she had to do this. She had to go on the mission, discover the person who so badly wanted her, and take them down even if it meant risking everything she's got. She couldn't let other people do the job for her while she sat back and wondered if she was ever truly safe. That wasn't how she worked.
Chameleon looked at Cryptic, then the Director, and back to Cryptic again. The look on the young man's face was challenging, as if he was daring her to turn down the mission and give into the alternative he had suggested. She refused to admit it, but Cryptic was right and she hated him for it. If she left this room, having no idea what awaited her, she might as well have been dead the second she stepped out of the building.
She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind as she reached for the folder that lay untouched on the desk. In it was what she needed to know. It was now or never, and she knew the answer to the Director's question.
"So, where do we begin?"