Is it just me, or do I only update once a year? Sure seems like it. Sorry if the characters are OOC; it's been awhile. Also, please excuse Grant and Jones' codenames. Quite frankly, I'm not very good at making them. Enjoy.
"Hi."
The words were simple, easy. They were a greeting. In her ears, they weren't anything close to that. Neither was the smile that accompanied it.
The young man sat on the other side of the room, in the rickety wooden chair with the equally unstable table. The smile that graced his lips was meant to be polite and gentle. Welcoming, even. It might have been accepted, were his feet not propped up on the table and he and his partner not there.
Oh yes, there were two of them.
She didn't even know why.
The only thing that separated her from the strangers was the space between them and the gun. The gun that she held in their direction, cocked and ready to fire.
The smile didn't leave the young man's face. He was so at ease there in the small kitchen that Chameleon didn't hesitate to slide her finger toward the trigger. She didn't know what was going on. She didn't know who the people were. All she knew was that they weren't supposed to be there.
The other one who sat across from the smiling young man looked sheepish, maybe even guilty. They should be, Chameleon couldn't help but think as she raised her gun to track their movement. This one wasn't smiling. He glanced between his partner and back at her, hesitantly raising a finger. His body was shaking. Sweat formed on his forehead. This one was afraid. Yet, that didn't stop him from managing to utter the words, "This isn't what it looks like."
Chameleon raised an eyebrow. So they didn't break into her temporary apartment? So they didn't make themselves comfortable in a place they clearly shouldn't be in? She wanted to laugh at his reasoning, but she could only manage a growl. "I'll make it easy on you," She said, slowly, threateningly. "Tell me who you are and I might just let you go."
The first young man's smile fell. He pushed his feet off the table and made an action that suggested he was going to stand. But when Chameleon spun her gun on him, he raised his arms up in a sort of defeat and leaned back into his seat. The chair squeaked under his weight, and that was the only sound to be heard in the surprisingly quiet room. He explained, "We're here to help you."
Chameleon's eyebrow furrowed in confusion. There were no way these two people were there to 'help' her. They broke into her place for crying out loud. If anything, they shouldn't be trusted.
Yet when she heard a soft, "You made it," and turned to see Cryptic standing in the doorway with a flash of recognition on his features, she realized that maybe these two weren't strangers after all. Well, to Cryptic at least.
"Zach," Judging by the tone of voice, the first young man was smiling again. "Good to see you, man."
Chameleon couldn't tell what the young men were up to then. With her gun still pointed at the two, her eyes locked on Cryptic. She wanted an explanation from him and she wanted it now.
Cryptic didn't offer anything right away. To the people who apparently knew him already, or to her. He held his hand out in her direction. "Cammie," he whispered, gesturing to her. "Give it to me."
She knew he was talking about the gun. The weapon that felt heavy in her small hands; that numbed her fingers with its cool and rough surface. The one thing asides from her training that could bring her protection. Was she going to give it up so easily? Of course not. "Who are they?" She demanded.
"School friends." He simply stated. Then within a second, her hand was free. The weight of the gun was gone. She turned on Cryptic, saw him switch to the safety and throw the weapon on the closest counter like it was nothing. Like she hadn't just been using it.
"Does she always do this?" One of the young men asked but Chameleon couldn't be so sure who it was. She was still staring at Cryptic in shock and awe.
Cryptic, who ever so casually, leaned against the door frame. Cryptic, who looked straight at her and told his 'friends,' "We actually met that way. I have a feeling she has a thing for guns and scaring people."
He smiled a slow, easy smile. He was teasing her-he had to be. Cryptic was a hard book to read-a language she never learned-that everything about him was difficult to understand. Was he being serious? Or did he just want to make a fool out of her?
Whatever the reason, it was enough to boil the anger kept within Chameleon. If it were up to her, Mr. Smirker over here wouldn't be able to smile ever again. And that thought brought her comfort she needed, even if it was momentarily.
Regardless of her obvious annoyance towards him, she had to ask Cryptic, "You let them in?"
"I did," a new voice said this time, pushing their way past Cryptic and coming to stand before Chameleon. The young woman she saw was not the one Chameleon remembered. The young woman's slick black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail at the top of her head. She wore a white blouse, her long legs obscured by trousers. Not to forget, the combat boots Chameleon had seen her wear before was replaced by sneakers. The only part of her that was familiar was the crystal blue eyes-that was something Chameleon would always remember. "Hi, Cam."
Macey McHenry was many things, but Chameleon had to remind herself that she was also one of her best friends. She gestured to the two people that, until then, Chameleon had chosen to ignore. "I see you've met the rest of the team."
And finally, she realized. They might have been strangers, but they were strangers she had to work with. Why hadn't she thought of that earlier? Perhaps Cryptic's remarks had been enough to get a rise out of her, rather than let her understand the purpose of the two young men.
With that, Cryptic stepped forward and pointed to his friends. Their introduction was brief; all formalities were forgotten.
"This is Operative Grant Newman," Cryptic nodded to the taller of the two boys (who also seemed to really like smiling); the one who resembled a Greek God with his well sculpted features and arms that were ripped. "His code name: Eagle."
Agent Newman, or 'Eagle', gave her another smile. Compared the Cryptic's know-it-all smirk, there was something about the boy's smile that radiated attractiveness. It was small, but nice.
"This is Operative Jonas Anderson," Cryptic murmured, as though introductions weren't his thing and he didn't really want to be doing one then. He gestured to the lanky boy who paled in comparison to his companions. Sure he was burley, but his muscled arms were not as wide as Agent Newman's and his built was smaller than that of Cryptic's. He had some defined features of his own-thick black hair cut short and thin wire-rimmed glasses that perfectly framed his face-yet he wasn't as recognizable as his friends. He also didn't look like the type of agent who belonged out on the field. "Code name: Tech Geek."
Chameleon nodded, taking it all in. Better to make inferences from the first meeting than second guessing who was who later. Despite all this, she came upon another thought. She shifted her attention to Peacock, who silently deemed the sink counter as her seat. "And Bookworm?"
"Liz?" Peacock nodded to the next room over, "Outside. She wasn't too excited about the whole 'breaking and entering' thing."
Chameleon understood; unlike her and the other two friends of hers, Bookworm wasn't one to break laws. Well, at least with the exception of an occasion or two. "I should let her in," she decided, giving the room-the agents-a once-over. "We all have some talking to do."
"Please remind me why the CIA recruited you on this mission when you work for another agency," Chameleon looked thoughtfully at her friend of more than three years.
Five of the six agents in that apartment gathered around the too small kitchen table. No one had bothered to switch on the lights, so they sat there, partially shrouded in darkness. The light that fluttered in through the only window in the room somewhat brightened it, but there were parts of the room that were difficult to make out. It didn't matter anyway since the agents weren't there for appearances; they were there for the words.
"Oh, the agency didn't appoint me," Peacock said casually, crossing one long leg over the other. She hadn't bothered to move from her place on the counter, but she looked pretty satisfied there. It seemed that everyone but Chameleon could get comfortable. "I assigned myself to the case."
Chameleon blinked in confusion. "You work for the Secret Service. The agencies are completely different."
"I know," Peacock's icy blue eyes stared back at her with sincerity. She was fingering the gun that Cryptic had left there, not too far from where she currently sat. Chameleon didn't think she realized it herself. "But you need all the protection you can get."
Chameleon didn't argue. She didn't need to. Peacock might have been the Secret Service agent, but even as spies they knew that protection-safety-was a luxury. So you take what you could of it when you have the opportunity to. It most likely won't happen again in the near future. Or ever.
"About this mission," Bookworm began at her side, the tiny girl's voice bringing Chameleon back to the importance of this meeting. "We have reason to believe that your pursuer comes from-"
But Bookworm didn't get to finish because she was shot a glance-one so cold and meaningful-from Peacock that the words got caught in her throat.
Chameleon looked at the blond girl that sat beside her, silently willing her to continue. She didn't. And as if Peacock's glare wasn't enough of a warning to Bookworm, Cryptic felt the need to regard her with one of his own. Still, Bookworm wasn't responsive.
Chameleon felt the need to scream. She was partially okay with Cryptic and his gang of friends for not revealing anything to her, but her best friends? The thought was hard to digest. She knew they were doing it for her safety, of course, yet she also knew that even if the truth didn't want to come out now, it would only hurt even more if delayed. They might as well tell her later, better than leave her to find out on her own-or never. Guess that she had a lot of waiting to do, no matter how frustrating that idea was to her.
"There's intel that your pursuer was last seen in Virginia," Eagle spoke, completely unfazed by the tension-the staring contest that Cryptic and Peacock were winning-in the room. "No one knows why exactly."
"It could be because they knew you went to school there," Bookworm suggested, her tone helpful.
"What would they want with Gallagher?" Chameleon turned the thought over in her mind. What good would they get out of seeing her old school? Of course, they would know what the school was actually for but were they targeting the school because they knew she had a soft spot for it? Possibly; Chameleon really didn't know. And she didn't think she wanted to, either.
"But intel showed that they were nowhere near the school," Peacock reasoned. "They were in town. So maybe they weren't there for the school."
"Why?" Chameleon asked, since it appeared that no one else wanted-needed-to ask the questions more than she did.
The other agents kept on talking, despite her need to understand.
"You had a mission there, a while back. Right?" Cryptic turned to her but he looked at her as if he already knew the answer-as if he was there himself. She could practically see him visualizing the day, letting it play out in his head as though he knew the story better than she did. And the odds were that he most likely did.
Of course Cryptic knew what the mission was-he barged in on it himself!
"Are you saying my pursuer was the guy I busted for trying to steal something that belonged to the school?" Chameleon tried to hop onto the other agents' train of thoughts. But while she was on one train, they boarded onto another.
"He doesn't count," Cryptic's words made her feel stupid. "He's the bad guy, yes, but he wasn't the only there that night."
"So whoever was there decided to tag along on the mission?" She questioned. She glanced at Cryptic, teasing as she said, "Are you sure we're not talking about you?"
Cryptic's look of disbelief proved he didn't want to hear it and that certainly wasn't what he meant. "No, they knew you were there. Somehow. There's evidence that they still might be there. Or someone."
"And?" Chameleon still didn't know where this was going.
Cryptic's lips turned downward and his gaze fiery. He wasn't going to be the one to tell her something that was supposed to be so obvious but wasn't to her.
So Peacock decided to do it for him.
The gun was at her side, her fingers locked around the steel. It was like her stress ball, bringing her the relief she needed. However, she didn't look as relieved as she leaned forward into the light, her tone low but clear in the small room. In the morning light that drifted in through the window pane, she didn't look like Chameleon's friend of eight years. She looked like a stranger, a messenger sent from above-a prophet announcing a wretched and gruesome quest-as she said the words Chameleon most likely never wanted to hear again, "We follow them."