"Are you fucking joking?" My eyes were wide, and I normally held back the profanity while speaking to my supervisors, but for fuck's sake, she had to be pulling a prank on me. Not that the tightly wound woman in front of me was known for her sense of humor, but this? This had to be a fucking joke.
Tight bun, so tight in fact that she looked like her face was taut from the pull of it, perfectly tailored suit, and heels that were functional and prim. She'd replaced Susan Raynor, our former deputy director after her untimely demise (is that what we were calling her being the first victim of the notorious head popper?). And, if I were being honest, which I also refrained from in front of this particular supervisor, she was falling short of the shoes she was supposed to fill. Luckily, she was ACTING deputy director, so she wasn't necessarily a permanent annoyance.
Her lips were a thin line of clear irritation. Her eyes were flashing with the very obvious thought that she couldn't believe that I would dare question her authority. Dear God, she was already letting her pseudo power run wild in her fucking head.
"I can assure you, Officer Taylor, I am NOT joking." Her nostrils flared and I had to fight rolling my eyes. "Or do you prefer Dr. Taylor? I can never quite tell with you."
"Either is fine," I bit out, wondering if I could argue against the assignment all the way to the top. I nearly sighed when I realized that it probably came from the tipity fucking top. "Is this because of the report I complied when-"
"When they were considered domestic terrorists?" She sighed and sat down, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk for me to sit as well. "It made selecting you easier, yes." I fucking knew it. "You were correct, after all, they weren't in the wrong." I know, and so did Raynor, the woman who had me dig through their pasts and prove that they weren't who the world assumed they were, even if she died before we were both proven right. "Grace Mallory wants you for this role, Dr. Taylor." She was testing out my real title, but it felt wrong to her as well, I could tell. "You know who that is correct?" I did roll my eyes at that. Everyone within the agency knew who Grace Mallory was. "She has a great deal of pull and she requested you, so-"
"I have no choice." I muttered. "And I'll be on babysitting duty for how long?"
She smiled at me, almost indulgently, almost. "Come now, Taylor, you'll be in the new pride and joy that is the Office of Supe Affairs." I sighed, and she shook her head. "I don't know how long you'll be their liaison," ah, a new title that was supposed to appease me, I guessed. "I only know that you WILL be." With that, I was handed a new keycard badge, a clutch of files, and a handful of contact information. "The office is located at the address on the top page, your office is ready and waiting, and I wish you well." She refocused her attention on the other stacks of files on her desk and I knew I was dismissed. Fuck.
As I drove to my new building, my new office, my new duties, I was remembering when Deputy Director Raynor had come to me for the first time. She wanted me to understand that what she was asking was something that could not be shared with anyone else in the agency until she felt it was time. Handing me the bare minimal information on the men at the root of a manhunt. Calling them terrorists, saying they were at fault for all manner of crimes, she told me to utilize the talents that had gotten me into the bureau, and ignore the obvious confirmation bias that would usually taint such an assignment.
I'd worked on it for hours, then days, finding out more about William Butcher, Marvin T. Milk, Serge, and the oddball out Hugh Campbell Jr. I learned of the losses suffered at the hands of supes in the cases of Butcher and Hughie. I found out about Mother's Milk's father's attempt to hold Vought accountable and dying young. And as for Serge, otherwise known as Frenchie, his upbringing was more difficult to piece together, but what I found had painted a bleak picture. Vigilantes? Probably. Terrorists? Hardly. I wrote the report, not knowing that the four had added a fifth, not that the knowledge would have helped with what I already had, and then learned that Starlight, the newest member of the Seven was suspected as well.
After the death of Raynor, after the fall of Stormfront and the admission by Vought that she had been the culprit all along, The Boys, as they were being called, were vindicated. I knew that William Butcher had truly lost his wife in the quest for this, and I knew that would make him far more volatile than he ever had been. The others? I hadn't had a moment to spare, knowing that the majority of this new "role" for me would be making sure that Butcher was reigned in. Kept on task and on the goals of the new "office". And I knew I'd have my work cut out for me, if the file I'd composed was even halfway correct, William Butcher was an untamable horse. Or worse yet, a hurricane waiting to unleash itself on the entire supe race.
The building was sparse, as all government buildings seemed to be. Since it was so new to the world, the "Office of Supe Affairs" seemed far more sparse than normal. Not a fucking ounce of character in the entire fucking structure. No landscaping, although to be honest I wasn't sure how the building maintenance would even try it, concrete as far as the eye could see, coupled with one way glass that mirrored the street traffic and parking lot, depending on which side you came into it from.
Using my new keyfob badge to get into the parking area, and then again to get into the building, I smiled at the single receptionist at the high front desk.
"Dr. Taylor?" He asked. I nodded, and he came around to show me to my office, pointing out other areas I might need while at work. "Here we are," he indicated the same security pad for me to fob myself in, and once I did, he opened the door. "You were given the office with the best view," I could see that my 'view' was the back alley, but I imagined he meant the skyline when he mentioned my view. "Laptop, printer, phone." He pointed them out as though I couldn't give myself the fucking tour. "If you need anything, just hit '1' on the phone and it'll come straight to me. The other extensions are laid out in the book you'll find in the top left desk drawer. By the way, I'm Anthony," he extended his hand and I shook it after I juggled my far too heavy messenger bag and keyfob badge into my other hand. "Good luck." And with that ominous offer, he shut the door behind himself and I let go of the loud dramatic sigh that I'd felt building since standing inside of our acting deputy director's office.
I was reading through the files when my desk phone rang. Absently picking it up, I answered with my standard greeting and heard Grace Mallory's voice reply.
"Ah, good, you're in already. I'll be by in a few minutes, I think we should talk about what's expected of you, Dr. Taylor." I agreed, replacing the handset and thinking how easily the receptionist and Mallory had taken to the first title I'd earned in my life. No hesitation, no confusion, just 'Dr. Taylor'. I wished everyone found it so simple.
Grace Mallory had full reign over the offices, as she proved when she keyed herself into mine. I looked up and smiled. The older woman, mentioned in my research on the others, was easy to read. She took one of the chairs in front of my new desk. I closed the file I'd been going over before she'd come in, and waited.
Rueful smile playing on her lips, eyes shrewd, she took her time studying me. "You're not excited that I asked for you to be here." I didn't feel the need to answer, since it wasn't a question. "I read what you compiled on them, I still have access to certain parts of the agency." Again, not a question. "I wanted you to act as the liaison because you saw through it. The image that everyone else saw, or thought they saw with them." Him, I could see she meant, the others were important certainly, but I was obviously here to reign in only one. "You don't get intimidated easily, that I learned from YOUR file." I was guessing she meant the few times I'd bucked up against what was clearly the wrong tactic or wrong idea being forced on me and my fellow officers by our superiors. "You've also done this before." Damn it, fuck my experience with that fucking black ops group that I had to rehabilitate after their fall from grace in Bolivia. "I'm more than sure that you're the best person for this job."
She outlined it. I was the go between, since Raynor was no longer at the CIA to grease the wheels so to speak, I was to act as the person to keep the agency in the loop of progress or planned operations. And, before she left, she finally admitted that my REAL job was to make sure that William Butcher didn't go off the rails to the point that the entire operation would go ass over tits.
"The appeal of having you oversee this, Dr. Taylor, isn't simply that you did those profiles on them that was the first to question the validity of the charges against them, but that you have a background in-" She paused to consider what she wanted to say. "You're a psychologist. That, coupled with your experience with the other team you pulled through, well you can see why I had to insist you fill this role."
"I understand that you think I'm the logical choice," I closed my eyes, wondering just how I could explain to her that I felt wrong for the work that she wanted me to undertake. "I just don't think that I-"
"That you're the person who can keep him even keeled?" Opening my eyes I saw that she was standing and smiling down at me. "Just because no one else seems capable, Dr. Taylor, doesn't mean that no one is." With that parting shot, she too wished me well, and then left my office.
Biting my lip, I reopened the file I'd left off on while Grace Mallory had given me her expectations. I hoped like hell that she was right, because there were times that William Butcher, and like dominoes his team, caused far more fucking chaos than they stopped.