"Accidentally." I amended. "Although if you tell anyone else, it won't be."

"I wasn't planning on it."

The quiet between us inched towards awkwardness while we performed mental jiu jitsu in its space, deciding what to say next.

"I'm not an outlier." I finally settled on, taking the first jab. "My teeth were cut on this job. The shooting...just set things in motion a lot sooner than intended."

Papa had decided it was best for me to be homeschooled, especially with his schedule that included a lot of last minute travel. His coworkers in the New York office rose to the occasion - often taking me on ride alongs when I was done with my tutor but he still needed me out of his hair. I generally tagged along on bloodless and victimless crimes - larcenies, burgs, narco deals and the like. My fresh eyes were always appreciated, and the Detectives seemed to enjoy having a captive audience in which they could impart their wisdom on.

The Bureau Chief, Lynne Browne, was not keen on the idea, but couldn't deny the fact that I had a natural inclination for the world I was being raised in, and admitted that it was probably for my benefit that I had guidance while sating my curiosities.

I was not out in the field with my mentors unequipped. While I was decent with hand to hand combat, it was a point of pride for my Papa that I was an excellent shot. "I would have gladly had you for a partner any day, ma choue." he would remark, examining the holes in the paper shooting targets that I would bring up to his office.

I was just a few months shy of my fifteenth birthday when the incident occurred. It was a sweltering summer day, where the heat was trapped between the narrow corridors of concrete buildings on the UWS. We entered one of them, looking forward to the sudden frigid blast from the AC, but instead were greeted by the hot recycled air of a large box fan. The elevator was, of course, broken, so we trudged up the stairs to the fifth floor. I remembered sweat running down my spine, collecting in the crevice of my lower back.

"Be thankful you don't have this damn vest on, Red." Detective Finley reprimanded when I whined about the oppressive warmth. I was about to retort that it was of her own choosing - we were going to the crime scene of a burg - when a loud argument from a nearby apartment attracted our attention.

ACME did not handle domestics - as it was typically just a police matter - but there was no ignoring the bloodcurdling feminine scream coming from the domicile.

"Stay put." she instructed, leaving me in the entryway of the stairwell while she went to investigate. A firm knock on the door interrupted the commotion. From my vantage point I could see a half dressed male, one hand behind his back, with a timid female in the distance, wearing a long white t-shirt as if it were a dress.

Finley flashed her credentials, identifying herself in a voice much bigger than her build.

"Everything's all right here, officer." the male expectedly reassured. "Just having an argument with my girlfriend, is all."

"Detective." Finley's pencilled eyebrows knotted as she corrected him. "And your girlfriend can speak for herself. This whole building could hear her screaming, so I know she definitely has a voice."

"She's alright. Tell her." His hand shifted behind his back, the motion not missed by either of us. I inched closer to get a better view.

"I'm fine." the female finally spoke, voice pitchy.

"Why don't you step out in the hall, so we can talk?" Finley suggested.

"I-I'm not wearing much."

"That's all right." The Detective assured. "Just want to get a look at you, and then I'll be on my way."

The female tried to comply, but the male became suddenly agitated, attempting to close the door.

"She said she's all good."

Finley stopped him. "I'm not talking to you. Move."

That was the last clear memory I had of the situation. Next there was an ear shattering bang, Finley collapsing, and the shirtless male clamoring over her body, running to the elevator, jabbing the down button in panic. His poor planning was to my advantage. I rushed over to Finley, whose face was contorted with agony but thankfully hit in the vest.

"Call the cops!" I ordered the shaking woman, taking both Finley's sidearm and matters into my own hands. The male noticed me now, with the ACME insignia displayed on the back of my shirt, and fired in my direction.

"No!" The female cried, rooted to the spot. "That's a fucking kid!"

A white hot sensation skimmed the top of my shoulder, the pain brief but blinding. Steadying myself, I raised the M&P and squeezed the trigger firmly, letting off three clean shots. He crumpled to the ground, just as ACME and PD bounded up the stairs, stepping into the crimson that was rapidly spreading on the floor. I had already dropped the weapon in disbelief, in fingertip length of Finley's dominant arm.

My ears were ringing for days afterward, but I could still clearly hear the ruckus about the situation as the story made its way through the Agency in several different versions. The female victim seemed to be unsure of what she had witnessed, so she was gently convinced that Finley was the one who had fired the fatal shots. Dealing with reality was a different matter.

Chief Browne was livid, and while the Board attempted to sort out the situation, I was banned from the Agency. I visited Finley a lot in those days as she recovered, taking small comfort in her kind words.

"They're saying Papa should ship me off to boarding school." I told her miserably. "And that I shouldn't be hanging around the Agency in the first place."

"They're full of it." Finley winced as she spoke. "Hell, they've had Trainees in the Academy not too much older than you."

"Really?"

"Yeah." she nodded enthusiastically. "Matter of fact, when I was out in San Francisco, there was a girl in my class that looked like she still wore training bras..."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that." I snapped.

Finley laughed throatily, clutching her bruised ribs. "You'll start filling out soon."

"When?" I muttered, only causing her to laugh harder. She patted my knee, wiping a joy-pain mixed tear from underneath the duct.

"Everything in its time." she advised. "Just like it's probably time...that they bring you on the job for real."

"You really think that's an option?"

"I'm clearly biased, but I would say you've more than earned it." she answered, smiling gratefully.

She wasn't the only one who thought so. I was the unofficial mascot at the office, so my absence was heavily felt. Many staff, both uniformed and civilian, petitioned the Chief to reconsider. The pressure grew to be so much that the Board drew Council to discuss it.

I was terrified when Papa mentioned this - the brass had gone to considerable lengths to cover up the shooting. I figured they were now finding a more suitable price for me to pay in return. At the end of three excruciating days, I was called to appear before them.

My Papa had pressed the wrinkles out of a Peter Pan collared navy dress the night of. I slipped it over my head gingerly that morning, already in a pair of dark tights that I was proud of putting on without a snag or a tear. I placed my feet inside of matching flats and glanced twice in the hallway mirror before leaving the house- no matter how things turned out, I took satisfaction that at least I looked cute.

The conference room the Board was meeting in was one I occasionally would sit in and watch TV on the projector. I tried to find comfort in that familiarity as I entered - the Agency was my true home, and I wasn't going to let them take me down on my own turf.

"Isabella." Chief Browne wore a peculiar expression. "It's time that we talked about a few things."

I nodded respectfully, and she continued. "The Agency is no place to raise a child. Due to your... circumstances, we failed to acknowledge that fact, and wanted to dote on you the best way many of us knew how. For that I personally apologize. You deserved a typical childhood."

"That being said..." A man to the right of her picked up. Due to his large white mustache, I called him Mr. Monopoly, an Inspector whose name I either never learned or couldn't pronounce. "You've blossomed into something seriously special here. With the proper molding...you would be one of our greats."

I dared to breathe a little hearing his praise.

"But you cannot continue to teeter on the edge of the pool, because some of our staff feel it's okay to occasionally allow you to lean over and get your feet wet." A breath. "This is how you ended up falling in the deep end."

Chief Browne shook her head concurrently. "You can no longer be here, Isabella, under current circumstances."

"But -" I could barely find my voice to protest. The Chief's pointed stare silenced me.

"That's why we will be changing them. I've written a letter to the Chief of Department in San Francisco about your situation. You will be in the next Academy class in February."

I felt numb, the emotions overloading my circuits, becoming too much to process.

"Isabella?" Chief prompted.

Mr. Monopoly's face grew kind. "Lynne is giving you a choice, Miss Rouge. The Academy is a large commitment at any age."

"Okay." I turned my feet inward, feeling small. "I think I need some time."

Chief Browne was not exactly pleased with this response. "I am giving you both a choice and an ultimatum here. You do not have to enter the Academy now - or at all. But if you are not going to become an asset to us, I will have to consider you a liability, and the ban remains."

I blinked away confused tears, not wanting to appear weak.

"Lynne..." a female Assistant Chief lightly admonished. "This is all she knows. We shouldn't be so harsh."

Chief aggressively pointed in my direction. "It is because of our inability to put our feet down that we have a fourteen year old girl standing before us that killed a man! This shouldn't even be a reality!"

Mr. Monopoly tilted his head sympathetically. "Go sleep on it, little Red. Give us an answer by the end of the week."

I was glad for the opportunity to escape in the face of the Chief's anger. I took it with a whispered thank you, barely dodging her last remark.

"Remember what I said, Isabella. It's all or nothing for you at this point."

Paul set the laptop back on his desk, the sound breaking me from my reverie. "Maybe you were right. I'm not sure I should do this..."

"It was in self defense." The warmth from my earlobes crept down my face. "What are you getting so weird about?"

"Nothing."

His answer was too curt for my liking, and I let him know. "Sure doesn't seem like it."

"Red, I don't know about you sometimes," he admitted. "The more I find out, the less I like what I hear."

"I-I don't know what to say to that." I stuttered, off balance.

Paul continued with his upper hand confidently. "Does it ever bother you?"

"The shooting?"

He nodded a single time.

I shrugged. "I don't really think about it outside of its context. Deadly physical force was used, I did what I needed to do to preserve my life and others. Technically I did nothing wrong."

"Still...there must be some part of you that feels...bad?"

"I don't know." I answered truthfully. "I never got that far with it."

"Hm." Paul was clearly uncomfortable with my reply. Reaching a stalemate, we decided on an unspoken truce to preserve our friendship. "Felipe said Liza was making a trip to the Food Mart for snacks when she returned from the gym. We should try and see if she's in her room, maybe she'll let us go with her..."

"You go ahead. I want to sit with this." I pointed to my diagrams.

"See you in a bit."

I waited several counts after he left before making precarious steps towards his laptop. The ink on the floor was not fully dry, the blobs sinking into the bottom of my socks, staining my feet. I lifted it open, using my curiosity to push aside my guilt. I bypassed the facial recognition lock with his password, now able to view the document he was reading.

Somehow Paul had managed to uncover some of the redacted material, but only for the most recent entries of my dossier. My mother and the rest of my story would have to remain a mystery for another day. Disappointed, I set the device back down into its place. Everything in its time.