Chapter Text
Ugly and forgettable. If the department was going to hire an administrative assistant, he needed her to be ugly and forgettable. If she were to be rifling through his papers, answering his phone calls, planning his flights and sticking her head in places it didn't belong, those were his only requirements.
It was noon when she finally spoke. It was a meeting meant for her to introduce herself. But when she'd finished the typical spiel of offering up too much personal information about herself, the topic changed entirely. The whole room moved at once when she stopped talking to stare at their boss, Cofer Black, in hopes that the meeting might end. That they might get to catch a true conversation with one of the only women in the building.
But he was a talker. He could bullshit his way through a half hour meeting about nothing. Mostly, it was another useless and condescending warning about the uptick in work to come.
September’s attack was a catalyst to a war they didn't see coming. The whole department felt the weight of it on their shoulders. But John, Chief of Counterterrorism Operations, suspected that failure wasn't an option on his part. Success, in finding Abu Zabayda, in defeating any faction of Al Qaeda, no matter how small, was what he was born to do. This was the only way he could manage the stress; convince your body and your brain that you have no choice but to win and you will.
She never sat down. Even with an empty seat in the corner planted just for her, she stood on her feet in the corner of the room.
When he watched her, he could tell she wasn’t sure where her body should be, almost like she was ashamed of taking up space. Someone working here should know better, he thought. He wouldn’t let the judgement go. She wasn't cut out for it. Not this place. Not with these guys. He’d give her 6 months.
It felt like he was watching his younger self. But he refused to be a mentor again. He was over trying to be a hero and a teacher at the same time.
~
There were stacks and stacks of papers on his desks with no method to its madness. Some were briefing notes—scribbles so useless they needed to be trashed. His journal was there somewhere, hidden beneath half-read biographies stacked high. Every now and then he might stumble upon something important. Information vital to ongoing recruitments. Transcripts and contacts and grainy photos and profiles.
It was overwhelming but that's what his medication was for. To calm the nerves. To stop the nagging in his head that told him things may never be organized, that everything would be overwhelming forever.
She came to his office door with nothing. Just a smile, a small wave. She knocked on the door frame even though he was staring at her already, waiting for her to speak.
“Welcome,” he said after looking away, going through a small pile and tossing anything he knew was no longer needed. He sighed like he was angry, but mostly, he was just busy. It was one of the few days he had to just sit. To let his body be still. And she was interrupting it. He was determined to make no use of her whatsoever. Her presence would make things harder, if anything.
“Thank you. I just wanted to introduce myself more personally. I’ve heard great things about you...your work, from other officers. It’s an honor.”
“Didn’t know those bastards were so fond of me.” She huffed a laugh and smoothed down the skirt at her hips. “And, Y/N, is it?” he asked in clarification. She nodded. “What got you here?” She was silent for a second. Maybe she didn’t understand the question. Maybe it was first-day jitters. He knew this would happen. If she was beautiful—if he was blinded by beauty instead of brains—he’d start making excuses for her.
“Not the best conversationalist, huh?” he teased.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re very nervous. Don’t know how to talk to me?” She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. “Why are you here? At this job? What about it appeals to you?”
“It was full time. Decent pay. It's work I know I’m good at.” She made it sound like something transitional. Temporary, even. No passion. It drove him crazy, how little she seemed to care about the title, about the organization itself. What good was an assistant who didn't care to rise up, to be something better?
“Is there anything you need from me?” she asked.
“Don’t think so.”
“I’ve been taking lunch orders from everyone. Can I get you anything? I’ve started a bulk order fr-”
“I don’t need help ordering lunch. But thank you.” She left without a word.
He’d watched her get along with all the other guys on his floor for two days . Mike, who was notorious for his aggression toward measly interns, engaged in half-hour conversations with her in his office doorway. James, the almost 80-year-old man who hadn't felt the touch of a woman in probably twenty years, laid treats and coffee on her desk. H Even his boss, Cofer, took a liking to her. That was a man who pretended to be your friend and then used your words against you, just for the hell of it. Anyone Cofer liked was a fraud. It made him dislike her even more.
But he wanted to know why. Plus, he needed his flight schedules laid out for him so he could prepare for Pakistan. He’d never gotten used to all the flying. He was on a light anxiety medication for them, but they made him sleepy if he mistimed it. So he summoned her, via email, to his office for a chat about when he would depart.
She never showed. All day, he waited. He took quick glances up at the hallway, waiting for her to turn up. At lunch, he was never asked if he wanted something ordered for him. Sometimes, when he thought he saw her pass by, he got the urge to get up from behind his desk and search for her.
She only turned up at the end of the day to ask if there were any last minute requests. He called bullshit.
“My flights. To Pakistan. Are they in order?”
“Yes, I talked to Mr. Black about your arrangements. Do I need to reorder your medication from your pharmacy? I’m not sure they'd come in on time at this point, but I can still order them for you.”
“You spoke with Cofer about my medications instead of me?” She tended to hang in people's doorways and not enter. But she was completely outside of his door. Literally in the hallway, ready to run.
“You made it abundantly clear you preferred me…silent and out of the way. I was making myself scarce.”
“And not responding to my email? About meeting with you? Had you answered it, I would've given you all that information directly.”
“It's my third day, I don't have access to my email yet.”
He softened his tone, aware that he was making assumptions. Being hard on her. “Who is in charge of getting that information to you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“And you didn't have the wherewithal to ask?” She didn't speak. Why wouldn't she fucking speak? “I need access to you. How else are you communicating with people?”
“Everyone on the floor has my personal phone number.” And when did this happen? And why was he excluded? He wasn't sure it was the most appropriate channel of communication anyway. Cofer was okay with this?
“I–I never received it,” he said. It caught him off guard. He was never out of the loop. More often than not, he was the one drawing the circle. He organized all the poker games. Was everyone's drinking partner and confidant. He always decided who was and wasn't invited to things. But here he was, forgotten.
“When I went around the office introducing myself, I guess I forgot to give it to you.”
“Convenient.” She was picking under her nails and staring at his name plate on the desk. “I’ll speak with Cofer and make sure you have access to your email.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kiriakou.” She was walking away already when he called after her.
“Can you get my flight schedule to me? In print if you have to. I-I suspect I’ll be flying back and forth from Pakistan frequently these coming months. I need all my ducks in order.” She seemed to spring up at this.
Nodding, she said, “Of course. Yes, of course.”
I’m sorry. It played in her head over and over as she recalled her conversations with Mr. Kiriakou. She always replayed embarrassing moments out loud to herself, pretending she could rewind and say the right thing. Would apologizing have been the right thing? He already thought she was weak. An apology would've only made it worse. But it was all she could think to do.
It was basically in the job description to deal with men like him. Men who had already drawn you up and thought they understood your character better than you understood yourself. But she seemed to get along with the other guys there. Maybe even a little too well. She preferred their eagerness to his coldness.
Her upstairs neighbors were fucking. There was truly no other way to put it. They were fucking and she wasn't. She hadn’t met them yet. Had only moved in a month ago and was already finding patterns in their sex habits. They also made her painfully aware of what she left behind when she moved. A fuck buddy. Family. Friends.
The housing arrangement isn't what she wanted: a studio apartment in a neighborhood so cheap, she was waiting for the day she got robbed in broad daylight. She was somewhere in her career, that was the privilege. But even a decent paying job has its flaws. It was a thirty minute commute. It was pressure. A type of pressure she probably didn't even understand yet. She was one of the only women who worked in the building. But it was a job that required secrecy and dutifulness and repetition. Just what she wanted. Something she could fade into mindlessly.
Mike, her new coworker that she saw more as a weird uncle than a potential lover, texted her at midnight to ask how her first few days had gone. He was giving her an opportunity. It would make things easier, she thought, if I made him think he could have me.
[12:11AM] Mike: How were your first few days? Anyone give you any trouble?
[12:12] Y/N: pretty good. mostly everyone's been really nice.
[12:12AM] Mike: Mostly everyone?
She left it for a minute while holding her head in her hands, trying to zone out from the grunts and yelling from upstairs. Her phone dinged two more times before she picked it back up again.
[12:12AM] Mike: Let me guess.
[12:13AM] Mike: Was it John?
It was dangerous to gossip, especially this early.
[12:14AM] Y/N: you'll keep it between us?
[12:14AM] Mike: Absolutely.
[12:14AM] Y/N: i'm almost certain he hates my guts.
[12:15AM] Mike: If it makes you feel any better, he’s grumpy all the time. He's fun once you get to know him, I promise.
[12:15AM] Y/N: not sure if he'll let me.
[12:15AM] Mike: I can talk to him.
[12:15AM] Y/N: no!! please no. he’ll hate me even more.
Mike didn't respond again, but he had read it. Gave it a thumbs up and vanished. She didn't want anyone to know she cared enough to talk about it. Off the clock, nonetheless. There was a possibility though, that Mike really could smooth things over. Make things easier.
She wasn't sure what that would look like between her and John. Smooth. For the other men in the office, smooth meant long conversations they stretched so they could stare at her. Treats left on her desk. A compliment that was too pointed, too bodily.
John seemed like a man who would make her earn that kind of flattery. In a fucked up way, she was excited. There was something thrilling about a man who didn't want you.