Training
Jill couldn’t believe the knot in her gut as her plane landed at Reagan International.
She was in her second start from scratch in the last few months, after her transition from Wolfram & Hart to Project Integration went, quite literally, nowhere. But Uncle Sam for some reason decided Jill was better served in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and was relocating her in lieu of actual termination.
Which, considering her former employer, was a welcome relief.
The luggage rack took forever, as it always did. It seemed as if travel was more of a hassle than ever, even when someone else was footing the bill. Why the FBI saw fit to hire Jill was beyond the former layer’s comprehension, but she wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to find out why.
She was getting another shot, and all that mattered to her now was making sure she didn’t fuck it up.
"Roger that. Canary has landed." The gruff black-suited, sunglass-wearing gentleman seemed, to those not paying much attention, to speak into his jacket-sleeve. Further inspection would note the white, coiled wire running into an earpiece.
His stance was all too-serious; he was an immovable object daring anyone to run afoul. Rather than wait for the girl to come to him, he strode up to the luggage carousel and place one hand on her baggage.
"Welcome to Washington, Miss Andersen."
Jill glanced at the man speaking to her, giving a nod before noticing his attire. The black suit and the sunglasses – almost Men in Black-like – he had to be a federal agent. One fond of stereotypes, it would seem.
“Thank you,” she offered cordially, silently glad she decided on one of her more … conservative … business suits for the occasion. Simple, dark green, not showing too much skin – something told Jill the federal government wouldn’t be as fond of excessive cleavage as Wolfram & Hart.
"If you'll follow me, a car is waiting outside." All business, the man hefted the largest piece of luggage with ease and kept it just above the ground, as if the wheels would set off some hidden explosive. With the other hand he grabbed her garment bag and slung it over his shoulder. To suggest this wasn't his first foray into extracting people from tight situations wouldn't be inaccurate. "And don't worry about security, that's been taken care of."
Without another word, he seamlessly led her past security and out into the general foyer at Reagan International. From there they were joined by an older, silent gentleman who fell into step until they were past the sliding doors and to an idling grey sedan. The trunk was already propped open and the luggage was deposited before they crawled into the back seat. "Special Agent John Rivers, and this is Special Agent Tom Creswell," he noted to the brunette. We'll be your brief orientation on the way to Quantico."
Jill nodded with a professional smile as she crawled into the back seat of the car along with Agents Rivers and Creswell. This was a whirlwind for her, and that was putting it kindly – as much as things seemed to rush about when she finally landed a permanent gig with Wolfram & Hart, this was going about 200 miles an hour faster.
As long as they didn’t ask her to kill a relative, though, Jill figured she’d be fine.
“Thank you,” she offered, unsure largely of what to say – if she even really needed to say anything. To ask outright why they were training her for the FBI seemed a bit crass and unprofessional, so the former attorney kept that question to herself. If it was brought up later, then great.
"Drive." Rivers reached underneath his seat as the driver took his instruction. He retrieved a black suitcase, inserted a key and after opening, retrieved a dossier. Jill's picture was paper-clipped to the front, her name embossed on the side. He opened the file and read aloud the facts of her previous employment as the car zipped away from the parking lot and towards the city beyond.
When he'd finished, Rivers turned to the new recruit. "And so you're aware, yes we do know about Baltimore."
That Rivers knew about Jill’s dealings with Wolfram & Hart wasn’t surprising; it seemed these days like anyone with the time and resources could find out anything about literally anyone. What surprised the brunette was that the government knew and not only didn’t lead her away in cuffs, they were offering her a job.
Something seemed amiss in that logic, and Jill finally couldn’t help herself.
“Umm,” she began, struggling to find words as she felt the knot grow. “Not that I’m not appreciative … or anything, but … why promote me if you know all that? I’d think that would land me in solitary until one of those death chairs opens up.”
"Put yourself in our shoes," Rivers replied without skipping a beat. "The President went to the airwaves and admitted to the presence of sub-terrestrials. People are curious, frightened, pissed off ... it runs the gamut. And we can't wish them back into the corners of our dark imagination.
"Law enforcement, from local sheriffs to the NSA, CIA and FBI, are playing in an entirely new arena." Creswell, sitting to her right, simply grunted in agreement. "And most of us haven't got the first clue as to what we're up against. Yet here you are, Miss Andersen, someone who's litigated for those exact ... people, you know how they operate. How they think. If you survive the training, you could become a valuable asset to the Bureau."
If she survived the training? Well, wasn’t this shaping up to be a colorful little adventure. Jill quirked her eyebrow at that, oddly feeling the knot in her stomach start to go away. She knew she should’ve been at least nervous about the idea of not surviving her training, but for some reason, that didn’t bother her.
Maybe Wolfram & Hart had something to do with that. Spend enough time around the darkness, and it no longer phased you.
“I don’t have to kill anyone, do I?” she asked with a smirk. “I’m all for tough job interviews, but I wasn’t exactly keen on ‘kill your own father’ being on the agenda.”
And yet she did it anyway – further proof of how far she’d fallen over the years.
Rivers remained stoic while Creswell showed a smidgen of humanity by chuckling over Jill's Elektra comment.
The dossier was replaced now with a thick manual emblazoned with the Bureau's stamp. "Just like any Agent in the field, Miss Andersen, if the situation absolutely requires termination, then that's the call. But we in the FBI are here to uphold the law, prevent terrorism domestically," Rivers replied. “Where you're placed, if and when you graduate from the program, is to be decided. This isn't Project Integration. From now on, we play by the book."
By the book. Jill never really had played things by the book – mostly because she was fairly certain Wolfram & Hart didn’t even have a book. And if they did, it was really short and not exactly filled with rules.
Any job where you could literally decapitate co-workers and not get fired was quite the chaotic work environment.
“I appreciate the opportunity, really,” she said with a soft, professional smile. She felt surprisingly human, and the emotions were still something she was getting used to. “It’s a bit of a shock, to be honest, but … it beats wondering which colleague’s gonna try to kill me today.”
With that comment, Rivers cracked what (if you used a microscope) could be considered a smirk. "You'll need to remember the fugitives who might try to kill you tomorrow, Ms. Andersen."
Maybe her colleague interaction skills would be put to good use after all. Jill didn’t see herself making a career out of whacking co-workers – unless there was ever a case of a rogue agent causing all sorts of hell – but from what she gathered, that would be important in the nest day’s training.
“What does my training entail, exactly?” Jill wondered, not bothering to ask about payment. If it was anywhere near what the firm and Project Integration paid her, it was going to be more than plenty.
Rivers looked to his left outside the tinted window, seemingly unmoved as the world whizzed passed. The sedan pulled onto the freeway. "The moment you said yes, Ms. Andersen. Welcome to the FBI."
[NPC Agenta Rivers and Creswell were written by Paul.]