charlie west, also known as 'cactus the angry elf' (littledeadly) wrote in immune_ic,
It had been a weird night. No, strike that. It had been a weird month, and as usual, Charlie blamed her boss. The things she did for that man... Paulson was a good friend and, more than that, one of the only higher-up agents that would put up with her attitude. It was kind of an unspoken agreement between the two-- he listened to her when she gave him tactical advice or when she said shit like don't worry, I can hit him from here, and she listened to him when he told her to get her ass back in line or hold your goddamn fire, West, and I mean it.
That didn't mean she hadn't laughed in his face when he'd come to her with his idea-- the idea that she still found herself tangled up in. She wasn't an undercover agent, she'd told him, and she certainly wasn't about to do an unofficial, off-the-books investigation on a new transfer to the Boston office.
"Okay, Paulson, I like you and all so don't take this wrong but: Are you fucking insane, boss? We both could be out on our asses just for talking about this."
"I know, West. I know. But there's something wrong with him. I can't put my finger on it."
"So you're asking me to risk my career because of a half-assed hunch?"
"No. I'm asking you to go out on a few damn dates with a guy so I can see if he's got the back of my team."
"We all signed on for the same job, boss. We all know the risks."
"I know that. But IA won't give this a lick of attention--"
"No surprise there, they're all fucking idiots."
"--until I have some reason beyond my gut feeling. And last time I ignored my gut was when I sent you and Levalle after the Personal Ad Killer. So please, Charlie, for me, for my sake-- take Moore out on a date or two. Nothing serious."
"...fine. But you'd better have one of those new compact rifles on your next supply order for my hot little hands, or I'm gonna kick your ass.
And that was how she'd found herself led into the bar by a man very clearly dressed in FBI blacks-- suit, tie, badge. It served two purposes, Charlie knew. The first was that he was one of the on-call supervisors for tonight, which meant he had to be ready to leave at the first beeper page. The second, Charlie had discovered, was that he liked to flaunt his position of power. Real nice, she thought. She was more of a cargo-pants-and-a-tank-top kind of girl, but Moore had told her to wear something nice, so she'd put on jeans and a leather jacket. That had earned her a bit of a tirade in the car on the way, and she'd snapped back that she was a grown woman and she could make her own fashion choices, thank you.
He'd just given her that creepy smile and stated: "You're so fiery, little doll. I love a challenge."