Let False Excitement FloodMature

Sometimes, when she's coming back from an op, and adrenaline is still shooting through her veins, and there's blood crusted under her fingernails but it isn't from her side, she thinks that she remembers why she does this.

And then Ellen needs a tourniquet and she rips up a standard Agency t-shirt that she stole from a poor baby agent on the plane back to Base (field equipment and standard gear can be a pain in the ass, especially since most of it is made for protection). And she sees Derek flinch and she remembers that some of them are running from things.

Some of them are running from invisible ghosts.

And she saw Orenbach crumple the other day, fall to the ground in a secluded Agency hallway, and bend in half, moaning pitifully into the floor, "I can't do this anymore."

Andrea knows that most people don't work an eighty-hour week like Mortician does.

She knows that most people would be haunted by the sight of a dead body.

But when it's just some unknown civilian, she can allow herself to not care.

Its certainly easier than caring.

But when Eve stands in the Tank with her, the walls feeling like they're collapsing in Mocker's head, she can understand why some people cannot let their lives become their job.

But she will stand there, obsessing over what went wrong when the occasional clusterf*ck of a mission emerges. 

Until Eve sighs and holds out a hand. "Come on, let's go eat sh*tty bagels for lunch." 

And she can't bring herself to say no.

The End

59 comments about this story Feed