[color=1a7b30]>0724
>FairFax County, Virginia 
>Avaline Moore residence[/color]

A paw tapping her forehead roused Ava from her sleep and making her blearily squint open her eyes, staring up at the blurred image of her cat. He was perched on the small shelf above her bed that she built for him so he wouldn’t settle his 20 pounds of Norweigian muscle and fluff on her face while she slept. He let out a low, rumbling ‘mrow’ when he saw she was awake and she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. “I’ll feed you Thor.” She croaked out, rolling over to the side of the bed and forcing herself to sit up. 

She picked up her glasses from her bedside table and placed the large, circular black frames on her face. Next she picked up her phone and tapped at the screen to pull up an app that said ‘Alfred’. “Alfred,” She said into her phone with a yawn. “Is coffee ready?”

There was a soft chime and then a synthetic male voice replied from the speakers around her room, “Coffee is ready.”

“Good.” She stood up and shuffled on bare feet out of her bedroom, hearing her brown tabby and white cat jump onto the bed and then the floor to follow her. “Any activity on the outside security cameras?” She asked into her phone and then stuffed it into the giant pouch of the large cloud soft, rainbow pastel sweater she wore to bed.

“Activity log. Raccoon detected on west perimeter fence at 2:17 am. Deer detected in backyard at 4:38 am. Neighbor, Mrs. Grier, detected outside east perimeter fence at 6:21 am. End of activity log.”

“Probably taking her dog out to use the bathroom.” Ava noted to herself as she walked through her small, one story colonial style home. It was two bedrooms, two and a half baths and it still felt like more space than she needed. She had long turned the second bedroom into a home office and her garage into a hobby space where she tinkered away on a few side projects she had going on. Her car sat parked underneath an awning she had built on the side of the house.

She entered into the front area of the house which was an open floor plan that gave her a view from the kitchen of the den and the living room as well as the front door. It was meant to make the small house seems larger than it actually was, and while it was filled with tasteful, modern furniture of soft, neutral blues and greys; it felt empty at times to Ava. 

Ava pulled her phone back out and spoke into it, “Alfred, how many messages do I have?”

“You have, 58 unread messages.” The flat voiced computer assistant replied back via speakers installed in the corners of her home.

“Read them please.” Ava requested and set the phone down on the counter and went about filling a bowl with cat food for Thor. She scratched the giant cat on the head as he chowed down, half listening to Alfred read out the messages that had accumulated while she slept. They were all work related, follow ups asking how the raw data sifting was going, confirmations that reports had been received and a few emails from coworkers in other departments asking for her assistance on something. 

While her main job was to dig through raw data to look for nuggets of information that would be useful to the CIA or the Program; it wasn’t uncommon for her to help in other departments. There was a lot of cross department mingling that went on when it came to the tech aspect of intelligence gathering. Sometimes someone needed fresh eyes in order to help solve a problem with a particular code or why the design for a new stealth drone wasn’t working properly. She helped others and had received help from others on more than a few occasions.

“Subject: Stranger Things Viewing Party.” Alfred suddenly read out and that caught her attention as she was pouring her coffee. He continued to read the body and as the subject line stated, it was an invitation from a work acquaintance to come watch a few episodes of the new season of Stranger Things. 

Ava frowned down at the black liquid staring back at her from inside a cute owl ceramic mug painted in twilight pastels, a gift from her neighbor, Mrs. Grier. Her immediate response to the invitation was to recoil, a spike of anxiety hitting her chest at the idea of attending a social gathering. 

Who would be there? Would she know anyone besides the host? It was going to be a casual setting, they probably didn’t want to talk about work. Shit, what would she be able to talk to them about? Not the show, that’s for sure, she had never watched the previous seasons before. Would she have to watch them in order to attend? 

She really didn’t want to, she was afraid it would reflect the reality of her work with The Program too closely. And she didn’t need a reminder of her own strange experiences…

A shiver went down her spine and her heart started racing faster. “Medicine.” She reminded herself and quickly left the kitchen to head for her bathroom back through her bedroom. Alfred continued reading out her emails and messages, but the mechanical voice was white noise as she opened her medicine cabinet and grabbed her bottle of Klonopin. She shook two pills out into her hand and took them, swallowing them down with the help of a glass of water she kept on her bathroom counter for just this reason.

Immediately she began to calm down, not because the pills worked that fast but the comfort in having taken them was enough to ease away the beginnings of a panic attack.

She braced her hands on the sink and took in deep, slow breaths as her heart began to settle down. After a few moments she shut the medicine cabinet and looked at her own reflection. Bright blue eyes beneath the large frames of her glasses stared back at her, small bags under them from countless nights where she didn’t take her sleep medication in order to keep working.

She ran her hand over one pale and freckle covered cheek, her skin warm to the touch and not clammy or sweaty. That was a good sign and helped her breathe easier. 

If the idea of a party had this kind of affect on her, how would she react in the middle of one? Wouldn’t that make for fun office scuttle butt, Avaline Moore, the girl that went to MIT at 10, having a panic attack in the middle of a simple social gathering. 

She looked up at her hair in the mirror and scrunched her small nose, choosing to focus her frustration on that ball of tangles than her inability to socialize. Her hair was a complete mess, the bright red curls and waves that fell down to the middle of her back were going to be a pain to brush; they always were. 

“Subject: Report to Agent Stark’s Office today at 1000. No body of email.” Alfred suddenly said, bringing her back from her moment of reflection and back to reality. She frowned, Agent Gregory Stark was who she reported to whenever she did work for the Program. It wasn’t unusual for her to be called in to report on her days off, The Program didn’t believe in such mortal concepts, but it still made her stomach twist with dread. It was never a positive thing when The Program came knocking unexpectedly. Luckily, she just took her anxiety medicine. 

It was only 7:30 in the morning, so she had time which meant she wouldn’t need to skip out on her breakfast with Mrs. Grier. There was that, at least she wouldn’t be missing out on sharing breakfast with her friend. She would need a bit of easy conversation to get her through her meeting with Gregory. She sighed and left her bathroom, heading to the kitchen to drink her coffee so she could get dressed.

///

Ava walked the dozen or so feet from her house to Mrs. Diane Grier’s front yard, Thor wearing a harness attached to a leash and walking alongside her. She smiled as she looked and admired her neighbor’s beautiful garden, lovingly tended to with blooming flowers, bright green grass and cute lawn ornaments. 

Usually when she stopped by for breakfast, she was dressed casually, but since she intended to head straight to work after she had dressed appropriately for the office. A high waisted, soft blue pleated skirt was worn over a pair of white stockings with black, flat heeled mary janes on her feet. It was warm, even this early in the morning so she wore a light weighted, lilac colored blouse with the intention of throwing a sweater over it when she got to the office. She had brushed her hair and managed to battle the unruly locks into a proper and professional bun.

She reached the porch and chuckled hearing Mrs. Grier’s dog barking excitedly on the other side. She looked down at Thor and saw the cat unphased by the sounds as he was used to them and he knew he was bigger than the dog making the racket. Shaking her head, she reached out and rang the doorbell, then stepped back to wait for the door to open.

“Daisy!” the woman’s voice came from just behind the door, “That’s enough, I know you’re excited.” 

She was talking as she opened the door, Mrs Grier then smiled down at the younger woman. She was in her early seventies, her once dark brown hair now entirely gray and she had given up on trying to mask it. The widow still had a trim figure and elegant features, a twinkle in her hazel eyes as she greeted Ava. 

“Come in, dear,” she said, stepping back. She was dressed in casual white slacks and floral blouse, pearl earrings in place. Every inch a US Navy Captain’s wife still, even after a decade without her husband.

The fat wrinkled pug bounced up to Ava, curled tongue lolling out to greet her and Thor. Daisy snuffled and jumped up on her stumpy hind legs, the curled tail wiggling back and forth. 

“Yes, yes, your friends are here,” Mrs Grier said, “Daisy get down, let them come inside.” She turned to go back to the kitchen, speaking over her shoulder “How are you this morning?” 

The inside of the house was tidy, with pale lace curtains and antique furniture, the curio full of oddities collected from Navy ports around the world. Framed photos of family hung on the wall; wedding shots of Diane and Walter Grier, her in white and he in his uniform. Pictures of their children and grandchildren, now scattered across the US. Older photos of dead relatives and a few framed oil paintings depicting the sea. 

The kitchen was bright, the soft morning sun pouring through the sliding glass door and the round table had a white lace linen tossed over it and fine china set. It was their tradition, Mrs Greir and Ava, grown up tea parties and elegant breakfasts on the weekends. There was a pot of tea and plate of english muffins toasted and buttered, just waiting for orange marmalade to be spread on them. 

“I’m good.” Ava answered softly as she walked inside and shut the door behind her. She crouched down to unclip the leash from Thor’s harness, taking a moment to scratch Daisy on the head and smiling as the pug licked her fingers. “I won’t be able to stay long.” She said, standing up with a sheepish and apologetic look on her heart shaped face. “I have to go in to work in a few hours.”

“Oh?” Mrs Greir looked up from the frittata she removed from the oven, the smell of bacon and melted cheese wafting out of the kitchen. “Oh that’s too bad, but sit, we’ll have ourselves a nice breakfast at least. Did you want some juice or water or will the tea suffice?” 

“Tea is good, thank you.” Ava smiled as she walked over and sat down at the table. She watched Daisy jump around Thor as the cat, bigger by a solid 8 pounds than the pug, sat on the floor, seemingly disinterested in the presence of the dog. She looked away and leaned over the table, sniffing the fresh cut orange daylilies sitting in a vase on the table. 

Her breakfasts with Mrs. Greir were easily her favorite thing about her move to Fairfax County. Actually, just having a friend in Mrs. Greir was the best thing about turbulent time in her life 2 years ago. She didn’t know if she would have been able to survive that first week, the trauma of her nocturnal episode still fresh in her mind, without Mrs. Greir. 

The southern matron had a lot of stories to tell, advice to give and didn’t mind that Ava preferred listening to talking. Sitting in the warm kitchen, with the smell of food in the air and another person around was comforting. It didn’t feel as empty as her home next door.

“So,” She said, clearing her throat, suddenly nervous as she thought about the unexpected email she received. “I got an invitation from a coworker to attend a viewing party for Stranger Things.”

Mrs Greir poured them both tea in dainty eggshell thin porcelain teacups, painted with delicate flowers and rimmed in gold. They had been her own grandmother’s china, witnesses to thousands of conversations over the generations. “Well, that sounds like fun. I saw some of that show, the first season. It was good, it reminded me of the Stephen King novels from the 80s.”

She watched Ava as she put out the tiny jar of sugar and then set the english muffin on her plate, an indication Ava should start eating. Mrs Greir moved back to the kitchen to cut portions of the frittata, a breakfast indulgence full of cheese and eggs, spinach and bacon. She brought these back out and set them on the table, “Are you going to go?” 

The older woman smiled slightly, perching on her chair with her tea cup in hand as she observed her friend.

Ava hesitated, thinking over how to explain herself. It always took her awhile to properly articulate how she was feeling into words. “I...don’t think so.” She answered slowly, picking up her tea with dainty practice and taking a sip. “I’ve never seen the show and I’m not sure I would like it.” She said, placing the tea cup back down. “Also, I don’t think people would like talking about work at a social gathering.” She picked up her own english muffin and started putting it marmalade on the warm bread.

“Then don’t talk about work, dear,” Mrs Greir replied in her soft southern accent. “If you don’t like the show, just nod and smile, pick a few things you like and keep it simple. Trust me, that has gotten me through so many dinner parties.”

“...The only thing I know about it is that it has something to do with waffles.” She said, a helpless expression on her face. 

Mrs Greir laughed gently, her eyes bright with humor, “Oh dear, you can do better than that. Ava, darling, you are an intelligent girl. What is it that you work on again? Your tools of the trade so to speak?” 

“Software and technology in general.” She answered with a small shrug. “But, those are easy. It’s just numbers and putting bits of metal together.” She took a bite of her english muffin, embarrassed by her lack of social tact. “People aren’t as easy.” She continued after finishing her bite of muffin. 

“No they aren’t, but you have tools,” Mrs Greir reminded her, “If you don’t know something, you research it, correct? You have technology at your fingertips, and you in particular should know this. Just Google the show, read the wiki page. You don’t really care about spoilers, so you’ll at least be up to date on the main storyline. Look, when I had to attend those dinner parties with the wives of admirals and senators and all sorts of people that I may or may not have liked and I had to be the gentile Navy officer’s wife and a polite, entertaining conversationalist. I always prepared myself, so I wouldn’t bore the wrong person or anger another. And you have so much more information at hand these days.” 

Mrs Greir sat back, sipping her tea, looking at Ava. “You can do this, if you want. Does any part of you want to go?”

That’s exactly what Ava was afraid of. Upsetting one of her coworkers by accident and then it affecting any future work they had together. It was just a fact that eggheads needed the help of other eggheads from time to time and in their line of work, in order to get the best results, there needed to be cross department cooperation. Ava was fine interacting with people at work because there was always work to discuss and the complexity of their work never lead to any awkward lulls. 

She didn’t have that kind of luxury in social gatherings about a television show.

Ava frowned down at her food, searching her emotions as she thought it over. “Emotionally? No.” She answered with a sigh. “But, logically, I know that it’s important to maintain healthy social bonds with your coworkers.” She looked up at Mrs. Greir, so calm and composed, conversation coming so easy to her. Ava wished she was like that. “And, I know that I should have friends my own age because that’s what’s healthy.”

“Is it?” she asked then tilted her head, “I find that whatever age a friend should be someone you trust and who supports you, not because it is what is expected. I suppose others might see our friendship as weird, filling in for a lost grandparent or child. But you do need friends with whom you share experiences with from your own age group. Is there anyone attending this party that you are interested in getting to know?”

Her gaze held Ava as she spoke, looking past the large glasses to the blue eyes. She fell quiet to let her answer, going back to eating her breakfast. Mrs Greir was never a big eater and as she got older, her appetite waned. She was nearly halfway through the slice of frittata and she put her fork down. 

Ava knitted her eyebrows together and poked her untouched frittata with her fork. “I don’t know who is going, I do know the host though. She’s helped me on a few projects and seems nice, I guess that’s why she invited me.”

“Well, there you go, she wants you there,” Mrs Greir smiled, then sipped her tea. “Maybe they want to get to you know you, too? You know, Ava, it’s alright to want to be alone, to enjoy being alone and doing things alone but we are social creatures at heart. I spent many days, weeks, months even alone when Walter was overseas. I learned to enjoy my solitude, I understand. But we still need other people, loneliness infects this world, even with all the technology.” 

She looked over at Ava, then out the sliding glass door into the green backyard, the hedges and fence that bordered it. “You are still very young, you have so much life and I don’t want you to waste it trapped by fear. Now you can tell me to mind my own business, I won’t be offended.” 

“I would never say that to you.” Ava said with a concerned frown, anxiety briefly spiking through her. Why would Mrs Greir think she would say something like that? Ava didn’t think she had been short with her before when she gave advice. Had she been and she just didn’t remember or realize it? 

Realizing her thoughts were going to start piling on if she focused any longer on that phrase, she focused back on the conversation at hand. “I’ll...think about it. I have time to RSVP.” She finally dug her fork into her frittata and took a bite. “This is delicious.” She said with a smile and a not so subtle way to change the subject.

Mrs Greir nodded, then smiled, “I found the recipe online, but if anyone asks it was handwritten in my kitchen tome of ancestral recipes. The venerable old Savannah, Georgia style [i]fritatta[/i].” 

With a gentle laugh, the older woman looked at the leftovers on her small plate and then at Daisy who was watching with the bug eyed look all pugs had. “I know I shouldn't spoil her anymore than I do, but it’s only going to go in the trash.” 

With a snap of her fingers, Mrs Greir suddenly stood up, “That reminds me, I’ll never finish the rest of this food, let me wrap it up for you and you can share it at work since you have to go in unexpectedly.” 

“Oh, okay! That’s very nice of you, thank you.” Ava said with a surprised, but happy smile. She looked down at Daisy and laughed seeing Thor peeking around the corner, looking intently at the breakfast table. “You definitely don’t get any table scraps.” She told the cat, then took another few bites of her food and washing it down with the tea before it got too cold. “I should get going soon anyway, I don’t want to hit traffic and security getting into the office is always slow.”

Mrs Greir wrapped the leftover frittata in heavy foil then put it in a large tupperware bowl along with the cut up cantaloupe and strawberries they did not finish in a smaller dish. “Here, make sure you share this, it’ll be a nice surprise for those working on this lovely Saturday morning.” 

She handed the stacked tupperware to Ava, then reached up and smoothed a wild curl that had come free from the young woman’s bun. “There, ready to face the world. Or at least the Beltway.” 

Ava blushed but smiled at the grandmotherly gesture. It made her think of her own grammy, hundreds of miles away in Rhode Island. She stood up and gave the taller woman a hug. “I need all the luck I can get with the Beltway.” She laughed.

“That you do, dear,” Mrs Greir said as she walked Ava to the door, then glanced over at Daisy and Thor, the cat pretending not to be interested in the pug’s antics, licking his paw and grooming behind his ear. When he thought the women were not looking, he bat curiously at the dog’s curly wagging tail, then turned away again.

Ava looked back at Thor. “Oh, almost forgot about him.” She said. “Um, let me just get his leash.” 

“Why not just leave Thor with me, I will be out in the garden the rest of the morning, he can keep us company. He loves stalking around in there,” Mrs Greir offered, holding the door for a moment. “He might enjoy a change of pace, rather than being left alone in the house.” 

“If you’re sure.” Ava said slowly, looking at the large feline skeptically. “You leave the birds alone.” She told the cat firmly. “I’m not going to have my cat be responsible for destroying the local ecosystem of the neighborhood.”

With a soft chuckle, Mrs Greir glanced at the pair and said, “Don’t worry, with Daisy there he won’t get the chance to find birds. She chases them with no hope of catching any. Bless her heart.”  

She stepped outside with Ava, then closed the door behind them. “Be safe driving, and don’t go worrying about things that don’t need to be worried over.”  

Ava nodded, smiling up at her warm and kindly face. “Okay, don’t be afraid to put Thor in time out.” She said jokingly as she stepped down off the porch. “I’ll let you know when I’ll be home.” She told her as she walked down the path with the left overs balanced in her hands.

“I raised three sons and a daughter, don’t worry,” Mrs Greir said, watching until Ava crossed back into her own yard before going inside.

[color=1a7b30]LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
THE PROGRAM HEADQUARTERS,
CIA HEADQUARTERS
0957HRS...///[/color]

Almost 18 years with the Program had made Supervising Special Agent Gregory Stark of Homeland Security Investigations a man with little patience for anything less than the best. As long as the best was what he deemed the best in his eyes. Viewing his gray head of hair with resentment as yet another sign his body was reminding him he would not be in the field again for the Program nor HSI’s Field Intelligence Groups, he relegated himself to watching over the Office of Logistics’ day to day activities like Big Brother. His own hatred of micro-management kept him from committing the grave sin. That, and frequent golfing trips to secure deals with important people for the purpose of furthering The Program’s standing in the US Intelligence Community, a place where even the Program was viewed with suspicion for being blacker-than-black in the eyes of even the NSA.

And now he had gotten word that the Director of Logistics and the Director of Operations, plus that grizzled, smug little prick Steven Foster from the CIA had cut a deal for an urgent transfer on the Black Slab Case. He wore his disgust plainly for that CIA asshole Foster and his fast and loose lapdog Joseph Donnelley, an even bigger, more grizzled, more smug prick from those cowboys in the Special Activities Center here in Langley.

When a knocking came at his door, he didn’t hesitate for it to show in his voice either, because they had come calling like reapers to take from him one of the best analysts and technicians he had, “Get the hell in here, Moore!”

Outside the door Ava jumped and her immediate instinct was to apologize and quickly leave the area. She clamped down on that urge however, since the inclusion of her last name informed her that yes, she was supposed to be there. Stark sounded angry and her mind raced through what she could have done wrong to earn his ire. She had filed her reports on time. She was on schedule with all her work and he cleared her to help in other departments with their projects.  

Her palms broke out into a nervous sweat as she turned the knob and slowly poked her head inside; her eyes wide from underneath her large glasses, making her seem even more like a spooked deer. Her throat tightened up as she tried to speak, forcing her to clear it before asking, “You wanted to see me sir?”

“Uh Huh.” Greg Stark nodded as he gestured to a chair at his desk, his icy blue eyes locked on hers, “You’re with that Contractor, Booz-Allen? Analyst?”

“They ever put you in a Blacksite? A FOB? Foreign Station at an Embassy in Bumfuck, Nowhere-stan, even?” Greg Stark’s questions peppered Ava like birdshot.

Ava hesitantly entered the office, making her way to the chair and looking more and more confused with each question from her supervisor. “Oh, uh, yes and yes. Um, no, no and no.” She answered as she reached the chair and sat down in it, smoothing the bottom of her skirt forward so it didn’t wrinkle. 

She sat in the chair with a ramrod straight back and her legs tucked to the side, her hands curled into fists on her lap. “I’m sorry sir, have I done something wrong? Was my last report insufficient?” She asked, her brows knitted together in pure confusion. 

Stark sighed, his fingers brushing the thick-rimmed glasses further up his nose as he pinched the bridge. He collected himself, taking a couple more breaths and folding his hands out in front of himself. “Of course not, Ava, you’re one of the best things Booz-Allen could’ve given us.” He said in an almost father-like tone, knowing none of this was Moore’s fault and putting aside his anger for now. And knowing people usually responded better to bad news if it wasn’t being yelled in their face. “You’re familiar with what the Office of Operations does?”

Ava relaxed slightly when she was given the clear on the quality of her work. That was a relief, though the line of questioning she received still kept her tense, unsure where the direction of this meeting was going. “I am sir.” She answered with a nod of her head. “Do you need me to go through some raw data they collected in the field? Or do I need to take a look at their system software to make sure it’s secure?” She asked, her shoulders relaxing slightly more as her mind ran through the work possibilities, making notes on what might be needed, how she could fit that into her work schedule.

Stark’s eyes darted to the left for a moment before started nodding. She was on the right trail, at least, “Uh Huh,” He smiled, his lips pressed tight in a humorless line, “Yeah. In West Virginia. For Case Officer Steve Foster. [i]In the field.[/i]”

“This is going to be an active case, part of an international one. It’s sapping away a lot of manpower and we’ve got shit on the backburner that shouldn’t be there.” He said, almost justifying it for himself more than Moore, “If I can offer you up to the Working Groups out in the field, I will. You’re one of our best bets.”

“After all, you’re tied to this place and what’s…” he stopped, remembering that part of her file may have been particularly sensitive to Ava. The dreams. “They need you. Steve Foster requested you [i]by name[/i].” He paused, remembering that Foster did ask for her, but in the way he’d ask for a certain waitress. ‘You know, that mousy one.’

“You’re going to report to Working Group UMBRA in Blackriver county. Office of Logistics have already provided you the work funds you’ll need for anything there, and a rental you can use to drive.” He smiled again. Still no humor in it. Maybe condolences.

As he spoke, the rapid track of thought in Ava’s mind grew increasingly quiet until her mind was silent. She stared at Agent Stark, as though he had switched to a foreign language in the middle of their conversation. 

Like the flip on a light switch, a cold sweat broke out along the edge of her hairline and her hands started to shake. Her mind flashed through the key points of what Agent Stark just said. 

West Virginia. Field work. Working group UMBRA. West Virginia. Field Work. Working [i]fucking[/i] group UMBRA.

She took in a deep breath and moved one hand up to play with the silver pendant worn openly on her creamy, peach colored sweater. She ran her thumb over the embossed image of The Archangel Michael, slaying the Devil and the latin words engraved around the image. It provided her a spark of comfort and she focused on the image pressing against her thumb to bring her back to the conversation.

She opened her mouth and a squeak came out. She shut her lips and swallowed thickly, then parted them to try again. “S-sir, you know I’m not a field Agent.” She finally said, her voice far softer than she had intended it to be.

“Yet.” Stark said, simply. “Office of Operations has already finalized the paperwork. Your transfer forms came in an hour ago.”

He slid a piece of paper from a corner of his desk, a form that may as well have been a contract to a career black hole. A contract with the very devil on her pendant. Office of Operations personnel were known to be unruly JSOC cowboys and the only place for them elsewhere was the Office of Security as Safehouse guards and the quiet little hands that arrived to tie up loose ends after an operation.

That was not, nor ever would be, what Stark saw Ava Moore as. Even so, “Please initial and date here,” he pressed a finger on a blank line before moving it to another at the very bottom, below two other signatures belonging to the Director of Operations and the Director of Logistics, “And date and signature here. Please.”

Ava took in a deep breath and squeezed her pendant in her hand. It felt like she was signing her own death certificate. She picked up the pen sitting on the desk and quickly read over the document, her eyes flashing across the page and absorbing the information for her to likely obsess over later. Line by line, word by word, letter by letter.

She wanted to fight this transfer, wanted to just say no, get up and leave and go back to the safety of her office and the cool detachment of raw data and lines of code. But she knew Gregory Stark, perhaps not personally, but she knew and understood how the man worked and viewed his work.

If he had been able to stop this, he would have.

She signed the paperwork, her hand steadying as a cold numbness washed over her. Hopefully she could keep it together until she was in the privacy of her own home, where she could have a quiet and civilized mental break down. 

She set down the pen when she finished and continued to run her fingers over her pendant. “When do I need to leave, where and who do I report too?” She asked him, her voice buzzing in her ears with the hollow words she spoke. 

“Thank you, Ava.” Stark said, his voice like he was reading her epitaph. “You’re doing us good. You’ll be safe out there, they know what they’re doing, these guys.”

“As for who you’ll report to,” Stark reached into a drawer and produced a phone, placing it in front of Ava, “There’s only two numbers on this phone. This will be your direct line to Steve Foster, your Case Officer. Joseph Donnelley is Working Group UMBRA’s team lead. A good man. I like him.”

That was complete and unfiltered bullshit coming from Stark, whose few interactions with Donnelley and Foster, both inside the Program’s tucked away corner of Langley and outside of it were hard stares and stilted conversations. Donnelley in particular had once called him an uptight prick with no sense of scope of just how important and secretive Donnelley’s operations were and had to stay. “Make sure Foster knows you’re coming, and tell Donnelley too. Those Working Groups are paid to be suspicious of everybody they don’t know.”

Ava nodded, picking up the phone with her free hand and looking it over suspiciously. “I’ll be sure to give them each a call.” She agreed, slipping the phone into a pocket in her skirt. “Does...it matter when I call them?” She asked him hesitantly. “How do I know it’s a good time?”

“You know as well as I do that the Program doesn’t give a shit. If you’re going to work with these guys, they don’t give a shit when you call them.” Stark shrugged. “Your ETA should be ASAP. They don’t like waiting.”

Ava nodded, briefly looking down at the pendant she was fiddling with. She read over the latin phrase inscribed on the edges, the corner of her mouth briefly ticking upwards and then looked up at Agent Stark; her eyes screaming with uncertainty. But she tried to keep a professional composure. “Thank you sir, it’s been a pleasure working with you.” She said, standing up and not so subtly making sure her hand was dry before holding it out to him to shake. 

“Likewise, Ava.” Stark said, about as much sentimentality as he was willing to show as he gave the only genuine smile and concern for what he’d just sent Ava off to do, “Good luck, you’ll do great out there.”

Ava returned his smile, appreciating the lie. Maybe she should have tried to get to know Agent Stark better? “Thank you sir. Am I dismissed for the day? I have some things I need to get into order before I leave.” She hoped Mrs. Greir wouldn’t mind looking after Thor for awhile longer, maybe she should call Foster sooner than later. Or the team lead, if Stark liked him then maybe it’d be easier to talk to him first.

The weight of the phone in her pocket suddenly felt heavier than it had any right to be.

“Go ahead, just make it quick.” Stark tapped his forehead in a quick salute before Ava left.

She returned the salute, awkwardly, unsure if it was the right thing to do. It seemed like it was polite wasn’t it? She quickly turned around as her cheeks started to turn red beneath her freckles and sped walk out of the office. 

It looked like she had a valid excuse to not go to that party.