Butter Pecan #5, Watermelon #16
Author: winebabe
Title: The Chance of a Lifetime
Story: LNOVERKILL
Rating: PG
Flavor(s): Butter Pecan #5: rough; Watermelon #16: you’ll never know the difference
Wordcount: 1318
Summary: It’s just the same as starting any normal job. (Reilly begins his work for the CIA.)
Notes: Reilly Desmarais, Gregory Butler, Madelyn Gauthier. Mid-July, one year pre-canon storyverse. (PS. Mods! Do I get an author's tag soon? c: )
“Here we are,” the man--Reilly wasn’t sure whether to call him Mr. or Agent Butler--announced as he pulled off the highway and onto a side street leading into what looked like some kind of collection of corporate buildings. They passed a few groups of buildings before finally pulling into a small parking lot.
“Where exactly is ‘here’?” Reilly asked. It wasn’t as though he’d been sitting in the back of a van with a bag over his head, but the whole trip had seemed far more secretive than necessary. He knew there had to have been a straight path to wherever it was they’d ended up, but Gregory Butler had slipped on and off of back roads, never traveling on the highway for more than a mile or two at a time.
“Your new place of work,” Butler replied with a smile. He made no move to turn the car off, and Reilly noted that the man’s foot was on the brake instead of putting the car into park. “We’ll be watching you, Reilly, and will be in contact routinely for updates on your progress. From here on out, though, you’ll be on your own. As we’ve said, your involvement in this Project is meant to be independent.”
Reilly adjusted his glasses to sit higher on his nose, and lingered for a moment in the car. It had only been a few days since he’d been approached by two men in suits outside his last place of employment, and in the back of a car in the darkening parking lot was offered “the chance of a lifetime.” Their words, not his, although Reilly couldn’t deny the fact that he, to a degree, felt the same. To be entrusted with something of that magnitude--well, it was an honor.
There hadn’t been any kind of a question and answer portion during his few briefings, though, and Reilly was lacking clarity on a lot of issues. The one thing that was clear was that Butler was growing impatient, sighing quietly from the driver’s seat, and it was likely that none of his questions would have been answered.
“Is there anything else you need?” Butler asked, and that was the cue.
“Uh, no,” Reilly lied and reached for the door handle.
Butler smiled. “Good. Now, remember: it’s just like starting any new job.”
The car sped out of the parking lot as soon as Reilly was out, and he watched as it turned and accelerated down the side road, heading away from the highway. “Well then,” he said to himself and turned to face the building. The outside had the same thick, black numbers representing its address, but no other identifying markers or signs. Anyone driving by would have had no clue what the building’s purpose was, and it occurred to Reilly that it had to have been on purpose. The mystery surrounding his new assignment was less exciting than it was annoying, and with a resigned sigh, he made his way to the entrance.
The first set of double doors led into a small buffer room between the outside and inside, the overworked AC turning the space into a fridge. Through the second set of double doors, the inside of the building looked like the entrance to a hospital. There was a receptionist’s desk, a television mounted on the wall behind it, and one lone potted plant sitting off to the side. Past the desk was a hallway, but Reilly couldn’t see where it led, and when the receptionist walked into view and met his gaze through the glass, he figured it was time to enter.
“Hello,” the receptionist chirped as she circled around her desk. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Reilly replied and approached her desk. “My name is Reilly Desmarais, and I’m--”
“Oh, right!” the young woman interrupted, spinning her desk chair away from him and rifling through one of her drawers. “I have your things right here!”
“My things,” Reilly repeated, and watched as she pulled out a set of keys, which she slid across the desk top to him.
“These are yours, for your lab, your research space, your cabinets--basically anything you’d need access to.” She pointed out each individual key’s purpose, and then extended a hand to him with a smile. “I’m Madelyn Gauthier, come see me if you need anything.”
Reilly shook Madelyn’s hand and forced a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Gauthier.”
“Madelyn,” she corrected. “So, Dr. Desmarais, I’ll show you to your lab?” In one graceful motion, she rose from her chair and swiped the keys from the desk, her heels clicking against the tile as she walked around him and headed down the hallway to their left.
“I’m not a doctor,” Reilly told her, but if Madelyn heard him, she didn’t respond. Even in her heels, she moved quickly, and although he didn’t have a hard time keeping up with her he still felt lost as he trailed behind her through the building.
Madelyn turned right when the hallway split, and stopped in front of a door with a frosted glass window. “Here you are! 214.” She stuck the key in the lock and turned, stepping aside to hold the door for Reilly as he walked past her. “Everything in here is yours to use. They told you that, right? Your donors.”
Reilly took a moment to glance around the lab, savoring the sight of glinting stainless steel and pristine glass, state of the art technology and cabinets stocked full of anything he could possibly need. It would have been just as awe-inspiring if he’d been briefed in advance, but eventually he did have to turn back to Madelyn and admit, “No. My donors didn’t tell me anything.”
Madelyn raised her eyebrows. “You know why you’re here, don’t you?”
Reilly nodded. That much had been explained to him, of course--his purpose in working on some top-secret project. He’d heard the what, just not the how, where, or why. “It’s, uh, very need-to-know.”
“I wasn’t asking specifics,” Madelyn replied, and it struck Reilly that she must have been familiar with his sort of arrangement. “This lab runs on the funds given to us from generous donors who offer to fund the research of their chosen people. The space is rented out to those who can pay, supplied with everything they need, and the rest is up to the people, like you, who use the space.” It sounded like she had given the speech many times before, and he was grateful to actually receive some degree of information, however loosely it related to his specific case. “What you do here is none of my, or anyone else’s, business, Dr. Desmarais. We’re merely a vehicle for your research.”
“Thank you,” Reilly said. “That at least clears something up.”
“Of course.” Madelyn smiled again, and then handed over the key ring. “Like I said, if you need anything, I’ll be up front,” she chirped. “Welcome to your new space!” With that, she shut the door behind her and disappeared back into the hall.
Reilly hooked the key ring around one finger and took his time in wandering around his new lab space. He’d heard of spaces devoted specifically to research, of course, but had never heard of a building that rented out lab space to the highest bidder, or whatever it was they were doing. There were others already working in the building, and he was curious to know what they were working on. He seriously doubted he’d ever acquaint himself with anyone else, though. Working for the CIA didn’t really make socialization easy. There was a lot he wasn’t allowed to talk about, and he figured it would make for awkward conversations. “Oh,” Reilly grumbled as he took a seat on one of the stools set up in front of a long, steel table, “this is just like starting any other normal job.”