Clara Analise Johnson a 15 year old trained assassin is placed with the FBI's BAU team to use her spy skills for good. All she wants to do is make up for all the pain she has caused while keeping her secret from the team.
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Present Day
Clara was staying at an old safe house just outside DC, as small place but she couldn't really be picky. Over the past three weeks she had researched and surveyed the executioner's movements, he was getting closer and closer to DC with his men. She wouldn't let him hurt anyone else. The team had been close on her tail, Penelope had almost found her on numerous occasions at one point Clara even saw Derek and Rossi searching a shop she had been in moments prior. She wouldn't let them get hurt.
Clara pushed open the door of the small coffee shop, the scent of freshly brewed espresso and baked pastries hitting her senses immediately. She had been on the run for days, keeping a low profile and avoiding familiar places. This little shop, tucked away on a quiet street, seemed like the perfect spot to relax—if only for a moment.
As she stepped up to the counter, she noticed the barista—around her age, maybe a year or two older. His messy brown hair fell into his eyes as he worked, a charming, boyish smile on his face as he handed a drink to the customer in front of her. There was something about him that caught Clara off guard—a warmth and ease that made her feel less on edge than she had in days.
She stood there for a moment, lost in her thoughts, when the barista looked up, catching her eye.
"Hey there. What can I get for you?" His voice was friendly, casual, but it carried a genuine interest that made her pause.
"Uh, just an iced latte. Thanks," Clara replied, forcing a small smile.
The barista nodded and set to work, moving with a kind of practiced grace. As he turned back to her with the coffee, he smiled again, more softly this time. "Name for the cup?"
Clara hesitated, instinctively wanting to give a fake name. She hadn't used her real one in days, but something about this place—the boy standing in front of her—felt safe.
"Clara," she said quietly.
He scribbled her name on the cup and handed it to her with a slight grin. "I'm Beck, by the way. Let me know if you need anything else."
Clara sat by the window, her coffee untouched as she flipped through the pages of Little Women. The book had been her companion for years, one she returned to when she needed solace. Today was one of those days. She found herself lingering over passages about Amy, her favourite of the March sisters.
Beck, wiping down the counter, noticed Clara's familiar book. He wandered over, curiosity lighting up his expression.
"Little Women, huh?" he asked, leaning on the back of the chair across from her. "Jo's everyone's favourite, right?"
