Identity - Rewritten

Chapter Twenty-Seven

May 2014

When Asha arrives at Diego and Mel's apartment, she finds only the latter, curled up on the couch around her phone. The door shuts a little louder than she anticipated, and Mel continues typing for a moment before finally looking up at Asha, who's shifting from foot to foot in the entryway.

"What's that?" Mel's eyes fall to the folder in Asha's hand.

The taller agent makes her way to the couch, holding it out like an olive branch. "I went back through my case file and finished profiling our kidnapper," she supplies, when Mel doesn't reach out to take it. "Some of the details were incongruous, so I think we're dealing with at least two people. I started a profile for the second person as well."

Mel nods, and takes the file from her. She places it at her right, without bothering to open it, and refocuses her attention on her phone. Asha just watches her, immobile, and after two more texts Mel looks back up. Her dark eyes are accusatory.

"What?"

Asha purses her lips, and then sits on the couch, body turned in Mel's direction. The file aids in keeping a large, comfortable distance between them.

"Can't we just try to get along?" she finally asks, expression clouded and gravity pulling hard at her lips.

Mel cocks a brow and turns off her phone, hands wrapping tight around the screen. "I'm not the one with the problem," she replies, tilting her head. Her bottle blonde hair spills over her shoulder.

"That's not true." Asha stiffens, back rigid and tight. She forces out a defense, despite the fact that her lips are unwilling allies, her words halting and unsure. "You undercut me at every turn. And you suggested the Red Op without my okay."

"Because if I didn't force my opinion on you, you wouldn't take it." Mel's mouth is twisted into a snarl now, top lip exposing her perfect, white teeth. She shakes her head when Asha says nothing, and moves to stand, but Asha stop her with a hand to her wrist.

Asha just gapes, at a loss for words, and Mel scoffs. "You're still mad about London. You don't take me seriously as an agent."

Realization dawns on Asha's face, and she leans back, pressing her body into the couch cushions. "Can you blame me?" she finally asks, as Mel settles back into her seat.

Mel crosses her arms. "Yes, Asha, I can," she says, her tone biting. "I made one mistake– there hadn't been any moves on Smythe in over a month, and I was going crazy. So, yeah, when Diego passed through town, I met up with him, and yeah, it almost screwed up the whole mission. I get it." She shakes her head again. "But since that day you have never seen me as anything other than that mistake. I am good at what I do, and I can help you, but you refuse to see that because you've already made up your fucking mind about me."

For the second time in five minutes, Asha Mannan is speechless.

Every moment since she'd met up with Jean-Claude in Paris flashes through her mind– seeing Mel's page in the file, deciding the mission would be disaster, the drop of her stomach to her toes the second that Mel first walked into the Bunker. Had she really looked smug, or had Asha just been projecting her expectations? Was her behavior really that awful, or just a self-fulfilling prophecy?

Obviously, Mel is much better at reading Asha than Asha is at reading Mel, because she nods as if to say my job here is done. She stands, and heads toward the hallway behind them, presumably in the direction of her bedroom. Asha can only watch her go, hands pressed to her churning stomach.

Mel pauses just as she reaches the hallway, and turns back to Asha, her expression sliding into something halfway between understanding and pity. "Look," she says, and sighs. She glances away from a second, and then refocuses her gaze on Asha, shoulders drooping. "I'm not one to talk about being judgemental, or not giving people the benefit of the doubt. If you–" She hesitates, teeth between her lips as she searches for the right words. "If you can get over London, then I'd be willing to get over this. I'd like to, in fact."