Walter Beckett has been in the spy agency in Washington working with his partner Lance Sterling for three years. They are now both older and have improved themselves over the tasks they faced and the lesson that they've learned.
(Y/N) is the enemy...
There was a tap. A quiet tap that almost echoed as the drops of water fell onto the cold stone grave.
Then another followed.
And another.
The rain sung a peaceful song of sorrow, dampening the soil around him and blending in with his tears. It left the cemetery more miserable than it usually was. All he saw was a grayscaled area of despair.
Walter stared at the grave in front of his. Its stone was somewhat new and the flowers from his last visit remained there, withering. He expected it to be taken by the wind, and just in case it did, he brought more.
He placed the lilacs down gently near his mother's grave, brushing his soaked hair back.
"Hey, mom. . . I saw dad for the first time in years. He didn't come for the funeral but--" he swallowed, "h-he wanted to talk to me. . . but it didn't really go well. I was kind of a jerk. . . I miss you, mom."
There was a girl to his left a few feet away, who looked about the same age as he was; but her face was emotionless. Her head hung as she kneeled down next to a gravestone.
Walter was seventeen at the time, and he wasn't very confident at that age. He hesitated to talk to others around him. He couldn't help but relate to the kneeling girl; he too didn't know how to feel, and he barely had anyone to turn to. Walter didn't shed a single tear at the funeral, it was only after when the feelings came flooding to him. He drove home with a blurry vision from him sobbing and nearly had to pull over.
A lady entered through the gates of the graveyard, her hair looked similar to the girl's. She was wearing a heavy raincoat and carried a small purple umbrella.
"(Y/N)" She called out.
Walter quickly cocked his head back towards his mother's grave as the girl ran passed him towards the lady. His clothes were soaked by then when they took their leave. He hardly sees anyone visit the cemetery, but he remembers seeing this girl a couple of times before. Perhaps he'll try to talk to her sometime. . .
He stood there, his eyes tired and hair unkempt. The tapping grew heavier and louder the longer he stared at the name "Wendy Beckett"
Louder it grew.
Tap.
Patter.
Tap.
PATTER.
TAP. . . . . . WALTER
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