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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Please, Dr. McEntire. . . If you would just listen--" Walter said, his palms pressed on the desk as he stood from the orange cushioned chair. He has told McEntire everything that has happened leading up to now; he told her about Alice and Lance; About the metal bugs and Columbus Avenue; About the Hunters and the moving bodies.
"I am listening, Beckett. I understand losing Sterling has made you feel lost. I promise you we will find him. But that doesn't give you an excuse to bring random folk here without saying a word. And to use the Simulation room as some sort of playground! How irresponsible! The rooms are for training! Not for some broadway show."
Walter shrunk back onto the cushions of the chair, smiling awkwardly as she scolded him. "I. . . Wasn't thinking. . . I'm sorry."
"I swear, you are becoming more and more like Sterling!"
"I-is that a good or bad thing?"
She sighed loudly and poured herself a cup of wine, then another for him. "I don't really know anymore," She said, sliding the small glass cup across the desk.
There was an abrupt sound coming from the corner near Dr. McEntire's computer. D.J. (Aka, Ears) was seated in a chair. He was trying to sort things out, maybe the computer was broken? Everyone knew D.J. was good with computers.
The small male quickly took out his phone from his pocket. It was no surprise he would have rock music as his ring tone; the guy loved music; Walter learned he played as a drummer in a band as well. He was quite a chill guy.
"Sorry dudes, have to take this, " D.J. said as he slid from the chair his feet dangled from. "Eeeyy bro, what's good? Ey Fuck you," He started walking towards the door, his cell phone to his ears. "I told you bro, now you got aids. We should hang though."
". . ." Dr. McEntire and Walter had the same 'What the fuck' look on their faces as D.J. shut the door.
Dr. McEntire cleared her throat and focused on Walter again, watching him pick up the small glass of wine and swirl the pure red liquid around.
Walter knew she had something in mind; spies weren't normally allowed to drink in the agency; they have very strict rules on that. And the fact that McEntire, one of the most important people of the Agency, poured him a glass was only frightening to him, but he drank all of it anyway, just to satisfy her. He liked it though; it ran smoothly down his throat, making him feel warm and fuzzy, unlike the strong vodka he had at home; it made him feel more confident and less stressed.
"I've finished our mission. . . When can I start to look for Lance? . . That's all I want to do right now, " Walter told her.
"Simple, " She said. "You won't."
Walter furrowed his brows as he watched her pour him another drink, more this time. The red liquid made a lovely sound as it hit the walls of the glass cup. He took it from her and held it. "What do you mean I won't?"
