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lady-bess · 3 days

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Fallout - Chapter 2 "A Curious Affair"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.3k Chapter Tags: Reader introduction, Statesman training, Reader is an Agent, Description of Exercise, Brief Description of Injury, Banter, Tequila is a joker (duh), Friendship, Nicknames, Implied Flirting, Discovery, Anger, Frustration, Bad News.

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<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 1 - Into The Ether)

You've been training with Statesman for four months under agents Tequila and Whiskey, but today's session got suddenly cut short. Worried, and curious as to why, you do your own investigation. What you find, however, was something not intended for your ears to hear.

1:43pm. February 8th, 2018.

“Come on, recruits, pick up the pace!” Agent Tequila shouted down the length of the training hall. This was your fifteenth lap, if memory served, and by now all of you were flagging. Even the fittest ones among you were struggling to continue with this drill, and you asked every God that might be above just how much longer Tequila was going to make you all suffer.

Still, you kept going. One foot in front of the other, breathing steady, heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to-

“Shit!” you cursed, tumbling down onto the ground, grazing your knee. You weren’t hurt badly, but after an intense few days of training topped off with this amount of running, your ankle just gave way from exhaustion. Turns out one of those Gods answered your prayers, although not at all in the way you wanted them to.

You hissed under your breath as you nursed your ankle, hoping you’d not actually sprained the damn thing. Your preliminary assessment had concluded that no, you hadn’t, and it had just twisted a bit funny on your last stride. Nothing major, but in a way that made it more embarrassing to have to explain.

Agent Tequila blew the whistle which hung around his neck, making everyone in the room come to a stop at various points around the four-hundred metre track. He jogged over to you, standing out like a sore thumb in a room full of Lycra-clad recruits, meanwhile he swanned around in his double denim ensemble, cowboy hat and boots to go with it. At first you’d thought it was ridiculous, but over the last five months you’d come to love it. There was a strange charm to the Statesman ‘uniform’.

“Y’allright?” he asked once he got to be by your side, kneeling down next to you. His strong hands gingerly moved your own fingers from your ankle, and he began giving the muscle and bone a quick assessment.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Tequila,” you said, then winced when he made your foot move in a different direction. His eyes moved from watching how your ankle moved up to yours, and he gave you a cheeky smile – one you’d seen him use on the receptionist of the brewery, and to absolutely no avail.

“Sure seems fine, Mimosa,” he mocked, chuckling under his breath. You rolled your eyes and sighed.

“It will be fine,” you insisted, dragging your leg away from him slightly so that his grip loosened and he let go of you, “and stop calling me by that name. It ain’t even a sure thing that I’m gonna be made an agent yet, so can you cut it out?” you asked.

You’d been training with Statesman since the previous October. Having worked for the British secret service, MI5, for the last decade, you were no stranger to Kingsman. The two organisations had worked closely, from time to time, and after a series of homes all got blown to smithereens last year, it had been your team that worked to rectify the situation. That’s how Statesman came to be on your radar.

Champagne, or “Champ” as you later learned to refer to him as, had been in brief talks with MI5 about the nature of the bombings. He’d learnt, at the same time as your team, that they were targeted attacks on the Kingsman agents, and that he was working with the last three surviving agents to find out who was responsible. Your boss was more than happy to cooperate with Statesman, let them take the case, and all that MI5 would do would be to provide plausible cover stories for the bombings until more information could be given.

To your team, as far as they were concerned, that was the end of it all. But to you, it was only the beginning.

Two weeks after the attacks, you’d received a phone call from Champ. Lord only knows how he got your number, but given the nature of the work you both came from, it really wasn’t of any surprise that he’d found a way to contact you. He phoned wanting to poach you from MI5, and to train you up in the States before becoming an official Kingsman agent. The attacks, unsurprisingly, left their team incredibly dwindled, and part of their alliance with their American cousins was that any resources they needed would be provided by Statesman.

Part of those resources included training new agents.

You’d been the agent to make the link with the United States, and had briefly been involved in making sure Statesman had any and all access needed from MI5 to aid with them taking down Poppy Adam’s Golden Circle. Your perseverance, even when the rest of your team seemed happy to close the door to the United States’ secret service, is what piqued Champ’s interest.

Champ had been working with Galahad and Eggsy to search across Britain, Europe, and America to find suitable individuals who were in a position to be trained up for a role with either organisation. For the time being, the last Kingsman agents would remain in the States until they had enough resources to start fresh back in the UK. Twenty applicants later, and now with ten remaining, you were all fast approaching the end of your training window.

Six months is what you’d been told was the usual length of time that agents were trained with Statesman if they’d come from a similar background. Everyone in your class was on about the same wavelength to you, career wise; there were former secret service, ex-military, and ex-Navy too. All in all, it was enough of a good crew that Champ felt you could get all your training done within the six months, no problem. It was a gruelling regime for you all, but to the ten who had lasted the course, you knew it would be well worth it.

But it wasn’t just Kingsman you’d all been training for. Statesman’s own agent Tequila would be putting boots to the ground in Britain once Eggsy and Galahad made it back, with Statesman now having bought a distillery in Scotland. And, after apparently losing one of their other more senior agents in the field, there were now two positions going with Statesman. Rumour was that the best two agents from this programme would stay here, and then a handful of other agents would head to the UK to be with Kingsman.

You were secretly gunning for one of the Statesman places, and Tequila had been one of the first to discover this. He’d kept it to himself, of course, but it didn’t mean that there wasn’t a fair bit of teasing that came with it. But he understood your reasoning – after years of working in the British secret service, you were desperate for a change of pace. You had no surviving family and, as per the recommendation of your previous organisation, had never married or had any children. There really was no reason to go back.

On paper, you were an ideal candidate. No ties, happy to move wherever you were needed, and with a track record of being able to perform to a high standard time and time again. Champ was impressed with your prior achievements, and had made no secret of it since you started training. But, to be fair to everyone else, you weren’t the only one with an impressive background. It’s why you never got your hopes up too high.

Tequila chuckled to himself again before winking at you playfully. He stood up slightly and outstretched his arm for you to take, which you did, hoisting yourself up. Putting a little weight on your foot proved to not make the injury any worse, so you happily wiggled your ankle around a little until you felt happy enough to walk on it properly. Once you were stable, you turned to Tequila. The boyish grin on his face showed you that he’d been waiting to see if you were alright before the next slue of bantering left his lips, and once he opened his mouth you were proved right in your assumption.

“Oh, come on London, you know you’ll be fine. I don’t know all the ins n’ outs of what Champ’s got planned, but if you ask me he’d be a damn fool not to grant you one of the positions,” he said, finally releasing you from his hold once you’d found your balance again.

“Yeah, well, as flattering as that is Tequila, it isn’t up to you. And I do have a name, you know? It isn’t London,” you snarked, now moving with the rest of the class and Tequila towards some benches at the side of the track.

That was another habit Tequila had picked up since you all started – wherever you were from, is what he called the recruits. His reasoning was that he wanted to get people into the mindset of not using real names, even during training, but none of you bought that excuse for a second. You’d all come from backgrounds where you didn’t need it explaining why codenames and monikers were important, nor was it something any of you would need to get into the habit of doing. No, this was just another of Tequila’s many ways of teasing the recruits. You all saw that.

“I know that, but it’s way more fun shouting out run faster London, or pick up the pace Madrid!” he said, laughing to himself as you got closer to the seats. You rolled your eyes, catching the gaze of the one he referred to as “Madrid”, who just shook her head and chuckled to herself.

“Madrid”, better known as Astrid, had been your closest friend throughout this whole process, and you’d really bonded with her these last few months. You were fortunate in that there wasn’t really anyone you didn’t get along with on this programme, but in stark contrast to when you were training with MI5, creating personal relationships was not discouraged. If anything, the agents training you encouraged it. Tequila had once said something about it being good to know the ins and outs of who you’re working with – “you never know what situation you’re about to enter, but if you at least know who you’re going into it with, you’ll always be okay”, he’d said.

It had felt strange at first, and in the first week or so it was almost a bit forced. It was like you were speed dating nineteen other people simultaneously, trying to figure out their icks, gripes, and what made them tick. But, eventually, everything slotted into place. Genuine friendships were forged, and even those you didn’t know as well, you knew enough to know you trusted them with your life.

“You’re an ass, Jefferson,” you whispered to Tequila, using his real name before heading off to sit next to Astrid on the bench. As you caught eyes with him again once you’d sat, he had put on a face of mock disgust at you, which neither you nor Astrid could stop yourselves from giggling at. Tequila shook his head before turning his attention to others in the group.

“Hey, you took a pretty bad fall back there? Are you okay?” Astrid asked. You turned to her and smiled, nodding. In spite of having run the same distance, and feeling like you were about to pass out from exhaustion, Astrid just looked like she’d done a few start jumps. Her curly brown hair still retained its bounce in her high ponytail, and there was just the beginnings of a flush creeping through onto her cheeks, her olive-tanned skin otherwise looking absolutely flawless. She was annoying like that – but you loved her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Not twisted or anything, must have just put it down wrong,” you said, shrugging slightly. The walk from the track to the bench had stopped the momentary throbbing of your ankle, so another hour or so and you’d be absolutely fine again.

“Put it down wrong, or…did someone get distracted?” Astrid teased, jabbing your side and nodding over towards Tequila. Your eyes followed her head tilt to see him stood, arms crossed, looking back over at the two of you again. He was grinning slightly, clearly trying to hide it, but failing immensely.

The thing is, for as attractive as Tequila was, he really wasn’t your type. Nothing wrong with the guy, he was lovely and as sweet as one could be, but he still had this boyish charm which you assumed guys lost the ability to have after the age of twenty-six. But ten years on, and with him being the same age as you, that was no longer a trait you looked for in men. You wanted someone to not only be slightly older than you, but to also act their age. Tequila was fun, and you dare say that he’d make for a fantastic friend once training was over, but any more than that? Not a chance.

Astrid, on the other hand, was slightly younger than you. Newly turned thirty, she’d come to this training after seven and a half years working with Spain’s equivalent of MI5. She’d enjoyed the job immensely but, like you, was looking for a change of pace. And, by the look of the increased redness to her cheeks, you did wonder how this “new life” of hers would start once training was over.

“Are you sure you’re not projecting there slightly, Astrid?” you teased, looking back at her and chuckling to yourself. Her hazel eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open slightly, but with one quip of your eyebrow up she knew she was a goner. She huffed to herself.

“I-oh! Fine, okay, yes, I-,” she looked left and right to see if any of the other recruits were listening in, but she deemed the coast clear enough to whisper in your ear, “I really like the guy, but I don’t think he looks at me like that,” she said, a little coy in that last part, which made your heart break. Astrid really was gorgeous and, if you were that way inclined, would probably happily get in line to take her out on a date. Tequila would be a fool if he didn’t find her attractive.

“I’m sure he would, Astrid. But you know the rules – existing agents and recruits can’t get too close and personal with each other,” you said, hoping it would land with her and put her mind at each. She smiled taut and shrugged.

“I know that but…I see how he looks at other girls. How he looks at you. Hell, I’ve heard how he talks to you!” she said, chuckling to herself, “I’m just saying, rules were made to be broken, and I think he’d break them for you,” she said.

You rolled your eyes so aggressively it almost hurt, making Astrid laugh with you.

“He might tease me, Astrid, but I can assure you it’s just because I’m easy to rile up. Nothing more to it than that! He gives me shit and, unlike the rest of you, I give it back to him. He just likes the banter,” you explained. In your head, that’s all this was. Harmless teasing to pass the time while training kicked your ass.

“Sure, if you say so,” Astrid said, sniggering slightly. Before you could interject further, insisting that you had no intention of standing on the toes of her schoolgirl-like crush she was harbouring, Tequila’s voice cut through the room. Every pair of eyes turned to focus on the cowboy, waiting intently for the next gruelling task he was about to set.

“Alright, good work today everyone. Y’all did just under four miles’ worth of sprints before London here hit the deck and got you out of doing any more,” he began, looking over and winking at you. He was too easy to give quips back to that he’d even given you a slight pause in his speech to let you speak.

Asshole.

“Eat shit, Tequila,” you said, flipping him off before and then laughing with everyone else in the room at the exchange. Tequila grinned, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t know why I expected anything else from you,” he chuckled, then turned back to the recruits, “Now, for this afternoon, I want-,” he began, but was soon cut off by the opening of the training room door.

All recruits, and Tequila, turned in their seats to see who it was that had come through the glass doors – everyone had turned up to training today, so you all knew it wasn’t one of your fellow colleagues. But your question soon went answered – Agent Whiskey, a slim woman with cropped brown hair, came cantering into the room towards Tequila. You were used to her making an appearance from time to time, and you’d all had training sessions with her one on one, but today there was something very different about how she appeared.

Whiskey looked tired – not just a bit sleepy, like she might have been up a bit late the night before, but the kind of fatigue that sets in when anxiety is rife. Her eyes, which were usually bright and cheery, were laced with an almost panic, and as she came further into the room she completely ignored all of you sitting on the benches.

“Clara?” Tequila said, slight worry in his tone as he turned all his attention towards her. You all knew, in that moment, that whatever agent Whiskey was bringing to him was serious. He rarely used his colleagues' real names, and you don’t think you could recount a time where you’d heard him sound as concerned as he was right now.

Clara reached Tequila and instantly got on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear. He was too far away, and she was too quiet, for anyone to make out what had been said. But the look on Tequila’s face said all that was needed – his worry had vanished, along with the playful smile he’d had for most the day, and in its place was an ice cold fury none of you recognised. You’d all seen him angry before, and you’d witnessed him needing to discipline agents in the past, but this was new. This was a rage never before seen.

As Whiskey backed away, scarpering back towards the door with the same speed she’d entered with, Tequila’s jaw flexed a little. Clearly whatever he’d been told was something that required some processing, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt as you looked at him. He was your mentor, yes, and a certain distance had to be maintained. But as you watched him clearly struggle with something, you wanted nothing more than to swing your arm around him and ask him if he was okay.

“Sir?” one of your colleagues, Schmidt, said. His voice cracked, and in comparison to usual he sounded terrified to even speak. It took Tequila a second to even register if someone had said anything, and by the time he did he had ten pairs of eyes fixed on him. Sighing shallowly, he shook his head a few times, almost like he was trying to shake a bug out of his hat, and then cleared his throat.

“Class dismissed,” he said, striding over to the door to follow Whiskey, providing no more context as to what was going on.

“But, si-,” Schmidt began, much to his immediate regret.

“I said, class dismissed!” Tequila bellowed, snapping his head back towards the group only to yell at them, then heading back on course and storming through the glass door.

A silence fell across the group for a moment, agents exchanging glances and providing each other with unknowing shrugs. There were no puzzle pieces any of you could even fathom beginning to put together, so slowly but surely everyone all stood from the benches and filed out of the room one by one.

“What the hell do you think that was about?” Astrid asked once you were back in your dorms. The rooms weren’t big, housing four agents in each, but they did the trick. Each one was equipped with an en-suite, two bunk beds, and a small seating area near two wardrobes that were for all agent’s belongings. You’d been lucky in that two agents who had shared the dorm had already been sent home, so now the small cabin-like living quarters were just for Astrid and you, but they still made for a rather intimate living arrangement.

“I dunno,” you said, sinking down onto your bottom bunk and untying your shoelaces. “I’ve never seen him like that before,” you said.

“Me neither,” Astrid said, moving to get some clothes out of the wardrobe to change into. “Do you think someone should go check in on him?” she asked. You shrugged, pulling your shoes off and tucking them under the bunk bed, then standing to make work on getting out of your gym clothes (you and Astrid had long since stopped caring about being in your underwear in front of one another).

“Perhaps,” you said, unfastening the gym jacket and hanging it on a chair, “But who?”. Astrid shrugged, grabbing a few more toiletries.

“I mean, personally babe, I’d vote for you. Even if you’re not interested in him, like you insist,” you rolled your eyes, “you can’t deny that the two of you are good friends already. If he was going to confide in anyone, I’d put money on it being you,” she explained.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm in trying,” you said, now removing your t-shirt so you were just in leggings and a sports bra. “He didn’t give us any official work, so I think I’ll head to the library after freshening up. I’ll take the route via the labs and see if he’s there,” you said, already mapping out a route in your head of where to go. Astrid nodded.

“Good idea! Want me to come with you?” she asked, but you shook your head.

“No, it’s alright. If I do manage to catch him, I doubt he’d appreciate feeling ganged up on. And if I don’t see him, I’ll only go and work on my case files after, so I’d wanna be alone for that anyway,” you said.

The Statesman case files were one of the most laborious parts of your training, because you felt like they were something you could already do. Research and reconnaissance were the first two things you learnt with MI5, and you’d mastered data collection before you’d ever been handed a weapon. But things were upside down here, and the practical side of being an agent was pushed far heavier than anything involving a computer.

You weren’t sure why, but you’d all had to suck it up and accept the process. As part of your training, everyone had been given three cases which had been cracked by Statesman, and it was up to each recruit to get as much information on the targets and the crime as possible, to show their skills using the databases. Whiskey had given everyone a few group sessions on how data collection was done with Statesman, but aside from that these files had to be done completely independently.

They were becoming the bane of your existence, and even though you still had several weeks left to build a solid case file on everything you’d been given, the task was so soul destroying, and you’d been putting it off for ages. But, with an afternoon now suddenly free, it seemed as good a time as any to work on them more.

“No worries!” Astrid said, “I’m just gonna hop in the shower quickly, then the bathroom is free for you!”, and with that she scurried into the en-suite. You smiled and collected together what you wanted to change into, then packed a bag for the library while you waited for the bathroom to be free.

One shower and a clean change of clothes later, and you were off to the Statesman library. The usual route there was only about five minutes from the dorms – you’d head into the main building, up a flight of stairs, and then it was your first door on the left. But the library was also accessible through an elevator which ran from the lab in the basement room, all the way up. That was the route you were taking today.

Going round the back of the building, you headed down a flight of stairs and through some glass doors to the lower levels of the Statesman building. Access wasn’t restricted for recruits in any of the main parts of the building, just to anywhere with sensitive material pertaining to current cases, so you knew you weren’t going to be in trouble down here if found. That didn’t stop the fact you felt nerves rushing through your body at a million miles an hour.

The lab was quiet upon entering its corridors – too quiet, you noted. Normally there would be Whiskey’s lab assistants running round, machines whirring, and doors slamming as the team were scrambling to constantly update and innovate the technology that Statesman agents used. And, with the need to completely supply their British cousins with everything they needed, it was particularly unusual to not see or hear a sound.

The lab was simple in design – a long corridor spanning the length of the building, with rooms jettisoning off on the left and the right. At the end of the corridor was a metal elevator shaft next to a flight of stairs – that’s where you were headed.

Within each room of the lab there were smaller rooms that went off from them; supply closets, offices, and such. You had decided with Astrid that if you didn’t see Tequila in one of the main rooms, you’d walk away, and leave it. But if you caught him leaving, or noticed him in one of the main lab rooms, you’d consider heading in if it looked like you could do so without getting into trouble.

Halfway down the corridor, and still there was nothing. You’d found one lab assistant in one of the rooms, lost deep into a stack of paperwork, and had decided that they were clearly not anyone worth disturbing right now. You sighed to yourself, clutching your files to your chest, and figured you probably would come to a dead end. Sure, there were still more rooms to check, but if you’d found nothing this far done, then surely-

You stopped dead in your tracks.

A loud bang came from the other end of the corridor, and suddenly the silence you’d been met with thus far made sense. Outside of one lab stormed Tequila, followed closely by Whiskey and another half dozen lab techs. They all looked petrified, meanwhile Tequila had that same look of anger on his face that you’d all seen not half an hour ago.

Guessing that this wouldn’t actually be a good time to make your presence known, you kept to one side of the corridor, not deliberately trying to hide (there wasn’t anything to use anyway), but just keeping well clear of whatever was going on. Stood still, you listened in as best you could.

“Jefferson, you can’t go in guns blazing!” Whiskey said, hurrying after Tequila. Her voice was louder than normal, her pitch slightly higher as she conveyed whatever urgency she needed to get across.

“Why the hell not, Ginger?!” he spat back, spinning on his heels. You furrowed your brow at the use of the name Ginger, wondering if that was an old moniker, or just a nickname.

“Champ’s in there! Look, I know you’re pissed at Jack; we all are! But this won’t make things any better if you go in there and give him shit!” she pleaded.

“Oh, you’ve changed your fuckin’ tune!” he said, almost shouting at this point. You’d never heard Tequila so angry in all the time you’d known him, and the sound of his voice bellowing out into the room actually made you flinch. “What’s the matter with you both? You and Champ have gone fuckin’ soft lately, and I don’t get it!” he continued.

One of Clara’s lab assistants cleared their throat and tried to get the attention of the pair of them, but to no success. They’d noticed you down the corridor, and the two of you had made slightly frantic eye contact with each other – for as much as you had every right to be here, you knew you were definitely overhearing something that was not for your ears.

“Jack fucking Daniels can rot in hell for what he did, Clara,” Tequila roared, slightly towering over her now. Even she looked frightened, and you knew she’d worked with Tequila for years. Surely by now she’d have seen every emotion he had to offer?

Your mind was whirring at a million miles an hour. What could have possibly got Tequila so wound up? What was Whiskey keeping from him? And who the hell was Jack Daniels? You’d met all the agents that you’d be working with by now, either in person or over video call if they were out on active duty, and nobody fit the bill with a name like that.

But then, before you could hope to gain any more information from their conversation, they both finally listened to the persistent lab tech who had seen you just a moment or two before. Whiskey and Tequila snapped their heads down the corridor towards you, and you could do nothing other than give a slightly coy smile towards them.

Whiskey sighed, shaking her head before patting Tequila’s shoulder.

“Go to her. And calm the fuck down before you come back to me,” she said, then leaving his side and heading into a lab room opposite to the group, a few of the lab techs following behind. Tequila watched her go into the room, and you watched from a distance as every muscle in his body seemingly gave up. His shoulders, normally broad and on display for everyone to see, went limp, and he hunched over slightly. For the first time in months, Tequila looked like a shell of a man.

Tentatively you walked towards him, still clutching the files you had to head to the library, using them almost like a shield from whatever fight you might have to defend yourself from. You weren’t sure what the best course of action was here – did you speak first, or did you wait for him? Your feet kept moving your body forward, but your mind was playing catch up, still trying to digest what you’d heard. It wasn’t until he looked up from the ground, his eyes meeting yours, that you snapped out of it.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, “I rather feel like I shouldn’t have heard any of that.”

Tequila huffed out a short, breathy, laugh, then shook his head. There was a smile on his face, but it was forced and laced with venom and sarcasm – not the kind of sarcasm you were used to getting from him either, if you had to hazard a guess.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he put his hands on his hips as he stared you down, stepping two paces closer to you. “What are ya’ even doin’ down here?” he asked.

You tried to avert your gaze from him, but it was no use. Every time you tried he just stepped closer to you, slowly but surely making it so that he was almost flush against you. There was nowhere to escape from him, as the wall behind you so aptly reminded you as you attempted to step away from Tequila. For the first time ever, you were actually afraid of the man in front of you. A man who, just an hour ago, was nursing your hurt ankle and cracking jokes with you.

“We were worried about you, Tex,” you said, hoping that by using his nickname it would help to diffuse the situation. But if the piercing black in his eyes gave you anything to go by, you already knew it hadn’t done its trick. Whatever was going on, he was so angry and bitter that not even your friendship was going to help cut through how he felt.

“Who’s we?” he asked, arms now folded across his chest.

“The recruits. We ain’t ever seen you look as…shaken up, as you did,” you said. Your chest rose and fell with an ever quickening speed, a panic rising in you that no matter what you said, it was always somehow the wrong thing. Tequila raised his eyebrows and then shook his head, his face contorted with almost a disapproving glance.

“Shaken up?” he said, sarcasm and spite laced in his voice. He clearly was not happy with the fact others thought he was worried about anything, let alone that those same people then had concern for him. When he next spoke, using your real name, you knew how pissed he was. He never used your name.

“Have you come down here to spy on me, is that it?” he asked, getting ever closer. The anger that lived within him was ready to completely take over, you could just tell. That also meant you needed to get out of here, and fast. This anger wasn’t for you, so there was no reason why you should bear the brunt of it.

“No! Nothing like that!” you said, eyes wide and panting slightly, hoping that he understood the sincerity in your words.

“Well then what?!” he asked, voice now raised and filling the entire corridor.

“I just…I was going to go to the library, and I thought if I came by the labs, I might find you. I just wanted to check up on you, Tequila. I didn’t intend to snoop and hear…that. Whatever that was, I- I won’t say a word to the others,” you said.

“No, you’re right, you won’t,” Tequila said. “You’ll go about your day, and forget all of this. Forget you saw me, forget you saw Clara, and definitely forget the name Jack Daniels,” he said. He slowly started to back away from you, clearly realising just how much closer he’d gotten to you. “If anyone asks, you didn’t see me. I was never here,” he said.

“O-okay,” you said, slowly making your way towards the elevator shaft, using the wall as a guide as you maintained eye contact with Tequila. You had so many questions you wanted to ask, so much information you needed for any of what you just saw to make the slightest bit of sense, but you dared not speak again.

“Go,” he began, “See you tomorrow, London,” he said, before turning on his heels and heading towards the door that Whiskey went through just a minute before. You let out the biggest sigh of relief in your entire life, then made a dash for the elevator door. You simply couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Jamming the ‘open’ button, the door pinged open, and you stepped inside.

“What the fuck was all that about?” you whispered to yourself as the door closed in front of you, taking you upstairs to the library.

Your nerves were still shot by the time the door opened again onto the second floor, and you stepped out into the library. There was absolutely no way that you’d be able to concentrate on any of these case files now, but you also couldn’t possibly go back to your dorm just yet. With how angry Tequila had been, you decided that you would do as he asked – you’d claim that you never saw him, and you’d forget the entire conversation. It wouldn’t be fair to Astrid to involve her in something Tequila clearly didn’t want getting around, especially as you were confident that you shouldn’t even know anything as it is now.

Finding a seat in the corner of the room with a Statesman computer, you set down the case files and opened them up to try and get your head around something, anything, that wasn’t what you’d just witnessed.

But you were trained for this. And curiosity might have killed the cat, but nothing was ever said about curiosity’s effect on people. Right?

Sighing to yourself, you pulled up a new tab on the Statesman database. Checking over your shoulder, and confident nobody else was nearby, you began your search. Even if you weren’t going to involve anyone else in this discovery, that didn’t mean you couldn’t try to find answers for yourself. Besides, if you didn’t it would just eat away at you for the rest of the time you were here, and you highly doubted that Tequila would ever give you anything to go on given how he reacted downstairs.

Tentatively, your fingers danced over the keyboard. Logic dictated that this Jack Daniels must be someone Tequila was on bad terms with for some reason, but it clearly went deeper than that. The anger that was present, that wasn’t just any kind of anger - that wasn’t the frustration you’d felt when a perpetrator really got under your skin, nor was that the anger you felt when someone got away. No, that was anger which was fuelled by betrayal. An old friend, perhaps? Or, more logically, a co-worker?

You began to type, your fingers shaking slightly from the adrenaline that still coursed through you from having felt that raw emotion from Tequila, a man you never thought capable of displaying such. And then, you hit ‘send’, and your eyes widened at the results for the following:

Former Statesman Agent Jack Daniels.

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