IMAGINES ⌲ mitch rapp

gone girl

{warning: death and graphic violence}

THIRD PERSON

It wasn't even a full minute, that he was gone. Maybe 32 seconds, at most, he thought, dammit.

His lean legs paces the hotel room, hands running through the raven hair atop his head before ending at his neck, giving it a aggravated squeeze. Everything from the past two hours was eating him alive and he didn't like it. He was built to stay calm during these moments and make quick decisions; it was practically in the job description.

   He was not an advocate for this one.

   For this particular mission, one would be sent in under cover with no tele-communication whatsoever. Most called it, "going dark."

   Mitch called it suicide.

 
   Y/N was the first to volunteer, and she did so when Mitch wasn't there to protest. She knew he would try to take her place. Now, there was no doubt Y/N could practically and literally do this mission in the dark. Mitch knew their skills were very comparable to one another, and it often made a hard choice for the Director when choosing either.

   No, Mitch didn't want her going in because the thought of not knowing what was happening killed him. Missions like this could take upwards of 7 hours, and that is too much time for too many things to happen.

   It wasn't direct, like most of their missions. There would be no sneaking in or silent removal or any or all guards.

    Y/N, months ago, had been stringing along this foreign ambassador in an attempt to be invited to his annual ball. Or what we should really call it, "come to my vastly expensive palace while my armed guards make sure you don't touch anything."

    And success. A white invitation with gold lettering was given to Y/N, but directed her to come alone. Understandably. Who would invite a beautiful woman and allow her to bring her own date?

    Mitch had half the mind to rent a suit and show up himself, but as reckless as he was, he knew that would do nothing but make things worse.

   So, all he could do was wait. All he could do was watch her waltz away in her sexy heels and equally-stunning red dress that dipped down in the back, just enough to drive Mitch crazy in the back of his head.

   That was 27 hours ago.

   Mitch was posted in a hotel, the closest one to the location of the Ambassador's party. This was the worst thing he could have done, move himself closer to the thing that was driving him insane. But he didn't trust anyone else to await her return and take care of her, if needed. Instantly, the thought of any of the other recruits helping her out of her dress so she could clean wounds, ran through his head and infuriated him.

   She only went in to gather information. What was taking so goddamn long?

     The hotel phone started ringing and the first split-second he heard it, he sprinted to it and snatched it, answering.

   "Hello?" He rushed. There was silence for a second, until a feminine voice began speaking.

   "Charlie?"

  Mitch recognized his code name, one Y/N would use when she was ready to leave, posing as his wife who has run out of gas, just in case outsiders were listening in on their calls.

   "Honey, is something wrong?" He continued. Mitch heard a grunt and wondered if it was Y/N, or Y/N pretending to be frustrated with her car's gas tank.