Open Case File [COMPLETED]

The First Meeting

A flash back of sorts!

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The black SUV pulled up to the curb and stopped. Washington D.C.'s downtown was bustling with men and women heading home. The sun dipped towards the horizon, stretching the shadows on the sidewalk. The gentle hum of the engine was all that filled the inside of the car. Donovan stared up at the apartment building, taking in the shine of the glass walls and the trim doorman out front.

Donovan's father cleared his throat, drawing his son's attention. At the sound, Donovan straightened and met his father's level gaze. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Ted placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"I'm proud of you," he said, his voice gruff from years of shouting commands. "I know you are an excellent choice for this job."

Donovan gave a single nod. "Thank you, sir."

His father smiled. It was a look Donovan could count the amount of times he had seen.

"Call us."

"I will, sir."

After another pause, Ted removed his hand and Donovan opened the door. A rush of late summer air converged on him. The chaos of city noises assaulted him and he had to stop himself from glancing around to identify each one. The sound was a harsh contrast to the roar of humvees, gun fire, helicopter propellers and jet engines he had grown up with.

Collecting his bag from the back of the car, he returned to his door. His father was looking at him with a serious expression. Though it was familiar, Donovan still stiffened his spine in response.

"You can handle this," his father said.

"Yes, sir."

Not wanting to show any sign of weakness, Donovan closed the door and gathered up his bag. Without looking back, he walked to the apartment building. A gray haired man with a wrinkled smile nodded to him and opened the door. Inside the lobby the decor was minimalistic, a polished tile floor, simple potted plants by the entrance and a dark wooden desk at the center of the space.

Waiting at the desk was a woman in her late thirties with blonde hair, vibrant blue eyes and a welcoming smile. The second Donovan walked in, she moved forward.

"You must be Donovan," she said, hand out stretched.

"Yes, ma'am," Donovan said.

Her smile widened. "Please, call me Monica."

"Okay, Monica."

The woman was at eye level with him only due to a pair of high heels. She gestured to the elevators and in silence they climbed inside. Once the doors shut, she spoke.

"William told me how he knows your father," she said.

"Yes, they were both in the marines together, ma'am." Donovan cleared his throat. "I mean Monica."

She gave a light laugh. "Don't worry too much about it, I'm sure there is going to be a lot you'll have to adjust to."

Donovan gripped the handle of his bag a bit tighter.

"Nothing I can't manage."

"That is what both William and your father assured me of. They also mentioned you were sixteen?"

"Yes."

Monica glanced at him, as if trying to make sense of the figure beside her that looked barely older than her son with a very young face. In that look Donovan could see the mothering side of her coming out. It was not something he needed or wanted.