Special Agent | ✓

Forty-Six

a/n: a lil' early update for you :)

Forty-Six

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Sarraf hadn't slept a wink. No, she'd stayed awake, listening in the silence to the movements of Special Agent Kent in the adjacent room.

Kent had insisted on separate lodgings. Sarraf hadn't wanted to argue it, not at first, but felt that whisper of suspicion scratch against her mind as Kent had raised the issue. So, Sarraf had chosen to stand her ground, claiming they'd work better together if they didn't stray from each other.

Like I would ever wish to 'work better together' with anyone.

When they'd retired for the night, Sarraf had stayed awake in her own room, kept her head sharp as she honed in on the sounds from the common area of the Agency-owned apartment. When those sounds had quieted, completely, she'd assumed that Kent had gone to bed.

But Imani was far from stupid, and far from inexperienced. She remained awake, listened to the quiet which had settled, only briefly disturbed by the city-noises which crept in through the windows of the apartment. That quiet was disturbed, noticeably, when Sarraf had heard a door closing audibly beside her room.

Then steps, hurried, crossing the room outside. Sarraf debated following those steps, more than certain they belonged to Kent.

No, Sarraf settled on, better to tail her, from a distance. Wait a minute, at least, before following.

But she didn't get a chance to follow, as she heard another pair of steps enter the apartment. They were slower, the pace little more than a sluggish walk. Additionally, Sarraf noted they were noticeably heavier, and not the type of tread she knew belonged to Kent.

In the dark of her room, Sarraf's eyes turned to slits as she listened to the newcomer pass through the apartment, steps growing louder as they neared her door. Reaching beneath her pillow, Sarraf grasped the handle of her gun. Flipped off the safety, clutched the gun harder. Her heart beat hard, though with a steady pace. Not one ounce of cold sweat coated her hands, her neck — Sarraf remained calm, hand on her gun, listening to the person pause before her door.

Softly, the door clicked open. Whoever had turned the handle entered slowly, carefully. A long shadow cast over the head of the bed. Sarraf didn't dare move, let her eyes remain open as they were turned away from the.

The figure took one, two steps closer to the bed. Right before Sarraf sensed they were about to close in on the, she shot into action.

With a firm grasp on the gun, Sarraf twisted swiftly, had the barrel pointed at the figure which had entered her room with such careful steps. Her teeth bared, expression a mask of cold focus, she stared down the barrel of her gun to face the intruder.

"Imani — it's just me."

Palms held flat up, facing Imani, Scott Davidson offered an easygoing smile. Sarraf let her eyes skip over his familiar face, noted the tense set of his shoulders, the stiff edge to his lips despite the seemingly relaxed smile.

"What are you doing here?" Sarraf bit out, eyes narrowing further.

She didn't move the gun. Davidson's eyes shifted, remained on the gun.

"I'll tell you," Davidson started, tone still easygoing, " — when you put that gun down, we could grab a cup of coffee."

Sarraf's tense grip on the gun edged off, slightly, though it remained raised, pointed squarely at Davidson's chest.