Special Agent | ✓

Fifty

a/n: warning: this is a bit shorter, but i wanted to release it early so we could get started on the final leg of this journey. enjoy :)

Fifty

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Despite her long experience working at the Agency, Chief Tibble had never deigned to go down to the building's basement more than she needed to. She'd gone there to rescue Quinn from Chief Havas' disgusting interrogation, sure, but otherwise she much preferred her own department, her own office.

It was why she found some entertainment in studying the interior of her holding cell. She'd been left alone for the better part of an hour, ever since they'd hauled her out of her office and charged her with a list of offenses. Adina hadn't really listened, choosing instead to drain the remains of her whiskey before accompanying the Agency drones to the holding cell.

And here she was. She wished she'd at least have gotten to take her flask with her, but they'd searched her thoroughly before shoving her into the soulless space. The room was little more than a rectangular pocket of space, shoved into a row of others like it on one of the basement floors. The walls and floors were concrete, and there was little furniture in the room save for a sorry excuse of a bed and a metallic toilet and sink. A square window sat mounted in the heavy-duty door leading out of the cell, offering a sliver of light as the light in the ceiling had been switched up.

Classic interrogatory technique, Adina thought, leisurely crossing her arms above her chest as her eyes swept along the ceiling, noting the dark lamp. They'd let her stew, most likely crank up the thermometer a tad, too, so she could marinate with her own guilt. Not that she had any, really.

Slowly slipping her cashmere cardigan off her shoulders, Adina took care with folding it neatly before placing it beside her. Even in the dark, the platinum bracelets and rings adorning her wrists and hands twinkled merrily.

Angling her wrist, Adina snuck a look at her Rolex. They'd arrive any second now, surely, most likely marching her to whatever drone in Department of Operations who would interrogate her.

As if on cue, Adina heard the click of steps down the hallway. Keys jangled, a metallic ring audible even through the door, before the lock mechanism clicked and the door swung open. However, there was no ordinary corporate drone waiting on the other side. Instead, Director Kimmel met Tibble's careful look with a face hewn from a block of steel, eyes hard and mouth a flat line.

The Director stood in the doorway much like a vengeful warrior ready to sever someone's head, though lacking the traditional armor. Instead, she wore an icy blue suit, paired with a scattering of diamond jewelry which glinted in the dim light. Nevertheless, Adina was sure that if Kimmel put her mind to it, she would be just as capable of severing her head.

"Give us some space, gentlemen." Kimmel held up a hand to the guards flanking her. They exchanged a disbelieving look, but after Kimmel aimed another hard look their way they scattered, their boots stomping further down the hallway.

"Good afternoon, Director Kimmel." Adina smiled, then patted the uncomfortable bed, "Feel free to take a seat."

Kimmel shot a glare Adina's way that said, very plainly: over my dead body. Adina met the look with a placid calm, merely folding her hands in her lap, the metal of her jewelry catching some of the light spewing into the sad excuse of a room.

Remaining in the doorway, Kimmel watched Adina wearily.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Chief Tibble?"

"My job, Director Kimmel." Adina shifted legs, forced a measure of calm into her voice, "What else?"

"That's rich, Chief Tibble, because to me it looks like you've done the opposite of your job." Kimmel's tone was arctic cold, eyebrow arched.