Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and fantasy. Any and all places and people are not based on reality, and anything that comes parallel is purely coincidence. Enjoy <3
Help me understand passion and unfathimable love, because I have not yet experienced it. I have sat here, at a desk, laid in my bed with a yerning I cannot describe... I think part of it has to do with self preservation, not trusting another person, or noticing an unhealthy codependancy when someone expresses the slightest hint of infatuation. But not him. Never him. I started to notice how his eyes lingered on me when I wasn't looking, or how my coffee was refilled when I left my desk, made the exact same way as I always did. Some would refer to this as obsession, stalking, or dangerous behavior, but I hadn't cared for my safety in a long time. I never really thought I had to worry, as no one had noticed me before. Or so I thought...
At this time, I was twenty-five working at a security company known as Dartmoth Security in Seattle. I would run background checks on the countless ex-cops and military men and women that came in looking for work. I would process them, and perform their interviews having been in this line of hierarchy for a few years after retiring from the military myself. I had opportunities once I got out, having been approached by a few alphabet federal organizations in an attempt to control me for their gain. I never liked to be controlled, I had a clear problem with authority - my records would show - but there was something about Dean Brayley that drew me in from the start, not enough to keep him in my radar, but enough for me to notice his hands and the veins in his arms.
"Ms. Briar, it's nice to meet you." He said, shaking my hand after sauntering into my office.
I glanced up to his eyes for a second -Hazel - shook his hand in return, "You as well Mr. Brayley, have a seat." I replies in a clipped tone as I clicked my pen, ready to take notes.
I had a minor in psychology, always having an interest in what made a person tick. The first thing I noticed about Dean was that he didn't smile, nor did he show any nervous energy from the moment he opened my door. This job wasn't a necessity for him, he just wanted something to do that reminded him of simpler times. Like being told when you could shit and piss in some hole out in the desert in some hard to pronounce country.
I noted his shoulders next, broad and muscular, his dark brown hair hanging over his them; his beard thick and well trimmed. He wasn't a narcissist, but he valued professionalism, that I wrote down. I noted the time; he was here at 4:25pm on the dot, the exact time I emailed him to be here. He sat there relaxed, but not overly, his hands clasped in front of him, waiting for my first question, even though I already knew all that I needed to. I looked at his notes, He was thirty years old, lived half and hour from thw building and was willing to travel, passport on hand. I could tell he didn't have any ties, no pretty wife or kids at home, his folks either gone or estranged... no, he was a foster kid.
"How long were you enlisted for?" I asked, the Semper Fi tattoo I clocked on the inside of his wrist, and the tattoo of four dog tags on his neck told me more before he did. I assumed a little over a decade, and the reason for his departure was being tired of watching his people die. I noted attachment issues, but a willingness to work with others.
"Twelve years."
"Reason for retirement?"
"It got tiring pretty quick when the new enlistees startesd referring to me as their oldman."
He had a good dry humor, but I didn't laugh. "That's usually how it goes." I simply replied.
I didn't want to give anything about myself away to the people I interviewed, My sense of humor, what I looked for in a candidate, nothing. The more these people tried to get me to like them, the less I did, but so far he wasn't show boating, he was just trying to break the ice. A good quality if used correctly, it would make it easier for the clients to trust him.
"Where did you go on your last deployment?" I asked.
"I can tell you the country had 'stan' at the end of its name. But that's all the information I can offer."
"Was it tactical, rehearsal, or surveillance?"
"Yes."
I gave a thin smile, writing down his ability to give little to no information, even with his facial expressions.
"Pain tolerance?"
For the first time, I noticed a small smile pass over his lips.
"High," He leaned forward, "May I ask why you need to know that?"
"If you qualify, you will go through a series of training to place you at a select level of security clearance and put you in a job placement program. Your tolerance for pain, endurance, and cognitive ability will be measured."
"Did you go through this training?" He asked.
I nodded, not taking my eyes off his notes, "I did." After writing down an inquisitive note, I continued, "My clearance is high." I offered another thin smile.
My hair was up in a tight bun, but a stray hair fell into my face. I tucked it behind my ear and felt his eyes on my every move. "Do you have any personal ties with family, friends, or community?"
