𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐼𝐸𝑀 - M.R.

[REVERED]

Sitting in this station after school was honestly quite comforting, when he was younger and his mom was in the hospital. Most of the deputies even knew how to make homework fun — or at least tried. They made him feel like he could work out what seemed like impossible equations in seconds (even when he couldn't).

Realistically, he knew they were only interacting with him because helping some kid do basic algebra and getting paid for it is far more fun than the stacks of paperwork on their desks.

Still, it's a core memory of his, all the time he spent here sat on desks that seemed like high balconies then, small legs swinging wildly outward — often accidentally kicking whoever was actually occupying the desk at the time.

He'd like, then, to know why it feels so different now. Maybe it's just changed too much over the years, maybe he's changed too much over the years for these four walls to give him any solace (he definitely has).

Either way, he feels like crying — which isn't the best trait for a CIA agent to outwardly display. It makes him look weak, cowardly, and while he's standing still and stoic: it feels like every single person in the room can see it on his face. Just how lost and trapped and panicked he feels.

It's just a building like any other, there should be no emotions attached to it — positive or negative — it shouldn't matter that the air-con is rattling away irritatingly in the corner, or that everyone's voices seem to merge into one incomprehensible mess.

It shouldn't matter that it's stupid hot, despite the uneven chill of that machine, or the fact that everything looks familiar and alien all at once.

It's just a building, and he doesn't mind waiting in it until his boss comes to scold Rafael right back to his too-big office at Quantico.

He doesn't deserve an office.

Parrish stares, and Mitch stares back, because he's not about to loose a staring competition against someone who's literally part dog — or hound, sorry.

A what hound, by the way? Where's he supposed to be from again? Oh yeah, hell. But we're still trusting that guy, huh?

Mitch finally looks away when Parrish drops his gaze to turn into the Sheriff's office, shaking the tension out of his shoulders as he adjusts his lean against the wall.

It's then he notices Farnham sat at a desk, scrambling through papers, most of which she knocks onto the floor. He watches as they swirl into the air then drop to the laminate flooring like the most depressing snowflakes he's ever seen and debates whether he should help.

Mainly just thinks, poor kid, and hates that it makes him sound like his dad — almost doesn't help for that reason alone. He can't help but notice he sounds a little like Stan when he thinks it too, but he refuses to see that man as some kind of surrogate for his father or really as any kind of father figure at all, for all he calls Mitch 'kid'. He's just the man that trained him and he's grateful sure, but that doesn't make the guy family, so he squashes any underlining sentimental feelings that might be hiding behind that thought.

The way she rambles to herself with increasing panic makes even the big scary assassin pity her, so he wanders over and picks up the scattered sheets.

She doesn't notice him until he's dropping the paper back onto her desk, at which point she looks up and apologises immediately scrambling out an, "oh my god, I'm so sorry, were they in your way?"