Cloak and Dagger

chapter sixteen

And that was when my curiosity collided with my fear, opening a pit of uneasiness in my stomach.

From what I knew, he'd been out on assignment all day, however I wasn't privy to the details of what he'd been working on. I didn't know if he'd gone out alone or alongside others, and I could only assume that whatever his assignment had been, it had been important. And dangerous.

Letting my bottle drop to the floor, I didn't give my movements a second thought as I spun on my heel and headed back towards the main building. Using the nearest entrance, I weaved my way through the halls, trying my best not to draw the attention of the agents that were tasked with patrolling for the night.

I only knew which room belonged to Beckett because, one morning a few weeks back, I'd gotten up before the crack of dawn and had been headed downstairs at the same time he'd been leaving for an assignment. It was one on the corner of an otherwise deserted hall, but I guess for someone who liked his privacy, it was perfect.

When I finally reached his room, I noted the fact that no light could be seen from the crack underneath the door, but nevertheless, I brought my hand up to knock. The sound of my knuckles rapping against the door echoed down the hall and I cringed, lightening the force as I knocked again a few moments later.

Moving from foot to foot, my worries began to grow as the seconds passed and the lights stayed off, even though I knew there could realistically be several places he could be if not in bed. Just as I was about turn away, hearing no hints of movement from the other side of the door, it swung open unexpectedly, with the lights following quickly after.

My eyes widened as I took in Beckett, who stood there with wet hair, no shirt on, and a pair of baggy sweatpants hanging almost indecently low on his hips. The daily training and the commitment he made to his position within the Division appeared to have suited him well, because as my gaze trailed slowly down his body, I took note of every inch of solid muscle.

When I found myself following the trail of hair that ran downwards from his navel, disappearing beneath his pants, I snapped my head back up to meet his eyes – figuring it was a safer place for the time being.

"Sorry," I said, clearing my throat in an effort to appear less flustered than I was. It appeared to me that he hadn't taken notice of my wandering eyes, which I was thankful for as I continued. "I know it's late – I just – you didn't show up for training, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Dragging a hand through his damp hair, he sighed. "Yeah, sorry about that," he apologized, gesturing me inside his room as he stepped aside. The few steps I took were cautious, though when he let the door close behind me, the tension in my shoulders slowly began to fade. "Things didn't exactly go as planned today, and I just got back about twenty minutes ago."

"You were gone all day?" I asked gently, surprise lacing my words.

He nodded, and as I took another look at him, I noticed the little things that I'd previously overlooked. There were lines etched into his face that alluded to how tired he was, as well as plenty of new bruises that roughed up his skin. "Yeah," he said in a low tone. "And I figured that since I didn't show, you'd have already gone to bed."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say about people who assume," I trailed, the corners of my lips twitching upwards.

A tired laugh left his lips as he shook his head in thinly veiled amusement. "Fair enough Rigby."

As a comfortable silence settled around us, I took the chance to glance around the room. It wasn't much different from my own. Nothing but a bed and a wardrobe, though there was a small bookshelf which had been placed in the corner, filled to the brim with an array of small binders, folders, and the odd paperback. I did find it peculiar, however, that Beckett's room held no personal touches. He'd lived here for years – since right after his parents had died, and to have done nothing to mark the space as his own in all that time, I felt a small stab of sympathy for the way his life had turned out.