July 1st, 2021
2200 hours
The dim backlight of the computer terminals emitted barely enough light to keep Shepp awake. For the last three hours he had been staring at the same scene: an empty office in nearly complete darkness, nothing moving except the almost imperceptible flutter of papers on Lynne's desk. His eyelids hung with exhaustion. The room was compact, but not uncomfortable, and he had been able to pilfer a cushioned swivel chair from a neighboring office. It had seemed an unquestionably genius idea at the time, however, he was now fighting the tantalizing call of slumber. The cushioned seat, accompanied by the heat pouring from the monitors before him, equaled a perfect equation for napping. His tired brain tossed around the idea of just nodding off.
There was nobody in the office to watch. Most of the more central members were attending the ball and the rough necks were soundly sleeping in their bunks, which was where he desperately wanted to be.
Actually, where he longed to be was at home, in bed, with his tall, leggy wife. Shepp could almost smell gardenia, her favorite flower. The sweet, perfumed scent of them wafting through their open bedroom window from the garden was relaxing. So meticulously pruned, and fruitfully blossoming, they bordered the whole of the house. The smell of the body lotion she wore as his skin embraced hers, that so closely mimicked that plant, stupefied him. Her auburn hair would be snaking in tendrils around her shoulders as she slept.
He sighed contentedly, heavy lids succumbing to fatigue, arms drooping over the sides of the chair.
Shepp wasn't sure how long he was out: his dreams were consumed with visions of milky white flesh snug against his. A frantic knocking at the door jerked him awake and he sprung up from the chair, one hand on his Glock and the other rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
He eased to the door as the knob rattled, but after a few moments the noise ceased. He frowned and leaned his head near the door, ear close to the metal in an attempt to discern if the person was still out there.
"Let me in!" Bellowed a voice from the other side. He thought he recognized that earthy, easy tone. His hand reached up tentatively, fingering the lock hesitantly.
Shepp had barely unlocked the dead bolt before the metal door came swinging in, knocking him off his feet. He ended up sprawled on the floor, gun still trained at the opening, eyes wide and nervous.
Tinkling laughter trailed in as a disheveled figure trudged inside, water pooing in her wake.
"Miss Bourke?" He asked lowly, incredulously, still pointing his pistol steadily at her visage.
"Who else?" She asked, irritably, eyeing his sprawled position. His legs were jutting out with one arm bracing his upper body and the other holding up a steady hand, pistol drawn.
"This is an unexpected surprise." He grunted, ungainly struggling to compose himself. "I thought I recognized your dulcet tone. You sound like a stuck pig." He braced a hand on the jamb and stood, taking in her appearance. The evening gown she wore was soaked, her skin covered in goose bumps, hair dripping wet, tendrils escaping from her elegant coif and dripping water all over the floor.
He noticed that somehow, despite her disheveled exterior, she retained a rather elegant composure. Her shoulders were square, chin tilted in defiance, blue eyes tinted with emerald, an associated, fiery ignominy issuing from their feverish depths.
"I've endured entirely too many unexpected revelations today." She admonished, stepping into the room. Her slim fingers closed the door succinctly and he swallowed. At the moment, her countenance almost emanated the fiery destruction of an inferno. Evidently, something had upset this woman, and Shepp wasn't fool enough to meddle in the emotional state of a female, especially one as passionate as Robyn.
"I beg your pardon?" He managed lightly, finally standing upright, holstering his firearm.
"It doesn't matter." She huffed, eyes boring daggers into his.
"Okay...what are you doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you here?"
"Your lovely dictator requested my observatory skills," she snapped "but I need clothes first, if you don't mind."
"Uh..." He stuttered, still inebriated on the vestiges of sleep, not having foreseen the demanding woman barging into his happy reverie. "Well...I just have some things of mine?" It came out a question instead of his intended statement of offering.
"Are you asking me, or informing me, that I might use your clothes?" She barked, reminding him briefly of his boss.
"You sound like Quinn." He grumbled roughly, rummaging through his pack. "You could be twins."
"Don't you dare equate me with him!" Robyn hissed, jerking his arm. "We are nothing alike," she said coldly, eyes turning to focus on the floor "thank God."
"What happened?" Shepp asked softly. He knew his commander. He probably had entranced this poor, adolescent girl with his irresistibility, and then just as supremely squashed any reveling of bliss she had built up in her mind. There was no happy ending with Quinn, as far as he knew, not since Georgia. That was something never mentioned amongst the men, because the repercussions of such actions would have been tantamount to a stint in Alcatraz.
As he observed Robyn, the angry tears she proudly held back in her eyes revealed everything, more or less, and Shepp's heart leapt with empathy for the woman. "Don't answer that." He said, laying a sympathizing palm on her wet shoulder. "Here's a shirt." He acknowledged her avoidance of the preceding situation, digging through his suitcase feverishly.
She barely cast a glance at the wrinkled button down he produced. "That will be fine." She grasped the garment with stiff fingers, the tips blue from the cold. "Pants?"
Shepp took in her trembling frame: she must have weighed only a hundred twenty five pounds, soaking wet. Which she was, he reminded himself, and hurriedly shuffled through his meager selection of clothing, attempting to find something to warm the cold girl. She had to be near hypothermia, yet she stood adamantly, with great resolve.
"This is the smallest pair of pants I have." He offered, holding out a pair of slacks.
"Thanks," Robyn muttered, eyes diverted from his "you didn't have to."
"You're freezing." He stated, gawking at her.
"Obviously." Robyn hissed. "You're nearly as perceptive as your ass of a boss."
"Quinn?"
"Who else, Sherlock?"
"What's with the attitude?"
"It doesn't matter." She said, eyes softening apologetically. "I'm sorry. It's just, I'm not an FBI agent, Shepp. I can't do this anymore."
He balked: her body was sagging with defeat, right before him, and it shocked him considerably. He hadn't assumed her weak: contrarily, he believed in her completely, far beyond the level at which he knew, or assumed, Quinn had shown.
"Hey," he said, patting her on the arm "you are more capable of this than you think. Detective work, I mean." He gestured roughly toward the door. "All that, out there, in the world-that's superficial. You are highly intelligent, beyond the bounds of human existence. I imagine you operate on a supercilious level, because if you didn't, Quinn wouldn't have entrusted you with this task."
"Quinn Jones' brain is a bag full of cats." She berated. "I wouldn't touch that man with a ten foot pole."
"Quoting the Grinch now, are we?" Shepp laughed wholeheartedly. "Did Quinn steal the last can of who-hash?"
"No. Just a fact." She stated, shrugging. He noticed her lips twitching in humor at his joke. "I need you to do something for me."
"Anything, Doctor Burke." He agreed amicably. She was funny; he liked that. Smart, quick as a whip, and challenging. Surely, he thought, that was just what Quinn needed, whether he was aware of that necessity or not. This was a woman that matched his boss in every way possible, but he hoped Quinn realized that before something terrible happened.
"Can you set your cameras to follow the scientist that just entered the west wing?" She leaned toward his screens, eyes glued to them with resolution.
"It's done." He said, computer monitor now showing the long, desolate hallway that lead toward the kitchens. Both watched as a balding, stringy haired man hunched down the corridor and leaned against an inconspicuous wall. Suddenly he disappeared.
"What the heck?" Robyn breathed, her breath fogging the screen as she exhaled.
"I'm not sure." Shepp frowned. "I've not seen anybody in that hallway. At least, they always go left, toward the mess hall. But to the right, as far as I can tell, there's nothing there."
"There's not a door!" Robyn hollered. "Where did he go?" She was becoming frantic.
"Well," Shepp started.
"What?" She glared. He hated to be on the receiving end of that intense stare. He could feel his balls shriveling under her gaze, it was so emasculating.
"Quinn must have really pissed you off, huh?"
"Does it matter what your jack off of a superior did?" She cast a cutting look over him. "If you mention him one more time, I swear I'll-"
"Point taken. We won't mention Q.J." He held his hands up in offering of surrender.
She doubled over suddenly, her hair flopping from her ruffled up do into her face, mouth working, and he thought she was being sick until the sound of laugher reached his ears, and he smiled in return. Eyes crinkled, face screwed up, and tears leaking from the corners of her eyelids in mirth, she finally responded. "Agreed." She gasped, straightening up.
"I've been requested to follow that guy." She gestured to the now blank screen. "That's what your 'Q.J.' desires, anyway." Robyn waved a hand at her soaked dress. "This just won't work, for practical reasons."
Shepp nodded as she held out the clothes he'd lent her. "Ooh, right." He grinned. "You need to change."
"Well, apparently." She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm kind of cold, and this leaves little to the imagination, at the moment."
"Go ahead." It was his turn to blush as he turned around, allowing her some privacy.
The only sound in the room for a minute was the shuffling of her shimmying out of her dress and into his starched clothes. Had he not been happily married, Shepp might have taken advantage of the situation. He couldn't fathom what Quinn could have possibly done to piss off this amazing woman, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Whatever it was, it had to be ruthless: Robyn was one of the most astounding specimens he'd personally seen since his wife. While he was biased toward his betrothed, he couldn't imagine why anyone would pass up the beautiful, strong, capable girl, standing drenching wet just feet from him.
Quinn had to be the biggest idiot he'd ever met, to let such a lotus blossom pass him by.
After a moment he heard a tentative "How do I look?"
Shepp turned and his breath caught in his throat. Yes, Quinn was the biggest asshole in the world. Robyn was clad in his black dress shirt, with it untucked over his pants. They were a bit long but she had pulled them high and the hem was rolled up, leaving her bare feet to move more freely. Her slim ankles were visible just beneath the cuff of the pants, and her hair was now pulled into a low pony tail, the dark blonde strands framing her angular face delicately where they escaped in tendrils from the elastic band.
Shepp gulped, fingering his wedding ring. He was faithful to his wife and always had been. But noticing beauty wasn't cheating: likewise, you could condemn someone for not knowing a good thing when it was right fucking there; damn Quinn's shortsightedness. There was something so innocent about her standing there, dressed in a man's clothing, hair in disarray, eyes wide with fear and trepidation.
"One," he began, easing toward her "Quinn is a goddamn idiot. You are amazing, and he needs you, trust me."
"That's the second time I've heard that spiel tonight, Shepp."
"I mean it." He said, shaking his head. "He's got to be the densest idiot I've ever met, to let a goddess like you slip through his fingers."
"Thank you," Robyn said, blushing, eyes darting low "but I doubt he will ever see me that way."
"He has, I assure you," Shepp said rigorously "everyone has."
"Oh," Robyn said lowly, heart leaping with hope "really?"
"Yes. I've never seen a man so bent out of sorts by a woman, and you can bet, I know. That's what happened when I met my wife."
His eyes gleamed comfortingly into hers. "Really?" She asked for the second time that night.
"No doubt about it. He's hot for you." Shepp winked and she blushed profusely. "Also, two: you need a belt or something for those trousers."
"Oh." Robyn seemed taken aback at being shaken from her reverie. The shirt was big: the fabric bellowed out below her armpits obscenely, as it was meant for a much broader frame. Her brows furrowed, and Shepp watched her in awe as she came to a solution. "Here!" She blurted delightfully, yanking her choker from her neck. She threaded the material through the adjustment clasp, making it longer. Then she cinched it around her waist, beaming up happily at Shepp.
"Amazing." He choked out. "You look great."
"Can you keep an eye on these corridors?" She pointed out a path on the map hanging on his wall. "I need to take these here, and here. Let me know if anything weird happens?"
"Anytime." He said, smiling at her warmly.
"Radio me?" There was a tremor in her voice as she requested the favor.
"Yes. We'll have two-way. I'll be here the whole time." He reassured, cracking the door just enough for her to slip out.
"Good." She breathed, casting one long, scared look at him before sliding out through the opening.
"You know," Shepp said into his mic as he watched her transverse the platform, and enter the dark hall of the first floor "Quinn really doesn't know how lucky he could be."
He couldn't discern Robyn's dark blush over the video feed, as she was partially concealed in shadow, but he knew it was there. "That won't happen." She said sadly, shutting the door soundlessly behind her, enveloping her body in the dimness.
"Don't give up on him, Miss Bourke. Not yet." Shepp advised as he watched her small frame slide through the hall like a shadow. He could barely see her in the vague light, and was glad he'd thought to give her a dark colored shirt.
He couldn't visually see her at all times, but he did sense her steady movements, tracking her progress as she sidled under the dim, red security lights. She was quick: he barely had time to register her location before she had sunk back into the liquid darkness.
"It's Shepp." He said through the mic and he saw her jump, barely discernible in the murkiness. "Don't startle. You aren't being followed. I just wanted to compliment you on your sleuthing skills."
He watched the next security light she would pass under. As she slipped through the ruby glow, she turned her head to look directly at the camera, eyes filled with nervous fear. The slight nod of her head indicated her reception of his compliment: he knew she wouldn't chance a communication back if it would jeopardize her position. She shot him one last, pleading look before she melted back into the abyss.
She was clever. Shepp was pleasantly surprised. He knew the investigation was enriched by having a scientist there, especially one that knew the ocean well. Her presence had been a vestigial consequence of the mystery itself. She and her dolphin had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Now she was fully involved, albeit with a fiery reluctance.
That was the part of her personality that scared Shepp. In the brief time he'd known her, he supposed he could count on her to follow through, no matter what stood in her way, regardless of how she felt about the situation; even, he was fairly sure, if it the cost was her own life.