#timestamp:hostages

Well, they’d finally managed it. Agent Caverly had gone above and beyond, and the personnel files were finally updated and organized. It was now his job to go through them and familiarize himself with the recent arrivals. He was about halfway through the stack when he froze, reading and re-reading the name at the top.

He knew this one.

Setting the file down, he closed his eyes, struggling to breathe. The name alone brought back memories. And memories brought him back.

They couldn’t have known. That was his mantra, in the month following the explosion. They couldn’t have known what would happen. Surely they hadn’t maimed him on purpose. They’d teased him about his accent, yes, about his lifestyle, but for it all, Charles had thought they’d--well, bonded. He’d never had many friends—proper friends, in the working class sense of the word. You simply accustomed yourself to the company of those around you—children of your parents’ friends, schoolmates, an affection born of convenience rather than choice. But with those men on the front, he felt they’d overcome something. A rigid class division worn away by the comradery of service. He’d actually thought they’d liked him, as he liked them.

That’s why the thoughts pained him. The ones that came to him in the middle of the night, those first few days in the hospital. The treacherous thoughts, full of hateful whispers about why he was in that bed. About the faulty intelligence he’d been given, and had they done it on purpose? Sent him and his operatives there with the intention of seeing them fall? No. There was no reason, no rationality to it. And now Isaac was here…the very man who’d given him the information.

Charles got to his feet, tugging on his coat and walking down to the barracks. He didn’t know what drove him to it, whether enthusiasm at seeing his friend again or an urge to confront the man who’d all but given him this cane. But he had to find him…had to confirm his presence, somehow. And sure enough, there he was, cleaning his rifle as though he’d always been there, just out of sight.

“Dear God,” he muttered, staring at the boxes. The weather’d finally let up, resulting in a long overdue shipment of files and folders. Shifting his weight on his cane, he walked over, surveying the damage. They’d been thoughtful enough to enclose several weeks’ worth of shipping information…but had then seen fit to pack it in with the rest. 

He was deciding which to box to open first when he heard someone walk in. He turned around and offered a polite smile. Between the height and the hair, there was no mistaking her. If he weren’t so terribly fond of Callista, he might very well have bragged to Mary about Artemis. She was sharp, intelligent…by all accounts, an ideal student. In fact, between her and Ms. Walsh, Charles had no doubt that the future of intelligence was in fine hands.