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First Day Jitters
(prequel to Just A Rookie)
by F.A. Berhend

Disclaimer:  The characters of Frank Donovan, Jake Shaw, Alex Cross, Monica Davis, Cody and Paul Bloom were created by and are owned by Shane Salenrno and Don Wilson.  No infringements intended.  All other characters are owned by the author.

(feedback welcomed through the Message Board or to fabram@kc.rr.com)

Rated:  PG13

~*~*~*~*~

            She drove up to the old fire station and parked in front.  She sat in the car for a minute, willed herself to be calm, but gave up, pumped her arm in the air and yelled “yippee!”  It was nearly dark, and the heat rising from the pavement hit her in the face as soon as she got out of the car.  The neighborhood was quiet, reclaimed from urban decay and newly gentrified.  There were a few cars parked in the street but no one was outside walking in the sultry summer evening.  She didn’t expect that anyone would be here this late, and that was just as well.  She was so excited she could hardly contain herself.  She stood looking at the building for a few minutes, not really believing that she would be working inside, starting first thing in the morning. 

            She had been moving boxes into her apartment when she had come across the one containing her coffee mug, books and files.  She had nearly all her things in place in her new home.  She was not exactly completely moved in, there were pictures to be hung yet and cupboards to be filled, but the little apartment was functional for now.  She decided to take a break.  The one remaining box sat on the floor and, on impulse, she decided to take it over to the office and get situated.  That way, she thought, I’ll be ready hit the ground running.

            Now she stood on the sidewalk outside the building.  Leaving the box in the car, she fished out the keys they had given her, bright and new, and went to open the front door.  The fire station had been converted some time ago, and when she stepped inside she was surprised at the interior space.  It was large and open, a central area extending up two stories, with a walkway at the second level surrounding the core.  That second level seemed to be occupied by offices with closed doors. 

            On the main floor there were a multitude of desks, each with a computer and a phone.  They all seemed to be “occupied,” cluttered with the debris of daily work.  There was an empty one on the far side of the room and she walked over to it.  It was getting dark inside and she did not know where the light switch was for the overheads, so she reached for the switch on the desk lamp, turned it on and sat down.  Wow, she thought, I’m really here!  She ran her hands over the blotter and left a trail in the dust.  No matter, we’ll have this ship-shape in no time, she thought. 

            She went back out to the car and brought in her box.  She sat it down on the chair with a thump.  A cloud of dust rose up and she sneezed.  She decided to take a quick look around, maybe find a rag of some kind to clean off the desk.  She glanced at the other desks as she walked past them.  Not much there in the way of personal items, she noticed, for there were few pictures or mementos laying around.  She circled the big room and found a kitchen area.  There was enough light coming through large windows to show her that it was spotless.  Either they never use it, she thought, or the boss is a real neat freak. 

            She located some paper towels, got them wet in the sink and went back to “her” desk.  In no time she had it wiped down and her box emptied into the drawers.  She really hadn’t brought much, just her books from the Academy, some of her notes, and one family photo which she sat on the desk next to Philidia, her plant.  “Well, Phil,” she said out loud.  Her voice echoed in the empty room and she jumped just a little.  “We’re finally here.” 

            She reached back into her hip pocket and brought out her ID badge.  It was so new that the case still retained its leather smell and cracked slightly when she opened it.  It said, “Caroline Montgomery, FBI,” next to a blue and gold shield.  She ran her fingers over the badge and shivered just a little.  Wow! she thought, I’m a federal agent! 

            She had been so intent on getting the desk cleaned up that she had not noticed how dark it had gotten.  She sat in the corner of the vast open room in a small pool of yellow light coming from the desk lamp, and when she looked up she could just barely make out the outline of the door all the way across the room.  “OK, Phil,” she said, “I think we’re all set.” 

            She got up, turned off the light and began to feel her way across the room.  Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw movement, just the barest shadow, sliding without sound, off to her right.  She froze for just a fraction of a second, and then thought, don’t be silly, there’s nobody else here.  She had been sitting under the desk lamp and her eyes were not fully adjusted to the dark.  She shook her head and continued towards the door.  There it was again, a black shape moving against a blacker background, this time to her left.  Oh shit, she thought, there is somebody in here with me! 

            She continued towards the door, if I can just find a light switch, she thought.  She found a waste basket instead.  She stumbled into the metal container and sent a shock wave of noise careening around the room.  Shadows suddenly loomed up out of the darkness all around her.  Shit! she thought as she dove for cover under what she imagined was one of the desks.  She whacked her head on a chair and fumbled in her bag for her gun as she scrambled for cover.  The gun was not loaded.  She hated to carry a loaded weapon, just the feel of a gun in her hands still scared the willies out of her. 

            She had her hand on the weapon and was beginning to rise when a voice boomed out in the darkness, “who are you and what are you doing here?!  Both of you, show yourselves!”            

            OK, she thought, they don’t know I’m alone!  She slowly stood up on shaking legs and cried out, “drop it, all of you, you’re covered on all sides, so give it up!”  Her voice came out as a high pitched squeak.  Before she could say another word two things happened, first, the lights came on in a blinding flash, and second, something very like a bowling ball hit her square in the middle of the back, pinned her to the floor and sent her gun skittering away across the tile.

            All the breath was knocked out of her and a deep voice growled in her ear, “who are you, what are you doing here, and who the hell is Phil!?”  Her arm was held in a vice-like grip and he twisted it, sending a burst of pain through her shoulder.  He had a knee planted firmly in the center of her back and she could barely move, let alone speak.  “I want answers!  Now!  Or I will break your arm!”

            “Boss?”  It was a female voice from across the room, deep and calm.

            “What?!”

            “She’s one of ours.”

            “What!”  The pressure on her back and arm eased slightly.

            “According to the ID badge on the desk, this is Agent Caroline Montgomery, FBI.”

            He let go of her arm and stood up over her.  She began to grope her way to her knees.  He took the ID and looked at it and then he looked at her.  She was ashen faced and her clothes and hair were a mess, but he could see green eyes and a slender, athletic body.  There was a bruise forming where her head had hit the chair, but she was beautiful.  “But who’s Phil?” he asked.

            “My plant,” she gasped, “my philodendron.”  A wave of nausea suddenly overtook her.  She tried to reach the wastebasket, missed, and violently retched all over his shoes.

            She was home, a cold cloth covering her head and a stiff drink on the table next to her.  She was on the phone.  She had told the whole sad story.  “Mom, it was awful.”

            “Honey,” said her mother’s voice, soft and soothing, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

            “Mom, I barfed all over my new boss!  How much worse could it get!?”
            “You didn’t shoot him, did you?”

            “No.  I didn’t shoot him.  But I will be damned lucky if he doesn’t shoot me.”

            It didn’t get much better over the next few weeks.  The first assignment was simple enough, reviewing reports, and extracting and compiling data.  Her first actual “field” work was a stakeout.  All she had to do was watch a man standing on a corner.  It had been beastly hot and she had been sitting in the car all morning, drinking water from a bottle and sweating.  About midmorning she found that she had an overwhelming urge to use the bathroom.  She found a restroom in a gas station nearby, and when she returned to the car, the subject of her stakeout  had left his corner.  She searched the surrounding blocks thoroughly, but had not been able to locate him.

            When she had gotten back to the station, Frank had simply said, “I’m sorry.  I should have sent someone with you,”  implying that she couldn’t handle such a simple assignment on her own.  He hadn’t even looked up from his paperwork.  She returned to her desk and went back to compiling statistics.  Maybe this is all I’m good for, she thought.

            Her next assignment in the field was another stakeout, but this time Jake was with her.  She felt more confident and secure with Jake.  He had been very nice to her, and now he was trying to give her little tips as they followed their mark through traffic.  “You want to stay close,” he said, “but not so close that they know you’re there.”  She felt herself beginning to relax a little.  “You know,” he went on, “we all started somewhere.”

            “But I don’t think anybody has ever gotten off so completely on the wrong foot.”

            “It’s true, you may have set some sort of record,” he laughed, “It will be a long time before anybody tops barfing on the boss’s shoes on their first day...”

            “Before their first day,” she corrected with a laugh and then she blushed furiously.  She didn’t think she would ever get over the embarrassment of that moment.

            “But just give yourself a chance,” he said.  “You have good training and you’re basically very intelligent.  The only way to get the street smarts, the craft, is with time.”

            “I know,” she sighed, “I guess I’m just terrified that I’ll get someone killed.”

            “That’s not very likely, not everything we do is a life or death situation.  Most of it is very routine, even boring, like just following this joker around while he picks up his dry cleaning.  There are really very few completely irredeemable errors.”

            “I really appreciate your support, Jake.”

            “Just relax.  Say, a couple of us are stopping by McGinty’s tomorrow tonight for a beer, how about joining us?”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” she said quietly, turning in the traffic to follow their target, “can I put in an expense voucher to cover the potential dry cleaning bills?”   They both laughed.

            She was beginning to feel more confidence.  Jake seemed to be willing to give her some room to grow, so maybe the others on the team would be willing to accept her as well.  Everyone, that is, except Donovan.  Hell would probably freeze over before he would actually come to trust her.  Not that she blamed him, of course.  After all, he had negotiated for the release of hostages, he had taken out terrorists and drug dealers, he was practically a legend within the Bureau.  And he was also damnably good-looking, and that in itself was terribly distracting.  And what had she managed to accomplish in these few weeks?  Nothing but one screw-up after another. 

            He had zero patience with rookies, especially her it seemed, and zero tolerance for mistakes.  She had never seen him smile.  He probably has ice water in his veins, she thought, no, not ice water, liquid nitrogen.  The only time he expressed any emotion at all was when he was chewing her out, which unfortunately was nearly every day.  It would take a long time, a very long time indeed, before Frank Donovan could possibly have any trust in her or any respect for her abilities, no matter how much potential she may have had.

            She never saw the truck.  They had rounded a corner, following the target at a discreet distance, and the truck had simply pulled out of an alley in front of them.  She had no time to stop and no way to avoid a collision.  Jake got the worst of it.  He had been turned towards her when the air bag went off and now he was on his way to the hospital with a concussion.  A tow truck took the car away and a black and white took her back to the station. 

            She stood on the street outside the building looking up.  God, she thought, if you’re going to pick a time to end the world, now would be nice.  She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and opened the door.  When she stepped inside, the entire building fell silent.  There was not a sound except for the ringing of a few phones.  Everyone was staring at her and she felt her face grow red.  “Are you OK?” asked Alex.

            “Yes,” she said as she made her way to her desk.

            “Jake?”
            “He’s got a concussion.  They’re keeping him overnight.”

            “He’ll be fine.  His head is harder than any know substance.”  Alex went back to her work and everyone resumed what they had been doing.

            She put her bag on her desk and was about to sit down when Frank leaned over the railing above her and said, “Montgomery, my office.  Now.”

            “Me?” she said, her insides shaking like jelly.

            “Yes, you.  Unless you know of another Agent Montgomery around here.”  He turned and went back through his door.

            Feeling like the truant who was being called to the principal’s office, she went up the steps.  Here it comes, she thought, I’m about to be fired, so much for the shortest FBI career on record.

            He was on the phone and motioned her to a seat as soon as she came in the door.  “That was Jake,” he said, “he’s fine, just a headache, but we’ve got a problem.”

            Just one? she thought.  “What is it?”

            “He was supposed to meet with an informant tonight.  Now he can’t do that.  We’ll have to go in his place.  He’s got us all set up with his contact.”

            “Us?”

            “Yes, us.  Do you have a problem with that?”  He gave her a level look.

            “No.  No, sir.  Not at all.”

            “Fine.  Go home.  Get some rest and something to eat.  Change into something...I don’t know...we’re meeting at a biker bar...something appropriate.  I’ll pick you up about eight o’clock.”  He reached for the phone.  “Any questions?”

            “Uh, no.  I’ll be ready by eight.”  He nodded and picked up the phone and she left the office.

            She was standing in front of her closet with the phone cradled on her shoulder, “OK, Mom, what should I wear?”

            “Where are you going, dear?”

            “Biker bar.  Denim or leather?”

            “Oh, denim, of course, leather’s much too hot this time of year.”

            She laughed, “Now how in the world did you learn so much about biker bars?”

            “Back in the day, my dear, your father and I were quite the rebels.  Good luck, honey, and just relax.  You know what you’re doing, you’ve got the best training in the world, now just use it.”

            “Thanks, Mom.  I’ll talk to you later.”

            Frank nodded his approval when he picked her up.  She had twisted her hair up and fastened it with a silver clip, leaving a few soft tendrils framing her face.  The jeans had just the right amount of wear to them and were ripped in just the right places.  She had on a short tank top that exposed a flat belly, and she had applied a tattoo to her upper right arm.  Her dress at the office was generally conservative, almost prim, but tonight, she could easily pass for someone’s bitch. The transformation completely surprised him. He looked her over, “very nice,” he said, “very nice indeed.  I think you’ll pass.  Where’s your gun?”  She nodded at the small shoulder bag she carried.  “Loaded?” he asked with a smile and she nodded again.

            He had picked up the car from the motor pool, it was a hot yellow Mustang.  When they got out to the street he tossed her the keys, “you drive,” he said.

            “Me?  Are you sure?  I already put one person in the hospital with my driving today.”

            “No, Cary,”  it was the first time he had used her first name, “you didn’t put Jake in the hospital.  That truck put him out.  There was no way you could have avoided that collision.  Quit blaming yourself for things you can’t control.”  He got in and gave her directions.

            They needed to go quite a distance, and so he settled back while she piloted the car through traffic.  Maybe she’s not the problem, he thought, maybe its me.  From the first moment they met, that unfortunate evening when she had ruined his shoes, he had been attracted to her.  As a result of that attraction, he had worked very hard to maintain a great deal of distance between them.  But his hard boiled attitude had produced an agent on the edge of catastrophic failure, someone who rattled so easily that lives could be lost.  He needed to find a way to get her back and to restore the potential he knew was there.  Maybe I’m the one who needs to relax, he thought, I just might be trying to avoid a conflict with her that doesn’t, or won’t, ever exist. 

            She interrupted his train of thought when she asked, “what’s the plan for tonight?”

            “It should be simple enough.  We meet Jake’s contact.  He gives us information and we give him money.”

            “Why am I along?  You could do this easily on your own.”

            “You’re along because I think you need the experience.  All you have to do is follow my lead and look beautiful.”

            “So I’m the biker babe arm-candy?” she asked with a smile. 

            He nodded.  They drove for a short time and then he asked, “Cary, why did you want to join the Bureau?”

            It was a question she had been asked countless times, in the initial interviews with the Bureau as well as by her own family, and she had a ready answer, “because I wanted to make a difference, do something really worthwhile.”

            “That’s the stock interview answer.  I’d like the real one.”

            “Well,” she cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

            “Relax,” he said, “I know about your arrest.”

            “Well, yes, you probably would.”

            “So tell me about it.”  He watched her carefully as she drove, her face lit only by the dashboard light.

            “OK,” she took a deep breath.  Talking about it even two years after the fact was still difficult.  “I was working in New York...a little accounting firm in the financial district.  It was 9/11.  I was late getting in and I saw the Towers fall.  The company I worked for was in one of the neighboring structures.  One of my friends, a woman I worked with, Marie, was about 8 months pregnant at the time.  I knew she always got in early and I was scared to death that she was hurt.  There were a lot of glass windows in our office, and they faced the Towers.  Even if she wasn’t hurt, I knew she would have a hard time getting down the stairwell on her own.  When I got closer, I saw the building we were in was damaged, but everyone was running away.  All the rescue people were trying to get to the Towers.”  She stopped then for a moment and took a deep breath.  He could see her hands tighten on the wheel.  “I couldn’t get anyone to listen to me.  I couldn’t get anyone to go in and see if she was OK.  When I tried to go in, a cop stopped me.  He said the building was damaged and they weren’t allowing anyone back inside.  I tried to explain about Marie, but he wouldn’t listen either.  So...I decked him.  I got inside.  I found Marie and we got out.  The cop spotted me when we came out and I was arrested for slugging him.  They dismissed the charges later.  That’s all there was to it.  Of course, the city was in chaos.  It took months for the firm to get back on its feet, find other offices and all, but by then I had decided, I just didn’t want to be an accountant any more.  So I joined the Bureau.”

            “And do you know why you were assigned to my team?”

            “No.  I just assumed...there was an opening...”

            “I requested you.”

            “Really?”  She looked over at him, astonished.  “Why?”

            He smiled, “because I want people who will run into burning buildings.”

            She sighed heavily, “I’m beginning to think that behavior was an aberration.  I just don’t seem to be able to...click...”

            “We’ll see,” he said, “we’ll just have to see.”

            The bar was a little piece of redneck heaven called “Choppers.”  In the parking lot, she had debated biker etiquette and then decided not to wait for Frank to open the door.  She got out just as he was coming around to her side.  He, too, had on jeans, a black T-shirt and boots, and a denim jacket.  Within just a few steps, he seemed to transform into someone else completely.  His walk was slightly different, there was a swagger to it.  The expression on his face and the way he carried himself conveyed an image of danger.  The crowd stood aside as soon as they entered.  The air was blue with smoke and the noise from the juke box was deafening.  They made their way up to the bar, the crush of people parting silently to let them pass.  He asked for Freddie and the bartender nodded to a table in the back.

            “You Freddie?” he asked when they found it.

            “And who might you be?”  The man was short and fat, bare chested with tattoos covering his torso.  His hair was greasy, long and gray and fell in two braids over his shoulders.

            “Friend of Jake.”

            “Jake didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout two friends.”  He nodded at Cary.

            “She’s my friend.  Just along for the ride.”

            “Ditch her,” Freddie ordered, “we got bidnez.”

            “If I ditch her what do I get to play with later tonight?” he said reasonably.

            “Don’t care who or what you play with, our bidnez don’t include no bitch.”

            Cary came around in front of Frank, “look, sugar,” she said, “I won’t be no trouble.”  She laced her arms around his neck and pressed her body up against him.  “Why don’t I just go get us some drinks while you do what you gotta do?”  She trailed a finger down his cheek.  “Don’t be long now, sugar, I got plans for later.”  She gave him a wink and a smile that was full of promise, detached herself and went back towards the bar. 

            He watched her walk through the crowd and observed the crowd’s reaction to her.  Every man in the bar was following her, and undressing her, with his eyes.  He was glad he had brought her along.  All the attention was focused on her and he was free to conduct his business with Freddie in relative peace.  Damn, he thought, she could be good at this, very good.  He took a deep breath to calm his racing pulse, and went back to greasy Freddie.  “Now then,” he said, swinging a long leg over the back of a chair, “let’s talk.”

            She brought beers to the table and leaned over him, exposing cleavage to Freddie, “I’ll just go amuse myself ‘til you’re done, sugar,” she said, trailing her fingertips over his shoulder as she walked away. 

            Freddie nodded appreciatively and sipped his brew.  “You got some fireball there,” he said, “now...where were we...”

            The disturbance started at the pool table.  She was shooting a game of 8-ball with a beefy woman in leather, and winning, when words passed between the woman and the man who had accompanied her.  Guns were drawn, shots fired, and in the end, Freddie had been caught in the crossfire and now lay dead on the floor at Donovan’s feet.  He pulled her out from under the table where she had taken refuge.  Barely able to contain his anger, he took her by the arm and led her out of the bar.  “We need to leave before the local cops get here,” he told her under his breath as he steered her towards the door. 

            The next thing she knew, they were in the car, spitting gravel out from under the tires and rocketing over the road to the highway.  “What in hell happened back there!” he raged.  When he glanced over at her, she was pale, “oh God,” he said, “please don’t get sick on me again!”

            “I won’t.”  Her voice was small.  The knuckles on the hand gripping the arm rest were white, but otherwise she seemed to be in control.  She took a deep breath, “I have no idea what just happened.  One minute I was shooting pool, with some woman named Joyce, and the next minute, Joyce and her buddy were playing shoot-out-at-the-OK Corral.”  She paused, “Freddie’s dead, isn’t he.”  She was leaning back in the seat, one arm over her eyes, willing herself to be calm, to stop shaking, telling herself silently, I will not barf, I will not cry.

            “Yes, he’s dead.  It took Jake nearly a year to dig himself into that crowd and now we get to start all over.  Damn!”  He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel, she jumped and he thought, please don’t cry, I can deal with anything but a crying woman.

            They drove for a time and finally he stopped at a roadside rest.  He took her inside, sat her down and ordered coffee.  He was calmer now and had control of himself again.  “Look,” he said after the waitress left them alone, “what happened in there was not your fault.  Freddie just caught a very unlucky break.  He happened to step in front of a bullet, it had nothing to do with you.”  He didn’t want to lose what he had seen in her earlier, but as she sat across from him, he watched her confidence ebbing away, like water slowly trickling down a drain.

            She shook her head, “I should have been able to do something.  I should have been able to see that Joyce what’s-her-name was about to blow.  I should have been able to control the situation...”

            “There was nothing you could have done.  There was nothing anyone could have done, and I’m not just trying to be nice here.  I’m not actually known for being nice...”

            “Tell me about it,” she cracked.  She stared at her coffee cup.  “That could just as easily have been you on that floor back there.  Generally, when two agents go into something like that, it’s supposed to make the situation less risky, not more.”

            “Cary, I’m not going to kid you, this will set us back some considerable amount of time.  But I saw you do something amazing tonight.  You actually became someone else.  When you walked into that bar, you adopted a whole new personality.  That’s not easy, and not everyone can do it, especially on the spur of the moment like that.  I didn’t give you any clues about what your behavior should be, I didn’t even tell you what name you should use.  You made an instant assessment, and just went with it.  It’s that kind of ‘thinking outside the box’ person that I want on my team.  What you need is time...experience.  If I’m willing to give you that, and I’m the one with my head on the block here, can you allow yourself to stay in for the long term?”

            She stared at her coffee cup for a long time.  Finally she said, very quietly, “I don’t know.  I just don’t know.  I want to.  I have the desire.  I just don’t know if I can really do it.  When bullets start flying, I just...freeze up.  That can get people killed, and that’s the last thing in the world I want.  I just don’t know.”

            He dropped her off at her apartment, telling her to get some sleep, and then he went back to the station.  The building was dark, deserted, and he was alone with his thoughts.  He walked past her desk.  There was a stuffed Kermit the Frog on top of her computer and her coffee mug bore the image of a fluffy kitten.  Is she really cut out for this, he wondered.  There has to be a place for her in the Bureau, somewhere, he shook his head, I just don’t know if it’s here.  He went to his office, turned on the desk lamp and sat down.  I’m hedging my bets, he thought and he reached into the drawer to pull out the “Request for Reassignment” form.  Just in case it doesn’t work out, he said, just in case this doesn’t work out.

...to be continued in “Just A Rookie”