Chapter Text
When most people saw Vivian, the first word that came to mind was the word “average”. Chunky black glasses covered most of that face, which was not pretty and not ugly, and the long black hair was just as drab. The second word would be "monochrome".
That was what Tanner Briggs saw in his office on a Tuesday morning. Briggs allowed shock to take over for a brief moment before reacting.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The girl smiled. “Vivian Doe, 16 years of age.”
There was something in her voice, an accent Briggs couldn’t quite place.
“Doe?” he repeated.
The girl, smiled mysteriously. “Might be temporary, might be permanent. Gotta start somewhere.”
Briggs narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t told there would be a visitor, Ms. Doe.” He mentally thought back to his appointments and indeed there were none.
Vivian didn’t react. “Can’t a girl show up uninvited sometimes, Agent Briggs?” Her dark eyes scanned his face. There was something eerily perceptive about the way she looked at him. She laughed softly. “Don’t look so cautious.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
She continued. “Besides, I’m not uninvited. Don’t you remember the New York case last month?”
“The cartel?”
Vivian nodded, her glasses still firmly in place. “Someone slipped me a name card, and the name on it was yours.”
Briggs leaned back slightly in his chair, studying her.
“Why should I believe you?” he asked.
She tilted her head back slightly as she studied him. “You already believe me,” she said. “You just don’t like the fact that you do.”
Briggs went still. “Fine, let’s say that I believe you. Then who slipped the card to you? When?”
“Does it matter?”
“Get to the point, kid. Tell it as it was.”
“I provided some…” Vivian paused slightly. “You could say help, I suppose, to their case. This agent said if I ever wanted to switch to the light, I should find you and ask about the Naturals.”
“What kind of help did you provide?” Briggs said. “How?”
Vivian tilted her head again. “The man you arrested at first wasn’t the one in charge.”
Briggs frowned slightly. “And how did you know that?”
“He carried a knife, and that was his weapon of choice.”
“Explain.”
“A control freak in power isn’t usually a knife guy. You should have looked for someone with a gun.”
Briggs nodded. “I understand. What can you tell me about myself, then?”
Vivian studied him, gaze dropping to his jacket. It was perfectly ironed. There were places where the fabric was slightly worn but the rest of the suit was perfectly functional. Someone who cared about appearances, but not enough to waste money replacing something functional. “You’re right-handed,” she said. “But the gun isn’t your first instinct.”
Briggs tensed.
“Your shoulders don’t shift toward it,” she added. “People who rely on guns shift towards it when they feel threatened.”
She looked solemn. “You grew up around more low-level violence. You first touched a gun much later in life. Your main weapon is a gun but your first instinct is not.”
Briggs was slightly uncomfortable, but it didn’t show. Vivian crossed her arms, fingers brushing the small blade strapped to her bicep. Old habits.
“You don’t just read people,” Briggs said slowly.
Vivian didn’t answer.
“You know violence.”
“Do you remember what the agent looked like?” Briggs’s mind whirred with possibility.
“Some old man,” Vivian said. “Middle aged, greying.” She studied him again. “You know who he is, don’t you? Or you think you do.” There was no question in that statement, no curiosity. Just a statement.
Briggs took a breath. “Hold on, I need to make a call.”
Vivian sat in his chairs waiting. She studied at Brigg's office. The office smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink. Briggs kept his desk clean, almost too clean. There were no personal photos on the desk. No kids. No spouse. Not even a dog. She noted to herself that this was someone who liked to be in control. Someone who liked his straight lines and his successful cases.
There were two exits in the room. The door she entered through and the window. Not a great idea since it was probably a ten foot drop. Not a good option, she mused to herself.
After five minutes, she couldn’t sit still anymore. She was never good at waiting. Waiting meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering. She didn’t want to spend more time in her head. She couldn’t spend more time in her head.
She spun once in her chair. Then twice. After a couple times she felt like she was about to throw up and the world was slightly more blurry, then started a game of, “How far can I lean back until I fall?”. She was almost at forty-five degrees when Briggs walked back into the room.
Briggs stopped in the doorway for a moment before speaking.
Vivian was leaning back so far in the chair that gravity was clearly considering its options. She really was young. Sixteen years old, and so intimately familiar with violence.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
Startled, Vivian dropped the chair down with a bang. She adjusted her glasses, face still as unreadable as before.
Briggs pinched his eyebrows and muttered something about teenagers under his breath.
“The Director says someone recommended you,” Briggs said slowly.
Vivian’s eyebrows went up a tiny bit.
“Recommended?”
“Apparently you impressed someone during the New York operation.”
“Did he say who?” Vivian asked. She didn’t remember anyone who might have been watching her.
Briggs hesitated. “No.”
“Any logistics?” she asked. “Before you ask, I don’t have any living guardians right now. Might have to find my papers.”
Briggs shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, kid. Let the adults deal with that.” He paused. “Why do you want to join the program?”
Vivian shrugged at him. “Company?”
Briggs pushed himself out of his chair.
“If the Director’s right,” he said, “you might actually belong here.”
Vivian didn’t answer, but her fingers slid to the blade again.
“In the meantime,” Briggs said, moving towards the door, “why don’t I introduce you to the team?”
Briggs opened the door and paused.
“If you’re lying,” he said without turning around, “this won’t go well for you.”
Vivian smiled faintly.
“If I were lying,” she said, “you wouldn’t have opened the door.”