Chapter Text
Ever since you were a child, you had always dreamed of going into the FBI. You weren't entirely sure of what that meant, but thirteen days after your sixteen-year-old sister had gone missing, you met an agent for the first time.
She'd entered the room and commanded the attention of everyone present, yet spoke to you in the softest tone you'd ever heard at six years old when she asked you questions about your sister's disappearance.
It took you a couple of years to understand why your sister never came home. A little longer to realize that she wasn't coming home. The realization struck strikingly hard for someone your age. You were forced to grow up quickly, your childhood nearly nonexistent.
Yet, watching the agents work tirelessly to solve the case up until the day she was found inspired you to help girls like your sister.
After it was discovered your father was responsible, your poor mother passed away from heartbreak. It took years of therapy as an adult for the gaps in your memory to fill, and now it was something you struggled with every day. There were times you wished you didn't remember anything at all. How hard you begged to forget the gruesome details of her death and the week leading up to it.
It didn't take long for CPS to get involved. You were placed in a home where you were luckily loved. Your foster parents did what they could to bandage the cut that your father inflicted. When you were twelve, you got a foster sister, a six-year-old girl. They decided to adopt you both after a year.
Now at twenty-two and she sixteen, you had been named her legal guardian after your foster parents died in a car accident the year before. It was hard juggling your schooling and search for a career while suddenly becoming nothing short of a parent, but you felt like you were finally getting the hang of it in the midst of your grief.
"Are you positive you don't want me to drop you off, Bear?" You ask the sixteen-year-old standing in front of you. "It's on the way, I don't mind."
Today is her first day at a new school in a new city. You felt awful for moving her in the middle of her sophomore year, but you'd received the job offer of your dreams. The one you busted your ass for over the past three years, and in doing so graduated a year early with a B.S in Psychology and Forensic Science.
"It's okay, I want to walk," she says, anticipating your look of disapproval. "It's a ten-minute walk, I'll be fine. I need to get a lay of the land."
She knows what happened to your biological sister; you explained to her the story when she was old enough to understand it. She understood why you were so strict and protective sometimes, but at the end of the day, she was a teenager and not a little girl anymore.
You purse your lips momentarily and then nod your head, not wanting to upset her more than she already was. It was a lot for her to move states and leave her friends behind; you, by all means, understood.
"Okay," you finally say, "But please call the office when you get there."
Your sister turns on her heel and makes way for the front door. She turns at the last second, rushes over to you, and kisses you on the cheek.
"Have a good first day at work," she says.
The coffee you bought on your way in sits untouched on your empty desk, your nerves keeping you from drinking it.
What if you don't get along with the team? What if they dislike you or how you do things? What if you're just truly not cut out for it like you thought you were?
The only thing atop it is a phone, a computer set up, and a nameplate with Special Agent followed by your name. A small smile twitches at the corner of your mouth as your finger traces the wooden edge.
"Hi, are you the new agent?" A voice startles you from behind, and you turn to face the person standing at the edge of your cubicle.
"Yes," you say, followed by an introduction. "Nice to meet you."
"There's a Max Mayfield on line one for you," the woman says. Her strawberry blonde hair almost reminds you of your sister's, the only difference being the bangs and the length.
"Thank you," your eyes glance at the phone on the corner of your desk, and sure enough, the indicator for line one was lit up.
"I'm Robin, by the way," her nose scrunches up, "Agent Buckley. Special Agent Robin Buckley. Sorry, I'm still getting used to the title. You should probably take that."
You stifle a laugh and pick up the phone, pressing the button for line one, "Hi, Bear. Make it okay?"
"Safe and sound. How is it? Any smoking hot agents?" she asks, and you let the laugh slip as your eyes land on Robin standing in front of you.
"I'll see you later, alright? Be good, love you," you tell her.
"Love you too," she replies.
"Is Max your kid?" Robin asks.
"You could say that," you nod. "Have you been with the team for long?"
"A couple of months," she answers. "Technical Analyst."
She says it with all the pride in the world. And she should be proud, you were smart, but you could not step into her shoes for a single minute.
Robin's friendly aura and soft smiles lead you to your next question, one you feel comfortable asking based on her body language.
"Is the rest of the team nice?" you ask.
She opens her mouth to answer as another body appears behind her. This one taller, longer hair down to the shoulders, like he's straight out of the eighties.
"You two better get to the briefing room, Hop sounds pissed this morning," he says.
"Great," Robin groans.
The man's eyes finally land on you, and a smile stretches across his lips, "You must be the new agent."
"This is Eddie," Robin says flatly, making you laugh as you grab the cold coffee off your desk. Having something in your hands tends to ease your anxiety, so even if not to drink, it'll serve a purpose.
"Special Agent Eddie Munson," he says, extending his hand.
You shake it as the three of you begin to walk. You trail behind the two, letting them lead the way. It isn't too far, thank god you won't get lost on your own.
"Look who decided to join us," Hopper, the burly, mustached man standing at the front of the room, says.
"We found a stray on the way in," Eddie smiles sideways, stepping to the side to reveal you.
Hopper was the man you were meant to have your final interview with. The two interviews before were the most intense you'd ever gone through in your life. But with Hopper, you sat in his office for five minutes in total silence. You had waited patiently for him to ask questions after you'd introduced yourself, but in turn ended up in a glorified staring contest. He dismissed you after five minutes, and you received the job offer by the time you got home.
It was by far the strangest way you'd ever been hired. Let alone by the FBI.
Eddie and Robin find their seats, and Robin pats the empty one next to hers, and you move to take it, not wanting to take the extra second to scan for another empty one.
"Just a second," Hopper says, and you stop in your tracks. He clears his throat and continues, "This is Special Agent Mayfield, all the way from California."
"Hello," you wave with just your fingers, managing to keep both hands around the cup. "Nice to meet you all."
"Well, don't be shy, introduce yourselves," Hopper says, and the team straightens up.
"Robin Buckley," she smiles up at you.
"Eddie Munson," he says charmingly.
"Nancy Wheeler," a woman with gorgeous blue eyes and doll-like features on the other side of the table, says.
The first thing you notice is that aside from Chief Hopper and the short, middle-aged brown-eyed woman entering the room now, the faces around the table are notably young.
You were young, but you hadn't expected everybody else on your team to be around your age, too. You're partly grateful for it; maybe it would be easier to get along with them.
The older woman sits in the empty chair next to Hopper, "Joyce Byers."
Your eyes fall back to the last body on the right of the table, the one whose eye seems to so subtly twitch you nearly miss it. You do, however, one hundred percent catch the way his knuckles flex around the arm of the chair as he finally looks up at you with ridiculously captivating brown eyes.
"Steve Harrington," he practically mutters it. Had you been one step further away, you would've missed it.
"Agents Munson, Wheeler, and Harrington are your partner field agents. Agent Byers is our Media Liaison. Agent Buckley is our Technical Analyst. This is your team. Make nice with them. They, at times, will be your point of survival."
Hopper puts his hands on his hips and then looks at you with a nod, one you receive as your signal to sit down.
To your disappointment, there wasn't any specific case for you to go on today. The rest of your team was sent to their desks to fill out paperwork from the one they had just returned from. You, however, were filling out a ridiculous amount of onboarding paperwork.
You were eager to get into the field, to actually help somebody. That's what you busted your ass for all these years, and here you were stuck behind your desk on your first day.
"Big California, huh? What was that like?" Eddie says, throwing a crumpled piece of paper into the trash bin next to your desk.
"Have you ever been?" you ask him, looking up from your stack of paperwork. Your past isn't something you're interested in sharing.
"We've been a couple of times, actually," Robin says, "It's nice. It'd be cool to live out there."
"I lived there most of my life, I do miss it sometimes," you say, hoping to leave it at that.
California would always be home, and you had more good memories than bad, but the bad will always exceed the good.
"It seems like a nice state. Good weather pretty much year-round, nice beaches. Good people, too," Eddie adds on, and your pointer finger twitches.
Steve, listening silently from his desk, catches the subtle movement but doesn't say anything.
"Robin, can I ask you something?" You keep your voice low, trying not to draw the attention of the other people on your team.
"Of course," she drops the pen in her hand and gives you her full attention. She, out of everyone, is the one you're most drawn to. She has such an open and calming energy that makes you feel so at ease.
"Why is everyone on the team so young?" you ask.
Robin glances around and then leans forward, "Well, the bureau apparently needs us younger folks to adjust to the advancing technology. And I guess for certain cases, it's easier for us to blend in when going undercover."
"Have you gone undercover?"
"We all have, once or twice at this point. It's not super common for our unit, though. They try to have the more experienced units go before they send us," she says, and you nod.
"Thanks," you tell her.
The day drags, and you manage to finish the stack of paperwork ten minutes before five. You're more excited to get home and hear about Max's first day at her new school.
"Do you wanna come for a drink?" Eddie asks, throwing a leather jacket over his button-down.
"It's Friday, and we usually drink on Fridays," Nancy says from behind you. "Jonathan is meeting us at The Inn."
"Who is Jonathan?" you ask.
"Joyce's son. He's a crime scene investigator and does all the photos. He was on a local case this morning, that's why he missed the briefing," Nancy tells you.
"Also, Nancy's boyfriend," Eddie adds, shooting you a wink.
"We drink on free Fridays, which aren't common for us. Today is a free Friday," Steve says, and it's the first thing he's said to you today that wasn't his name.
"'Free Friday?'" You repeat.
"Means a Friday where we're not active on a case. Very rare occasion," Robin says, pulling her jean jacket on. It is somehow a perfect match for the dark denim jeans she has on.
"So, you comin'?" Eddie asks.
"I-" you hesitate and then think of Max sitting at home waiting for you. There was still so much unpacking to do, and what if she needed help with her homework? "I should probably get home. Thanks for the invite, though."
"Hollywood is too cool for us," Steve says, and the group laughs as if it's a joke, but the faint bite in his tone gives way to the fact that he's serious.
He doesn't like you.
"Hollywood?" You furrow your brows, trying to hide the fact that maybe you're a little hurt with the realization. How could he not like you? Not that he should when he hasn't known you for more than a day, but you haven't done anything for him to not like you.
"Big California," Eddie chuckles, "Hollywood is a good nickname. Love it."
You force a smile and nod, attempting to agree with it.
"I'm not from Hollywood," you tell him, your eyes still on Steve, trying to get a read on him.
Maybe you're overthinking, but your gut has never been wrong before. It could be first-day nerves or anxiety, because there is nothing you could've possibly done to piss anybody off.
He'd said all of a sentence to you before deciding he didn't like you? Impossible.
"Where are you from then?" Steve asks, and there it is again. That faint bite that nobody else around you seems to pick up.
"Well, I was born in LA but moved when I was six-"
"Hollywood." Steve cuts you off, and you let him.
"LA does make you Hollywood," Robin agrees.
"Right," you laugh, and it is so forced it almost makes you cringe, "Anyways, I have to go. My, um- actually it doesn't matter."
"Her kid," Robin says. "That's why she can't come drink."
"You have a kid?" Nancy's eyebrows rise.
"Well, it's not exactly like that-" you attempt.
"I can't believe you have time for a kid. That's impressive. We'll have to meet the little stinker one of these days," Eddie smiles wide as he holds the door open for you, Nancy, and Robin. He purposely lets it close on Steve, which earns a light laugh from you.
"I'm gonna head out. You guys have fun," you tell them.
"See ya, Hollywood!" Eddie calls after you, and everyone echoes his farewell to you.
You internally groan. Hollywood. Of all the god damned names you got stuck with. And on the first day, too? You didn't stand a chance.
"How was it? I wanna know everything," Max is perched up on the couch, the one that must've been delivered while you were still at the office. She has a few papers sprawled out next to her, which she quickly collects to make room for you.
You sit on it with a sigh of relief, enjoying how comfy it is. Max picked a good one.
"Would you kill me if I said boring?" you laugh. "I don't want to talk about me, I want to hear about your day."
"Mine was boring too. I have a few weirdos in some of my classes, but it must be an East Coast thing," she says. "My teachers seem cool, I guess. It sucks having your first day on a Friday."
"Sorry it lined up that way," you frown a bit and pick up one of the papers, "Shakespeare? They still teach this?"
"It's so lame," she groans, "What about your coworkers? Are they cool?"
"They're all my age, which is fun," you try to make it sound cooler than it is, "They seem interesting. Though I think one of them already doesn't like me."
"What? You're being dramatic; it's been one day," she tries to reason with you, and she does have a point, but your instincts say otherwise.
"I don't know, I mean, I'm trained to pick up on these things. He definitely doesn't like me," you tell her.
"What's his name?" she asks.
"Steve."
"Steve is an asshole name," she says, and it makes you laugh.
"He's kind of the reason I didn't go out to drink with the team tonight," you admit. "Well, you were, too, obviously. But I didn't feel like being somewhere someone didn't want me."
"Oh, absolutely not. You're going to that bar." Max sits up on her heels.
Going into the fight, you knew you didn't stand a chance. Max was just too convincing sometimes. She knew just what to say to get you to cave sometimes.
"I'm not going," you groan, "Can't I just stay here? We can watch a movie? Maybe unpack this leaning tower of boxes?" you gesture to the tower of boxes standing in the middle of the kitchen.
"You're not gonna let some man keep you from enjoying a drink out with some other potential friends," she crosses her arms, "I'm serious. Take this damn hair clip out, put on some lip gloss, and get your ass to the bar."
She's on her feet before you can say another word and walks to your closet. She grabs the leather jacket that the two of you love to share and hands it to you.
"The jeans can stay, but switch out that blazer. God, you look so corporate," she fake gags.
She riffles through the bathroom drawer that you share and finds your favorite lip gloss. Max then runs her hands through your hair to fluff it up and give it some layers, and grabs your purse off the couch.
"Are those mom's shoes?" she asks, glancing down at the heels you had been wearing all day. They were your mother's favorite shoes; she wore them nearly everyday into the office. She'd spent years breaking them in, so they were the best type of broken in.
"Yeah," you smile softly, glancing down at them. "We can share them."
"No, I'd never wear those. You keep them," she returns the smile and squeezes your hand. "Go. I won't wait up for you."
"Do you swear it's okay?" you ask.
"Yes," she laughs, "You are just as overprotective as mom and dad."
"I can't help it," you huff as she shoves you to the door.
Luckily, The Inn is only a ten-minute walk from your place, so you can enjoy the fresh air on the way over. It's cooler than California, but the air is a bit stickier. California was always so dry.
The second you push open the bar door, there's an echo of cheers from the table in the corner. Your team sits there, cheering on your arrival. All except one: Steve.
He sips on his beer, not even lifting his eyes up to acknowledge your arrival.
"I thought you weren't coming," Eddie says. "Husband stay home with the kiddo?"
"I'm not married," you tell him, taking the empty seat at the edge of the booth, "And my kid is actually my sixteen-year-old sister."
"Best not to assume things, huh, Eds?" the man you assume is Jonathan says. He's the only one you don't recognize, "I'm Jonathan, by the way, happy to have you on the team."
You reply with your name and a shake of his hand, "Happy to be here."
"I'm so happy you came," Robin says from next to you.
"Wait, so she's not actually your kid?" Eddie asks.
"She's her legal guardian," Nancy answers for you, "It's that simple."
He puts his pointer finger on his lip and looks up like he's thinking. He must be a few drinks in at this point, because all he does is laugh like he came to the realization that it is, in fact, that simple.
After some time of casual chatter, Steve gets up from the table to get another drink. He's engaged with everybody at the table except for you. He's not even spared you a glance since you walked into the bar. You were surprised when he brought a tray of shots for the team and included you.
The next time he gets up from the table, you wager that there's enough alcohol in your system to follow him.
"I think I'm gonna grab another," you tell Robin before following Steve to the bar.
The space next to him is empty, so you slot your body right in between his body and another, purposely invading his space.
"Pineapple tequila, please," you tell the bartender.
Steve tenses when he hears your voice, realizing how close you are to him. He keeps his eyes forward, watching the bartender make drinks in the order received. A few were placed before his and yours, so he's stuck here with you until further notice.
"You and I are trained in the same thing, Agent Harrington," you tell him, turning your body to face him, leaning against the bar top, "Have I done something for you to dislike me?"
"Who said I dislike you?" he asks. His tone is flat, and you can tell he's trying to play mellow. Yet he doesn't look at you. He's avoidant.
A laugh slips from your lips, "Well... you did silly."
"What makes you say that?" his eyes follow the gorgeous blonde behind the counter who's started on his drink.
"Eye twitching, flexing knuckles, slightly bitter tone when speaking to me, not bitter enough for any of your friends to catch, closed off body language," you part your lips in mock surprise with a soft gasp, "And this entire night you haven't looked at me once."
He fully shifts his body to face you, straightening up, pulling his shoulders back. You have to look up at him now, but your eyes don't leave his. It feels like a power play, something to remind you that he's bigger than you are.
"We're trained in the same thing, yeah?" he leans forward, much closer than you expect.
"Yeah," you state, clenching your jaw.
"Top of your class, graduated a year early, elite at Quanitco. It's almost like you're too good to be true," the corner of his mouth lifts, "You have tells too, you know. They're so subtle, but I catch them."
"It sounds like you're intimidated," you say. "They told you about me, didn't they?"
"Perfect little Hollywood," he scoffs, looking at you with a type of disgust you've never received before, "You're hiding something, and I'm gonna find out what it is."
He throws down a bill, enough for both of your drinks, takes his off the counter, and then walks back to your table with a smile on his face. You watch him with a glare in your eye, taking your drink in your hand.
Asshole.
You draw a long sip from the glass and end up downing the entire thing before setting it back on the bartop.
When you reach the table, Steve makes a point not to take his eyes off you.
"Where's your drink?" Robin asks as you sit down.
"I drank it," you tell her, and she laughs.
"I like this one," Eddie raises his pint to you, and you nod, reaching for your glass of water that had been begging for attention all night. After your last drink, you're definitely feeling it.
Everyone eventually gets roped into their own conversations, leaving you to doodle messily on the napkin with a pen that the waitress left behind after closing the table's tab.
The conversations seem nowhere near ending, and none sound like any particular one you'd insert yourself into, and you're feeling awfully tired from your first day.
Finally, you sit up straight and announce that you're going to head home.
"Let me walk you," Robin says.
"I'm fine," you smile, "I live super close. It's like ten minutes."
Everyone at the table bids you farewell, except for, unsurprisingly, Steve. You exit the bar, smiling to yourself a bit tipsily that you managed to make some friends on your first day.
You're halfway home on your slow, tipsy walk when you can't help but feel like somebody is watching you. It feels like a shift in the night air around you. You almost convince yourself you hear footsteps.
Turning over your shoulder, you tense when you see a figure emerging from the shadow, barely lit by the streetlight.
"What the hell are you doing? Following me?" you groan when you realize it's Steve of all people.
"Oh, come on, baby, I know you're mad at me, but don't be ridiculous," he slings his arm around your shoulders and forces your body to face forward as he makes you fall in step with him.
"What is wrong with you?" you question, looking up at him.
"Which way is your house?" he asks, glancing behind him. You attempt to follow his look, but he practically tucks you into his side, preventing you from doing so.
"Two blocks down, on the left," you tell him, lowering your voice.
"You're so good at your job, huh?" There's that bitter tone again. "You didn't catch the two fuckheads eyeing you on your way out alone. They didn't waste two seconds before following you."
You stay quiet, not wanting to admit the embarrassment you feel.
There is never a time you're not aware of your surroundings. It's rare that you don't catch even the smallest of glances from strange men, and Steve is saying you missed two that followed you out of the bar. You didn't even see them when he approached you, so they must've been lurking, plotting.
"If you hate me so much, you could've just stayed at the bar," you mutter.
"And live with the guilty conscience of what would have happened if I didn't?"
"It's this one," you say quietly, pointing to the little pale yellow house on the corner. It isn't much, but it's home until you can save up for something better for you and Max.
Steve guides you up the steps, but stays on the bottom one as you fumble with your keys. You're not even remotely close to drunk, but the pressure of his gaze is causing the struggle.
"Need help?" he asks, annoyance laced through the words.
"You can go now," you tell him, shoving the key into the lock.
"You're welcome," Steve mutters before, turning on his heel and stalking off down the street in the direction you came from.
The lingering alcohol in your system turns you around before you can even think to stop yourself.
"You are such a god damned nuisance, you know that?" You're halfway down the steps when he whips around to face you.
"A nuisance is better than a liar."
The two of you stand eye to eye now, and you're grateful for the stairs.
Your eyes narrow, but you don't let up. "What am I lying about, Agent Harrington, hm?"
He takes a moment to answer, his jaw tightening, "I don't know. But I'm gonna figure it out, and when I do, you're done."
The words settle as you process them, and you roll your eyes involuntarily. What could he possibly think you have to hide? You passed the most thorough background checks in the world, the same as him and the rest of your team.
"Have fun searching for whatever it is you're looking for," your tone shifts into something harsher than you've ever heard from yourself, "Just stay the fuck out of my way and let me do my job."