Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings for future chapters: slash, violence, and cursing

Chapter 1 – Moira meets the solution to all her problems...sort of.

"That's all well and good, Ms. MacTaggert, but that still doesn't explain to us how Colonel Hendry could be at two places at once-"

"Not two places at once," Moira interrupted thinking back to when the red devilish (literally! Could you believe it?) man grabbed the Colonel's hand and disappeared in poof of flame and red smoke. That was it. That was how he had done it. It must have been some form of instant transportation or something. But how could she explain that without earning herself a one way ticket to the typing pool?

There was only one answer to that: She didn't.

"An impersonator then," suggested Agent Stryker from the right. "Was it possible the man you were trailing was a double, a fake?" That was a mistake only a rookie would make but Moira supposed she should feel a bit grateful to him. He was giving her the benefit of the doubt, believed she wasn't just some crackpot agent chasing ghost conspiracies and the like. And if it had not been for her gut instinct practically screaming at her that this was their guy that day, she would have believed him as well. But she hadn't gotten this far in her career not listening to her instincts.

"No, I am absolutely positive that the man I saw was indeed U.S. Army Colonel Hendry."

The chief cleared his throat, "In nothing but your underwear I'm sure." Why did it always have to come back to that?

Fists clenched tightly behind her back till their knuckled turned white. It was only years of practiced professionalism and remembrance of condescending 'Moira, are you sure? That's not a very ladylike job's that stopped her from turning around and banging against the door repeatedly with her head...or her bosses' for that matter. Instead she pressed on thinking of how to break it all down without jeopardizing her life's career, "Whether or not I was dressed 'less than professionally'", and god didn't it kill her a little on the inside to say that. What was she thinking? Oh that's right, trying to maintain the joke that was 'national security'. Moira continued, "is beside the point."

"Then what is the point? Unless you have a way to prove Colonel Hendry was there, I'm afraid this meeting is already over." The head fold his hands under his chin and looked at Moira expectantly.

Moira was stuck. If she kept her silence, she could keep her dignity and accept a quiet dismissal, because really, there was no way her credibility would survive this. Years of hard work and investigation only to come up with what? A colonel had some underhanded dealings at a strip club in the middle of Las Vegas seconds before attending a conference all the way at the Capital in the White House War Room? Not that it wasn't true, but if Moira tried to explain it she would be the laughing stock of the entire CIA and be dismissed anyways with a great deal more noise.

A sigh and then all too soon folders were being put away, pens stowed back in pockets. Moira was seeing her life's work for acceptance and protecting her nation being swept under the proverbial carpet never to be seen again except as unsightly dust best kept aside with the rest of the Area 52 conspiracy theorist.

Her decision was made for her. If she was going to get sacked anyway, there should be nothing withholding her from saying the truth of what she saw. Typing pool here she comes. "Wait."

"Excuse me, Ms. MacTaggert but I've already said this meeting is over unless..."

"Yes, I know what you said, sir." Moira took a deep breath steeling herself.

A little more impatiently, "All right then, speak your peace."

Funny farm, typing pool, headlines 'Crazy CIA hails coming of the Anti-Christ aka Red Devil Man', serving tables for the rest of her life, "I haven't been one hundred percent truthful..."

~X~

Notepad? Check. Folders. Double check. Her favorite blue, ball-point pen that always wrote out with the perfect amount of ink for each stroke, thick enough to roll down smoothly across the paper but not enough for it to seep through the other side? No...no...noooo...Oh there it was, she had already tucked it in her front breast pocket. Another check then.

It had been a week since Moira delivered her report and she was clearing her desk. Apparently telling your boss about sparkling women and handmade tornadoes did more than earn you a one way ticket to the typing pool, it got you committed.

Not that she expected anything less. If Moira wanted to continue working with the CIA she had to attend two to ten years worth of mandatory therapy sessions and only after then would she be considered mentally sound enough to continue on to a career of memo typing and signing stacks of paper with no end in sight. Moira would be condemned to an existence of virtual purgatory, unable to move forward, unable to affect the world around her, unable to do much of anything at all really.

That was why Moira quit.

It would take years to salvage her reputation and by that time Moira was sure she'd have half her foot in the grave and her efforts too late. If only she had some evidence, proof that Hendry was one place for one moment and a quarter around the next. But in order to do that, she would have to find a way to prove that the red man was real. Perhaps she should rethink her decision of leaving the CIA? Maintain connection to an information network that was already established here for her.

But no, she had already exhausted all her resources before presenting her report to the higher ups. There simply were no previous records of research on the matter of such extensive human...human what? Abilities? Mutation (because honestly what else could explain the tail! She had heard of children born with extra thumbs so maybe it was some 'mutation' like that)?

Moira was half way done packing and contemplating taking up that bakery job her mother always wanted her to have when she spotted a portly man rapidly approaching her.

"Hold on, Ms. MacTaggert. That won't be necessary" He looked vaguely familiar, Moira tried to grasp the fleeting memory of the man but it simply slipped between her fingers. "Who-"

"Oh, of course! I was one of the members of the meeting we had just now." Now she remembered. He was the man who did not even have a seat at the table and had been seated all the way in the back.

Moira felt her cheeks warm in realization. Even as she was quitting she could not help trying to stutter out an apology to her ex-superior. "I'm so-so sorry. I didn't mean- I apologize so much, sir!" Moira would never live this day down. This whole week for that matter.

The man waved her off easily, "Don't worry. It happens all the time." Moira reserved the right to comment on that. "But most importantly please stop packing, Ms. MacTaggert."

Embarrassment gave way to confusion, Moira's brows scrunching up. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't quite understand."

"I'm saying, we managed to convince the board to reconsider your case."

She dare dream to hope. "And by reconsider you mean...?"

Here he smiled and held out a hand, "We'd like you back on the case. That is if you still want to, of course."

"Of course!" Moira shook his hand enthusiastically. "I mean, of course I would love to. Thank you for this opportunity, sir."

"No need for thanks, Ms. MacTaggert." The portly agent bowed his head bashfully. "It was our fault for dismissing your findings in the first place."

Moira wanted to ask how he managed to convince the higher ups to change their mind or even why he had believed her but decided it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. It must have shown on her face despite her efforts though.

"Well when I said 'we' I mean myself and a," he seemed to struggle to find the right words before settling for, "a 'close associate' of the CIA. He was the one who did the most 'convincing' actually." A close associate? And one powerful enough to persuade the chiefs with words alone? Because he certainly would not have evidence, Moira looked high and low for that. Before she could ask who this 'close associate' was, the man exclaimed, "I almost forgot." He turned around gesturing her to follow. "He's waiting for us now in the parking lot."

The parking lot, why the parking lot?

All too soon they hit the ground floor of the lot and there as somewhat expected, was a battered, beige mustang parked and waiting for them. Or so she assumed what with the man beside her making a straight beeline towards it and another coming out of the car to greet them. Hopelessness, embarrassment, excitement, and now doubt. Moira was a kaleidoscope of all sorts of emotions today.

"Excuse me, what is this?" Moira could not help asking as they stopped before the young man dressed in nothing but jeans and an old, worn leather jacket with a plain white shirt underneath.

The younger man simply smiled and said, "Wesley Gibson" as if that explained everything.

And really, it did. Wesley Gibson, Wesley Gibson...he couldn't really mean... "You're joking." She turned to her superior now. "Tell me you're joking right?"

"I'm afraid he's telling the truth, agent MacTaggert."

Hysteria. "The Killer? Not just a Killer, but The Killer?" Incredulity. Messing up her second chance be damned. "We're CIA! There's a procedure we must follow under the law. We don't hire assassins and put hits on people..." An inkling of fear.

"Well it's a good thing I'm not an assassin now isn't it, agent MacTaggert. My job title's 'specialized field agent', haven't you heard?"

"I heard you were a 'close associate'"

AN: Inspired by several First Class/Wanted kink meme prompts which I wish there were more fills to t.t. First Class and this X-over are fast becoming my latest obsessions. 3's James McAvoy. Still working on how to eventually adapt Wesley's personality to Charles, not completely of course or else it's just Charles being BAMF with a gun. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Feedback is always appreciated!