she sits up high / surrounded by the sun
Grace Ashcroft x F! Reader
Summary - You’re the new recruit.
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The rain had begun before dawn, thinning into ecclesiastical lines across the pale concrete beneath your feet. A light step forward— and you saw yourself dissolve into a languid puddle underfoot.
For a moment, the water held you; light fracturing off your cheek until the next drop broke the illusion apart.
You stepped over it; goloshes sweating against the ground, hand coming to rest at the back of your neck.
Your umbrella faltered under your damp thumb, and you swore you’d break the damn thing once you got a chance, lest it give you an excuse to buy another.
You folded the purple edges neatly into your fingers, tying the strap around the hem. Placing it against your wrist, you looked onward to the large shining plaque placed above the rain.
You had done it—every sacrifice made worthy, every effort made damp by the pelting water at your feet.
You could care less about the gloomy weather now that you stood at those two grand wooden doors; not just as a visiting student but as a recruit.
Your hands lingered over the knob as if it would bite you. You knew better, yet you still stopped at the grandiose gates, wondering when the hell you’d actually gotten to this place.
When the hell you had actually become good for something.
You swallowed, turning the knob, surrendering yourself to the cool air that billowed from the reception.
The foyer was pompously decorated, gold leaf décor and ornate vases propped about here and there; wherever one’s eyes might drift, there was a great object to occupy it.
You let your gaze drift to the floor; tiles disappearing into callous stone.
You appreciated the nature of it—the distant beauty of a wealth you could never touch—yet a reality so near it sickened you.
A slender young woman peered from behind the desk, ash-blonde hair falling loose against her nape. She looked startled; like a doe caught in your headlights.
She called out, shuffling a manila folder between her hands, shuffling stacks of books against her chest.
“You must be the new recruit—”
Her words raced ahead of her thoughts as she finally set the stack down on the table, meandering around the desk and standing awkwardly at attention.
Her hands folded against her chest, a smile evident on her lips—however feigned it might have been, you smiled back anyhow. It was only polite, a faint conversational lilt to your voice.
You nodded, letting your attention fully rest on her. She was in business casual—blazer grey against her blue jeans, with glasses too big for her face.
“Well—let me show you around. This is where you’re gonna be doing most of your work anyway, so you probably should know it.”
She hadn’t caught her breath a single time since she’d been speaking to you.
Her fingers raced to her fringe, parting it from the pretty blue of her eyes.
You took her hand in yours, shaking expeditiously as you offered your own name.
She settled for it—not bludgeoning you with any more questions as she took your shoulder, leading you to the offices.
She showed you around the cubicles, those grey stark things where magic happened, her hand resting against her thigh.
She shook her head, collar resting against her neck.
You agreed, humming beneath your breath as you did, acknowledging her with little more than a nod.
You couldn’t say it was what you had expected. You couldn’t say it wasn’t either.
Her lips folded intolerably, and you felt yourself fall for the gentle curve. The way her hands lingered on the desks like they owed her something.
She was pretty—looking proud at her office space, books crawling over the edge of the desk, case folders crowded against the center. A corkboard lay against the back wall of the cubicle, red thread spooling from pinned photographs smudged with pen.
The fluorescents above hummed awkwardly. Their white lines fell against her cheek, softening the flesh there.
She looked to a rolling chair and pulled it out beneath your feet.
“You can—you can sit if you want. Or stand. Either’s fine.”
You sat, and Grace immediately seemed unsure of what to do with her hands. She occupied them against her laptop, though you knew her attention was fully on you.
It was idle conversation. You engaged her anyway just to see that smile cross past her lips again.
“It’s fine,” you said, letting your hands fall over your chest.
“Nothing I can complain about—”
She laughed at this, a pretty sound from her pretty lips, and you watched as she turned her head toward you.
She said it lightly, though something definite lay underneath her words.
You didn’t know what it was yet—but you figured it was a sore subject, so you averted your gaze to the floor again. Wow, look at those white tiles.
“So,” she said finally, glancing down at the paperwork in front of her before looking back up again. “You’re assigned to… me.”
It sounded less authoritative than she probably intended. She reached for a folder across the table, and you looked at the print.
It was your name, etched across it in permanent marker.
“I read through some of this earlier,” she said, flipping the first page carefully. “Your academy scores are—uh—actually pretty good.”
The admission seemed to slip out unintentionally. She pressed her lips together afterward, as if debating whether she should’ve said that.
“You did well in firearms training,” she continued. “And… crisis response simulations.”
She tapped the paper lightly with the back of her pen.
She whispered it like it was meant to be a secret.
“Sorry,” she muttered quickly. “I’m not great at the… orientation speech thing.”
“I had one prepared,” she added, gesturing vaguely to a sticky note half-hidden under a stack of folders. “But it sounded really… official. And weird.”
She gave a small, nervous huff of laughter.
“Look,” she said carefully. “I know being assigned to a field agent right away can be… intimidating.”
Her eyes flicked to the corkboard behind her, where a photograph was pinned there, showing the burned-out shell of a building. Another displayed a map with several areas circled in black marker.
Grace quickly met your gaze again.
“But you won’t be on your own,” she added, almost sheepishly.
“I mean—obviously. Because I’ll be there. That’s… the point.”
She flushed slightly, hands still pressing on a mouse that wasn’t even connected to the laptop. She clicked nothing.
“What I’m trying to say is…” She exhaled softly. “I’ll make sure you’re ready before anything… serious happens.”
She blurted it quieter now. “Hopefully.”
You let yourself laugh, and she smiled softly, meeting your gaze. It was clearly a feat to her, as her fingers dug into the wood grain of the desk as she did.
“Anyway,” she said, pushing your file back across the desk toward you. “First thing we’ll do is go over a few case reports. Nothing active yet. Just… background.”
The back of her pen tapped lightly against the manila folder, a tick, ticking sound.
“You should probably get used to how I organize things.”
She gestured toward the chaotic stacks surrounding her, the hoards of papers collected in a small caddy above her cubicle walls.
“Or… don’t. I’m still figuring that part out.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, and your gaze drifted briefly to the corkboard again.
Some of the photos weren’t normal crime scenes. They were worse. Men bruised black, blood pooling in their sclera.
Grace noticed when you were looking, for her expression tightened for a fraction of a second.
“We’ll talk about those later,” she said softly.
Then she offered a tentative, almost apologetic smile.
Her fingers tapped the desk once more.
