People always wanted to think the best of themselves: that they could change. Stuart Thomas had been given a chance to prove himself. 0011 had informed M that 005 was ready for his first solo mission. 0011 took things seriously and when he spoke: people listened.
But Stuart wasn't so blinded by this praise to realize that when 0011 said that "Agent Thomas is long over do for his first solo run", that what he meant was "if you pair me with this bloody idiot again ..."
But this opportunity, earned or not, was not one he was going to waste.
"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!"
The red alarm clock stared back at him, the blinking 12:00 mocking him as he bounced out of bed, grabbing his discarded pair of jeans off the floor.
And there he was, twenty-seven minutes later: sliding Breakfast Club style through the halls, jacket still in hand as he straightened his tie, all the while trying to ignore the stares he was getting from his fellow agents as he passed them in the halls. As though he needed another reason for them to think he was only good for comic relief.
Not for the first time, he noted how he didn't look like any of the other agents. Bond with his suits, Jackie Giddings dressed in black, and Marcie York in red. And there was Stuart: looking like a hipster math teacher.
He paused outside of K's office, slipped on his jacket, fixed his hair, and caught his breath. Maybe she'd think he was
"Hey," Stuart said, waltzing into K's office. "You're the new Quartermaster, right?" He asked, plopping down into the chair across from her desk, propping his feet up on the desk. It was a spur of the moment thing: as though acting like he had more confidence would actually give it to him, but all it did was make him feel like a stupid ass when he accidently knocked over a picture frame and a jar of pens.
"Oh, crap. I'm sorry, let me, ah, fix that."
