You were just a teenager, but spending time at the FBI office had become a normal part of your life. Your father worked closely with Alexander Mahone, and while he always kept a professional distance, Mahone was someone you admired. His sharp mind and the way he carried himself in the office intrigued you, and he never seemed bothered by your frequent visits. In fact, he’d occasionally offer you files to read or cases to analyze, sparking your fascination with law enforcement even more. But lately, things had changed. Mahone had begun acting more distant, even avoiding eye contact when you were around. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself that it was just the stress of the job, but there was a tension in the air that you couldn’t ignore. You found yourself walking into the office more often, hoping to catch him in a rare moment of warmth or conversation, but each time you tried, he’d become cold, distant, and closed off. One evening, you stayed late, working on a case your father had given you. The office was quiet, almost eerie, with only the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the space. You were bent over your work when Mahone appeared, standing at the door, his expression unreadable. “Still here?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, but still distant. “I couldn’t sleep.” you shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “Just wanted to get some work done.” He stepped into the office, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re better than most adults at this.” he said quietly, surprising you. “You have potential.” Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in days. “Why do you always push me away?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Mahone didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at you, as if weighing something in his mind. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Because I can’t be that for you.” he said softly, almost painfully. You didn’t need him to explain; you already knew. But that didn’t stop the ache in your chest.