This is the woman for the hero of heroes Mitch Rapp created by Vince Flynn and his legacy kept alive by Kyle Mills. Celebrating Fan Fiction.
Her name is Christine Ravenswill, but it's not her real name. She's a psychiatrist who specializes in counseling veterans and operatives in elite warrior positions whether government sanctioned or not. Christine is tall, close to 5'10" with a deep blue to her eye color that sets off her long wavy natural honey blonde hair that she wears parted in the middle with bangs. With elegant, efficient movements, Rapp wonders if she's athletic when she strides toward him to shake his hand. He deduces she's close to his age, her handshake takes a firm grip of his larger hand.
When she introduces herself, he smirks. "I assume that's not your real name."
She knows he doesn't want to be there in her office, nor does he want to talk to or confide in her. She recognizes he probably realizes he should be willing to do so, but that doesn't carry any weight as to him determining he will. She decides to go on the offensive.
"Mr. Rapp, I'm smart enough to know you don't want to be here. I get that. You're right about my name. Although Christine is my actual middle name, I chose Ravenswill for my last name when I came to terms with my dad's occupation. He too was a warrior with a similar job description and assignments as you've experienced. The last time I saw him was on my 21st birthday, but occasionally I discreetly visit his star. You would no doubt be familiar with his name if I was allowed to reveal it to you, so I apologize for not being able to share it."
She sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk that faced the one he stood stoically behind, picking up the pen and pad on it and setting them on her lap. "If you prefer to stand, I understand. I'm not here to play games with you. I respect you and what you've done for our country far too much to attempt any kind of coercion to speak with me. I of course hope that you would acquire a trust – or perhaps that's too strong a word." She briefly faltered but regrouped. "Let me put it this way: I have no way of knowing if I can offer you anything you can use or might need until I listen to what you have to say about anything that you care to offer in conversation. I've cleared my schedule for the rest of the day in order not to adhere to any annoying time requirements." She briefly looked down at the pad on her lap. Then looking directly up at the focused stare looking back at her, she said, "This is the absolute truth. I've admired you for a long time, and it's an honor to finally meet you face to face."
She noticed the brief surprise in those dark eyes, the quick parting of the lips before once again sealing shut.
"I'm very familiar with the standardized version of life in your profession. As for my life, I'm a fair marksman, know Krav Maga and Brazilian Jui-jitsu. I'm armed with my trusty Glock 19, and haven't had to kill anyone yet. I've been attacked once on the way to this office when I decided to jog to work. Fortunately, I subdued my attacker so here I am. Here you are. If there's anything you want to ask me, please do."
Rapp moved around the chair and sat in it folding his arms against his strong chest. "How much did Irene tell you?"
"Irene told me she would suggest you come to me, 'try me on for size', just for the purpose of releasing some of the pain you carry around with you because she believes it's intense. She said it in no way has affected your work, but that . . ." She stopped and studied his expression before continuing. "But that it hurt her to know you kept a lot of that pain as a constant companion in your everyday life and that just maybe you might be willing to discuss it with me – but not to count on it." She pushed herself farther back in the chair and crossed her right leg over her left.
Rapp examined her and noticed she met his gaze with an expression he rarely saw from women who looked at him. If he had to identify it, he’d call it empathy. Maybe because she’d come as close to experiencing the content of his rare lifestyle without ever physically having to live it. He dropped his defensive posture and cocked his head slightly to study her features.
Finally, he said, “You look like him, you know.” He paused. “Your father.”
Her lower lip dropped slightly, and tears instantly formed in her eyes. She reached behind to her desk for a Kleenex and blotted her eyes. “Thank you,” she replied quietly. “I didn’t know . . .”
“It can be a small world sometimes.”
Silence permeated the realization. He decided to let her take a moment, knowing the anguish that came from the remembrance. He watched her as she regained control. When he was sure she'd managed it, he added, "He was one of the few real heroes. He had a heart. That's one of the things I admired about him." Rapp stood again. "Thank you for understanding I don't want to be here, don't want to talk about myself, my pain, my life. It's not you. Seems pointless. It's done. It's not going to change. I chose this life. I'm sure the exit won't be . . . pretty."
She stood, carefully judging her motive first and then her next move. "Mr. Rapp–"
"It's Rapp or Mitch."
"Rapp, would you consider having lunch with me? I'm starving and it would be good to have lunch in a non-professional environment. If you have time. I'm not the kind of girl who's going to analyze your every word and response in conversation. I usually eat alone. It would feel good to spend some time having a 'normal' lunch. Are you game?"
He gave her a look with a barely there smile. "Can I trust you?"
She let out an abrupt laugh. "I don't know, can you?"
Rapp started for the door and looked back, “Coming? I’ll drive.”
“We can go in separate vehicles if you’d be more comfortable,” she offered, suddenly feeling a bit intimidated by the prospect of having asked this man she’d long admired to lunch.
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I thought you said you wanted a ‘normal’ lunch. I’m taking you to lunch. Is that ‘normal’ enough for you?”
She walked quickly toward him. “Yes, sir, it is.”
He gave a rare laugh and held the door open for her. She walked out in front of him.
Father, thank you for fun with words, thoughts, writing, everything. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Into the Fire 