To Catch A Con Man - Stanley Pines x Reader (female)

The scent of coffee and burnt toast lingered in the air as the bell above the diner door jingled. It was late, and the usual crowd had long since disappeared, leaving the place quiet except for the low hum of the radio in the background. I leaned against the counter, watching Susan wipe it down with that slow, steady rhythm of hers. The clatter of dishes in the kitchen felt distant, muffled under the weight of my thoughts.

This job wasn't supposed to last. It was a cover, a stepping stone, just like all the others. Get in, blend, gather intel, and get out before anyone noticed you'd left. That was how it worked. That was how I worked.

But standing there, watching Susan hum softly to herself as she worked, I felt a pang of something—something I didn't want to name. I'd told myself from the start not to get attached, that it didn't matter how kind she was or how she always saved me the first cup of coffee in the mornings. It didn't matter how she called me "sweetheart" like I was one of her own. People like her were just scenery in the backdrop of the job, a means to an end.

It was nothing. She was just nice. That was all. Nice people existed, and just because I wasn't used to them didn't mean I owed her anything. Or that I would miss her. Or that I cared.

I straightened up, squaring my shoulders as I forced the feeling down. Cold. Detached. That's what this line of work demanded. It wasn't about making friends or getting comfortable—it was about results. And right now, the result was clear: Stan's offer was better. More access, more proximity to my target. More money, too.

I approached the counter, my footsteps deliberate, my face carefully neutral. Susan glanced up and smiled, her eyes warm and crinkling at the corners. "You all right, hon? You've been quiet today."

I nodded, keeping my expression blank. "Yeah, just a lot on my mind."

She set down the rag she'd been using to wipe the counter, leaning against it with a knowing look. "Well, if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me. I might not be much for big city drama, but I've got a good ear for listening."

I smiled tightly, ignoring the way my chest tightened. "Thanks, Susan. Actually, there's something I need to tell you."

Her expression softened. "Oh? What's that?"

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough to feel the crack in my armor, before plastering over it with a carefully rehearsed indifference. "I'm quitting."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the warmth in her eyes flickered. "Quitting?", she echoed, her voice quieter now.

"Yeah.", I said, crossing my arms over my chest like I was bracing myself. "I got a better offer. Stan needs someone to cover for one of his workers—Wendy, I think her name was. Something about a lumberjack camp. Anyway, he's paying me more, so... it's kind of a no-brainer."

Susan blinked, her hands still resting on the counter. For the first time since I'd met her, she looked genuinely caught off guard. "Oh. Well, that's... I mean, that's great for you, sweetheart. If it's better pay and all."

Her words were kind, but her tone betrayed the hurt she was trying to hide. I told myself it didn't matter. It wasn't my job to worry about her feelings, and besides, she'd get over it. People always did.

"I just figured it was time to move on.", I added, my voice clipped. "No hard feelings or anything. It's just business."

She nodded slowly, picking up the rag again. "Of course. I get it. You're young, you've got your whole life ahead of you. No sense in sticking around here if there's something better waiting."

"Exactly.", I said, as if agreeing with her made the whole thing less awkward.

Susan smiled again, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, I'll miss having you around. You're a hard worker, Y/n. And a good person, I strongly believe that."

Her words caught me off guard, and for a split second, I faltered. But I quickly covered it up with a shrug. "Thanks. I'll... I'll miss you too."

I couldn't tell if that made things better or worse, but I didn't stick around to find out. I mumbled a quick goodbye and left before she could say anything else, the bell above the door jingling behind me as I stepped out into the cool evening air.

As I walked away, I told myself I'd done the right thing. This wasn't personal—it was the job. It had always been the job. People like Susan didn't belong in my world, and I didn't belong in theirs. Whatever I felt, whatever I thought I might feel, it didn't matter.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and quickened my pace, ignoring the heaviness in my chest. There was no room for regret. No room for second-guessing.

You don't get attached. You don't look back. That's how it works.

So, this totally didn't have anything to do with me pulling some strings to have Agent Caldwell cover my job at the diner. It was a practical move. Susan needed someone reliable, and Caldwell—well, she was the kind of dependable, no-nonsense agent who could blend in and keep an ear out for anything unusual in a small-town diner. It wasn't about me.

It was strategy. Purely logistical.

After all, what kind of agent would I be if I didn't ensure my bases were covered? This was about staying professional, maintaining the integrity of the mission. It was not about guilt. Definitely not about missing the way Susan made this cover feel... less like a cover.