I don't own Hellboy, TMNT, or any mentioned books/movies/music/etc; no money is made from this writing. I DO own my OCsand a gassy cat who REALLY needs to see the vet. XP

Warnings: Language, skanky friends, immaturity, crack humor, and a Monty Python reference.

Until the MTH Civil Rights movement, the BPRD was firmly on the "Does not exist" list; now, it has been opened to the public for the first time, by way of a press tour. Naturally, this does NOT go well. Though this shot includes several characters from Hellboy AND TMNT, it centers mostly around Abe and Amber, because she's such a hoot to write.

Suggested Listening:

[Madness, "Our House"]


Moments in Time: Meet the Press

Part I: The Tour

Friday Afternoon

It wasn't often that the public was allowed a glimpse inside the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. Since Amber Willow Jr was hired on in Tom Manning's place, however, a whole slew of changes had taken place, especially regarding public relations. The so-called "More Than Human" civil rights movement had only gained momentum after the citizenship issue was solved, and the public—human and not-quite-human alike—were more curious than ever.

If not for pressure from the press and a whole month of nothing but hecklers demanding transparency, nothing could have convinced Amber to offer a guided tour of the facilities. If not for the majority of the higher-ranking agents—and anyone else she might have trusted to guide a tour—being absent for missions or illness, she'd never have been the guide. Furthermore, if Professor Broom hadn't convinced her the agents could behave for an entire hour, she'd have evacuated all locations being toured. If she'd had her way, Hellboy's bare ass wouldn't have been photographed by a reporter sneaking into a nearby locker room, and her sister wouldn't have splattered blue and orange paint all over a trio of nosy reporters who'd invited themselves into her office.

Manning's 9x9' foot cell in Guantanamo was looking mighty cozy again.

Fighting the urge to tug at her shoulder-length light auburn hair, Amber led the group of journalists and reporters around yet another corner. Her cheeks hurt from forcing herself to keep smiling brightly no matter what catastrophic disasters she came upon. Her feet hurt from the dress flats she'd been determined to torture herself with. Her cream colored blouse and forest green skirt were surely covered in paint spatter from Jasmine's temper tantrum, too, and she just knew the black and white cat that had somehow escaped Hellboy's suite had left her best nylons full of hair and runs. Still, she trudged onward, only halfway focused on the history lesson she was reciting to an audience who probably weren't even listening.

"And over here, folks," she chattered brightly. "We have the Library. Though it was once office to the first Director of the Bureau, it is now open to all with sufficient clearance." The gasps and murmurs of awe from her followers were quite an improvement to their previously nosy digging, she mused as she scanned the tank walls for movement in the water.

As the herd fanned out slightly, a short cameraman with a well-developed beer gut swaggered over to the glass walls, staring critically into the seemingly empty depths. Confident that the accompanying blacksuit agents—Agents Quarry, Clay, Reed, and Rush—could handle the rest of the gathering, Amber watched him carefully. Several times during the walk there, she'd been spooked by what had felt like a palm on her behind. Upon turning to chew the perpetrator out, though, she'd always found him, ignoring her and spouting snide remarks to the reporter who'd come with him. Without solid proof, she'd decided that she must have been imagining things; a sudden flash of blue in the water before her, however, had her questioning the man's innocence. From the obvious psychic waves of annoyance emanating from the tank, Abe was clearly not happy.

The man all-but pressed his nose to the glass, searching for any sign of life, then turned to sneer at her, jabbing a thumb at the tank. "Ya can't even keep fish alive. How ya gonna keep us normal folks alive, if ya can't even keep fish alive?" Behind him, a shadow glided toward the glass wall; forcing a sweet, guileless smile onto her painted lips, Amber quirked her head to the side slightly.

"Oh, but Sir," she said sweetly. "The 'fish' is very much alive…aren't you, Aber'hem?" Following her gaze, the man turned back to the tank; the sight of Abe studying him critically from the other side of the glass sent him scrambling away with a girly shriek, only to trip on the steps and land flat on his behind. Finally content after the long tour, she pressed her palm to the glass wall between them. "How are you, Darlin'?"

"Quite well, Dearest," Abe answered softly, returning the gesture fondly. Upon seeing memories of the tour so far, he winced. "I see the bureau is as lively as ever."

"Understatement of the year," she muttered, glancing warily at the still stunned oaf behind her. "I'll drop by once the tour's over—we've important business to discuss." He knew without prying that said 'business' involved the cameraman's actions, and plans to handle the PR mess that the tour was likely to cause. With an affectionate smile, she turned to continue the tour. Surely the cafeteria would be safe.


Vega glowered suspiciously at the contents of her plate. "So far," she announced, "I have yet to find any meat in this meatloaf." Across from her, Ramona grimaced, staring down her spaghetti.

"I think my noodles just moved," the redhead countered. "At least yours is dead." Fed up with their commentary, the crowd of blacksuit agents surrounding them collected their meal trays and moved to another table. "Finally. Was beginning to think they'd never leave." Vega shrugged, sawing through the meatloaf-flavored brick.

"Meh." With the table less crowded, the two friends set into their meals. "Wonder how the tour's going." Curious as well, Ramona closed her eyes, reaching out her senses for answers.

"Sounds pretty bad," she answered, bright green eyes amused. "Amber's gonna be having a long talk with the bigwigs at Fox news…the cameraman they sent keeps grabbing her ass. Surprised she hasn't decked him." The surly air type nodded distractedly, her thoughts drawn to the hazel-eyed ninja she hadn't seen in days. Her spirit type friend picked up the thought easily, grinning slyly. "So how're things going with Raphael? You bag'im yet?" Sure enough, Vega choked on her iced tea, her eyes panicked. "No need to get choked up over it."

"There'll be no bagging!" Vega barked hoarsely. "He drives me nuts! As in 'I wanna rearrange his intestines' nuts!"

"That just makes things interesting," Ramona smirked shamelessly. "I never fuck boring people—it's no fun."

"You're a nympho, Mona," Vega glared back. "You'll fuck anyone who won't press charges! I'm not like that—there're more important things in life than getting' laid!" Ramona shrugged, picking at her spaghetti.

"Better laid too often than not enough," she retorted airily. "Personally, I think he's hot. Biceps like that should be illegal." Grumbling sourly, Vega returned to her meatloaf with a vengeance. "So if you're not callin' dibs, can I?" The sound of her knife impacting the plastic plate rang out like a gunshot. "Or are you callin' dibs?" Fighting to regain control, Vega screwed shut her grey eyes, counted to ten, and fought down the impending explosion that wouldn't help anyone.

"No dibs," she growled. "I've got better things to do."

"Better things to do than a hot ninja?" Ramona gasped in mock dismay. "You can't be serious! I'd do him any day of the week!" Finally, Ramona's teasing paid off; Vega exploded.

"I wouldn't do'im for a Klondike bar!" she snapped as a temperamental gust of wind swept a nearby table and several chairs off their feet. A deep laugh nearby sent her cheeks blazing; she knew that laugh.

"Yeah?" Raphael sneered as he passed their table with a plate laden with pizza. "Well, I wouldn't do you for a box of'em." Mortified and furious, she pointedly ignored him, focusing on mutilating her meatloaf. Ramona leered at the departing ninja, unaffected by her brooding friend's glares.

"Hell, I'd do'im for free."

"Mona?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." In the doorway of the cafeteria, Amber made a mental note to exclude the cafeteria from any future tours, then led the tittering group back out the door. There had to be somewhere on the campus that was vacant—somewhere she could take the nosy vultures without subjecting them to the uncouth imbeciles under her charge.


Renovations on the large meeting room had finally been completed a week ago; already, it was closed for repairs. Clicks, scrapes, grunts, and low, grumbled cursing echoed through the empty room—empty, that is, but for two maintenance workers tasked with fixing several of the brand new, state-of-the-art light fixtures and power outlets, all of which were already malfunctioning. The blonde electric type elemental sat perched atop a ladder, inspecting the wiring of an overhead light, mumbling under her breath about the part-time techs whose shoddy wiring they were already repairing. Nearby, at a much more comfortable height of floor-level, her partner wrestled with a outlet box she'd pulled loose for inspection; it had already tried to kill her once—after its power supply was cut. She was just dying to figure out how the techs had accomplished that.

"Think the tour's done yet?" Alesha asked as she scrutinized the mangled wiring; even if the other crew hadn't jammed several feet of loose wire in behind the box, the half-assed job wasn't nearly up to code. Elysia shrugged.

"Ah sho' hope so, Al. Ah'm 'bout ready ta zap someone. This stanks." Alesha grinned widely at her friend's huffy tone.

"An' I'm sure that has nothin' to do with Sid bein' on mission." Sure enough, the blonde blushed, focusing harder on her work.

"At leas' I ain't stuck MEN-torin' him," she shot back. "Mus' be en-FYUR-ee-aytin' havin' ta talk shop ever-time ya see Dahnatella." The other woman ducked her head, hiding a troubled frown behind the bill of her favorite hat.

"Nah. He's doin' well—makin' lots'a progress. I really haven't needed to do much. You're paired up with Mikey, right? How's that goin'?"

"Ugh." Grey eyes shot an annoyed glare down at her. "I sway-uh, that kid's got ADD. He's drivin' me nutz! At least his may-nuhs have improved."

"Yeah, he's a good kid underneath it all." Finally the last mangled wire was disconnected, and Alesha dug through her bag for the new outlet. "He thinks you're cute, too." Elysia scoffed.

"He's bah-kin up the wrong tray-ee, an' he knowz-it. I ain't up fer gray-abs."

"Still, it's a compliment…" Alesha continued thoughtfully as she wired in the new outlet. "Heck, I'm pretty sure Donatello thinks I'm actually guy…the deep voice an' 'anti-girly shit' attitude don't help much."

"Way-ell," Elysia grinned slyly. "Ef ya didn't walk like a lumba-jack, ya'd look more feminine." Alesha grinned, gesturing theatrically to the room around them.

"I never wanted to be a government agent in the first place!" she grinned. "I…I wanted to be…a LUMBERJACK!"

Shortly after, Alesha belted out another verse with Elysia singing harmony, neither noticing their audience. "I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay! I sleep all night and I work all day! I chop down trees, I wear high heels, suspenders and a bra. I wish I'd been a girlie just like my dear Papa!" In the doorway, Amber stared in dismay as the two broke into a massive giggle fit. Struggling to maintain a calm demeanor, she insistently guided the group away again.

'I told these knuckleheads to be on their best behavior!' she thought fiercely, scrambling for a single destination that would be without a doubt, empty.

By the time they reached her office twenty minutes later, the group had seen it all. They'd been caught in the crossfire of a nerf gun fight between Mikey and Maggie. That deranged unicorn Poky had barreled past with yet another pair of stolen panties on his horn, and Liz was in hot pursuit. Ashly, the tempermental fire demon who'd signed on the year Amber arrived, was seen loudly threatening to set an overly nosy blacksuit agent on fire. That Lycan Alf had apparently found another skunk as well, and the whole group had been chased far away from the sparring rooms by the stench. Worst yet, the photographer from 'Women's Day' had somehow shot three more photos of Hellboy's butt, two of which he'd clearly posed for. Mentally reminding herself that it could always be worse, Amber led them into her office. The moment she sat down behind her desk, though, it became apparent that she'd forgotten something.

"What an interesting portrait," remarked a particularly well-dressed female reporter. "Isn't that the previous director of the Bureau?" Amber turned startled eyes to the large Lichtenstein-esque acrylic painting across from her desk—a painting hung over a trash can, portraying Manning shouting "I'm in charge here!" with obvious bullseye rings. Though Jasmine had painted it, it had been a gift from the agents as a whole, and had been an excellent way of venting frustration at Manning—not just for her, but for everyone who frequented her office. Despite that, it was very, very unprofessional. Silently, she scrambled for a good answer—an answer that wouldn't make things even worse, but wasn't an outright lie. Nothing came to mind. Finally, she steeled her resolve; these people had wanted to see the Bureau—the real Bureau, not just the fancy brochures or the meticulously fabricated websites—and by the wind in her heart, they'd get what they asked for.

"Folks," she smiled sincerely, reciting the explanation she'd been sworn to. "Allow me to introduce you to Thomas Manning, the former director. He is currently serving a life sentence for treason, fraud, and sabotage, all because he could not overcome personal prejudices."

"If he's so horrible," the sly reporter asked. "Why do you have his portrait on your office wall?" Without a word, Amber retrieved a sheet of paper from a box under her desk, wadded it up into a lump, and chucked it at the painting. As expected, it bounced right off his nose and into the trashcan; suddenly the Plexiglas shield over the painting made perfect sense.

"Every agent in the Bureau suffered when he was in office—everyone paid for his crimes, everyone had to pick up his slack, and everyone has been hurt by his betrayal. That painting has been directly responsible for an increase in morale, and a decrease in resentment between Agents and Management. Is it really so horrible for people to vent their frustration in a positive, non-destructive manner?" The reporter grinned back, shaking her head in agreement. "Any further questions?"

"This is the first time the public have been allowed to see the inner workings of the bureau." She recognized the rather serious speaker as a reporter for the Times. "Why were members of the press and general public banned from the Bureau to begin with, and what convinced those responsible to lift the ban?" Amber glanced at the framed wedding photo on her desk as she considered her answer.

"Oftentimes, mankind tend to focus on unpleasant things, and never notice the pleasant ones. When folks are bombarded with tales of More-than-human beings who have committed crimes, who have harmed others, and etc, they often become convinced that all beings of the sort commit crimes, harm others, and etc. They cannot believe that the good ones outweigh the bad ones, and that not all MTH persons want to harm them." She met the reporter's eyes seriously. "Most of mankind are at least uncomfortable around the paranormal, and almost as many fear it. A significant portion of the Bureau's staff are More-than-human, and we deal directly with the paranormal; being open to the public is dangerous for those under our care, and in our employ, if only due to continuing prejudice."

Realizing she was rambling, she cleared her throat and focused on the questions. "Recently, the Supreme Court passed a landmark law rendering MTH persons eligible for citizenship, and the public have become more tolerant of them. Despite this, there are still many misconceptions out there regarding the MTH population; that, Sir, is why the Bureau has allowed the general populace a close look at our program." Her audience stared, somewhat confused. "Can anyone guess how many of the agents you witnessed today are More-than-human?"

The roomful of visitors discussed the question amongst themselves quietly, all coming to the same conclusion…seven. Amber chuckled lowly, reaching out toward the trashcan in a slow, lifting movement; a murmur of surprise rippled through the room as the wadded up paper in it rose out of the bin, and flew back to her hand, then fluttered above it on a silent updraft. "Not everything is as it seems, ladies and gentlemen…the correct answer is 'everyone not wearing a black suit.'"


Folks, I wasn't quite happy with how this flowed as a one-shot; thus, it has been split into two chapters. If you've already read it, no worries-I've just corrected a few things. If not, hope you're enjoying it!

~Ghost.

Notes:

"Blacksuit" agents: Your average run-of-the-mill 'men in black.' Blacksuits are highly trained humans like Liz and the Elementals, rather than More-Than-Humans or Skilled humans.

Agents Reed and Rush: Blacksuit agents, and Original characters of mine. Unlike Quarry and Clay, they chose their code-names from plant life rather than geology. Reed is a bit grouchy, while Rush is cool, collected, and prone to snarky humor.

Klondike Bar: What would YOU do for a Klondike Bar? ;)

Lumberjack: Monty Python, "The Lumberjack Song."

Poky the Unicorn: Initially, Poky started out as a joke; he still is. Poky is incarcerated at the Bureau for his own safety; he is a complete horn-head—pun intended—and is constantly hitting on female agents, and breaking out of his stable, finding ways into their quarters or into the laundry, stealing panties—preferably unwashed—and parading around with them on his horn, while making suggestive comments. My reasoning? According to European folklore, the unicorn was an inherently pure being that could only be caught by a maiden, who would entice him to lay his head in her lap, then tie him up with a golden rope. Surely I'm not the only gutter-brain who sees the subtext here.

Alf: Original Character. Adolfus, or rather, 'Alf,' is a male lycan about thirty years old. He is very polite, friendly, and sweet when he's not in his wolf or hybrid forms, but he has an unfortunate addiction…rolling in roadkill, primarily possums and skunks. Having a human and a wolf in one body at the same time isn't always a bed of roses…sometimes it STINKS.