Bartie Stork was usually pretty relaxed. He worked with Numbuh 86, and so few people had the ability to remain calm around her, so must knew he must be laid back based on that fact alone. At the moment, though, Bartie was not relaxed. It was some leadership convention or another, and that meant that Numbuh 60 was coming to Moonbase.
As far as Bartie was concerned, Patton was a pretty cool guy. They lived close to each other, and whenever they had some leave time from their respective bases they would go hang out. Numbuh 86 was another matter entirely. There are two lessons that every KND operatives learned early that are instrumental to their survival: one is to maintain peak physical and mental condition, and another is not to provoke Numbuh 86. Bartie considered himself a savvy practitioner of both principles, but he couldn't understand why Patton couldn't understand the second lesson as well as the first.
Every time Patton came to Moonbase, he and Numbuh 86 would argue, Numbuh 362 would calm them down, and Numbuh 86 (not having vented the full fury of her aggression) would take her remaining anger out on Bartie. And then she would plot some way to get back at Patton. Repeat as necessary.
It was these thoughts that were making Bartie nervous. No one can take large amounts of verbal and physical abuse from Numbuh 86 and not be nervous, and Bartie had hit the point where he was getting old by KND standards and wanted to have some relaxing, non-stressful position in which he could spend the rest of his days in the organization. After all, Sector J had awesome mango smoothies, and he doubted that Numbuh 86 even knew how to work a blender.
Bartie gave a little sigh, adjusted his colander helmet, and went back to his clipboard. "Leave it to Numbuh 86 to go and dump me with signing everyone in," he thought grimly, but forced a smile as he saw an approaching party of sector leaders and tactical officers.
"Name please?" he asked, flashing a small smile at the assembled group.
"Numbuhs 1 and 5 of Sector V. Have you seen Numbuh 86? I need to discuss her recent rejection of munitions requests for my sector."
"Numbuh 1, I'm not relaying that message to Numbuh 86 no matter how important it is," Bartie sighed. Numbuh 1 merely frowned in response, while Numbuh 5 shrugged.
The next party moved up, and Bartie resigned himself to the drudgery of bureaucracy. Name tags were distributed to all, and Bartie was just starting to become hopeful that the Arctic base representatives wouldn't show up when-
"Bartie!" Patton barked, voice carrying over the crowd. The drill sergeant had his trademark cap stuffed on to his head, with chunks of hair poking out from beneath.
"Hey Patton."
"How's it going spaceside?"
"Better than usual if you decide not to pick a fight with Numbuh 86, Patton. You know that."
"Hey, that last fight? Totally her fault. I brought a friend to see you. At least be grateful!"
"What?"
It was at that moment that Numbuh 86 approached. Bartie winced, feeling one of his superior's legendary shouting matches coming on. He saw Patton tense up in preparation for the inevitable fight. This time, however, she ignored them. That was Bartie's first hint that something was up, since Numbuh 86 never gave up an opportunity to fight with a boy. The second hint was that Patton had brought Numbuh 23 to the leadership convention.
Numbuh 23, known among her friends (Bartie being one of them) as Virginia, was not a leader or a tactical officer. Rather, she specialized in candy munitions, her latest being a disastrous sourball cannon that resulted in her being moved to the KND's candy-related missions task force. With her short, pig-tailed brown hair and unassuming smile, Bartie thought she was lovely. Patton knew this, and teased his friend mercilessly.
Bartie adjusted his colander helmet nervously, patting down the stray blond hairs that stuck out of the helmet, and gave a little wave to Virginia, who giggled and gave a small smile back.
"So, Numbuh 35," she said, "Numbuh 60 said you needed help organizing the event?"
"Yessir," he mumbled. There was a current conspiracy traveling around the Moonbase that the older girls had created a weapon making them able to tongue-tie any male operatives. Bartie decided it was a valid theory.
Bartie spent the rest of the day in some kind of euphoric trance. Virginia smiling and handing name tags at his side, Numbuh 86 relatively docile- he was certain that life couldn't get any better. That, coupled with the fact that Virginia had asked him to Lime Rickey's with her after the conference was over, made him the happiest he had been in years.
Whistling as he walked down to the loading docks, Bartie fiddled with his armbands and hair, nervous that he looked disheveled. Virginia had headed down on the previous shuttle with Patton, since Bartie had to straighten up after the convention. Numbuh 86 had also gone back to Earth, telling Bartie to take the next day off and go have some fun.
Lime Rickey's was nearly empty by the time he got there. Virginia and Patton were nowhere in sight, but at the bar, sitting slumped over about seven empty root beer glasses and nursing and eighth, was Numbuh 86. Bartie distinctly remembered Numbuh 86 swearing vehemently the other day about how soda drunkards should control themselves, so it came as a surprise to see his boss acting like this.
"Numbuh…. Numbuh 86?" he choked out, grabbing the barstool next to her, "Are you okay?"
"Oh crud, crud, crud," he thought. The normally fearsome operative's face was tear streaked, and her hair was even frizzier than normal.
"Oh, whad de you want, ye cruddy boy," she sniffed, but it was half-hearted and pathetic compared to her normal screech.
"Just wondering where Virginia and Patton are, is all," he stuttered. Tears or no tears, he was still afraid of his boss.
She took pause at this, and Bartie noticed more tears welling up in her eyes. "Patton didn't come at all, and Numbuh 23 had ta go home. Curfew and all."
"Oh," he said, puzzling over this revelation in his head. "Are you okay?"
Her eyes narrowed into thin slits, and he had to suppress a smile. Bartie was far better at dealing with a sober-yet-angry Numbuh 86 than a drunken-yet-emotional Numbuh 86. She looked like she was going to protest at Bartie's assumption that she was weak ("like a boy") but just gave a shudder in protest and hung her head.
"We're friends- er, team mates, Numbuh 86," Bartie amended, noticing the pointed glare she sent him, "You want to tell me what's up? Virginia says it's better to talk about problems instead of keeping them inside of you."
"You'll have ta pinky swear it, then," she said, and Bartie had almost laughed- almost- if it hadn't been for her somber tone and grave expression. Reaching out, he briefly twined his pinky with hers, before Numbuh 86 quickly broke their fingers apart.
"It's about a boy-," she started, and it was then Bartie decided to tempt fate. He began to laugh, loudly and uproariously, to the point where the bartender looked up from where he had been cleaning empty root beer mugs. Numbuh 86 began to turn an interesting shade of red.
"Would-you-SHADDUP!" she snapped, and smacked Bartie's helmet off his head. Bartie absent-mindedly ran his hand through his sandy-blond hair.
"Sheesh, touchy much?" he muttered.
"As I was saying," she began, taking the particularly condescending tone of voice she saved for when she was making an argument without screaming, "there's a boy who… just think of the butterfly-stomach feelin'. You know what I mean, Numbuh 35?" she asked, mincing "thirty-five" into "thertay-five".
Bartie's mind instantly flashed to Virginia, with her smile and her hair… unbeknownst to him, his face took on a dreamy and distant smile, and a blush began to grace his cheeks.
"I'm guessin' you do know what I'm talking about," Numbuh 86 smirked, snapping Bartie out of his trance, "And I'll tell ye this: girls just think you're crazy if ye go around smiling like that."
"Just finish your cruddy story already," Bartie mumbled, turning even redder.
"I come to the loadin' docks and there he is kissin' some girl who knew-," there she broke off and choked on some tears (Bartie had to wince with sympathy- the feeling was like having a fishbone stuck in your throat), "knew that I felt that way! Stinkin' Mary-Lou-…"
"Sarah-Jane Jones?" Bartie finished for her. Taking in her surprised face, he smiled and said, "Virginia's told me about her. Numbuh 14 is a flirt if there ever was one. Apparently not one you should tell a secret to as well."
"So yeh mean-?" her face is radiant now, and if it weren't for Virginia, Bartie would think that Numbuh 86 was pretty.
"You still have a shot," he confirmed, giving an accompanying nod. With that, Bartie slipped off his barstool making to leave the soda bar. He gave a small smile to Numbuh 86 and a little wave.
"See you at the base, boss," Bartie grinned.
"Not boss," she sneered, "That's an adult word. Call me… Fanny." Her face broke out into a large smile, and she too got down from the barstool.
"Whatever you say, Numbuh… I mean, Fanny," Bartie smiled.
"Just because we're on first name terms now doesn't mean you can skip work tomorrow," she grumped, casting Bartie a sidelong glare.
"But I thought you said I had the day off!" he whined, visibly slumping forward.
"That was when I thought I had a date," Numbuh 86 countered, "Being stood up does wonders to yer mood."
Okay, okay- I know what you're thinking: who the hell is Bartie? Or Virginia, for that matter? Why isn't Patton really in this chapter? Well, lad-os and lasses, this is a multi-chaptered fic based off of the sentence "Tears" from my previous Fanny/Patton Advertisement (which, by the way, y'all should read. Hoorah for shameless fic pimpage!). Bartie, aka Numbuh 35, is in charge of summoning people to the Moonbase and was seen in Operation: S.L.E.E.P.O.V.E.R. Virginia, aka Numbuh 23, was also in that episode, and is actually a candy munitions expert.
This was really hard for me to write, since it was originally supposed to be a 35/23 drabble and I made up the plot as I went along. Expect more bad planning on my part in the future.