Double sugar, double cream, double cream again, and swirl. Beautiful, heart attack inducing mocha in the mornings were really all that were keeping Oliver from lying around all day. At the moment, the creamer hit the coffee, his thoughts ran "Maybe tomorrow I won't get out of bed. I think I can afford to lose a day, at the rate we're going. It's not like anyone would really notice if I went AWOL for a few days, weeks, months even. Even I am entitled to some time off, once in a while."
Oliver sighed, took a sip of his bastardized coffee and blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes. This was the first case he'd ever taken that had made him question his calling and his career this much. This case had surpassed boredom and frustration weeks ago, taking a nosedive into painful disappointment in himself. No matter how much he tried, it seemed things never got any better.
Every day was the same. He woke up in his dirty little apartment in a blur of a street, walked down to the café with the tables outside, and drank his heart-attack-in-a-cup with a book open in front of him, closed off to the world, smoking the first cigarette of the day on automatic. And, right on schedule every morning, his partner in crime arrived.
His business associate arrived this morning too, 10:00 AM sharp as usual, looking washed and pressed and ironed. He always did. The man is practically clockwork, Oliver thought to himself, watching him over the top of his novel. At the moment, he's about the last thing keeping from up and quitting, let the higher-ups find someone else to take up the slack, if any appears. This assignment is proving to be one disappointment after another.
He dogeared the page in the book, making his associate wince. "So, Logan, anything of great importance happening today?"
He twisted the edge of his left cuff gently, shaking his head at the proffered coffee. "Good news, we get take some action today. Our protagonist is going on her excursion to the beach with her friends, and there should be some work for you and me in it." He coughed, clearing his throat. "Miss McKean has set up a rally point. We're to meet her there at eleven." Despite his professionalism, Logans ears pinkened.
"Eleven?"
"Will that be a problem?"
"No, no, I'm here now, aren't I?" Oliver stretched his arms up over his head, cracking his jaw. "It just seems a little early for our hero to be up and about at the beach. Unless…" He grinned and leaned in conspirationally, "unless you have ulterior motives involving our dear Miss McKean, eh?"
"I would—what are you talking about?" Oliver came as close to sputtering as he could without a drink. "Our relationship is purely professional!"
"Ah, but that's hardly how you want it, is it?" Oliver chuckled to himself, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Logan, you are the only man I know who would schedule an ulterior motive."
"I am only here doing my job." Logan sniffed and loosened his tie a little. "I don't know if I can say the same for you."
His business partner bristled at the implication. "I'm doing what I've been assigned and you damn well know it! It's not my fault there's only tiny fragments of plot lying around. You know exactly how hard I fought to get here." He took a couple breaths, visible trying to calm himself. "It's not like you're doing much more either. This whole assignment is an insult to what we do."
Logan could only nod. It was true: in the time they'd been here, in any other continuum, they would be in the most exciting part of the whole case, when bits and pieces of the world around them were beginning to make sense, and the things they'd been sent to assemble would be beginning to take shape and sparkle like the beautiful things they were. Like the beautiful things they could be. Yet here they were, trying to kill time. Headquarters must be laughing at them.
Oliver finished his cigarette and stubbed out the last bits of blackened paper clinging to the filter. "So, we blending in or in hiding?"
"Wee-e-eell…" Logan, ever vigilant, pulled stack of paper bound together out of his briefcase. "There's not much for you or me to do in the crowd, but we should be there for Maggie's sake. There's characterization going on in some girl the author clearly hates, and that's never pleasant."
"Ah, so we're non-descript teens than." Oliver grinned. "Do you think Our Hero will notice if we use the same bodies we did for the hospital? I rather liked mine."
Logan smiled to himself, recalling what the disguise generator had spat out for Oliver. "You're awfully young for a perverted old man," he said, getting up, "but I suppose it'll save some time. Shall we go have a bite to eat while we're waiting?"
"I think I saw an IHOP downtown. I'm up for waffles if you are."
"I could stomach a few." They headed off down the street, anticipating fine floured treats.
An hour and a half later and Logans knuckles had gone white on the wheel of his jeep, no easy task for his brown skin. Shooting Oliver a glance, he growled, "Any other shortcuts you want to take? I'm sure there're trees we've only passed twice."
"Take it easy, now." Oliver rolled down the window and rummaged around his feet for the binoculars. "I can see the words rising up to the North, and we're closer than we were before. I think if we just walk from here, we'll make it."
"Ah. Brilliant. And my car will get stolen or towed or vandalized, and I'm sure that's all part of your plan," Logan said, cutting the engine in spite of his words. "I told you this would happen, didn't I? I am fully within my rights in claiming an 'I told you so'."
And Logan had told him, after all. It was a law, a scientific law, in point of fact. As the length of a trip down a shortcut increases, the probability of getting irrevocably lost approaches one. It was all documented in the official department handbook, which was handed out to every agent (although Logan suspected his partner had lost his a long time ago).
None of this changed the fact that they were now going to walk to the beach instead of driving. It just made something to grumble about internally on the way there.
One ditch and a great deal of startled forest creatures later, the two made their way out of the forest and up to the edge of the beach, where a woman in a white lab coat sat on a large stone, alternately playing solitaire and scrabbling after cards when she forget to weight them down in the face of the sea breeze. The game did not appear to be going well at all.
"Maggie!" Oliver cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled out her name.
"Hullo Ollie." She glanced up, smiling. The wind blew strands of her red-brown curls into her eyes. "How goes the ghoul killing?"
"They're small and everywhere," Oliver said, pouting. He arrived at Maggies stone and sat down, making room for Logan as he jogged up a second later. "They're all non-descript, too, so they're a hell and a half to pin down."
"At least yours stay real long enough to club," Logan grumbled.
Maggie chuckled. "I hear you on that! That's why I ended up leaving the Continuity Department, y'know. If I had to chase one more ghoul through a world it could warp to suit itself, I'd have gone smack out of my head."
"Aw, Mags, I think we both know you're already out of your head," Oliver said, dodging the playful smack his object of ridicule sent his way. "What's on our plate today?"
Maggie dug around in her old, beat-up knapsack. "I know it's in here- ah!" She cried out in triumph, holding up a grey plastic device that looked for all the world like a calculator built like an insane magician. Both sides had a screen, with their own separate set of cryptically labeled buttons. A tiny golden antenna spat out a few sparks as Maggie flipped the big red switch labeled "on".
"Is that standard issue?" Logan leaned in, examining some of the stranger dials and buttons.
"Well, I added some of my own improvements, and of course I reinforced the sides…"
"Of course." Logan adjusted his glasses. "What does it do now?"
Oliver sighed. "I'm just going to interrupt this little tech parade before it happens. What are we doing today?"
"Let me check." Maggie fiddled with her remodeled Plot Decoder Device, causing an odd metallic cacophony to issue from the speakers. "They'll be at the beach, of course, and Bella will meet a guy named Jacob. As far as I can tell, he's here for exposition, as well as fluffing up Bella's harem."
"And lord, it grows everyday."
"Thanks for that, Oliver." Maggie shoved the PDD back into her knapsack. "Really, if you two want to skive off for the day, I'd be fine on my own."
"No, it's fine," Logan said, just a little too quickly. "We're all in this together, aren't we? Team unity, like HQ is always talking about."
"Uh-huh. Team unity." Oliver leered at Logan, rearranging his face into a more innocent smile as the only female member of their unit looked back to him. "Besides, let's face it: there's just not a whole lot to do in this world when your target cast does nothing."
"This is true." Maggie stood up, brushing the sand from her coat. "Well, there's some plot about to occur on the beach; shall we supervise?"
"Lead the way," Oliver said, pulling Logan to his feet as well. And the team made their stumbling way to the rocky shore.