Disclaimer: I don't own National Treasure or Riley. If it changes anything, I mentally own them both.

A/N: I hated this fic. It was really bothering me, so I decided to edit it. Will there be more chapters? I'm afraid not. I don't own either movie on DVD and I can't find them anywhere but Netflix and the rental store, so I can't do the both-movies-in-Riley's-point-of-view-idea that I really wanted to do! I'm sorry guys; you'll just have to live with this one-shot for now. Those drabbles also have a new home: 'The Simple Drabbles of a Geek'. R&R please!

"Hi! You've reached NC computer services, and in case you're wondering, NC stands for: Nerd Company; short for: The Nerd Company. Can't you see why I prefer to say NP? Anyway, my name is Gandalf the Great, how may I help you today? Do you have virus like the previous five callers, possibly caused by googling what you really shouldn't of? Or is it something more elaborate, as in you can't seem to find that little exasperating button to boot up your system?"

CLICK.

Riley Poole winced at the sound that echoed loudly into his sensitive ear and stared down with a blank expression at the phone in his hand. "Crap," he thought with despair. "Boss won't be too happy about this." He ran a hand down his face in agitation and embarrassment and peeked over his cubicle to make sure no one had overheard the call, but his fellowcolleagues all sat cozily and clueless in their windowless boxes, unconsciously typing away at their germ-infested boards.

He sighed in relief and slumped down in his chair. Taking a swig of his long-time-since-it-was-actually-soda coke, he went back to 'work'. He was in the middle of a game of Tetris when the phone started ringing again.

"Hello, you have just so happened to reach NC Computer Services. The sad little operator has hatefully directed you to my sad little cubicle where I spend everyday of my sad little life fixing sad little computers for their sad little owners. But enough about me, how may I help you?"

Someone chuckled on the other end. "I think we might have a real winner here Ben," mumbled a somewhat now distant British voice; obviously to someone of the name of 'Ben'. "Hello?" he asked in a tired voice. He was really getting tired of people, and this job.

It sounded like the phone was being handed to someone else. Riley hoped this person might actually respond to him so he could get the problem over with and get back to his game. "Hello, you're Riley Poole aren'tyou?" asked a much clearer, and American voice.

"That's my name, don't wear it out!" he sang out in a British accent.

More chuckling, then; "I've heard your one of the best,"

"Oh in more ways than one," he said dryly.

"Well I've got a proposition for you Mr. Poole. Are you freefor lunch?"

He choked on his soda. Susan gave him a weird look over her glasses as she walked by with her arms full of papers. Riley gave her a smile in return. "Mr. Poole?"

"Huh? Oh yes… uh yes I'm free."

One hour and forty five minutes later, 12:13 noon, Washington, D.C.

Riley offered to meet up at the local Star Bucks. Benjamin Gates, whoever the heck that was, supposively lived close to where it was and already knew the directions. He's a stalker Riley. He's a freaking stalker. Save yourself before it's too late. Riley promptly ignored his thoughts, locked his beloved and battered red van, and went inside the coffee chain despite his best instincts rebuking himself of doing so.

He looked around at the tables and couches that inhabited the joint, dismissing an elderly couple on the couch, a group of pretty teenage girls (though he gave them a wink), a middle aged woman with glasses frowning at the newspaper before her, before finally, his eyes caught a hold of two men occupying a table in the corner by the window; one had long blonde hair with a ruff looking demeanor, the other was dressed nicer and occupied short brown hair. They appeared to be in deep conversation. Riley warily approached the table. They both looked up. The blonde bozo glared at him. "Go away kid," he growled with an ugly scowl sprouted on his face.

Riley gulped. The other man smiled nicely at him but didn't say anything. Riley pushed his glasses up his nose and gulped again. He wished it wasn't true, but he recognized the blonde mans British accent. "I'm…uhhhh… Riley Poole?" spluttered Riley nervously more as a question than a statement. The brunette stood up and held out a hand. "Benjamin Gates." he announced, giving a charming grin and gesturing for Riley to sit down. Riley obliged but not before shooting another nervous glance at the blonde.

"This is Ian Howe, my associate." proclaimed Ben, pointing to the scowling blonde; the grin never fading from his face.

Ian looked at Ben sharply. "Ben, he's just a kid. We can't hire him!" he exclaimed, hitting his hand on the table.

Riley was starting to get a little teed off with the guy. He took off his glasses and crossed his arms, giving Ian a defensive look. "You called me didn't you?"

"Excuse me?" snarled Ian. Riley felt a little intimidated but refused to back down. He cleared his throat a little and moved his bangs out of his eyes.

"I said you called me didn't you? I may be younger than you, but if you can't do whatever you're needing to do by yourself that also means I'm younger and smarter than you. So whether you hire me or not, you might as well face the fact that I'm a younger smarter person than you."

Ian looked at Riley speechless, the snarl wiped clean from his face and his eyes a little wide. Ben covered his mouth to hide a laugh. Ian shot a glare at him. "You're hired!" cried Ben, grinning widely in amusement. "Ben!" yelled Ian. "Not hired!" "Hired," He said officially, pointing a straight finger to Riley then to his red faced companion. "He stood up to you, which means he has the guts for the job." Ian slumped down in defeat and grumbled to himself. "It'd better work out for your sake." he growled, glaring at the table. Riley grinned nervously at both of them. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Nighttime, two weeks later, Ben's apartment, Washington, D.C.

Riley, Phil, and Shippen lay curled up together on Ben's battered and stained couch. Phil and Shippen were hogging up the blankets and everytime Riley tried to cover himself they would growl and knock him onto the floor. Not only that, but they smelled terrible; like alcohol and sweat, and it wasn't pleasant in the slightest when they breathed down his neck in their sleep. He sighed, shivering as he wrapped his arms around his knees in an attempt to keep warm. He hadn't received more than six hours of sleep for the past two weeks due to the idiots. He actually missed sleeping in his van.

Riley was constantly ignored. He was the last to get dibs on food, (usually he got the scraps they called leftovers) he was the last to take a shower, (the water was cold by then and the shampoo bottle empty) the last one to get paid, (45 bucks a week) and most recently; the last one to drag himself up to get to work.

Later in the day, when Ben, Ian, Shaw, and Shippen had gone out, Riley sat cross legged on the floor, uncharacteristically ignoring the laptop in front of him. Instead he moaned into his hands and gripped at his hair. In all honesty, he felt like crap.

"Hey kid, you feeling alright?" Riley peeked through his hand to see Phil frowning at him with concern.

"Just peachy Phil," lied Riley, with a fake smile.

"You don't look so hot." added Powell.

Riley raised his eyes in mock surprise but didn't feel like replying with anything sarcastic. This surprised his companions since Riley never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Riley slid his laptop onto his lap, and put his headphones in his ears. Phil just shot Powell a curious glance and shrugged.

When the rest of the group returned with pizza, everyone went into the kitchen to eat. Everyone that is, but Riley. He wasn't in the mood to eat the scraps they left. He played Tetris and listened to Maroon 5 until he was aware of Ben standing in front of him with a paper plate in his hands. He took off his headphones and frowned at the older man. "What?"

"Pizza is your favorite, isn't it?"

"Mhm, usually it is."

"Usually it is?"

"Yeah,"

"You look like crap you know."

"Thank you for brightening my day Ben. You know just what to say to make the sun shine brighter for us all."

"Riley."

"Hmm?"

Ben leaned down and snatched the laptop with one hand. "Hey!" Riley jumped up and tried to retrieve it, but Ben was way taller then him and he failed miserably. He pushed the plate towards Riley's chest. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat." Riley sighed; rolled his eyes and took the plate. "Fine mom!" he cried dramatically like an annoyed teenage girl. He plopped down on the couch and eagerly wolfed down the pizza.

Nighttime, three days later.

Phil and Shippen were hogging the blankets again. Riley was freezing. Not again. Not tonight. No one messes with Riley Poole. Riley ripped the blanket off of Phil and dodged the fist that flew in his direction.

"You little shit!" growled Phil as he reached to grab him. Riley ducked the flying fist again and ran to the bathroom; successfully locking the door before the beast caught him. Phil pounded on the door. Riley opened the cabinet below the sink, where he had prepared for tonight. A pillow, earplugs, sleeping pills, and his self-made tazer; just for in case Phil got any ideas, it was good to be prepared after all. "Ah," he thought happily as he settled in the tub, "Finally a good night's sleep!"