It was safe to say, the operation was not going well.
Murdock was shouting his demands from the roof of a two-story building while holding a gun to a little boy's head. Stoik Haddock had little patience for diplomacy in situations like this, and was trying to figure out the quickest way to that roof without attracting Murdock's attention. It was after sundown, which was both good and bad; good because it gave a strike team some much-needed cover to get away from the police vehicles and into the building, bad because most of his best men were on high alert for another weredragon night raid.
Which left Stoik with one seasoned warrior – who had an old prosthetic leg and therefore was unable to utilize the speed necessary to fight dragons – and a handful of junior officers.
Damned Helheim's Gate…
Fisher was looking the blueprints over, muttering to himself about the building's "architectural integrity." Giving him those papers had been a stroke of genius; ever since the near-disaster of the last night raid, he absolutely had to have something to occupy his highly-developed mind when he was on the streets after dark.
Scott, Rowan and Tomah wanted to charge in with full battle cries; Gob had to practically sit on them, insisting that without a plan they would only succeed in getting that poor boy shot. Even bowing to the logic, they were still grumbling so much that Stoik was beginning to have uncharitable thoughts involving handcuffs and backseats of the police cars.
Astrid was better-behaved, but she was clearly itching to sling some bullets. Stoik was tempted to give the order – she was an excellent shot – but it would be better for the force if Murdock could be taken alive. Besides, he would have to put the three hotheads in the back of the police cars first: if she started shooting, they would pull out their guns too.
And Hiccup was…nowhere to be found.
"What do you think that Murdock was smoking?" Gob asked casually. "He's not getting a helicopter to come to that roof; it's too crowded."
Distracted from the little matter of Hiccup avoiding him since their Talk, Stoik looked up. This particular building was old, flanked on either side by much newer and larger ones that crowded in close; a particularly daring person could tightrope right over it and not be taking excessive risk. Gob was right, there wasn't a lot of room for a helicopter – even if one had been called, which it hadn't.
"Off the record for now, I think he's a Berserk," Stoik replied. "He's not really thinking about escape; he's not really thinking at all. He wants to make a point, and he's willing to do it with innocent blood."
"Seriously, let me at him!" Scott insisted. "I can bring him down in…"
"One more word and you'll be suspended, Jorgenson," Stoik interrupted harshly. "There's a reason you weren't just handed your father's rank the minute you joined the force…"
"Sir?" Fisher lifted his hand, partly in salute and partly as though he were still in class. "What's that noise?"
Everyone paused and listened. At first, all they heard was Murdock's maniacal cackles; then a whistle came into audible range, rapidly climbing in volume and pitch.
"Sounds like a rocket," Tomah observed.
"Hey, nobody's supposed to go launching rockets in town!" Rowan protested.
"Yeah, that's very dangerous!"
Then the twins exchanged such evil glances that it was clear what they would be spending their weekend doing if they could only find a few spare rockets.
Suddenly something exploded on the roof. Shingles flew everywhere, and Murdock and a dark-swathed figure tumbled out into empty space.
The black figure writhed in the air, unfolding large bat wings and using its legs to grab Murdock in a kind of full nelson. With one hand it nimbly relieved him of his gun; the other arm was wrapped protectively around the boy, who looked terrified out of his mind but otherwise seemed to be intact.
Like a dark angel the figure swooped down over the cops. It opened its legs to drop Murdock practically right at Gob's mismatched feet and threw the gun at Stoik's feet. Then it shoved the boy into Fisher's arms, practically knocking the massive teen over, and with another explosion shot back into the sky. By the time the other cops recovered from the shellshock, the winged figure was gone.
The Night Fury. It never stole anything, never stayed in the light for long, and had done this kind of bizarre vigilante thing before.
The door opened briefly, disturbing the quiet of the forensics lab with the Chief's angry bellowing. Hiccup looked up to see who it was, and if they were dropping off evidence for analysis or picking up results; those were pretty much the only two reasons anyone came back to this tiny corner of the department.
It was Fisher, who quickly closed the door against the tirade. "Got an ID on those fingerprints yet?"
"Sure." Hiccup fetched the file out of the "Out" box and handed it to the much bulkier teen. "It's Baggett again."
"You'd think he would get into honest work."
Hiccup nodded at the door. "So what's he on about this time?"
"I, uh, wouldn't want to gossip…"
"Fisher."
Fisher sighed. "It's the Night Fury. For the second time today, making it the fifth time this week."
Then it was Hiccup's turn to sigh. "Let me guess: the department's all on his side wanting to gun this weredragon down along with all the others roaming the streets."
"About fifty-seven percent."
"Really, only fifty-seven?" That was a surprise.
"Maybe sixty; all the seniors who have personally had their egos bruised by this weredragon, and two-thirds of the cops our age."
Hiccup tilted his head. "But not you."
"I…" Fisher hesitated, looking carefully around the room as though making sure nobody would overhear him. Then he leaned closer. "I tried to motivate up some hatred for the Night Fury once, the day after his first appearance; I just couldn't sustain it. I kept hearing his voice…warning me, by name,that I was in imminent danger from that Nadder. He saved me." Fisher shook his head. "I owe him my life now; an Ingerman always honors his debts, even to something that doesn't look human. No, if the Night Fury dies, it won't be by my gun." As an afterthought he admitted, "I wouldn't mind arresting him, though; then I could ask him how he knew that Ingerman was my name. Besides, I think what he did last night counts as assaulting a police officer – I've got bruises all up and down my backside."
He was kidding for that second reason. Sort of. He probably did have bruises.
"How about the rest of the cops? The other forty to forty-three percent?"
"Oh; they think the Chief is…not wrong in wanting to take out the Night Fury, but…premature. Night Fury can fly, for Odin's sake; we're only equipped right now to handle weredragons on and under the ground, with some aquatic and grappling experience. Basically they want to take out the rest of the Helheim's-Gate organization first, then go hunting Night Furies."
The door slammed open, startling both boys, and the Chief himself loomed in the frame. "Hiccup, to my office now." He thundered away, leaving the door swinging.
Fisher stared at the doorway. Then he looked at Hiccup. "What did you do now?"
Hiccup felt all the color leave his face. He didn't notice when I disappeared for a week, a couple months back; he couldn't possibly be aware of my current nightlife. The thought didn't do much to console him. He had to force his legs to follow his dad's trail, and consciously ignore the panicked voice in his head telling him to run out of the precinct as fast as he could go.
Hiccup fidgeted uncomfortably in one of the chairs before the massive desk. He didn't dare raise his eyes higher, from the nameplate to the vast man behind said desk, for fear that his eyes would betray him.
"This might come as a surprise to you, Hiccup, but you're not in trouble," Stoik said gruffly. "So you can stop slouching, it's unprofessional."
Hiccup couldn't seem to make himself uncurl all the way, but he got far enough up that he no longer looked ready to be whipped. Not in trouble, he reminded himself with a deep breath, and he finally raised his eyes.
He was planning to look his father in the eye. His nerve broke at the last moment, and he stared at the big red beard. Close enough.
"It's time you got some field experience, Hiccup…"
"Dad…Sir…"
"…And this new case ought to play right into your strengths."
What do you know of my strengths? "What new case?"
"It's this Night Fury." At Hiccup's stricken look he snorted in exasperation. "Don't look at me like that – it has been brought to my attention that if he were truly a danger to humans he would have been striking with the other dragons instead of joining the fight against them. You're not going to be carried off. Probably."
Thanks, Dad, really reassuring there…
"However, he's still a vigilante at best and a loose cannon at worst; we need to bring him in or bring him down. And that's where you come in."
"Me?" Hiccup squeaked.
"It's very simple. Observe this dragon however you can: photos, video and audio feeds, traces of DNA, anything we can ever get on this thing. Analyze him. Find a weakness we can exploit. Then I can send a properly prepared team after him, and it's one less worry."
Hiccup could imagine any number of objections; most of them simply couldn't be said. He went with the most basic. "You said yourself: at best, he's a vigilante. He strikes like one. Even if he's only a danger to lawbreakers…by the time I'm somewhere he would show up, I would also be somewhere that a dangerous criminal or several are as well. I know you want me to get some time out in the field, but throwing me on a gang's doorstep just seems…extreme."
Stoik sighed. "Which is why you're also getting a partner."
"Fisher?"
"He's taking over your lab duty. Wouldn't be much good in a Night Fury chase, anyway."
"Rowan? Tomah?" Please not Scott…
"I was thinking of someone who would take you, and your skills, seriously."
Definitely not Scott. Unless the lout had somehow managed to convince the chief that he believed in his lab-rat cousin, which seemed unlikely. Scott wasn't that smart, and Stoik wasn't that dumb.
There was a sharp knock at the door.
"Come," Stoik called gruffly.
Astrid Hofferson stepped inside.
"Astrid, meet your new partner."
Hiccup's breath got lost somewhere. Astrid had stolen his heart years ago just by existing, but she also terrified him; he'd never spoken to her, short of – very recently – asking if she wanted coffee.
Astrid looked Hiccup over critically for a moment. Then she looked at Stoik. "Really."
"You will be taking him with you on the street. He needs the field experience; he's a bright boy, though, so you won't have to do much active teaching. Just let him watch you, let him ask his questions – and don't hesitate to use him if you think he can accomplish something." Stoik made a note on some papers and closed them up in a folder.
"Understood."
Stoik passed her the folder. "Feel free to take any case that doesn't interfere with your primary investigation."
Astrid took one look at the label and her eyes blazed up with excitement. "The Night Fury case?"
Stoik smiled. "Moving up in the world." Then he waved a hand in dismissal.
Hiccup and Astrid filed out.
As they walked back to the desks, Hiccup fidgeted uncomfortably. I should say something. Except he couldn't think of what to say – or how to say it. This was Astrid: she didn't do small talk, at least not in the office. Professionalism was the key.
"So, um…"
Astrid silenced him with a viselike hand on his shoulder. "Let's get something clear: I'm not a babysitter," she said firmly. "Don't get in my way, don't tread on my heels, save all your questions for appropriate times and places – and don't wander off, because I won't be chasing you."
Hiccup's brain seemed to be malfunctioning due to Astrid touching him; he half-frantically spouted the first thing that came into his head, which just happened to be, "Don't ask me to wrestle a Monstrous Nightmare and we'll call it good."
Astrid snorted and let go of his shoulder, casting a disdainful eye at his shoes. "When you show up for work tomorrow, wear running shoes. If we have to run, you'll be grateful." She returned to her desk and started reading the file.
Hiccup retreated to the forensics lab and heaved a sigh of relief. Astrid wasn't happy to be his partner, but at least she wouldn't take out her fury on him. Unless he did something monumentally stupid.
"Sharpshot, I'm home," Hiccup called as he locked the door behind him.
A meow came from the living room. Sharpshot was under the coffee table, patented innocence in his big green eyes to convey that he had not been busily distributing hair all over Hiccup's favorite chair.
"That face of yours might hold up in court, but I don't believe it for a second," Hiccup told him. He went to the kitchen and scooped some dry food into the cat bowl, and in an instant the cat was there to start emptying it again.
One could be forgiven for thinking that Sharpshot was a boring brown cat: he looked all-brown when he sat huddled on a windowsill or on the floor. Then he would roll over and splay his legs out, and surprise everyone with a chin, chest, and belly the color of old ivory. He was a crazy animal, and had a way of dashing all over the small apartment.
"I've been assigned to fieldwork."
An ear twitch.
"Astrid's my partner."
Another twitch.
"We're investigating my alter ego."
Sharpshot stopped eating and looked up.
"Yeah, I'm really looking forward to the day she learns that I'm the Night Fury." Hiccup shook his head and sighed. "She'll probably shoot me. And then you'll be back on the streets, looking for some other sucker to hook your claws into."
Sharpshot sneezed and went back to eating.
"It's not all bad, this case," Hiccup mused. "I'll be able to run some analyses on myself, figure out what my strengths and weaknesses are…I just have to figure out how to do it without raising suspicions."
The truth, when it came right down to it, was that Hiccup knew almost nothing about his "alter ego." All the information he had was what he'd figured out by himself in what he ironically referred to as his Lost Week ("lost" because, when he returned, he found that nobody had missed him at all) and the subsequent nights on the rooftops. He knew that:
1 - He could switch back and forth between human and dragon at will,
2 - He was stronger, faster, and tougher-skinned as a dragon, and that seemed to have overflow back to his human form as well,
3 - His night vision was phenomenal and he had such keen hearing that a chirping cry could be used for echolocation; his sense of smell had improved, too,
4 - He had a strange reaction to a certain grass-like plant; it was like a strong dose of happy-juice,
5 - He could spit fireballs of incredible heat and force, and his jaws could distend for larger bursts,
6 - He had fully functional wings that folded seamlessly to his shoulders and ribcage when in human form (they took most of a week to reach a size that could support him in a glide, and still weren't yet large enough to fly him anywhere for very long without periodic bursts of fire for extra lift).
The passive qualities were fine, but the transformation, functional wings, and fireballs bothered him when he really sat down to think about them. When those traits were forced into his body, the controls to use them were forced into his brain; there was no other explanation for how he was able to manipulate those new attachments, with or without practice. And there was no way to know what else had been downloaded into his mind, either. Instincts, reflexes, habits…
He tried hard not to think about his first meal in dragon form. A trout…that he'd swallowed whole, raw and still alive, before he'd had a chance to stop and think. Hiccup had been ravenous then, his stomach demanding that he fill it and fill it now; he regretted it later, when in a panic he'd forced himself back to human form and got indigestion with the blasted thing doing death throes in his stomach. He also tried really hard not to think about the fact that, when he fell asleep in dragon form and was roused by hunger, while he was still half-asleep he would drag himself to his own scrap pile and eat the heads and guts that his fully-conscious human mind hadn't been able to force down. He'd nearly thrown up the first morning that had happened, when he woke up all the way and realized what he'd done.
One time – once – after he got back home he transformed in the bathroom and looked in the mirror to see exactly how far his jaws could distend. He scared the living daylights out of himself, not with how far his mouth could gape but with just what his expression was when he contorted the muscles of his face to do that: he looked ready to bite someone's head off, and the transformation had given him the teeth for the job.
Was the chief right? Was the Night Fury – was Hiccup – a monster?
Nightmares were horribly common after that. They were always of the initial turning: the stabbing in his back, the fire in his blood – and worst of all, the demons flaying his mind with claws of fear and rage.
Hiccup would probably have gone crazy if he hadn't found Sharpshot just outside the apartment's parking garage, flashing passersby and trying to catch gnats or something with his paws. The stray had acted so loopy that Hiccup checked the plants around the garage to see if there was any catnip growing there (there wasn't), and then hauled him to the nearest vet (who gave him a clean bill of health). Nobody turned out to be missing a brown-and-gold tuxedo cat, and by then he'd gotten attached to the crazy thing, so he paid all the bills and now had a furry companion on the premises. A companion who, simply put, wouldn't allow him to brood all evening or all weekend – Sharpshot wasn't especially clingy, but he did occasionally demand attention by jumping down on his roommate's head or climbing up his leg.
He was a terrible little terror. Life was good.
"Listen, um…"
Astrid looked up, nearly making Hiccup lose both his concentration and the two takeout cups of coffee in his hands. He put the cups down quickly before he dropped them all over her computer, and struggled to compose his thoughts again.
"What?" Astrid sounded impatient.
"I just…you don't like dragging a partner around, I get that. I don't like being short on information. So…please, could you keep me up to date on, on…" his mouth got jammed as his brain latched onto the word date and started assigning a lot more meanings. He cringed.
"Like it or not, we're partners," she reminded him testily. "Of course you'll be in the loop for this investigation. You'll be involved in it."
Like I could forget. Her phrasing left it open to question which of them she was referring to in regards to "liking it," and Hiccup was not going to ask for clarification or make a fool of himself insisting that it was no problem.
"I was actually talking about our relationship." Then Hiccup heard what he'd just said and, in a panic, started scrambling. "I mean, I don't – I won't play guessing games. If I do anything, anything, to piss you off, please just tell me instead of leaving me to wonder about it for days on end; then I can apologize or explain or whatever I need to do to make it right again, and we can move on." Did that make it worse? Her borderline shocked expression offered no clues…he decided to quit while he was ahead.
Assuming he was ahead. But in any case, if he wasn't, there wasn't a thing he could say at that point that would make it any better and a very big number of comments that would make it worse.
Belatedly he thought to stick out his hand. "Deal?"
Astrid looked him over carefully, still wearing much the same expression. Then a corner of her mouth twisted up, and she stood to shake his hand. "Deal."
He'd offered his left hand, and she shook with her left hand. That meant her right was completely free to snap out and jab him in the shoulder while she had his arm immobilized.
"That was for asking in such an unprofessional manner." She settled back into her chair and lounged back. "One would think you were trying to ask me out."
Hiccup laughed – or tried to – and shook his head as he rubbed his shoulder. "If I were to try and ask you out, I would probably wind up unconscious at your feet," he admitted.
Astrid snorted slightly, the other side of her mouth curling. "And don't you forget it."
He'd meant he would have fainted. She'd probably meant that she would have beat him to the ground. It didn't really matter, because the end result would have been the same.
Hiccup would love to take Astrid on a date. Trouble was, at the start of high school he'd had this extremely geeky thing going: he'd practically been a talking fishbone, and that in turn made him something of a bully magnet. Thanks to who his dad was, none of the damage to come his way had ever been permanent, and in fact he'd managed to bribe his way out of a few beatings by offering to do their homework for them (translation, dictating to them what to write; he'd pointed out that all the teachers would recognize his left-handed slant). He was just starting to get interested in girls, but none of them would look twice at him – unless he did something stupid and clumsy, and then they would laugh at him.
He'd mostly outgrown that now, but nobody would let him live it down – not even his dad – and so far no girl had turned around to see that he wasn't the skinny little weirdo anymore. Granted, he still tended to keep his head down and stay out of everyone's way; the habits that had taken root in his years attracting bullies were serving him well to hide his new wings.
"So," Hiccup said briskly, dragging his thoughts back to the reason for their partnership, "What's the plan for today?"
Astrid plucked a file off her desk and waved it at him. "Clarence Kent claims that Corbin Cavalier cobbled his copper collection."
Hiccup stared for a moment. Then his eyes narrowed and he held out his hand. "Let me see that."
Astrid burst out laughing. "Oh, you're too easy," she teased, offering the file.
He skimmed quickly through it. The man who'd reported the robbery really was named Clarence Kent, but Corbin's last name was Knight, not Cavalier. And the collection of trinkets he'd "cobbled" were different kinds of bronze, not pure copper.
I didn't even know Astrid had a sense of humor.