A/N: This noir styled story is dedicated to Cobwebbs. It wouldn't have received the light of day otherwise.

My code name was Numbuh 274. It hadn't been easy being the leader of thousands of kids all over the world, but that was my life. That was my destiny.

It was only fitting that her destiny became intertwined with mine. Two broken halves had formed a whole I didn't realize needed to be filled. I suppose that's the cleverness of life. I was just too young, too arrogant.

The very hand that should have perfectly fit into mine slipped past like pure sand.

I would never get that chance again.

It's been a loud and active sort of day for him. Numbuh 274 dealt with multiple failed missions from newly formed sectors, hamsters complaining which caused multiple power outages throughout the day, and incompetent senior operatives who should have captured AWOL teen operatives with ease.

By the end of the day, he had been on his last nerve when Numbuh 86 presented the bound and gagged rogue operative Numbuh 206 to her Supreme Leader. She was insufferable about it; smug and proud by the recapture. Gloating was something he never fathomed appealing. Numbuh 86 was a person to take in by spades lest you ended up in the mental ward.

Those who had low self-esteem gloated. They did it to overcompensate their mistakes with their few gains. Absolute weakness.

Flanked by three security officers, Numbuh 274 approached the incarcerated operative on the floor and spared no amount of disdain for traitors like him. He resisted the urge to kick the prone form with his steel-toed boot. During his quiet examination, Numbuh 86 continued prattling on about how she took 206 down with no prior help.

He snorted with little amusement, but she didn't seem to hear him. The only thing of importance was hearing 206's soft, steady breathing.

How odd. Numbuh 206 used an inhaler for his asthma.

Curious, he nudged the prisoner with his boot until he rolled over onto his back. The frame of his body was small and lithe with a grace he couldn't place. The way 206 held himself here differed from what 274 knew from earlier encounters. For instance, Tom had lousy posture and knobby knees.

If he had placed it now, it would almost seem feminine, but not.

The prisoner then opened his eyes with a little groan. It was not male either. Somewhat startled by dark brown traitor's eyes, his suspicions were valid.

Numbuh 206 had green eyes.

He gave a short nod at the security guards over his shoulder and they hurried to untie what was obviously not Numbuh 206. Numbuh 86 kept going on and on and on…

Numbuh 274 sighed again and approached the rambling red head, who didn't seem to pay attention to anything but the sound of her own voice.

"Looks like Numbuh 362 is gonna give me a big promotion!" she had boasted to herself. She was referencing their current Head of Operations at time; the person in question was finishing up her career track in Intelligence. Her last infiltration regarded the Delightful Children from Down the Lane.

It was the same place where 206 crashed into for his grand escape from decommissioning. Sector V had been the extraction team sent to provide as 86's backup.

Fate had been ironic that day. The last of the bandaging came undone and Numbuh 362 herself got to her feet; the corners of her lips twisted down. Her dark eyes were alight with both humiliation and anger.

Realizing he was in the uncharacteristic warpath of their Head of Operations, he tried what all Supreme Leaders in his situation would have done: run the heck out of dodge.

"Um… Numbuh 86?" he said, hesitant, and poked her on the shoulder for her attention. At the same breath, he could feel Numbuh 362's glare burn into his armor trying to reach 86 through him.

Fanny had turned to glare at him and then realized all too late that he was in charge when she spat out, "Whaaaat?!"

He didn't feel the need to remind her about respecting the chain of command. His instincts warned him well enough to get away from his Head of Operations for her wrath was a rarity unseen. Nor would it be the last, however sporadic it was in their future career together.

Numbuh 86 turned at the direction he pointed and paled, and 274 decided it was time to exit stage left like a champ when she spluttered out 362's name.

"YOU… IDIOT!" 362 had snarled and tore her way toward 86 to give her a reprimand he didn't mind replaying on his vid screen long after the incident passed.

He lounged in his office seat a few weeks later, ignoring the five separate hard copy files of candidates for the Global Tactical Officer position sitting on his desk. It was the fourth time this month he had recommendations of second-in-command, despite his impassioned reasoning he didn't need one. He was slowly losing his patience the more Numbuh Infinity complained about it. Too much power, too much responsibility, yadda, yadda, yadda.

This instance he didn't bother reading them and they were left on his desk just as they were hours ago. Someone would eventually give up and collect them like usual.

That is until Numbuh Infinity had entered uninvited as usual this time, those meticulous hands clasped themselves behind his back in that ever present black suit. Infinity always seemed to him like some kind of mini-adult watching over them from a high pedestal in the KND. Even now looking back it was ironic.

"I see you're working hard deliberating on the XO candidacy," he drawled and sauntered over like he was Supreme Leader himself. Numbuh 274 could feel the air itself stale by the dryness Infinity had been exuding. Infinity noted the random paper airplanes and the files collecting dust exactly where he put them down hours ago and raised an eyebrow over his sunglasses.

Shooting back his own eyebrow, 274 tucked his legs off the edge of his work-space and leaned forward with a grin that won him the command position.

"I don't need an XO," he responded, and made a show of sliding the folders back in Infinity's direction. "They'd just slow me down."

"You haven't even looked at them," Infinity replied with disapproval and flipped the middle one open. "Numbuh 65.3, for instance, has worked the command deck for three years. I'm sure he is itching for a promotion."

Numbuh 274 snorted and reached over to close the folder over 65.3's unappealing mug. "Two words: pencil pusher."

Infinity ignored his helpful input and opened another one instead. "Second candidate then. Numbuh 545 has led many successful missions in the Pompeii area. He's also received numerous accolades for destabilizing epic catastrophes. Notable example: the Mahalo Hot Chili Eruption in the Hawaii sector."

With a shake of his head, 274 did Numbuh 545 a favor and tossed his file into the trash. "Are you crazy? Numbuh 545 would rather be dishonorably decommissioned than be promoted to a desk. You sure you're keeping tabs on all my kids?"

"I must not since I've graciously offered Numbuh 13 to the candidacy list."

Joke or not, Infinity seemed to enjoy watching 274 pale before he pushed his seat away from the offered folder in fear. "I see your plan now," 274 said darkly. "You're hoping to tear the KND apart from the inside. I'm onto you."

The dark operative allowed himself a small chuckle before moving to the next candidate. His sunglasses were glinting in an odd fashion. "Numbuh 1."

"No," 274 snarled, his mood taking a sudden turn south. "Don't you dare separate him from his team."

"One day you will have to stop playing favorites, Supreme Leader," Infinity shook his head and much to 274's mild interest, he seemed to be much more deliberate with the last file. He had been thumbing the corner almost the last couple files ago. "This one I personally like, but I'm not sure how well your work dynamic might be with someone like her."

Her.

Wary, Numbuh 274 raised his hand up to stop Infinity from going any further with this. "No girls. You know my reputation."

"And what is that? That you're a hard worker?" Infinity teased and slid Numbuh 362's file over with a reverence which spoke volumes. "This one would be immune to your 'charms' if you are calling it that."

Infinity knew something he didn't.

Numbuh 274 glared at Infinity before flipping the folder open, his motion careless. Her piercing dark gaze hit him hard again. He had to close his eyes and suppress the strange thrilling sensation crawling up his back. It was only a picture, but it seemed to capture the shadow of that stare, and he knew her strong reputation came from more than a few choice words or a few lucky breaks.

Rachel McKenzie, code name Numbuh 362. She had earned the reputation for her clinical by-the-book way of handling any mission Global Command threw at her. During her three year career, she received many accolades including glowing recommendations from both the espionage sector and KND Intelligence. Her file was free of any red marks or warnings.

Well, almost free.

Chad wanted to sneer at the picture, but he subconsciously stopped himself from even glancing. He couldn't, not with her piercing gaze always questioning him. She was daring him to nominate her from that picture alone, the black and white ink knowing he couldn't resist a challenge to his throne; not when he could best her and prove that no one could surpass him.

Her file was perfect for a goody-two-shoes and yet this wasn't the case. Not at all. Her way of leading, so nicknamed cold compassion according to some of the notes, implied she had a stern front of reprimanding. She was also impervious to acts of kindness or bribery. Also, her aggression for results and her expecting the best from her underlings was because she believed herself the best.

When Numbuh 86 bumbled through the emergency recapturing order and jeopardized 362's spotless mission completions, that one last mission on her record forever cited as a mission failure, the cold spy's bottled emotions popped open in an outpouring of rage unseen until now.

Last dated mission: Infiltration into Father's summer home and gain information regarding upcoming [classified] event. Mission aborted by order of KND Intelligence.

Mission aborted.

Numbuh 274 ended up sitting back in his seat and bit at the inside of his cheek in mild agitation as if it was his file he was reading and not 362's. That struggle for perfect completion she worked three years forever stained. It itched at his skin like a scuff spot on perfect wooden floors that couldn't be scrubbed away.

He hardly spoke with her and yet he could relate. They were two similar stars who almost passed by each other in the great expansion of the universe. How ironic that it took an agent of the very stars itself to point him in the right direction. It would be an interesting once-in-a-lifetime chance to test his gravity and see if he can draw her in.

Time, and his approval for the position, decided whether they could orbit each other like equals, or they ended up fighting for complete control until one of them imploded into nothing but stardust.

By the time he looked back up from her file, Infinity had already left. Things always went his way. He's learned that firsthand.

The annual KND Promotions Ceremony, once pomp and circumstance, diminished by the after party that came with it. After they pretended to be military with gussied up operatives in their best uniforms accepting awards and possible promotions, the after party was infamous for being an all-out prank zone to make up for that.

As the Supreme Leader of the KND, it didn't mean he was the best child in the organization. On the contrary, the Supreme Leader title was long since designated for the best adult who existed in the body of a child. When he could have been in his office drawing up mission specs and making sure the organization didn't go up in flames over night, he had to entertain his kids who made a grand spectacle of a mess upon themselves.

That part of the job, he had to admit, was tedious. He didn't want to play father tonight or any night. Once the ceremony died down, the after parties were the least he was looking forward to with every passing year.

Maybe he needed some kind of 'mother' figure after all. Someone he could hoist the kids on so he would be at peace, undisturbed in his work.

There were a few notable instances during the party where he suppressed a grin, however. Numbuh 74.239 had whined and stomped around the dance hall drenched in juice and toilet paper while his juniors high-fived each other for booby-trapping his designated chair in the science honoree area. Operatives laughed and pointed at each others' bad luck despite that over the course of the evening, most if not all the senior staff would end up drenched in something disgusting.

Last year, Numbuh 274 ended up tarred and feathered due to carelessness. It would not happen again. He had no qualms shooting people out of airlock again.

After all that congratulating and the unnecessary bum patting of what Infinity called diplomacy, he escaped the large hall and onto the open observation deck. It had a striking view of the earth rise, which always captivated him.

He played with his fifth glass of soda pop. The sugar rush that hit him was pleasant even if he was over the designated limit back on earth. As a show of defiance, he smirked and raised the glass to the blue planet above until the three-quarter bright sphere reflected entirely in his glass. At that moment, despite the operatives partying behind him, there were thousands of treehouses all over the little blue planet that would throw themselves at anything he ordered.

Humbleness came from those who didn't expect greatness to come from within. There was nothing to be humbled from what he rightfully worked for and earned.

"Supreme Leader, sir."

Even during a social event, she was above using personal names.

Numbuh 274 lazily turned around and back against the railing, letting the strange ignition of energy in the air between them sit for a moment. He swished the last of the soda in his glass and tipped it back until he emptied it. "Numbuh 362."

He had seen her at the ceremony where everyone loudly cheered for their new Global Tactical Officer. He had approached her as tradition and unhooked the bottle cap on her chest that signified Head of Operations before replacing it with the more appropriate silver star studded pin of second-in-command.

It was that same pin found on the lapels of her jacket. The polished star twinkled in his line of sight and mocked him. Maybe he found it just odd seeing it now on someone else. He had worn that pin once upon a time; back when Numbuh 100 was in charge.

She didn't smile during the ceremony, not once. Everything about her seemed tucked in, like a tightly done coil that, in one small slip up, would unravel her into disrepair. They had locked eyes for a moment befitting one officer to another before he congratulated her out loud for the promotion. Her response, promising to fall in step by his side as his XO, was so stoic you could call it robotic.

It was almost like she believed speaking anything higher than a normal decibel would cause the moon to blow up. That was just the mystery of Numbuh 362.

The ceremony and her response had settled his fears. It would not be a hindrance to have himself a female XO. Numbuh 362, while a small glance from his end, seemed to have no personality to speak of warranting any problems. There was no attraction, no distraction that could disturb the chain of command with any further unnecessary rumors. There were always rumors on his end and he was glad, for once, that nothing of that sort would come from them working together.

She was just a plain Jane operative with odd compelling eyes and he was foolish believing in that.

Numbuh 362 wasn't exactly a robot as he once described. When he witnessed her lashing out at Numbuh 86, there was nothing robotic there. It was that telltale raw look in her eyes; a flickering savageness when she got caught and wrongfully delivered to him on a silver platter. There had been fear and panic that her perfect success record screwed itself completely thanks to 86. The subsequent breakdown in the aftermath had stunned even him into submission.

It was so strange how he saw nothing of that right now looking at her. He was so busy thinking about the comparisons he almost forgot she was waiting for an answer.

"You wanted something?" he finally added and cleared his throat. Her quiet staring was unnerving him.

She wasn't even dolled up like the rest of the girls inside, who had taken advantage of the rarity where they can actually look like girls for once.

Numbuh 362 had folded her hands behind her back and with that frown of displeasure, it reminded him of Numbuh Infinity. Her stance looked all business; there was nothing slack about her presence. His famous keen sense of detail made note of her all-black jumpsuit; the entirety perfectly pressed and buttoned in all the right places. It's almost as if she prepared herself for an airstrike than a celebration. That amused him.

"You are the Supreme Leader," she told him as a matter-of-factly. "It's my duty to be beside you at all times."

"I don't need a mother," Numbuh 274 shot back and set his empty glass aside. With a spread of his arms comfortable against the railing, he experimented with the anomaly dressed as a female human. He gave her his most charming smile. "But I wouldn't mind a date."

Maybe it's the soda or the trick of the light, but he could have sworn he saw the corners of her harsh lips twitch upwards for a second there. A half-second passed and there's no sign of a smile, just an unimpressed stare. She was already pegging him as a fool though she'd never say it aloud.

"Perhaps next year," she said slowly, and he knew that she's deliberately baiting him, "you will prepare for one beforehand."

His smile was dark and accusing now he caught on. "You've got quite the subtle sense of humor."

"I was not joking." Her immediate response was chilly, but it had been far too late to trick him now. She may had pulled off that cold treatment on the younger ones, sheep they were, but now she was crossing the path of the lion; she was circling the leader of the pack who knew far better than he let on.

A high-pitched voice broke their alpha posturing. That strange gravitational pull between them dissipated. "Drink?"

One of the new recruits had tittered near the entrance and found an opening to interrupt with their silence. She approached Numbuh 274 with a new glass of soda and he politely accepted, grateful that at least some operatives treated him with respect. He didn't catch the stiffening of 362's shoulders or the fearful step forward.

The little thing tottered out of sight and he mockingly raised a glass to his new second-in-command. He caught her eyes widening and her alarmed stance, but in his sugary haze, couldn't put two and two together. "To our new…" he pinched his eyebrows. "…command team." It was a lousy toast, and they both knew it. They were as compatible as oil to water.

She had moved so fast, he blinked in surprise to find her five feet away to suddenly five inches between them. Another shot of something electric ran down his arm when those manicured fingers entangled his own and around the drink. Her grip was strong, but shaky.

"Commander," her words were tense, but he heard nothing. He was more aware of her breath against his jaw. "Give it to me."

Through the muddled haze, he realized that she wanted his drink, but he tried to tug her hand away. It was a petty thing to fight over, but her eyes had been sizing him up the whole night and in his inebriated stupor, he wanted to prove that he was immune to such intimidation. "Fighting for control already, Numbuh 362? Get your own!"

The drink sloshed around in a drunken tug-o-war, but 362 was perfectly sober and she ended up the obvious victor in the struggle. When he made to move after her, she jumped a clear three feet away from his reach. Her hand and arm was wet and sticky from the beverage.

An irrational annoyance crept into his system, egged on by the sugar in his veins. He made another move as no subordinate should ever be faster than him. His mouth agape, he watched her tip the rest of the drink back herself and swallowed.

The glass had suddenly tumbled out of her slack fingers and shattered loudly on the metal flooring. His XO covered her mouth, doubled over, and for lack of a better word, started to gag.

"Wha…?" he had wondered aloud, unsure what just happened until he looked down.

Surrounded by shards of glass, there had been a lone sprig of broccoli on the floor. He was sober enough to pale. He could have… he could have…

Numbuh 362 began to loudly sob at the sight of the vegetable and tore away in disgust; her free hand clutching her stomach hard. He couldn't utter another word in edgewise before she quickly hopped over the railing and into the park down below.

He picked his jaw up and followed, which hadn't been far. 362 had found sanctuary behind a few trees and doubled over to dry heave.

Work hadn't even started; realizing that he probably killed his Global Tactical Officer was an excellent thought sobering up to.

He wobbled from the soda and had awkwardly tried to pat her on the back. "There, there…" was all he could say, which earned him a dark glare for the trouble. "You could have just…"

She threw up all over his shoes.

Suffice to say, he didn't escape the KND tradition as he initially hoped.

Even after heaving up half a glass of broccoli spiked soda, Numbuh 362 was still well enough to carry her sugar-crashed superior officer to his quarters. He remembered little the time spent being half-dragged, but he had inklings of witnessing the horror in her eyes when she finished retching and had discovered the leftovers of her dinner on his boots.

She had hosed him down with a single mutter of an apology and just like that, the evening ended with more of a whimper than a bang.

Numbuh 274 took advantage of her 'kindness' and draped himself over her petite form, half because he was unbalanced and half wanting to be a jerk on purpose to make her suffer more. He would fill the empty hallways with both truth and rumors about his trysts with random girls and then heckled 362 until she answered him.

It worked a few times though her responses were curt and dismissive. At one point, tears prickled at the corners of her eyes from the exertion, so he knew when to shut up and keep moving. He may be cruel sometimes, but he was never intentionally malicious. At least, not at this stage.

He had found her threshold of tolerance, but she never showed it in their future working together. It didn't matter as he never actively tried to push past that limit again; not on purpose at the least.

Growing tired of belittling her through insults wrapped in personal tact, he did the opposite, wondering if she would catch on even while under pressure. He was in the middle of a particularly good tactical scenario when he caught her mouth in a harsh thin line of disapproval, but she answered as honestly as possible.

"It is not tactically sound to launch an orbital strike on Mr. Boss' house with a nacho cheese cannon," she told him. There was slight sound of her teeth grinding; it broke the rare silence on her end during their walk. "Further more, we do not have the current viable resources to hoard that much melted cheese on Moonbase, nor would your new Head of Decommissioning appreciate her house nuked."

"Totally is viable," he slurred, grinning like a loon. "It would be like… BOOM! Like when you threw up on me."

It was amazing how much patience she had dealing with him in that state. She responded and even made a show of herself by glaring at the path in front of her, but the color of her cheeks gave everything away. "We will not speak of it again."

"So embarrassed," he teased.

"And you're well over the KND legal limit for sugar consumption," she shot back and once the doors to his personal quarters slid open, she dumped him onto his bed. "When I return, you had better changed into something to sleep in. You'll get sick waking up in wet clothes."

He pleasantly sneered, "Yes mom," and did an unnecessary tumble onto the floor so he could crawl his way into the bathroom instead. He didn't know why it was important to mention but maybe his mind was drawing parallels between it and his XO; his bathroom was pristine and cold just like her.

Just as the bathroom door was slowly sliding shut, a pair of track pants and a cotton shirt hit him on the head. He tossed a glare over his shoulder meant for 362, but it did nothing on a metal door as he hoped.

It was a few fumbles later before he got his pants on and then he stared at his shirt like it was the most complicated thing in the universe before he tried to tug that on too. His world turned hazy and his eyelids grew heavy.

That was all he could remember before he woke up hours later on the bathroom floor with a pillow tucked under his cheek and a blanket over him.

"No more…" he groaned. The warm blanket slid past his shoulders while he tried to press two fingers into his throbbing temple; it was that tell-tale sign of a complete sugar crash in his system. Even his teeth were in pain. "No more soda. Forever."

He dumped his head in a sink full of cold water to soothe his headache and then retreated from the bathroom to find Numbuh 362 asleep by the bathroom door. The bluish glow of her wristwatch was counting down before she programmed it to beep again in ten minute intervals.

It took a minute, but he slowly deduced what was going on. By-the-book, she programmed her watch and made sure he slept off the sugar lest he ended up in some kind of sugar coma. It wasn't a common occurrence, but he was one of the few kids out there that had an extremely low tolerance for sugar, embarrassing enough.

The fact she remained here was a testament to her duty to him. She did her homework, knew he couldn't handle soda according to his files. He found himself oddly fond by this revelation.

She hadn't even retreated for a fresh uniform the entire vigil.

He quietly ordered the lights down, knelt beside her, and turned off the stopwatch. This time he took an actual good look at her; an examination not hindered by her cold defensive stare or the forced social niceties of their jobs.

Her hair was blond and short; it almost brushed her shoulders. Where her uniform didn't cover, her skin was a pale complexion most likely from months spent undercover. Even her lips seemed to be devoid of color when they should be a healthy pink like all the other girls.

He wondered if she was living bare, or just barely living.

Numbuh 362 was so cold when she spoke, but her intentions spoke a different story. She was mechanical keys pressed on a piano without a song, but sheet music meticulously written and beautiful in its composition.

Why she could seem so unapproachable, but still act like she had a heart of gold? Well, perhaps not gold.

He recalled her file and quietly groaned to himself. Cold compassion.

She shifted in her dozing and lost her balance against the wall. Without thinking, he reached for her shoulders and kept her steady until she stirred. Of course she'd be a light sleeper.

They both ended up in some weird stare down once she opened her eyes; ice blue in full contest with burning brown.

"Are you well?" 362 asked, her words hoarse from sleep. She selectively ignored the weird position they were both in and it was relieving. This was kind of awkward. Her voice was groggy and broken; she sounded less like a robot and more like a real girl.

He held his tongue despite the headache. "Better than before."

"I'll leave now you're sober then. I suggest rest," she said neutrally, but the way those brown eyes narrowed a fraction, literally accusing him of lying, alarmed him. It shouldn't have been that easy to figure out.

"It's a really, really long walk back to your quarters," he realized. "Your stuff didn't transfer to this wing yet."

She shifted uncomfortably in his grip now she seemed more coherent and their closeness was obvious. Already she started putting up walls, but he didn't know why now. "I will manage."

"Looking messed up like that? Just stay here for a while." Why did he keep pressing the issue? Perhaps it was a justifying of appearances. Numbuh 362 didn't seem the type to show weakness in public, nor look anything less than composed. "That's an order."

Maybe it was that… cold compassion or whatever and it was rubbing off on him. It's just not everyday someone would take a broccoli for you.

To his surprise, she slowly nodded and accepted his words, though he had a sneaking suspicion it was most likely due to sleep deprivation than his charm.

As soon as he released her shoulders, she turned away from him and busied herself toeing off her boots and setting them aside with a neatness befitting her character. Her movements more robotic than usual and he suspected it was the sleep deprivation again.

"I will sleep on the couch," she said over her shoulder and disappeared behind the divider.

That was that. She left no argument offering her his bed.

For the first time in a while, he tossed childish scowl at her back. He had never felt so irritated over one person. Irritated and curious; a volatile combination for someone like him.

When he found sanctuary in his bed, his mind would always constantly whir in the background before it petered off the further he fell into REM sleep. Instead of the usual haziness of impending paperwork, he thought about 362 and why she didn't just dump the spiked beverage instead of drinking it.

They say nonsensical dreams are a clever way for the mind to solve everyday problems. Before he forgot it the following morning, he found himself tied up and drowning in a sea of pink soda for what seemed like hours. When he was ready to give up struggling and succumb to its sugary depths did he finally break through the surface. Then terror gripped his chest when he found himself floating on Numbuh 362's unconscious form.

"If you can't trust someone who'd poison themselves for you," those pale lips whispered before he woke up in a cold sweat. "Who could you trust really?"