SPCFC III: The Search For Spike
The Third Installment In The Ongoing Adventures of The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Fictional Characters
[AN: If you haven't already read SPCFC: Yaoi Vengeance, you might want to skim through it. While it's not vital to the plot of this story, there are a few references to it in this installment. Of course, there are also plenty of references to the original SPCFC story by Melchoir, which is not posted, so... just muddle through as best you can. It'll all make sense eventually. :) ]
Chapter the First
The Director stood and stretched, her fingers nearly brushing the low ceiling of the control room. Her shoulders burned from the stress of her week-long shift, and she was looking forward to her break – and sleeping in her own bed for the first time in seven days. Still, there was a nagging emptiness in her chest that she knew wouldn't be healed by a good night's sleep.
Two weeks. One week on, two weeks off, was the pattern she'd lived by for the past… how long had it been? And still she urged the hours to fly faster until her return, when she could fill her post and carry on her own private mission. Two more weeks until I can search again. She rubbed her eyes and tried to make them focus on the reports she was attempting to finish.
The control room door whisked open behind her, and she turned to find her replacement filling the doorway. "Glad you're here early," she yawned, after their usual greetings. "It'll keep me from falling asleep at my post."
The third Director reached for a sheaf of papers and skimmed the incident records. "Rough week?" he asked, eyeing her over the folder.
She shrugged, feeling the muscles pull across her shoulders as she moved them. A hot bath would be a nice start… "Not so rough, but busy. You know, after the fire, we were so short-staffed that everyone had to work double shifts, and now it's catching up to us. Most of our Inspectors and Retrievers are asking for days off now, and those that aren't are too worn down to do any strenuous jobs. Wilmer was injured last week, and Steed gave him time off to recover. A lot of our personnel are still working on the reconstruction, too. I was out retrieving several times this week."
"It must have been busy, then. Anything interesting?"
"Nothing huge, until yesterday. I handled a couple of cases of extreme BA. There was one particularly messy one from KC4; I thought at first that he was going to reject the relocation, but we were so far behind by then that I just pushed him through. I've checked on him since, and he seems to be doing all right."
"What happened yesterday?"
"Nasty business with a doujinshi circle. I'm finishing the report now, though I'm afraid it's somewhat abridged. We had to go outside official channels, if you know what I mean. You can ask Doujima Yurika for all the gory details that aren't in the file; she handled most of it first-hand."
Her replacement nodded and flipped through some of the week's reports while she finished her paperwork. Finally, she set down her pen and leaned back to put her feet up on the table. The man across the table smirked at her informality, but did not look up – she knew he was gentleman enough to ignore the temptation her skirt undoubtedly presented.
When Steed had introduced the dark-haired agent as their new co-Director, she had been surprised. He had been an SPCFC operative for only a few weeks, but his command experience apparently went deeper than she'd realized. As it turned out, the position could not have been more perfect – the third Director performed his duties thoroughly and with unbelievable efficiency. Although he spoke little and fraternized less, she approved of him on a level far deeper than her professional sensibilities. It was true that he seemed almost antisocial at times, but there was something familiar about his reticence and guarded manner. It seemed that he had lost something valuable and, like her, didn't know quite how to retrieve it. There had come to be a kind of intrinsic understanding between the two, though neither could have qualified it with words.
Not to mention that with three Directors sharing the schedule, she had two weeks to recover between the particularly trying shifts they'd had of late. Admittedly, that was a mixed blessing, but better to have too much free time than too little. She couldn't imagine how Steed had managed to run the place on his own, before her own promotion to Director. Perhaps there had been another co-Director before her. She would have to ask him sometime.
The smooth baritone of the third's voice roused her from her near-sleep. "You seem to have paid a lot of attention to this IDC case on Wednesday," he commented. "Was there outside interference?"
She dropped her heels to the floor and straightened, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. "They had been in that world, though not recently. I was just trying to eliminate traces of their presence, after we straightened out the identity problem. They're not as neat or as conscientious as we are, and since I was already there, I thought it might be wise to clean up, in order to prevent future entanglements." She stopped just short of rambling, and silently reminded herself to work on her impromptu excuses.
"That's still a lot of time to spend in one place, especially when your schedule was so full." He favored her with one of his rare smiles, a subtle twitch of the lips that had taken her months to identify as such. "And of course you wouldn't have been working on any outside projects during that time…"
She crossed her arms, eyeing him across the table. He was dangerously close to violating the unspoken rule of the co-Directorship. It was known that each of them spent some time working on non-Society business, but there was a mutual agreement not to discuss it. "I don't ask, you don't ask," she warned.
"I'm not asking. I'm merely expressing my professional concern that you're letting your extracurricular pursuits interfere with what little sleep you might get during your shift."
"If I am, it's of no concern to Him. We're doing our job, and I have the next two weeks to catch up on my sleep."
"So long as it doesn't affect your judgment while you're working."
She frowned and tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear, taking time to frame her thoughts. "I think," she began slowly, "that He chose us as His Directors because we have our own agendas, not in spite of them. I don't know why, unless it proves to Him that we're not just pawns – we think for ourselves and make our own decisions. He certainly wouldn't let us do anything that would hurt the Society, but I think He wants us to have some autonomy. And as for the operations side of it," she added quickly, "maybe our ulterior motives somehow coincide with His purpose. Whatever that may be."
The third Director shook his head, dark hair falling across his face, and gestured toward the door. "Go home, Noin," he told her, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. "Get some sleep. You need it."
Noin chuckled. "You may be right. I don't understand what I'm saying, either." She stood and hefted her briefcase, its weight reminding her just how tired she was. "The bridge is yours, Amon. See you in a few weeks."