Pride and Punishment

Author's Note: While Covert Affairs may be over I've had this idea in my head since before the show was cancelled and it just wouldn't let go. Also, yes, I realize Joan and Arthur gave their son the nickname of "Mack." Personally I've never liked that name, and I created this version of McKenzie before their nickname for him was revealed, so I'm just going to stick with my name. His personality is all my own making anyway.


Chapter One

I'm McKenzie Campbell, sophomore in high school and possible dead man. See, my parents are either going to throw me a party because they're so proud of me or they're going to kill me. As in cut me up into a million little pieces and hide them around the city so I'll never be found again. Trust me, they could do it. Both of them are government agents and not at little things like the police or the FBI. They're both spies for the CIA. Yeah, that CIA. Believe me about the hiding my body thing now? But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm usually a pretty good kid and I follow in my parents' footsteps rather well. That, unfortunately, is what got me in trouble. It all happened this morning on the way to English. Not exactly the place you would expect your death to happen, but it's where I started my death march anyway.

Spies specialize in gathering intelligence. Being the son of two of them, I'm pretty good at it too (though on a smaller scale obviously). Reading body language and facial expressions is a beyond easy. Thank you mom and dad for being total brick walls in the expression department and giving me all that practice. Compared to them a normal high schooler is as easy to read as someone shouting out what they're feeling. Picking out a specific conversation in a crowded hallway isn't all that hard either. It does require a lot of focus and I can't do anything else while I'm listening in but I can do it. How my parents can do it while carrying on a normal conversation with someone else I will never know. It's freaking impossible. When I try it my friends end up royally pissed at me because I'm oblivious to the conversation we're supposedly having. Of course this time I don't need any of those skills to pick up the conversation happening in front of me. Dylan is a damn loud mouth even when he's not trying to get attention. This time he is.

Now if he were just trying to get attention for himself I wouldn't care. The guy's a talker and a pain and most people in school know it. Most of us don't like him either. He'll probably have a great career in politics with his ability to badmouth everyone. (If, of course, he's smart enough for that, which I question.) I can't stand the guy and I usually don't associate with him. He can talk smack about me all he wants. He's tried before and I've always managed to ignore him. Talk only ends up being truly bad when you allow yourself to be affected by it, to respond to it. Today I'm not so sure I can stop myself.

"You see her?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe she's actually wearing that."

"You would expect anything better? From her?"

The words and snickering, which pretty much everyone in the hallway can hear (that's his point I'm sure), make me want to shut him up. Seeing who he's targeting this time? That makes me want to take him out.

Megan's a quiet girl. Nothing really special but nice enough. I've talked to her before, though it was never a long conversation or anything. There are a lot of people who want to vie for my attention for whatever reason. Maybe it's because I'm on the varsity lacrosse team. Or maybe my dad was right and I've grown up to be a chick magnet like he thought I would thanks to my getting his charming smile and my mother's good looks. Whatever. It's totally not important. Megan was never one looking for my attention anyway. What is important is what Dylan is doing to her. He hasn't stopped the harassment yet. Sure it's not right to her face but she can clearly hear him and that hurts just as bad. Dylan knows it. Talking behind people's backs was his modus operandi. It was also what made him trash. As I watch I can see Megan curling farther and farther in on herself. Even someone who doesn't have spies for parents should be able to read the signs of distress. She's squeezing her books so hard they probably would have broken in half ages ago if they'd been even remotely fragile. Her head is buried down, eyes not even close to making contact with anyone, and she keeps trying to walk faster to escape Dylan. It doesn't work; he just talks louder. Asshole.

I would bet anything that she's crying or at least pretty close to it. She doesn't have the guts to stand up to him. Then again, nobody does. It's not like anybody else is standing up to Dylan for her either. Well, fine. Usually I don't get involved, but this time I'm fed up. He's going to be done, one way or another.

"Hey, Dylan," I call out, making pretty much everyone in the hallway stop and look at me. Like I said, nobody ever stood up to the creep. "Are you going to knock it off or do I have to hit the stop button for you?"

Megan's eyes flash to mine, looking even more shocked than Dylan's. Her mouth's even hanging open a little bit. And here I thought that only happened in movies.

"Z, what the hell are you doing?" Jack whispers in a panic as he grabs my arm.

Jack and I have been friends since middle school but he's only recently started calling me Z. He thinks it's cool. I just think he's being stupid. Whatever though. I've gotten used to just ignoring it.

"Telling Dylan to leave Megan alone. What does it look like I'm doing?"

I keep my eyes on Dylan. Eye contact like that can be intimidating, especially when the one meeting your eyes is coldly confident like I am. His words mean nothing to me (I wouldn't really care if everyone believed his false rumors and hated me) and if he chooses to use more than words it'll be a wrong decision on his part. Plus, I've learned my stare from two masters of stare intimidation. Out staring a high schooler is not very hard.

"You actually think she's worth standing up for, McKenzie? It's all true after all, but I guess girls just have to stick together, right?"

I just roll my eyes at that one. It's not even original. I've pretty much been hearing shit like that in one variation or another because of my name for years. Years. Taunts like that might have hurt me when I was eight, but by this point it's just damn laughable.

"You realize I've heard that since I was in second grade, right? It's pathetic."

"What are you going to do about it, McKenzie? Cry like a little girl?"

Like that was any better than his previous insult. Before I can do anything to respond he turns back to Megan.

"You want to kiss away your savior's tears? He's probably the only guy you're going to get."

"Didn't I say to lay off her?" I growl as I watch Megan's face go stark white.

My voice is getting loud enough to draw attention, likely teacher attention, but I don't care. I don't need any help in this.

"Or what?"

He's smirking at me like he knows there's nothing I can do and he wants me to give it a shot anyway just so he can humiliate me. It's just too bad for him that I actually do know what to do to deal with him, and he's definitely not going to humiliate me. I don't humiliate easily.

"Z let's just go. We'll be late, and it's English man."

Jack's already three steps down the hall when he says it. Honestly, he has good reason to be. You don't want to be late to Mrs. Murdo's honors English class unless you want a lecture about punctuality and responsibility. I can definitely live without a lecture. I get enough of them from my parents. Plus, I know how to be on time and I'm really responsible for a kid my age. Again, the whole spies as parents thing teaches you a lot. Granted I've broken two iphones this year alone, but that's a minor detail. It doesn't really make me less responsible. Who doesn't break their iphone?

I started this so I'm going to finish it. And finish it while making a point to Dylan. Hopefully I can do that fast enough to avoid that lecture from my English teacher, but we'll see.

"Or I'll put your cowardly ass on the floor and watch a real rumor spread around the school."

I leave it at that and head for class. If Dylan has any brains at all he'll leave it there too. Being how he rates around a five max on the one to ten intelligence scale I'm not counting on him letting this go. And surprise, surprise, I'm right. The idiot.

I hear a low growl from behind me and let my eyes flicker back without moving my head much. That is enough to catch sight of his hand shooting out to grab my shoulder. So he was going with methods besides words, huh? Fine by me. Any other kid in this school would have been terrified at the thought of a huge kid like Dylan coming at them ready to pound flesh. I have about as much fear of Dylan getting in a fist fight with me as Jerry would of Tom. The mouse won every time, and Tom didn't stand a chance. Tom and Jerry. Definitely the best comedy cartoon that's ever been made and probably the best that ever will be. What is better entertainment than watching a mouse beat up a cat in every way humanly imaginable all while being completely non-verbal? Tom and Jerry is a perfect comparison for this; Dylan has no better chance of winning than Tom. A smile flitters across my face at that thought, and I don't bother to even try and hide it. I could beat Dylan with my eyes closed.

So I knock his arm aside, which is enough to throw him slightly off balance, and sweep my leg out to hook my foot around one of his ankles. A quick second sweep of my hooked leg jerks his out from under him before hitting his other leg. With one forced shift of his balance and a fluid move on my part he's on the ground in a heap. It's hard to keep your balance after that and was near impossible when you weren't expecting it. A sixteen year old able to take another kid's legs out from under him is not in any way normal, but come on now. I'm not normal.

With my parents being spies there are people out there who want to kill them and won't hesitate to use any means to do it. I started learning self-defense when I was young. Like elementary school young. By the time I got to middle school I'd had teachers in various martial arts and combination fighting schools. I don't have enough interest in it to be amazing, but I am more than good enough to deal with a high school thug. My parents made sure I could handle a full grown man that might be attempting to harm or kidnap me. Dylan just did not come close to that. Like I said. I could take him with my eyes closed. Hell, I could probably do it with one hand tied behind my back too. I'm not bragging, just speaking realistically. He's untrained and has very little height on me. The extra weight probably isn't going to help him that much either since I'm not exactly a twig myself.

I glance down at him as he lies there on the floor and watch as his face turns from wide-eyed shock to bright red fury. People don't stand up to Dylan, and they definitely don't beat him. I just did, and he can't have that. The entire hallway had gone deathly still and silent when he went down. I'm not even sure anyone besides me breathed. That stunned silence only lasts about five seconds before it shatters into an uproar of voices. (Hey, we're high schoolers. Silence and moderated responses aren't our strong points).

Maybe if the crowd hadn't erupted into taunts, teasing, and praise for me Dylan would have just walked away. I don't really know. All I know for sure was he isn't going to let me come out on top. I could see it in his eyes, in his tense body language. I had knocked him off the top of the totem pole and everyone had seen it happen. He wasn't going to quit until he knocked me off even harder and reclaimed his place. I had warned him, but he hadn't been smart enough to take that warning and now look where we were. It wasn't like I wanted to take his place there. King of the mountain (or anywhere else really) is not where I want to be.

Launching himself off the ground, he comes at me with a slightly raised fist. He'd decided to pull out the big guns now. His talent is probably sawed-off shot gun at most. Relatively impressive, but it's just too bad that isn't going to be good enough when I am a freaking AK-47. I immediately shift my weight so I am standing more on the balls of my feet. It will let me move in any direction quickly and fluidly. Footwork had always been easy for me to pick up, and I'd learned this so many years ago that I didn't even need to think to do it. Automatic fight ready stance: feet spread slightly, weight balanced and a little forward, breathing even.

I see him coming toward me in slow motion. That's not just some weird fight thing. Compared to the people I've gone up against before he pretty much is going in slow motion. I've practiced with my mom before and when she fights you'll get hit with something before you even know it's coming. She's that fast. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how my parents aren't in their 20s or 30s with how fast they move and how good they are. Dylan's not that fast or that good. He's clumsy, but even clumsy punches can hurt if they hit a mark. His won't. When his strike comes close enough that I know there's no way he can change its direction I sidestep and give his shoulder a shove. He staggers a few steps, totally unbalanced. Could I have done worse? Could a professional pitcher throw a ball across the plate at a little league baseball game? The answer is the same for both: a resounding hell yes. I could beat Dylan and turn him around so much that he would be too messed up and confused to even cry for his mommy. Physically difficult, no. Morally difficult, maybe. It's not exactly like I enjoy beating people up, and I'm a smart enough kid to know how much trouble I'm going to get into for fighting. Heck, I'm an honors student. Reasoning out the benefits and possible consequences of fighting this piece of trash? Piece of cake. (Eating one, not making one. I almost burned the kitchen down trying to make one once, and that was a boxed mix. I still swear it was the timer's fault and not mine, okay?) So far my small attacks on Dylan haven't been anything that serious according to punishment levels. A shove is not the same as a punch. Hopefully after what I've already done Dylan will drop it and plan how to get revenge on me another day. If he didn't (come on, man, use an ounce of common sense for once) I would take that next step to hit with a closed fist. It would be worth it for Megan and all of his victims. Shit, it would be worth taking that step for the sake of all of his future victims. Someone needs to shut this creep down, and hard. It might as well be me. I could very well be the only one that could do it.

Dylan whirls toward me again, fire in his eyes. Even the cool, steady waters of my own blue eyes don't seem to deter him. I sigh. Dude, seriously? He can't even manage to scrape together a little bit of common sense?

"I'm going to kill you, Mickey!"

Nope. No common sense at all. Well, if we haven't drawn the attention of every single teacher in this wing yet we have now. Dylan's wild, raging shout had definitely been loud enough to do the job. Ah, well. If they're coming I better make my point before they get here so I don't waste the opportunity.

He is snarling like the monster he basically is, his fist raised high to pummel me as he races down the hall toward me. I take three steps forward and jab a fist at his face, snake-like. You can hear my fist connect with the side of his cheek. The crack resounds through the hallway, and I see every watching student back the heck up. Out of my peripheral vision I can see two teachers rushing toward us. They're still pretty far down the hall, but I lift my hands in a peaceful gesture anyway. The last thing I need them to think is that I'm ready to attack them too. And then I see the biggest idiot in the school become the biggest idiot in the whole city as he comes at me again.

"Oh, come on. Seriously? Haven't you been humiliated enough already?" I grumble at him, though I don't actually expect a response.

Sheesh. Well, I'm already in for the whole thing. Hitting him twice (and good enough this time to really end this) won't get me in any more trouble than I'm already in. I shift my target location a bit and strike again. This time there's a crunch, and Dylan howls and completely forgets about me. I manage to keep my immense grin of satisfaction internal. It just wouldn't do to look proud of beating up another student in the hallway, especially when that other student's nose is bleeding. I can see the blood dripping down his face, over his lip, and pooling in his hands, which he's keeping protectively curled around his nose. With that much blood it's rather likely that his nose is broken, but I didn't aim to break it. Not exactly at least, though the thought had briefly crossed my mind. Broken or not, he'll definitely be sporting a massive bruise there for the next few days. Dang, I hope his suspension doesn't last long enough for that bruise to heal completely. That's visible proof of his loss, and I would not mind that being paraded around school. Not at all.

"McKenzie Campbell! Dylan West!"

Ah yes, the dreaded first and last name. It tells you very clearly that you're in trouble and you better not dig yourself in any deeper. I know Dylan is dumb (how many times has he proved that in the last five minutes?) but even I don't think he'll try to continue this when the teachers are here. Whether he will or not I lift my hands in a show of peace again. Should he decide to be exceedingly stupid I can still dodge his punches. Adrenaline is keeping most of the pain in my knuckles at bay, but that doesn't mean I want to abuse them again and make the pain worse. Mr. Tailor grabs my arm, and I offer him a polite nod of acceptance despite the fact that I might have just broken a fellow student's nose. That's me, the politest kid in the entire school, which is ordinarily true. My parents raised me to be polite and I am. They also raised me to be competent in self-defense and hand to hand. Somehow I don't think this is what they had in mind for its use though. Screw it. I would deal with that potential mess later. My parents weren't here now and there was the chance the school wouldn't be able to get in touch with them anyway. One never knew when a world crisis might be happening without any of us normal people noticing. I would worry about the teachers and principal first.

"You're about the last student here I would expect to see in a fight, Mickey," Mr. Tailor tells me as he starts escorting me toward the office.

I like Mr. Tailor and definitely don't like the disappointment in his eyes and tone of his voice that I'm picking up. He hadn't seen the whole thing though. Maybe if he had his opinion would be slightly different. Either way, my opinion hasn't changed. I did the right then and I would do it again. We would see what the outcome with Dylan would be in the end and that would determine how beneficial it was. I had to think, no, I was positive that today would give him pause in the future. At least for a little while.

"It needed to be done. I had a good reason and nobody else was doing anything, so I had to."

Mr. Tailor gives me a bit of an odd look but I just stare straight ahead. I'm not proud of what I did but I'm not going to be ashamed either. As I walk down to the principal's office I'm going to hold my head high. I knew the consequences before I acted but the need and possible benefits had been too great. I'd made my choice and it had been the right one. Whatever came next would come, but my conscience was clean.