A/N So the rumor that the first episode of Season 2 will be airing on March 7 after the Season 1 finale is, as it turns out, entirely true. I would say I'm excited, but it gives me even less time to finish this fanfic. Oh, well. One more reason to work my butt off as I go back to school in a couple days, lol. Hope you all had a wonderful holiday break :)

Also, in reply to a guest review, the shipping part of the story will officially come into play in the next chapter, but there's a few hints in this one. Enjoy!

The Pair

"Thank you ever so kindly for coming, Odd Squad! I simply do not know what is the matter with her!"

O'Donahue took off his sunglasses and sized up the girl, who had bright red hair and seemed about his age. She also seemed like the loud and demanding sort, and he fought the urge to freeze up and act shy. "Certainly, miss. Would you, er, show us the odd problem?"

"Yes, right this way." Stepping back, the girl let him and Oprah through the front door and led them through her house to the kitchen. "Your calling must be kept secret, of course. Matthew is out hauling potatoes and Marilla is at her Aid Society meeting in Carmody, and I should not want to trouble them. I've just never seen Diana in such a state before!"

"Well…yes, of course we'll keep it secret," Oprah said slowly, exchanging a skeptical glance with O'Donahue, who shrugged. He knew as well as his partner did that it wasn't always wise to keep an odd problem secret, particularly if they were called all the way to Prince Edward Island to solve it.

The reason for their calling became evident soon enough. In the kitchen, the two Odd Squad agents discovered another girl with jet black hair and a pretty lavender teatime dress staggering about unsteadily and giggling. Every ten seconds or so the girl, Diana, called out either "I'm awful sick, Anne!" or "Anne, I must go home!"

"What was she doing before this happened?" O'Donahue asked the first girl, apparently named Anne.

"Nothing at all! I was telling her a story and she was drinking Marilla's raspberry cordial—"

"Drinking?" Oprah interrupted. "May I see the bottle?"

Anne gave her a puzzled look, but complied. Taking it, Oprah sniffed at the top and made a face. "Just what I suspected. I've seen this once before with my uncle. Anne, I fear you have intoxicated your friend."

"Intoxicated? You mean…" Anne gasped in horror. "I've set her drunk?! But how? I never thought raspberry cordial could set people drunk!"

O'Donahue was confused, too. "She's right. Raspberry cordial has no alcohol in it." He too sniffed the bottle. "Ohh, that's not raspberry cordial, is it?"

Oprah shook her head. "I know my fruit juice. And if that's not three-year-old currant wine, then I'll eat my hat." To her partner she added, "Whether made out of ground beef or not."

"Currant wine?" Anne fell back into a chair and looked as though she were about to cry. "Oh, dear. I must have mixed up the bottles somehow. Whatever shall I do? I can't send Diana home in such a dreadful state!"

"Not to worry, miss," O'Donahue reassured her, feeling a little more confident now that the girl was out of her element. "We have a detoxicator tonic she can drink, and in a few minutes she'll be her normal self." Reaching into his knapsack, he pulled out a miniature flask of blue liquid.

Anne took the bottle gratefully. "Thank you, Odd Squad."

"But," Oprah added, "you have to promise to tell Marilla the truth about what happened. She can help you make sure you don't mix up the bottles again."

"Alright," Anne said with a sigh. "I promise, and I learned my lesson."


It had been nearly twenty years since Oprah joined the squad, and since then she'd never looked back or regretted it. It didn't take long for her to rise in the ranks and become one of Odd Squad's top agents—fourth after Olesya, Obfusco, and Osage, as it turned out. After returning home from her Europe trip, Oprah had learned from O'Donahue that all her exploits to date had become legendary, from exposing Olga to becoming Queen of Portugal. Many agents had even started using her "mathematical figuring-out locale" to solve cases of their own. So with Yucks's added agreement to take over the fruit stand, it hadn't been much trouble at all for her to bypass the Academy and immediately join the squad as O'Donahue's new partner. This was not to mention the gushing triumphance from the Cassers, but she was more than willing to dismiss and forget about all that.

The year was now 1889, December to be precise. Oprah and O'Donahue were on a routine errand to the shed where the math locale was (still there even as Toronto had continued to grow and expand around it) to replace all of the papers that had been scribbled on during the past month, and they were discussing their oddest case to date:

"I can't believe Old Missie wants a change of uniforms," Oprah grumbled, struggling to fill out the measurement card for the new uniform with gloved hands as she walked. "What's wrong with these?"

O'Donahue shrugged. "Maybe a client complained about us looking old-fashioned," he said wryly. "Or maybe it's all part of ringing in the new year. But other than that, Old Missie has never cared too much for modern fashion and it doesn't make sense she suddenly would. Besides, these are already functional enough. Perhaps you know what they look like?"

"That's just it," Oprah said, "they're just as functional as these, and not very fashionable at all. She wants to keep the pants and white shirt, but now wants open suit jackets, side-button shoes, suspenders, real neckties, and red newsboy caps! Which is fine, but…why?"

"I dunno, partner," O'Donahue replied, pushing open the shed door. "We could ask her when we turn in our measurement cards."

"Mm, maybe it's best if we—whoa!" Oprah stopped suddenly in the doorway, nearly causing her partner to crash right into her. "Where did all of the papers go?"

O'Donahue peered over her shoulder. "What do you mean, all of the—whoa!"

The pair slowly stepped into the shed and looked around in puzzlement. Sure enough, all of the origami papers (cheap Odd Squad souvenirs which Yucks had collected from O'Donahue and Olga over the two years spent running the fruit stand) that had been hung on the walls, even the unused ones, were mysteriously absent. The shed now felt cold and foreboding, not at all like the warm and friendly atmosphere it had developed into over the years. Under her coat, Oprah shivered. Before, the math locale had been like a second home to her; she'd thought it was her imagination, but as time went on it seemed more and more like the locale tried to welcome her and O'Donahue, almost as if there was a conscience helping them with their cases. But now…

"Hey, hold on." O'Donahue nodded at something in the center of the floor. "Whoever took the papers, I think they left one in the middle of the floor."

Oprah knelt down and picked it up. "Maybe it's a clue?" Scarcely daring to hope, she carefully undid the colored origami folds until the white side was exposed. "It says, 'Twist your badges a quarter turn to your left, then spin yourselves in a circle counterclockwise.'"

O'Donahue frowned. "How much is a quarter turn? And which way is counterclockwise?"

"Here, let me show you. This," Oprah unclipped her own badge and proceeded to rotate it all the way around, "is one full turn, because it makes an entire circle. This," she rotated it halfway so it was upside-down, "is one half turn, because it only goes halfway around the circle. And this," she set the badge upright again and rotated it partly to the left so it was sideways, "is one quarter turn. It only goes half of halfway around, or one quarter of the way."

Oprah clipped her badge back on. "So if I twist my badge a quarter turn to our left, it would go like this." She did so, and with a loud click, the badge began to glow red.

"Whoa!" O'Donahue started. "Is it supposed to do that?"

"Don't ask me!" Oprah said, just as shocked. "Try yours?"

He did, and the same thing happened. "Now what do we do?" he asked.

In reply, Oprah grabbed the paper and her pencil and quickly sketched a clock below the instructions. "It says to spin in a circle counterclockwise. See, clockwise is the direction the hands move, like this." She drew an arrow in said circular motion.

O'Donahue caught on. "So if we have to spin counterclockwise, that's the other way."

"Exactly!" Putting away the pencil and paper, Oprah pointed to the ground. "Now imagine you're standing on a clock, and spin the opposite direction that the hands move." She took a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Both agents began to spin. The red lights grew bigger and brighter. Swirling paper came out of nowhere and surrounded them.

"What's happening?" O'Donahue shouted in a panic.

"I don't know!" Oprah yelled back.

Then there was a sudden blinding flash, and the shed was gone. Disoriented, both agents fell to the floor. All they could see was paper.

"Greetings, agents!"

Oprah blinked and rubbed her eyes.

I know that voice…

"Um…Agent Oprah? Agent O'Donahue? Are you two alright?"

Next to her, she felt her partner dizzily rise to his feet. "Where are we?"

"Why, the Math Room, of course!" the girl's voice replied, echoing all around them. "Didn't you know?"

Oprah looked around, still seeing nothing but paper. Looking down, however, she found herself sitting on a giant red hexagon, scribbled on a huge, thick sheet of paper. Then a familiar hand appeared in front of in her face. Gratefully she accepted it and let O'Donahue pull her to her feet.

"I've heard you before," she said slowly. "In my math locale. I heard you…speak to me."

"Come to think of it…me too," O'Donahue added hesitantly, still looking around.

Oprah snapped her fingers. "Of course! It is you! You're the Math Room!"

"That is correct, Agent Oprah," the voice affirmed. "Visits from all of the Odd Squad agents, but especially from you as my creator, over time gave me a conscience. This morning was the first time I have been able to put this conscience into a physical form."

"Well," O'Donahue said with another frown, "I would hardly call this a physical form."

"Would you prefer I take on a figure for myself?"

Both agents nodded.

"Very well!" The paper walls rustled, and suddenly out burst a life-sized four-colored origami figure. "Is this better?" the voice said, moving the paper folds like a mouth as she spoke.

O'Donahue paled. He started to stumble backwards.

Oprah looked at him in alarm. "Er, Math Room? Could you—?"

Before she even finished her sentence, a sturdy paper railing grew up from the floor, and O'Donahue fell against it. "So sorry," he quickly apologized. "It's just…you're b-big. Gave me a t-turn, that's all."

The figure embodying the Math Room moved back slightly. "Would you prefer I make my figure smaller?"

"No no, it's f-fine. Big is fine. I'll get used to it."

Oprah, meanwhile, had been thinking. "So to get here, we twist our badges and turn counterclockwise. Those were the instructions you left us."

"That is correct."

"And to leave here, we do the same thing, and we'll go back to the place we were before."

"That is also correct."

"So that means…we can come visit you for help on our cases from wherever we are? We don't have to go back to the shed every time?"

"That is the idea, yes."

By this point O'Donahue had somewhat recovered. "I have a question, too," he said, stepping forward to join his partner again. "Before, when we were solving cases, we would unfold one of the papers in the shed to draw diagrams on. If we can't draw the diagrams ourselves now, does that mean you do it for us? Say, for example, could you draw a map of headquarters?"

In reply, Math Room said, "Generating blueprints," and out from the paper walls came two more origami figures. They unfolded themselves and sketches of each of the two floorplans for Odd Squad Headquarters were quickly created.

The two agents stared open-mouthed at the blueprints. "They're perfect!" Oprah exclaimed. "Everything's there, even the slates on our desks!"

"Of course they're perfect," Math Room said as the two figures refolded themselves and joined the first in circling around the platform. "I never make mistakes." It wasn't hard for Oprah to detect a hint of pride in her creation's voice.

"So you can do diagrams of places," she said, getting more and more excited. "What do you know about people? Say, pull up a profile on Old Missie."

A fourth figure emerged from the paper wall and unfolded to reveal a detailed sketch of their boss. "Old Missie, also known as Ms. O, formerly known as Agent Obedience, number 62," Math Room recited. "Joined the newly-organized Toronto Chapter of the Odd Squad in 1793, worked in the Investigation Department for sixty-two years, promoted to head of the Management Department in 1855."

O'Donahue cocked his head. "Her real name is Obedience?"

"Never mind about that," Oprah cut in. "Math Room, this is incredible! You're basically a database connected to everyone and everything around the world, and only Odd Squad has access to it! I never thought anything like this could ever work!" Little did she know that, in one hundred years' time, it would indeed work for ordinary people around the world, in the form of the Internet.

"Neither do you believe Big Red's tube system will ever work, as I recall," Math Room said.

Oprah blushed, recalling her dubious words to the honorary agent from nineteen years ago. "Well, um, could you show us his progress so far?"

"Generating tube map." Three more origami figures emerged and sketched out said diagram. Sure enough, sections of tunnels and tubing could be seen covering all of Canada, and stretching through many places across the world.

"But in all fairness, he found little people from the North to help him," O'Donahue reminded them.

The three figures folded themselves up and joined the rotation with the other four. "Fair enough. You didn't know," Math Room agreed. "Now, may I make a suggestion?" When the two agents nodded, she continued. "You may want to go back to your headquarters now and tell Old Missie and the other agents about me, to give them some warning."

"Absolutely, we have to!" Oprah said with a giggle. "Won't they all be surprised?"

"I can't wait to see the look on Olesya's face," O'Donahue added. "Poor Ogden, she'll probably drag him here at least once every hour!"

Still chattering and joking, the partners twisted their badges and spun out of sight. Oprah was happy. Her second home felt homier than ever. Even better, she had a new best friend.

Not that O'Donahue and Yucks didn't count, of course.


1915 was a big year for Odd Squad.

For one, it was the year Old Missie finally agreed that their current headquarters building was too small and horribly out-of-date, after a lab accident nearly destroyed the entire main floor—and nearly cost the lab director Dr. Ozzington his job. Fortunately for the scientist, he was a part-time architect, and redeemed himself by drawing up the blueprints for the new building himself. The plans even allowed for a lobby centered around the underground entrance of the still-under-construction tube system, which made Big Red happy and decided the issue.

For another, it was the year Carlos was discovered. With the Great War going on and no way to translate a coded message from the German Odd Squad, Old Missie sent Oprah and O'Donahue to the Math Room to crack it. Math Room redirected them, and the rest was history. While Oprah didn't particularly care too much for the Word Room, she was impressed not only by the fact that her creation could duplicate herself, but that she had given herself a name. Not that Oprah was going to start using the name Carol—Math Room got a little touchy and said only her brother could call her that, and Oprah didn't argue.

There were numerous other important happenings in 1915, naturally. The Great Chicken Wars broke out and Agent Obfusco was dispatched to the front lines; the dreaded Hydraclops rose out of Lake Ontario and demolished parts of downtown Toronto, disappearing without a trace but for a photograph taken by Agent Orscheln; Uncle Chester and Auntie May Casser both passed away and Oprah had to leave for a month to visit the cousins she hadn't seen in years; the Department of Science began the official transfer from using tonics to the more modern gadgetry; a new Dr. O was hired, relieving Ozzington from a third job; the two villains Fannee Doolee and the Patternista both made their criminal debuts; and for the first time in years, their squad got nominated for a Jackie Award, albeit still losing to Mr. O's squad in Montréal.

But for O'Donahue, it was the year he made a complete fool out of himself.

"Almost done…got it!" Securing the last button on his shoe, he stood up and grinned. "What's my time?"

Oprah, who had been watching the pendulum on the Odd Squad grandfather clock, turned to him with eyebrow raised. "Eighty-three seconds. Easy-peasy."

O'Donahue handed her the button hook and scoffed. "What do you mean, easy-peasy? I'd like to see you try and get a better time than me!"

Fifty-eight seconds later: "Done!"

O'Donahue gaped. "That's not possible!"

In reply, Oprah showed him her completely buttoned shoes. "I told you, girls do it faster," she crowed. "Which means I win the wager, which means you have to take me to a Mary Pickford picture tonight."

"Fine," O'Donahue sighed. "But there's a new Charlie Chaplin—"

And that's when the bells went off.

Amidst shouts of excitement, every agent jumped up from their desk and began heading towards the stairs down to the Common Room in the basement. O'Donahue looked stricken. "Oh no, the square dance! I forgot it was tonight! Oprah, I haven't practiced!"

Oprah stared at him. "What do you mean, you haven't practiced? Old Missie scheduled Square Dance Night months ago!"

"I know, and I forgot all about it!" Groaning, O'Donahue resigned himself to following the crowd downstairs. "This is going to be a disaster. You know how bad I am at ballroom dancing!"

"O'Donahue, it's okay!" his partner tried to reassure him. "I'm sure there's plenty of other agents who are worse dancers than you are. You'll be fine."

But "fine" turned out to be far from the truth. For the sake of O'Donahue's pride, I'll refrain from recounting the specifics. Suffice it to say he repeatedly went the wrong direction, got the calls mixed up and did all the wrong ones, and basically kept running into everyone else. Halfway through the night, however, the caller Obfusco contracted a rather odd case of the Skips with a sore throat as a side effect, and had to stop. When no one immediately took his place, Oprah tried to be nice and volunteered O'Donahue so he might get out of dancing. But as one might expect, he froze up on the caller stand, stumbled over words, forgot all the commands, and, amidst shouts of dismay at his mistakes, immediately bolted when Old Missie gave him permission to step down. After the newest agent Oxley also tried and failed to be the caller, Old Missie decided to switch from square dancing to a good old classic waltz—effectively throwing poor O'Donahue out of the frying pan and into the fire. For Oprah's sake he tried to dance with her, but things like this kept happening:

"O'Donahue, you're supposed to lead, remember?" Oprah hissed.

"Sorry!" Holding his partner's hand in a death grip, he gulped and tried to moved forward.

"Ow, my foot! Watch it, dingbat!"

"Sorry, Agent Olmstead!"

And so on. Needless to say, after constantly forgetting to lead and stepping on one too many toes, he eventually ran off and hid red-faced in a corner for the rest of the evening.

Later, while walking to the picture theater, Oprah tried to console him. "It's alright, the whole thing is over and done now. Trust me, things could have been much worse."

"No, they couldn't!" O'Donahue moaned, face buried in his hands. "I made myself look like an utter basket case down there! I can't go back to work and face them all again!"

"Really, now? I hadn't the faintest idea you wanted to quit your job and abandon your own partner. Sounds like a fine plan to me."

O'Donahue made an exasperated noise. "That's not what I meant."

Oprah squeezed his arm. "Hey. Being a terrible dancer has nothing to do with you being an excellent agent. By tomorrow morning, everyone will have already forgotten about the dance. You'll see." When that didn't cheer him up, Oprah tried another tactic. "Tell you what. Why don't we go see a Charlie Chaplin picture instead? Will that make you feel better?"

Finally putting his hands down, O'Donahue rewarded her efforts with a small smile. "No, that's okay. You won the bet fair and square. We'll go see Mary Pickford like you wanted, and Charlie Chaplin can wait for another time."

"That's my partner," Oprah teased. Grabbing his hand, the pair ran the last couple blocks to the theater, laughing all the way.


Ten years later, Old Missie was reviewing her paperwork for the umpteenth time. On it, she would officially retire at the end of the day and formally transfer the title of Ms. O to Agent Olesya. After all, the latter's leadership and heroics in defeating the Patternista last month more than earned her the promotion. Old Missie only had one qualm: was Olesya really the only agent qualified for the position?

There were a few other agents who could do it. But with exception to Olesya, each had a reason not to. Obfusco was certainly smart and savvy enough, but too confusing for everyone to understand. Plus, he'd told her he'd rather stay in the Events & Support Department. Osage was a level-headed leader, but like Old Missie herself, she'd been on the squad for more than a century and was looking at retirement in the next few years or so. That only left one other. This agent hadn't been on the squad for a terribly long time, but her initiative, drive, and spunk were unequaled. Put those qualities into leadership, and she'd make a worthy Ms. O.

Still…

Old Missie tucked a stray ringlet of copper brown hair behind her ear and smiled. Of course she had made the right choice. Maybe later on down the road, Olesya could be the one to decide whether to promote Oprah as the next Ms. O. But for now, she and O'Donahue were just too good of a team to split up.

Satisfied, Old Missie signed the paperwork and gathered it all up into one file. Thank goodness that's finally done, she thought. Now, about that bob haircut I still need to get…