A/N: ...would you like some crack? Well, uh, have at it. This is chock full of silliness. And a little bit of lunacy. Sorry for the lack of updates here and on my new story; this week has been hellish, and not good for the muse. I hope to fix that very soon! This may be from a few days ago, but it was just cracky and funny enough to post before I work on today's word. "Astringent" is awesome.
Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs, guys. Or a beta.
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Enterprising
1. Having or showing initiative and resourcefulness.
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The stares settled somewhere between making her want to scream or sashay like she owned the headquarters. They followed her every move, startled, and actually - kind of funny. They all pretty much looked like they'd been bashed over the head, after all, and...well, she was trying to look on the bright side of life. It was all she could do to not burst into tears, after all, and a little bit of amusement at others' expense wasn't so bad, was it?
Apparently the only person in the building who didn't really care, when she fell in step with Reva Kline outside of the Starbucks, the other agent didn't even glance in her direction for more than the normal amount of time. "Annie," Her former handler offered brightly, sounding more upbeat than she'd been for most of the time she was with the DPD. "The choice of a woman shaving her head is unreasonably taboo; it is refreshing to see your choice in styling." Well, apparently she wasn't so very disinterested. Annie winced. Apparently not noticing, Reva ordered straight coffee, then turned back to her, smiling a genuine smile. "Uh," Annie stalled, reaching up a hand to unhappily scruff at her still-very-much-bald head. "Yeah. Taboo. Thanks, Reva."
Honestly, she really did try to sound grateful. It was just slightly difficult, with her mass amounts of discomfort with the situation. Still mostly oblivious, though, the techie beamed. "You are welcome. Have a pleasant day, Annie. Give Joan my best." So saying, the other agent breezed off; distantly, Annie wondered how much coffee she'd already downed. Quickly ordering coffee for she and Aug, she tried to re-psych herself up, but failed - the burst of enthusiasm for messing with the heads of her coworkers had been short-lived. Now, she felt naked, strange and too-light once more.
It wasn't every day that some enterprising kidnapper with a hair fetish steals yours, after all.
Joan had only been concerned about the intel he had on the Pentagon's security system.
Didn't the CIA screen their marks for weird fetishes? Shouldn't she have been warned? A "Oh, hey, Annie, the guy's a few eggs short of a cake and he likes to make wigs out of real hair. Don't worry, he's not Buffalo Bill, he just wants your hair." wouldn't have been so hard, would it?
Apparently not.
Tempted as she was to put tabasco sauce or ex-lax in Auggie's coffee for not warning her - hey, he knew the guy's preference in underwear, she wasn't being unreasonable - she refrained. If nothing else, he usually won the war of who could do the most disgusting thing to the others' coffee, so she wasn't even going to bother. Also, she was already moping her way on up to the DPD, wearing her best put-upon expression and trying to gauge how bad an idea it would be to take a sip of her coffee. She needed the boost.
It was a bad idea, as such things generally were, and by the time she reached the glass doors of her department she had just barely managed to stop coughing and hacking against a scalded throat and mouth. Studiously, the other agents avoided looking at her directly, like she was Medusa or might explode if they did; it was marginally better than the stares of the rest of the building. Huffily, she stopped by her desk, then definitely-did-not stomp over to Auggie's office, extra-tall heels lashing at the carpet as she went. Sure, she very nearly snapped an ankle swinging around the corner into the airy room, but they did make her feel tall and pretty, in spite of the bad hair day (yeah, she went there). Before she even got re-balanced from her almost fall, Auggie was standing, eyes wide, hands held placatingly in front of him.
She didn't even have time to ask how the hell he'd known she was even there before he'd grabbed a giant bag with some department store's logo on it and held it out, a very obvious peace offering.
"Look, Annie, I didn't know I'm so sorry you look great do you want some cake?" The statement/question/plea was slightly less than coherent, and Annie blinked, thrown by the lack of proper script. He was supposed to somehow make her apologize for worrying him through the twelve-hour ordeal, and she was supposed to leave the coffee, and maybe go ask Joan how sending her hairy friend to Timbuktu in a milk crate was going. So she really couldn't be blamed for her dazed "Buh?" noise, as she pulled up short, blinking vaguely at the apologetic apparition before her.
Humility didn't suit Auggie. Not a bit. He looked like somebody was gnawing on his spleen. Then again, the giant brown eyes and messy hair were kind of adorable. Apparently still waiting for her answer, he flipped open the lid of a white box next to him; brightly, the small round cake proclaimed Happy Birthday! and suddenly it was too funny.
So she giggled.
Apparently, all-knowing Aug had immediately caught why she was laughing, since he glanced towards the cake with chagrin. "Oh, come on; it's your favorite, and they couldn't write "Sorry about your hair" on it." A semblance of his usual smirk ghosted at the corners of his lips. She giggled some more, shaking her head and stalking forward to set the coffee cup on the table and eye her cake with curiosity. Well, it did look delicious. "Only if you share it with me." She injected, and Aug grinned, falling back into his seat and cautiously swinging a hand out to reach the coffee. Apparently, the short time it had taken her to finish walking up had been all the time the liquid happiness had needed to cool off sufficiently, and he took a sip, eyes closing in bliss before he produced a pair of plastic sporks from the bag. "Of course."
Since Joan hadn't descended on them in a righteous fury yet, and she was pretty sure all she was doing today was at least half a ton of paperwork, so she took her time. Auggie was scheduled to work with Agent Khan after lunch, but well, it wasn't lunch yet. After devouring what had to be two normal pieces of consolation cake and downing her entire coffee - she actually felt much better. So she grinned, leaning back in her chair and lazily spinning it in a circle. "So what's in the bag? If you say those hair cut magazines they have in salons, I will impale you on this spork. Try me." Waving it for good measure, Annie grinned, matching her handler's for mischief as he waggled his eyebrows at her and leaned over to grab the nearly-forgotten bag.
"No! Not quite. I just, well. I felt bad. So I, uh, I begged Stu to take me shopping for something to help. We ended up at Madame Violet's." It took a minute, for the honest-to-god-blush that he was now rocking to connect with a reason in her brain.
But when it did, it was awesome.
"Oh my god!" She definitely didn't squeal, clapping a hand over her mouth to stay the peal of laughter that had threatened to go barking out into the office. As it was, the strangled sound she let out was probably just as bad, but even more funny was that her handler's blush ratcheted up. She had to find a way to make that happen more often, because - really. She just did.
"That's that naughty naughty nightclothes shop downtown, isn't it?" Annie demanded, regarding the techie with wide eyes and still more giggles only barely withheld. Oh, she was never, never going to let him live this down. Not on his life. "Auggie, what did you think would cheer me up? Edible -" Apparently, he had hit critical mass for blush, since the tech ops agent sprang forward to clap a hand over her mouth and glance wildly around, eyes wide. "For the love of - the walls have ears, Annie!" He gave a garbled sound that could have been a high-pitched bark of laughter or a frustrated squeakbabble, but she shook with silent laughter all the same, not really sure what else to do. Sometimes, a man's idea of cheering up was just...well, strange.
Eventually, apparently deciding that she wasn't about to start shouting about undies, Aug withdrew, eyes narrowed. She could pretty much see the gears turning in his head; he knew he had to unveil the gift quickly or she was going to start again. Still, when his hand dived into the bag and came up with a mangled mass of hair - Annie wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
Neither seemed appropriate. So she stared.
His adam's apple worked nervously, as he flailed the handful of varied-color hair, then divided it into two masses; at which point it became more clear. Wigs? He'd...bought wigs? Oh, that was even better. She gaped. "Stu, uh, he helped me pick them out. I'm pretty sure he knocked over a display next to it; never did tell me what they were. We - we got kicked out after that, but not before I got these babies. They're hot, right?" Somehow, he managed to pull on a big, wolfish smirk.
Still, he looked a little bit like he wanted to disappear into the floor. The timidity, Annie decided, was adorable.
...as much as she wanted to prolong the blushes and stammering, she had to ask, "Why is one purple, Auggie? It's like, the color of Prince's Purple Rain coat." Plucking that one from his grasp, she eyed the hideous thing, both amazed and horrified by the fact that he thought she might wear it. Maybe on one of her drunken escapades in Fiji, when she'd actually dyed her hair blue because she spent the week convinced that she was the embodiment of the great Sea Goddess, but...okay, not since then. First, his eyebrows drew in over his eyes, confusion taking the place of sheepish mischief; but it was gone in a flash of amusement, as he glared distantly towards one of the office's doors.
"Stu." That was all he really needed to say. It would be her second-favorite techie who tried to put her in an orchid-colored wig. "Mmm...no. No, you're not a purple. I got, uh," Aug's eyes narrowed as he fiddled with the remaining wigs, finally drawing out a strawberry blonde one that wasn't too far from her actual color, just shorter and more fluffy-styled. "This one for you. Thought you might like it. You can try it out, tonight at Allen's. Or you could wear the other and really confuse the bartender."
As she absently sporked another chunk of delicious cake, Annie smiled and shook her head, no longer even slightly amazed that she was feeling better again. Sure, wigs were itchy and weird and she was pretty sure she'd just rather be bald...but it was the thought that counted, and rolling with life's punches, enjoying the outcome of everything, was something she was learning to be good at. So she grinned, leaning conspiratorially forward and plopping the purple one on her coworker's head. "You're on. Except you're wearing the purple one." He matched her grin, waggled his eyebrows and rocked the purple wig; and all, once more, was right with the world. Hair or no hair.
