AN: Sorry it took so long you guys. We're slammed at work right now...man, I wonder how I'm going to be able to work on this when classes start...
Chapter 9:
Abby was startled in the morning as she headed downstairs for breakfast, per her usual routine, to receive a phone call from her father.
"Sorry, I been swamped at the hospital all night, haven't had the chance to call," Dr. Lincoln apologized.
"It's okay, daddy, I understand. I didn't get home until real late anyway. Newspaper stuff."
"That's my little editor. Did you get dinner alright?" he questioned, "Eat something healthy with the vegetables, and the grains, and the main food groups and…ah…you know what I mean!"
"Yes, daddy," Abby told her father calmly, rolling her eyes and taking a seat at the table to begin breakfast, "What have you been at the hospital all night for? I thought you only had ten hours of clinic duty yesterday."
"Strange case came in," Dr. Lincoln explained, "Little boy, completely catatonic at arrival. He seems to be awake and aware and all now but he's acting all funny so we sent him in for an MRI…then another one came in."
"Another what?" Abby queried, reporter in her taking over, "Another kid?"
"Yeah. Same neighborhood, little girl a couple houses down from the first boy," her father confirmed, "Very odd. She wasn't catatonic but she's acting just like the boy now. Talking strange, staring off into space, won't say anything unless you ask them a question. Won't even move unless you tell them to do something! Like they don't have minds of their own. At least she didn't have one of them slimy bug things on her though…"
"Bug things? One of what bug things?"
"Oh boy, I shouldn't have mentioned that," Dr. Lincoln groaned inwardly at the slip-of-tongue most likely brought on by fatigue. He donned his rare authoritative father tone, "Now, Abigail, you listen to me, this isn't a story. You forget I said anything. Hospital hasn't even decided if we're going to contact CDC about this, yet. We're waiting for test results back on the kids, or for changes in behavior."
"CDC?" Abigail squeaked, a bit more excitedly than she'd intended as the well-being of two young children was at stake. She couldn't help it though, her hometown was usually so boring, "The hospital administrator thinks this - whatever this is - is big enough to warrant calling in the Center for Disease Control? No way! Daddy, you have to give me something."
"Abigail," Dr. Lincoln growled warning that made his tough-as-nails daughter shrink back from the phone. She'd never heard her 'daddy' so serious before.
"Is it really that bad?" she whispered softly.
Dr. Lincoln sighed. She could picture him standing in his office at the hospital, still in his scrubs and lab coat, massaging his forehead. There would be a cup of coffee, which he wasn't supposed to be drinking but was mostly untouched anyhow, sitting on his desk amidst scattered papers. The breaking dawn would be streaming through his window.
"I've never seen anything like this…it's almost like these poor kids' brains are fried," he mumbled, "And I have a terrible feeling that more kids will be coming in. I just…don't know what to do."
"If it was some kind of bug…maybe a toxin?" Abby carefully suggested, worry for her father edging her tone. He was a good doctor, one of the best on staff at Memorial, because he was one of the few who didn't care about the money or the prestige of the job. He cared about saving and curing patients. She knew how hard he took it whenever he failed. Her mother was the only one capable of soothing the man in such a rare instance but Mrs. Lincoln was away on business in Europe for the next week and a half.
"We're exploring that option," Dr. Lincoln replied, "But the little bug-thing that we had was squished."
"Squished? How did that happen?"
"Startled mother."
"Oh," Abby frowned, nibbling at her breakfast, peanut butter on celery sticks.
"I've been consulting with an entomologist at the University, but she says she's never heard of anything like it before," Dr. Lincoln continued with a weary sigh, "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what the tests reveal. I might not be home tonight, sweetheart, you'll be okay for dinner?"
"Don't even worry about it, daddy," Abigail assured her father, "You just take care of those kids."
"That's my girl," Dr. Lincoln told her softly. Abigail smiled faintly, sipping at her usual cup of coffee. Mature and understanding, that was the good doctor's little girl. She thought about picking up Chinese take-out that night, maybe a dessert of ice cream while curled up on the couch in a blanket watching Casablanca or His Girl Friday.
"Love ya', daddy."
"Love you too, baby girl. Have a good day at school."
Abby put the phone away and finished her breakfast in silence. She thought about what her father told her. An odd illness possibly caused by an unidentified insect. He had ordered her to stay away, warned her it wasn't a story. He'd sounded serious too. Abby smirked as she headed out the door for class.
For anyone else, finding out what street those two children had lived on would probably seem difficult, daunting, and, on top of a parental warning, not worth the risk. For Abigail Lincoln it took one phone call. After convincing the front clerk at the Memorial Hospital Clinic that she was Officer Fife from the local police department, she easily procured the full names of both children and their addresses. She pulled in to the school, and parked her car, staring at the little notepad attached to her dash that she'd jotted the information on.
The problem with information was the moral dilemma it always presented. Gaining it was easy, deciding what to do with it not so much. Dr. Lincoln was always encouraging of his daughters and son even when Abigail proved to be most troublesome. He stood proudly beside her when bailing her out of the county jailhouse several months back. She'd been locked in a holding cell for the night after being caught breaking into a downtown warehouse. He'd supported her not just because she did it for the story but because it was the right thing to do. And because it turned out they really were counterfeiting rare Rainbow Monkey dolls in that industrial building. Her father never told her to stay away from something, never told her to leave it be, and to not follow her investigative instincts. Until now.
Could she really go behind his back?
Leaving the pad of paper in her car, Abby headed for the school building. As usual, she was there before most students, the hallways nearly devoid of life. She weaved her way through the halls towards the Journalism room, nearly stopping dead in her tracks when a conversation around the corner hit her ears.
"Report of…slugs…shouldn't be now," a voice was saying in a rough whisper.
"…certain?" came the response, low and terse.
"…the information…wrong," the first speaker replied, sounding almost angry.
Abigail continued quietly down the hall and was surprised when Whistler came into view with his back to her.
"No. Just incomplete," the pudgy handyman was saying to his co-conspirator, a boy with bright crimson hair.
Redhead fixed his eyes on the approaching Abby like twin blue laser points causing Whistler to pause in whatever else he had to say and turn to face her as well. A smile lightened his features but Abby hadn't missed the hard lines that had creased the sophomore's face moments before. Abby turned her attention on the redhead. She had to admit his glare was intimidating, but she had never backed down from anyone in her life and was not about to start now.
"Mackerel Herring," she greeted coolly, "You know, you've got a fishy name."
Mack snorted lightly, rolling his eyes and muttering sarcastically, "Yeah, I never heard that one before."
"Hey, samurai," Whistler spoke up, he glanced over his shoulder to Mack, dismissively telling him, "We'll talk about this later."
Mack narrowed his eyes at the younger boy and Abigail could feel the tension thick between the two.
"I'd prefer we talk about this now," the redhead hissed, darting a furtive glance Abby's way.
"I can go," Abby suggested, a bit more nervously than she liked, "I didn't really mean to interrupt anything…"
"No, our conversation was just ending. Mack has other things to do," Whistler cut her off, seeming oblivious to or to just simply disregard the threat in the other boy's words. Turning his eyes back on the redhead, he said, "Right, Mack?"
The piercing blue eyes dropped to the floor, though Mack's features darkened. He muttered, "Yeah. Right." Without another word or so much as a glance at the other two teens, the redhead trudged away.
"Making friends with Mack probably isn't in your best interest," Abby warned Whistler after the redhead was well out of hearing range. The boy just smiled, shaking his head and gathering his dreadlocks in a hand to brush from his face.
"The guy is harmless," he laughed, "But you don't need to worry. I wouldn't exactly call him a friend. I was helping him with a…uh…game. He was talking about how he couldn't beat one level and…well…I've already mastered the game because…I'm good at games and…I…uh…is there a way I can end this explanation without sounding anymore like a complete and total nerd."
Abby shook her head, giggling behind a hand.
"No. But I don't mind complete and total nerds when they're as sweet as you," she reassured him. He reached out a hand, motioning for her bag, and surprised, she handed it over. He slipped it over his shoulder.
"To the journalism room?" Whistler guessed.
"Oh…yup," Abby grinned sheepishly, "First staff meeting is tonight, I kind of want to make sure everything goes perfectly."
"I got a feeling, samurai," Whistler said, starting forward with Abby falling into step beside him, "Everything you do is perfect."
-5-4-3-2-1-
Dressed in loose jeans and an orange v-neck, Rachel Mckenzie came bounding into her family kitchen just in time to steal a fresh piece of toast from her brother's plate. She was running late, her hair not brushed, and no make-up on her face.
"Hey!" Harvey cried protest, "Get your own!"
With the crispy buttered bread dangling from her mouth, Rachel gathered her hair up into a ponytail, smirking cruelly at her little brother and receiving a light slap on the shoulder from her mother.
"Stop stealing food from your brother," Mrs. Mckenzie chastised then questioned, "Patton picking you up today?"
A car horn honked loudly outside in answer.
The older woman rolled her eyes, saying, "Could you tell him our bell works fine so he can feel free to come to the door next time."
Rachel swallowed her bite of toast, tossing the rest back on Harvey's plate, earning more of his protest, and grinned toothily at her mother. She opened the refrigerator to grab a water bottle and apple.
"Yeah, then I'll tell him to tuck in his shirt and brush his hair. What am I, his mother?" Rachel teased her mom, leaning over to peck the older woman on the cheek.
"No but I know Ruth raised him with better manners that that. I guess I'm just going to have to have a talk with her," Mrs. Mckenzie replied huffily, "Is that what you're eating for breakfast? Rach, you're getting too thin."
Another honk from outside.
"I got to go," Rachel muttered, "He'll do that every five seconds until I get out there."
"Why don't you two take Harvey to school also?" Mrs. Mckenzie asked, taking a cup of coffee to the table with the newspaper.
"No way," Harvey groaned.
"Harvey doesn't like riding in the jeep," Rachel explained, "He doesn't like the feel of the wind on his head." She reached a hand forward to muss the younger boy's hair causing him to jerk away.
"Don't touch me," he screamed. Rachel just rolled her eyes and their mother patted the boy's arm soothingly.
"Fine. I guess I'll just have take him myself," Mrs. Mckenzie sighed.
"Why do you say it like that?. I'm your son," Harvey whined, "You're supposed to want to do things for me."
"I don't remember reading that in my job description," the older woman laughed, swatting at the boy playfully.
Rachel rushed out the front door just as Patton honked his car horn once more, running to hop into his jeep and tossing her book bag in the back. She stuck her tongue out at the dark-haired boy behind the wheel then buckled her seat belt.
"Could you take any longer?" Patton complained to the blonde.
"Would you like me to try?"
"Okay. Forget I said anything."
Patton started the drive to school and Rachel relaxed back in her seat watching the clouds roll by. Honestly, she was with her brother in not really liking the feel of the wind over her head. She had hated when Patton got the jeep, especially since he liked to take it off-roading every opportunity he got, but it wasn't as though she could complain. She didn't have her own vehicle and the jeep was better than riding the bus.
"Second day," Rachel moaned, "Is the week over yet?"
"We could always ditch," Patton suggested, receiving a wary glance.
"Suddenly feeling rebellious? I've heard of senioritis but somehow I always thought you would be immune."
"Come on, Rach, nothing important ever happens the first week of school."
"You've never missed a day of school in your entire life, General Drilovsky," Rachel patiently pointed out, "I think if you start now the teachers might send out a search party…file a missing person's report…even call in the national guard."
"You should talk," Patton muttered, "Last I checked your attendance record was as impeccable as mine, Cadet Mckenzie."
Rachel smirked, "Not true. I missed two weeks in second grade. Chicken pox. And here I thought you knew everything about me." She stuck her tongue out at Patton again and he playfully punched her shoulder.
"You're right, though," he sighed in resignation, "The school would raise up an alarm if you and I both skipped out. Hell, they'd probably call the Sarges."
"Yup," Rachel agreed glumly.
The Sarges being, of course, their fathers, both of whom were commanding officers in the U.S. military. It was the reason Rachel and Patton got along so well. Few people at school understood the life. Their childhoods spent moving from place to place, their fathers being away for long periods of time, having to readjust when their fathers, men they didn't really know, were at home.
They continued the drive in comfortable silence. Patton parked in the school lot and scowled.
"There's something I don't need to see so early in the morning," he groaned.
Rachel straightened, following Patton's dark gaze to find what he was talking about. She rolled her eyes telling herself, should've known. The blond boy was an easy miss through the crowd despite his pretty looks and flamboyant outfit but with hair like fire, the young lady at his side stood out. Even from their distance across the lot, Rachel could see the blush on that redhead's cheeks, the way she curled her slender form against the blond in attempt to appear small and meek.
Patton hopped out of the jeep, shouldering his backpack and shaking his head agitatedly. Rachel frowned, remaining in her seat.
"What do you think would embarrass Fulbrite into hightailing it to the nearest classroom faster? A commentary on her boyfriend's peacock costume, or a mention of how similar they look to mating hippopotamuses when they're making out?" Patton questioned, starting towards the school.
"Wouldn't you rather leave them alone," Rachel casually suggested.
"Nope," Patton chirped. He paused, noticing the blonde wasn't moving. Turning he queried, "You coming?"
"To make fun of Ricky and Fanny? Nope. That's all you, bud," Rachel sardonically answered, crossing her arms. Patton took a few steps back to leer down at her.
"Okay. What's your problem?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just getting a little sick and tired of your bullshit."
"Excuse you?"
"No. Excuse you. It's silly. I was really kind of hoping that, what with being seniors now and looking at adulthood soon, you would finally mature and forego spending the year tugging on Fulbrite's proverbial pigtails every opportunity you got but I forgot you were taught to never surrender," Rachel snidely explained.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Patton demanded in a low hiss, eyes narrowing. Rachel sighed heavily; shaking her head she unraveled herself.
"Nothing. Let's go."
"No, you can't just suddenly go psycho bitch then turn around and act like it didn't happen. I want to know what you meant."
Rachel shook her head. Turning her face upwards to look into Patton's kohl eyes, she cupped his cheeks gently with her hands and put on a soft smile. In a patronizing tone she stated, "Patton, I love you. I really, really do. You're my brother from another mother."
"Right. Well. Cut the crap, sis, and get to the point."
"Ok, fine, I didn't want to have to do this but you asked for it," Rachel cried out, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation, she reeled on the towering teen, "You've been barking at Miss Priss's heels since eighth grade trying to get her attention to no avail and now in less than a year you're going to be at Westpoint to start the military career your parents have been planning for you since Aunt Ruth popped you out seventeen years ago. I would like to be able to tell you to grow up, grow some balls, stop torturing the girl, and just tell her how you feel but I can't because this is one war you can't win!"
"Rachel, what…?" Patton murmured, obviously stunned by the outburst. He leaned forward against his jeep glaring at his friend in slightly miffed confusion.
"Look at who she has on her arm, Patton. Who she has had on her arm for the past three years. I mean, really, look at him. That pretty boy is heading for a glamorous and lucrative career in modeling or acting. He is exactly the kind of eye candy the heiress to a fortune 500 company throne should be wearing on her arm. The rich bitch's perfect accessory."
Patton shook his head, his jaw firm, mouth pulled taut and face twisted in a grimace, "Rachel, you don't know what…"
"But for the fun of it," the blonde interjected, bitingly, "Let's say a miracle happens – now this is a huge long shot, I'm talking a once in a googolplex type scenario – but let's just pretend an earth shattering miracle happens and she suddenly wakes up and realizes she's got a tool hanging off her arm and then let's say you stop acting like a jerk long enough for her to see what a really great guy you are. What then? She becomes the dutiful, modest wife of a military man?"
Patton was silent.
"You just have to face facts, bud," Rachel continued solemnly, "You're never going to have what it takes to satisfy Mr. Boss's little princess. So just stop…stop chasing after her…stop punishing her for rejecting you without even knowing how you feel…stop trying to force her to look at you, even if it's with hate…just stop."
For a moment they were both silent. Rachel was breathing shakily, her eyes on Patton as he eyed the ground. She felt numb. She hadn't meant to go that far, hadn't meant to say all that she had. She never kept secrets from him, even though he still tried to hide things from her, and their whole friendship they'd always been brutally honest with one another, but she'd just told him he wasn't good enough for the girl he'd been pining over nearly three years. Even though he already knew it, they weren't easy words to hear.
"I'm sorry," Rachel mumbled, "I shouldn't have…I'm sorry. I'm just mad is all…"
"What makes you so sure I want her?" he finally asked gruffly.
"Please," Rachel scoffed, a quaver in her voice, "Your boys may get such a kick out of watching you knock daddy's girl down a few pegs that they don't think twice about it but I know you better than that, Patton. Some guys give a girl flowers, you shove her to the ground and kick dirt in her face."
Another moment of silence. Patton sighed and turned to lean back against his jeep. He glared for a moment across the lot at Fanny. He could see the awkward way she folded her body against Ricky, the way he talked to his friends, arm wrapped around her as though she were nothing more than a prop. The way she smiled and it didn't reach her eyes, the way Ricky joked and everyone laughed but her. The way he whispered in her ear and she flushed, looked ashamed or embarrassed or uncertain.
"You're wrong. I don't want her," he muttered half-heartedly.
"Really?" Rachel pressed, unconvinced.
"Yes. Really."
"Then why is it that in the past three years you've never dated a girl seriously," Rachel challenged, "Take Laura Limpin, for instance. She was the perfect girlfriend – perfect for you anyway. She was pretty, sweet, and she kept you in line. You both had so many common interests too! Hiking, camping, paint ball. But you broke up with her after only a month. Why? Because you could have had something with her and that would mean giving up your dream girl."
Patton frowned and Rachel quirked a brow. She knew she had him there.
"Laura had a temper," he finally replied, "A violent temper."
"Oh, really," Rachel drawled, "So its just a coincidence that you ended things the same week the royal highness and her Fabio's relationship was on the rocks?"
Patton smirked, jeering, "I didn't know the perfect couple argued."
"Fine," Rachel snapped, "If you really don't want Fulbrite, then prove it."
Patton sniffed, shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his eyes to glare at the pavement. He asked nonchalant, "How'm I supposed to do that?"
"Leave them alone," Rachel answered simply, pulling herself out of the jeep and turning slightly to catch his eye, "For the whole day. Don't talk to them, make-fun of them, don't even look their direction. Just…leave them alone. If you can do that, then maybe…maybe…I'll accept that I'm wrong and that you have no feelings for her."
"Too easy," Patton replied, pulling away from the jeep and starting for school. Rachel shook her head at his back, retrieving her book bag and hurrying to follow behind.
Moving towards Fanny and Ricky, the couple and their surrounding friends paused to stare, almost expectantly, at the approaching football player. Braced as though for a coming storm. Rachel didn't miss the tension in her friend's shoulders, but Patton kept his eyes focused forward and breezed by without so much a glance. She smirked, hoping, maybe he would prove her wrong. However, she did miss the way a redhead's confused emerald eyes lingered on the retreating dark-haired boy.
-1-2-3-4-5-
Numbuh 676 sat in his private headquarters sipping at a root beer. Yesterday had been long. It had taken several hours to get basic power back online and then another two hours before global communication was up and running again. After that time, he was debriefed on the list of known and suspected Teen Ninjas and held a meeting with his top lieutenants to decide which sectors' missions were of top priority and which could be postponed to investigate the hacking. Assignments had to then be handed out and he personally delivered a good number of them.
Early morning, and he finally had a break.
A knock resounded from Numbuh 676's door and he sighed before calling, "Come in."
Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill entered. The ten-year-old tech-wizard looked worse for wear. Her once neatly tied pigtails were loose and coming undone, her bright hazel eyes sported dark circles, and her skin was sallow. Numbuh 676 imagined he didn't look much better. He settled back into his chair, taking another sip from his mug and watching her wearily as she saluted him then stood at attention.
"Numbuh 676, sir," she started, "I've come with the systems report. We have brought back online the sectors database and candy shipment…"
"Wayles," Numbuh 676 interrupted, causing Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill to falter stunned at finding her real name on the Soopreme Leader's tongue. He motioned to a nearby chair, "Have a seat."
"S…sir?"
"Sit," he urged. Uncertainly, the girl moved towards the chair and slowly settled into it. She eyed him suspiciously. He stood, walked towards his personal refrigerator and opened it, asking over his shoulder, "What flavor pop would you prefer?"
"Um…grape…if you have it?" Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill answered, expression puzzled. Numbuh 676 returned to his seat with the named beverage, handing a chilled can over. She cracked it open and tentatively lifted it to her mouth, eyes never leaving her leader.
"Always been a root beer kid myself," Numbuh 676 told her conversationally, taking a drawl from his mug, "Gotta have it on tap, though. Never from a can. Maybe in a bottle but can ruins the taste, if you ask me."
"Oh…um…yes. I agree. I've…always liked grape," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill stammered, "Sir?"
"Kota."
"What?"
"Call me Kota," Numbuh 676 said, sipping at his beverage again, "I don't feel like being a Numbuh right now."
"How many of those have you drank, sir…I mean…Kota," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill asked, concern edging her tone. The leader smiled, dark eyes lighting up with amusement.
"Too much…and not nearly enough."
"I see." Clearly, she didn't.
"Tell me something, Wayles," Numbuh 676 leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes locked with wavering amber.
"Um…sure…what is it, si…er…Kota."
"Why are you an operative? What made you want to join the Kids Next Door?"
"Oh," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill mouthed, taken aback by the question, "I don't know. I guess…well…it was my babysitter."
"Your babysitter?"
"Um…yeah. She always made me go to bed early," the confused operative continued, growing with confidence as she spoke, "Way before my bed time. So that she could have her boyfriend over and they'd watch television and…" she cringed at the memory, "Kiss on the couch." Numbuh 676 made a disgusted face, shaking his head sympathetically at his subordinate. She smiled suddenly, recalling a distant happy memory, "Then one day, at school, a substitute teacher, Miss Jucation, was torturing students with surprise pop quizzes on material we hadn't even covered yet. Numbuh 83 and 84…do you remember them?"
"Yes, I do." Numbuh 676 smiled fondly, "Numbuh 84 helped me with my yo-yo moves when I was a cadeet…he taught me how to do the 'Trapeze'."
"Yeah…they were great," Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill grinned, "Well…they saved the day, stopped that horrible substitute and her Faculty-4, and ended those evil pop quizzes. I asked them at school about it. They were pretty secretive at first but…eventually…after I explained about my babysitter they let slip about the KND. They told me that everywhere kids were rising up, fighting against oppressive adults and teenagers. They told me that if I had what it took that I could become an operative too, just like them."
Numbuh 676 nodded, relaxing back into his chair once more and taking another swig of his soda.
"Obviously, since you're here now," he stated candidly, "You had what it took."
"Kota," Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill said carefully, holding her can between both hands, "Is everything alright?"
Numbuh 676 sighed, letting his chin fall towards his chest, his eyes closed, "Yes…no…I'm not sure. Ever since the hacking…ever since listening to that list of fugitives…I…I've been thinking…questioning. What are we really fighting for? In a couple years, I'll be a teenager…like them. I wonder, will I think about betraying everything and everyone I fought for…like them? Turn fugitive…Teen Ninja…like them? Either way, I'll still be a teenager, an enemy to the KND. Even worse, eventually, I'll be an adult."
"But it's not about us, it was never about us," Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill cried, surprising the somber leader, "Sure, you and I only have a few years left before decommissioning but…but…my mom…she's…well, she's going to have a baby. Soon I'm going to have a little sister or brother, a lot of operatives have younger siblings. We have to think about them, too. They have their whole childhoods ahead of them. We're not just fighting for the here, for the now. We're fighting for the future."
Numbuh 676 shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He swished the root beer in his mug, watching the fizz twirl. He took a sip then nodded at his comrade.
"Yeah," he murmured, clearing his throat and straightening. He fixed his dark eyes on her hazel ones, taking an authoritative tone once more, "Well, Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill, I suppose we've put our duties off long enough. You had a report for me…?"
"Oh…um…yeah…Ko…oh…uh…sir," she stuttered, setting her cup down on the arm of her chair and standing once more at attention, "Uh…as I was saying, I've gotten a number of systems back online and reinforced the K.A.N.-O-S.O.U.P. I've also been following the hacker's trail, as you asked, and he was kind of all over the place, but after careful analysis, I found that one place in particular seemed to be of interest to him. Sector V's archived missions."
Numbuh 676 brow rose at that.
"Sector V is newly formed," he pointed out, "They haven't had any missions."
"Not that Sector V," Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill calmly explained, "The original Sector V. And it gets stranger."
"How so?"
"Well, the hacker…he accessed a few mission logs but kept going back to one mission several times," she went on, "Their last mission, to be precise."
Numbuh 676 placed his mug down, folding his arms over his chest and wrinkling his forehead, mulling over what he'd just learned. He inquired, "Is there anything unusual about the last mission?"
"No, sir. Not really. Well…well…no."
"What is it, Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill?"
"It's nothing. Really," she persisted then rolling her eyes, "The mission was just routine information gathering on something codenamed GANDER which there's not really a lot of data on in the archives. All I could find was that it was later classified as not hugely important."
"So what is the problem?"
Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill shuffled from foot to foot, "There was a gap…in the mission logs, about three days wide…but that was it. And it's probably nothing. Most likely there was nothing to log. Like I said, GANDER was apparently a waste of time."
"Right," Numbuh 676 muttered, rubbing his hands over his face, "I guess…keep searching and keep bringing systems back up. And…uh…get someone to pull whatever information they can find on this GANDER thing for me. Anything that even mentions GANDER I want on my desk by twenty-hundred hours."
"Yes, sir. Anything else?"
"No, that'll be all. Dismissed." Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill turned to leave, pausing when Numbuh 676 called, "Uh…Wayles? About our conversation here…"
"I'll take it with me to my decommissioning," she assured the young leader, shooting him a gentle smile before slipping from the room.
Numbuh 676 plucked his mug of root beer up in a hand, taking a sip, as he wandered towards his window. With a tired expression, he looked out at the black void of space and the glistening blue orb that was Earth.
…for the future.
-5-4-3-2-1-
As Hoagie parked his truck in front of Willem High School, he looked to his brother with a forced smile. Tommy sat arms crossed, staring contemptuously out the passenger window, Sonya and Lee sitting uncomfortably side-by-side, silent the whole drive. The brothers hadn't spoken since the ride home after school the day before. Because of the tension, Hoagie had decided to postpone the rocket launcher test, dropping the other teenagers off at their respective homes, save for Leo who insisted he could cheer up a less than enthused Tommy. Leo ended up taking the bus home an hour later.
"Hey…uh…Tommy," Hoagie started, his brother not bothering to turn round, he took a deep breath, "Today should be better. You'll...um… know where your classes are and who to…er…avoid."
Wordlessly, Tommy tossed the truck door open and hopped out of the vehicle, storming towards the school. Heart sinking, Hoagie lowered his eyes, tightening his hands, which rested on his lap, into fists. Lee nodded a 'farewell' to the older boy as he slid out and Sonya thrust her arms around Hoagie's neck in a smothering embrace.
"Thanks for the ride," she murmured in his ear, before following Lee out of the vehicle. The two rushed to catch their friend.
Hoagie drummed the steering wheel a few times before exiting his truck and slamming the door shut in frustration. A few of his nearby peers eyed him and whispered amongst each other, drawing a blush to his pale cheeks. He shouldered his pack, gripping it with one hand, and trudged into the school. Eyes never leaving the ground, he walked the path he knew by heart to the AV room, looking forward to the peace he always found there.
"…fixed the cameras," Nick was saying to Arthur as Hoagie walked into his school sanctuary, startling him from his daze. The two boys stopped, turning to glance the newcomer.
After a brief period of confusion, Hoagie felt a groan coming on when he realized the media prodigy was probably there about the cameras that Whistler had volunteered to fix. His frustration at having to solve this new problem was slightly offset by the satisfaction he felt that the new boy, who could explain things to Arthur and romance Abigail Lincoln, had failed at a simple task.
"Oh man," Hoagie greeted, "Nick, I'm so sorry. I know I was supposed to fix those cameras…but the kid, he begged…he seemed sure he knew what he was doing but I'll go take care of them right now…"
"What are you talking about, Gilligan?" Nick demanded and Hoagie faltered.
"Aren't you here because Whistler couldn't fix those cameras?" he questioned.
"Couldn't fix the cameras?" Nick let roar a gregarious laugh as Hoagie took a harrowing breath, "If by couldn't fix you mean made better than brand new, then yeah, sure, he couldn't fix the cameras."
"If they're fixed, then why are you here?" Hoagie questioned, more heatedly than he'd intended.
"What do you think I'm here for? To thank Whistler," Nick exclaimed. The reply stung. Nick never came to personally thank Hoagie in all the years he'd been fixing things in the media room, "And maybe see if he could take a look at some of our audio equipment."
"What's wrong with the audio equipment? I could take care of it," Hoagie offered, "I mean, that guy might not…"
"No," Nick cut him off, "I'd really rather have Whistler look at it," the newscaster turned his attention back to Arthur, "Let him know I came by when he gets in."
"Sure thing," Arthur piped. Hoagie moved aside as Nick bustled out, eyes downcast once more. He looked up only when a hand touched his shoulder, meeting Arthur's cerulean eyes, "You got to admit, it's nice having another handyman around. No more forfeiting lunches."
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever," Hoagie muttered, throwing his bag on a table, "I'm going to start working on that inventory project. Where's the shipment?"
Arthur bit his lower lip, glancing away. Hoagie narrowed his eyes at his friend.
"What?"
"Well…" Arthur cleared his throat, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, "Whistler came in after school yesterday…"
"No."
"…and put the shipment away."
"He doesn't know how the inventory system works," Hoagie cried out in disgust, rushing to the back in anticipation of having to re-sort everything.
"He…figured it out," Arthur spoke up, causing the other boy to halt dead in his tracks.
"Of course. Why not."
Tentatively, Arthur added, "He even made a few…tweaks."
"He what?" Hoagie screeched, reeling on his friend, eyes alit with fire, "My inventory system was perfect. Flawless. What could he possible have 'tweaked'?"
"Well, he shifted a few things around and altered the units in the database," Arthur sheepishly admitted, "It actually makes more sense than…never mind."
"Then what? Then my system? Go ahead. Say it, Arthur. His changes make more sense than what I had," Hoagie exploded, "The guy fixes cameras better than me, he inventories better than me, he talks to girls better than me. I bet he could be a better brother than me! Is there anything this guy can't do?"
Hoagie kicked the leg of the table in frustration only to find himself hopping on one foot. Arthur flinched inwardly, obvious confusion written across his features.
"Dammit, the guy probably kicks tables better than me too," Hoagie shouted in pain.
The door to the AV room opened then and, in Hoagie's eyes, the devil appeared.
"What is all this shouting about?" Whistler questioned, looking around the room in bewilderment.
"You," Hoagie growled, causing the younger boy to coil back with wide-eyes.
Abigail peeked curiously into the room and the injured boy felt his anger suddenly dissipate, face heating up in embarrassment.
"Wow, what is all the commotion?" she queried, surveying the room with a bemused expression. Her eyes fixed on Hoagie, still nursing his hurt toe, and smirked, taunting, "Did they push back the release date on the new Zelda game, Junior?"
"Uh…er…no," Hoagie stammered, eyeing the ground and rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
Whistler glanced strangely between the older boy and his new friend. He cleared his throat and announced, "I came here to grab a few cables. Abigail's computer in the journalism room isn't connected to the network."
"So you're going to set it up for her. Figures," Hoagie muttered bitterly beneath his breath.
"Is everything…okay?" Whistler questioned Hoagie quietly. Abigail had crossed her arms, looking up at the boys through thick lashes.
"Uh…Nick came by," Arthur spoke up.
"Oh…um…how are the cameras running?" the sophomore asked disinterestedly, hesitantly making his way towards the storage cabinets to gather the wires he would need.
"Better than brand new," Hoagie muttered, plopping into a chair and scowling at his hands. Of course the kid would walk in mid-rant with Abigail. As if the nerd king's life wasn't sucking enough now Abby would have another reason to hate him.
"Really? That's good, I suppose," Whistler replied, sheepish, "I'm sure it wasn't half as good as anything you could have done."
"Yeah. Whatever."
Hoagie suddenly noticed the extra pack on Whistler's shoulder. He glanced at Abigail, book bag-less and his frown deepened. So now the little uppity sophomore was carrying her books for her. Soon they'd be going out for ice cream socials and she'd be wearing his pin. That would be just perfect.
"Hey, Hoagie," a low whisper startled the self-deprecating boy from his mental tired. Blue eyes met yellow-tinted glasses.
"What?" Hoagie hissed, then bit his inner cheek and lightened his tone, he muttered, "What do you want, Whistler?"
Whistler fidgeted with the cables in his hands, glancing to Abigail nervously. She stood in the doorway chatting with a flustered Arthur. The blond boy had his eyes on the tiled floor and was wringing his hands as he spoke. He'd never been very good at talking to girls. Hoagie rolled his eyes. He hoped he wouldn't be legally responsible for his actions if the sophomore asked for relationship advice.
"I'm not entirely certain about setting up the network…"
"And you want me to instruct you on how to do it so you can impress the girl," Hoagie surmised, shaking his head in frustration, "Fine, whatever. Let me get a pen and paper and…"
"Impress the girl?" Whistler repeated dumbly, furrowing his brow, "Why would I want to…?"
"Uh…because you like her," Hoagie pointed out haughtily as he retrieved a notepad from his tote, "Though I got news for you, you're way out of her league. I mean, you're a sophomore, working on geek status. She's a junior, editor of the newspaper, one of the most popular girls in school. Her ex-boyfriend, Maurice, was a college student, a basketball star, graduated class valedictorian, and was voted most likely to succeed. Just saying, you got no chance, buddy."
"What about you?" Whistler questioned.
"What about me?"
"If I'm out of her league…what are you?"
Hoagie shifted uncomfortably in his chair glancing to the girl in the doorway.
"I'm…not interested," he hesitantly informed the nosy sophomore. Two brows shot up to hide under dreadlocks then immediately fell back into place. Hoagie continued nonchalant, "Look, I'm only telling you this as a warning. I don't really want to see you get hurt. Some of the kids at this school, they don't like to see our kind stepping out of boundaries, you know? Nerds don't follow around the social elite without repercussion."
"Is that why you're not interested?" Whistler pressed. Hoagie gave the boy a confused look. He wondered, was the boy trying to assess the competition?
"No. I'm just…not interested," he reiterated. Whistler shuffled, lowering his eyes and seeming uncertain of something. Hoagie asked, "Do you want the instructions or not?"
"Erm…no," Whistler murmured, "I was actually hoping…thinking…maybe you could come and show me." Hoagie raised a brow at that.
"What?"
"Well…I…uh…" Whistler shifted his weight, and brought his blue eyes up to the older boy once more, "I learn better when someone is showing me than from directions."
"Let me get this straight," Hoagie seethed, "You can fix cameras better than brand new but you can't set up a network and you can't follow simple instructions?"
Why was everyone falling for this guy's charms?
"Well…my dad showed me how…to…with cameras…and things like that…before he…" Whistler mumbled, wincing. He cleared his throat and shook his head, "Never mind. I'll just tell Abby I can't do it. Sorry."
The pudgy boy started to shuffle away and Hoagie closed his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation. He knew he was going to hate himself for this.
"Wait," he called despairingly. Whistler paused, glancing back, "Fine. I'll show you."
A wide grin spread across the younger boy's face but beside him Abigail looked skeptical. Hoagie grabbed his tote and followed the two teens out the door. Abby whispered something in Whistler's ear, eyeing Hoagie over her shoulder and the nerd king rolled his eyes. Sometimes he hated being a nice guy.
AN: It had occurred to me when writing this that Patton and Rachel haven't had much "screen" time despite their characters being as important as Fanny's. So far she's only gotten more attention however because, well, she's Kuki's friend. Anyhoo...a few things were revealed this chappie. Exciting, I think. I"m exhausted and need bed but I really wanted to get this up A S A now. Okie, I didn't like this chapter, at least, I don't right now but that's probably because I'm passing out as I write this. I'm sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes or anything doesn't make sense. Shouldn't proof when I'm this tired.
Oh well. Why am I still talking? See ya' next time.