pluA/N: Let's start with the formalities: I do not own Archer or any of the presented characters…except the bad guys. I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review!
Lana's Baby Daddy
ISIS employees were gathered around the boss' office for a weekly meeting. They were a small spy agency, and more often than several would like to count, a very ridiculed one. Their recurring incompetence over the years drove their boss—or so she'd daily justify—Malory Archer, to drinking. The sixty-eight-year old loved her alcohol so, she had a bar installed within her private office, but just because she installed an office bar by no means insisted she had a drinking problem. What's wrong with having a happy hour two, three, four times a day?
At the moment, Malory was missing, the top leader of ISIS and, therefore, the ISIS meetings. Her employees presumed she'd come shortly (phrasing); she liked being fashionably late and secretly took a thrill bashing a projected insecurity or two at an employee when she did walk in. She would never admit it. She hated her team, without question, but shaking up the over-confident, half-witted, zestful bastards gave her joy. While waiting, one man permitted himself to browse Malory's bar, taking account for the fair options set, which his boss made clear time and time again for no one else to touch: bourbon, rum, whiskey, carbonated water, bottled water, tequila, and Mallory's classic favorite, scotch—that she drank faithfully.
"What the shit—no vodka?" he processed, taking a slow deep breath, and closed his eyes. Okay. He would decide between the limited choices that were there.
Her bar was as incompetent as most of her goddamn staff.
"Fine," he settled down, collecting a stout crystal glass, "I'll do a bourbon—" he began to pour; the substance trickled, "with a little lemon, no," he crookedly smiled and squeezed the fruit again, "a lot of lemon. Aw, what the hell." he splashed a dash of whiskey in with it.
"Really, Archer?" a blonde headed man with a clean shaved face strolled I, or as Archer commonly joked—despite the accident being entirely his fault—rolled in, "Drinking? At nine A.M.?"
The co-worker's slate eyes went from a place of zen into a raging sea when he heard the others' critique, "Yes, Ray! Yes, I am drinking at nine A.M.!" I just got back from a shithole mission at two A.M. in the shithole morning and would like a little bourbon, a lot of lemon, a little whiskey, and—" Archer contributed another liquid into his crystal tumbler, "and a bunch of goddamn rum to take off my edge!"
Ray blinked; his posture was perfectly composed, sitting in his powered wheelchair, "And good morning to you, too, Archer." he sighed, and he rolled on, taking a usual sitting place he liked for Malory Archer's meetings.
Yes, Archer. That was her son—Agent Sterling Malory Archer. He was tall, proficient in combat, and weaponry, attractive, with crystal blue eyes and a proud straight nose—to match the equal complacency he carried himself with on a day to day basis.
"Because I'm the only spy that could handle last night's mission! That's why I went alone!" the man shouted at a co-worker, who questioned his choice to go unaccompanied on a reckless task in the Pacific.
"You just spent a lot of money last night—that's why I'm asking!" a slightly older man angrily whispered, his stubby adjusting digits the sliding rim on his glasses.
"Is the company budget all you care about?!"
"Yes! Being the company's hired accountant!" the opposite man was about to erupt.
"Fine, Cyril," Archer calmed and sipped his drink, "I'll make a confession: I paid for a hotel room and two Korean women last night."
Cyril Figgis' eyes soared, "A hotel?! Hookers?! On the company credit card?!"
Archer's baby blue eyes filled with mirth, chuckling, "No, not hookers! I met them in the club while incognito on the mission." The casual agent drank half his drink, "Oh," he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "and by the way," Archer reached for a small silver card he had in his suit's pocket, "This is yours."
"What is—" Cyril recognized his credit card number on the item he held and frowned, "How did you—Damn it, Archer!"
The man continued to laugh, "Cyril, I've got to admit, you are the easiest man to pick-pocket!"
"I have just about had it with you! I swear to God!"
"Thanks for leaving me behind last night, dumbass!" a new voice shouted, a woman, enraged as she joined the room.
Archer and Cyril had each other by the throats as she walked in.
"Lana," the superficial agent's entire demeanor changed, tender eyed, "look, I can explain—"
"How can you explain leaving me on top of the goddamn ISIS building after coming back from the closest goddamn bathroom after the earth's quickest goddamn restroom break—" she paused, and Archer opened his mouth to answer, having an answer for everything, "the second you see me in the goddamn company jet then take off?!" she snatched the man's alcohol and threw it in the trashcan at her heel, shattering the glass.
Everyone talking ceased, all eyes turning to Archer. Lana Kane was the only agent he knew—the only person he knew—that could contend with his own temper. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing at times.
"Uh…"Archer's blues shifted among the room before finally addressing Lana's blazing green eyes, "Is this the pregnancy talking right now or…"
"Archer!"
"You owe me another drink." he tapped her arm, "Come with me. I'll show you how to make it—with ice this time."
Lana grabbed the moron by the throat.
"God—grrh—dammit, La—"Archer gagged, glaring behind as she gripped him with both palms, "Your giant—grrh—ga—preg—hands—"
"Archer, I swear to God, I'm gonna—" she strengthened her hold, like a freaking constrictor.
"Good God!" an authoritative tone interjected, and the entertained crowd parted; a scotch was in the well-dressed woman's hand—with ice, "If you're going to kill him after partnering last night, at least give me the scientists' oceanic microchip first!" the silver maned woman scowled her berry red lips.
Lana released Archer, waiting for her assigned partner to deliver the chip to their boss. Malory Archer impatiently patted her white heel.
The male agent patted his suit jacket's pockets, pants, and for some odd reason, his flank; he came up empty, "Damn. I had it this morning."
Malory glared icily at her son as her employees scoffed and groaned about the office. That was why she drank!
-OOO-O-OOO-
"I cannot believe you." Lana began as she and Archer sat in the company break room.
"I know." Archer sipped fresh bourbon, "I can go all day! I have before, you know." He threw the entire glass down like a small shot.
"Not your drinking, bone-head. I'm talking about—"
"Okay, Lana, Lana. I'm going to stop you right there." he patted her mocha brown hand, "You've got to stop with the name-calling and cursing; it's bad for the baby."
Lana stared, agitated; the man's latest remark was a battle she'd save with him for another day—being too big of an ass already on that one, "I cannot believe you lost—"
"I did not lose the microchip, alright? I got a call from Woodhouse." his butler, "He found the chip thirty minutes ago—floating in the OJ glass from breakfast!"
"How in the hell—"
"I know right?!" Archer choked on his terse giggles, "Thank God I wasn't too in the mood for OJ…Simpson—" Lana considered strangling him again, "Who knows how long it would have taken for it to come out?" the man laughed, lines creased along his eyes, "You-heh! You think Mother would've wanted it so bad then? Heheheeehe!"
"Why? Why do I even talk to you?" Lana swung her head, ashamed.
"She asked sarcastically—knowing because it's what he does to her cooch!" a blunt woman with bright blonde hair in a high bun abruptly answered, sticking coins into the vending machine, craving a bearclaw.
"Pam, don't be ridiculous." Archer frowned, "Lana's too fat for me to screw!" he smirked, hearing the pregnant woman's long gasp beside him.
The co-worker's bearclaw plopped into the bottom of the machine, and Pam reclaimed her former stance, "What?" she twitched her nose, "Her baby belly's only the size of a medicine ball, and hell, you did me for all those—"
"Pam!" he made her swear she'd never speak a word.
Pam was overweight but had likeable appeal—not to mention she was a bear in the bedroom: probably from all the bearclaws!
"Wait, Pam. Do you want to repeat that?" Lana baited; she already knew. Pam had told her—
or was it Ray? She just enjoyed seeing Archer shake and bubble like an overworked pop.
"I said—" Pam initiated a grin.
"PAM!"
"Oh, god. You're still drinking?" a new woman asked, playing with a neon paperclip amid her hand.
"Why do you all care what I'm doing? Lana's the one that's pregnant!" his theory befuddled them, and Cheryl Tunt was already an…unstable mind.
"Yeah. How are you feeling today, dear?"
"Wha—" Archer shifted in his sear, "and where the hell did you come from?!"
"I've been here the entire time."Ray glared, debonair while drinking hot bold coffee at Lana's opposite side.
"I'm fine, Ray, thanks. Morning sickness is finally slowing down."
"Oh, honestly, Lana! Stop milking it!"
Everyone glared at Archer.
"Really? Are we… not gonna touch that?" Pam implied, all winces floating to her.
"My sweater dresses are starting to get a bit too tight, though."
"I've noticed." Archer smiled, staring at Lana's larger breasts, sampling his bourbon.
"I hate you." his ex-girlfriend spoke, only loud enough for his ears to hear.
"Are they seriously not banging each other anymore?" Cheryl whispered to Pam.
"Look at Lana and look at Mr. Archer; it's like bang math!" Pam chomped a huge bite on her bear claw.
"Okay, baby girl, look. It's been four months. Do you want to tell us girls and me—and Archer, I guess, who the lovechild's dad is?" Ray confronted, holding the woman's hand.
Lana and the others noticed Cyril's salt and pepper waves as he peeked into the room, hiding at the doorframe. Lana and Cyril dated right before she found out she was pregnant. The baby wasn't his, and Cyril's been bitter, and a bit stalkerish, ever since.
"Lana," Archer nodded, "if Cyril really is the dad, I swear to you," the spy agent reached in his jacket, startling everyone, pulling out a Walther PPK gun, "just say the word, and I'll take him out." he was serious, ready, glaring down the breakroom's door, "I've buried a fair share of bodies."
"Dear, god. Why am I not surprised?" Ray clenched his teeth.
"Archer, stop." Lana touched his forearm, "Cyril really isn't the father."
"Damn it!" both Archer and Cyril shouted, one settling down, the other bypassing the door.
"So…one nightstand…or—" Pam sang, highly uncomfortable.
"Oh, my god—a donor!" Lana confessed, "My baby's father is a sperm donor!"
"What?" the group retorted.
"Ew!" Cheryl winced; her face became a living Picasso.
"A sperm donor? Lana," Ray scoffed, "You are too hot for that!"
"Seriously, Lana, that is literally the fourth saddest thing I've heard in the last six months." Archer agreed, nipping his bourbon mix's remainder, eyes shut, all staring, "The third was you telling me you hadn't sex in fourteen months."
"Archer!" she glared.
"And….that was right before you banged her, right?" Pam saw the ex-couple's daggers, "Or not?"
"Well," Ray sighed, "sperm donor or not, I'm an uncle, and sperm donor or not—"
"You have about three more times to say the words 'sperm donor' to me, and then, I'm gonna tie that strawberry-ass tie around your strawberrier-ass neck and choke you senseless into an early grave!"
"Oh, Lana…"Cheryl fanned herself as her eyes rolled back.
"Are you seriously getting turned on by that?" Pam scowled.
Cheryl clawed her hand and purred like a kitten.
Lana blinked, "I am so sorry, Ray. I didn't mean a word I just said. It's the stress and pregnancy talking—I swear."
"I know it is, darlin'." the close friend brought the steamed coffee to his lips; a slurp, and slanted his view, "It's the only reason I didn't bitch slap you just now."
A whistle blew through Pam's lips.
"I mean, you didn't have to go spend all that money on a sperm donor," Archer broke their pause, pondering aloud, and swirled the ice in his empty glass, "I would've boned you for free."
"No." Lana's gaze thinned the longer she dragged her answer, "This way, I still have my dignity!"
The man's coal brow lined with his intrigued slate orb, "Do you really?"
Lana slapped him to the ground.
"God, I love this pregnancy!" Ray smirked while his head wavered in a dance.
Cheryl gasped excitedly and leaned down at Lana, "Me next—PLEASE!"
"You realize your fetish with pain is a real problem, right?" Pam twisted a smile at the anticipating redhead, and Lana pushed the deranged woman away.
"He's out cold." Ray curved a grin, and Archer's slobber continued to pool over the pewter gray tile.
"PLEASE!"
"Shut up, Little Red Hyper-puss! So, honey," Ray twisted, back toward his favorite co-worker, because she was the most sane, "you spoke earlier about your dresses getting too tight. Let's have a girl's day out. I'm taking you shopping."
"Weeee!" Cheryl hopped up and down, frantically clapping.
"Lana! I'm taking Lana shopping!" the irritated friend's orbs protruded wide, "You're rich enough to shop everyday on your own for the next three hundred years."
"Mm." Cheryl squinted one eye at the ceiling, estimating his reasoning, "Actually, I'd say more about five hundred."
"Goddammi—"
"Ray," Lana held the man's arm, "I'm all in. When do we go?"
He looked across the break room: at a nosy Cheryl, munching Pam, and the dazed prick of an agent on the floor, and declared, "God knows I wish we could leave this psych-house right now." Sorrowful, he reopened his gaze, more realistic, "How about tomorrow—after a good night's sleep?"
"Love to. Thank you, Ray."
"Eeek! We're going shopping!" Cheryl shrieked and clapped as Pam plugged her nearest ear, her half-eaten bearclaw firm in her other hand.
Archer regained consciousness, struggling in groans against the cold tile, "Guh…rrr…" his vision centered, right on his toppled tumbler and melting ice, "God, what a night." his mind went blank, trying to recall, "Am I still in the Pacific or Korea?"
"Welcome back." Lana's voice greeted above the chair legs.
"Great, I'm in hell." Archer blew a loaded breath and stumbled to a stand, clenching his reddened cheek, "What did I miss?" but that boyish smirk of his stayed intact, "Before I got plastered by Lana's giant man-hand?"
Lana rose her foot, about to boot-stomp Archer's black leather shoe, "Honey, don't." Ray comforted her angered shoulders, "They're Valentino."
Lana relented and drank her juice.
"Guess what?" Cheryl sang, sliding to Archer.
"Don't know, crazy!" he scoffed then turned, patience lost, "Just tell me."
"DON'T!" Lana and Ray warned.
Archer gave Cheryl a puzzled look as she swerved past him and kneeled down to Lana in a whisper, "Slap me if you mean it." a devilish smile dressed her taffy gloss lips.
Lana silently consulted with Ray, "Do it, sunshine. That bastard is not ruining my weekend."
POW! The redhead collapsed.
"Ohhh…"she laid over the tiles in afterglow, grazing a hand over her blush hot cheek—which might develop a mark, "Thank you…"
"Yep." Pam nodded, "She has a problem."
OOO-O-OOO
Malory sat at her desk with her legs crossed, her sharp oceans on the digital clock set on her desk: ten minutes to five. Thank God! She swigged her scotch. Saturday couldn't get there fast enough.
A knock beat her door, "I swear to God, if anyone's dead or shot, handle it yourselves!"
Cheryl and Pam peeked through the door.
"Wha—Even if that isn't the case, that doesn't mean 'come in'!"
"We have a question to ask ya." Pam stated, shutting the door.
"No raise negotiations until after Christmas!"
"Jesus, is that all you think we want?" Cheryl blinked.
"Tu!" Malory simply spat and cleansed her palette with scotch.
Pam's features turned, "We were just comin' to ask you if you wanted to come with me, Cheryl, Ray and Lana tomorrow to go shopping."
"And since Lana's carrying that little life-sucker all this time and crushing her organs, she's probably going to get hungry, we'll go out to lunch, too!" Cheryl added, shedding no remorse.
Their boss stared at the ditzy woman then focused on her second employee, "I spend enough time avoiding all you people during the week! And NOW you expect me to see you on a sixth day—by choice? For God's sake, I'm your boss, not a pastor!" she swallowed her remaining alcohol, tilting back, sad to find it empty. But she kept its bottle close, filling it again to the tumbler's rim.
"Or is she?" Cheryl whispered.
"What church do you go to?" Pam furrowed her brows.
"I think I took my special pot gummy bears that day."
"Okay, we're losing ground." Pam shook, sticking to the point, "Are you coming or what?"
Cheryl squawked, "Ha, phrasing!"
Malory eyed the blonde worker plainly, "And after that," she glared slowly, painfully, "no."
Seven minutes.
"Come on, Mrs. Archer. We're having a girl's day out for Lana. Show your support—"
"Yeah! She's getting all fat and stressed and tired..." Cheryl listed with a disturbingly pleased smile.
"And still hot as fuc-"
"Does professionalism mean ANYTHING to you people?!" their boss shouted at Pam then dropped four ice cubes into her third round of scotch.
Come on, six minutes.
"And does anyone know yet who the baby's father is?" Malory leaned her head against her cushioned leather chair, "I mean, really! She swilled her glass, "Lana's usually so responsible!" the parent eyed her idiot secretary and resource manager, wondering, what she wished, was the unthinkable, "Are you two sure it isn't Sterling's baby?"
Pam swung her head, "Positive. Lana said she used a sperm donor."
"A- a sperm donor?!"
"I know right?" Cheryl's agreeing blue orbs shined, "Isn't it gross?"
"Quite! All the responsibility and none of the fun!" the older woman judged, curls wrinkled along her lips, and scotch spilled on her skirt."
"Okay. So that's no on joining the fun?" Pam wanted to clarify.
"Sounds to me the fun's already been dismissed-long before you two showed up!"
The women shot bitter scowls, "Enjoy your weekend, Mrs. Archer." Pam ended, and she and Cheryl headed for the door.
Archer stepped aside as they opened his mother's door, "Paging Dr. Crazy and Nurse Bearclaw."
"Ah, eat a dick-jackass!" Pam retorted as Archer slammed the door.
Malory quivered. Five more minutes!
"Mother, did you ask Ron if I could borrow one of the Cadillacs this weekend?" he barged over to her bar, eager to create the bourbon mix he concocted that morning.
"Why on Earth would you need a cadillac?" the man put up an index finger, swigging down a whole bottle of bourbon, "Sterling!"
"What-a girl I met has a thing for men with-" Archer frowned, "Damn it!" lemon juice sprang into his eye.
"Sterling, did you get the microchip from Woodhouse during your lunchbreak?"
"Mother, we've got three minutes, okay? The last thing I want to do is talk about work like this right before the weekend!"
The fiesty woman pounded her fist onto her polished cherry desk, "I want the damned chip, Sterling! It's an important technology for the C.I.A.! ISIS is being compensated for its retrieval!"
"And it's currently drying from being drowned in its will in a six hour OJ facial, Mother!" Archer snapped a bottle top at the bar, noted a bottle top he didn't own, pouring some rum, a lot of rum, into his tumbler, "So, give it a day or two, and I'll drop the microchip off at your place this weekend."
"I don't want you or anyone else dropping off anything at my place this weekend or any weeknight!"
"Well, why not?"
"Because I hate you people, and Ron and I run around buck-naked whenever we please!"
"God, I did not need that picture."
"Sterling!"
"I'll drop off the damn chip in your damn mailbox tomorrow! Then, I'll call you, on my phone, for you to put on some clothes to go get your damn microchip out of your own damn mailbox to give to the damn C.I.A.!" the son screamed, heaving until he drank his mix.
"I'm glad we came to an agreement." the woman's blue eyes beamed as her tense posture calmed.
"Ugh."Archer swallowed more alcohol, and Malory casually sipped hers; they sighed, "Are we done here?" he was ready to go.
"No. I need you to take the company's Black Card."
"You mean," Archer reached into his pocket, "this company Black card?"
"You bastard!"
"Who had the bastard?" he mischievously grinned, trying to quiet his giggles.
"When did you get that?!"
"Uh, an hour ago, I guess-When you called me and said something about wanting to speak to me later? Hah! About the card, apparently."
"And the microchip!"
"Which is drying."Malory heaved, her blood pressure skyrocketing, "Now, why do I need the card, Mother?"
"Lana and the other bobbleheads around here are going shopping for her tomorrow."
Archer blinked, "And..."
"For the love of-" Malory shut her eyes and slowly-slowly, slowly-breathed out her nose, "And," she reopened her sight, "I need to do something nice for her."
"Wow, imagine how much of a better person I'd be if you were like that during my childhood, Mother."
The man's mother glared, continuing on: her weekend had already started, and the fool that plummeted out of her uterus an odd thirty-something years ago was blocking her only exit, "Get her something! Dear God, what world have we entered when I've decided to trust your judgment?"
Archer's baby blues traveled Malory's desk, windows, lamps, and chairs, "Uh..the one we live in?"
"Out!"
A/N: This will be a short story. I'll post the next chapter when possible. Let me know what you guys thought of the first chapter! And thanks for reading.