Summary: The new Head Pixie takes a curious interest in a lowly cubicle worker who wandered into a party. Reedfilter Rules AU.

Characters: Reedfilter Rules!H.P., Reedfilter Rules!Sanderson

Rating: T

Prerequisites: None

A/N: The title for this piece is quite literal: It's just a silly idea I had. This is actually one of the very first prompts I dwelt on, inspired by the fact that in "Fairy Idol", the Fairy media captioned a video shot of H.P. as "Sanderson's friend."

In this one-shot, they're not related and both grew up in a well-established Pixie society. So it's AU from my other works, but not necessarily AU from the show if you've been treating my pixie headcanons as AUs anyway. Consider it a direction I may have gone if I hadn't stumbled across the Wolbachia bacteria and the way it causes asexual reproduction among insects instead.

Posted: August 12, 2016

83. Only An Idea (Alternate universe; pre-series)

Year of Love; Winter of the Nurturing Cougar

Oh, smoof- the hungover kid was waking up. Fergus stopped the microwave before it could beep, abandoned his oatmeal, and raced back to the table. In a very professional way, obviously, that most definitely did not involve knocking a folding chair over with his wing. He managed to seat himself perfectly still on a silver barstool, not a stitch of his gray suit out of place. He was sipping his coffee and examining the stocks page of a newspaper from five days ago by the time the smaller pixie sat up on the white couch, rubbing his uncovered eyes.

Stupid punk, wandering up to the C-level without an invitation. A quick glance into field-sight revealed that he had only twenty-five lines connecting him to the energy field, and no magical scabs indicating he'd ever given any away to his offspring. Subtract the three his own father had planted in him at birth… Multiply that by… He couldn't have even been 250,000 years old, or if he was, he was just entering that phase. That made him younger than most of the employees at Pixies Incorporated. Younger, and smaller. Possibly he was still an intern. His hair was flipped up at the front in a double cowlick, although it drooped more now than it had at last night's party after this long without gel. Their gazes – lavender-gray and stunning ocean turquoise – locked for a quarter of a wingbeat before the younger one's darted away.

Nailed it.

Whoever had trained this intern had done a good job. He sized up his situation quietly with his hands in his lap, turning his head, and only voiced his question once he was sure he didn't know the answer.

"Is that the stocks page of a newspaper from five days ago?"

"You're in the- What? Oh. Er, yes, I see it is. Sharp eyes."

The pixie looked on curiously. "What good is it now? I usually just throw mine out."

Ignoring him, Fergus folded the paper up and pushed it to the other side of the table. He allowed his fingertips to rest on it a moment longer. "Do you know where you are, and what you did?"

He toyed with the edge of his purple blanket. "I must admit, not entirely. That was a serious party last night. Was it the 'A' day in F.L.A.R.G.?"

"Close. That was a typical rave here at Pixies Inc. You got wasted on orange cream soda and chocolate wafer bars. I hope you're grateful to be over age of majority, so no one will press direct charges for your being sugarloaded. Here." Fergus tore off a strip of newspaper. "Do you chew? It's good for anxiety. But chew it; don't swallow, remember. The spittoon's on your left."

The pixie rubbed the back of his head before sticking the clump of paper in his mouth. "Thank you. I do feel rather slammed. And just… weird. Where am I, and who are you?"

"The C-level break room. Floor 18 of Headquarters. You really don't remember what happened?" That might be for the best.

"Mm… Nope. Or at least, not much of it. I think I heard that there was music up here and came wandering up to listen. I must have grabbed some cookies and a soda and gotten carried away. I humbly request the forgiveness of whoever was in charge. It won't happen again."

Fergus got up to get the other coffee mug he'd left on the counter beside the machine. If coffees and hangovers didn't go together, he and the random pixie would find out experimentally. "Hm. I seem to remember that you did like the fairyoke. I recognize the two peaks in your hair."

The unfamiliar pixie peeked beneath his blanket, then hissed through his teeth. "Did I fall asleep with a random damsel? That's not like me at all."

"Yes, if 'Did I-'"

"Oh my dust, I'm fired. How drunk was I? My match is going to wring my neck when she finds out. I could lose my wings for this. Oh my dust, this is so wrong."

Fergus snapped the intern's mouth closed with his glare alone. "I wasn't finished. Don't interrupt me, whelp. As I was saying, 'Yes, if Did I fall asleep with a damsel' equates to 'Was I so sugarloaded that I decided to strip naked when I went to the restroom and then pass out'. Why you chose to do that is your own business. To the best of my knowledge, you didn't sleep with any damsels, no. I ran across you while I was cleaning this morning, so I brought you out here and-"

"That means you saw me naked." He pressed both hands over his face. "Tell me my dome wasn't unhinged, at least."

He waited until the pixie had spat the chewed paste of paper from his mouth, then offered him the mug. "Would you let me finish? Tch. You're a Sanderson, aren't you? I don't believe it was open, but then again, I'm a bit hungover myself and my memories are foggy. I do remember you naked, yes, but I will smooth over it and tuck it away if you will."

Nod. Two fingers reached for business cards in a pocket that wasn't there. "My humble apologies. My name's Ennet. Ennet Sanderson."

"Figures," snorted Fergus. "You talk like one. I assume you're Kalahari's kid."

"That's right."

"The will o' the wisp crossbreed." The one soiled crease on their family. Fergus still found the concept fascinating. On top of conducting business meetings, overseeing trades and shipments, and speaking for their race as a whole on the global scale, one of the most important duties of the Head Pixie was to play matchmaker. Examining lineages. Calculating options. Finding patterns. Solving puzzles. Betrothing countless drakes and damsels at birth. Informing them of when and where they could breed. Studying the results. Determining if the pair had produced good offspring or if they ought to be reshuffled into the breeding pool and rearranged with a more promising mate. Black-haired pixies worked in Headquarters, blonds in the businesses of less importance, reds ran errands, browns did the cleaning… If an area was lacking, you simply had to start making matches and stamping breeding cards.

Anyway, Kalahari had broken the rules two and a half hundred thousand years ago. More pertinently, he'd conceived a nymph from their forbidden union. He'd had to be punished. Reedfilter had sliced off his wings entirely. But what exactly was it that had encouraged such a well-mannered drake to disobey instructions, placing his job and family's reputation on the line for a single cozy night with a damsel he couldn't keep? It was the question their species still couldn't seem to answer. Fergus had his suspicions, and they made him eye Kalahari's hungover son there on the couch with all the more interest.

"Must we discuss this, sir?" Ennet asked. "I'm not in the proper state of mind to defend my father's choices." He peered uneasily around the break room. Most evidence of the party had been cleared away, with only the refreshment table and its sugary temptations lingering in the far corner. Those stray crumbs and chocolate smears wouldn't be fun to rub from the carpet. "Do you have my clothes?"

"I imagine they're still where you left them in the bathroom. I suppose I'd better help you button your shirt." Fergus beckoned with his hand, but Ennet didn't get off the couch.

"But I'm naked. You'll see me if I get up."

"I already did, and I also don't care. But, stay there if you wish."

Ennet waited as the older pixie sat again, then cocked his head exactly thirty-one degrees to the right. "Aren't you going to bring me those clothes?"

"No," Fergus said through the next sip of coffee. "It's not my problem."

"But I need them," he whined.

"When you really want them, you'll get them. Life and work is all about responsibility."

"Okay," sulked the small pixie, staring into his own drink. He really was small- what did this kid eat? Earthworms? If he weren't so pinky-tan, Fergus would have assumed he was Alapin Wilcox (a confirmed fagigglyne addict, that one, and currently marked on the list of those who weren't to breed).

Fergus found his mind wandering back to the microwave with its cooling oatmeal, and to the subject of Kalahari's folly, and to lots of things. Refocusing his attention on that second part and what it might mean for his tentative theories, he prodded, "Have you enjoyed your time here at Pixies Inc., Sanderson? Any concerns you've considered addressing?"

"I like it here immensely better than school. Although, I worry sometimes that the company is moving in a poor direction. I've pulled out most of my stocks."

The older drake lifted both eyebrows at the bold statement. "A poor direction? How so?"

"I don't know, I just think the new Head Pixie's kind of a snatter, y'know? They say he really sucked up to Rani Reedfilter to get the company vice president job and then arranged for her to be killed, and that's how she ended up drowning."

The mug came down. "Is that so? What else do they say about him?"

Ennet shrugged, blinking sleepily, and at last raised his coffee to his lips. A stream of it spilled from the corner of his mouth. "That he slept with her when they weren't matched, mostly. The Head Pixie isn't supposed to keep a mate, but everyone on my floor is pretty sure she mothered his daughter. It's kind of obvious, because Emery has green eyes. You know how the old V.P. with the bad hand, Cecil Hawkins, got fired? Yeah, I've heard the new Head embezzled that money himself and then got him blamed for it."

"Goodness. That's a lot of accusations thrown on a single pixie."

"Yeah, but they're probably true. And he might even be a brownie-kisser."

Fergus rose to his wings with a brisk nod. "I appreciate your inside tips. Of course, work gossip only reflects poorly on you and your character. You seem to have forgotten your place. Your words will have to be taken into consideration when the next company meeting about turnovers and pink slips comes around."

The younger pixie groaned. "I didn't mean to say so much. I'm still hungover from the soda. Don't rat me out to the big boss; I can't afford to lose this job. Be a pal."

"In that case, I'd like to say I deeply regret to inform you – although I don't – that he already knows, punk." Fergus extended his hand. "Fergus Whimsifinado. Former company vice president and now entering his second month of heading Pixies Incorporated in the wake of Reedfilter's untimely death. Shame. The Sanderson name has always been a promising one in the company until now."

All at once, Ennet's wings stiffened and his throat went tight. His vision began to clear up, or at least from where the Head was floating. "I, uh… I didn't recognize you without the floppy gray hat or the clear glasses, sir."

"I would say it's funny how no one does. But then again," Fergus finished as he drew the latter from the table and set them on his nose, "I don't think you're funny."

Ennet's face remained expressionless in the practiced pixie way, except for the fact that his eyebrows slid up about a millimeter. "I'm so fired, aren't I?"

"Very fired. Unless you can convince me otherwise in" - he checked the clock - "one minute and twelve seconds that you're a worthy asset to the company. Your elevator pitch begins now."

"I… Er, I…" Ennet massaged his temples. His lines must have been fritzing again, because the energy field was tugging in his direction. The taste in the air turned from sweet purple to sour pink to spicy green around them. "I get all my projects done on time. I've never missed a deadline in my life. I've formed friendly connections with my coworkers and been told that I bring a positive atmosphere to the floor. Um… My damsel says she's proud to have been matched with me regardless of my contaminated blood, and that we'll still breed a good nymph when the Head- er, when you give us the okay. Even if my mother was a will o' the wisp, I'm a pixie and fiercely loyal to the company. Nothing will keep me from proving that. I… I have a record deal. I sing songs. I've made mix tapes. They're good?"

Fergus turned his back. "Time's up."

"Please don't tell my dad," blurted Ennet. "I'll do anything."

The word hung between them in the air. After tapping his chin for a moment, Fergus rotated back around and pulled his barstool closer. "Is that so? I like the sound of that word, 'anything'."

Ennet looked like he really, really wanted his shades back now. He moved his finger towards his face as though pushing the lenses closer to his blue-green eyes, only to find that they weren't there. His small hand closed into a loose fist and sank back into his lap. "I- I mean, anything within reason."

"What is 'within reason' for you?"

"Um… Mostly everything that doesn't involve me having to dive underwater or lift a blade to my core and kill myself, I guess. I'm not sure I could go through with that."

"Is that all? How dull, and not in the good way. I was hoping you would make this more interesting. So then you would kill someone else, if I asked you to? Say, a particularly irritating fairy."

"You're the boss," he said, puzzled. "I work for you. Following your orders is mandatory."

The Head Pixie scratched his cheek. "Yes. And how are you about… favors?"

"Like errands? Sure, I don't mind the demeaning errand drake intern chores. I can even do redhead things. One of my half-sisters is a redhead."

"Come now. I meant a different kind of favor."

Ennet's face pinkened. Aha- now they were getting somewhere. He clenched his blanket in his fists. "Oh. Erm, I don't do those kinds of favors for anyone or anything."

Fergus leaned forward with his chin cupped in his palm. Still in monotone, he asked, "What if I were to make you vice president of the entire company in return?"

He shook his head very hard and fast. Poor little thing- he was so nervous, he was actually breathing through his mouth. And his expelled effervescence was warm. "I think that's kind of against the rules, sir. I've been matched. You know. To a damsel and stuff. That's how it works."

"The Head Pixie makes the rules, Sanderson."

"Oh. That's right. I guess you do." Now Ennet looked confused. Conflicted. "Er. I don't know then. May I have more context?"

Fergus nodded. "I'll restate. What would you do if sexual favors to the boss were against the rules, but you would get a promotion out of it?"

"Then I wouldn't do it. It's against the rules."

"Yes, you said that. I'm curious. What would you choose - choose - if your Head Pixie asked you to, but there wasn't necessarily a promotion attached?"

"I'm confused. This doesn't make sense. We can't have a nymph together. Why are we doing this?"

"That wasn't the question. Your response is…?"

"Um… I'd follow the Head Pixie's instructions?"

The older pixie watched him for a full minute before slowly pulling away. "Hmm. Good job. That was a loyalty test, and you passed. I like you. But, you certainly don't need to concern yourself with those panicked thoughts you're clearly having. Don't jump like that- I can pick up on that, panic. Fascinating concept too. But contrary to the apparently popular belief, I worked hard for my position, and there was no sleeping with Reedfilter involved. Emery gets her eyes from my grandsire. I intend to hold to the no-favors policy we have all been instructed to abide by. Besides, it's like you said: You have a match. You wouldn't want to get your wings cut off like your father, would you? I thought not. Now then. What's your current position?"

"… Sitting up?"

"In the company, Sanderson."

"… Not fired?"

Then Fergus snapped his fingers. "I remember. You're only a cubicle pixie. Kalahari mentioned you once when he and I had lunch together with Reedfilter and Columbine Longwood." He slid his eyes over the couch. "Hmm… I think you're probably overdue for a promotion."

"Wait, what?"

"Don't stammer. I'm going to move you from the tenth-floor cubicles to the complaints department on Floor 2."

Ennet hugged his blanket. "I'm confused and scared."

"Then it's settled." Pinging in a pen and notebook, Fergus made a mark on his pad as if scratching off this task. In actuality, he simply drew a line for the effect it had on making Ennet squirm his wings.

"Oh my dust." Ennet bolted upright and grabbed his arm as the notebook pinged away again. "Please, sir- don't!"

"You don't want the promotion?" the Head Pixie asked incredulously.

"Yes, I do! I mean, I've been wanting to get out of the cubicles for millennia. But sir, how am I supposed to explain to everyone that I, a humble cubie, mysteriously got a promotion after a night spent partying with you and the other C-level pixies?"

"What?"

"Even though we aren't supposed to question the Head Pixie's decisions, people are still going to talk about how I got promoted," he whispered. "Especially if some of them saw me, um…" He gestured to his unclothed body beneath the blanket.

"Hm? Oh. Oh. Yes." Fergus ran his fingers through his white hair. Only the occasional dark streak still showed near the roots these days. "Right. That's a thing that people would think, of course. Hmm…" Again, he studied the smaller pixie. Then he stood and untied his tie. "We may as well give them something to talk about, I suppose."

"What?"

"I'm changing the rules, Sanderson."

"Oh, no." His voice began to slip out of monotone. Inflections and emphases ran rampant across each phrase. He scooted along the white couch. "Sir- Sir, I'm very uncomfortable with this. I haven't even paired with my current match. Do you remember that time about a month back when you told us to, but the pregnancy test came back negative? W-well, I lied, sir. We didn't do anything at all."

The tie coiled itself around the abandoned coffee mug. "Sanderson. Rules."

"I'm confused. Why do I have to do this? You and I can't have a nymph. What's the purpose of that kind of interaction? Sir!"

Heh. There it was- the thought made him anxious. Now that really was interesting, and in a very good way. Fergus sat on his barstool again, feeling an emotion: smug. "That was another test, specifically geared towards you. Although I would have preferred less emotion in your response, I'm intrigued by the fact that you still acted hesitant towards the suggestion despite the fact that you had indeed confirmed your willingness to follow the rules. When I saw the flicker in your eyes as you answered earlier, I suspected you would. How curious. You don't find many pixies who will blatantly contradict themselves that way once the situation is no longer hypothetical. It must be that will o' the wisp blood in your veins."

"What?"

"You're an independent thinker, aren't you? You with your music, you who wandered up to this party without an invitation. Ennet Sanderson is an anomaly. Evidently, you're not so obedient that you can't think through these things logically and determine when instructions don't make sense, much like a Head Pixie would." Fergus leaned back. "You're very interesting, Sanderson; I'm glad we're having this talk. I do like you."

"How do you like me, sir?" Ennet asked uncertainly.

"Enough that I think I'll up that complaint department promotion to Longwood's personal assistant. But we're definitely going to have to discuss that issue of you and your match not mating as per instruction. I'll schedule a time for us to talk when you're in a more presentable condition."

Ennet peeled his fingers down his cheeks. "I don't know what's going on anymore. Please, sir. If I could just take my clothes and get out of here, and if we could forget this meeting and the party ever happened, that would be much appreciated. My humble request."

"Alright. You drive a hard bargain. I'll promote you to head of the entire complaints department. That's my final offer."

The younger pixie opened his mouth, then closed it again. Fergus raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you like that one, I see. I wondered if you might."

Ennet folded his arms so his hands clutched the opposite shoulders. His wings fluttered against the couch cushions. "Maybe… Maybe we could delay that promotion, sir? It isn't as though I'm not grateful. I am. And I would really, really be interested in that job. Surely there's some way we could work this out? Maybe stage an attack by anti-fairies and I could save your life somehow or something? But give it time so no one spreads rumors? I deal with enough of those already."

"Ha ha. Ha ha." Fergus almost smiled as he adjusted his glasses. "That's rather endearing. You think you could save my life if it were in danger?"

"If that job is on the line, then yes. Well, and you're my boss. It's my job. So, that too. Can I rearrange my answer so that part's first?"

"What's so attractive?"

"… I like your purple eyes?"

Fergus rolled them. "About the complaints department, Sanderson."

He shifted. "Oh. Well, my dad used to work in that position, a long time ago. He means the world to me, and I guess I just want to live up to my family name and make him proud. The good part of my family name, anyway."

Ah, yes. The kid was a crossbreed. It showed in his wings if one knew how to look for it, and in his pointed nose. Crossbreeds weren't so looked down upon among the Fairies, but in Pixie World, it earned him sideways glances and sharp remarks behind his back. Especially when the mother was a will o' the wisp, of all things. Fergus tried to remember why they'd even hired him. Entirely for his black hair, most likely- Where else were they supposed to put him?

"Mmhm. Well, Sanderson, unfortunately it looks like you'll be having to tell your father that you won't be getting that job. This whole conversation was a mind game I decided to play while stalling before my morning in the office of combing through dull files. You see, while I do find you somewhat intriguing, you've been breaking rules. As fascinating as it is that you, like your father before you, went against orders to mate with your match, the fact remains that you have in the past disturbed the peace with your music, you acted quite negligent last night both before and after you were sugarloaded, and you did of course participate in that unflattering gossip about me, and I don't approve of that." Fergus folded his glasses and looked up again. "You're totally fired."

Ennet stared at him, and then a slow grin began to creep over his typical poker face. "Oh, I get it. This is another test."

"Sanderson, I'm serious. I want your ID badge on my desk by three this afternoon. Consider last Tuesday's pay to be your final check. You and your match will be receiving a summons within the week. Otherwise, bye-bye."

"Riiight." He clicked a finger gun and winked. "Sure thing, boss. I'll be seeing you later."

Fergus narrowed his eyes. "There is no 'later' if you're still daydreaming of that complaints department desk. You. Are. Fired."

"I'm fired up about this new opportunity too, H.P." He saluted in passing with two fingers and, with the blanket tight around him, wandered into the bathroom to search for his discarded gray clothes. There didn't appear to be a point in arguing with him when he was still hungover like this. Fergus could only hope the kid would find his damsel or another pitying coworker to kiss him and clear his mind with level-headed pixie saliva before the workday went on for too long.

Still, it was awfully cute that he actually showed up the following morning. The Head Pixie got curious, and kept a thoughtful eye on him from afar. After all, why turn away free labor?

Of course, Ennet just had to arrive in the office of the Head of Complaints on Friday and insist that he'd been promoted. This then prompted the steamed Head of Complaints to invite himself into his boss's office demanding an explanation.

His name was Markell Longwood, son of Columbine Longwood, who was definitely not a damsel Fergus was in the mood for dealing with… ever. Only the best for her freckle-faced son. After a long moment of awkward silence spent trying to think of ways to explain that well, yes, he had technically given that position to Mr. Sanderson, he decided that the easiest way to solve the problem was to promote Mr. Longwood directly to vice president of the entire company. It wasn't difficult to skim back through the records and find something obscure that he could fire the former one for.

Markell clicked with his new position too well to ever demote him back down once this whole mess blew over. Ennet's fate remained up in the air. He wasn't necessarily stunning in the complaints department, but he wasn't particularly bad either. He was simply average in all respects: He worked at a normal speed, he took the normal amount of sick days, he appeared at all the normal business meetings, he complained about and praised the normal things, and his match was a normal damsel with whom he never got in trouble sneaking kisses with on work hours like Markell had an irritating tendency to with his. If one ignored Ennet's lust for introducing the quiet building to rap music, he was really quite the average pixie. Certainly nobody to attract anyone's attention.

And yet…

Fergus leaned back in his swivel chair, flipping through a stack of summary reports. "You smoofing snatter," he muttered to himself. Handwriting was one of those things that Da Rules didn't allow anyone to interfere with magically due to the potential signature forging chaos, and Dear King Nuada if Ennet didn't have the most perfect letters he'd ever borne witness to in his life. He looped the tops of his lowercase 'a's and swirled the bottoms of his 'g's like a typeset, and every letter aligned exactly with the others, except for some odd reason his 'x's, which tended to look more like 't's. Still, that could be forgiven. Oh, that little pixie had no idea what spell he'd cast over his superior.

He was still fired, though. The paychecks went out at the end of the month, and Ennet's wasn't with them. Puzzled, he came in and questioned whether it had been lost in transaction. Fergus knit his fingers and rested his chin on them. He stared across his desk at that young square face, so full of innocence and trust.

"Actually, no," he found himself saying after a moment long enough to make Ennet sweat. "That was another of my tests. You passed again. I'll write yours up right now." So he did, and handed it over, and the pixie thanked him graciously and began to leave.

"Oh, and Sanderson?"

Ennet glanced back over his shoulder at the door. Fergus rubbed his chin. "Keep working hard, and you might even be promoted to company vice president one day."

He did that free-thinking trademark thing of his, with the clicking and the finger guns. This time, Fergus did it back at him. The door shut.

The Head Pixie's gaze trailed across his desk, where he'd left a newspaper from five days ago. It wasn't open to the stocks page, but to a very different one that described the gritty, gruesome details of Kalahari Sanderson's death in an accident with a limousine at the corner of Gray and Dull. The black and white photo was one of a small, cowlicked pixie leaning against a street lamp with dust running through his fingers and down his unwrinkled white shirt.

His mother was a will o' the wisp, evident by the jabbing point in the upper corner of his squarish wings that made them look more like rhombuses. Long gone, of course, and undoubtedly before Kalahari had even learned he was pregnant.

It wasn't the only known case of breeding beyond the matching rules in present-day times. Fergus had never known his own mother either. He knew only that he had non-pixie blood flowing beneath his skin, and it urged him to act more drastically than any of his full-blooded coworkers. He could think. He could choose not to follow orders if he didn't want to. He could take risks- he had worked hard to secure this position, after all. None of the others would have dared to pull all the tricks with Reedfilter and Hawkins that he had. Similarly, they could hardly grasp at the concept that he'd done any of it. His crossbred genes had earned him many a snide remark before he'd reached this untouchable position and cowed them all. Because they'd mocked him, young Fergus Whimsifinado had thrown all his life into gaining their respect. It had all paid off in the end. That same forbidden blood had proven more valuable to him than anyone could ever have guessed.

But the difference between Ennet and himself was that his own father was still alive. What might that be like? To be engaged in casual conversation with Ambrosine on the way to work, and half a beat later float there in a daze as a vehicle swerved, a monotone voice muttered an "Ow", then watch him disintegrate into nothing? With not even his clothes or his spectacles remaining in the dust as a parting memento?

"Hm," was all the older pixie said at first. He tapped the cap of his pen against his teeth and straightened the newspaper on his desk. "I like this one. I'm definitely going to have to watch him. Here we have a pixie with an absent mother, who squirms away from every damsel he's ever been matched with, and who has just lost the father whom he referred to as his entire world. I wonder…"