operation: m.e.e.t.c.u.t.e.
a codename: kids next door collection of oneshots about some of the ways lizzie and nigel could have met
genres: comedy, romance, angst, fluff, pre-canon, first meeting, transfer student!lizzie, hero complex!nigel, nigel pov
themes: sector v goes on a mission, lizzie has mood swings, nigel asks first, in that order, trolley problem, inspired by operation recess
rating: K for cartoonish depictions of child discipline
A/N (4.2.2025): The timeline was like this.
- Dec 2: idea for chapter 1
- Dec 4: idea for chapter 2 (and 4, coming soon!)
- Dec 5: idea for this chapter; idea to put it all in a one-shot collection called operation: meetcute; idea of what meetcute was code for; commitment that these would be my first nizie fics
- Dec 6: started writing lol
outside words mean so little
If anyone should be in Siberian Detention, it's him.
"Numbuh 2, report."
"The intel was good, which means the news is bad," the aviator quips. "The procurement order Principal Sauerbraten signed calls for 100 stationary bikes to be installed in the school's gymnasium."
"Neat! I'd much rather ride my bike than do gym!"
"Sorry to let the air out of your tires, Numbuh 3, but the situation is more dire than that." Numbuh 1 frowns. "We now have proof of the school's plot to replace our gym class with sessions on those stationary bikes in order to generate and store energy for sale to the highest bidder."
"Nooo! The one good class in the whole school, and they're trying to take it away from us!" Numbuh 4 wails.
"What do we got to do, Numbuh 1?" Numbuh 5, as always, brings them back to the point.
"We're splitting up. Numbuhs 2, 3, and 4: you'll go to the factory and sabotage their lines. If they can't make the bikes, there's nothing to install." The named operatives' faces harden, and they nod in acceptance of their mission.
"Numbuh 5, you're going with them, but your directive is different. Catch."
He tosses her what looks to be a laundry bag. She opens it to find—"Ew, ew, and double ew!" She launches the bag as far away from her as possible. On impact, old gym clothes spill out; and their smell quickly permeates mission control. Numbuh 1, having anticipated this, had already provided gas masks to the other three and now has one outstretched to her.
"If my mission is to do your rank laundry, you have another thing coming, Nigel Uno! I am not your momma," she exclaims as soon as she secures it on her face.
"Negative, Numbuh 5." Wearing hazmat gloves, he stuffs the clothes back into the laundry bag and seals it shut. "Your mission is to locate and laundry-bomb the office of the factory's CEO."
"My mission is a prank," she summarises unimpressedly as she helps her teammates air out the room.
"Our mission is to ensure they wouldn't pursue this deal again in the future. While you're in the factory, I'll be in Principal Sauerbraten's office, faxing a letter that frames him for the nasal assault." He holds up a piece of printer paper that reads 'Roses are red, violets are blue. You look like a loser, and you smell like one, too. Smell ya later, Principal Sauerbraten' in a ransom note aesthetic.
He snaps when he remembers, "You also need to get the factory CEO's fax number for me."
By now, mission control smells normal again. Numbuh 5 takes off her mask and levels Numbuh 1 with a smirk that preludes every compliment she ever means. "And plans like that are why you're the leader."
"When are we rolling out?" Numbuh 4 asks eagerly.
"Tomorrow during lunch. We don't have time to lose."
"Numbuh 4 and I will soup up the C.O.O.L.B.U.S. then!"
"I'm putting our ammo in something that can't accidentally open," Numbuh 5 says with a nasty glare at the bag.
Numbuh 3 thinks hard for a second, then brightens. "I'll pack our lunches!"
Numbuh 1 looks on with deep satisfaction as his teammates leave for their various preparations. He has a good feeling about this mission.
Spurred by the bell that heralds in the lunch period, Sector V springs into action. The other four head for the C.O.O.L.B.U.S., parked outside the school and already loaded with their weapons. Meanwhile, Numbuh 1 leisurely strolls towards the main administrative office. He stops just around the corner and leans on a locker to wait. Not even ten minutes later, the eyepatched man strides out with lunchbag in hand.
He smirks. He has it on good authority that the principal likes to take a long lunch, so there's plenty of time for Numbuh 5 to get him the intel he needs to pull off his part of the plan. Confident as he is, he doesn't even bother sneaking into the admin office like he normally would; he walks straight in.
"Hiya! If you're here for Principal Sauerbraten, he just went out to lunch. You're welcome to wait here until he comes back, but I'd recommend trying again later. He can sometimes take a while."
The unexpected presence of a girl with glasses and braided pigtails sitting at the secretary's desk shakes that confidence, however. "Who are you?"
"I'm Lizzie, the work-study secretary!" she introduces with pride.
"You work here?!" Adults making kids do their jobs, in broad daylight, during recess? They're shameless, utterly shameless!
A quick comms check reveals that his team only just made it to the factory, so he refocuses himself. He wasn't expecting to complete a rescue mission today, but that's not to say he isn't prepared for one.
"Lizzie, right? Listen carefully because we don't have time to lose. I'm Numbuh 1 of the Kids Next Door, an international organisation dedicated to protecting the privileges and liberties of kids from adult tyranny. We have a program in place to save kids just like you from involuntary, exploitative labour conditions," he introduces in rapidfire speech. "After I get you out of here, you need to head to this location"—he writes instructions on a sticky note as he talks—"and if someone asks, tell them, 'The double decker begged and bickered for pickled peppers.'" He takes her hand and pulls her upright, pressing the paper meaningfully into her palm. He looks her in the eyes and swears, "We'll take care of you, I promise. You'll never have to push a pencil or spend recess indoors ever again."
The poor girl only furrows her brows in confusion, and his heart goes out to her. She's been so indoctrinated that she can't even fathom her own freedom. Adults are so cruel.
His mind has already planned their escape route: The principal's office has a window facing the school yard. They can rappel down with his G.R.A.P.P.L.U.H., blend into the crowd of children at recess. He'll give her directions to the safe spot once they're at the far edge of the property. Lizzie will have plenty of a head start to escape before anyone notices she's missing. "Come on. I hope you're not afraid of heights."
He makes for the principal's door, but he's jerked backwards and into one of the waiting area seats in one swift movement. "Huh—?"
"I have no freakin' clue what you were going on about just now, mister, but no one goes into the principal's office without an appointment," Lizzie maintains with a harshness that completely contradicts her welcoming demeanour from before. "Your options are either sit your big butt right there or scram."
Numbuh 1 errantly touches a hand to his hip at her slight, but he shakes the comment out of his mind and stands up to protest. "What are you doing? I can save you!"
"Save me from what, extra credit?" she volleys back with an eye roll. "I need this job, King Arthur. When I transferred in, not all of the credits from my old school came with me. I plan on graduating fourth grade on time, thank you very much; and I'm not gonna let some bald, British boy with a hero complex mess this up for me."
There are many parts of that he'd like to address, but he starts small. "I go by Numbuh 1," he reminds curtly.
"That's not a real name."
"My real name is none of your—"
The battle of tempers he was about to enter into is interrupted by beeping from his D.E.C.O.D.E.R.A.N.T. Numbuh 5 had just sent him the fax number.
He doesn't have time for this. "Okay, Lizzie. It's imperative that I get into that office. The freedoms of Gallagher Elementary students are at stake here, yours included."
She arches an eyebrow at his suddenly no-nonsense disposition. "What do you mean?"
He wouldn't typically divulge the sensitive details of a mission to a civilian like this, but instinct tells him that gaining her cooperation would be more beneficial in the long run than trying to trick his way in. "I just need to send a fax, and I'll be gone," he finishes. "No one will know I was here, so you wouldn't get in trouble for aiding and abetting."
Lizzie bites her bottom lip. "I don't know…"
He almost screams at her for her indecision. He even thinks about using force, as overkill as it would be. If appealing to her altruism wasn't the way, then what was? She's willing to give up her recesses to do work, so she probably can't be bribed…
But she gives up her recesses to do work.
Concepts of a plan germinate in his head.
And she's a transfer student.
He doesn't know if it'll work. He doesn't know if he wants it to work.
His D.E.C.O.D.E.R.A.N.T. beeps again—Numbuh 5 is wondering whether he's sent the fax yet—and that makes the decision for him. "Do you like ice cream?"
"As much as the next person," she replies without questioning the change in topic.
If she just transferred in and doesn't spend recreational time with others, she probably doesn't have many friends to hang out with. He doesn't want to bank on her loneliness, but he has no choice. "Wanna get some with me after school? It'll be my treat."
She goes back to doing work, raised eyebrows being the only indication she heard him. "You're willing to do anything to get into that office, huh?"
It only takes a second for a tactful rebuttal to come to him. "Hanging out with an interesting girl in my spare time is hardly a chore."
Her hands still, and her cheeks pink. He's curious about this reaction, but further investigation is interrupted when she turns away to a filing cabinet. "The door's unlocked," she mutters in staccato. "I'll meet you by the flagpole after the last bell."
Numbuh 1 lets the rush of a successful negotiation run through him for just a second before getting back to business. He throws a thank you over his shoulder as he beelines for the corporate device that emblematises the boringness of adulthood: the fax machine. He loads in the fake letter that has been in his back pocket this whole time, dials the number Numbuh 5 sent, and waits.
And waits.
Nothing happens, so he bangs on the machine, which makes even more nothing happen.
He even repeats the process to no avail. "Why isn't this working?" he growls.
"Seems to me that sending a fax shouldn't have been such a big part of your plan if you don't even know how to do that," an entertained voice says from behind.
He whirls around, but Lizzie is already walking towards him. Towards the machine, rather. She takes one glance at the control panel and smirks. She flits her eyes up to meet his; and if he weren't so agitated, he might recognise her actions as flirtatious.
But he's pretty agitated. "Do you know how to make this stupid thing work?"
"Uh-huh."
"Then help me!"
Her smirk goes from amused to teasing. "It would help if you put the paper on the right tray."
If he could go back, he'd have switched missions with Numbuh 5. "Now what," he grits out after jerkily moving it to where she indicates.
She hums to herself a little as she flips the page to face the right direction. "Now we—"
"—lizabeth?" an ambiguously Eastern European voice sounds from outside.
The pair of fourth graders whip their heads to the closed door of the office then back to each other, panic plastered all over their features.
"He's not supposed to be back for another twenty minutes!" Lizzie exclaims in a whisper.
Numbuh 1 turns back to the machine and tries a new sequence of buttons to make the fax go through. It starts beeping, at least, but it doesn't sound like good beeping.
"What are you doing? You're gonna break it!" she admonishes as softly as she can.
"Then help me," he repeats in the same tone.
"Elizabeth, is that you in there?"
She shoves him aside and re-runs the fax machine, and the mechanical whirring is as welcome as it is condemning. There's no hiding that someone's in the office now.
His mission more or less complete, Numbuh 1 runs for the window, heaves it open, and nimbly raises himself onto the sill. He's a second away from jumping, but a fist wrapped in the hem of his shirt stops him. "Are you just gonna leave me here?" Lizzie accuses indignantly.
He doesn't want to, but the visible turning of the door knob is forcing his hand. They don't have time for him to set up the escape he thought of earlier. If he tries to help her, he jeopardises the mission, the whole school. He just can't take her with him.
Neither can he stay.
He can only give her a stricken look before he leaps, backwards and just in time. The last thing he hears before the jets in his boots activate is Principal Sauerbraten's furious voice demanding to know what Elizabeth is doing in his office.
By all accounts, the mission was a complete success: Sector V could hear the principal's despair all the way from their classroom when he found out the next day that the deal was off; the stationary bike factory was in so much disrepair they decided to close down permanently instead of rebuild; his team moved so covertly that the adults didn't even pin it on the Kids Next Door; and best of all, Gallagher Elementary's gym classes would be safe for a long time.
Nigel, however, doesn't feel anything but shame.
Lizzie had been sentenced to Siberian Detention for thirty days, effective immediately. The entire school was talking about it, not just fourth graders; nobody knew that was even a thing, and everyone wanted to know what she did that was so bad. In the absence of a proper explanation, rumours ran amok. Even his teammates participated in the gossip, and it was weird to hear her name on their tongues.
He prides himself on never leaving a kid behind, on making the right judgement calls, on preparing for contingencies; but no matter how he looks at it, he isn't proud of how he conducted himself during that mission. If anyone should be in Siberian Detention, it's him.
He fully expected to receive his own disciplinary action in those first few days, too, but weeks go by without one. It seems Lizzie hadn't ratted him out, and confusion overrides relief. Why didn't she? Any other kid would have.
Sector V could tell something's up with him (not that he was trying to hide it), but he couldn't bring himself to confess why. After the second week, they stopped asking.
Finally, the thirty-first day arrives; and the hallways buzz with gossip about Lizzie's return. Doing time has apparently changed her for the worse, and guilt joins the confluence of Nigel's negativity.
He can't bring himself to seek her out during recess—he doesn't even know if she still has her job—but he can't let the day pass without trying to talk to her somehow. He needs to face her and apologise. It's the first step to once again being the operative he wants to be.
He waits by the flagpole after the last bell.
His team follows him there, inviting him to the candy shop (Abby and Kuki) or offering a trip to the comic book store (Hoagie and Wally). He waves off their kindness, and they leave him alone without a fight, already used to his mood. He looks after them with a wan smile and hopes he can clear the air between them soon.
He kicks at some pebbles absently as the crowd of students leaving school thins out around him. The person he's been waiting for wasn't among them. He looks up at the sky and tells himself that if he doesn't see her in the next ten minutes, he'll go home and try again tomorrow.
That's when the front doors of the school slam open. "YOU!"
His head snaps over. "Lizzie!"
"Don't you 'Lizzie' me, mister!" she rebukes as she stomps towards him. "Do you have any idea what I've been through in the last thirty days? No. You don't. Because I was sentenced to a detention center Principal Sauerbraten specifically created to punish me! And for what? Stationary bikes aren't even a bad form of exercise—!"
"—The mission was a success!" Nigel rushes to clarify. She deserves to know her sacrifice wasn't in vain. "We completely destroyed the factory—well, my team did. Heh, actually, one of my teammates even said, 'The factory is so beat up, it's like I stole its lunch money,'" he quotes, impersonating Numbuh 4 for humour before her impatient frown reminds him that she has never met Numbuh 4.
He clears his throat. "W-Well, basically, other schools couldn't carry out a similar plan even if they wanted to. Every kid in this region is safe," he finishes quickly, punctuating his speech with a hopeful smile.
"Aw, that's so…" For a second, Lizzie's eyes soften, and he's reminded of the way she bit her lip when he was trying to convince her to help him.
"... not the point."
His smile drops. "What?"
"I was in Siberia, you butthead!" she shrieks at him, arms waving and fingers pointing in time with her rant. "Why would I give a hoot about your stupid classmates when I was freezing my tuckus off hand-carving my own desk and chair out of ice! Every day for lunch, I was served cold food!"
"I-I can buy you lunch for thirty days?"
"It's not about the lunch!"
He knows it's not, but how else is he supposed to say—"Lizzie, I'm s—"
"—I'm not finished yet!" she snipes. "I had thirty stinkin' days to think about what I wanted to say to you, so you're gonna stand there and listen. It's the least you could do since I didn't hang your sorry butt out to dry!"
"Why didn't you?" he blurts out.
Her eye twitches. He knows he interrupted her again, but his self-preservation lost against his need to know. He's a spy, after all. "You work for Principal Sauerbraten; he would have believed you. I'm on his wanted list anyways. You had so many ways to prove your innocence, but I couldn't think of a single reason why you—"
"—Shut up."
Nigel got caught up trying to puzzle out the same problem that's been plaguing him since he learned of her detention, so the tears beading in the corner of her eyes when he refocuses on her surprise him. "Lizzie?"
She sniffles, wipes at her face in quick, embarrassed movements. "I don't want to talk to you anymore." Her voice is thin, barely audible when a car drives down the road. "Leave me alone from now on, got it?" She turns to retreat.
"But Lizzie—"
"—Stop saying my name!"
She whirls on him, and he stumbles backwards. Not out of shock from the outburst, but from the pain on her face. She isn't just mad at him, she's hurting.
"You don't get to say my name when I don't even know yours!"
His stomach bottoms out. "What?"
"I was waiting for you!" she cries. Now that her anger can no longer mask her anguish, it's all she can feel. "I thought you would come save me! So I didn't rat you out or else we'd both be stuck there. Isn't that stupid? You talked a big game about your little club that helps kids, and I was a kid who needed help. But what did you do? Nothing! It didn't even cross your mind! Even though you were all ready to whisk me away when you thought I was forced into my work-study, and you came up with a plan so quickly, and that was before—"
A hiccup cuts her off, but she doesn't continue from there. She turns from him, holding onto herself as she struggles for composure.
Just as well, because Nigel cannot process any more revelations of guilt. He messed up so bad.
With a few more moments, she collects herself. Her face is blotchy but dry, and her arms around her chest shift into a crossed position with finality. "Anyway." Her tone is clipped. "By the time I realised you weren't coming, it was too late to tell the truth. I couldn't even when I wanted to. If I didn't have a name to hope for, I didn't have a name to curse." She turns to meet his gaze, then, and her eyes are as cold as the prison she just got out of. "But it doesn't matter who you are anymore because you're nothing to me now." She flips a braid over her shoulder and walks away. "That's what I wanted to say to you, so. Goodbye."
The sight of her back breaks him out of his shame-induced stupor. "Wait!" He stops himself from saying her name, but he doesn't know how to stop her from leaving. "Don't go!"
"Stop following me."
"It's Nigel, Nigel Uno!"
"Too late."
"I'm sorry!"
"Don't care."
He stops trying to keep up with her, paralysed with indecision as he scrambles to find any way to make this right. She's getting away...
"But I owe you ice cream!"
He almost facepalms—of all the things he could have said, why would he point out the most meaningless one—if not for the fact she stops.
Hope flares in his chest when she turns, though he's met with an unimpressed frown over her shoulder. "Huh?"
If this is his chance, he'll take it. He catches up with her and ignores how she takes a step back from him when he gets too close. "I messed up, I know that. I'm sorry. I let you take the fall for a mission you don't believe in; I asked for your trust and betrayed it on the same day; and I was too wrapped up in how bad I felt about it to do the right thing once I learned what happened to you. I failed you in a bunch of ways… but if there's even one thing I can do right, one promise I can keep, I want to do it. I'll leave you alone afterwards, but please? Let me treat you to ice cream first."
She looks at him like he's stupid. "I just came back from Siberia."
Right. "Uh, pizza, then?"
Her face still curls with resentment, but she bothers considering him. Her stare is so discerning, the back of his neck sweats like it did the first time he went on a mission as a commissioned member of Sector V. His fight-or-flight kicks in, but he doesn't even know what fight looks like in a situation like this.
"This is important to you, huh?"
A normal response might have been that nobody likes feeling guilty for something that actually is their fault, but the way she says it reminds him of something else he said that fateful day.
"Well, hanging out with an interesting girl after school is hardly the worst way to apologise," he echoes on a gamble.
Her cheeks are too pink for her detached facade to be convincing. This time around, he actually can bask in it. She does narrow her eyes at him, though, so he can't say it paid off just yet.
"Call it a date."
"What?!"
"I'll let you take me out for pizza if you call it a date," she challenges him.
It's his turn to blush. "Is that really necessary?"
"Hmph. Goodbye, Nigel," she mocks as she walks away again.
He's here to apologise, he reminds himself. "Agh, fine! Would you go on a pizza date with me, Lizzie?" he yells.
She spins on her heel so fast, it's his turn to take a step back. The grin on her face and excitement in her eyes are too incongruent with the Lizzie he's been interacting with for the past ten minutes.
She lunges forward to grab his hand then tugs him down the sidewalk with her. "Alright, come on, let's go; I'm starving!" Her voice is too chipper, too. "I wasn't kidding when I said they fed me cold food every day; and if that wasn't bad enough, it all tasted terrible. Of course, I asked if I could cook my own food, but you can't exactly use fire in an ice kitchen in an ice detention in an ice country…"
She prattles on inanely without any prompting or encouragement on his part, but he grits his teeth and bears it. He wants this chance to make it up to her. A pizza date is what she's asking for, so that is what he'll do. Afterwards, he no longer has to be weighed down by guilt and shame and confusion. Absolution is the only reason he's doing this.
(Her hand squeezes his sometimes while they walk, just a small consequence of two separately-moving objects being connected, and he realises he hasn't let go. It didn't even cross his mind.)
Well, maybe there will still be confusion, but he can live with that.
A/N (4.2.2025): This was originally gonna be titled after the "if your heart is getting colder" lyric, but I decided that was too on-the-nose lol
This turned out a lot angstier than I wanted it to, but Lizzie did spend thirty days in Siberian Detention. Whatever she had to say, I let her.