The nurse's verdict was that Agent Katcha had broken her hip. Not to mention, she was nearly hypothermic. With only one Bad Slash team working the Grishaverse, she'd been sent places no elderly Vulcan should have been able to survive. She'd been caught in a snowstorm at the Ice Court courtyard, running from a troop of heavily-armed bit character druskelle soldiers. Her partner, Agent Kiber, hadn't been able to stop her from losing her footing on the ice bridge and slipping, sliding, and landing at an awful angle. They'd abandoned the mission half-completed: Kiber wrapped eir feelers around her and tugged her through a portal straight to Medical.

Now eir partner was immobilized in a contraption of ropes, IV tubes, and heating pads. Lights flashed steadily and gizmos beeped. Her hair had wormed its way out of her meticulous braids and fell haphazardly around her face. Her eyes were closed. Kiber stared hard at the system of plates and pads around her chest, noting with desperate relief each tiny rise and fall. The nurse put her hand on Kiber's sailfin.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"She's fine," Kiber replied. "She'll recover. And we'll finish that mission. Tell the. . . tell whatever stupid Flower we're supposed to answer to that we'll be done before ey knows it! Right, Kattie?"

The beeping gizmo beeped again. The nurse awkwardly rubbed eir fin and wondered if she needed to call in FicPsych, or a nurse better trained in bedside manner.

Katcha's brow wrinkled, and her eyes snapped open. "Kiber, I hadn't thought your species was deficient in memory. I specifically asked that you not use that nickname for me."

Kiber shrugged the nurse's hand off and bared eir teeth in the Venusian equivalent of a grin: "If I stop, will you finish the mission with me?"

Katcha raised her eyebrows. "Of course I will. As I was saying, your list was missing a vital charge for throwing Wylan out of character. I understand that his personality doesn't interest you, but that's no excuse for. . ."

As she prattled on, Kiber gave the nurse who hovered with a worried look an eyeless tentacle-glare, and she slunk off.

((A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this! I don't think the fic they were missioning exists, but I wouldn't be surprised if it did. The title is a saying from the continuum the mission was set in, Six of Crows. It's a farewell that means something like "good luck" or "I believe in you." I might use this as the beginning for a Permission prompt one day, since I took my inspiration from a random prompt I rolled (one agent breaks the other out of Medical). Feedback is of course appreciated!))

Alone in his RC, he stared down at the wand in his hand.

This was legitimate—well, as legitimate as a Suvian wand from a badfic could be. It was undoubtedly made from some outlandish non-canon things, bear claw and eucalyptus wood or such, but a real and proper wand, nonetheless. Not one of those Muggle-use wands that any agent could use.

He tried one last time. Swish and flick. Nothing. Nothing at all.

He looked down at the Kwikspell lesson laying open on the large tabletop before him. The diagrams on wand posturing and foot stance. The basic spells that a child in the Potterverse could manage—at least, the ones who were wizards.

He batted the Kwikspell course off the table, releasing the wand at the end of the motion so that it clattered to the ground along with the paper. It joined the growing pile of magic swords, enchanted armor, cursed gems. Trinkets and baubles and refuse from across the known multiverse, all supposed to grant magical powers in their origin worlds.

And, to him, all useless.

He should have known, really. Kwikspell didn’t work for Muggles, and that is, essentially, what he was. Never mind that the line in the fanfiction from which he’d been recruited specifically named his as “wizard.”

But nothing seemed to work. Nothing in this entire, wide multiverse—no, that just couldn’t be.

He moved around the table, to the spot where he had laid out the five basic land cards of Magic: the Gathering. Plains, Island, Swamp, Mountain, Forest, corresponding to white, blue, black, red and green mana. In his home universe, wizards and planeswalkers fueled their spells with mana, drawn from memories of the lands they had visited in their travels and training. In the card game, the players represented this energy source, and the cost of using it, by turning the land cards ninety degrees for the rest of the turn: “tapping.”

Imagine if all worlds contained mana. A PPC agent, gaining memories of them all . . . tapping all those resources . . .

He ran his long, thin fingers over his face. He certainly looked the part of a stereotypical wizard. Robes, wrinkled skin, pointy hat, long, grey beard and mustache. The PPC at large clearly thought so—his nickname of “Pinball Wizard” had developed from his activities in the Game Center, though the others didn’t realize how mocked he felt to be called that.

But someday, it would be a true description. He would keep searching. He would keep trying the magic items he could find on missions. He would keep bartering for what he could get off HQ’s black market. He would, someday, live up to his nickname.

The Pinball Wizard lightly rested his fingertips on one of the land cards and turned it sideways.

doctorlit’s note: I have written this character once before, for PoorCynic’s very first Writing Workshop. I know I haven’t used him since then, but I do plan for him to be part of my regular cast of characters. Magic: the Gathering, mana and land cards were created by Richard Garfield and belong to Wizards of the Coast, while Muggles, Kwikspell and the Potterverse were created by and belong to J.K. Rowling. Muggle-use wands were created by Meir Brin.

This is a drabble, exactly 100 words.

***

The first thought that Arden had when stumbling into the PPC for the first time was that everybody looked so happy. It was just the time of night at Rudi’s when everyone was laughing and talking loudly. Of course, after that came the overwhelming realization that he was not on his world, and that everything he’d known was unfathomable distances away. There had been one moment though, where the thought had flashed through his mind that there was something beyond the constant wars. Something beyond blood and tears.

Afterward, he realized that this something was the reason he stayed.

Hope.

***

I hope (sorry, I had to) that you enjoyed this drabble as much as I enjoyed the other stories on this thread. I don't have any concrit for the other fics, other than that some of them were confusing to me, but I assume that has to do with the fact that I don't know any of these characters; not that they were badly written.

Note: SPOILER warning for the end and, to some extent, general premise of Torchwood season 3 (Children of Earth). Some dark imagery in line with that.

*

*

*

Jacques jolted into wakefulness, gasping as his heart rate began to settle. No one was in his bed; as his hand hit the back of the couch he realized that he wasn't in his bed. He rubbed a hand over his face and groaned, wondering how long he'd been out.

Two hours, going by his watch, though who knew how accurate it was by now. HQ didn't exactly have a stabilizing effect on timepieces. Sometimes, Jacques found himself wondering how people decided when to celebrate their birthdays.

How had he even managed to fall asleep? The TV was still on, cycling through a DVD menu--

A face that could have been his at his most sadly determined flashed across the screen and everything fell into place.

Children of Earth. He'd been watching Children of Earth (the third Torchwood season, not the cheesy Old Earth musical he remembered seeing before he'd been himself) and somehow fallen asleep.

No wonder he'd had nightmares about sacrificing the Sato children to save everyone in HQ. They were the closest he had to family in this place, and he hadn't seen them in what, two weeks? A month? It felt like years. And at least they didn't call him 'uncle', they knew he was a version of one of their dads, but--

The parallels were still there. They might have been Jack's children instead of his grandson, and they knew exactly who Jacques was and a very simplified version of what he actually did for a job, and HQ wasn't currently under attack, and yet--

And yet all of that couldn't quite dispel the nightmare of himself in Jack's place, needing three children to make the signal strong enough to wipe out the shadowy invaders, finding no one else who could serve as a conduit and unable to force the signal through himself in their place--

Jacques found himself on his feet, heart racing again. No. It was never going to come to that, not ever, and not least because, unlike Alice, he was completely certain that the Satos' mother would actually kill him. And then she'd do it again, and find a way to make it stick, if she was feeling kind enough...

He couldn't shake the nightmare. Not when jack harkness the mini-Reaper flew into his shoulder, not when he poured and drank a glass of water (his hands were shaking), and not even when he gave up on drinking and poured the water over his head. Something about it would not let go.

This was the absolute last time he was going to watch his home canon. Ever.

But even that resolution wasn't enough, and he ended up pacing, trying to work off the tension and the shaking and only making it worse. He had to--he had to--

His first thought was to go see Luxury, but he didn't think he could bring himself to voice what his subconscious had decided to torture him with, much less find the desire to touch her right now. His second thought was the children again, and it turned into Ruby's scream and Seren's closed eyes and Owain--

No.

He forced one deep breath and then another. Reluctantly, he went to find a mirror; he'd probably look like hell either way, but at least he could see if his hair needed combing. And then he could grab his jacket (heavy, dark, everything he hadn't been wearing in the dream) and go to the Nursery.

After all, what better way to convince every part of his brain that the Satos were still happy and breathing?

*

Six-year-old Ruby ran straight for him the moment he walked into her line of sight. "Jacques! Jacques Jacques Jacques--" She stopped shrieking when he went to his knees to hug her, hugging back for a minute before she wriggled free and grabbed his hand. "I made a gold thing and it's really cool! You take a pencil and you draw on it and then you flip it over and it's really cool! But you have to draw on the silver side, or it looks weird. Come see!"

He went--of course he went, he was always going to look at whatever she wanted to show him--trying to hide the shakiness of his breathing. She was alive--she was so alive, and she was going to stay that way if he had to take on every villain in existence to make it happen. She was fine.

"Where are Seren and Owain?" he asked. Amusement tugged briefly at him: he'd managed to time the question perfectly, landing it in between them arriving at the low art table and Ruby starting to explain her latest art project in more detail.

Ruby shrugged. "Seren's making maps so she can go places on her own and Owain's trying to read or something. I don't know. I think they're over there." She pointed to a corner of the room, past a handful of other kids of varying ages.

Jacques looked. Seren was there, her little head bent over the piece of paper she was drawing on. A familiar scowl was on her face: the crayon must not be cooperating. Behind her and to her left, Owain sat on a bean bag chair, his lips moving as he sounded out words to himself. As Jacques watched he stopped trying to read, flipping the pages quickly enough that Jacques knew he'd gone back to just looking at the pictures. Then again, he was only five; easy reading didn't even need to be in his skill set yet. As his mother had said once, it was just that much more time that they got to spend reading to him.

Jacques took a deep breath in and let it out, relieved when it didn't shudder. "Alright," he said to Ruby, and sat down where he'd be able to see her, her artwork, and her younger siblings. He even managed a smile. "Tell me about your cool foil thing."

Ruby happily obliged.

*

*

Another note: this ended up leaning more towards the determined side of hope. Less the 'I wish this would happen and I hope it will' side and more 'I hope this will happen and I will do anything to make it real' side. The first third has been mildly edited by me; the rest got only as much editing as happens when one reads back a sentence to know how to continue and ends up changing a word or two. I don't know how long it is--maybe about 1k? Word count in Microsoft Word says 1,003 words. Not quite a drabble, more of a one-shot. Comments and concrit welcome; this may eventually become canon. It's certainly in line with it.

I think I'm out of time to drop a review on anything right now, but hopefully ( :) ) I'll get there tomorrow night or Sunday.

~Zing

I'm a machine.

It was an odd thought, even by the standards of Time Lords. Of course she wasn't actually a machine. There were no hidden cogs or artificial myomers lurking beneath the skin; her experiences in the Time War had given her ample opportunity to check, sometimes from several directions at once. The Notary thought back on those mad days of pain, the ones she'd convinced herself she'd left behind like a badly-developed photo of someone else's skiing holiday... then she stopped, and took another long swig from her glass of amasec, and turned over the page in the Rudi's accounting dataslate.

She knew her drinking was excessive. Knowing and caring were two very different things. Her former self - the one she'd been forcibly reintroduced to by a Sue-Wraith of monstrous proportions - had drank excessively because she attended all the best parties in all the most fashionable galaxies, because she was welcome there. Her roaring years. A girl in every spaceport, sometimes with her atrocious megacorp husband's private army filling the air with laser fire ever so slightly too far behind. So many came with her, over the years. One stayed, though, just the one. The only one that version of her had ever needed.

She was so lost in her reminiscing that she didn't notice who had sat down next to her.

"How're you holding up?"

"Hmwha? Oh. Hello, Agent the Clown. Wobbles the Agent? I'm still not quite sure of the protocol-"

"Try friend."

"I don't have any friends. You've been inside my head, you know that better than anyone, with the possible exception of Moon Moon. And that entirely depends on how much she remembers through the fug of regeneration sickness..."

"Well, ya won't with that attitude. Try it out! See how it feels."

"I..." The Notary paused. "You're not filming this, are you?"

"Uh, where exactly am I gonna put a camera and not have it explode?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Is this a bit? A little skit for your television program wherein the kiddies all get to laugh at how the mean, nasty Time Grump," and there had never been so much venom in those two words, "just wants to be loved deep down? Will they be laughing at the thought of a vicious old bag with too many dead behind her just wanting to be cared for? Hell, I'd settle for being cared about these days, and not just someone waiting to write an obituary that would've constituted a poison pen letter had I been alive."

"In vino veritas, I guess. Or in... stuff that smells like wood polish veritas. What even is that?"

"Amasec. In the grim darkness of the far future there is only war, except when they stop fighting and drink this stuff. Want some?"

"Uh, sure, I'll bite. Chyeah, that's how you know I'm not filming. No alcohol refs in the 2-11 demo." Wobbles took a small, tentative sip... then made a noise like a cat trying to projectile-vomit into a malfunctioning garbage disposal unit.

The Notary couldn't help but throw back her head and howl with laughter, nearly knocking the dataslate off the bar. "Oh, Wobbles, your face is a picture!"

"I REGRET EVERYTHING. EVER."

"I'd take a photo, but that'd be grossly hypocritical."

Wobbles had a pithy rejoinder at the ready, but she was too busy trying to scrape her tongue clean with a folding steel wig comb. "How can you sit there and drink that, Notary?"

"Very easily. I perch on a barstool, raise it to my lips, and swallow. Then I repeat the process until there are at least three barstools. It's an intense training regime, but I like to think I've become something of an expert."

"Gawd, Notary, that pun was worse than how that stuff tasted. I didn't think that was possible!"

"Nothing's impossible with the judicious application of self-belief, alcohol, and zero talent for the task involved."

"Ugh. Hey, um, sir? My usual, please. And make it a double." The barman nodded, though he looked a bit pale.

The Notary, still smiling, looked at Wobbles. "You have a usual? I've barely ever seen you in here."

"My therapist and I used to come here a lot when I was in FicPsych, and the gang here never forget a drink order."

"Huh. Live and learn."

"How's your own FicPsych stuff going?"

"Well, we haven't gone out for a drink yet, if that's what you're asking." The Notary shrugged. "I'm taking it slow. It's a big step, and I've been out of the decrazification pool for a while now. I've been considering water wings."

Wobbled snrgled, a weird snorting sort of laughter that seemed slightly out of place coming out of a clown's painted face; it was more suitable by far for the person underneath. "Y'know, you're actually pretty funny when you're not beating people up."

"Thank you for saying so - Rassilon's bones, woman, what the hell is that?"

"My drink order!" Wobbles beamed.

The barman, struggling somewhat under the weight of it, had set a frankly enormous milkshake on the bar beside Wobbles with an audible crash. The word milkshake, though, didn't do it justice. When milkshakes went to meet the Great Big Flavoured Milk Product In The Sky, this was what they thought such a being would look like. There were crushed pecans. There was ice cream. There was whipped cream. There was something a passing Flareon inwardly hoped was chocolate custard. There were miniature brownies, there were tiny marshmallows, there were umbrellas, there were sparklers. And jutting from the side like the wrath of God, if God was plastic and bent into interesting shapes, was the kind of bendy straw that children's dreams are made of. It was bright pink.

The Notary gaped.

Wobbles just grinned. "You wanna try a slurp?"

"... Well, fair's fair, you tried mine."

Wobbles pushed the glass over with surprisingly little effort, a dribble of ice cream in its wake. The Notary inspected it much as other people would a landmine that just went click. "What flavour is it, Wobbles?"

"Uh-uh, no questions. You didn't tell me what amasec tasted like, now didja!"

"Would you have believed me?"

"Don't change the subject."

After another inspection, during which the Notary nibbled on a bit of pecan nut and was gleefully informed that it didn't count, the Time Lord finally bit the bullet and gave it a slurp.

She came to from the sugar high about twenty minutes later, finding herself in a FicPsych ward balanced on top of an enormous, gyrating fir tree. The nurses, who were rather more understanding once Wobbles showed up and even deigned to help her down, informed the Notary that she had proclaimed herself the prettiest sugarplum fairy in all the land, and that she deserved to be atop a pretty Christmas tree, no matter whether or not it was time for his nap.

The Time Lord looked at her partner. Her partner grinned back at her like a trickster god.

"That," said the Notary, "explains so much."

"Prolly!" Wobbles beamed. "Still think you're a robot?"

"What makes you think I-" The Notary paused, thinking back. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Yup."

"Well... yes. A little bit."

Wobbles nodded. "Thought you might. Don't worry, stuff like this takes time."

"You're right. It does." The Notary removed some stray needles that had been lodged somewhere uncomfortable. "But then again, I'm a Time Lord. If there's one thing we've got, it's that."

And they walked off after that, and told each other stories.

“It’s over,” said Guardsman Alorandosenar. “We’re backed into a corner and this time there’s no cavalry to save us.” He took a shaky sip of water from his canteen and stared blankly at the trench wall in front of him. “Two hundred Daleks versus twenty-four of us...”

Over to his left, a shot from a Dalek dissector cannon blasted the operator of an automatic staser gun off of the parapet, reducing him to a pile of ashes in the blink of an eye.

“Twenty-three. But my point still stands— we’re all dead.” He leaned forward and rested his helmeted head against the wall, closed his eyes, and sighed. “We fought an endless war just to die in a hole in the ground on Gallifrey.”

“Chin up, soldier,” said Sergeant Major Emiranlanoamar as he made his way to the abandoned automatic staser and pulled it off the parapet, scooping up the fallen soldier's ID tags in the same motion. “We’re not going out without a fight— it’s the least we can do for the civilians we’re got in the bunker up there,” he added, nodding towards the structure in question.

“With respect, sir: I’m just so tired,” replied the guardsman. “We’ll fight, yes, but what’s the point?”

“Every Dalek that doesn’t make it off Gallifrey is a Dalek that won’t go on to terrorize the universe at large,” said the sergeant major. “What we’ll do here is win a delaying action: we're buying time for the younger races of the universe to prepare for confrontation with the Daleks. The Kaleds have exhausted themselves to bring themselves here— they aren’t coming out of the War as a huge threat.”

“It’s not fair.” The guardsman gripped his staser carbine tighter. “It’s not fair. They keep winning and winning and winning and they can’t be stopped and they can’t be reasoned with and..." He sighed. “I want this to be ov— argh!”

A sudden hiss of static over the squad-comms made both soldiers jump a little, then came an encrypted message from the Gallifreyan War Council, displayed over their retinal heads-up-displays:


///

MESSAGE: PRIORITY_ABSOLUTE //

DOCTOR IN ORBIT AROUND GALLIFREY //

ALL 13 SELVES PRESENT //

HAS PLANS TO TELEPORT ENTIRE PLANET MINUS HOSTILE ELEMENTS TO SAFETY //

FINAL ORDERS: DEFEND AT ALL COSTS //

VICTORY IS IN SIGHT, LEND US YOUR STRENGTH FOR JUST A FEW MORE MINUTES //

GALLIFREY STANDS //

///


As the guardsman blinked away the afterimage of the text, he saw an outstretched hand raised towards him. He looked up at the sergeant major.

“On your feet,” he said. “Hope ain’t dead yet.”

(A/N: I'm glad this prompt challenge has swung by, because I've been putting off this little drabble for far too long and I needed an excuse to put it in writing. I think it works well with the theme anyhow, too, so there's that.

Note: This drabble takes place shortly after the events of "Girls' Night Out".)

**********

Setting one's cell phone ringtone to, say, "You Will Know Our Names" from Xenoblade Chronicles is a relatively simple accomplishment. Manually setting an RC console's voice call alert tone to that tune, though, is a whole new level of technical expertise which, as one techie had described once, required at least three signed permits from the Flowers, professional knowledge of two or more operating systems, up to five successful consecutive bypasses of the network firewall system, the usage of eight different server backdoors, and an entire roll of duct tape.

Despite being a Colony 9 engineer, at least prior to certain events he wasn't too keen on repeating, a certain Honedge gijinka from RC #88224646BA was sorely lacking in any of those. As such, he'd had to resort to the alternative that was less likely to lead to accidental electrocution: paging the Flowers with a minor request to change the notification tone remotely by way of the network settings.

As proud as he had been of this accomplishment at the time, Backslash had stopped looking forward to hearing that familiar opening electric guitar riff ever since he'd run afoul of a certain someone he wouldn't name to anybody who asked him where he'd gotten that bite mark on his arm. So when said guitar riff suddenly blared at maximum volume from the console speakers one day, he regretted not being flexible enough to stick his head between his legs and kiss his lower cheeks goodbye. Especially after checking the caller ID and finding that it was from that very same someone.

They would know her name, all right.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he opened up the call and slipped on his headset. "Whatever you want to say, say it now before I feel even worse."

"Huh?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded oddly confused. "What makes you think I'd want to do something else I'll regret later?"

"Lapis, what in the name of the Bionis are you talking about? I'm the one who insulted you in the first place." Backslash sighed. "And I know I've said it before, but I'm sorry. Truly and sincerely. You did not deserve what I said to you that time, and I don't think anyone does. It was horrible of me to lash out like that, and I can't even begin to excuse myself..." He trailed off, realizing that he was talking too much. No doubt making Lapis even more annoyed than she already was.

There was a moment of total silence before the untangler spoke.

"I'm sorry, too."

Backslash's eyes widened in shock. "You're sorry?! I'm the-"

"I know. And I still haven't quite forgiven you for it. But I should've stopped at that, and if I'd had the sense to do so sooner I wouldn't have hurt so many feelings."

"...uh, come again?"

There was a sigh from the other end of the line. "In the months since our first encounter, I started finding myself stewing over your awful words, particularly the notion that I don't deserve to be the agent I am because I was dumb enough to get my arm bitten off. It reminded me that I've had people tell me before that I hadn't become an agent out of determination, but out of reckless haste, and that going in over my head could cost me more than 'just' a limb if I didn't call it quits."

Backslash turned slightly pale. "So, I wasn't the only one?"

"You were one of the first after I lost my arm. But I've had people comment that joining at such a young age might not be very wise. Perhaps it may even sound a little Suvian. Heck, even my own partners thought I wasn't fit for the job at first just because I was twelve at the time."

"Well, excuse my bursting their bubble, but Drunky - er, Cupid, I mean - was only a year older than you were when he first joined. Biologically, at least. I know he's a lot older chronologically, but all those people are hypocrites in light of that."

"Yeah. He told me that shortly after we'd started work, and my partners pretty much stopped judging me after that - especially after I saved first Sarah, and then a friend from the DMS. I thought I could put the doubts of the dissenters behind me and move forward with my career as an agent - until you came along."

Backslash's heart sank. So, she was still angry with him even after his apology. Lovely.

"So, does that mean you still hold me responsible?"

"Well, here's a big wham line for you. I don't. At least, not completely."

He blinked in shock. "But I - I-"

"I won't argue that what you said was very, very hurtful, and about as forgettable as the loss of my arm. But the thing is, after we got off on the wrong foot-"

"Understatement."

A harsh laugh could be heard from the other end. "True. But it wasn't you who was responsible for what happened afterward. It was me."

"Huh? But how? I'm sure you'd strive to make a better example of yourself after hearing a statement so scathing."

"Yeah, and I tried. But the thing that I did wrong was that I tried way too hard. I know you were worried about my well-being, but when I started out as an agent, my reputation was everything to me. Losing my arm? I could capitalize on that and show off how much more awesome I was for surviving that encounter. But knowing that there were people who thought less of me because of my history, both before and after I joined the PPC, was too much to bear. So I did the only thing I thought I could do: throw others' perception of me out the window with enough force to bust a hole through a three-inch-thick brick wall, and focus on the Duty alone without caring for how anybody else felt."

He would swear that the pop of his mouth falling open could be heard from Lapis' end.

"Forgive me for being blunt, Lapis," he said after a moment of regaining his compusure, "but that is, by and far, the absolute stupidest bloody thing anybody could possibly do in circumstances like this, arm or no arm! Did you once consider the possibility that you'd have to work with another agent team while on a mission? I don't think the Flowers would agree with me on this, but your reputation is important, at least in a few respects. The better you are at working with other people, the better standing you'll have as an agent in general. There's a reason most agents work in groups of at least two, and my partner can attest to the fact that working solo will only hurt you in the long run!"

There was a deep sigh from the other end. "You're not the first person to tell me that. And I'm not just talking about what Cupid said when we were working together last winter, either."

"Huh? Wait, what happened?"

"I went on a mission the other day with Sarah and a couple of friends she's picked up over the years. They also invited a rival of mine from my Nursery days who, out of jealousy, got into a habit of picking on my supposedly poorly conceived choices in becoming an agent. I swear our bickering could be heard for miles until Sarah decided to step in and separate us so we could think about what we were doing. I won't get into the rest, but I ended up... well, taking a forced nap of sorts."

"...ouch. Did you gain a secondary Ghost-type from that?"

"Oh, shut up." She let out a dry chuckle before continuing. "Anyway... it was a long two or three hours of self-evaluation for me that evening. I eventually came to the realization that I'd taken everyones' remarks about my status far too personally, and for one critical reason."

Backslash remained silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"My history, my injuries, and especially the loss of one of my closest friends in HQ, in essence, had led to my self-esteem sinking so low that anyone saying that I wasn't fit to be an agent due to my own rashness could unintentionally cause me to lose the last remaining shred of hope I had for myself. I tried to mask the pain by throwing myself into my responsibilities, acting on the assumption that I had no emotional support whatsover, and it was very, very wrong of me to think that way.

"Which leads me to why I called you in the first place: to properly reciprocate your apology."

The look on Backslash's face was one of utter disbelief, and to his own surprise, more than a little sympathy. "Dear Bionis, I had no idea you thought that way... Lapis, I know I already told you that I said what I did because I wanted you to not get yourself axed by a Suvian, but if I wasn't such a boor I'd have tried to say it in a more encouraging manner. Or better yet, not said it at all and waited for you to prove that you really were capable. I had literally no idea that you hated me so much for what actually happened until last December, and I never thought it could ever happen. Honest!"

"There are two sayings that I believe are relevant here, one for each of us. For you, it's 'The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.' And more importantly, for me, it's 'Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.' I wanted so badly to hate you that I never thought about your actual intentions, and the same can honestly be said of a lot of other people who tried to speak against my haste and bitterness. And for that, I can't apologize enough."

Backslash couldn't help but laugh a little. "We were both dumber than a sack of bricks, in our own ways. And as much as I'd hate to admit this, I think we may have more in common than either of us think. So if it helps you any, I wholeheartedly accept your apology."

"As I do with yours. And I have to say, this whole conversation is giving me a lot more hope for myself, and also for you. The fact that people are there to listen to both of us, and the fact that we've finally been able to listen to each other, really goes to show that this multiverse isn't as harsh as either of us feared."

"Wait, how do you know how I feel about HQ?"

"Cupid told me. No doubt after you told him."

"...oh."

There was a nervous laugh from the other end. "So, no hard feelings, right?"

"Well, you did take a chunk out of my arm. But you lost one of yours, so I guess we can call it even!"

They both laughed this time. Then Lapis spoke.

"I hope you'll be happy to know that I patched things up with Aiko as well. We now consider each other friendly rivals rather than bitter enemies and, for the record, I'd much prefer that you and I have a similar relationship. Foils to each other, if you will."

He smiled warmly. "I'd like that more than anything, I think. Though that isn't gonna keep us from working together again in the future, isn't it?"

Lapis' teasing giggle would've been music to anybody's ears, especially given the context. "We'll see, Buttscratch. We'll see!"

I have another fluffy kid piece for you, cuz I think that totally counts. {= ) It also might qualify as "there might be hope for this guy yet"? I started this with one of the Permission prompts in mind, one that I thought would be particularly challenging for a certain one of my agents: "The agents recover a lost mini, pet, or child in their care."

... Except I just realized I forgot about the "recover a lost" part and was really only doing the "in their care" part, so maybe that's what I need to continue it. ^^;

Anyway, enjoy(?) the early evening of <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1unYuXsnojh1EXBcaqpzWuZQAZkPwWkJGeCDPefraO8/edit?usp=sharing">"The Long Night of Agent Supernumerary."

Yeah, this is probably cheating, but I also probably won't write anything new for this and I wanted to participate anyway. Reviews later!

~Neshomeh

"Help me Obi Wan you're my only..."
The quote cut out as Theo promptly answered the incoming call, already making his way out of Rudi's where he'd gone for a private drink.
"Where are we needed Kaatah?" He asked his partner through the communicator in built into his Omni-tool, which had been a 'present' from Kaatah after their first, and thankfully only, trip into the Mass Efect Universe.
"It's another Harry Potter Sue 'fic." Kaatah answered from their RC, trying to get everything sorted out. "A couple of misconceptions by the Suethor means The Forest of Dean has grown over not just all of Wales, but also on the backs of some whales as well. All the other DoGA teams are busy or not responding..."
"And they need it burnt down? Answer them and say we'll be there in a sec." Theo responded, walking through the halls of HQ, finding his way to his RC relatively easily given that his mind was focused on the fact that he'd soon be burning down large swathes of uncanonical forests for fun. Entering his RC he nodded to Kaatah as he quickly got himself into his armour with the help of Kaatah. Putting on his helmet Theo smiled as the HUD confirmed all systems were operational, not that he needed all of them, but it was comforting to know nonetheless.
"So, how are we going to explain this in the 'fic?" He asked.
Kaatah shrugged, "Couple of cosplayers with fancy gadgets? Hopefully it won't be an issue, but the DMS team on the ground just said they needed the extra firepower DoGA normally provide for these sorts of things."
"Fair enough then, you ready to go?"
Kaatah didn't verbally respond, instead punching in a couple of commands into the console before jumping through the now-opened portal. Theo shrugged before following suit.
---***---
Apollo looked up as a new portal appeared in the air a few feet above the now enlarged Forest of Dean. Noticing the familiar shape of a Quarian falling the small distance, he smiled. DoGA had arrived it seemed, especially seeing the second figure fly through the portal, jetpack and flamethrower roaring almost from the off.
Kaatah smiled at the archer, not that he could see it behind her faceplate. "You did tell him there was a large amount of forest to set fire to, he's been hoping for something like this for a while.
Apollo shook his head and laughed as Kelly ran up to the agents, "Kaatah, Theo thank the Gods you're here. You're our only hope."

Elanor wasn't even six months old and already, she was a terror.

Everything that came within her reach soon found its way to her mouth, and even though the Time Tot wasn't crawling yet, the Aviator still went ahead and childproofed all the cabinets the baby could reach. She shuddered to think of Elanor beginning to crawl the instant she glanced away, of Elanor getting into the cabinets and becoming stuck or worse, deciding she'd just wandered into her brand-new toybox.

"Mmmmm," Elanor hummed from her spot on the carpet, and the Aviator lay down in front of her so they were at eye level. "MMMMM!"

"Mummy?" the Aviator said hopefully. "Can you say mummy? Or mama?"

"Mmm." Elanor stuffed the wingtip of her plush owl, Feathers, into her mouth. The Aviator sighed, thinking how she'd just washed that toy. Oh, well. It could survive another day or two as long as it wasn't covered in spit-up.

"I'm back," Zeb announced as the door to the TARDIS swung open and he emerged, holding a stack of books. "Look, Ellie! The Very Hungry Caterpie, Good Night Lunatone, The Litten King! I loved it when my trainer read us these stories!"

"ZA!" Elanor screamed, flopping over onto her back and pointing at him.

"Did she just—?" Zeb nearly dropped the books he was holding. "Yeah, Ellie, good job! I'm Uncle Za!"

"Zazazazazazaza!" Elanor went on, happily bobbing her head with every noise.

The Aviator smiled and picked up her daughter, blowing a raspberry on her little round tummy. "I gave birth to you and you repay me by saying Uncle Zeb's name first?"

Elanor just giggled and kept on yelling "Za!" over and over. She didn't seem intent on stopping any time soon.

"They grow up so fast," Zeb said in an overly-choked-up voice, and pretended to wipe away a tear.

The Aviator looked down at Elanor, who just smiled back, the tips of two baby teeth peeking out from her smile. "Yeah," she said, kissing her forehead. "They do."

—————

Something something hope for the future generations something I just wanted to write fluff. Is this long enough? Are vignettes okay or do they need to be longer?