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spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn · 5 years ago

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questionable government spies chapter 14

no your eyes do not deceive you, this is chapter 14 of spies

heres the masterlist in case you forgot what happened (I did too dw)

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ship: eventual sprace, platonic ralbert, jack is madly in love with Katherine but she doesnt like smol emotion bois who drive vans

warnings: race drinks far too much sugar, race is a dumbass, Albert is Mad cause race is a reckless little shit with a death wish, some Anger Words, hibachi chefs, fear of crayons

editing: maybe idk havent decided yet

words: idk maybe like 2k

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Race scrambled down the hallway, buttoning the last three buttons on his collared shirt as he attempted not to bump into every person he ran past. The one thing that Checks had told him was to not be late, and yet here he was. He had even left before Albert had woken up and hadn’t had time to write him a note and therefore had exactly no backup. Hopefully nothing would go wrong.

Luckily, Race managed to slip into the door to the meeting room just as it was closing. Immediately he saw Spot across the room and gave him a wink. Spot, in turn, glared at him - probably because he was late. Race considered sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes at Spot but Checks started speaking before he had the chance.

“-hope you all brought your big boy pants,” Checks was saying as she distributed a half page of hardly useful information - something Race was beginning to assume was normal around here. He briefly skimmed it and when he didn’t see the words “self sacrifice,” “imprisonment,” or “hibachi chefs” he folded it neatly and shoved it into his shirt pocket for Albert and Jack to analyze later.

Speaking of Albert and Jack, why weren’t they being regular nuisances in his comms like usual? Race reached up to his ear to fiddle with the device and see if he had put it in backwards (something he did far more often than he would like to admit), only to realize that the reason why Albert and Jack weren’t talking to him was because he had left the device in his locker. Despite his super spy training, Race did the very thing he was trained not to do when something bothered him: he groaned.

Luckily for him though, the groan happened to coincide with Checks announcing their mission. What the mission was, Race couldn’t say because he had been too busy thinking about his missing comms.

So when Checks stopped next to him and gave him what could only be described as The Look, Race felt a small part of his soul shrivel up and die from fear.

“You got a problem, Marx?” she glared. “You scared of crayons or somethin?”

Crayons? What the hell was she talking about? “No,” he said in his most badass voice.

She snorted in response, but continued her briefing nonetheless, leaving Race to wonder who the hell would be afraid of crayons of all things? Hibachi chefs were way more terrifying, they literally thought they possessed big enough dick energy to play with fire! Their dicks weren’t even that big either. Race would know, he had dated one once.

He tried to tune back into whatever Checks was saying so that he could at least report something remotely useful back to Albert once he retrieved his comms, but was interrupted by Darrel tugging on his sleeve.

Race looked down at the kid next to him. Today he was sporting a shirt with a giant tootsie roll pop on it. And he was definitely wearing silly bandz. “May I help you?” Race asked skeptically, unsure of how to talk to children who seemed to be stuck in 2009.

“I’m afraid of crayons,” he whispered.

It took every ounce of Race’s training to keep his face straight.

“Well, not every color, just the Burnt Sienna one. And only cause when I was 7 my fish died cause he ate one,” he clarified, brows furrowed together in thought. “Which colors are you scared of?”

Race sighed. Never in his life did he think that talking to a confused fifteen year old about crayon phobias would be part of his FBI agent skill set.

Oh what the hell, he thought dejectedly. I’m not gonna get any information out of this briefing anyway.

•••

As it turned out, Race had not only forgotten his comms in his locker, but he’d also somehow forgotten to tell Albert that they were getting a mission assignment today. Spot had laughed hysterically when Race went out to the parking lot to climb dejectedly into Jack’s van only to realize that it wasn’t there because the two of them were working their shifts at Medda’s coffee shop. Because Race had forgotten to tell them that they were needed as backup.

Race spent quite a long time on the subway thinking about what an idiot he was.

After imagining every possible situation that could have unfolded because he didn’t have back up - of which there were 27 and only 5 of them resulted in severe injury or death! - he arrived at the coffee shop. Hopefully Albert wouldn’t go too hard on him, he was being particularly protective over him on this case for some reason.

The bell next to the door dinged as he pushed open the door and slumped over to the counter where - thankfully - Romeo, Katherine and Jack were working.

“Well don’t you just look like a little ray of darkness” a voice said as he approached the counter.

“Hey Ro,” Race sighed. “Gimmie the sugariest thing you can come up with.”

Race looked up at Romeo’s face for the first time and saw that his mouth had curved into a wickedly mischievous grin that Race knew he should fear, especially since he was entirely certain that Romeo could single handedly give him a sugar high that could last upwards of a week.

“Bad day?” Romeo asked as he began to make Race’s drink. He knew Race only subjected himself to his drink creations when he was entirely desperate.

“I forgot to put my comms in, and then we had a mission assignment briefing and I realized after that I had also forgotten to tell Al and Jack so I had no backup and Al’s going to kill me,” Race mumbled into his elbow.

“Well,” Romeo pondered for a moment as he frothed what Race hoped was milk, “at least if Al does kill you you won’t have to fill out the paperwork.”

Race lifted his head to glare at his friend. “Not helping Ro.”

Romeo shrugged as he put an ungodly amount of whipped cream on Race’s mystery drink. “I never said I was trying to be helpful. That’s just the facts.”

“Punk.” Race let his head fall back down on the counter.

Romeo huffed in annoyance. “Would a punk go out of his way to make you only the greatest drink not on the menu?”

Race peeked up from his state of misery to gaze upon the creation Romeo was holding out to him.

It was in a hot pink mug - the mugs at the shop were all brown where did he find that? - and was topped with a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate shavings, rainbow sprinkles, and what appeared to be crushed oreos -again, where did he find that in a coffee shop? Race was immediately afraid of its contents and silently cursed himself for moping instead of watching what Romeo had put in the drink.

“I’m not sure,” Race said, taking the drink from him gingerly as if it would explode any second - which, knowing Romeo was a high probability. “I haven’t met any other punks.”

“What about me?” Jack asked, choosing that very moment to walk past him and Romeo. Today he was wearing a Fall Out Boy shirt and a gray beanie. It looked horrendous with the light pink apron, but Race assumed that that was what Jack had been going for.

“You’re not a punk,” Race said distractedly, trying to decide if he actually wanted to drink the mess Romeo had given him. “Now, Albert in Budapest, that was punk.”

“You and I remember Budapest very differently.”

Race’s heart sank as he heard Albert approaching him from behind. “Hey Albie,” he sighed.

Even though he wasn’t looking at Albert, Race could feel his steely gaze as he took in the khaki pants and half unbuttoned, rumpled white shirt that gave away the fact that he had been at YMONY. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Race shot a what do I say look at Romeo who in turn gave him a your mistake your problem look back. Race flipped him off with his eyes before turning to Albert.

“Let’s go sit down and I’ll explain.”

Albert nodded, motioning for Jack to follow them.

Race took a deep breath and tasted his drink. It tasted like candied marshmallows covered in caramel. Honestly, not bad.

Albert led them over to a table in the back corner, pulled out a chair and sat on it backwards. “Explain yourself.”

“Okay so,” Race placed his drink down on the table. “I went to the headquarters cause we had a mission assignment briefing and I forgot to put my comms in but then after I finished I realized that I forgot to tell you guys so I didn’t have backup and I’m sorryitwasanaccidentpleasedontkillme.” He stared down at the table, waiting for Albert to say something.

Instead though, it was Jack that broke the silence. “What’s the mission.”

“Breaking into a crayon factory and 6000 units of Neon Carrot crayons.” Race couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Neon Carrot?” Jack laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

Race reached into his pocket for the info sheet and smoothed it out, sliding it in front of Jack. “Believe me now?”

Jack’s eyes scanned the paper quickly before he busted out laughing. “Well,” he said in between giggles. “At least we know whoever’s in charge of this dumb thing has a sense of humor.”

“We’d know who was in charge if we were actually working and not getting distracted,” Albert mumbled.

Jack and Race shared a look across the table, clearly trying to figure out what to say when they were saved by Katherine.

“Hey Jack- whoa!” She tripped over a loose floor board, falling into the table.

“Kath!” Jack jumped up to help her and Race couldn’t help but roll his eyes. That boy was so hopelessly in love and it was going to end badly for everyone involved.

Katherine brushed off Jacks help, using the table instead to right herself. “Romeo needs help working the counter and my shifts about to end, do you mind?”

“No, no of course not.” Jack gave Race and Albert a nod before walking back towards the counter.

“That boy is so helplessly in love,” Race commented, watching as Jack tried to walk as close to Katherine as he possibly could without touching her.

“So are you,” Albert scoffed.

Race tore his gaze from the two of them and turned to face Albert. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You are in love with Spot.” He stared at Race accusingly.

Race was taken aback. “Am not!” Albert hardly ever meddled in his love life. And besides, he was not in love with Spot.

“Yes you are and it’s ruining the dynamics of the mission!” Albert pulled at his hair in frustration. “You’re getting sloppy, you didn’t have backup, you didn’t have comms, what if something went wrong? I can’t have you dying over a stupid boy, Antonio! We’re not 12! We have jobs, and lives! You’re putting the whole integrity of the operation at stake with your slip ups and you need to be more careful! He’s just a stupid boy, he’s not worth it!”

Race, who had been staring daggers at Albert during his heated speech, stood up from the table. “If you’re even suggesting for a second that I would put all of our lives at stake, then you clearly don’t know me,” he spat, shoving his chair against the table with a loud bang and stomping off toward the exit, letting the door slam behind him.

Albert DaSilva could go fuck himself.

•••

Albert watched as Race stormed out of the shop, immediately regretting everything that he had said to him. Of course he knew that Race was already tense being back in New York and he had probably just made it worse.

He just cared about him, and didn’t want to let his friend’s carelessness cost him something important. Like his life.

Albert stood up, kicking his chair and then cursing when he remembered a few seconds later that kicking chairs did not solve any problems and just made his foot hurt. He fought back tears that he told himself were from the sharp pain in his foot.

How could he have been so stupid?

Dejectedly, Albert strode over to his guitar and picked it up, absently plucking at the strings before settling on a song to match his feelings.

“I remember when you were all mine, but you’re changing in front of my eyes, what can I say

Now that I’m not the fire in the cold, now that I’m not the hand that you hold, as you’re walking away.

Will you call me to tell me you’re alright? Cause I worry about you the whole night. Don’t leave me this way, I won’t sleep till you’re safe inside. If you’re home I just hope that you’re sober, is it time to let go now you’re older? Don’t make my mistakes, I won’t sleep till you’re safe inside.”

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o shit he maddd

next up: its crayon stealing time kiddos (btw neon carrot is a real crayons crayon color)

heres the song Albert sings

the story is actually finally picking up thank hecc

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the taglist

Keep reading

#i have emerged from the depths of idk where some deep laks where ive been hiding for the past month eyyy #heyo #wow im bad at tags now ok so anyway #like the humour yes yes #i sympathize with not realising that kicking a chair hurts i have done very similar #ok but romeos drink sounds good like that much sugar is a good thing #the best part about making cookies or baking is getting to eat a bit of the sugar #like sugar is good good #these tags are bad sorry saphie #yikes #what's a candied marshmallow #oooo the marvel reference #also yes yes very glad spies is revived

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