Family Ties
Title: Family Ties
'Verse: 2007/09/11 Transformers. Surprise crossover 'verses.
Characters: Humans. No TFs appear in this fic.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crack. Human cussing.
It was the dog that tipped him off that it was going to be One Of Those DaysTM. Quite literally too, seeing as how the little tan and black pug trotted onto base like it owned the place, parked said pug butt on the ground beside him, then opened its mouth and spoke.
“Say, nice digs you got here. Kinda obvious you got something big behind all those fences, but I guess you don’t really have to try that hard to hide after what happened to Chicago. Lemme tell you, cleanup for that was a mess.”
Lennox blinked down at the dog, who was by now smirking up at his rather stunned expression.
“Say what?”
“Frank!”
The shout drew his attention away from the talking dog and to the pair of men walking rather quickly towards him. Black suits. Dark glasses. Great. Shades of Sector Seven all over again. Lennox’s headache, instead of subsiding at the sight of people who apparently knew what the hell the dog was on about, only grew.
“Excuse me son, I do believe that’s ours.”
The older male was polite, at least (though considering the Ranger’s frame of reference for ‘polite secret agency representative’ happened to be Simmons...), and Lennox nodded slightly, still unable to muster very much of a response. It wasn’t fair. He’d gotten used to giant alien robots and rapid city deconstruction by said giant robots, talking dogs were the last thing he’d expected to have to deal with.
The younger of the pair was less formal. The shades had come off and his expression was textbook exasperated. “Unfortunately. Bad dog, Frank! You know we only let you tag along ‘cos you promised you’d behave.”
“I’ll be good. Look J, sitting and staying like a nice puppy.”
And the dog was talking again. Wonderful.
= = =
“Simmons. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”
Black suits (and talking dog) in tow, Lennox hurried over to where the acerbic ex-agent was terrorising an underling. Simmons didn’t even look up from his clipboard as he responded dryly.
“Now soldier boy, I’m sure your wife would have something to say about that.”
“And now I remember why I don’t like you. Whatever. Here, they’re your problem now.”
Now Simmons turned around, and one eyebrow rose slightly as he took in the sight of the two men dressed in black.
“Kevin.”
“Reginald.”
“Wait, you two know each other?”
The black man’s reaction was exactly the same as Lennox’s own. The man Simmons had called Kevin glanced at his partner.
“All the top secret government agencies know of each other, slick. It makes worldwide cover-ups and conspiracies a lot easier to pull off if we’re working in unison. The MIB in particular go way back with these people.”
“Tell that to the inter-agency sports league. The last Blacksuits vs Whitecoats basketball game had to be called off due to unsporting behaviour on both parts, aka use of alien technology to obtain an unfair advantage. And that’s nothing compared to the hell we give the FBI.” Talking dog, talking dog again, Lennox tuned Frank out in favour of listening to J freak out.
“But you two like... know know each other. He knows your freaking name, K! I didn’t know it until after you retired the first time and I had to fish you back out of that post office!”
“Well, slick,” Simmons answered, drawling slightly, “it’s generally considered good manners to be on first name basis with your cousin.”
“Cousin?”
Will, being more experienced in the ways of secret agents named Simmons, let the other man make the surprised interjections. True to form, the ex-Sector Seven man didn’t let the comment slide, smirking at the gobsmacked expression on J’s face.
“Is there an echo in here?”
With a faint sigh, the other black suit cut in. “No picking on the rookie, Reginald.”
“You always did like to ruin my fun, Kevin. Or is it still ‘K’?”
“Agent K. I’m on duty. And you’re still a piece of work, Reg.”
The man in question shrugged, finally handing off his clipboard to the fidgeting underling, who immediately hightailed it out of there. Lennox watched him go, torn between following his example and staying to watch in morbid fascination.
“Comes with the territory. So, why are you in my base?”
Unperturbed by Simmons’s sharp tone, Agent K replied. “Higher ups thought a family connection would make things easier. You did send the last man running back in tears.”
“Your staff need to toughen up.” There was a derisive sort of huff, one that Agent K ignored.
“Agent R played a crucial role in obtaining permission to use Cardassian imagery and culture in Earth entertainment.”
“Pft. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes against mom.”
K nodded agreeably and Will envied his serene manner. “Aunt Tova is a formidable woman. We lost a good agent when she decided to join her husband in Sector Seven.”
“Damn straight. Speaking of which, I don’t care if you’re ‘dead’, Kevin. My mom changed your diapers, you could stand to call her once in a while.”
“Look, I hate to interrupt the family reunion, but I gotta go and there don’t seem to be any fire hydrants sitting around.”
All eyes turned to the dog sitting on the ground, and J sighed.
“I’ll take him out. K, you... catch up with your weird surprise cousin that I didn’t know about until now. Army guy, you wanna come with and point out what Frank can’t pee on while the old people talk?”
It was as good an opening as he would get, even if it did come with a side of talking dog, and Lennox had not lived through all those run-ins with homicidal giant robots by completely ignoring his instinct to bug out.
“Alright. But the dog had better hold it in until we get there. The people on this base have better things to do than clean up after someone’s pet.”
“Hey, screw you, alright? I’m no pet pooch.”
“Frank, you look like one and you’re a pain in my ass like one. As far as I’m concerned, you are one. Now are we gonna move or do I have to break out the leash?”
“You’re all jerks.”
The pug started trotting, grumbling loudly. Agent J shook his head, and Lennox joined him in trailing after the dog, making their way outside.
= = =
“So...”
“So.”
They ended up standing side by side, watching a dog sniff a bunch of fence posts. A few more moments of awkward silence later, Will decided to attempt conversation.
“What’s the deal with your people?”
“Normally I’d say if I told you, I’d have to neuralyze you, but seeing as how you’re in this as deep as we are... I’m MIB. Stands for Men in Black.” J swept a hand over his black suit and rolled his eyes. “Real original, I know. We deal with alien life forms. Immigration, tourists, technology development, research, the odd spot of pest control, all that shit.”
“Ah.” Lennox frowned slightly. “So... where were you when the Cybertronians showed up?”
The black man shrugged. “Good question. You know, I thought the MIB dealt with all aliens. Imagine my surprise when I found out we only deal with organic aliens.”
“What, no other robot aliens ever came knocking?”
“According to the files I looked up, there was only one robot alien we ever found. Sector Seven was the research branch of the MIB working on it, but they needed so many people they eventually expanded into a full outfit of their own. And I can see why the MIB let them. Some of the tech we got out of NBE-1...” J smirked at him. “Sw-eet.”
“We still have a few of the old guard around. Tom Banachek is one, and you’ve met Simmons.”
“Hoo boy, that guy. Hard to believe he’s related to K. Though until today I wouldn’t have thought K had family. Man is like... you’d think he just popped out of the ground one day, he’s that tight lipped about his personal life.”
“To be fair, if my family included Simmons, I’d be keeping that info quiet too.” Lennox smirked back, and the other man laughed out loud.
= = =
“Simm- Wait, who’s this?”
“Ah, Witwicky. About time you showed up. K, Sam Witwicky. Be patient with him, the robots hit him on the head a couple of times too many.”
Sam paused in the doorway at the sight of the two men poring over a table full of documents, shooting a glare at Simmons before heading inside. The stranger nodded at him, adding his own milder greeting to Simmons’s own.
“Afternoon, Mr Witwicky. Reginald tells me you’re training under him. The next generation of Earth-Cybertronian envoy?”
“Yeah... sounds about right. So... why are you here? And why are you calling Simmons ‘Reginald’?”
“I’m with the Men in Black. My partner and I have been assigned to the role of intermediary between NEST and the MIB. Reginald Simmons is my counterpart within your own agency. ”
“They’re also cousins, which is a good thing ‘cos nobody else was gonna make things work with that one.”
Sam, still mouthing the word ‘cousins’, turned to see another guy in a black suit entering, one end of a pair of shades pointed at an unimpressed Simmons.
“Slick. Back from walking the dog, I see.”
“That had better not be some freaky euphemism, Simmons, I don’t think my brain could handle that sort of thing without breaking and-”
“Witwicky, stop covering your eyes and use them.”
He stared at the pug, which stared back at him. “... There’s a dog on base. Who let a dog on base?”
“Kiss my fuzzy butt, pal.” The pug sneered, and the young man blinked.
“I stand corrected. There’s a talking dog on base. Okay, that brain breaking thing I mentioned? Happening now.”
“Right, I’m out of here. Got better things to sniff at.”
“Stay on base until we leave, Frank.”
The dog snorted at K’s instruction, leaving the room as Simmons brushed off Sam’s impending meltdown brusquely. “Do it on your own time, boy. This is important. The MIB have finally gotten the red tape sorted out for your robot friends to stay on Earth. Say thank you now.”
“... Didn’t the UN and all those government types already say yes?”
“Politicians. They talk pretty, but it’s the rest of us who have to make their promises work. Do the robots need driving or aviation licences? What are their rights to representation? Are they bound to Earth laws or are there exceptions? Their planet went bye bye, so maybe we’re going to get refugees coming in. What about the robots who decide not to ‘sign up with the Army’, so to speak? Where do the neutrals go? Do they need jobs? Where can they get jobs? Would those jobs result in the large scale destruction of a small country? That sort of thing.”
The ex-agent waved a hand vaguely at the young man and Agent K spoke again, sorting through a thick looking sheaf of paper. “Fortunately, the MIB has a great deal of experience with alien immigration. Although a species wide genocide, coupled with destruction of their originating planet as well as an attempt to destroy our own, tends to complicate the paperwork.”
J had joined the pair at the desk, flipping through another file, wincing at the number of pages it held. “Revealing themselves to the general public in a manner unconducive to cover-up? Did not help. Man, all the agents and neuralyzers we got couldn’t hide this. They tore up Chicago!”
“We prefer to keep things on the down low with regards to the aliens among us. Less mess.” K explained, and Sam looked rather steamrollered as he tried to defend his friends.
“Hey, they wanted to stay hidden as much as you wanted them to stay hid.” He paused, then offered meekly. “All that taken into account though... I thought everyone took the Autobots showing up rather well.”
“He’s young and was a civilian for most of that mess. He’ll learn.” Simmons muttered, head buried in another boring looking stack of documents, both MIB agents murmuring in response.
“Mmhm.”
= = =
Faced with the rather normal sight of people spread out over the small, isolated park with mats and picnic baskets, Sam remarked idly. “You know, for a top secret alien hiding agency family day, I kinda expected it to be stranger.”
“Son, most of us are normal human beings, like everyone else.”
He glanced over at Agent K, or Kevin, since this technically was downtime. “Yeah? So why’d you get Simmons to bring me here? I’m not family.”
“You are a descendant of an employee of the MIB, since Sector Seven, having originated from our organisation fell under that banner. However, that sort of family relation tends to be too far back to count, so we pulled a few strings. There’s someone who wanted to meet you.”
“Oh? Who-oof!” He toppled to the ground as a small furry weight tackled him in the stomach.
“Sam! Sam! Samsamsamsamsamsamsamsam!”
“Wha- Mojo? How- I thought- You got old and sick! Mom and Dad had to put you down!”
“Sam!”
After a few minutes of enthusiastic licking and tailwagging and barking, Sam managed to pry the excited dog off his face and stare at him, mouth open, before turning a stunned expression up at the MIB agent.
“Certain civilians are assigned watchdogs. Quite literally, in your case. You had in your possession an item directly modified by an alien life form, and it was considered prudent to keep an eye on your family. As your situation escalated, we added a second agent, and when you left your family home we made sure a third accompanied you.”
“Mojo was reporting on me to the authorities?! And Frankie and Bonecrusher were in on it too?!”
“Not everything!” The little dog whined, ears drooping. “I didn’t tell them about the magazines under your bed with all the weird pictu-”
He grabbed hold of Mojo’s muzzle, silencing him quickly. “Okay Mojo, that’s enough, I believe you.”
“I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
Agent K smiled faintly, walking off in the direction of his partner and one Reginald Simmons, watching from a short distance away. As Mojo leapt onto Sam and began covering him in dog spit once more, Simmons remarked dryly.
“That’s so cute it’s giving me heartburn.”
“You sure that’s not your heart growing three sizes in one day?” J snarked, dealing a sly look at the other man.
“Nope. Pretty sure it’s heartburn.”
= = =
“Reg.”
“What are you doing here this time?” Slumped back against the sofa in the otherwise sparsely furnished break room, Simmons lifted the arm from over his eyes to fix a gimlet eye on his cousin. Agent K only sat down next to him, holding out a paper cup of coffee. Simmons took it, chugging the thing whole as he flapped a hand impatiently at the other man.
“Go on. What fresh new complication are you going to land in my life?”
“You know the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division?”
“Dammit. Look, Hammer boy is organic, he’s your problem. I have enough on my plate keeping the gearhead of that troop away from the robots and he and the others are all human. Freaks, every last one of them, but one hundred per cent Earthling.”
“I’m not talking about them.”
His sombre tone made the ex-agent look at him properly, then growl. “Him? He was supposed to be safe!”
“He’s alive and in one piece, though the docs nearly lost him a few times. The man’s a fighter, but they can’t let him go back. Something about delicate balances and keeping the cover story they fed the team intact.”
“So park him in witness protection.”
“Do you really think he’d be happy hiding away somewhere?” K asked, tilting his head at him slightly. Simmons exhaled slowly, visibly deflating.
“No... Riding herd on the freakshow is too deep in our blood. What do you want from me? The MIB are better at hiding people. Especially ‘dead’ people.”
“I thought he could come here, once he’s out of medical. Get used to dealing with not-so secret aliens first.”
“They’ll find him. NEST isn’t exactly low key anymore.”
“We can get him a suit; he won’t look anything like himself.”
“Fine. I got one condition though.”
“And that would be?”
Simmons smirked.
“You get to tell him, and I get to watch.”
= = =
And so it was that when Phil woke up from his medicated haze to see his uncle Kevin by his bedside, his first words were “Oh my God. I’m dead, aren’t I?”
'Verse: 2007/09/11 Transformers. Surprise crossover 'verses.
Characters: Humans. No TFs appear in this fic.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crack. Human cussing.
It was the dog that tipped him off that it was going to be One Of Those DaysTM. Quite literally too, seeing as how the little tan and black pug trotted onto base like it owned the place, parked said pug butt on the ground beside him, then opened its mouth and spoke.
“Say, nice digs you got here. Kinda obvious you got something big behind all those fences, but I guess you don’t really have to try that hard to hide after what happened to Chicago. Lemme tell you, cleanup for that was a mess.”
Lennox blinked down at the dog, who was by now smirking up at his rather stunned expression.
“Say what?”
“Frank!”
The shout drew his attention away from the talking dog and to the pair of men walking rather quickly towards him. Black suits. Dark glasses. Great. Shades of Sector Seven all over again. Lennox’s headache, instead of subsiding at the sight of people who apparently knew what the hell the dog was on about, only grew.
“Excuse me son, I do believe that’s ours.”
The older male was polite, at least (though considering the Ranger’s frame of reference for ‘polite secret agency representative’ happened to be Simmons...), and Lennox nodded slightly, still unable to muster very much of a response. It wasn’t fair. He’d gotten used to giant alien robots and rapid city deconstruction by said giant robots, talking dogs were the last thing he’d expected to have to deal with.
The younger of the pair was less formal. The shades had come off and his expression was textbook exasperated. “Unfortunately. Bad dog, Frank! You know we only let you tag along ‘cos you promised you’d behave.”
“I’ll be good. Look J, sitting and staying like a nice puppy.”
And the dog was talking again. Wonderful.
= = =
“Simmons. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”
Black suits (and talking dog) in tow, Lennox hurried over to where the acerbic ex-agent was terrorising an underling. Simmons didn’t even look up from his clipboard as he responded dryly.
“Now soldier boy, I’m sure your wife would have something to say about that.”
“And now I remember why I don’t like you. Whatever. Here, they’re your problem now.”
Now Simmons turned around, and one eyebrow rose slightly as he took in the sight of the two men dressed in black.
“Kevin.”
“Reginald.”
“Wait, you two know each other?”
The black man’s reaction was exactly the same as Lennox’s own. The man Simmons had called Kevin glanced at his partner.
“All the top secret government agencies know of each other, slick. It makes worldwide cover-ups and conspiracies a lot easier to pull off if we’re working in unison. The MIB in particular go way back with these people.”
“Tell that to the inter-agency sports league. The last Blacksuits vs Whitecoats basketball game had to be called off due to unsporting behaviour on both parts, aka use of alien technology to obtain an unfair advantage. And that’s nothing compared to the hell we give the FBI.” Talking dog, talking dog again, Lennox tuned Frank out in favour of listening to J freak out.
“But you two like... know know each other. He knows your freaking name, K! I didn’t know it until after you retired the first time and I had to fish you back out of that post office!”
“Well, slick,” Simmons answered, drawling slightly, “it’s generally considered good manners to be on first name basis with your cousin.”
“Cousin?”
Will, being more experienced in the ways of secret agents named Simmons, let the other man make the surprised interjections. True to form, the ex-Sector Seven man didn’t let the comment slide, smirking at the gobsmacked expression on J’s face.
“Is there an echo in here?”
With a faint sigh, the other black suit cut in. “No picking on the rookie, Reginald.”
“You always did like to ruin my fun, Kevin. Or is it still ‘K’?”
“Agent K. I’m on duty. And you’re still a piece of work, Reg.”
The man in question shrugged, finally handing off his clipboard to the fidgeting underling, who immediately hightailed it out of there. Lennox watched him go, torn between following his example and staying to watch in morbid fascination.
“Comes with the territory. So, why are you in my base?”
Unperturbed by Simmons’s sharp tone, Agent K replied. “Higher ups thought a family connection would make things easier. You did send the last man running back in tears.”
“Your staff need to toughen up.” There was a derisive sort of huff, one that Agent K ignored.
“Agent R played a crucial role in obtaining permission to use Cardassian imagery and culture in Earth entertainment.”
“Pft. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes against mom.”
K nodded agreeably and Will envied his serene manner. “Aunt Tova is a formidable woman. We lost a good agent when she decided to join her husband in Sector Seven.”
“Damn straight. Speaking of which, I don’t care if you’re ‘dead’, Kevin. My mom changed your diapers, you could stand to call her once in a while.”
“Look, I hate to interrupt the family reunion, but I gotta go and there don’t seem to be any fire hydrants sitting around.”
All eyes turned to the dog sitting on the ground, and J sighed.
“I’ll take him out. K, you... catch up with your weird surprise cousin that I didn’t know about until now. Army guy, you wanna come with and point out what Frank can’t pee on while the old people talk?”
It was as good an opening as he would get, even if it did come with a side of talking dog, and Lennox had not lived through all those run-ins with homicidal giant robots by completely ignoring his instinct to bug out.
“Alright. But the dog had better hold it in until we get there. The people on this base have better things to do than clean up after someone’s pet.”
“Hey, screw you, alright? I’m no pet pooch.”
“Frank, you look like one and you’re a pain in my ass like one. As far as I’m concerned, you are one. Now are we gonna move or do I have to break out the leash?”
“You’re all jerks.”
The pug started trotting, grumbling loudly. Agent J shook his head, and Lennox joined him in trailing after the dog, making their way outside.
= = =
“So...”
“So.”
They ended up standing side by side, watching a dog sniff a bunch of fence posts. A few more moments of awkward silence later, Will decided to attempt conversation.
“What’s the deal with your people?”
“Normally I’d say if I told you, I’d have to neuralyze you, but seeing as how you’re in this as deep as we are... I’m MIB. Stands for Men in Black.” J swept a hand over his black suit and rolled his eyes. “Real original, I know. We deal with alien life forms. Immigration, tourists, technology development, research, the odd spot of pest control, all that shit.”
“Ah.” Lennox frowned slightly. “So... where were you when the Cybertronians showed up?”
The black man shrugged. “Good question. You know, I thought the MIB dealt with all aliens. Imagine my surprise when I found out we only deal with organic aliens.”
“What, no other robot aliens ever came knocking?”
“According to the files I looked up, there was only one robot alien we ever found. Sector Seven was the research branch of the MIB working on it, but they needed so many people they eventually expanded into a full outfit of their own. And I can see why the MIB let them. Some of the tech we got out of NBE-1...” J smirked at him. “Sw-eet.”
“We still have a few of the old guard around. Tom Banachek is one, and you’ve met Simmons.”
“Hoo boy, that guy. Hard to believe he’s related to K. Though until today I wouldn’t have thought K had family. Man is like... you’d think he just popped out of the ground one day, he’s that tight lipped about his personal life.”
“To be fair, if my family included Simmons, I’d be keeping that info quiet too.” Lennox smirked back, and the other man laughed out loud.
= = =
“Simm- Wait, who’s this?”
“Ah, Witwicky. About time you showed up. K, Sam Witwicky. Be patient with him, the robots hit him on the head a couple of times too many.”
Sam paused in the doorway at the sight of the two men poring over a table full of documents, shooting a glare at Simmons before heading inside. The stranger nodded at him, adding his own milder greeting to Simmons’s own.
“Afternoon, Mr Witwicky. Reginald tells me you’re training under him. The next generation of Earth-Cybertronian envoy?”
“Yeah... sounds about right. So... why are you here? And why are you calling Simmons ‘Reginald’?”
“I’m with the Men in Black. My partner and I have been assigned to the role of intermediary between NEST and the MIB. Reginald Simmons is my counterpart within your own agency. ”
“They’re also cousins, which is a good thing ‘cos nobody else was gonna make things work with that one.”
Sam, still mouthing the word ‘cousins’, turned to see another guy in a black suit entering, one end of a pair of shades pointed at an unimpressed Simmons.
“Slick. Back from walking the dog, I see.”
“That had better not be some freaky euphemism, Simmons, I don’t think my brain could handle that sort of thing without breaking and-”
“Witwicky, stop covering your eyes and use them.”
He stared at the pug, which stared back at him. “... There’s a dog on base. Who let a dog on base?”
“Kiss my fuzzy butt, pal.” The pug sneered, and the young man blinked.
“I stand corrected. There’s a talking dog on base. Okay, that brain breaking thing I mentioned? Happening now.”
“Right, I’m out of here. Got better things to sniff at.”
“Stay on base until we leave, Frank.”
The dog snorted at K’s instruction, leaving the room as Simmons brushed off Sam’s impending meltdown brusquely. “Do it on your own time, boy. This is important. The MIB have finally gotten the red tape sorted out for your robot friends to stay on Earth. Say thank you now.”
“... Didn’t the UN and all those government types already say yes?”
“Politicians. They talk pretty, but it’s the rest of us who have to make their promises work. Do the robots need driving or aviation licences? What are their rights to representation? Are they bound to Earth laws or are there exceptions? Their planet went bye bye, so maybe we’re going to get refugees coming in. What about the robots who decide not to ‘sign up with the Army’, so to speak? Where do the neutrals go? Do they need jobs? Where can they get jobs? Would those jobs result in the large scale destruction of a small country? That sort of thing.”
The ex-agent waved a hand vaguely at the young man and Agent K spoke again, sorting through a thick looking sheaf of paper. “Fortunately, the MIB has a great deal of experience with alien immigration. Although a species wide genocide, coupled with destruction of their originating planet as well as an attempt to destroy our own, tends to complicate the paperwork.”
J had joined the pair at the desk, flipping through another file, wincing at the number of pages it held. “Revealing themselves to the general public in a manner unconducive to cover-up? Did not help. Man, all the agents and neuralyzers we got couldn’t hide this. They tore up Chicago!”
“We prefer to keep things on the down low with regards to the aliens among us. Less mess.” K explained, and Sam looked rather steamrollered as he tried to defend his friends.
“Hey, they wanted to stay hidden as much as you wanted them to stay hid.” He paused, then offered meekly. “All that taken into account though... I thought everyone took the Autobots showing up rather well.”
“He’s young and was a civilian for most of that mess. He’ll learn.” Simmons muttered, head buried in another boring looking stack of documents, both MIB agents murmuring in response.
“Mmhm.”
= = =
Faced with the rather normal sight of people spread out over the small, isolated park with mats and picnic baskets, Sam remarked idly. “You know, for a top secret alien hiding agency family day, I kinda expected it to be stranger.”
“Son, most of us are normal human beings, like everyone else.”
He glanced over at Agent K, or Kevin, since this technically was downtime. “Yeah? So why’d you get Simmons to bring me here? I’m not family.”
“You are a descendant of an employee of the MIB, since Sector Seven, having originated from our organisation fell under that banner. However, that sort of family relation tends to be too far back to count, so we pulled a few strings. There’s someone who wanted to meet you.”
“Oh? Who-oof!” He toppled to the ground as a small furry weight tackled him in the stomach.
“Sam! Sam! Samsamsamsamsamsamsamsam!”
“Wha- Mojo? How- I thought- You got old and sick! Mom and Dad had to put you down!”
“Sam!”
After a few minutes of enthusiastic licking and tailwagging and barking, Sam managed to pry the excited dog off his face and stare at him, mouth open, before turning a stunned expression up at the MIB agent.
“Certain civilians are assigned watchdogs. Quite literally, in your case. You had in your possession an item directly modified by an alien life form, and it was considered prudent to keep an eye on your family. As your situation escalated, we added a second agent, and when you left your family home we made sure a third accompanied you.”
“Mojo was reporting on me to the authorities?! And Frankie and Bonecrusher were in on it too?!”
“Not everything!” The little dog whined, ears drooping. “I didn’t tell them about the magazines under your bed with all the weird pictu-”
He grabbed hold of Mojo’s muzzle, silencing him quickly. “Okay Mojo, that’s enough, I believe you.”
“I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
Agent K smiled faintly, walking off in the direction of his partner and one Reginald Simmons, watching from a short distance away. As Mojo leapt onto Sam and began covering him in dog spit once more, Simmons remarked dryly.
“That’s so cute it’s giving me heartburn.”
“You sure that’s not your heart growing three sizes in one day?” J snarked, dealing a sly look at the other man.
“Nope. Pretty sure it’s heartburn.”
= = =
“Reg.”
“What are you doing here this time?” Slumped back against the sofa in the otherwise sparsely furnished break room, Simmons lifted the arm from over his eyes to fix a gimlet eye on his cousin. Agent K only sat down next to him, holding out a paper cup of coffee. Simmons took it, chugging the thing whole as he flapped a hand impatiently at the other man.
“Go on. What fresh new complication are you going to land in my life?”
“You know the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division?”
“Dammit. Look, Hammer boy is organic, he’s your problem. I have enough on my plate keeping the gearhead of that troop away from the robots and he and the others are all human. Freaks, every last one of them, but one hundred per cent Earthling.”
“I’m not talking about them.”
His sombre tone made the ex-agent look at him properly, then growl. “Him? He was supposed to be safe!”
“He’s alive and in one piece, though the docs nearly lost him a few times. The man’s a fighter, but they can’t let him go back. Something about delicate balances and keeping the cover story they fed the team intact.”
“So park him in witness protection.”
“Do you really think he’d be happy hiding away somewhere?” K asked, tilting his head at him slightly. Simmons exhaled slowly, visibly deflating.
“No... Riding herd on the freakshow is too deep in our blood. What do you want from me? The MIB are better at hiding people. Especially ‘dead’ people.”
“I thought he could come here, once he’s out of medical. Get used to dealing with not-so secret aliens first.”
“They’ll find him. NEST isn’t exactly low key anymore.”
“We can get him a suit; he won’t look anything like himself.”
“Fine. I got one condition though.”
“And that would be?”
Simmons smirked.
“You get to tell him, and I get to watch.”
= = =
And so it was that when Phil woke up from his medicated haze to see his uncle Kevin by his bedside, his first words were “Oh my God. I’m dead, aren’t I?”