A Piece of Her Mind
Title: A Piece of Her Mind
Pairing/Character: Moira MacTaggert, Angel Salvadore, Raven Darkholme
Rating: G
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Words: ~1500
Summary: Agent MacTaggert really shouldn't be in this cocktail bar. And she really shouldn't be talking to two wanted criminals. But they seem to think there's a way for her to get back the memories she'd lost the previous year, and she can't help but listen.
Notes: Written for the rarewomen 2012 exchange for lilacsigil, who requested Angel and/or Moira: "characters where we were given a basic sketch, but very little about their lives or thoughts. I would love to see more about any of them and their lives outside the movie frame." I hope this fits the bill!
Thanks to pocky_slash for the beta!
Moira shouldn't even be in this cocktail bar. She has work in the morning, and though she's trained in firearms, self defense, and all manner of unladylike activities, it's still vaguely inappropriate for her to be out at a bar, alone. She's only recently been re-promoted to agent; last year she'd been declared "unfit for service" after some events she still does not quite recall. There's all kinds of gossip floating around about Moira MacTaggert, and she doesn't need to provide any more fuel to the rumor mill.
Well, if anyone tries anything, she'll deal with it. She needs a drink. She sips her martini, willing it to erase the tension this day has given her. Not that today was particularly worse than any other day. But she's a field agent. She should be in the field, and this is going on her second month stuck in the Langley office, "awaiting an assignment." She'd like to give her supervisor a piece of her mind, but she's sure that would just go down on her record as an "unprofessional emotional outburst."
So she's gritting her teeth and staying busy, reading field reports and keeping up on her physical training. But she can't wait to get out of the office. It's not just that she misses the excitement of the field; at least once a day someone still asks her to bring him coffee. One of these days she'll throw the coffee at some agent's face with the deadly precision her training has given her, and she'll get sent back down to the secretarial pool again. They probably won't fire her--she knows too much (even if she doesn't know as much as she thinks she should).
Moira finishes her drink and mentally debates getting another. She really shouldn't, but she definitely wants one. In the midst of her well-argued debate with herself, the door opens and she looks up to see who enters. Moira always sits facing the door.
A tall white man with movie star-good looks and a lovely woman with straight black hair and tanned skin walk in. Virginia is mostly unsegregated, but Moira rarely sees colored people at the bars and clubs she visits, at least not as patrons, so this woman's appearance is a little surprising. Then Moira does a double-take and realizes she recognizes her. Angel Salvadore, member of the Brotherhood of Mutants.
Moira's been studying all the files on mutants lately. They fascinate her, and hardly anyone else at the CIA seems concerned with them. Also, the more she reads about them, the more her damaged memory seems to stir. She almost wonders if a mutant could have erased her memory, but none of the CIA's files have any information about a mutant who could do something like that.
She doesn't recognize the man, but she's also been reading about Raven Darkholme, and she'd be willing to bet that's who's accompanying Miss Salvadore. Though it could be a new recruit, and then who knows what mutant ability he might have? Moira takes a deep breath and remembers her training. She's not armed. Angel can spit acid. The bar isn't crowded, but there are still a half-dozen civilians between Moira and the mutants. She watches them over her drink. They look right at her, then look at each other and approach Moira. One of them sits on each side of her. The man's eyes briefly glow yellow before returning to a deep brown.
"I know who you are," Moira says, her voice steady.
"Do you?" Raven says, with a mirthless laugh and a rich, deep voice. "I thought Charles had done a number on your memory."
Moira frowns. "I don't know a Charles."
Angel grins widely. "Well, he sure knows you, Agent MacTaggert."
"What do you want?" she asks.
"Red wine," Angel says, signalling the bartender with a delicate hand.
"I mean, why are you here?"
"For red wine," Raven says. "Even... people like us get thirsty."
Moira crosses her arms. Even if she could call for backup, what would she say? "Two mutants, unarmed and drinking"? And these two were not the government's priority. If Erik Lehnsherr were here, that would be a different story. Moira rather suspected that a man who could fly and spit acid would rank more highly on the FBI's Most Wanted List, but no one ever consulted Moira when compiling that list. As it currently stands, unlike their boss, these women are not on posters at every post office in America. (As if it would do any good at all to post a Wanted photo of Raven Darkholme, anyway.)
"And you just happened to come to a cocktail bar in Langley?"
"We're in town on business," Raven says.
"But we're here at the Blind Pig for pleasure," Angel says, a smirk playing around her lips. "Honest, officer."
"I'm not a police officer," Moira snaps. She knows she's being played with, but she can't help but respond. She's a CIA agent, dammit.
"Of course," Angel says, her smirk widening into a grin. "My apologies, Agent MacTaggert. You're an agent, aren't you? Clawed your way back to the top?"
How do they know this? They shouldn't know this. Has Raven Darkholme already infiltrated the CIA? It would be incredibly easy for her to do. Moira narrows her eyes, trying to think of a way to keep a shapeshifter out of CIA headquarters. Can she replicate fingerprints? It would take forever to check everyone's fingerprints every day upon entering the building.
Raven looks at Moira's face and shakes his--her head. "He shouldn't have done that to you. He always said he wouldn't. Not after the first time.."
"Who?" Moira asks. "Done what?" Her curiosity is what made her want to join the CIA in the first place, and right now she just wants to know what these women are talking about, whether or not it relates to national security. It relates to her own sanity.
"Charles Francis Xavier," Raven says. "My brother. You shot him."
"What?" Moira says. In her career to date, she has shot three people and killed two of them. She remembers them all very clearly, though she does not regret their deaths. She does not recall a Charles Francis Xavier.
Raven purses her lips. "Angel, do you have a pen?"
Angel peers into her clutch and offers a shrug. Moira pulls one out of her purse and hands it over. Her curiosity has definitely been piqued.
Raven scribbles an address and phone number on a napkin. "You should talk to him. He can help you get your memories back."
"Why should I trust you?" Moira asks.
"You probably shouldn't," Raven says. "But the thing is, you're pretty decent, for a government agent. And if you're going to be against us, you should really know the whole story."
Angel reaches over and takes Raven's half-empty glass. She drains it and signals for fresh drinks while Moira stares at the napkin and considers.
"Why would he talk to me if I shot him? Why did I shoot him?" Moira wonders.
Raven shrugs. "You weren't aiming for him."
"But I'm a great shot," Moira blurts.
Raven looks at her sideways, and after a moment, Moira says, "Was Magneto there?"
Raven nods once. Moira has already met Magneto, the FBI's Most Wanted Man? Surely she would remember that. But she thinks about the peculiar chill she gets when she looks at Lehnsherr's file. She's a CIA agent; she doesn't normally get the heebie-jeebies just from reading about a criminal. There must be something to what Raven is saying. She looks at the napkin again. Salem Center, New York. She'll have to look at a map, but she could probably get there in a weekend.
Now Raven is giving that sidelong disapproving look to Angel, who's sipping another drink. "What? I'm fine," Angel says. "You're as bad as he is."
"We should really be getting back," Raven says brusquely. "It was so lovely to see you again, Agent MacTaggert."
"You can't just leave," Moira says. "You're wanted by the CIA. I'm the CIA. Did you think I was going to just let you walk out?"
"Yes," Angel says. "You're unarmed and surrounded by civilians."
"And you have a new lead to follow," Raven says. "You wouldn't want to do anything rash without confirming it, would you?"
"Who knows?" Angel purrs. "Maybe you'll want to switch teams after you talk to him."
"I can't promise you it'll be that intriguing," Raven says. "But I can promise you that people will get hurt if you try to follow us. And that wouldn't look good on your record, now, would it, Agent MacTaggert?"
Moira narrows her eyes and says nothing.
"I thought not," Raven says. "We'll see you around, then." Raven leaves a few bills on the bar and takes Angel by the arm. They strut out confidently.
Moira settles her tab, waits two minutes, and heads for her car. Raven had pocketed the pen Moira had lent her. Moira has to get back to the CIA office to activate the small radio tracking device that's embedded into it. And she has to figure out where Salem Center is. Whoever this Charles Xavier is, it sounds like she owes him a piece of her mind. Or rather, like he owes her a piece of her mind.
Pairing/Character: Moira MacTaggert, Angel Salvadore, Raven Darkholme
Rating: G
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Words: ~1500
Summary: Agent MacTaggert really shouldn't be in this cocktail bar. And she really shouldn't be talking to two wanted criminals. But they seem to think there's a way for her to get back the memories she'd lost the previous year, and she can't help but listen.
Notes: Written for the rarewomen 2012 exchange for lilacsigil, who requested Angel and/or Moira: "characters where we were given a basic sketch, but very little about their lives or thoughts. I would love to see more about any of them and their lives outside the movie frame." I hope this fits the bill!
Thanks to pocky_slash for the beta!
Moira shouldn't even be in this cocktail bar. She has work in the morning, and though she's trained in firearms, self defense, and all manner of unladylike activities, it's still vaguely inappropriate for her to be out at a bar, alone. She's only recently been re-promoted to agent; last year she'd been declared "unfit for service" after some events she still does not quite recall. There's all kinds of gossip floating around about Moira MacTaggert, and she doesn't need to provide any more fuel to the rumor mill.
Well, if anyone tries anything, she'll deal with it. She needs a drink. She sips her martini, willing it to erase the tension this day has given her. Not that today was particularly worse than any other day. But she's a field agent. She should be in the field, and this is going on her second month stuck in the Langley office, "awaiting an assignment." She'd like to give her supervisor a piece of her mind, but she's sure that would just go down on her record as an "unprofessional emotional outburst."
So she's gritting her teeth and staying busy, reading field reports and keeping up on her physical training. But she can't wait to get out of the office. It's not just that she misses the excitement of the field; at least once a day someone still asks her to bring him coffee. One of these days she'll throw the coffee at some agent's face with the deadly precision her training has given her, and she'll get sent back down to the secretarial pool again. They probably won't fire her--she knows too much (even if she doesn't know as much as she thinks she should).
Moira finishes her drink and mentally debates getting another. She really shouldn't, but she definitely wants one. In the midst of her well-argued debate with herself, the door opens and she looks up to see who enters. Moira always sits facing the door.
A tall white man with movie star-good looks and a lovely woman with straight black hair and tanned skin walk in. Virginia is mostly unsegregated, but Moira rarely sees colored people at the bars and clubs she visits, at least not as patrons, so this woman's appearance is a little surprising. Then Moira does a double-take and realizes she recognizes her. Angel Salvadore, member of the Brotherhood of Mutants.
Moira's been studying all the files on mutants lately. They fascinate her, and hardly anyone else at the CIA seems concerned with them. Also, the more she reads about them, the more her damaged memory seems to stir. She almost wonders if a mutant could have erased her memory, but none of the CIA's files have any information about a mutant who could do something like that.
She doesn't recognize the man, but she's also been reading about Raven Darkholme, and she'd be willing to bet that's who's accompanying Miss Salvadore. Though it could be a new recruit, and then who knows what mutant ability he might have? Moira takes a deep breath and remembers her training. She's not armed. Angel can spit acid. The bar isn't crowded, but there are still a half-dozen civilians between Moira and the mutants. She watches them over her drink. They look right at her, then look at each other and approach Moira. One of them sits on each side of her. The man's eyes briefly glow yellow before returning to a deep brown.
"I know who you are," Moira says, her voice steady.
"Do you?" Raven says, with a mirthless laugh and a rich, deep voice. "I thought Charles had done a number on your memory."
Moira frowns. "I don't know a Charles."
Angel grins widely. "Well, he sure knows you, Agent MacTaggert."
"What do you want?" she asks.
"Red wine," Angel says, signalling the bartender with a delicate hand.
"I mean, why are you here?"
"For red wine," Raven says. "Even... people like us get thirsty."
Moira crosses her arms. Even if she could call for backup, what would she say? "Two mutants, unarmed and drinking"? And these two were not the government's priority. If Erik Lehnsherr were here, that would be a different story. Moira rather suspected that a man who could fly and spit acid would rank more highly on the FBI's Most Wanted List, but no one ever consulted Moira when compiling that list. As it currently stands, unlike their boss, these women are not on posters at every post office in America. (As if it would do any good at all to post a Wanted photo of Raven Darkholme, anyway.)
"And you just happened to come to a cocktail bar in Langley?"
"We're in town on business," Raven says.
"But we're here at the Blind Pig for pleasure," Angel says, a smirk playing around her lips. "Honest, officer."
"I'm not a police officer," Moira snaps. She knows she's being played with, but she can't help but respond. She's a CIA agent, dammit.
"Of course," Angel says, her smirk widening into a grin. "My apologies, Agent MacTaggert. You're an agent, aren't you? Clawed your way back to the top?"
How do they know this? They shouldn't know this. Has Raven Darkholme already infiltrated the CIA? It would be incredibly easy for her to do. Moira narrows her eyes, trying to think of a way to keep a shapeshifter out of CIA headquarters. Can she replicate fingerprints? It would take forever to check everyone's fingerprints every day upon entering the building.
Raven looks at Moira's face and shakes his--her head. "He shouldn't have done that to you. He always said he wouldn't. Not after the first time.."
"Who?" Moira asks. "Done what?" Her curiosity is what made her want to join the CIA in the first place, and right now she just wants to know what these women are talking about, whether or not it relates to national security. It relates to her own sanity.
"Charles Francis Xavier," Raven says. "My brother. You shot him."
"What?" Moira says. In her career to date, she has shot three people and killed two of them. She remembers them all very clearly, though she does not regret their deaths. She does not recall a Charles Francis Xavier.
Raven purses her lips. "Angel, do you have a pen?"
Angel peers into her clutch and offers a shrug. Moira pulls one out of her purse and hands it over. Her curiosity has definitely been piqued.
Raven scribbles an address and phone number on a napkin. "You should talk to him. He can help you get your memories back."
"Why should I trust you?" Moira asks.
"You probably shouldn't," Raven says. "But the thing is, you're pretty decent, for a government agent. And if you're going to be against us, you should really know the whole story."
Angel reaches over and takes Raven's half-empty glass. She drains it and signals for fresh drinks while Moira stares at the napkin and considers.
"Why would he talk to me if I shot him? Why did I shoot him?" Moira wonders.
Raven shrugs. "You weren't aiming for him."
"But I'm a great shot," Moira blurts.
Raven looks at her sideways, and after a moment, Moira says, "Was Magneto there?"
Raven nods once. Moira has already met Magneto, the FBI's Most Wanted Man? Surely she would remember that. But she thinks about the peculiar chill she gets when she looks at Lehnsherr's file. She's a CIA agent; she doesn't normally get the heebie-jeebies just from reading about a criminal. There must be something to what Raven is saying. She looks at the napkin again. Salem Center, New York. She'll have to look at a map, but she could probably get there in a weekend.
Now Raven is giving that sidelong disapproving look to Angel, who's sipping another drink. "What? I'm fine," Angel says. "You're as bad as he is."
"We should really be getting back," Raven says brusquely. "It was so lovely to see you again, Agent MacTaggert."
"You can't just leave," Moira says. "You're wanted by the CIA. I'm the CIA. Did you think I was going to just let you walk out?"
"Yes," Angel says. "You're unarmed and surrounded by civilians."
"And you have a new lead to follow," Raven says. "You wouldn't want to do anything rash without confirming it, would you?"
"Who knows?" Angel purrs. "Maybe you'll want to switch teams after you talk to him."
"I can't promise you it'll be that intriguing," Raven says. "But I can promise you that people will get hurt if you try to follow us. And that wouldn't look good on your record, now, would it, Agent MacTaggert?"
Moira narrows her eyes and says nothing.
"I thought not," Raven says. "We'll see you around, then." Raven leaves a few bills on the bar and takes Angel by the arm. They strut out confidently.
Moira settles her tab, waits two minutes, and heads for her car. Raven had pocketed the pen Moira had lent her. Moira has to get back to the CIA office to activate the small radio tracking device that's embedded into it. And she has to figure out where Salem Center is. Whoever this Charles Xavier is, it sounds like she owes him a piece of her mind. Or rather, like he owes her a piece of her mind.