You're fired, party.
Prompt: Gopher
This was the absolute last straw. It really was. He could smother conspiracies, kill men, hell, he even toppled a government a few months back (messy job, that). But after a long flight back from Brazil, the last thing he wanted to hear as Michelle (bless her heart) greeted him with a kiss, was “We have a gopher problem in the backyard.”
So William Cooper stood in the backyard on his first day off in a full year, splattered in mud. Thankfully, Samantha was at a friend’s for the day, and John was at a neighborhood birthday party, so they didn’t see their father running around the yard with a shovel, smacking at anything that popped up as the gopher tunnels flooded. Well. They were supposed to get hit with the shovel.
Cooper rubbed his eyes with a hand, cursing when his vision came away splattered with slimy dirt. Top CIA Agent, taken on a RED team and managed to come out not only unscathed, but somehow on their weird buddy list (no matter how much he tried to avoid them), but he couldn’t get rid of a few fucking gophers.
Poison was out of the question; Cooper didn’t want to take the chance of Leon digging it up. Said dog, however, was far too bumbling and happy-go-lucky to chase gophers for a living. He’d considered a snake, then remembered why the poison idea wouldn’t work. He pressed his palms to his eyes, then looked at his watch. Four hours until Michelle and the kids got home. That would be enough time (god dammit).
Cooper headed inside to make a call. How many crazy killer old people would it take to exterminate gophers? William knew he’d find out the answer, whether he wanted to or not.
Prompt: Questions
There was no turning back.
They’d made good time and his plane had made it back early, so after filing his report, his handler had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Go home, Agent Cooper. You’ve earned it; I’ll see you on Monday for some more paperwork.”
William had blinked, puzzled, and responded with a “Yessir.” After working with Cynthia for years, this new boss was taking time to adjust to. But he needed reality; he needed to find himself again. So he sat at the kitchen table, helping his kids with their homework.
Well, it wasn’t so much helping them with their homework as it was watching Samantha color with all the solemnity the five year old could muster, her tongue sticking out as her face screwed up in concentration. John (who had started the third grade already, Christ, had it really been eight years ago he’d been born?) was bent over a wide-ruled notebook, scribbling out answers to questions his teacher had given them. Cooper craned his neck slightly to see the sheet.
When you joined the CIA, your life was over.
What is something you do well?
Snap necks, shoot guns, hide secrets, Cooper thought wryly.
What is the greatest lesson you’ve learned so far in your life?
Don’t ever be in a position to take orders from a faceless superior. If there was anything Cooper wanted his kids to know, it was that. Don’t get yourselves mixed up in a job like this, where when you’re told to kill a man who didn’t do a damn thing wrong, you have to do it or it’s treason against the country. Don’t risk your family’s lives by being what you are.
What is your favorite toy?
Cooper thought of all the guns he’d handled in his time. Grenades, explosives…and information. The last one was even more deadly than a firearm. With information, you could ruin an entire man’s life: Rip it to pieces without laying a finger on him, and without killing him. You could crush a man with it, and the power was intoxicating. That’s why they needed people like Cooper, who wouldn’t abuse it. People like Cooper, who quieted the ones gone high on intelligence (usually with a swift kick of a chair or a gun in the face). People like Cooper, who killed on command, so who’s to say he wasn’t doing something horrible-
That was another problem. You had to tell yourself you were doing the right thing. Cooper ran a hand through his hair. This is why he was spending his Sunday afternoon sitting with his kids. To remind himself who he did this for.
Glock, he decided finally, thinking of the gun he had stashed at his bedside. You could never sleep normally after joining the CIA.
What are your hobbies?
Illegally gathering intelligence. Killing assassins. Sabotaging other people’s plans. Planting evidence. Fighting all the wars you don’t see, the ones the conspiracy theorists say are there. They’re right.
Cooper thought of Marvin and inwardly rolled his eyes.
What would have happened if you didn’t leave the house this morning?
If I’d said fuck work three days ago, a Ukrainian resistance movement would have been in the news.
What is the most exciting thing that ever happened to you?
Cooper smothered his short laugh, turning it into a cough. His kids glanced at him inquisitively.
“You feelin’ okay, Daddy?” Samantha’s brows drew together; she looked too serious for someone her age. He reached over and ruffled her hair.
“Daddy’s just fine, Sammi. Just that fall air.”
She nodded and went back to her coloring. John peered at him a moment longer. “You been taking your vitamins, Dad?”
William smiled. “Your Mom makes sure I never miss a day.”
John rolled his eyes, and Cooper couldn’t help but chuckle. Oh, how terrible the world was at John’s age, the older man thought dryly.
What sets you apart from the crowd?
Being a Covert Intelligence Operative Agent pretending to be a temp at the CIA.
Really, if they needed to, they could cut Cooper out and ruin his entire life. If it was beneficial to save the CIA, they’d do it. All Cooper could do was his job, and hope he did it well enough that he didn’t need to be a scapegoat. Being burned wasn’t exactly at the top of his priority list.
What do you want to be remembered for?
Cooper closed his eyes and tried hard not to think about that one.
If you could be any person in the world, who would you want to be, and why?
This question gave Cooper pause. He’d already chosen his life, and as much as he worried, he ultimately didn’t regret it. Would he do it again, if he had the chance? …he didn’t know. Probably. Maybe. Yes. He was keeping his kids and Michelle safe. He wanted to help, any way he could, to beat his fists against the sturdy walls of today’s world (built like brick shithouses on red tape and things you didn’t see in front of you) and make a difference, no matter how small.
William leaned back, his half-lidded eyes catching his son’s scrawl on the paper.
I’d want to be my Dad. He’s really busy, helping the government, so he’s away a lot. Mom says he’s a superhero.
Cooper sighed and closed his eyes, reaching down to scratch behind Leon’s ears. The dog thumped his tail and rested his head on the CIA Agent’s lap. “Tired?” John asked from his left.
“A little,” William admitted. He opened his eyes and sat forward. “All done?”
“Yup.” John shut the notebook, tossing it into his Batman backpack. “Can we go outside, Dad?”
“We’ll go outside,” Cooper agreed, “but we’ll wait for your sister before we start to play.”
Samantha, who had opened her mouth (most likely building up a protest), bent over her picture, the crayon moving faster. Cooper smiled to himself, steering his son out the sliding door.
When you joined the CIA, you agreed to throw the rest of your life away. Your family could never know what you do, and they were in danger at all times. Orders were orders, and at any time something could go wrong, or you could die, or the CIA could decide the debacle was too risky and cut its losses (you) and run. Maybe Moses had done the right thing, staying by himself his entire career. It was a tricky thing, balancing two completely different lives. But Michelle still smiled, and he kept on killing so he could always see that smile.
“Daddy?” Samantha asked after she ran outside, tugging on his sleeve. “Can you walk me to the bus tomorrow?”
Cooper thought of her little hand in his as she’d bit her lip and tried hard not to cry as he’d left her standing there for the first time two months ago. “Yeah, Sammi. I will.”