mini nanowrimo, word count 277, office drone fic! hah
more from the lamentable life of Agent Stephen Rodgers. uh. i have no excuses. what it says on the can.
Title: Typographical Errors Are Frowned Upon at SHIELD
Author: clumsygyrl/thegirlthatisclumsy
Pairing: OMC/OMC, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov/Pepper Potts
Summary: The real trouble working for SHIELD wasn't the villainous organizations bent on world domination or the evil geniuses making human killing robots. No, it was that no one knew how to use the Oxford comma properly and people insisted on mangling his last name.
Notes: I like to champion the causes of the office drone. Even those drones who have to log in hours at the shooting range and have to deal with superheroes busting up the break room on a frequent basis.
Typographical Errors Are Frowned Upon at SHIELD
On Monday morning, a fifteen foot robot shot his coffee cup out of his hand spilling the rich Kona blend all over the pavement and onto his just dry cleaned suit.
“Oh, you motherfucker.” The 9mm slugs that slammed into the robot's face almost made him feel better.
Almost.
0000
The real trouble working for SHIELD wasn't the villainous organizations bent on world domination or the evil geniuses making human killing robots. No, it was that no one knew how to use the Oxford comma properly and people insisted on mangling his last name.
“Hey, I have a delivery for a Rodgers. A Stephen Rodgers?” The UPS guy paused and started to chuckle. “You sure don't look like Captain America.”
Agent Rodgers smiled, the corners pinched tight as he signed the electronic pad. “Nope. He's taller, blonde...and white.” He leaned in and sniffed lightly. “He'd probably also be real disappointed that you're endangering the public driving around while under the influence of illegal substances.”
He turned and gave Marjorie, the grandmotherly receptionist, a smile.
“Captain America probably isn't some asshole either!”
Agent Rodgers just barely stopped himself from pulling his gun.
Barely.
0000
“If I have to read one more report from Barton where he mangles sentences, it will be too soon,” Agent Barnes said kicking off her shoes and pushing her head against his shoulder. “Lieu, come on. If you do not share your flask, I will tell the typing pool you keep purposely leaving Mr. Odinson's reports to Friday because you think it's hilarious to hear them cry,” Jamie fluttered her lashes up at him and smiled beseechingly.
Stephen handed over the doctored coffee and stared out at the smoking hull that used to be the staff break room. “You ever think you should have just said no when Coulson asked.”
Jamie took two long swallows and shrugged. “Nah. I get to read about all the adventures of superheroes. Get a pittance to risk life and limb and still come back and figure out if the forms I am holding are riddled with arrow or bullet holes. I'm living the life,” her drawl was just this side of amused. “You can't be missing the underwater adventures that badly, Squidy.”
Stephen took back his coffee and wrinkled his nose. “It's not that I miss it. I mean, I get to go home and night and see Danny and kiss our kids goodnight. You know, unless some alien decides he wants to take over the world again.”
Jamie rubbed her eyes with her hand. “They usually save that for Wednesdays.”
Stephen nodded and took another sip. “Stark's last report made it sound like he was collecting instruments of mass destruction named Captain America and Hawkeye.”
“Weapons of mass distraction,” Jamie said waggling her eyebrows.
“Please, never procreate,” Stephen said and did not feel bad at all for denying her more doctored coffee.
0000
Stephen emailed Jamie with the excerpt from Stark's report with a collection of his favorite other mistakes and he rubbed at his thigh. The knotwork of scar tissue was pretty heinous and he'd never serve Uncle Sam as he had before, but he was still working and fighting the good fight.
Even if it meant that he was hurting his soul editing a report that was more than 40% ellipsis and extraneous commas.
Stephen looked up when his inbox pinged with a Jamie's reply.
”I flew around for a few minutes and at the end I scooped up the instruments of DESTRUCTION, Cap and Legolas.” [Excerpt from Mission Report: Animal Ray (Mice)-Doom-20120304; A.Stark, edited and verified by SA S.Rodgers, Sec. Level 4]
I reiterate that Stark was correct in his usage of the comma. Have you seen the gym? We are out of heavy bags AGAIN. Also, the entire stock of yoga mats are Swiss cheese'd because of Barton.
-J
Stephen sighed and added the comma after fixing the Captain and Agent Barton's proper call names and signed off on the report. He looked over at the calendar and grimaced. “Tuesdays still officially suck.”
0000
Wednesday usually meant aliens tried to take over the world.
This Wednesday began with a truckload of procedural manuals on black op missions being delivered to a high school in Hoboken.
A junior agent had transposed two numbers and sent the wrong GPS coordinates to the driver.
The day ended with no alien attacks but a mad scrambled for a team of agents to retrieve the truck.
Agent Rodgers popped several antacids when he noted that while the junior agent had screwed up royally on the coordinates. The manuals had stayed secure thanks to the encryption locks on the truck.
Stark was, Agent Rodgers would admit only to himself, at least good for something other than abuse of the English language.
0000
“Honey, I'm home,” Stephen had already tugged off his tie as soon as he stepped off the last train and had shoved it into his satchel. The smells of dinner and the sounds of the kids yelling were welcoming. “Babe?”
“In here, trying to figure out why your daughter decided to dye eggs in the sink.”
Stephen grinned and ducked his head into the kitchen and peered into the sink. “Funny that the blond one is mine when she's being a brat.”
“DADDY! I HEARD THAT!”
“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO!”
Danny rolled his eyes and he frowned. “I was going to use your tie to pull you in for a kiss. Sadly, that tie is missing so your kiss will have to wait while you un-G-man yourself.”
Stephen kissed his husband on the side of his head. “I didn't shoot anyone today.”
“Garrett put a mark for your Dad on the chart. Incident free for 48 hours. It's a new record,” Danny pulled the plug in the sink and angled his head to the living room. “Go say hi to the kids then put the piece away.”
“That's what he said,” Stephen said and did not necessarily yelp when Danny waggled a handful of purple bubbles at his white shirt. “I'm going! I'm going!”
“DADDY GARRETT IS-!”
“I AM NOT! SHE JUST-!”
Stephen stood in the doorway and raised an eyebrow at his two children. “Garrett William Kelly-Rodgers why do you have your sister's hair in one hand and scissors in the other?”
Garrett blinked and Stephen watched as the lie was being formed in his son's head. “I don't know.”
Stephen held his hand out for the scissors and he looked over at his daughter. “Dee Marie Kelly-Rodgers, what did you do to provoke your brother?”
Dee frowned and Stephen didn't even wait for the lie. “Child of my heart, if the words that will next come out of your mouth are going to be a lie, don't bother.”
Dee snapped her mouth shut and she scowled at him and looked so much like Danny that Stephen had to bite the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh in the face of his seven year old daughter. “Get washed up for dinner.”
Both kids groaned and Stephen just sighed and headed to the master bedroom to lock up his weapon. Thursdays were always too long at work and never long enough at home.
The kids were yelling again in the bathroom and he had to smile.
“Babe, get in here. I think the oven is possessed again! I'm going to kill the super!” Danny yelled from the kitchen and Stephen just laughed.
0000
The redhead perched on the edge of his desk did not bode well. Stephen juggled his half full paper cup of coffee, newspaper, and phone into one hand and he grimaced when his thigh twinged. “Good morning, Ms. Romanov. What can or may I help you with?”
Agent Natasha Romanov smiled at him. She placed the letter opener back into the little cup on his desk and Stephen tried not to sigh. It was too early to be dealing with superhero problems. “I require assistance with an issue I am having with a piece of field equipment.”
Agent Rodgers forced a smile and he knew that it was more grimace than anything. “Have you filled out the proper paperwork, Agent Romanov?”
She made a face but slipped a hand into her suit jacket and pulled out a manila folder.
Stephen sighed this time. “Again, Agent?”
She curled her lip. “I blame Stark.”
Stephen sat down in his chair and sighed when the contour pillow supported his back. He let out a breath. “You always blame him, ma'am.”
“It is always his fault.”
Stephen pulled out the forms and logged onto his computer to file and requisition another computer tablet for Agent Romanov.
“It is my duty to tell you that not all property assigned to agents are considered weapons,” he said and mentally prepared himself for nasty emails from both the requisitions department and from finance.
Natasha slid off her perch and smiled at Stephen. “No, but they can all be used as one. Especially for loud mouthed-.”
The next words were not meant for polite company and Stephen was glad that they had decided to teach the kids French. He really didn't want to have to tell his young daughter that the Black Widow cursed worse (or better, really.) than their sailor of a father.
It would be embarrassing in too many ways to count.
0000
8260 / 18000
(45.89%)
Author's Note: More office drone fic. I feel a connection or something. :|
Title: Typographical Errors Are Frowned Upon at SHIELD
Author: clumsygyrl/thegirlthatisclumsy
Pairing: OMC/OMC, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov/Pepper Potts
Summary: The real trouble working for SHIELD wasn't the villainous organizations bent on world domination or the evil geniuses making human killing robots. No, it was that no one knew how to use the Oxford comma properly and people insisted on mangling his last name.
Notes: I like to champion the causes of the office drone. Even those drones who have to log in hours at the shooting range and have to deal with superheroes busting up the break room on a frequent basis.
Typographical Errors Are Frowned Upon at SHIELD
On Monday morning, a fifteen foot robot shot his coffee cup out of his hand spilling the rich Kona blend all over the pavement and onto his just dry cleaned suit.
“Oh, you motherfucker.” The 9mm slugs that slammed into the robot's face almost made him feel better.
Almost.
0000
The real trouble working for SHIELD wasn't the villainous organizations bent on world domination or the evil geniuses making human killing robots. No, it was that no one knew how to use the Oxford comma properly and people insisted on mangling his last name.
“Hey, I have a delivery for a Rodgers. A Stephen Rodgers?” The UPS guy paused and started to chuckle. “You sure don't look like Captain America.”
Agent Rodgers smiled, the corners pinched tight as he signed the electronic pad. “Nope. He's taller, blonde...and white.” He leaned in and sniffed lightly. “He'd probably also be real disappointed that you're endangering the public driving around while under the influence of illegal substances.”
He turned and gave Marjorie, the grandmotherly receptionist, a smile.
“Captain America probably isn't some asshole either!”
Agent Rodgers just barely stopped himself from pulling his gun.
Barely.
0000
“If I have to read one more report from Barton where he mangles sentences, it will be too soon,” Agent Barnes said kicking off her shoes and pushing her head against his shoulder. “Lieu, come on. If you do not share your flask, I will tell the typing pool you keep purposely leaving Mr. Odinson's reports to Friday because you think it's hilarious to hear them cry,” Jamie fluttered her lashes up at him and smiled beseechingly.
Stephen handed over the doctored coffee and stared out at the smoking hull that used to be the staff break room. “You ever think you should have just said no when Coulson asked.”
Jamie took two long swallows and shrugged. “Nah. I get to read about all the adventures of superheroes. Get a pittance to risk life and limb and still come back and figure out if the forms I am holding are riddled with arrow or bullet holes. I'm living the life,” her drawl was just this side of amused. “You can't be missing the underwater adventures that badly, Squidy.”
Stephen took back his coffee and wrinkled his nose. “It's not that I miss it. I mean, I get to go home and night and see Danny and kiss our kids goodnight. You know, unless some alien decides he wants to take over the world again.”
Jamie rubbed her eyes with her hand. “They usually save that for Wednesdays.”
Stephen nodded and took another sip. “Stark's last report made it sound like he was collecting instruments of mass destruction named Captain America and Hawkeye.”
“Weapons of mass distraction,” Jamie said waggling her eyebrows.
“Please, never procreate,” Stephen said and did not feel bad at all for denying her more doctored coffee.
0000
Stephen emailed Jamie with the excerpt from Stark's report with a collection of his favorite other mistakes and he rubbed at his thigh. The knotwork of scar tissue was pretty heinous and he'd never serve Uncle Sam as he had before, but he was still working and fighting the good fight.
Even if it meant that he was hurting his soul editing a report that was more than 40% ellipsis and extraneous commas.
Stephen looked up when his inbox pinged with a Jamie's reply.
”I flew around for a few minutes and at the end I scooped up the instruments of DESTRUCTION, Cap and Legolas.” [Excerpt from Mission Report: Animal Ray (Mice)-Doom-20120304; A.Stark, edited and verified by SA S.Rodgers, Sec. Level 4]
I reiterate that Stark was correct in his usage of the comma. Have you seen the gym? We are out of heavy bags AGAIN. Also, the entire stock of yoga mats are Swiss cheese'd because of Barton.
-J
Stephen sighed and added the comma after fixing the Captain and Agent Barton's proper call names and signed off on the report. He looked over at the calendar and grimaced. “Tuesdays still officially suck.”
0000
Wednesday usually meant aliens tried to take over the world.
This Wednesday began with a truckload of procedural manuals on black op missions being delivered to a high school in Hoboken.
A junior agent had transposed two numbers and sent the wrong GPS coordinates to the driver.
The day ended with no alien attacks but a mad scrambled for a team of agents to retrieve the truck.
Agent Rodgers popped several antacids when he noted that while the junior agent had screwed up royally on the coordinates. The manuals had stayed secure thanks to the encryption locks on the truck.
Stark was, Agent Rodgers would admit only to himself, at least good for something other than abuse of the English language.
0000
“Honey, I'm home,” Stephen had already tugged off his tie as soon as he stepped off the last train and had shoved it into his satchel. The smells of dinner and the sounds of the kids yelling were welcoming. “Babe?”
“In here, trying to figure out why your daughter decided to dye eggs in the sink.”
Stephen grinned and ducked his head into the kitchen and peered into the sink. “Funny that the blond one is mine when she's being a brat.”
“DADDY! I HEARD THAT!”
“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO!”
Danny rolled his eyes and he frowned. “I was going to use your tie to pull you in for a kiss. Sadly, that tie is missing so your kiss will have to wait while you un-G-man yourself.”
Stephen kissed his husband on the side of his head. “I didn't shoot anyone today.”
“Garrett put a mark for your Dad on the chart. Incident free for 48 hours. It's a new record,” Danny pulled the plug in the sink and angled his head to the living room. “Go say hi to the kids then put the piece away.”
“That's what he said,” Stephen said and did not necessarily yelp when Danny waggled a handful of purple bubbles at his white shirt. “I'm going! I'm going!”
“DADDY GARRETT IS-!”
“I AM NOT! SHE JUST-!”
Stephen stood in the doorway and raised an eyebrow at his two children. “Garrett William Kelly-Rodgers why do you have your sister's hair in one hand and scissors in the other?”
Garrett blinked and Stephen watched as the lie was being formed in his son's head. “I don't know.”
Stephen held his hand out for the scissors and he looked over at his daughter. “Dee Marie Kelly-Rodgers, what did you do to provoke your brother?”
Dee frowned and Stephen didn't even wait for the lie. “Child of my heart, if the words that will next come out of your mouth are going to be a lie, don't bother.”
Dee snapped her mouth shut and she scowled at him and looked so much like Danny that Stephen had to bite the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh in the face of his seven year old daughter. “Get washed up for dinner.”
Both kids groaned and Stephen just sighed and headed to the master bedroom to lock up his weapon. Thursdays were always too long at work and never long enough at home.
The kids were yelling again in the bathroom and he had to smile.
“Babe, get in here. I think the oven is possessed again! I'm going to kill the super!” Danny yelled from the kitchen and Stephen just laughed.
0000
The redhead perched on the edge of his desk did not bode well. Stephen juggled his half full paper cup of coffee, newspaper, and phone into one hand and he grimaced when his thigh twinged. “Good morning, Ms. Romanov. What can or may I help you with?”
Agent Natasha Romanov smiled at him. She placed the letter opener back into the little cup on his desk and Stephen tried not to sigh. It was too early to be dealing with superhero problems. “I require assistance with an issue I am having with a piece of field equipment.”
Agent Rodgers forced a smile and he knew that it was more grimace than anything. “Have you filled out the proper paperwork, Agent Romanov?”
She made a face but slipped a hand into her suit jacket and pulled out a manila folder.
Stephen sighed this time. “Again, Agent?”
She curled her lip. “I blame Stark.”
Stephen sat down in his chair and sighed when the contour pillow supported his back. He let out a breath. “You always blame him, ma'am.”
“It is always his fault.”
Stephen pulled out the forms and logged onto his computer to file and requisition another computer tablet for Agent Romanov.
“It is my duty to tell you that not all property assigned to agents are considered weapons,” he said and mentally prepared himself for nasty emails from both the requisitions department and from finance.
Natasha slid off her perch and smiled at Stephen. “No, but they can all be used as one. Especially for loud mouthed-.”
The next words were not meant for polite company and Stephen was glad that they had decided to teach the kids French. He really didn't want to have to tell his young daughter that the Black Widow cursed worse (or better, really.) than their sailor of a father.
It would be embarrassing in too many ways to count.
0000
8260 / 18000
(45.89%)
Author's Note: More office drone fic. I feel a connection or something. :|