fic: Espionage: a Dictionary of Related Terms
Huh. So I was looking through my fic folder and discovered that I had finished this, so I figured I might as well post it, right?
Title: Espionage: a Dictionary of Related Terms
Fandom: Panic at the Disco (Wentzdom)
Pairing: Gen, Brent-centric
Summary: Three conversations Brent has after the Divorce, with three different agents.
Warnings: AU, contains mentions of the Divorce and violence. (Unconnected.) Unbetaed.
Notes: Okay! So this was written pretty soon after the Divorce, but the idea for the fic itself was actually conceived a while back. A few people on my flist (read: annon_of_rhi) may remember me talking about the Secret!Agent!Nate fic, which still has yet to be written - that spawned this fic.
Disclaimer: So very, very not real. All definitions taken from here.
1 Jun 09 - Operative: Ian Crawford [Agent 03, Teen-9, Band Sector]; Operative: Brent Wilson [Agent 17, Teen-8, Hometown Sector]
Related terms:
BLOWBACK - unexpected negative consequences of spying activity.
DEEP-COVER AGENT - permanent cover.
THROWAWAY - an agent considered expendable.
Ian isn't expecting the call from Brent, but maybe he should be.
"Ian, man, I'm sorry," Brent says. If Ian's sources and the oblique hints dropped by the Big Bosses are correct, Brent's in the middle of the mountains right now, but of course that wouldn't keep him from finding out.
"Yeah, me too," Ian admits, relaxing back onto his couch. "But there were reasons I had to. I think it'll be okay."
He doesn't say what they're both thinking, that at least Ian's still on good terms with his band. Brent got a raw deal from the Big Bosses, and they all know it. There were reasons, though; there are always reasons.
"Good," Brent tells him, and Ian hears him sigh. "I won't ask. I just wanted to say I know it sucks."
"Thanks," Ian says, looking around the room. It's weird, being back in Seattle. His eyes land on the picture on the side table, the one of him, Cash, and the three Alexes . They're all grinning widely, their hair messy from the gale-force wind that had been blowing that day. Ian is looking slightly to the side, just past Marshall; they'd had a few close calls recently, and he didn't want to be caught off-guard for a moment. "Talk to you later, man."
Brent might not be feeling so sympathetic in a few months.
"Later," Brent agrees, and hangs up the phone. And that's that, for a little while.
6 July, 2009 - Operative: Jonathan Walker [Agent 29, Teen-7, Band Sector]; Operative: Brent Wilson [Agent 17, Teen-8, Hometown Sector]
Related terms:
ELLIPTICAL CONVERSATION - says one thing but means another
JOE - a deep-cover agent.
Jon picks up the phone on the first ring. "Hey, Cass," he says, and Brent rolls his eyes.
"What, Ryan's there so you can't even leave the fucking room to talk?" he demands. "Jesus, asshole."
"Sorry, I know I said I'd call you back," Jon apologizes. Brent waits to see where he's going with this. "Ryan and I got caught up in a song."
"Caught up in a song," Brent mutters under his breath, raising his voice to demand, "What about Spencer and Brendon? Did they get caught up in a song, too? Oh, wait, you don't know. You don't know if they even got caught up in a fucking attack because you're not fucking there."
"I'm glad the cats are okay," Jon laughs.
"You don't know that!" Brent shouts, because he feels like the point can't be repeated enough times. "You don't know if they're okay, because you fucking left them!"
"Yeah? No, I'm sure he's fine. I know you would never leave my babies with an untrustworthy catsitter."
"You had damn well better be right," Brent swears, trying to keep his hands from clenching into fists. If anything happens because Jon isn't there - if Spencer and Brendon are hurt, Brent doesn't care what the Big Bosses say, he's going to fly up to California to beat the shit out of Jon. "You promised, Walker," he spits, his voice venomous. "You promised me that you would take care of them."
"Yeah, I miss them too," Jon says ruefully. "But it's not like I could exactly ship them over here."
Brent reaches out to grab something, anything. The first thing that comes to hand is a pillow, which he hurls against the wall. It's probably a good thing he left his gun all the way across the room. "Screw the Big Bosses," he retorts, even though both of them are good, order-following agents who would never do that. After all, isn't that how Brent ended up here in the first place?
He feels a brief, sharp pain in his chest. He writes it off as his still-healing ribs, which didn't take kindly to last week's adventure in Arizona. It feels like a twinge in the ribs right above his heart, even though those ones never actually got broken.
"I would have given anything to stay," he says softly, staring down at his lap. "And you're just leaving them? What the hell?"
"I miss you most of all," Jon says, and his voice sounds light - for Ryan's sake, Brent thinks, and there's another brief flare of pain in his ribs - but Brent can hear the solemnity underneath. "But the songs are sounding really great, and you've got all those projects you're working on."
"So? You should have fucking kept them together," Brent snaps. "Wasn't that your job? You made them happy again?" But no, that isn't fair. If Spencer, Brendon and Ryan all wanted to go their own ways - if the bosses agreed - "You had better fucking regret it, that's all I'm going to say," Brent orders fiercely. "You had better miss having the three of them together like you've never missed anything else in your fucking life."
Jon sighs. "I love you always," he promises, and Brent nods sharply and hangs up.
30 July, 2009 - Operative: Nate Novarro [Agent 09, Teen-8, Band Sector]; Operative: Brent Wilson [Agent 17, Teen-8, Hometown Sector]
Related terms:
RING - a network of spies or agents.
INFILTRATION - the secret movement of an operative into a target area with the intent that his or her presence will go undetected.
HUMINT - intelligence activities involving people rather than electronic eavesdropping or communications interception.
"I can't believe he didn't tell me," Brent gripes, pouring a bowlful of cereal. His ribs are better, but that trigger-happy asshole in Florida took out his left ankle, so he's housebound until their resident medical geniuses say he's good to go. It does mean he has lots of time available for surfing the internet, though, in between target practice and physical therapy. "I can't believe you didn't tell me."
"I didn't know it was Ian and Dallon," Nate protests. "I just knew that Spencer and Brendon would be in good hands on the next tour. Which I did tell you, thanks. Jerk."
"But I called him and everything!" Brent insists, still resentful. "I was all, 'Sorry about you being forced to leave your band,' and he was probably laughing at me in his head."
"Dude. I seriously doubt he was laughing at you. Ian fucking loved that band," and yeah, Brent is willing to concede that maybe Nate would know better than Brent would, given that he toured with the Cab while Brent has been stuck on fucking Domestic Duty. "He probably just felt really awkward."
Brent almost laughs. "Fuck, yeah." He takes a minute more to think about it. "Shit, that's actually kind of funny."
"See?" Nate asks, sounding smug. Ass. "And they got Dallon, man." Both of them pause for a moment to appreciate this properly. Dallon fucking Weekes . This is like when Andy joined Fall Out Boy, and Joe is still a legend for convincing him to do that. "Told you they'd be taken care of."
"But it's not permanent," Brent reminds Nate. "What happens after the tour ends?"
"The Big Bosses will figure something out," Nate assures him.
Brent wants to believe him, but - "Yeah? What happens when they decide they need to reassign you, huh? What are you going to do then? Are you just going to quit Cobra Starship like a good little agent?"
Nate doesn't say anything for a moment. "Sure," he responds finally. Calmly, even. "Upstairs always knows best, right?"
And, in its own way, that's as elliptical as Jon's one-sided discussion about cats, because Nate and Brent both know that you can't hide anything from the agents you trained with, not in the Teen Division. You just occasionally have to hide things from the people who might be listening to your phone conversations.
No fucking way, Nate says. Not a single fucking chance I'm ever going to leave that band.
And the thing is, Nate might just be able to get away with that. He's one of the star agents, after all; he can pretty much do anything he damn well pleases. He was never trained to be a fill-in, not like Brent, just a stopgap until they got someone better. Nate was always meant for this.
"Yeah," Brent says resignedly. "Anyway, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."
"Sure," Nate says, and they both hang up.
Brent sets down his cereal and puts the unopened milk back in the fridge, hobbling over to grab his gun instead. Eating can wait; he's got a shattered ankle, a split ex-band, and a whole bunch of targets just sitting there waiting for him to take his frustration out on them.
Title: Espionage: a Dictionary of Related Terms
Fandom: Panic at the Disco (Wentzdom)
Pairing: Gen, Brent-centric
Summary: Three conversations Brent has after the Divorce, with three different agents.
Warnings: AU, contains mentions of the Divorce and violence. (Unconnected.) Unbetaed.
Notes: Okay! So this was written pretty soon after the Divorce, but the idea for the fic itself was actually conceived a while back. A few people on my flist (read: annon_of_rhi) may remember me talking about the Secret!Agent!Nate fic, which still has yet to be written - that spawned this fic.
Disclaimer: So very, very not real. All definitions taken from here.
1 Jun 09 - Operative: Ian Crawford [Agent 03, Teen-9, Band Sector]; Operative: Brent Wilson [Agent 17, Teen-8, Hometown Sector]
Related terms:
BLOWBACK - unexpected negative consequences of spying activity.
DEEP-COVER AGENT - permanent cover.
THROWAWAY - an agent considered expendable.
Ian isn't expecting the call from Brent, but maybe he should be.
"Ian, man, I'm sorry," Brent says. If Ian's sources and the oblique hints dropped by the Big Bosses are correct, Brent's in the middle of the mountains right now, but of course that wouldn't keep him from finding out.
"Yeah, me too," Ian admits, relaxing back onto his couch. "But there were reasons I had to. I think it'll be okay."
He doesn't say what they're both thinking, that at least Ian's still on good terms with his band. Brent got a raw deal from the Big Bosses, and they all know it. There were reasons, though; there are always reasons.
"Good," Brent tells him, and Ian hears him sigh. "I won't ask. I just wanted to say I know it sucks."
"Thanks," Ian says, looking around the room. It's weird, being back in Seattle. His eyes land on the picture on the side table, the one of him, Cash, and the three Alexes . They're all grinning widely, their hair messy from the gale-force wind that had been blowing that day. Ian is looking slightly to the side, just past Marshall; they'd had a few close calls recently, and he didn't want to be caught off-guard for a moment. "Talk to you later, man."
Brent might not be feeling so sympathetic in a few months.
"Later," Brent agrees, and hangs up the phone. And that's that, for a little while.
6 July, 2009 - Operative: Jonathan Walker [Agent 29, Teen-7, Band Sector]; Operative: Brent Wilson [Agent 17, Teen-8, Hometown Sector]
Related terms:
ELLIPTICAL CONVERSATION - says one thing but means another
JOE - a deep-cover agent.
Jon picks up the phone on the first ring. "Hey, Cass," he says, and Brent rolls his eyes.
"What, Ryan's there so you can't even leave the fucking room to talk?" he demands. "Jesus, asshole."
"Sorry, I know I said I'd call you back," Jon apologizes. Brent waits to see where he's going with this. "Ryan and I got caught up in a song."
"Caught up in a song," Brent mutters under his breath, raising his voice to demand, "What about Spencer and Brendon? Did they get caught up in a song, too? Oh, wait, you don't know. You don't know if they even got caught up in a fucking attack because you're not fucking there."
"I'm glad the cats are okay," Jon laughs.
"You don't know that!" Brent shouts, because he feels like the point can't be repeated enough times. "You don't know if they're okay, because you fucking left them!"
"Yeah? No, I'm sure he's fine. I know you would never leave my babies with an untrustworthy catsitter."
"You had damn well better be right," Brent swears, trying to keep his hands from clenching into fists. If anything happens because Jon isn't there - if Spencer and Brendon are hurt, Brent doesn't care what the Big Bosses say, he's going to fly up to California to beat the shit out of Jon. "You promised, Walker," he spits, his voice venomous. "You promised me that you would take care of them."
"Yeah, I miss them too," Jon says ruefully. "But it's not like I could exactly ship them over here."
Brent reaches out to grab something, anything. The first thing that comes to hand is a pillow, which he hurls against the wall. It's probably a good thing he left his gun all the way across the room. "Screw the Big Bosses," he retorts, even though both of them are good, order-following agents who would never do that. After all, isn't that how Brent ended up here in the first place?
He feels a brief, sharp pain in his chest. He writes it off as his still-healing ribs, which didn't take kindly to last week's adventure in Arizona. It feels like a twinge in the ribs right above his heart, even though those ones never actually got broken.
"I would have given anything to stay," he says softly, staring down at his lap. "And you're just leaving them? What the hell?"
"I miss you most of all," Jon says, and his voice sounds light - for Ryan's sake, Brent thinks, and there's another brief flare of pain in his ribs - but Brent can hear the solemnity underneath. "But the songs are sounding really great, and you've got all those projects you're working on."
"So? You should have fucking kept them together," Brent snaps. "Wasn't that your job? You made them happy again?" But no, that isn't fair. If Spencer, Brendon and Ryan all wanted to go their own ways - if the bosses agreed - "You had better fucking regret it, that's all I'm going to say," Brent orders fiercely. "You had better miss having the three of them together like you've never missed anything else in your fucking life."
Jon sighs. "I love you always," he promises, and Brent nods sharply and hangs up.
30 July, 2009 - Operative: Nate Novarro [Agent 09, Teen-8, Band Sector]; Operative: Brent Wilson [Agent 17, Teen-8, Hometown Sector]
Related terms:
RING - a network of spies or agents.
INFILTRATION - the secret movement of an operative into a target area with the intent that his or her presence will go undetected.
HUMINT - intelligence activities involving people rather than electronic eavesdropping or communications interception.
"I can't believe he didn't tell me," Brent gripes, pouring a bowlful of cereal. His ribs are better, but that trigger-happy asshole in Florida took out his left ankle, so he's housebound until their resident medical geniuses say he's good to go. It does mean he has lots of time available for surfing the internet, though, in between target practice and physical therapy. "I can't believe you didn't tell me."
"I didn't know it was Ian and Dallon," Nate protests. "I just knew that Spencer and Brendon would be in good hands on the next tour. Which I did tell you, thanks. Jerk."
"But I called him and everything!" Brent insists, still resentful. "I was all, 'Sorry about you being forced to leave your band,' and he was probably laughing at me in his head."
"Dude. I seriously doubt he was laughing at you. Ian fucking loved that band," and yeah, Brent is willing to concede that maybe Nate would know better than Brent would, given that he toured with the Cab while Brent has been stuck on fucking Domestic Duty. "He probably just felt really awkward."
Brent almost laughs. "Fuck, yeah." He takes a minute more to think about it. "Shit, that's actually kind of funny."
"See?" Nate asks, sounding smug. Ass. "And they got Dallon, man." Both of them pause for a moment to appreciate this properly. Dallon fucking Weekes . This is like when Andy joined Fall Out Boy, and Joe is still a legend for convincing him to do that. "Told you they'd be taken care of."
"But it's not permanent," Brent reminds Nate. "What happens after the tour ends?"
"The Big Bosses will figure something out," Nate assures him.
Brent wants to believe him, but - "Yeah? What happens when they decide they need to reassign you, huh? What are you going to do then? Are you just going to quit Cobra Starship like a good little agent?"
Nate doesn't say anything for a moment. "Sure," he responds finally. Calmly, even. "Upstairs always knows best, right?"
And, in its own way, that's as elliptical as Jon's one-sided discussion about cats, because Nate and Brent both know that you can't hide anything from the agents you trained with, not in the Teen Division. You just occasionally have to hide things from the people who might be listening to your phone conversations.
No fucking way, Nate says. Not a single fucking chance I'm ever going to leave that band.
And the thing is, Nate might just be able to get away with that. He's one of the star agents, after all; he can pretty much do anything he damn well pleases. He was never trained to be a fill-in, not like Brent, just a stopgap until they got someone better. Nate was always meant for this.
"Yeah," Brent says resignedly. "Anyway, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."
"Sure," Nate says, and they both hang up.
Brent sets down his cereal and puts the unopened milk back in the fridge, hobbling over to grab his gun instead. Eating can wait; he's got a shattered ankle, a split ex-band, and a whole bunch of targets just sitting there waiting for him to take his frustration out on them.