historically inaccurate but well-meaning t-rex (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scriveyner) wrote2016-11-02 12:25 pm
scriveyner) wrote2016-11-02 12:25 pm
Entry tags:
- au: spyfic,
- character: allura,
- character: hunk,
- character: hunk (spy),
- character: keith,
- character: keith (spy),
- character: lance,
- character: lance (spy),
- character: pidge gunderson,
- character: pidge gunderson (spy),
- character: takashi shirogane,
- genre: multi-part,
- pairing: lance/allura,
- pairing: shiro/keith,
- series: voltron legendary defender,
- wc: under 5000
Voltron Legendary Defender (Spy AU) - martinis, girls & guns [2] [Sheith + Allurance]
Title: martinis, girls & guns [2]
Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender
AU: Spyfic
Characters/Pairing: Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Keith
Rating: M
Length: 1775
Summary: The building was much like many of the others that lined the shore; squat and long with large shutters that could open to the sea.
The building was much like many of the others that lined the shore; squat and long with large shutters that could open to the sea. Just like the underground casino and most of the other buildings there was a distinct lack of air conditioning, a fact that Lance lamented silently as he pushed open the door to what was once a bedroom.
It was still, technically a bedroom – although the bed itself was barely visible under a pile of opened cases and loose technology. Along the far edge of the bed, facing the half-closed shutters was a line of computer monitors of all sizes. They cast the only illumination in the room, a sickly green reflected light that made even the most healthy look like a pallid zombie. Before he had even let the door drift shut behind him, a tousled head wearing oversized glasses popped up from the far side of the bed, eyes obscured by the reflection on the lenses.
"Absolutely not," Pidge said in no uncertain terms as Lance walked around the bed.
"Last I checked, I was put in charge of this thing," Lance said, arms folded.
Pidge was seated cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a wealth of monitors, an open styrofoam container that stank of day-old local cuisine and at least fifteen bottles, some of which were half full. She wore a loose camisole top and cutoffs and an expression as sour as if she had been sucking on a lemon the whole evening. "Bringing anyone here is a major security breach, Lance! I'll have to report it!"
Lance shrugged loosely. There was protocol and then there was protocol, and they'd been given carte blanche to get the job done and bring their target in.
The monitors behind Pidge showed a spread of wireless security cameras that had been installed across the suite; three bedrooms and a common area. The hotel had an array of similar high-class suites scattered along the waterfront, with smaller cabanas situated between the larger ones. The only movement on the camera was Hunk, tying their new friend to a chair.
"Any luck on your end, then?" Lance asked because Pidge was in a fine old mood.
"Nothing." Pidge half-turned to her monitors and pressed a key. The dossier she had up popped to the forefront of all the windows on the screen; showing a few blurry pictures of their target taken earlier in the month, in Cairo. "Every lead that I could tease out of the dossier ended in one of the photographs can be put on a rough timeline, but there's no commonality." Pidge huffed out an annoyed noise and she leaned forward, twisting one of the screens in Lance's direction.
It was a blurry picture in market; sun and dust and a crush of people made picking out the individuals all the much more difficult. The target was circled, though – and beside him, shorter, dark hair – was the person they had trussed up like the Christmas turkey in the common area. Lance jabbed his finger at the screen, not at the target but at the other man. "That's him."
"The guy who got the drop on you?" Pidge swiveled the screen back to herself and shoved her glasses up her nose with her middle finger. She studied the image thoughtfully, then looked up at Lance. "You're not any good at torture, you should let me or Hunk handle that."
Lance blanched a little, then a frown settled on his face. "Maybe we won't have to resort to torture, Pidge, did you ever think of that?"
"We also shouldn't be using our names around a prisoner, either," Pidge said, completely ignoring Lance. She typed a few things on the keyboard that lay across her lap, staring intently at the screen. The imaging program refocused its attention on the dark-haired man, scanning known person of interest databases.
"My cover has been blown, too." Lance watched Pidge busy herself with her equipment. "You'll need to handle the next surveillance op," he said. "Our target will be looking for me."
"Understood," Pidge said. "Go away now, I'm working."
Lance rolled his eyes exaggeratedly but didn't say anything else, letting himself out of the dark and stuffy room.
#
Hunk was sitting on the couch, one arm over the back of the couch, his legs crossed loosely and a pistol on his knee. He was watching their prisoner, who was tied to a straight-backed chair sacrificed from the table near the tiny kitchenette the suite provided. He nodded to Lance, who secured the door to Pidge's command center behind him, and Lance inclined his head toward the patio. Wordlessly, Hunk rose from his seat, and they both stepped outside.
"I need a cigarette," Lance said, and Hunk shook his head as he tucked his pistol into the waistband of his shorts.
"You don't," he said. "What's the verdict?"
"Pidge is pissed, Pidge will deal." Lance folded his arms again and looked out at the sea, dark and formless in the early morning. At the very edge of the horizon the sky was lightening, morning was on its way. "Some of the surveillance images from the incident in Cairo do show our buddy with the target. We're gonna need information out of him, and soon."
Hunk nodded his head again. "Any suggestions on how to get it?" he asked.
"We set Pidge loose on him," Lance wasn't looking at Hunk, but staring out at the water, his brow furrowed as he thought. "Could really use that smoke," he muttered. "Helps get my brain in order." There was clearly something bothering him still, and he couldn't quite grasp the tail end of the thought. Hunk was watching him with some mild concern, and finally Hunk stepped a little forward and rested his hand on Lance's shoulder.
Lance stiffened up just a bit, as Hunk leaned in close to him. "You're exhausted," Hunk said, from too close to be friendly. "Have you even had any time to rest since the airport?"
He pushed Hunk away, thankful that the darkness would hide the flush the close contact would have elicited otherwise. "I can sleep later," he said. "There's too much at stake right now."
"Dude, this is a surveillance job at the moment. We're just waiting for him to make contact with one of the rebel or terrorist groups before we move in. They need the solid intel to make any kind of conviction stick." Hunk let Lance push him back a step but didn't take his hand from Lance's shoulder. "No one's shooting at us, no one's hunting us; take a break."
Lance groaned. "First no smokes, then enforced nap breaks." He lifted Hunk's hand from his shoulder. "All right, all right," he said. "If I take a short siesta will you lay off it for a while?"
Hunk's brow was furrowed with clear concern. "You're our leader here, Lance," he said. "I know you think it means you have to do everything yourself, but you need to take care of yourself so you're fit to lead."
Lance looked away from Hunk, out at the water again. The sky had lightened incrementally now, and some of the wave crests were starting to glitter. He nodded his head and looked back at Hunk. "Wake me up when the prisoner wakes," he said, and Hunk nodded his head once in return, as Lance let himself back into the suite.
#
Sunlight was beginning to creep along the patio itself; whispering hints of the heat that would scorch the later part of the day when Lance sat up, weapon in hand. He had heard the soft click of a door, and it was enough that he rose to his feet and crept along the sweep of the bed to his bedroom door, before easing it open slowly.
Hunk was not in the common area. The prisoner still was, though his head was up and he was looking the opposite direction of Lance's door. He was trying to assess an escape route. Gun in hand, Lance opened the door the rest of the way, and the soft whine of the hinges made his captive turn toward him, eyes narrowed.
Lance kept his gun on him, but he smiled in a thin, watery way. "Hello, Keith," he said. As expected the name did not elicit a response from the prisoner, and he walked out into the common area, seating himself on the edge of the couch and stifling a yawn. "Where'd your guard go?"
"To get breakfast." Keith's voice was scratchy with disuse. His hair was mussed and the blood from his nose had dried in a streak across his face. He was staring at Keith with the same narrowed eye expression that Lance remembered from the training videos; and Lance wasn't particularly moved.
"I don't think the others have recognized you," Lance said. "Well, Pidge will, once the system identifies you. That mullet isn't fooling me, though." He sat back a little, leaning his weight back into the couch cushions. "Keith, the rogue agent. You were killed in action eighteen months ago."
"Funny that," Keith said, his eyes not on Lance but on Lance's weapon. "It's interesting how all the attention goes away once you're dead, isn't it?" He shifted his head to one side and squinted at Lance. "I knew I recognized you," he said in that hoarse, slightly-accented voice. "I knew you were going to be trouble." He fell into a sullen silence then, brows drawn together.
Lance inclined his head a little. "If you cooperate with us in bringing in our target, I won't turn you in to the Garrison," he said. "You're already a ghost in their ledger."
"Nobody likes loose ends, let alone an agent from the Garrison," Keith snorted. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with." He twisted his head quickly, and a few seconds later Pidge's door opened. She was wearing more clothes then when Lance had barged into her sanctuary, but not enough to mask her form.
"Ah," Pidge said, taking in Lance's dressing gown and the woken prisoner. She held a datapad in her hand, a picture of Keith's face on it. "I've got the intel," she said. "We've got a dead man on our hands."
"For a dead man he sure is pretty talkative," Lance said in amusement. "But not cooperative."
"Well we'll definitely have to do something about that," Pidge said, settling one hand on her hip and looking over their captive, an unsettling grin on her face. "I can be pretty persuasive."
Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender
AU: Spyfic
Characters/Pairing: Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Keith
Rating: M
Length: 1775
Summary: The building was much like many of the others that lined the shore; squat and long with large shutters that could open to the sea.
The building was much like many of the others that lined the shore; squat and long with large shutters that could open to the sea. Just like the underground casino and most of the other buildings there was a distinct lack of air conditioning, a fact that Lance lamented silently as he pushed open the door to what was once a bedroom.
It was still, technically a bedroom – although the bed itself was barely visible under a pile of opened cases and loose technology. Along the far edge of the bed, facing the half-closed shutters was a line of computer monitors of all sizes. They cast the only illumination in the room, a sickly green reflected light that made even the most healthy look like a pallid zombie. Before he had even let the door drift shut behind him, a tousled head wearing oversized glasses popped up from the far side of the bed, eyes obscured by the reflection on the lenses.
"Absolutely not," Pidge said in no uncertain terms as Lance walked around the bed.
"Last I checked, I was put in charge of this thing," Lance said, arms folded.
Pidge was seated cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a wealth of monitors, an open styrofoam container that stank of day-old local cuisine and at least fifteen bottles, some of which were half full. She wore a loose camisole top and cutoffs and an expression as sour as if she had been sucking on a lemon the whole evening. "Bringing anyone here is a major security breach, Lance! I'll have to report it!"
Lance shrugged loosely. There was protocol and then there was protocol, and they'd been given carte blanche to get the job done and bring their target in.
The monitors behind Pidge showed a spread of wireless security cameras that had been installed across the suite; three bedrooms and a common area. The hotel had an array of similar high-class suites scattered along the waterfront, with smaller cabanas situated between the larger ones. The only movement on the camera was Hunk, tying their new friend to a chair.
"Any luck on your end, then?" Lance asked because Pidge was in a fine old mood.
"Nothing." Pidge half-turned to her monitors and pressed a key. The dossier she had up popped to the forefront of all the windows on the screen; showing a few blurry pictures of their target taken earlier in the month, in Cairo. "Every lead that I could tease out of the dossier ended in one of the photographs can be put on a rough timeline, but there's no commonality." Pidge huffed out an annoyed noise and she leaned forward, twisting one of the screens in Lance's direction.
It was a blurry picture in market; sun and dust and a crush of people made picking out the individuals all the much more difficult. The target was circled, though – and beside him, shorter, dark hair – was the person they had trussed up like the Christmas turkey in the common area. Lance jabbed his finger at the screen, not at the target but at the other man. "That's him."
"The guy who got the drop on you?" Pidge swiveled the screen back to herself and shoved her glasses up her nose with her middle finger. She studied the image thoughtfully, then looked up at Lance. "You're not any good at torture, you should let me or Hunk handle that."
Lance blanched a little, then a frown settled on his face. "Maybe we won't have to resort to torture, Pidge, did you ever think of that?"
"We also shouldn't be using our names around a prisoner, either," Pidge said, completely ignoring Lance. She typed a few things on the keyboard that lay across her lap, staring intently at the screen. The imaging program refocused its attention on the dark-haired man, scanning known person of interest databases.
"My cover has been blown, too." Lance watched Pidge busy herself with her equipment. "You'll need to handle the next surveillance op," he said. "Our target will be looking for me."
"Understood," Pidge said. "Go away now, I'm working."
Lance rolled his eyes exaggeratedly but didn't say anything else, letting himself out of the dark and stuffy room.
Hunk was sitting on the couch, one arm over the back of the couch, his legs crossed loosely and a pistol on his knee. He was watching their prisoner, who was tied to a straight-backed chair sacrificed from the table near the tiny kitchenette the suite provided. He nodded to Lance, who secured the door to Pidge's command center behind him, and Lance inclined his head toward the patio. Wordlessly, Hunk rose from his seat, and they both stepped outside.
"I need a cigarette," Lance said, and Hunk shook his head as he tucked his pistol into the waistband of his shorts.
"You don't," he said. "What's the verdict?"
"Pidge is pissed, Pidge will deal." Lance folded his arms again and looked out at the sea, dark and formless in the early morning. At the very edge of the horizon the sky was lightening, morning was on its way. "Some of the surveillance images from the incident in Cairo do show our buddy with the target. We're gonna need information out of him, and soon."
Hunk nodded his head again. "Any suggestions on how to get it?" he asked.
"We set Pidge loose on him," Lance wasn't looking at Hunk, but staring out at the water, his brow furrowed as he thought. "Could really use that smoke," he muttered. "Helps get my brain in order." There was clearly something bothering him still, and he couldn't quite grasp the tail end of the thought. Hunk was watching him with some mild concern, and finally Hunk stepped a little forward and rested his hand on Lance's shoulder.
Lance stiffened up just a bit, as Hunk leaned in close to him. "You're exhausted," Hunk said, from too close to be friendly. "Have you even had any time to rest since the airport?"
He pushed Hunk away, thankful that the darkness would hide the flush the close contact would have elicited otherwise. "I can sleep later," he said. "There's too much at stake right now."
"Dude, this is a surveillance job at the moment. We're just waiting for him to make contact with one of the rebel or terrorist groups before we move in. They need the solid intel to make any kind of conviction stick." Hunk let Lance push him back a step but didn't take his hand from Lance's shoulder. "No one's shooting at us, no one's hunting us; take a break."
Lance groaned. "First no smokes, then enforced nap breaks." He lifted Hunk's hand from his shoulder. "All right, all right," he said. "If I take a short siesta will you lay off it for a while?"
Hunk's brow was furrowed with clear concern. "You're our leader here, Lance," he said. "I know you think it means you have to do everything yourself, but you need to take care of yourself so you're fit to lead."
Lance looked away from Hunk, out at the water again. The sky had lightened incrementally now, and some of the wave crests were starting to glitter. He nodded his head and looked back at Hunk. "Wake me up when the prisoner wakes," he said, and Hunk nodded his head once in return, as Lance let himself back into the suite.
Sunlight was beginning to creep along the patio itself; whispering hints of the heat that would scorch the later part of the day when Lance sat up, weapon in hand. He had heard the soft click of a door, and it was enough that he rose to his feet and crept along the sweep of the bed to his bedroom door, before easing it open slowly.
Hunk was not in the common area. The prisoner still was, though his head was up and he was looking the opposite direction of Lance's door. He was trying to assess an escape route. Gun in hand, Lance opened the door the rest of the way, and the soft whine of the hinges made his captive turn toward him, eyes narrowed.
Lance kept his gun on him, but he smiled in a thin, watery way. "Hello, Keith," he said. As expected the name did not elicit a response from the prisoner, and he walked out into the common area, seating himself on the edge of the couch and stifling a yawn. "Where'd your guard go?"
"To get breakfast." Keith's voice was scratchy with disuse. His hair was mussed and the blood from his nose had dried in a streak across his face. He was staring at Keith with the same narrowed eye expression that Lance remembered from the training videos; and Lance wasn't particularly moved.
"I don't think the others have recognized you," Lance said. "Well, Pidge will, once the system identifies you. That mullet isn't fooling me, though." He sat back a little, leaning his weight back into the couch cushions. "Keith, the rogue agent. You were killed in action eighteen months ago."
"Funny that," Keith said, his eyes not on Lance but on Lance's weapon. "It's interesting how all the attention goes away once you're dead, isn't it?" He shifted his head to one side and squinted at Lance. "I knew I recognized you," he said in that hoarse, slightly-accented voice. "I knew you were going to be trouble." He fell into a sullen silence then, brows drawn together.
Lance inclined his head a little. "If you cooperate with us in bringing in our target, I won't turn you in to the Garrison," he said. "You're already a ghost in their ledger."
"Nobody likes loose ends, let alone an agent from the Garrison," Keith snorted. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with." He twisted his head quickly, and a few seconds later Pidge's door opened. She was wearing more clothes then when Lance had barged into her sanctuary, but not enough to mask her form.
"Ah," Pidge said, taking in Lance's dressing gown and the woken prisoner. She held a datapad in her hand, a picture of Keith's face on it. "I've got the intel," she said. "We've got a dead man on our hands."
"For a dead man he sure is pretty talkative," Lance said in amusement. "But not cooperative."
"Well we'll definitely have to do something about that," Pidge said, settling one hand on her hip and looking over their captive, an unsettling grin on her face. "I can be pretty persuasive."