Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And then you can make like a-a SPIDER WEB sticky trap! Yo, check this out, I made a sketch of it last night. No need to thank me, but I figure since you’re always the idea guy you could use a break...to...to...oi, Walter. You good there, man?”

Lance’s enthusiasm, which had been nothing short of bubbly moments before quickly and quietly quelled within him. His hand, holding a piece of Agency stationary with a crudely drawn doodle of Walter’s next invention, found its way back onto the inventor’s desk.

Lance leaned closer and snapped his fingers to break Walter out of an apparent trance.

“Earth to Walter.”

“Huh? What? Did you say something, Lance?”

Lance sighed, resisting the urge to hang his head. He’d been talking for a few minutes and the thought of sharing his brilliant idea again with all the dramatic and debonair flair that oozed out of his surplus of charisma didn’t seem worth the effort a second time.

One of the downsides of being universally adored was that it was easy to forget he had to make sure people were listening before he really got going. Up until recently, it was always a given. Marcy and Walter were among the few people at the Agency who weren’t automatically enthralled by super spy charm and time hadn’t changed that.

“Just an idea I had. Got something on your mind? You seem distracted. And not in the boy genius kinda way.”

A little smile tugged at Walter’s lips. “You really think I’m a genius?”

“Uhh.”

Without shifting his gaze, Lance casually opened his arms to take in the scale of the room they were in. Walter’s new position as Team Lead for the inventing department came with a cushy paycheck upgrade and a private office that could easily hold a game of mini golf, if the urge took them. As it stood, it housed several glass desks piled with a vast assortment of colorful liquids, machinery, beakers, and all manner of creative chaos. And one too many boxes of Chinese that the maintenance crew had neglected to remove.

“Point taken,” Walter said, leaning back in a chair that all but swallowed him. The smile faded as he stared thoughtfully at the fluorescent lights above them.

“Hey, Lance?”

“Hmm?” Lance had already lost interest in nothing happening and poked around a gelatinous blob at his elbow. It changed color every time he jiggled it.

“Do you ever…do you ever get lonely?”

“I mean, yeah, who doesn’t,” Lance replied quickly, keeping his eye on the blob.
It was melting now. Was it supposed to do that?

“What do you do when that happens?”

Lance almost winced at the sincerity of a question asked by a man who was already twenty one but looked all of fourteen.

He suddenly remembered last month’s Christmas party where he’d slapped an expensive cocktail out of Walter’s hand and confronted Marcy who’d handed him the drink about child endangerment. She’d waited until he’d finished a self righteous tirade before smirking and asking Walter what year he was born.

Lance left the party early that night only to be dragged back by a laughing inventor who reassured him that it wasn’t his first misunderstanding though it was the first time someone had made a scene about it. Lance had to be dragged a second time, reassured only by the wobbly smiles of their coworkers who were well past their second drink of the evening that his faux pas would be forgotten by morning.

Marcy still teased him about it, though.

“Lance?”

“I don’t knowww, go out, I guess. It’s just one of those things. Doesn’t help me so I just don’t really think about it.”

Super secret agent Sterling was lying, of course. This heart to heart stuff wasn’t his area of expertise so he couldn’t really go into a complicated subject he kept tightly sealed in the attic of his mind. A subject he promptly re-applied mental gaffer tape to whenever it threatened to pop open.

“But hey, maybe you could talk to Marcy about that.”

“Marcy?”

“Yeah, she’s a girl. Girls are good with that stuff. And you. Girls and you.”

“Oh. Right.”

The blob was now melting through the corner of the desk and Lance stealthily hid the damage behind a stack of books conveniently on stand by. A ping sounded from his wrist and Lance glanced down at the message.

“I gotta go. But hey, good talk. See you for lunch? It’s your turn to pick,”

Lance reminded him with a wink as he walked backwards towards the door.

Walter gave him a strange smile and his customary little wave.

“Okay. See you later.”

Chapter Text

"M to the A to the R-A-C-Y, what's happening, girl?"

Lance had just endured a seemingly endless portfolio review where, expecting heaps of praise, he instead was read a novel of citations and misdemeanors from the last few missions that involved light collateral damage.

The Agency may be shifting towards a non-lethal approach under Walter's stewardship but old habits die hard and Lance assumed they wouldn't mind a few toppled buildings here and there.

He figured wrong.

And, after a grueling forty minutes of being chewed out by a beauracratic pencil pusher like bubble gum, was in need of something to lift his spirits.

God in His infinite kindness, it seemed, had destined Marcy to cross his path down the hall at just that moment.

She smirked at him and said nothing, slowing her pace for him to saunter up. "Sterling," she acknowledged, formal but familiar. "I see you survived the portfolio review."

"Pshh, that? That was-wait, how did you know I went in for that?"

"How'd it go? Eyes and I have a little bet on. Whether or not you'd get suspended."

"Ah, ah, Agent Kappel, you gracefully dodged the question. Naturally I made it through as usua-

Hang on, did you bet I'd be suspended?"

Marcy laughed suddenly and Lance marvelled at how much it cut down the sharpness with which she presented herself. He wished she would laugh more often.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just...sometimes you make the same face as your pigeon self."

"Occupational hazard. You should try it sometime. Walter wants to test out the formula on a few volunteers for...something."

"No thanks."

"You sure? You run the risk of living the rest of your life not knowing the wonders of having a cloaca."

"Definitely," Marcy breathed, making a visible effort to prevent lapsing into giggles. "I'll leave that to the professionals."

They passed through the cavernous mouth of the main lobby where streams of late afternoon light bounced warmly off the white marble tiles. After a few moments of silence, Marcy continued thoughtfully, saying:

"Things sure have changed around here. You'd think Walter was always the poster child of this operation. Hard to believe he was shoved by the basement level bathrooms only two months ago."

"Yeah," Lance agreed, raising a hand and a suave smile to a cluster of passing interns who were staring at him with starstruck eyes.  One of the young people was so absorbed in soaking him in that she accidentally ran into an unsuspecting pillar.

"Speaking of my boy Walter, I was hoping you could talk to him."

Marcy raised a perfect eyebrow. How did girls always get those to look so smooth?

"Uh-huh?"

"He axed me about loneliness this morning and what I do about it. I told him I'd talk to you if I were him."

"Right. To the aid of what, exactly?"

"Because...he has...feelings. And probably needs to talk about them to someone who gets it. Feelings, that is."

When no further information availed itself, Marcy sighed, not unkindly, and said,

"Lance, what makes you think that's something he'd want to talk to me about?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Lance asked, genuinely confused. This wasn't going at all like he'd imagined. In his mind's eye, fictional Marcy had lept at the chance to use her feminine powers for the betterment of a bummed out Millenial.

"Because he brought it up to you, dummy. It's a sensitive subject and yes, while Walter wears his heart permanently stitched to his sleeve, even he would only bring something like this up with someone he feels close to. Someone he trusts. See where I'm going with this?"

Lance felt his brow furrow and crease his perfect features. The thought had genuinely not fired off the proper mental synapses for him to form a mental connection since this morning and he felt slightly embarrassed having his ignorance on display.

"R-ight. Okay. Yeah, okay. Sure. So then I just need to....what am I supposed to do exactly?"

"You don't have to do anything. Just be there if he needs to talk. Let him know you're there for him. Provide emotional support."

Lance wrinkled his nose.

"That sounds like a job for his girlfriend."

Marcy patted him gently on the shoulder with small, slender fingers.

"Emotional openness isn't just for lovers, Super Secret Agent thick-as-a-brick. Good luck."

So saying, Marcy rounded the corner and disappeared into a fogged glass conference room, leaving Lance Sterling with the unpleasant task of providing emotional support....whatever the heck that was.

Chapter Text

"Your mind isn't on the game."

"Sorry."

"Did something happen?"

Walter blinked in surprise and looked up at Killian seated across from him.  The man's eyes stayed focused on the oak and marble chess set between them.

Killian never asked after him.  In the three months they'd been meeting for weekly games of goh, mahjong and chess he did little more than acknowledge Walter's presence. 

Their time together consisted entirely of silent gameplay interspersed with Walter sharing news about the outside world, new inventions, and, like any proud bird parent, stories and pictures of his precious little girl, Lovey.

Killian for his part, never expressed polite interest or showed any signs of being remotely curious in the happenings of the outside world.  A world which he likely would never see again.

Walter held fast to the belief that it served the man in some way to hear about life beyond the small depressing room he now called home.

That maybe, just maybe, it helped him escape the sterile walls of his small prison which housed little more than a bed, books, and basic amenities.

"Is it Sterling?"

Killian pressed, glancing up sharply with the accompanying murderous gleam that always came up every time the spy's name was mentioned in conversation. Walter made it a point early on not to broach the subject or to tactfully divert to less controversial subject matter.

"No, no, it's not him, it's...I'd rather not talk about it, if that's alright with you," Walter finished, quietly, his eyes drawn back to the board with renewed interest. 

"That's a first," Killian scoffed, advancing his bishop and taking out a pale white rook.

Walter pursed his lips.  He'd needed that rook to launch his final capture of the King. 

I'm sorry Lance took your friends from you.  That must have been really painful and lonely. 

Walter thought, unbidden.  It took him like that sometimes, filling him with a swell of sadness.  Every now and then the thought filtered through his mind though he never dared voice it. 

It wasn't until he noticed Killian deliberating for an unusually long time on his next move that he raised his head again to catch the man staring at him with an unfathomable expression.

"What?"

"You're a good man, Walter Beckett.  Far better than the likes of any I've ever met," Killian answered, the hardness of his eyes absent for the first time in their brief and dramatic association.

What happened next Walter couldn't have predicted even if he ran all the variables and had a month to prepare his supporting evidence.

Killian reached out across the small gap offered by the table between them and rested his hand on Walter's small shoulder.  It surprised Walter that the weight was reassuring and warm. 

The hand was withdrawn almost immediately but the harsh voice of a vigilant security guard barked over the speaker system,

"No touching!" 

Killian sat back slowly as Walter gaped at him and finally made a move on the board.

"Checkmate.  Go home, Beckett.  I'll be expecting a better game from you next week."

"Uh, yeah, yeah, see you...see you then," Walter stammered, still processing how things had gone from normal to surreal in the span of a few seconds.  Then,

"Bye, Killian.  Take care."

Walter left the facility feeling as if he'd just woken up from a dream and was only broken out of reverie by the sound of an incoming message on his watch.

Where you at??  I'm starvingggg

Oh, right.  Lunch with Lance. 
He'd forgotten about it. 

He didn't want to go to lunch.  Since this morning, all he wanted was to be home with Lovey, Jeff, and Crazy Eyes on the couch.  Even picturing it provided a warm feeling of security.  Since the morning he'd made no progress in the lab so he saw no reason not to clock out early and make it up to the director tomorrow when he was more clear headed.

Maybe he could pitch the idea of eating in to Lance.  Yes, that's what he would do.

With a small thrill at the idea, Walter quickly tapped out a message, careful to omit his whereabouts.  In three months time he still hasn't found how to explain to his field partner that every Wednesday afternoon he snuck away to visit a supervillian who, as far as Walter was concerned, was in need of company and kindness. 

Stepped out for a bit. 🚶 Coming back soon! Maybe we could order in? 🥗🍝

Then, as added incentive,

I've recorded the latest episode of
The beating hearts of a love in another world! 💖💙

Lance's reply was almost instantaneous.

Naw man, I'm taking you out! Anywhere, you pick.
See you @ stairs.

Walter dropped his wrist and tried to bury the small coil of disappointment knotting in his belly.

A quick lunch and then he would head home and try to recalibrate.  He just needed to get through the day and push on till morning.  He could do that. 

Lance sat in the car while the engine warmed, purring with the deliciously low rumble that reminded him of a tiger if tigers lived in beautiful 562 horse power Audi R8 custom engines.

Within minutes he caught sight of a familiar shade of orange approaching from the distance and revved the engine noisily in recognition. 

Walter might be in need of emotional support or whatever, but Lance didn't know any sour mood that could stay that way with his personal remedy of painting the town red.

He'd put his foolproof plan into action and surprise Walter with exactly what the doctor ordered: a day of ample distraction and entertainment. 

Lance smiled to himself and shook his head indulgently, thinking;

I am such a good friend and Walter's about to get a wake up call that I got his back. 

Eat your heart out, Marcy.

Chapter Text

“I’m not really all that hungry, Lance,” Walter said as he lowered himself into the car, reaching for the seat belt.

“Wherever you wanna go is fine with me.”

If Lance had been just slightly more perceptive he would have noticed Walter’s voice being unusually flat and uncharacteristically subdued.

As it happened, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, far too excited to put his “Cheer Up Walter Plan” in effect as soon as super-humanly possible.

“Rrrrreally? Well, in that case…”

Super Agent Lance Sterling let his sentence trail off and the screech of the wheels carry them away to lend an air of mystery to their first stop. I would have made a great actor, he mused, privately.

In his typical fashion, Lance had reserved them both seats at a KBBQ place that hadn’t even opened yet. It helped to know and have people be perpetually in your debt, it turned out. In this case, he had the benefit of personally knowing the owner and keeping her shop from being reduced to a pile of rubble last week.  Some wannabe villain had tried to decimate that particular area of the city with really underwhelming lasers that were easily subdued by Walter’s latest invention: The foamnado.

Upon arrival they were ushered into “the best seat in the house” by a cute waitress with a high set ponytail and dewy brown eyes.

Once seated, Lance thumbed through the menu with a smile, saying, “Anything you want, on the house. The owner wants to say thanks for saving her shop last week.”

“Oh. Okay,” Walter replied, not bothering to look up from the pages of the extensive food options.

Lance felt himself frown. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting at all. In fact-

“Are you gentlemen ready to order,” the waitress chirped, suddenly materializing at the end of the table.

Lance promptly ordered one of every meat on the menu and Walter shyly placed an order of mapo tofu with a green tea to wash it down.

The waitress took their orders quickly and scurried off.

“She’s cute, huh,” Lance teased, arching an eyebrow in his friend’s direction when he caught sight of the young man’s eyes following the waitress down the hall.

“I-I guess,” Walter stammered, reaching for his glass of water.

“She your type?” Lance pressed, realizing the two of them had never had a discussion like the one that was just unfolding.

“Um, she seems nice...I don’t really know her, though,” Walter replied honestly, not too keen on continuing the line of questioning.

“Well, you won’t really know unless you get her number,” Lance said coyly, earning himself a look of alarm from the young man in the hot seat.

One thing Lance Sterling knew very well was the undeniable power any scrap of interest from the female sex held over the male species.

He for his part was so flooded with it on a daily basis that the effect no longer made him giddy with delight but it was a nice confidence booster all the same. And, he thought, pursuing the train of thought, it would probably do Walter a world of good and get him outta whatever funk he’s in if that girl gave him her digits.

Their food arrived quickly and, before their esteemed waitress had a chance to beetle off to take care of this or that behind the scenes, Lance took advantage of the opportunity and asked if she happened to be interested in science at all.

Walter chose that particular moment to choke unattractively on an impossibly soft piece of tofu but Lance pointedly ignored him to listen to her answer.

“Yes, Biochem was actually my favorite subject in high school,” she answered with a soft smile.

“Was it really? That’s interesting, isn’t it Walter?”

“Laaaance,” Walter warned in hushed tones that were pointless given how clearly they could both hear him.

“My boy Walter here is a certified genius. He can science up anything like you’ve never seen,” Lance continued, picking up a particularly beautiful strip of meat and laying it across the grill in the center of the table with a satisfying hiss.

“Is that right,” their waitress asked politely, turning her gaze to the young scientist.

“Oh, yeah, and not only that, but he’s a refined connoisseur of K-dramas. He knows more than you can shake a stick at. Taught himself Korean just so he wouldn’t have to get distracted reading subtitles; ain’t that right, Walter?”

Walter looked like he’d like nothing better than to melt through the floor at that very moment and he mumbled something that may have been a “yes.”

“That’s really cool,” the waitress said.

Then, when Walter didn’t chime in at all she gracefully tied up the gaping hole in the conversation, saying, “Well, enjoy your meal, gentlemen,” before leaving them.

Lance smiled at her as she left then pinned Walter with a look of confusion.

“Dude, what was that? I set up the pitch and everything. All you had to do was swing.”

“Lance, I don’t...I’m not really interested in dating right now,” Walter finished lamely, looking uncomfortable.

Lance opened his mouth to say something but was fielded off.

“You don’t have to set me up on a date. I’m fine,” he insisted, spooning another bite of tofu and rice.

Sterling marinated the perfectly cooked slice of beef in front of him with sesame oil and sriracha before stuffing it in his mouth with a thoughtful, “Hm.”

The rest of the meal was delicious and uneventful. They ate quickly and in silence. All the while, the gears in Lance’s mind continued turning.

So Walter didn’t want to go on a date. That was fine. It hadn’t been a part of Lance’s original plan anyway. Their next stop was sure to put his good buddy in better spirits.

“Hi! Welcome to the Science of Ice Cream. Would you like to sample any flavors?”

Walter half turned to look at Lance who stood a little ways behind him. Somehow they were both standing in a themed pop up ice cream parlour.

Walter couldn’t, for the life of him, understand how or why. After their meal and the embarrassing exchange with the waitress, Walter was sure their conversation had gone something like this:

“Thanks for lunch, Lance. I think I’ll head home now.”

“The night is still young, Walter.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Exactly. Come on, I’ve got something I think you’ll like.”

“But Lance, I-”

The roar of the car engine had cut him off and within a matter of minutes they were standing inside the trendy shop.

Walter felt exhausted.

“Lance, do you want anything?”

“Nah, I’m not a big sweets guy. You can get whatever you want, though.”

Walter cast Lance an indecipherable look.

“I can’t eat dairy.”

...Ah.

They left the ice cream shop promptly after that. Walter’s mood had not improved in the slightest. If anything, he seemed more distracted and withdrawn than before they’d started.

Lance scratched the back of his head in frustration.

The spy had one more ace up his sleeve.

“Two tickets to Interplanetary War 2 for the three fifteen showing.”

Nothing like a solid action flick to get the blood pumping and an over sized screen to forget small troubles for a few hours, Lance thought, triumphantly.

There was the added bonus that the movie was Korean which was perfect because Walter was a fan of all the music and shows, anyway.

Lance could only boast about seeing Oldboy but after today, he and Water would have some common ground to talk about, film-wise.

That had to count for something, right?

Somewhere off to the left he heard a child's piercing scream fill the concessions stand area.  Half turning he saw a sticky-looking boy of about five who had spilled the contents of a blue slushy all over the carpet  His mother was busy alerting staff and apologizing.  

That boy's gonna get it now 

Sterling thought.  Mom was a young short haired brunette who was probably going to scold the kid for carelessness the second she turned around.  

She didn't though.  

Instead, she picked up her child and deftly swiped away the fat tears rolling down his cheeks.  "It's okay.  You're okay.  Accidents happen.  We can just get another one, okay?"

Lance had to hand it to the woman, thinking back to his mother's preferred style of parenting: a mix of corrective hand justice and reproachful what did I tell you's.  Parenting sure looked different in the modern era.

"Alright I got seats D5 and D6.  We...what are you doing?"

"I'm going home, Lance," Walter answered simply

Lance had finally made his way over to Walter in time to catch him shrugging on his backpack with a closed off expression.  He was sitting on the ugliest purple bench the spy had ever seen. 

"What?  The movie's about to start.  Come on, let's go," Lance cajoled, reaching down to haul Walter helpfully to his feet.

Walter tried pulling away.

"No, Lance, I-let go please, I-"

Two things happened next which Lance Sterling was destined to regret in the months that followed.

1) He miscalculated his strength and pulled up Walter's slight 130 pound frame too quickly, causing Walter's lanky legs to get crossed at the ankles, throwing off his balance.

2) One of the young scientist's backpack straps was overly-long, allowing one of the plastic loops at the end to get stuck on an unseen portion of the dastardly bench.

The resulting consequence of these two things happening concurrently meant that the forces of gravity had long since conspired against Walter Beckett.  The second Lance released his grip, the twenty one year old was, like the blue slushy from earlier, suddenly pulled down and sprawled all over the carpet. 

"Oop.  My bad.  You good there, bro?"

Walter didn't move right away and Lance was painfully aware of the attention they were drawing from other movie goers who passed by with lingering glances.

"Hey-" Lance began, half crouching to help him up but stopped cold when Walter's head snapped up.

His friend's face was an impressive shade of vermilion, rivaled only by the dribble of blood pouring out of his left nostril.

He stood up wordlessly and was out the door in the next moment before Lance could so much as ask him if he was okay.

The spy felt himself grimace as he stood and followed.  They were in for an awkward car ride.

Chapter Text

Lance caught up with Walter who was leaning against the Audi with his head tipped back to stem the flow of blood.

"You actually wanna hang your head forward, not back," Lance reminded him, reaching into his jacket.

"Here," he said, offering Walter a deep blue silk pocket square.  Walter took it without looking at him with a mumbled "Thanks."

They took their respective seats.  Lance started the engine.

The spy stared blankly ahead while Walter's gaze stayed transfixed on his own knees; angling his head forward as Lance had instructed.

Lance's fingers began drumming restlessly on the steering wheel. 

This was the first time in the four months since they'd known one another that the silence between them felt...uncomfortable.

Somehow, it made the spy's skin itchy but he resisted the urge to scratch the invisible itch. 

"Lance," Walter began, quietly.

"Hm?" 

"Please take me home."

"Oh.  Yeah.  Yeah, sure, man.  No problem."

The engine growled to life and they rode in complete silence the seventeen minutes it took to get from the parking lot to Walter's driveway.

Walter's gaze looked out the window to his home while Lance's gaze swiveled to look at the back of Walter's head.  He noticed a  birthmark behind his friend's ear.  It looked like a tiny splat of light brown paint.     

"I'll return your pocket square tomorrow."  Walter spoke so quietly as he left the car. 

"Don't worry about it," Lance replied automatically.  He watched his friend walk up the pathway and up the stairs to the porch.  Watched, even, as he raised his hand to rest on the brass doorknob and...linger. 

Come on, Sterling, do something.  He's giving you a chance.

A chance to what? 

Come on dummy, say something!

The five second window came and went.  Walter crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him, leaving Lance Sterling with an empty feeling that had nothing to do with hunger.

7 km run.

500 sit up reps.

300 bicep curls.

2000 roundhouse kicks.

Lance Sterling stood near the weight rack of the Agency's sprawling gym.  He felt the slick of sweat between his shoulder blades begin to cool and his core burning.  The sting on his shins from going at the punching bag felt familiar.  There was comfort in routine.

On the wall opposite the digital clock read 5:35 pm.  

Alright.  That was enough warming up.  

Several feet away, the glass door entrance swiveled open.  Light, precise steps sounded off the wood floor.

"Sterling?"

"Hey, Marcy," He replied, acknowledging her with a friendly head tilt.  He began wrapping his hands to fit them with gloves.  He needed to practice striking to balance himself out.  Since the afternoon he felt off-balance.  

"I've never seen you in here before," he stated, conversationally.  She was wearing light grey tights and a light orange tank top with the Agency's logo; her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, a metallic water bottle in hand.

"I always come in at this time.  Wasn't expecting to see you here.  Don't you have the rest of the day off?" 

"Yeah, well.  Gotta use those employee privileges," he answered, referring to the impressively furnished 3000 square foot gym.     

"Did something happen?"

Lance shook his head minutely, looping the last of the bandages over his knuckles before grabbing the red gloves on the bench beside him.

"No, why?  Did you hear something?"

"You seem...off."

Marcy, I didn't know you took such an interest in me.  I'm flattered.

That's what Lance Sterling meant to say.  He could deflect with charisma and charm like the best of them.  Instead, what came out was,

"It's Walter."  He felt himself freeze as soon as the words left his lips.

What?? Why did I just say that?

"I think I messed up."

NO STOP WHAT AM I SAYING??

"Oh," Marcy said, standing a bit closer, hip leaning against the mirror beside them.  "What happened?"

Despite knowing for a fact that the gym was empty save for the two of them, Sterling still looked around to confirm they had privacy. He didn't trust what was escaping out of his mouth and felt alarmed at the prospect that something else would unintentionally leak out.  It was like being spritzed with Walter's lavender truth serum all over again. 

Nothing happened.  It was just a hilarious joke, Marcy.  Get it??  Ha-HA!

"Sterling?"

Lance stood up suddenly, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.  He needed to keep moving.  He needed to do something to get rid of the itch that plagued him since the morning...

Marcy watched him before making her way to the punching bag nearest her.  She slapped it lightly with the back of her hand.  

"Here.  You can hit this while you tell me.  Get your mind off it."

Somehow, that actually did the trick.  Between a flurry of uppercuts, jabs, and hooks, Lance was able to recount the afternoon's events to Marcy and work off the nervous energy that had settled over him while he did so.

She listened quietly until he finished.  Then, 

"Poor Walter."

Lance made a sound of indignation akin to a pigeon getting a baguette thrown at it's head.

Marcy looked at Lance Sterling with what could only be described as a look of pity.  

"Why did you think any of that would make him feel better?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Because those were all things you would have liked."

"But the ice cream, KBBQ, and Korean movie-"

"Are all things you assumed Walter would like.  That'd be like you assuming I like pink because I'm a girl."

"Don't you?"

"Lance," she said, closing her eyes and scratching the space between her eyebrows.  That was unexpected.  This was the first time she'd used his first name in conversation.

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but as long as you categorize people in little boxes you'll never really get to know them.  And I think, because of your job, that's what you've had to do.  Good guy, bad guy, dangerous, harmless, useful, not useful...I can understand why you do it."

Lance felt himself blink.  He'd never really thought about it before but the revelation made sense.

"But if you want to be a good friend to Walter...you're going to have to listen.  Really listen."

"And then what?"

She smiled at him encouragingly.  "Then you wait.  Walter's a pretty forthright kid and you can be pretty perceptive when you need to be.  Just keep your ears open and gather info.  Isn't that what the world's greatest spy is supposed to excel at?"

Lance Sterling felt the infuriating itch subside and a smile tug at his lips for the first time since that morning.

"Right...okay, yeah, I can do that.  Thanks.  But, uh, Marcy?"

"Mm?"

"Do you really not like pink?"

She punched him on the arm.  

"Green is my favorite color, you goof.  Now if you don't mind, I came here for a workout super secret agent foot-in-his-mouth," she said, grinning.

He raised a hand, "Say no more.  I actually got somewhere to be right now."

"Good luck," she called after him, turning her attention to one of the cycling machines as the spy left the gym and headed for the showers with a renewed burst of energy. 

That was the best workout he'd had in a while.  

Lance had planned to be at the Beckett residence at 6:15 at the latest.  He would have been too if he hadn't gotten called in for backup in New York for a little matter involving national security right after he'd toweled himself dry. 

Now, after a mere 3 hours, the interests of the American public were safe once more and he was on his way back to Washington in need of another shower. 

By the time that was all taken care of his watch read the damning hour: 11:47 pm.

Lance groaned.  Now what?  Walter was bound to be asleep and probably wouldn't appreciate being woken up so Lance could...listen.

He sat in the car, waiting in Walter's driveway.  He'd driven over without noticing the time since being a spy meant he kept odd hours, generally.  Now, he felt like a grade A idiot for arriving without a plan and without a clue on to how to proceed.

Marcy's words filtered through his mind, suddenly.

Just keep your ears open and gather info.  Isn't that what the world's greatest spy is supposed to excel at?

Gather info. 

Gather info.

World's greatest spy.

Bingo.

Opening the glove compartment revealed a set of bright blue glowing vials ready for single use, labeled, Drink for emergency pigeon.

"Thank youuuu, Walter," Lance crooned, popping the lid off of one and downing it after powering off the engine and locking the car.  Within seconds he was back to being a feathery blue two pound pile of whoop-ass.

The antique letter slot in the front door easily accommodated letters from the post and, with some effort, a pigeon whose backside got stuck only a little bit.  After a bit of wiggling Lance was inside. Marcy would be proud. 

He would look around and puzzle out what was eating Walter from that morning and, if his friend happened to be awake, he could slip back outside and knock at the front door like a human being with Walter being none the wiser.  It was sheer genius. 

Inside the house was dark save for a single light on a table near the front door.  

A candle? 

Lance flew towards the light and perched on the edge of the table.  The singular candle illuminated a wall full of pictures containing baby Walter and his mother.  There were a few framed newspaper clippings as well and a modest bouquet of flowers beside the late Mrs. Beckett's portrait.  The spy's eyes roved over the news article of her passing and the the printed date. 

Febuary 7th, 2006

Oh no. 

The candle.  The fresh flowers.  The date. 

Today is an anniversary. 

As the information sunk in he heard some light stirring upstairs.  Walter was awake.  Of course he would be. 

With a heavier heart than when he'd entered, Lance Sterling left the house and flew around the side to the bedroom window on the second floor.  

The curtains were drawn but he could see a sliver of orange light leaking through from within.  With a slow inhale Lance steeled himself and tipped his head back to peck on the glass. 

Inside he heard the creak of a bed frame squeak followed by the curtains parting.

A glassy eyed scientist stared at him in confusion.

"Lance?  What are you doing here?"

Walter lifted the latch on the window and in a few small steps Lance was inside.

He scanned the perimeter, taking in the room from where he stood.  Posters seemed to adorn every wall displaying a range of interests; from the periodic table, foreign film posters, and a couple diagrams displaying the etymology of mushrooms along with schematics of Walter's own inventions.  The room was slightly messy but well ordered, with one lone pizza box at the end of the bed and little mountains of books scattered sporadically throughout. 

"Is something wrong?" Walter asked behind him.  He had a puffy blue duvet settled around him like a cloak.  It made him look smaller, somehow.  Even in the dim bedroom light Lance could see his eyes were red rimmed. 

Lovey poked her head out from under the fabric where she sat settled on her owner's shoulder.  Soft cooing from Walter's pillow revealed Jeff and Crazy Eyes staring at him, too comfortable to move from their spot. 

"Nah, nothing's wrong I just...can you turn me back, real quick?"  What he was about to say he didn't want to express as a pigeon.  

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure, hang on a sec."  

Walter rummaged through his desk and produced a transparent vial.  This one was labeled, Break for emergency human.     

The effect of drinking the slightly bitter liquid was almost instantaneous and Lance, comfortably human again (and clothed, thanks to the last upgrade) cleared his throat, taking a seat at the edge of Walter's bed.  He patted the spot next to him and was relieved when Walter took the seat without hesitation.

"You axed me this morning what I do when I feel lonely," he began, feeling horribly exposed and self conscious.  Even so, Lance Sterling forced himself to raise his head and look into his friend's wide and earnest eyes.

"I didn't really have a good answer.  I still don't.  But if something is bothering you, I want you to know I'm here to listen, Walter."

The young man looked stunned as if Sterling had just taken a fish and slapped him across the face with it.  It took him a few moments to find his words. 

"Oh.  Gosh.  Thank you, Lance.  I...I..."

Mid-sentence a flow of tears started cascading down Walter Beckett's face as if on command.  He didn't seem to notice them and, with a shaky smile, added,

"I miss my mom."

Walter continued crying silently, Lovey now in his hands and pressed against his chest.  

Lance Sterling said nothing, remembering somewhere, he'd read something that stuck with him:

The deeper the hurt, the greater the need for silence. 

So he stayed quiet, letting his friend express all the hurt.  Then, when it felt right, Lance Sterling raised a hand slowly and gently settled it on a small shivering shoulder.  Walter seemed to melt at the gesture and leaned heavily against his side. 

They stayed like that for a long while, Lance only leaving briefly to fetch a glass of water after Walter had exhausted himself crying. 

"Your mom would be so proud of you, Walter,"  Lance had told him after he'd finished drinking.  Walter rubbed his tired eyes.

"You think?"

"I know."

Then, the young man began sharing stories from his childhood.  Stories of his mom's bravery, her kindness, and her warmth.  Her son was a lot like her, Lance observed.

Around two in the morning Walter had fallen asleep and Lance gently maneuvered him onto the bed before stealthily making his way to the door.  He was almost home free when he heard his name sleepily called. 

"Lance?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you stay the night?"

"Sure.  I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Lance?"

"Still here, buddy."

"Thank you."

The spy smiled.

Lance Sterling couldn't remember the last time he'd slept on a couch but the experience proved to be less uncomfortable than he had anticipated.  He fell asleep quickly with a deep satisfaction at a job well done. 

World's greatest spy and world's greatest friend.  Lance Sterling does it again, 

He thought with a yawn and plunged into sleep.  

It seemed that he'd only just closed his eyes but in the next moment the living room was ablaze with sunlight and the smells of breakfast thickening the air. 

"Morning, Lance!  Hope you're hungry," Walter called cheerily from the kitchen, decked out in the pink apron he usually reserved for home experiments. 

Lance yawned, scratching his stomach and blinking the sleep from his eyes. 

"Mornin'," he parroted drowsily.  It always took him a while to warm to the idea of wakefulness. If only he had some-

"Coffee?" 

"Read my mind," Lance said, holding out his hand and pleased to feel a mug slide into his open palm as he entered the kitchen.

"No cream, two sugars, right?"

"You got it."

Lance took a sip and waited for the miraculous effects of caffeine to do their thing.

With a sunny smile (that he could now see that his eyes were fully open) Walter placed a plate of blueberry pancakes with a side of steaming hash browns and red strips that looked suspiciously like something trying to imitate bacon.  

"Thanks," Lance said, taking a large forkful after coating the perfectly browned discs with a layer of syrup.  They were fluffy and legitimately delicious.

"Mm, that's the good stuff," Lance heard himself say as Walter took a seat with his own well stacked plate across from him.  

"Glad you like it."

Lance nodded, lining up another forkful.

"How you doing," He asked, looking up to gage his friend's reaction. The piping hot hash browns could wait. 

"I'm good.  Really good," Walter answered honestly. 

"Thank you for staying over and...and for everything you did last night, Lance.  Thank you."

"I got your back, Walter."

Walter nodded.

"I know."

Then, he added, "How are the pancakes?"

"Amazing.  I bet they'd taste even better if I was a pigeon.  You don't know how good things taste when you're a bird."

Walter laughed and the sound was like a trophy of a job well done.  Lance smiled.  He'd have to thank Marcy later today. 

Fin.