Work Text:
It’s a lovely day, the sky is clear and Ponds has managed to carve out almost a half hour of Mace’s schedule to give him some free time, Cody and he have finally figured out how to get Torrent’s Jetpacks cleared and no longer punishable for owning and he has far less paperwork today than normal.
And best of all, he has sweet, lovely, sugary caf. Made from a new bag of caf grounds he picked up just for today.
He’ll have to remember to get another bag at some point, it’s delicious.
He stirs his caf slowly, fills out paperwork, check’s Mace’s inbox and sorts it into the customary, 'Important,' 'Urgent,' 'Necessary, not fun,' 'Fun,' 'Ignore until favour can be wheeled out of person doing the sending,' and 'Trash instantly' piles.
It’s a very effective system.
The chrono shows just past today’s sunrise and ticks ever onward, and Ponds hums, ignores the beep of his comm for an exact 20 seconds and then opens it.
Fox: what the fuck did you do to my Sergeant
He grins, and takes a sip of his drink as he picks out a response.
Ponds: Nothing, is there a problem?
He sets his comm down, takes care of the 'Trash instantly' pile and moves on to the 'Urgent' one, manages to take care of the only two messages in that pile in record time and make it to the 'Necessary, not fun' one before he even runs out of caf. Really, his day just keeps getting better.
Hopefully, with all this luck coming his way today, his plan will work.
Though he’s planned contingency this time if it doesn’t.
Mostly.
…..it’s being crafted as he gathers information. It’ll be fine.
His comm pings and Ponds smiles, drinks his caf and waits 40 seconds this time.
Fox: He’s spent the past ten minutes answering all the fucking calls we get while facedown on his fucking desk and eyeing the fucking shiv.
Fox: Ponds, the fuck.
Ponds giggles, glee tracing it’s way up his spine and buzzing at his fingertips, maybe, he thinks, maybe—
Ponds: oh no, is everyone still alive?
Fox: Unfortunately.
Fox: Apparently every single fucking one of our fucking caf machines are fucking broken and we’re all out of the fucking forceawful instant.
Ponds wheezes glee and only winces once at the awful sight the Guard headquarters must be right now.
How lucky that he coincidentally has work all day today, how fortunate too that this interaction can be handled mostly over comms and in his own home base.
These coincidences truly are something wonderful.
Ponds: Kot vod, not fun :(
Fox: How fucking lucky that this didn’t happen when you were here yesterday.
Ponds can feel his suspicious vitriol from here, he grins, goes through the 'Important' messages pile and responds to Mace’s comm, sips smugly at his caf and finishes it with a sigh.
The chrono clicks ever nearer the Taungsday lunch rush and the Senate meeting and Ponds counts his seconds as he taps out his response.
Ponds: Definitely, that would’ve been awful. Has anyone been able to figure out what’s wrong with them yet?
Fox: No.
Ponds finishes off his next pile and settles in to take care of the 'Fun' pile, starts up his perfectly working caf machine and the smell of caf floats through the room, delicious and energizing.
How awful that the Guard hasn’t been able to figure out how to fix their machines yet, how terrible they won’t be able to anytime within the next ten-day
Some might say Ponds has a death wish, what with taking caffeine away from an entire Legion who function primarily due to caffeine.
Ponds is of the opinion that he’s just trying to acquire an incredibly valid resource through any means necessary.
And as lovely as fighting Fox for Blockade and getting put through furniture is, his CMO might actually put him in a medical coma if he tries that method while his leg heals up from their last engagement.
Besides, no one has any proof that Ponds did anything.
He hums as he types, and he can feel victory drawing ever closer.
Ponds: You know, we just got a resupply of caf here in the temple, if you and Blockade are really wanting for caf I’m happy to share!
Fox: You are a fucking menace and whatever plan you have isn’t going to work.
Fox: We’ll be there in five, if you give me that sweetsap shit you like to drink I’ll put you through your own fucking desk, injured or no.
Ponds cackles, victory is so close now, just within reach.
He thinks longingly of the talent that is Blockade playing his switchboard like a musician, a master of his domain.
He wants. The amount they could get done with him, the skill.
He’s prepared this time he reassures himself, this time he’ll snatch Blockade up, this time he’ll beat Fox.
Surely his luck won’t run out before then.
(Ponds’ luck, unfortunately, does not hold. He ends the day a tad more bruised, lighter about a gallon bag of caf and without Blockade.
He does not pout, and anyone who says so — Fox — is a karking liar.
He sighs, cradles his wounded pride and returns to the drawing board.
One day, he laments, one day he’ll steal Blockade away.
That day will not be this particular Taungsday.)