CnDP - Losing Hope

Losing Hope or Why Weasels Make Lousy Babysitters


Slowly, Jack Hammer (yes, that is his real name, and yes, it’s possible that his parents were slightly drunk when they named him), known to his friends and colleagues as Weasel, sits down on a bench in Central Park and folds his hands together between his knees.  It may not look like it, but Weasel is having a panic attack.

He long ago mastered the art of quiet panic—when you get paid to break into places and steal things using a laptop, you learn not to make a fuss when things start to turn pear-shaped (lest you alert people with guns and handcuffs).

Bob, Agent of Hydra (technically off-duty and currently in plainclothes), takes a seat next to him, looking similarly calm, but anyone whose instinct for hiding is as well-honed as Bob’s is certainly panicking right now.

“We’re going to die,” Weasel muses.  “Very, very slowly.”

“We?” Bob says in a tone of affront.  “I just got here.  You’re the one who lost her.  How did you even do that, anyway?  It’s not like she’s a toddler—she’s almost eight, for god’s sake.”

But Weasel isn’t listening.  He’s too busy panicking.  His mind chases down a hundred scenarios, most in the category of ‘leave the country.’  The flat in London’s compromised, and so is the one in Stockholm.  Half his fake passports are no good.  He’d have to use the emergency one and forge another during a layover between flights.  It’d take at least four different airports to even begin to cover the paper trail.

No, it’s no good.  Wade may have flipped his lid several times, but sometime before that, he was definitely a cold-blooded assassin—so good at it that it’s bone-deep, buried somewhere under amnesia and fake memories and psychoses.  Unless he managed to hitchhike his way to the Kree homeworld (and maybe even then), Wade would find him, and since Hope has managed to usurp the late Bea Arthur’s place as the most important woman in Wade’s life, what will come after Wade finds him will be very, very, very unpleasant.

“My imagination can’t even begin to fathom the horrors,” Weasel notes, a trifle hysterically.  “It kind of gives up and holds up a ‘censored for graphic violence’ card.  I wonder if he’ll pull my nails out before or after he does the thing with the grater…”

Bob doesn’t seem to be impressed.  He snorts.  “She wouldn’t have gone far.  Where did you last see her?  And there are places Mister Wilson’s not allowed to go, you know—places where whole armies show up and politely ask him to stay away.”

“Asylum, that’s it!” Weasel cries, nodding.  “I could go to Switzerland and beg for political asylum.  I’m sure Cable would honor asylum.  He wouldn’t let Wade hurt me if I went to Switzerland.”

“Is this the same Mister Cable who launched Mister Wilson out of Rumekistan for what was, for them anyway, just a little tiff?”

“Well, I mean, they’d put a twenty-four-hour watch on the borders, and if I ever dared set foot outside the country I’d be vaporized…but I could learn to like Swiss chocolate, I think.  And clocks.  I hear they do great things with clocks.”

“Maybe she went back to Mister Wilson’s apartment,” Bob suggests.

Weasel snorts.  “Doubt it.  She’s not allowed back while there could possibly be unwrapped or unhidden presents.  She promised to be good until Wade came and got her.  Apparently, being good includes being kidnapped or murdered or what-have-you, so that Wade ends up going not just medieval on me, but ancient China on me, complete with water droplets on the forehead and favorite non-essential organs removed.  I didn’t even know Wade knew what a spleen looked like until that time he started using Hayden’s organs to teach some imaginary person about human internal anatomy with song.”

And it’s true.  They all joke about Wade, they all say he has no idea how delicate and squishy ‘normal’ people are.  But Weasel has a feeling that Wade knows exactly how delicate and squishy normal people are, and probably has a mental list of internal organs sorted by how long a person can survive without each one.

The quiet panicking is starting to give way to a desperate need to curl into the tiniest ball possible and sob like a baby.

“You’re overreacting.”

“Hah!” Weasel laughs, because the idea of Bob claiming that someone else is overreacting is just plain absurd.

“Kids wander, it’s what they do.  Mister Wilson takes her all over the island, so she probably thinks of it as kind of an extended neighborhood.”

“What, she heard the ice cream man and went running?”  Weasel rolls his eyes and sulks, because sulking is better than screaming.

“Well, I don’t live on the island, and she’s never been to your apartment…  What’s left?”

“I guess…there’s Sandi’s.  Or the office.  Or half the stores on Fifth Avenue.  Or every Broadway theater.”

Bob sighs and shakes his head.  “You would be a terrible father.  When they hit the wandering stage, the first step to finding them is always the phone tree.”

“Don’t go all PTA on me, don’t you dare, Bob.”

“Shush,” Bob says, pulling out a cell phone and dialing.

Weasel is too stunned and insulted at being shushed by his sort-of-best-friend’s pet minion to do anything but gape.

“Sandi?  Yeah, it’s Bob.  Fine, how are you?  Fantastic.  Listen, have you seen Hope today?  Mm-hm.  Uh-huh.  Well, let us know if you—oh, Outlaw just walked in?  Could you ask her if—okay.  Oh, really?  Thanks a bunch.”

The phone clicks shut, and Bob has a look on his face like he’s single-handedly engineered the downfall of SHIELD.  Weasel contemplates slugging him, but Bob is built like he uses the company gym, and Weasel’s arms are built for typing and tinkering, not beating people up.

“Hope and her little stuffed friend were last spotted window-shopping in the Village.”

“How the hell did she get all the way over there?!” Weasel yelps, leaping to his feet.

“Probably took a cab, since she doesn’t have a subway card or a bus pass.  Why, how would you get to Greenwich Village?”

“Oh, god.  At least we have a shot at dying quickly now.  Maybe we can catch up to her before Wade finds out and goes postal.”

“Before I find out what and go postal?” Wade cheerfully asks, making Weasel jump.

“Jesus, you almost gave me a heart-attack!” Weasel scolds.  He looks around for Bob, sees him peeking out from under the bench (and he has to admit that it takes a lot of talent to get from sitting on a bench to being completely under it in the space of about two seconds).  Shaking his head, Weasel looks back at Wade.

Wade grins.  He’s got the projector set to the Jerry Garcia look-alike (Weasel personally thinks it looks more like the hippie love-child of Jerry Garcia and George Lucas), so it’s a particularly jolly sort of grin.  “Still awaiting explanations, Weas.”

“Uh.  Well, y’see…we kinda—”

“He!” Bob pointedly corrects from beneath the bench.

“—lost Hope.”

Wade goes on grinning for several horrible seconds.  “Lost hope?  Or lost Hope?  It’s a crucial distinction, and I couldn’t make out whether you were saying it with a capital H.”

Weasel is uncomfortably aware that he’s lousy at hiding things and worse at giving bad news.

The grin abruptly leaves Wade’s fake face.  “Are you friggin’ kidding me?!” Wade yells.  “Weas, I left you alone with her for—for, like, two hours!  What the hell kinda babysitter loses the baby in two hours or less?”

Bob’s phone rings, and he hurriedly answers it in hushed tones, still hiding under the bench.  Weasel’s half curious whether it’s Sandi calling to save his life, but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off Wade, who looks like he’s starting to hit the panic stage, himself.

“Holy fucking—Jesus—fucking—shit—fuck—goddamn—son of a—mother-fucking—cock-sucking—sheep-humping—” Wade inarticulately sputters, hands making abortive strangling motions toward Weasel’s neck.

“I hate to interrupt when you’ve got such a streak going, Mister Wilson,” Bob timidly interjects.  “Sandi says Miss Domino’s the culprit.  She swiped Hope right out from under Weasel’s nose.  They went to Greenwich Village to pick out a present for Mister Proudstar for Christmas.”

Weasel lets out the breath he’s been holding.

Wade collapses onto the bench.  “Goddammit.  Fuckin’ Neena.  I fucking swear t’ Christ, if she did this to throw the fuckin’ gauntlet down, I will fuckin’ bring that shit.  It will be on.  I have a twelve-pack of whoop-ass just waiting to be busted open, and other such weird slangy manglings of the English language.  If it’s a catfight she wants, it’s a catfight she’ll get.  I’mma bus’ a cap all up in there.  Fo’ shizzle.”

Weasel’s just glad that someone else is now the focus of Wade’s homicidal mutterings.  “So where are they now, Bob?”

“The office.  Sandi says they’re quietly taking bets on what Mister Wilson will say to Miss Domino when he gets there.”

Sighing, Wade stands back up.  “What’s the favorite so far?”

“Sandi and Mister Hayden both bet on you punching first and asking questions later.”

“And Inez?”

There was a pause while Bob asked.  “Outlaw has good money down on you dragging her into another room and quietly threatening her.”

Wade pulls his abused baseball cap out of the back pocket of his jeans and puts it on before switching off his projector (and he looks even more murderous than Weasel had suspected).  “Wouldn’t wanna disappoint the lady.”

In point of fact, the first thing Wade does upon arriving at the Agency X office is to make a beeline for Hope and hug her half to death.  Weasel doesn’t know if it’s sincere or a guilt-trip, but Wade tells the little girl that he was so scared to hear she’d gone missing that his heart stopped for almost half a minute.  She tearfully promises that she’ll never leave without telling her babysitter again, even if Neena says it’ll only take a minute and it’ll be funny to play a little trick on Weasel.

Domino herself is perched on the edge of Sandi’s desk (and Sandi doesn’t much care for Domino in the first place, but after today she’ll probably be laying down traps).  “It was just an innocent little Christmas shopping jaunt,” she says reasonably.  “I’m certainly far more capable of protecting her than Weasel is.”

Weasel doesn’t know how Wade keeps getting mixed up with all these people who do such bizarre shit and try to be reasonable about it.  No matter how calmly you explain, the fact remains that you used telekinesis to yank up giant bits of space station and make a floating island (that you, incidentally, keep hovering by will alone even in your sleep).  No matter how neatly you lay out the events, it’s still fucked up that you abducted a seven-year-old, possibly-Messianic, been-hunted-all-her-life-by-a-psycho-from-the-future-who-ended-up-nuking-the-world girl from her temporary caregiver because you thought it would be funny.

Yes, haha.  Abso-fucking-lutely hilarious.

Weasel would like very much to punch Domino in her other eye, but she’d probably just drop a banana peel and watch him slip and break his neck or something.  Her whole chaos-theory butterfly-effect creeps him out, and as aforementioned, he doesn’t have the right build for punching people like Bob, let alone trained mercenary assassins.

After two solid minutes of sappy promises, just when Weasel thinks he’s going to spontaneously develop cavities (or go into diabetic shock), Wade stands up, ushers Hope toward Bob, grabs Domino by the arm, and drags her into the next room.

“Damn,” Sandi sulks.

“Thank you, ladies ‘n gents,” Inez says smugly, and collects her winnings.

“I was hoping he’d punch her,” Hayden whines.

“So was I,” Weasel gripes.  “She could do with a good punching.  Scared at least five years off my life.”

“But now you’ve gotten the panic and planning out of the way, at least,” Bob tells him in a cheerful tone.  “Next time you lose Hope, you’ll know exactly what to do.”

“Join a Buddhist monastery?”

“Buddhist probably wouldn’t work, unless it was the ones in Tibet.  Mister Cable wouldn’t let Mister Wilson near those poor pacifists.”

“What’s a pass-a-fiss?” Hope asks.

“Pacifists are people who don’t believe in fighting,” Bob tells her.  “It’s a good thing to be, if you’re a coward.  Mister Cable had a whole island full of pacifists, once.  Mister Wilson says they had the best chimichangas in the world.”

“Wow, really?  In the whole world?”

“Possibly.  Mister Wilson likes to exaggerate, after all.”

Hope tugs at Weasel’s sleeve, and he can’t help but look down at her with a slightly apologetic expression.  “I’m sorry we scared five years off your life and made you think about running away and turning into a pacifist, even if they’ve got the best chimichangas in the world.”  And she’s doing the face, with the trembling lip and the watery eyes, so damn well that Wade must have been giving her lessons.

“Ah, it’s okay,” Weasel reluctantly says, even though it’s not really okay at all.  “Just…y’know…don’t do it again.  Wade looked like he was gonna squeeze my neck until my head popped off.”

Wade stomps back out of the other room (Hayden’s office), lifts Hope onto his hip like she weighs nothing.  “Weasel, no more watching the baby by yourself.  You suck at it.”

Domino (who followed Wade out) snickers.

Wade punches her (Hayden and Sandi cheer).  “Neena, that’s for stealing Nate’s baby.  Bob?”

Bob flinches and hides behind Outlaw’s shoulder.

“Thanks for finding her.  Good boy.  You get Scooby-snacks later.”

Weasel scowls at Bob.  Stupid pets-who-are-good-with-children…

“Hey, I’m the one who found ‘em,” Outlaw points out.  “Bob just used the phone tree.  So how about a little sugar, sugar?”  And she taps her cheek meaningfully.

“Thank you very much, Inez,” Wade dutifully says, and kisses her (she grins and smacks his ass, and Weasel wants to cry because he will never, ever have a woman that hot smack his ass like that).  “Hope?”

“Yes, Wade?” the little girl chirps.

“Our darling Priscilla is never to hear a word of this adventure.  Solemnly swear.”

She holds up her left hand.

“Right hand, scout.”

She hastily moves Dollpool to her left arm and holds up her right hand.  “I solemnly swear to never ever tell Nathan that Neena kidnapped me from Weasel to go shopping because we thought it would be funny.”

“Good.  Let’s go, it’s time for that Abby-tastic NCIS marathon.”

“Yay, Abby!”

Weasel perks up.  “Hey, can I—”

“No Weasels allowed today,” Wade snaps.  “Your apartment privileges are suspended.  Bob, heel.”  And he leaves, with Hope on his hip and Bob scampering after.

Weasel looks around the office.  Outlaw’s handing Domino an ice pack for her eye.  Hayden’s chuckling (which is pretty damn disturbing from someone his size).

Sandi pats his hand comfortingly and passes him the remote to their TV.  “We were gonna watch it, anyway.”

Slowly, Jack Hammer (known to his friends and colleagues as Weasel) sits down on creaky, uncomfortable lobby furniture and prepares to get his geek on.  The last two and a half hours of his life have been exhausting, and Pauley Perrette’s dimples are calling.


.End.