![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
la_samtyrOnce A Thief, Vic Mansfield
They Don't Have Grassy Knolls in Canada
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vic sighed heavily as he trudged to the Directors office. It was bad enough that he was going to miss the greatest hockey game of the millennia. The MegaStars were playing, and such greats as Gretzky, Kurri and Tikkanen would be on the ice for Edmonton. Grant Fuhr would be in goal, and Guy LaFleur would be playing for Montreal. Tickets were impossible to get, and he'd even put his name in on the special raffle, all to no avail. Just once, he wished fate would be a little more kind to him. Didn't he deserve it, after all?
But no--*She* had a special assignment for him, she said. Something she was sure he'd *like*.
Yeah, I'll just bet, he thought. It was probably more scut work of some sort. Vic considered this. If she put him in the library, he was sure he could convince Nathan to do all the really boring stuff, leaving him to pursue other things. There was going to be a live feed on the Internet, and he would have no problem hacking into it.
"It's about time you got here, Vic," The Director said as he entered the room. "You know my rules about punctuality."
"Yes, ma'am," Vic agreed, dutifully, as he sat down in the chair in front of her desk thinking to himself that no matter how soft and inviting the chairs looked, they were always hard and unyielding and led to aches in a certain sensitive portion of his anatomy. "What did you want me for?"
"You do know that 22 November is on a Saturday this year?" She asked, as she turned on a live feed of Dealy Plaza. "It's the fortieth anniversary of that rather disastrous trip in 1963--the one the Americans have turned into a veritable cottage industry?"
Of course, Vic knew that--every Canadian knew that. Although in Vic's humble and unasked for opinion, their rather large, *strange* neighbor to the south had a propensity for turning almost *everything* into a cottage industry--probably because they had so little history of their own.
"Yes, ma'am." Vic had a sinking feeling that he knew what his assignment was going to be--something to do in Dallas. Idly he wondered if Nathan's conviction that "They" were working on a time machine would end up with them sending him back to look for the second or third gunman, and if his usual luck held, he would end up being arrested by the Dallas Police Department. It was neither a pleasant, nor a reassuring thought.
"I have decided to send Mac and LiAnn to Dallas, to investigate some new rumors that have surfaced in the Russian community. It's probably nothing, but it does keep our "neighbors" placated--a goodwill gesture." She paused to arch an elegant eyebrow at him. "Goodwill gestures are so important. Don't you agree, Vic?"
"Oh yes, ma'am," Vic had no intention of arguing with her at this point. It sounded very much like he'd get to stay in Canada, and that was just fine with him.
"Athough I don't like to break up the team, it is sometimes necessary." The Director paused and looked at Vic with an oddly ambiguous expression, one with which Vic was unfamiliar. That made him nervous. He didn't always care much for the weird assignments they seemed to get, but he didn't like to be in a free-fall situation either.
"I have had a special request for you, Vic" she said. "A special request for your *personal* services."
Oh, God, Vic thought. Please don't let it be one of her creepy friends from that club she likes so well. Vic felt himself go pale, and gritted his teeth. He could do this--he had to. After all, he didn't really have a choice even though he liked to imagine that he did.
"Do you think you're up for a special assignment, Vic?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure." Vic noticed that she was looking at him with her special, appraising stare, the one that said "you're just a piece of meat and we both know it."
"Very well." The Director sighed, almost as if she were reluctant to send him out. "It seems that a certain Mr. LaForge wants special agents who have a background in *sports.*" She said the word, 'sports,' as if the very word should be far beneath her notice. "Your name came up on the list because, according to your file, you once played junior hockey. Is that correct?"
"Yes ma'am, it is." Vic felt his stomach churn with tension.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," She said. "You always did have a penchant for such mundane pursuits, Victor. I was rather hoping you'd have outgrown it by now."
Vic remained silent, unsure of how to answer. Personally, he thought he had never heard such a ridiculous attitude but he didn't want to say anything that might antagonize her.
Victor looked at her with almost pity in his eyes. If she understood the game, she'd never say such a thing. It was practically blasphemous. He knew enough to know that the Hockey Gods were real, and they were genuine, old-time, kick-ass gods at that. They didn't take kindly to being mocked, and Vic struggled to keep from glancing at the ceiling, wondering if they were going to smite The Director with a sudden bolt of lightning. They could do it; he knew they could. Vic knew he was safe, for he had already been blooded and sacrificed his pound of flesh (or rather, two of his back teeth and a wicked scar well hidden underneath his shirt) to them in juniors.
The Director looked up from the paperwork, surprised to see something very like pity in Vic's eyes. The very idea made her frown, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. She didn't mind seeing anger, fear, lust, or almost any of the other emotions, but she never wanted to see pity. Pity was a useless emotion, good only for the various do-gooders she came in contact with from time to time. Her agents did need to feel somewhat connected to their jobs but they had no need to pity *her*. She was the Mistress of her own fate, thank-you-very-much, and no-one else.
Vic stared back at her, calmly, for once refusing to be intimidated. He could handle this assignment, whatever it was; he knew it. There was not doubt in his mind.
The Director sensed a change in Vic, slightly uncertain as to what it was, exactly. It was almost as if Vic had suddenly matured, leaving behind in an instant all the baggage that kept him from becoming the great agent she knew he could be.
"Very well, Vic" She said as she handed him the folder containing all the details he needed. "Your assignment is very simple--you'll be security for the Oilers dressing room. Make sure *nothing* happens that shouldn't--and I do mean *nothing*. Your cover will be that of assistant trainer. Do you think you can handle it?"
"Of course I can," Vic replied with a calm, quiet gaze.
"You'd better pack, then--and take your skates. You might be expected on the ice at some point."
"Yes, ma'am" Vic agreed. As if he'd leave his skates at home--he'd always known the woman was a Philistine at heart, and this just proved it.
Vic accepted the folder, briefly looking through it before snapping it shut.
"Go home and pack your things Vic. You'll be arriving in Edmonton with the rest of security team, so that you can have a preliminary walk-through and familiarize yourself with the stadium. Any questions?"
"No ma'am." Vic replied, resisting the urge to salute..
He turned and left, feeling as if he were walking on air. Make sure that nothing happened, indeed! Vic shook his head in wonderment. As if he would *ever* do anything foolish enough to risk the players under his care--especially this game.
Vic made the drive to his apartment in near-record time, hurriedly digging out his old hockey bag. It would be cold in Edmonton; he was sure of that, so he made sure to pack warmly. Finally, he took his skates down from their home in the closet, carefully unpacking them and holding them reverently. He made certain they were well packed in the bag, zipping it shut, then headed off to the airport, whistling happily.
Just for once, he was happy to work for a shadowy government agency.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Notes The Mega-Stars game between the Edmonton Oilers and the Montreal Canadiens started on time at 2pm on November 22, 2003. The Score was Edmonton 2 -- Montreal 0. The temperature was approximately -18 C (or -1 F), with 56,167 in attendance. An estimated 2.7 million people viewed the game on television. This was an *outdoor* game--it was not played in an indoor arena, but at Commonwealth Stadium.
The end
They Don't Have Grassy Knolls in Canada
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vic sighed heavily as he trudged to the Directors office. It was bad enough that he was going to miss the greatest hockey game of the millennia. The MegaStars were playing, and such greats as Gretzky, Kurri and Tikkanen would be on the ice for Edmonton. Grant Fuhr would be in goal, and Guy LaFleur would be playing for Montreal. Tickets were impossible to get, and he'd even put his name in on the special raffle, all to no avail. Just once, he wished fate would be a little more kind to him. Didn't he deserve it, after all?
But no--*She* had a special assignment for him, she said. Something she was sure he'd *like*.
Yeah, I'll just bet, he thought. It was probably more scut work of some sort. Vic considered this. If she put him in the library, he was sure he could convince Nathan to do all the really boring stuff, leaving him to pursue other things. There was going to be a live feed on the Internet, and he would have no problem hacking into it.
"It's about time you got here, Vic," The Director said as he entered the room. "You know my rules about punctuality."
"Yes, ma'am," Vic agreed, dutifully, as he sat down in the chair in front of her desk thinking to himself that no matter how soft and inviting the chairs looked, they were always hard and unyielding and led to aches in a certain sensitive portion of his anatomy. "What did you want me for?"
"You do know that 22 November is on a Saturday this year?" She asked, as she turned on a live feed of Dealy Plaza. "It's the fortieth anniversary of that rather disastrous trip in 1963--the one the Americans have turned into a veritable cottage industry?"
Of course, Vic knew that--every Canadian knew that. Although in Vic's humble and unasked for opinion, their rather large, *strange* neighbor to the south had a propensity for turning almost *everything* into a cottage industry--probably because they had so little history of their own.
"Yes, ma'am." Vic had a sinking feeling that he knew what his assignment was going to be--something to do in Dallas. Idly he wondered if Nathan's conviction that "They" were working on a time machine would end up with them sending him back to look for the second or third gunman, and if his usual luck held, he would end up being arrested by the Dallas Police Department. It was neither a pleasant, nor a reassuring thought.
"I have decided to send Mac and LiAnn to Dallas, to investigate some new rumors that have surfaced in the Russian community. It's probably nothing, but it does keep our "neighbors" placated--a goodwill gesture." She paused to arch an elegant eyebrow at him. "Goodwill gestures are so important. Don't you agree, Vic?"
"Oh yes, ma'am," Vic had no intention of arguing with her at this point. It sounded very much like he'd get to stay in Canada, and that was just fine with him.
"Athough I don't like to break up the team, it is sometimes necessary." The Director paused and looked at Vic with an oddly ambiguous expression, one with which Vic was unfamiliar. That made him nervous. He didn't always care much for the weird assignments they seemed to get, but he didn't like to be in a free-fall situation either.
"I have had a special request for you, Vic" she said. "A special request for your *personal* services."
Oh, God, Vic thought. Please don't let it be one of her creepy friends from that club she likes so well. Vic felt himself go pale, and gritted his teeth. He could do this--he had to. After all, he didn't really have a choice even though he liked to imagine that he did.
"Do you think you're up for a special assignment, Vic?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure." Vic noticed that she was looking at him with her special, appraising stare, the one that said "you're just a piece of meat and we both know it."
"Very well." The Director sighed, almost as if she were reluctant to send him out. "It seems that a certain Mr. LaForge wants special agents who have a background in *sports.*" She said the word, 'sports,' as if the very word should be far beneath her notice. "Your name came up on the list because, according to your file, you once played junior hockey. Is that correct?"
"Yes ma'am, it is." Vic felt his stomach churn with tension.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," She said. "You always did have a penchant for such mundane pursuits, Victor. I was rather hoping you'd have outgrown it by now."
Vic remained silent, unsure of how to answer. Personally, he thought he had never heard such a ridiculous attitude but he didn't want to say anything that might antagonize her.
Victor looked at her with almost pity in his eyes. If she understood the game, she'd never say such a thing. It was practically blasphemous. He knew enough to know that the Hockey Gods were real, and they were genuine, old-time, kick-ass gods at that. They didn't take kindly to being mocked, and Vic struggled to keep from glancing at the ceiling, wondering if they were going to smite The Director with a sudden bolt of lightning. They could do it; he knew they could. Vic knew he was safe, for he had already been blooded and sacrificed his pound of flesh (or rather, two of his back teeth and a wicked scar well hidden underneath his shirt) to them in juniors.
The Director looked up from the paperwork, surprised to see something very like pity in Vic's eyes. The very idea made her frown, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. She didn't mind seeing anger, fear, lust, or almost any of the other emotions, but she never wanted to see pity. Pity was a useless emotion, good only for the various do-gooders she came in contact with from time to time. Her agents did need to feel somewhat connected to their jobs but they had no need to pity *her*. She was the Mistress of her own fate, thank-you-very-much, and no-one else.
Vic stared back at her, calmly, for once refusing to be intimidated. He could handle this assignment, whatever it was; he knew it. There was not doubt in his mind.
The Director sensed a change in Vic, slightly uncertain as to what it was, exactly. It was almost as if Vic had suddenly matured, leaving behind in an instant all the baggage that kept him from becoming the great agent she knew he could be.
"Very well, Vic" She said as she handed him the folder containing all the details he needed. "Your assignment is very simple--you'll be security for the Oilers dressing room. Make sure *nothing* happens that shouldn't--and I do mean *nothing*. Your cover will be that of assistant trainer. Do you think you can handle it?"
"Of course I can," Vic replied with a calm, quiet gaze.
"You'd better pack, then--and take your skates. You might be expected on the ice at some point."
"Yes, ma'am" Vic agreed. As if he'd leave his skates at home--he'd always known the woman was a Philistine at heart, and this just proved it.
Vic accepted the folder, briefly looking through it before snapping it shut.
"Go home and pack your things Vic. You'll be arriving in Edmonton with the rest of security team, so that you can have a preliminary walk-through and familiarize yourself with the stadium. Any questions?"
"No ma'am." Vic replied, resisting the urge to salute..
He turned and left, feeling as if he were walking on air. Make sure that nothing happened, indeed! Vic shook his head in wonderment. As if he would *ever* do anything foolish enough to risk the players under his care--especially this game.
Vic made the drive to his apartment in near-record time, hurriedly digging out his old hockey bag. It would be cold in Edmonton; he was sure of that, so he made sure to pack warmly. Finally, he took his skates down from their home in the closet, carefully unpacking them and holding them reverently. He made certain they were well packed in the bag, zipping it shut, then headed off to the airport, whistling happily.
Just for once, he was happy to work for a shadowy government agency.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Notes The Mega-Stars game between the Edmonton Oilers and the Montreal Canadiens started on time at 2pm on November 22, 2003. The Score was Edmonton 2 -- Montreal 0. The temperature was approximately -18 C (or -1 F), with 56,167 in attendance. An estimated 2.7 million people viewed the game on television. This was an *outdoor* game--it was not played in an indoor arena, but at Commonwealth Stadium.
The end
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}