[Feb 2] [Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego] Double Talk

[rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com]

Title: Double Talk
Day/Theme: Feb 2-- "Dear Clone..."
Series: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego
Characters: The Dying Informant, the Messenger
Rating: G

This story will be cross-posted to my journal and the V.I.L.E. HQ fanfic forums.


Author’s Note: This ficlit was inspired by the prompt “Dear Clone…” for 31 Days on LiveJournal. I’m not sure where exactly it fits in my timeline, but it’s probably after “Go North, Young Agent.” As always, the characters aren’t mine, but the story is.

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Stealthy, quiet footsteps crept down the darkened halls of ACME Crimenet as the man made an effort to go unnoticed. He paused at every intersecting hall before proceeding, ducking out of sight of the security cameras.

At last, he reached the door he sought. Ever so carefully, he opened the door, so as not to let the hinges squeak. And as he gained entry to the forbidden room, a smirk crossed his face. No one would be the wiser…

He crept across the room, his fingers grasping the handle of another door—behind which rested exactly what he had come for…

“Bro…?” a voice asked, slightly incredulous.

The man yelped, nearly jumping twelve feet into the air, his hand still on the handle of the door as the other presence in the room walked over to him. The door he was holding onto opened, the light inside falling on his face, as well as that of the younger boy now beside him.

“Man, I thought I was going to raid this fridge without a hitch…” the Messenger commented, after realizing that it was the Informant. “I know we’re in a budget reduction and all, but Schwemphf’s hitting us where it hurts by reducing meal portions.” He shook his head in disapproval. “You here for the same reason, too, Infy?”

“Not really,” the boy admitted. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought a little snack would help….”

The Messenger stared at the sky-high sandwich in his surrogate brother’s hand.

“A little snack…?” he asked, amused.

“Well… I didn’t really plan on going back to sleep,” the Informant admitted.

“Uh-oh…” the Messenger said, a frown crossing his face as he uncovered some leftover tortellini. “What happened?”

The Informant suppressed a shudder.

“It was my double…” he said. “You know… the Bunker Hill traitor?”

“Who could forget…?” the older agent muttered, beginning to eat the tortellini without even bothering to warm it up first.

“He was showing up in my nightmares again…” said the Informant. “Usually when he does, it’s a sign that he’s going to show up in the waking world, too. And… I don’t want to deal with him again.”

The Messenger crossed his arms.

“Really?” he asked. “I wonder why you’re able to tell when he’s going to come around…”

“Maybe it’s because he’s right…” the Informant said. “Maybe it’s not just a coincidence that we look and sound alike… Maybe, in another time and place, we really were the same--”

“You hold that thought right there and don’t let it take another step further!” the Messenger ordered, brandishing his fork.

“But--”

“I refuse to entertain the idea, even for a moment, that you are the same as that creep!” the Messenger stated. “Sure, you look alike, but that’s it.”

The Informant poured himself a glass of orange juice.

“How can you say that…?” he asked. “You don’t know… You weren’t there… I mean… he was a loner who pushed everyone away, and… I was almost the exact same way. The only thing that stopped me from becoming like that was me meeting you guys…”

“Aha! See, you said ‘almost’…!” the Messenger said, pointing his fork at the younger agent again. “‘Almost’ is a far cry from ‘is’…!”

The Informant looked up at his surrogate brother with a wan smile.

“But is this really me…?” he asked, sadly.

“Just what do you mean by that…?” asked the Messenger, with a frown. “Wait, don’t tell me; I know what this is about. You’re worried that Mr. Ghosty is right, and that this kind and generous personality you have right now is just some sort of façade?”

“Well--”

“Because if that’s it, then I can dispel any fears you have right now,” said the Messenger. “Sure, it’s natural to worry about the way your double wants you to be, but if you weren’t the way you are, you wouldn’t worry about the way you think you were which is the way your double wants you to be. Does that make any sense?”

“Not the way you explained it,” the Informant said, now snickering. “Think you can repeat that?”

“Not at all,” the Messenger said, with a broad grin. He had achieved what he had wanted to—the boy’s spirits were now raised, and he hopefully wasn’t still thinking that the double’s personality is—or ever was, or ever will be—his own.

“Well…” sighed the Informant. “I guess the fact that I laughed says something about who I am.”

“Exactly,” the Messenger said, inwardly triumphant. “And I’ll tell you what else you should do… You think he’s going to show up soon, right? Any idea on a time?”

“I don’t know…” said the Informant. “Usually, he shows up within a couple days of the dreams… Usually, he doesn’t stay for long; he wakes me up, says his piece, vows that he’ll one day take me, and vanishes.”

“Exactly how often does this happen…?” the Messenger asked. “You’ve never told us about it…!”

“I didn’t want to worry you…” said the Informant. “And it’s not very often—only a few times total…” He trailed off at the look on his surrogate brother’s face. “Right, I know; I shouldn’t keep it from my brothers, but…”

“But nothing…” said the Messenger. “You know what this guy is capable of; you shouldn’t have tried to keep it to yourself. If not for your own sake, then at least for Techie—imagine him, waking up one morning, looking up at your bunk and finding out that your double drained you and took your place. He’d never get over it!”

“That’s the thing… he hasn’t tried…” he said. “He just threatens to, and talks a lot.”

“He’s trying to wear you down so that he finally can,” the Messenger said, eating more of the tortellini. “That’s why he just hovers around you, talking. And he doesn’t wake Techie up?”

The Informant shook his head.

“Nope. Techie sleeps right through his visits. Or, at least I think so…” the Informant pondered for a moment. On those nights when his doppelganger did visit him, the Techie woke up weary and drained, as though he hadn’t slept well at all, even though the older agent appeared to be deep in sleep in his bunk during the actual visits. “Then again…” It would be too much like the Techie to pretend to be asleep, waiting to fight back against the double the second he tried anything. The Informant let out a sigh. “Oh, Techie…”

The Messenger flinched.

“He’s probably awake right now, waiting for you to come back…”

The Informant gave a nod. “I’ll talk to him as soon as I get back upstairs and tell him everything.”

The Messenger nodded in approval, going back to the tortellini, but paused after some more time.

“So…” he said. “Do you ever talk back to him when Monsieur Creepo shows up?”

The Informant shook his head.

“I can’t get my thoughts in order… He frightens me more than I care to admit. Not because he’s a ghost, of course…”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you…” said the Messenger. “But now I have an idea… Why don’t you write him a note, since you know he’s coming? Then when he shows up with that ugly mug of his--”

“Heyyyy…!”

“Oops, sorry. See, you’re so different, I forget that you’re lookalikes so easily…!”

The boy just rolled his eyes in amusement.

“Anyway, just show him the note and go back to sleep,” the Messenger finished. “He’s probably haunting you for attention as well as to wear you down, and this way takes care of both problems. You get your sleep and he gets annoyed because you won’t listen to him—and you win again!”

The Informant gave a wan smile.

“You think that’ll work?”

“Sure, and I know exactly how to write it,” said the Messenger, a mischievous grin forming on his face.

The boy’s eyebrows arched. “Oh…?”

“Yes,” the Messenger said, a spark in his eyes. “Write it in LOLspeak.”

The boy stared at him with a look that clearly asked, “Are you for real…?”

“I’m serious here!” said the Messenger. “Here…” He handed him a small pocket notebook and pencil. “Take a letter, Infy.”

The Informant gave a shrug and picked up the pencil. “Okay, I’m ready…”

“‘O hai, Doppelganger,’” the Messenger dictated, pleased to see that the Informant shaking with laughter as he began to write. “‘You are in my room, trying to spread hauntings. Not my fault that I can has family while you cannot has; go back to Basement Cat and get over it. Annoying hauntings are annoying; do not want. Sleep, I needs it; plz to cease hauntings ASAP. Kthxbai.’”

The Informant cracked up as he stared at the final result.

“You really think it will work?” he asked.

“Probably not, but it’ll take him a moment to make any heads or tails out of that,” the Messenger said, with approval. “They didn’t have the internet in the Revolutionary War days; by the time he works out what the heck the note is saying, we’ll all be there to chase him off!”

The Informant laughed aloud at the thought of his double trying to figure out who on earth Basement Cat was.

“Now, then…” the Messenger said, finishing up the rest of the tortellini. “I hope a lesson has been learned here in this kitchen tonight…”

“It sure has…” said the Informant. “I’ve learned not to try to handle things alone. It’s a lot better—and in this case, funnier—to get some help from my brothers…”

“Exactly,” the Messenger said, placing the lid back on the empty container. He blinked as he finally noticed a post-it note on the lid. “Hey, what’s this…?”

The Informant’s eyebrows arched.

“Looks like someone already laid claim to the tortellini you just polished off…” he said, trying not to sound too amused.

“Yeah, let’s see…” The Messenger looked at the name on the note and his eyes widened. “Uh-oh…”

“Do I want to know what just happened…?” asked the Informant.

Wordlessly, the Messenger held out the post-it note. Schwemphf’s name was on it.

“…Smooth, Bro. Real smooth…” the Informant said, shaking with silent laughter. “Let’s see you leave a LOLspeak note to Schwemphf explaining how this happened. ‘Plz not to be mad that I nommed your noms’…”

“Actually, Infy, I think this predicament calls for a different solution,” said the Messenger, casually putting the empty container back in the fridge. “Tomorrow, you will see me teach a practical lesson in the art of playing dumb.”

“I’ll take notes,” the boy grinned.

“And now…” said the Messenger, in a grand whisper. “We make our triumphant exit, stage left… ever so quietly and carefully watching for any signs of Schwemphf.” He blinked. “Speaking of which… About that tortellini… You saw nothing, right?”

“What tortellini?”

“Exactly, Infy. Exactly…” the older agent said, with a grin. “I knew I could count on you. You got your note to your double?”

“Got it right here…” said the boy. “You know, I think I’m almost looking forward to it…”

The Messenger grinned as he led the way back to the agents’ quarters.

“You going to go back to getting the rest of those forty winks?” he asked.

“I was going to…” said the Informant. “But there’s something I need to do first.”

The Techie would still be awake—and worried. The Informant would have to talk to him about why it had taken him so long to say anything about the double.

The Messenger seemed to sense his thoughts.

“Hey, he’s going to understand…” he assured the boy. “And believe me, he’s going to feel a whole lot better about this whole thing. And so will you.”

“I already do,” said the Informant. “But you’re right… And I’ll feel even better tomorrow, once I tell the Inspector about it, too.”

“That’s the spirit,” the Messenger said. “I think my teachings have been taken to heart. You have pleased me well, my pupil.”

“You honor me with your praise, Sensei,” the Informant said, giving a polite bow.

“Just you wait, Infy…” the Messenger promised. “You’re going to learn all I know in the ways of living it up and having a good time!”

The Informant smirked.

“Just be careful… You don’t want me turning into another you…” he warned.

“I don’t? Yeah, I guess not; it’s good to be an individual nutcase. But it’d be nice to see you take after me a little bit…”

“I think I already have…” said the Informant. “Why else would I have gone to the kitchen, of all places…?”

The Messenger placed a hand on the Informant’s shoulder.

“Because great minds think alike,” he said. “Which means that it’s only a matter of time until all four of us start having midnight meals…”

“I don’t think Techie will go for it…” the Informant said. “But knowing him, he’d go to keep us company and make do with a whole-wheat cracker.” He placed his hand on his door. “Hey, Bro…? Thanks.”

The Messenger grinned, giving him a thumbs-up as they both headed to their respective rooms and bunks.

So… the Messenger thought to himself. Infy’s getting over his fears of his double because of me. He’s going to tell Techie and get a load off both of their shoulders because of me. Schwemphf’s out a bowl of tortellini because of me. He smiled. It’s been a very productive night.