chapter six: fitzsimmons (aos), part two. you remember, right? the two science babies part of a super secret spy team that constantly bicker and are very cute and stiles and lydia, basically? okay. great.

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Scott has never even left the state, let alone he's been to Peru . It's kind of a shame they're spending all of their time in an ancient cave, if you ask him.

Stiles (apparently that's what people call him sometimes, and by people, he means Martin) has been babbling on about Peruvian Wildlife for almost ten minutes now, kneeled down in front of his precious S.H.I.E.L.D. case, putting together tiny robots as they wait for his partner in science to arrive (he thinks this is the first time he's actually encountered one of them on their own). Scott is trying really hard to listen and offer him encouraging nods here and there, but when he starts talking about plants and birds, it's so hard not to fall asleep against the nice, comfy five-hundred year old wall.

Martin, eyebrows raised, throws her silver metal case on top of the make-shift table in front of them, making him scramble up into a more upright position, "You do know they have snakes here, too, right?"

Stiles hisses, waving her off and Scott sends her a questioning glance. He's known them for like, three days, and she's already used to his questioning glances. He about two hundred percent sure they choose the wrong person for the job when they asked Scott orphan, high-school dropout, no life experience beside cyber life McCall to be part of their super secret spy stuff team.

She sighs, opening her mouth to speak when Stiles gives in and does it himself, "Snakes are freaking evil, dude. Like, they smell with their tongue. Their tongue . They don't bite, they just swallow-so when they get you, you're just like, being swallowed for ten hours, which would SUCK. And they literally don't have eyelids! They don't blink, dude. That's just fu-"

The other scientist claps her hands together, annoyed, lips pursed. "Okay, let's release the DWARFs, shall we?" Lydia cuts him off, tight smile on her face as she narrows her eyes at him. He obeys though, taking out some kind of controller and making his tiny robots come to life.

"Dwarfs?" Scott made the connection between their tiny robots and the whole disney naming thing, but still. He could use some sort of explanation.

The redhead opens her mouth but Stiles cuts her off hastily, obviously very proud as he recites, "Drones Wirelessly Automated to Retrieve Forensics."

"He really wanted it to spell DWARF. He spend about three days on that name," Lydia adds, dryly as she rolls her eyes, one of the quad-copters disappearing into a giant hole in the ground. He only responds by knocking his shoulder into hers as they watch their bot on a screen on his controller. Scott doesn't miss the smile she usually tries very hard to hide.

They're an odd pair those two.

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In the last weeks he's been all over the world, been abducted by a supernatural inhuman and held hostage by a bunch of semi-soldiers-but he had never been asked to infiltrate a party, without any training whatsoever, only accompanied by a compact mirror ("We were honestly expecting Agent Argent to go in on this, I mean, you're adorable and all with the whole 'I'm a tiny puppy dog' thing you got going on, but you can't tell the difference between a hug and a lethal move." "Besides, guys can be vain. Ask my ex." Damn Martinski) to flirt with an obvious villain and get his team inside his property until today. Never know what to expect when you're with Shield.

He's trying his best to focus on whatever Peter Hale and his slimy hairdo are saying, but it's kinda difficult when two scientists are having a full on conversation in your ear.

"Stiles, you're on my hair."

"I told you this car was a bad idea, who brings a rental to a party that is being thrown in a mansion the size of an island ? Even I wouldn't do that, and I have zero class."

"You're being paranoid, like always. There's no way that guy-"

"He saw us, Lydia . We were almost made if it hadn't been for my-"

A hiss and then, "You're stealthy tackle? I almost broke my right ulna, not to even mention the fact you ripped my sweater. My five-hundred dollar, cashmere sweater."

"I weigh like 149 pounds, and even with the speed that I was going, that's not nearly enough force to break an ulna and you know it." There's a pause. "Do you think I'm fat?"

"Jesus Christ," it's Finstock this time, and he sounds rather desperate. Scott can almost see his agent-in-charge facepalming, if you know, he wasn't watching Peter Hale smirk his way into his own metaphorical hacking pants. At least he severely hopes they're metaphorical. Heterosexuality aside, Diabolical Psycho Trying To Murder His Way Into World Domination wasn't his type exactly.

Peter asks him something but all Scott sees is that his lips are moving so he smiles politely, quickly taking a sip of his champagne and announcing, in a rather loud voice, that he needs another one. Super casual, Scott, super casual.

"Can you," a hopeless sigh, "just move a little to the right?"

"Yeah, sure." There's dead-silence. Then, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that, it's just like we're in the. back . of a car and there isn't much room, so, so I like, I - I didn't mean to! Please don't file a sexual harassment case. I already have that restraining order on my permanent record that you obviously know about and I honestly - I'm so, so, so sorry. I mean, you're okay in that department and all but that's beside the point. I just don't want you to like, develop some sort of inferiority complex. NOT! Not that my opinion matters or anything. Okay."

It isn't too hard to figure out what just happened, but Scott figures he can laugh at them about it later, after he like, doesn't get killed in the process of planting a damn mirror in some rich, evil guy's house.

"For christ's sake," he hears Allison mumble over the comms as he roams the halls. Their five-way convo is getting kind of awkward, if you ask him.

He finally finds the nearest bathroom and connects the mirror to Hale's in-house security system so Stiles can open the gates to let Argent and Finstock in. He gets shot at, jumps out of a building and is a little wet in the aftermath of it all (there was a pool below the balcony) - but. Okay, so he's not so good at the whole undercover agent thing yet, but Allison totally comes to his rescue and doesn't kick his ass, so it's like, maybe all worth it?

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"My finger is literally in someone's eye, an eye that happens to be able to explode any minute, and you want to have this conversation now ?" Boyd only grumbles at the mention of her finger in his eye, Scott has to give him that.

"You left a liver next to my lunch ."

"It's for science, Stilinski."

"It's a liver. Next to my lunch, Martin."

"Any second now, Stiles."

"I'll promise to tell you which color wire not to cut if you promise to never leave an organ anywhere near where we eat."

Scott, desperately looking away from his screen and over at Finstock who's glued to his phone reading a blog from Perez Hilton, decides to just cut in, "Uhm, guys . Allison just looked at her own reflection, you don't have much more time before they figure out she's not Boyd and they detonate his face-"

The strawberry blond doesn't even seem to notice he said anything and looks more appalled by what her partner in science implied. "That's ridiculous. You know in order for me to conserve biological tissues long enough to study them, I need to keep them at a low temperature and since Finstock gambled away the only one in our lab for Knicks tickets, it's vital that I use the one in the kitchen to store them instead."

He didn't hack into like, an HYDRA robot eye for Vernon to die like this. He hopes this is all conveyed in the pressing glare he sends the both of them.

"Fine. Not on any of my belongings, like the desk where I work at."

She sighs, clenching her jaw as she uses her gloved hand to straighten her safety glasses on her nose, "Nothing here belongs to you. Everything belongs to S.H.I.E.L.D., the people who pay us. Now, you mind telling me which wire not to cut while I try not to murder an agent of our own?"

He huffs, uncrossing and recrossing his arms as he stares her down. She stares right back, eyes narrowed and after a moment he finally gives in, leaning over and peering down into Boyd's eye. "Yellow. I don't like yellow. And red's like, too predictable."

"I hope that's not your only reasoning," she remarks dryly as she cuts a red wire and then a blue one before digging in and pulling the eye out of Boyd's socket. He doesn't even wince.

"You know me better than that," he grins as he opens his hand expectantly. She places the robot eye there as he gets to work dismantling it completely and Scott tries not to think about how it was just in a man's face and hurl up his last eight meals.

Scott really doesn't understand why Stiles always tries this hard when they both know Lydia always wins. Then again he doesn't understand half of the things they say to each other, so what does he know.

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