Author's Note: Complete and total crackfic! That I thought up while watching Avengers for the fifth time and finally recognizing Warren Kole as the unnamed tech guy on the carrier that Robin from How I Met Your Mother was talking to. Just go with it. :-D Just friendship, no slash.

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Wes was never late. Never. It just wasn't in his nature. Obscenely early, that was his normal MO. But lately, he was turning up at all sorts of bizarre times, and like it wasn't anything unusual. The Captain didn't seem to notice, and neither did anyone else. Whenever Travis asked where his partner was, or where he'd been, he would act like Travis hadn't said anything at all.

It was driving him NUTS.

Travis wasn't big on secrets. He liked to know what people were doing, what fun thing they'd found, or even just what was going on at home. Wes called it prying. Travis called it being interested in his fellow man beyond what they saw at work. He didn't even really like to keep secrets himself. He liked to tell people about his latest date, or what hobby he'd picked up – even a sweet ride he'd managed to take on their limited off time on his bike up the coast. Something. Anything to drive a conversation.

But Wes wouldn't budge. He was more tight lipped about whatever off work hobby he'd found than he was at their counseling sessions.

And then the second cell phone appeared.

At first, Travis wasn't sure what to make of it. It was a very plain, very basic flip phone, matte black, and with almost no texting capabilities. It didn't even look like he could check the internet with it. And Wes never, ever set down. He wouldn't let anyone anywhere near that phone, and he wouldn't give Travis the number. No matter how many times he asked, or how he pleaded, Wes refused to even acknowledge the phone in his presence. But when that thing did go off, Wes was gone. No explanation, just a clipped, short exchange with the captain and then POOF. Off to parts unknown.

Then came the bizarre injuries. A black eye, a scratch, a cut, a couple bruises, a split lip…sometimes Wes would be moving tenderly for weeks from bruised ribs and hairline fractures. Again, it was like no one noticed but Travis. No one seemed to see all the extra injuries that Wes brought in on his off hours with no explanation.

Another bizarre and inexplicable thing was Wes sudden knowledge of computers. He could back trace calls, hack the DMV, and get past security codes as if they were nothing. And it was like he was expecting technology to be faster than it was. When something took a minute instead of ten seconds, Wes would complain about how slow the computers were, and why did no one else notice the lag in the processing speed?

Travis didn't even know Wes liked computers.

The official last straw was the redhead. Short, curvy in just the right places, short red hair and spectacular lips. And not even remotely interested in anyone but Wes.

"Agent Mitchell, we've been trying to call you," she said, striding through the bullpen as if she owned the place. And for all Travis cared, she could own it.

"Hi, my name is Travis –" the redhead blew right past him as if he didn't even exist and stopped right beside Wes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Wes hissed, abruptly standing as the redhead approached. "Couldn't they send someone a little less…noticeable? I work here! And I'd like to keep working here."

The redhead seemed nonplussed. "You work for us, Agent. And the Director says that he needs you to come in this weekend – we need all hands on deck."

Wes sighed, and Travis simply stared at the exchange. What the hell was going on? Who would EVER complain about having to go work with this woman? Who cared what she even wanted from him? "You didn't even know my name until recently, so I don't really believe you need me specifically all that badly."

"Well, after that incident in New York, we don't exactly have a lot of people to choose from. I could always send Stark or Rogers to come get you if it'll make you feel better. Maybe a little more important?" the redhead smirked, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm sure they'll be much less subtle."

"I would've preferred Barton since no one would recognize him, but fine. I see your point. Are you sure you need all of us? What could possibly be wrong that the science wonder twins Stark and Banner can't fix?"

The redhead shrugged. "It's not so much fix as they need operators. You know how many people we need in order to run that platform. And you know Stark – if it's not exciting…"

"It's not worth his time. Dammit," Wes grumbled, but reluctantly grabbed his jacket and put back his detective shield. "I had plans, you know."

"Of course we know. We know everything," the redhead said, smiling now that she'd obviously gotten her way.

"Yeah, yeah, goddamn Big Brother initiative. It would've made more sense considering the tabs you keep on people," Wes said, sighing. "I appreciate that you have no private lives, but why can't we 'background people', as Fury likes to call us, have some privacy?"

The woman looked around. "No one seems to notice us now, do they? How much more privacy do you want?"

Wes frowned. "You're missing the point, Romanov."

"Am I?" she said sweetly.

Suddenly Wes looked slightly terrified. "I hate it when you use that tone of voice. It always makes me feel like I'm about to be strangled with my own entrails."

"Keep protesting and you just might."

Wes threw his hands up in mock surrender. Except maybe a little less 'mock'. "Who's arguing? I'm certainly not. Look at me, willingly going along with you to parts unknown and giving up my hard earned weekend."

Wes turned to Travis for the first time in this entire exchange. "If I'm not back by Monday, send out a search party, okay?"

Travis gaped, open mouthed, at his partner for a second before nodding. "Yeah…yeah, man. Sure thing. Where are you going?"

Wes rolled his eyes. "I have no idea. They like their secrets."

"Come on, Agent Mitchell. We've got things to do!" Romanov said, already at the door, waiting and tapping her foot impatiently.

"You have any others like her?" Travis asked in a stage whisper.

"Natasha Romanov is one of a kind, Travis. And no, I would never, ever introduce you two." He jogged after the redhead, mouthing "search party" back at Travis before the Romanov pulled him through the door by his collar.

"What the hell was that about?" one of the patrolman asked. "Was that his new girlfriend?"

"I have no idea…" Travis shook his head. "But he is one lucky sonofabitch if that's what's been causing all his bruises."

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So. Thoughts? Comments welcome, I'm just trying to work through some nervous energy after getting too much sleep last night and a bad case of writer's block. Let me know!