i dont want to downplay how much of a truly awful person she is but communismkills really gave us some of the funniest moments in all of tumblr history

questionable government spies: chapter 1

HERE IT IS !!! ah im so excited ;) ship: eventual sprace, platonic ralbert word count: 3025 warnings: mentions and implications that someone has died (but they didn’t actually so it’s okay), a funeral, mourning editing: probably over edited at this point _______________________________ Chapter 1 Even before Albert crashed his own funeral, Race was having a bad day. For starters, he had barely slept at all the last few nights and his days had been filled with unnecessary paperwork - someone dying on the job always required paperwork - oceans worth of tears, and several failed attempts at writing a eulogy. Then this morning the FBI had called him and told him that he was being relocated to Manhattan to work on a new case in Brooklyn which involved hunting down the nations most wanted gang. This was a problem mainly because the director of the New York branch of the FBI, Davey Jacobs, particularly hated Race and Albert after an incident involving the weapons division almost getting blown up by a rogue terrorist when they were 18. Race had gone to make himself a cup of coffee only to realize he had drank the last of it yesterday. Of course he didn’t have any more coffee, it had always been alberts job to go to go to the store - race refused to step foot inside a grocery store after an unfamiliar ortunate incident involving a snake, and air shaft and a broken rappelling rope. But Albert was dead, well maybe. Race had learned to never assume anyone was dead until he saw a body. He had (probably) died last week in an explosion after the pair had succeeded in arresting a group of men who were smuggling excessive amounts of stolen diamonds out of Atlantic City. Why the diamond smugglers had explosives with them and how they managed to detonate them without dying themselves was beyond race, but that was not for him to worry about. He was only a field agent. And to top it all off he had to attend alberts funeral in less than an hour. Race moped around his and jacks and Alberts shared apartment safe house, sipping hot chocolate- which he detested - packing up only the important stuff for his move to Manhattan. Race had never been organized, so back up coms units went into the same box as his and alberts sweatshirt collection, their array of Disney movies, a bag of ammunition, and shampoo. Thankfully, jack insisted on never unpacking, so all of his things were ready for the move. He had just tossed alberts throwing stars into a box also containing two back up guns and several packets of instant hot chocolate - it was Albert’s drink of choice and he didn’t have the heart to throw it out - when he heard the coded ring of the doorbell. Four short rings, pause, one short ring, pause, long ring short ring two long rings, followed by a longer pause. Then two short rings, pause, one long ring two short rings, pause, two short rings, pause, three long rings, pause, one long ring, pause, three short rings. Race sighed, too lazy to tap back his coded response, and called out instead “hey jack” There was the sound of fiddling with the lock and the door popped open a few seconds later to reveal jack, back for the first time in 6 days, looking almost more sleep deprived than race - albert's death had been particularly hard on jack considering that he viewed race and Albert as the older brothers he never had, so he had undoubtedly spent the last week wallowing in an unhealthy amount of misery and tears. He was dressed somewhat somberly in black jeans, a black ac/dc T-shirt and his trademark black vans with doodles on the soles. Someone - probably his best friend crutchie- had advised him to put on a black and white polka dotted tie, which looked comical with the rest of his outfit. “Race, you know you’re supposed to knock back right? Otherwise how am I supposed to know whether or not I’m walking into a sticky situation?” “Shut it kelly” Race mumbled, throwing his and alberts toothbrushes and some toothpaste into the box with the rifles and the hot chocolate. “That was one time” Jack, choosing to ignore race, flopped onto the green couch and peered into one of the boxes race was packing. This one contained advil, a short range radio, several of race’s t shirts, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. “Race, your packing skills are atrocious,” jack mused, “how do you expect to find anything?” “I dont” race responded, throwing several towels into a box with some mismatched silverware. “Alberts job is to unpack.” “Race,” Jack said slowly, sitting up to look at his friend, Race could see tears brimming in the corner of his eyes. “Albert is dead. He died last week. You were there when it happened. We’re going to his funeral today.” Race let out a dry laugh. “See, that's all not entirely true, Jacky Boy. Clearly you have not known Albo as long as I have.” Jack looked at race quizzically. “But hes-” “Don’t they teach you anything in secret agent 101?” Race sighed, picking up a battered copy of the lord of the rings and throwing it into the towel/ silverware box. “The number one rule in this field is don’t believe anyone is dead until you see the body” “But-“ “Have you seen the body?” Jack was silent. “Exactly.” Race taped the last box shut and looked at his watch. “We should head out if we’re going to make the funeral on time. You have your van?” Jack nodded and the two picked up the 7 boxes that race had packed his and alberts lives into. Jacks two boxes were already in the van. Race bolted the door behind them, reenabling the electric shock doorknob on their apartment/safe house. Something told him that they would be back there soon. ••• “Is this really necessary, jack?” Race muttered disapprovingly as they sat in jacks van, jack tying a pink and black striped bow tie around his neck. “Yes race. We are going to a funeral. The funeral of your best friend, actually. You have to look somewhat decent.” Jack gave the bow tie one last twist. “There” “It doesn’t go with my outfit” race commented as he dug three coms units out of his pocket. “Race you’re wearing all black.” “So?” Race handed one of the coms units to jack. “Put this on and don’t take it out” “Why? Our mission in Brooklyn doesn’t start until tomorrow.” Jack was an intern at the agency. He was barely 17, a high school dropout picked up by the FBI because he was the only person who was able to debug all of their computers after a misunderstanding with the Russians. He had been stuck with race and Albert ever since. They were technically supposed to be training him to become a field agent, but due to his inability to stay quiet in high pressure situations - he had gotten them arrested in Houston 2 months ago and they had had to wait a week for the FBI to bail them out - Race and Albert had limited him to the behind the scenes work in the tech van and he occasionally had to don a disguise and bail them out of a sticky situation. “Just keep quiet and keep your eyes peeled.” Race instructed as he opened the door of the van and began walking up toward the church, jack following close behind. The two sat towards the back of the church incase they needed to make an exit. There weren’t too many people there, mostly just fellow agents from the FBI, a few of alberts acquaintances, but no one suspicious. There was a casket in front of the altar, but the lid was closed. Huh, race thought. Maybe he’s finally done it this time. After about 15 minutes, race had given up trying to remember his eulogy, deciding that he would just wing it, when he was distracted by a movement on one of the rafters above him. Race elbowed jack to get his attention and jack followed races gaze upward to the figure crouched on the rafters above them. Race saw jack clamp his hand on the throwing knife he had stored in his belt. The figure attached a rope to the rafter above them and began to descend slowly. “Get ready to run,” Race whispered to jack, as jack took aim with his knife, not to kill, just to cut the rope the person was using. He figure was about 10 feet above them now. Race saw jack pull his arm back, ready to cut the rope in half when he spotted something. “Jack wait” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “Look” he pointed up at the figure. jack shifted his gaze upwards at the figure again, following races finger to the person’s shoes and let out a tiny gasp. On the sole of the persons shoes above them was scrawled a single world in large bubble letters, intricately done with several shades of paint. Elbow. Now, to anyone else, that would mean nothing. But, back last year when jack had joined with race and Albert, race had introduced Albert as albo, and jack, being jack, had thought he had said elbow. Albert thought it was hilarious and decided to adopt it as his code name for missions. Then, about 3 months ago they had all had to do a 48 hour stakeout at a factory in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska. Jack got bored during said stakeout and pulled out some acrylic paint he happened to have in his van for some unknown reason and elaborately painted alberts code name on the bottom of his shoe while he had been sleeping. Albert had been quite mad when he woke up, saying that it could blow his cover, but race insisted he keep it because it could come in handy one day. Apparently, that day was today. Albert paused on the rope, turning his face toward jack and race and he winked at them. Race rolled his eyes, Albert crashing his own funeral just meant more paperwork for the both of them. Fantastic. Albert began to swing the rope back and forth until he had gained enough momentum and let go, flipping through the air, once, twice, three times, before landing in a low crouch in the center aisle, causing everyone to look at him rather startled. Race put his head in his hands. Why did Albert have to make such a production out of everything? “Sorry for the misunderstanding everyone!” He called to the small gathering, some of whom were still recovering from shock. “I am in fact not dead, I was just, ah, not where people thought I would be.” Race sighed, shoving a shell shocked jack out of the pew and marching over to Albert, grabbing him firmly by the arm and dragging him toward the exit. “Sorry to keep this short, but we have places to be, you know how it is” race called to the congregation somewhat genuinely as he began to pull Albert toward the exit. Jack was still frozen in shock next to him, mouth slightly agape and race swiftly kicked him in the shin to signal in was time to leave. “Thanks for coming to my funeral!” Albert called over his shoulder just before the heavy church door swung shut behind them. The trio paused on the sidewalk outside of the church, all of them remaining silent for a moment while the sun shone brightly down. Albert pulled the black beanie off of his head and shook out his slightly-too-long reddish hair before looking up at race, who had his arms crossed and was looking at his best friend with one eyebrow raised, and at jack, who was staring up at Albert in disbelief, still mostly unconvinced that his pseudo older brother was back from the dead. “Uh, hey guys” “Really Albert? That’s all you have to say for yourself? No ‘sorry I led you to believe I was dead for a week’?” Race shifted his facial expression into a well practiced glare that he usually reserved for facing down America’s most wanted criminals. “Yeah sorry about that,” Albert apologized, rolling up the sleeves of his black long sleeve shirt. “This was an, ah, unusual situation.” Race refused to back down. “Unusual how?” “Well I may have accidentally stowed away on a ship heading to Alaska after I got knocked out from the explosion and woken up locked in the world’s tiniest prison in a town called Snowfall and had to spend three days convincing the mayor I wasn’t a terrorist despite the fact that I had several weapons on me at the time before I hitchhiked my way back to the states” After years of being friends with Albert, Race was unfazed by this explanation. “And not at one point during that did it occur to you that hey maybe I should get in contact with my best friend so he knows I’m not dead!” Albert threw his hands up in exasperation. “Well it’s not my fault there was no cell reception not to mention that I didn’t even have my cell phone on me and my coms -“ Albert stopped abruptly, finally registering jacks look of ultimate shock. “What the heck is wrong with jack?” Jack took the lull in conversation as a chance to speak up, or try to. “You, you’re not... But you- I thought…. they said that- you were…” “I, ah, don’t think we briefed him about your habit of not dying when you’re supposed to,” race said quietly, all of his previous anger at Albert evaporating. Albert opened his arms, engulfing jack in one of his bone crushing hugs. “It’s okay jack, it’s okay, I’m right here, everything’s fine now” he muttered, absently running his fingers over jack's back. He tilted his head to look at race, “why didn’t you say something to him?” “I didn’t want to get his hopes up,” race sighed. Debating whether or not to tell jack about alberts antideath hobby had been the main cause of races lack of sleep for the last week. In the end he had decided against it, knowing that it would just crush jack in the long run if Albert had actually died. “Hell, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Every time-“ races voice cracked, “every time you pull something like this, it scares the hell out of me cause I can’t help but think that maybe this time it’s real and it’s happened and my best friend is really gone and so every time I spend hours crying because I don’t want to find out it’s real and then not have taken it seriously” race moved to behind where albert was standing with his arms still around jack, snaking his arms around his waist. “I don’t want to lose you albie” Albert released his grip on jack, flipping around to instead hold race. “You know I wouldn’t do that race.” Race, whose head was buried in alberts neck made an unconvinced sounding noise. He let alberts familiar scent of chocolate and cinnamon gum ground him as he remained locked in his best friends embrace. “Hey, at least I’m in one piece this time,” Albert stated, attempting to lighten the mood. The last time Albert had crashed his own funeral had been just over a year ago, a few months before they had met jack. Albert had gone mia on a mission out in California and had eventually been presumed dead. Well, that was until he showed up midway through races eulogy in a wheelchair being pushed by their boss. Race, who had initially thought that his friend was paralyzed, nearly had a heart attack. Later he was informed that Albert was intact not paralyzed, he’d just had a few cracked ribs, several bruises and a badly torn up leg after a run in with some Russian mobsters. He still had some pretty bad scars from that experience and refused to talk about it. “Wait this isn’t the first time you’ve crashed your funeral?” Jack asked, staring at Albert wide eyed. “Course not squirt. This is, what the third time?” Albert knew Race kept track of these things. “The fifth” Race slowly pulled away from Albert and began assessing his friend for injuries. Despite what Albert had said about being in one piece, race knew that his friend tended to hide his injuries. All race could see though was a fading black eye and some healing knuckles. “Really, that many?” He laughed and jack smiled at him. Sensing that the conversation was headed toward the different times that Albert had in fact almost died, he changed the topic of conversation. “Can we go home now?” “I wish,” Race said, beginning to walk toward jacks van, the other two following close behind. “But the agency transferred us to Manhattan so we have to move, and we also have to start a new case.” “Crap, that means we have to deal with Jacobs,” Albert groaned. “I wonder if he’s still mad about us almost blowing up his weapons lab.” “What?!?” Jack shrieked. “You know, that wasn’t really our fault,” Race tried to reason. Albert laughed and turned to jack, “it was one of our proudest moments.” Then, to race, “What’s the case about, race?” “Some gang. It wasn’t supposed to be until tomorrow, but apparently we got a lead and need to get there ASAP.” Race hopped into the passenger seat, Albert popped into the rear and jack turned the key. “Nice nice,” Albert mused. “Nothing like a good gang fight after you’ve been dead for a week.” Race turned around and shot him a look. “Wait a second, you mentioned that we’re moving?” “Yeah.” “Did you, by any chance, do the packing?” It was a well known fact that race could not pack for his life. Everything went in the wrong boxes and he usually ended up forgetting something. Last time it had been albert's favorite sweatshirt and he hadn’t spoken to Race for a week after. “He sure did” jack responded, remembering the scene he walked into that morning. “Goddamnit, Race” _______________________________ so, what do we think?? this fic is my child, probably one of my favorite things I’ve worked on to date. not sure when updates will be, probably when I’ve decided to stop changing the plot of each chapter lol so maybe once a week?? oh I think the morse code says “hey idiots” I think, don’t quote me on that. im so excited to share this with you guys! once more parts are posted the whole thing can be found under #spyboys, feedback is much much appreciated, esp on this fic, send me an ask/ message if you wanna be on the tag list !!! tag list

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