Because We Like You

[doctorlit]

Author’s Note: This interlude takes place immediately after “Pick Your Poison.” This story wound up containing a whole lot of cameos; some credits will be in another note at the end to avoid spoilers. Protectors of the Plot Continuum was created by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. Miss MacKinnon is a free-to-use character. Epic Mickey and the Spatters were created by Warren Spector and Junction Point Studios and belong to Disney Interactive Studios. Millie and Olsen were created by Schoolie, though I’ll be modifying them in this story to make them properly adopted by me. The Poison Joke role play was started by Laburnum and kitsune106, and Poison Joke itself was created by Lauren Faust and belongs to Hasbro Studios and Studio B Productions, as was/does the rest of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, including the text box style of Adventures in Ponyville. Fallout and its native ghouls were created by Interplay Entertainment and belong to Bethesda Softworks. Gollum, or Sméagol, belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien.

Thanks to JulyFlame, Tomash, Huinesoron and Neshomeh for performing beta duties.

This is just barely rated T for foul-mouthed ghouls.


Because We Like You

“IT RUINS THE PRECIOUS!”

[Whoooaaa, Doc.] Vania was still speaking in boxes of text visible to anyone in hearing range. Now that she had returned to HQ, the boxes were once again grey rectangles with white letters. She currently had Doc’s elbows pinned behind his back. [It’s really not a big deal. I can guarantee the Canon Library has everything you did. We can just borrow—]

“Those were MINE!” Doc’s voice was almost a shriek. “MY Precious!” His struggles managed to throw Vania off-balance, and she toppled forwards as Doc pulled away.

All the mini-Spatters had frozen in mid-step when Doc first shouted. Now, as Doc landed among them, they began running around the RC with their arms raised in the air, splattering even more blue and red ink around the room.

Millie and Olsen backed into a corner as the blobby little humanoids ran amok. Doc was still on all fours, and was swiping at the nearest minis with his hands curled into claws.

Eventually, the minis found their way to the door, and escaped by melting into puddles of ink and sliding under it. Doc went clambering after the last one, but collapsed in front of his bookshelf, breathing heavily. He turned his head and stared at the obscured spines, the pages soaking up ink. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell Vania was glaring at him.

[Doc. That was so much inappropriate. How can you treat minis that way?]

Doc reached for the bookshelf, running his open palm through the air over the spines, but without actually touching the soiled books. He whimpered, "They . . . ruined . . ." Then, his voice abruptly turned back to normal, although it was quavering. "How can you care about them more than you do about us?"

Vania blinked. [*blink* What? What do you even mean?]

Doc pointed to the door. "Them." He pointed over his shoulder towards Millie and Olsen. "And them." He suddenly flipped onto his back and stared wildly at the kids. "You! You made those things. This is your fault!"

Vania moved to stand between Doc and the kids, her arms folded and her eyes glaring. [Don't you dare talk to children that way! Doc, it's just a bunch of books!]

The Floaters stared each other down for a long time, the children watching in stunned silence. The moment ended when Doc gave a big, sobbing sniffle. He scrambled around, fumbled the door open, and took off.

None of the mini-Spatters were in sight. He picked a random direction and stormed down the hallway, limbs stiff, hands clenched at his sides, breathing rate heavy and stuttered.

Because he had no direction in mind, he didn’t bother to wipe the tears out of his eyes; it was almost comforting, having his long-distance vision blurred again. It still wouldn’t make reading any easier.

He barely noticed the bruising caused by repeated impacts with the generic walls. He was too focused on what he had lost—and Vania didn’t understand, why couldn’t she see how much—

But then Doc walked into something very different from a wall. Something that felt rather mushily humanoid, in fact.

“*#*@(!ing watch it!” snarled said humanoid object. It was . . . odd. Though it seemed that the man had indeed sworn quite badly, it sounded . . . off, somehow, as if the very degree of his swearing could not physically be heard by human ears.

The ghoul—for that was indeed what the man was, of the Fallout variety—was a somewhat stocky example of his kind, and dressed very casually, with tattered overalls over a worn grey button-up shirt. He had a crudely hand-rolled cigarette clamped between his teeth, an eyepatch, and a frown on his thinly mustached face.

He poked Doc in the chest with a nicotine-stained, somewhat decayed finger. “You wanna watch where you’re #*@(!@ing going, smoothskin? Huh? That concept #*@(!#ing foreign to you? I don’t mean to bust your balls, buddy, but generally you apologize when you barge into someone like a #*@(!*$ing rhinoceros.”

Doc blinked away his tears. Even in his foul mood, the sight of the ghoul and the odd sound of his swearing were enough to stifle any angry response. “Um. Sorry?” Doc found himself staring at the other agent’s greenish skin and looked away, at a wall. “You, um. Why are you—? Um. Never mind.”

“Damn right never #*@#(@ing mind,” the ghoul said crossly. He was carrying something under his arm; on close examination, it appeared to be a box labeled “Crazy Pills.” “First that #*(@!*@ing partner of mine runs out of his #*!(*#ing medication and then I nearly spill the #*(@(!*ing stuff because of some #*$@(#*ing smoothskin . . .” The ghoul muttered to himself. He was about to go on his way when he noticed that Doc was sniffling rather loudly. “. . . Jesus #*@(#*ing Christ, buddy, I just yelled at you a #*(@*ing bit. Don’t take it so #$(!)$*%ing personally.”

Doc looked back up again. “Hm? Oh. No, it wasn’t you. I was . . . Ugh. I just got into a fight with my partner. I’m . . . kind of having a bad day, actually.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, frowning.

The ghoul nodded slowly and hmmed. “Welp, sorry, smoothskin, but it’s about to get worse. You’ve just been drafted.” He rolled and lit a cigarette before grinning in a particularly sadistic way. “Thanks to this little #*@(#*! delay, I’m late getting Derwin his medicine . . . which is your #*@($ing fault, so guess who gets to help me deliver it?”

“Uh—what?” Doc started to raise a finger. “Wait, what’s Derwin? Or, who’s Derwin?”

The ghoul growled impatiently and made a “come on” motion with his free hand. “Derwin is my partner. He’s . . . a bit off, and these pills help him come back to reality.” He shook the box in his hand. The ghoul then looked thoughtful. “He might even be able to help you out with that And Em Dash thing you’re doing.”

Doc quirked his head.

The ghoul then smirked a bit. “Yeah, I noticed it, but I’m not one to #*#@(#($ing talk about *#*$@(!ing verbal tics. So let’s #*@#($#@*ing go already, chop-chop.” He shoved the box at Doc. “Name’s Gurgan, by the way.”

Doc stared at the pill box. “Gurgan, huh? I’m Doc.” He sighed. “All right . . . sure. It’s not like I have anything better to do anyway. So where can we find Derwin?”

Gurgan grunted. “This way. I think. ##(@*!*$ing architecture around here is #$*(@#$@ing #*#(@#ed, true enough.” He lit another roll-up.

“True enough,” Doc repeated. “Well then, lead the way!”

* * *

Vania furrowed her brow as Doc disappeared around the doorframe. She sighed and rubbed her face. With her head still in her hands, she turned around and gave a quiet, [So, kids. Welcome to the PPC.]

Millie and Olsen looked to be on the verge of tears.

[Oh, wait! No! Sorry! Guys, come here.] She approached the corner with her arms open, and the kids ran into her hug. [I'm sorry you saw us fighting.] Grimacing at how stereotypically parental that had sounded, Vania continued. [Doc was having a really bad day, and . . . I guess I didn't realize how bad it was? He's frustrated, but he shouldn't have taken it out on you.]

Olsen sniffled. "Why did he say it was our fault?"

"Yeah, he said we made those Spatters. I had some in my story, but . . . I couldn't have put them here!"

[Oh. Well.] Vania thought about trying to explain minis without sounding too accusational. [Um . . . oh! Where did you get to, Backer? Here, boy! . . . Or, gender-neutral street dog, I guess . . .]

Hearing its name called, a glowing pink dog—a very large puppy, actually—clambered out from under the bottom bed. Vania moved forward as it began to sniff the air. Just as she reached it, the dog locked its gaze on the kids and let out a deep, rumbling growl. Vania ended that immediately with a flick on its nose.

[Be nice,] Vania warned quietly. [These ones are friends now. No learning through pain today, okay?]

The mini tilted its head, bewildered by the request, but remained silent all the same.

[Okay.] Vania heaved the big puppy into her arms and carried it over to the kids. [Guys, have a seat.] The three humans sat down on the floor.

[You guys know Sherlock Holmes at all?]

"Uh huh." Both kids nodded.

[And the Hound of the Baskervilles?]

"Heard of it," Olsen said.

[Doc and I were on a Holmes mission just before your story, and we found some of these. This is a mini-Hound of the Baskervilles. Its name is 221b Backer street. The author spelled the street's name wrong, so the typo turned into this: a miniature monster-thing. Each world has a different one—] She suddenly scowled. [Except for all the ones with dragons! But anyway, spelling a proper name wrong in a fanfiction always turns into some kind of mini.]

The kids had been listening curiously, slowly stroking 221b Backer street's fur. Now, Vania saw a change come over Olsen's face.

"Oh."

Millie looked at him. "What?"

"Those Spatters that were in here must have come from our story. From our typos, I mean."

[Right. Mini-Spatters.]

"Oh." Millie lowered her eyes, then took in the huge splash of ink across the floor, noticing her paintbrush lying in the middle of it. “So this is my fault."

[Honey, no! You didn't mean for this to happen. This is just a mess. It can be cleaned.]

Millie was still frowning. Vania reached over Backer's back and took the girl's hand. [I'm really sorry you've had such a bad introduction here—both of you,] she added, with a nod to Olsen. [You'll have a much better time once I get you to the Nursery.]

Olsen wrinkled his nose. "Nursery?"

Vania waved a hand. [That's just what we call it. Early on, it was mostly babies our agents were bringing back from missions. Nowadays, agents are having kids of their own, so there's a school and everything for them.]

Olsen wrinkled his nose further. "School?"

Vania looked at him through half-lidded eyes. [Our school is basically, ‘read books and play games, then talk about them.’]

Olsen and Millie looked at each other, and Vania saw them smile, just a little, for the first time since they had entered Headquarters. Vania smiled too.

Olsen’s smile slipped into a bit of a grimace. “Um. Can I ask something rude, though?”

Vania shrugged. [Sure.]

“Why do you . . . Why is your voice pop-ups?”

[Oh.] Vania scratched lightly at her throat. [I’m getting way too used to this. Well, just before we left for your story, something weird happened here in Headquarters. My voice turned to text, Doc’s eyesight went wacky, and our mini-pooch turned from green to pink. Once you guys are dropped off at the Nursery, I need to start figuring out what’s going on . . . Huh.]

She lifted 221b Backer street’s front end up until they were face to face. [Pink.]

"Wuff."

[Your fur is turned pink.]

"Wuff."

[Miss MacKinnon likes pink.]

"Wuff."

[I’m heading for the Nursery anyway. I wonder if Doc would mind . . . Well, so what if he does?] Her face turned a bit stern as she got up to head for the door. [I think he’s lost mini privileges for a while.]

Following, Millie bent down in the middle of the room to scoop up her brush, but hadn’t even touched it before Vania gave a stern, [No.] Millie shot up, alarmed. Olsen looked quizzically over his shoulder at her.

Vania was shaking her head. [Sorry, but no. That brush was supposed to be unique, and it was wrong to make a copy for yourself. You don’t get to keep it.]

Millie lowered her eyes, but nodded and got up. She walked to the door, trailing inky footprints behind her.

* * *

After following Gurgan through a part of the DMS with an especially incomprehensible numbering system, Doc finally found himself in front of RC 5^7. Gurgan opened the door.

Doc then found himself being gently poked with a spoon. “Are you the muffin man?” the occupant asked, blinking. “The gumball machine said the muffin man would be here soon so we could have tea together. I hope you’re the muffin man and not the cupcake queen.”

The man doing the poking was another ghoul, a little younger than Gurgan. This one was thin, with blueish grey skin and a bandolier over his leather overalls. He also had an upside-down bowl on his head, that read “Sues! They’re what’s for dinner!” in bright orange letters.

Though he would never admit it later, Doc found his mind reeling for a moment. After all, HQ was a strange place; could Doc say with any real certainty that he wasn’t the muffin man? But Doc shook off the wild thought and peeked back at Gurgan, ignoring the still prodding spoon. Getting no confirmation from Gurgan, he then turned back to the new ghoul and whispered conspiratorially, “You . . . you are Derwin, right?”

The ghoul shook his head. “No, I’m the king of Seagull Island. This is Derwin.” He indicated the spoon. “Now shush—the cartoon with the trilobites that sing songs about death and Garfield are—ohai Pickles!” he greeted his partner when the man forced his way into the RC.

“Derwin? Buddy? This is . . . someone whose name I couldn’t care #*(#$@(ing less about. He’s here to help me give you your medicine, okay?”

Doc grimaced. “I didn’t realize how badly he needed this stuff. What’s wrong with him, Gurgan?”

The ghoul sighed. “Just give him the pills, son, and he’ll be okay. The Fallout universe isn’t a #*(@!ing fun one, let’s say that, okay?”

Derwin nodded, bouncing on the spot. “Gimme my happiness to make the pancakes go away, please!” He smiled.

“All right.” Doc slid the box open and started shaking out pills into his palm, then stopped. “But how many does he need? And they are . . . um, oral pills, right?”

Gurgan nodded. “Yeah. Just give him some and he’ll down ‘em, right #*(@(!ing there. Then you can go on your way to . . . uh . . . Where WERE you going before you #$*(@#!ing volunteered for Derwin-Minding Duties?” The way he said it indicated that he knew full well that Doc had not, in fact, volunteered, but also that he did not, in fact, give a rat’s rear end.

“Well . . . something weird happened to my partner and me earlier. I went from near-sighted to far-sighted, and she started talking through text boxes. I don’t really know how to fix it. Did you guys have anything weird happen? I mean, other than—” Doc held the handful of pills out to Derwin. “—his usual deal?”

Derwin gulped the pills the instant he was given them, and his eyes promptly cleared as he came back to Earth from the Planet of the Talking Gumball Machines. He blinked and looked at Doc as if seeing him for the first time. “That’s better,” he said brightly before smiling at Doc. “Hi, I’m Derwin. Good to meet you.” As answer to Doc’s question, he scratched his chin. “Um . . . Hmm. Nothing much, really . . . The Boss turned into a chicken, but he usually does that. Rooster,” he amended hastily, giving Gurgan a glance.

Gurgan put on a Not Amused face. “Welcome back, Derwin. And yeah, not much . . . the room turned blue and there was a llama running around for a while, but . . . that’s usual #*@($##ing stuff around here.”

Doc blinked. “Wait. You turned into a rooster!? How did you . . . get better?”

Gurgan waved him off. “It . . . When I first came to this #*(@#$@ing place, there was an incident with a magic spell and a teleporter, okay? Anyway . . . aside from that, not much new happened.”

Derwin rubbed his chin. “Did you try Poison Joke Detoxification?” he asked Doc. “I . . . I think some of the agents from the My Little Pony series may have some experience with weird stuff happening. Mind you—they are mostly talking technicolor ponies, so . . . weird is normal for them. I guess.”

Gurgan nodded. “Yeah—that sounds about $*#@#(ing right. You’re gonna want Medical. Thataway.” He jerked his thumb in a Thataway-ish direction.

Doc blinked. “Poison . . . Joke?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that sounds about right, doesn't it? Thanks, guys. See you around.” He headed off deeper into Headquarters.

* * *

“Are we there yet?” Olsen asked again.

[Does it look like we’re there yet?] Vania asked with a small, smug smile on her face.

“I don’t know,” said Millie. “All the doors and halls look the same.”

“How do we know when we’re close?”

[Let me ask you guys a question. What are you thinking about right now?]

Olsen said, “Uh. Well, I want to know what the Nursery looks like. And how big our rooms are, and what the teachers are like.”

“And I can't wait to find out what stories we’ll be studying! And meet the other kids, and find out what kind of stories they came from . . .”

[So, you're both thinking about the Nursery.]

“Yup.”

“Oh yeah!”

[Then that's why we haven’t gotten there yet.]

The kids kept following for a couple of yards, but started lagging behind as they thought about Vania’s words.

“Wait, what?”

“What did you just say?” asked Millie. “We haven’t gotten there yet because we’re thinking about it? How does that work?”

Vania stopped and turned to face the kids. [Our headquarters are extra weird. We aren’t in a proper world right now; these halls are laced through parts of other universes, and that means all kinds of physics are being twisted for HQ to exist. We have more dimensions than just the spacetime ones, and one of the extras is consciousness. That's the one that's keeping us away from the Nursery right now.]

The kids stared blankly. “How?” asked Millie.

[Imagine this: you're standing in a kitchen. How do you get to the kitchen from there?]

“You don't have to!” Millie sounded almost insulted. “You're already there!”

[Exactly,] said Vania, smoothly crossing her arms. [And in HQ, since consciousness is nearly as physical as distance?]

“Then that means . . .” Olsen stared at Vania with a furrowed brow. “You're saying if we’re thinking about somewhere, consciously, it’s like actually being there, so we can't get any closer to it?”

[Pretty much! Man, I am just dropping tutorials all over today!] Vania put her hands on the back of her head and began slowly walking backwards. [So! If you want to get anywhere in HQ, it only works if you're thinking about something else. It’s best to bring some kind of distrACK!]

Vania felt her shoe slide through a puddle of liquid, and then she went toppling backwards as Millie shrieked. Fortunately, the meeting of concrit with cranium was blocked by the interlaced fingers she had been holding against her head. Of course, that also meant that her fingers received the force of the impact.

Vania hissed ([*hiss*]) and removed her hands from under her head. She held them up in front of her face, careful not to move the fingers.

“Are you okay?” Millie asked. The kids slowly approached.

After a moment, Vania tried to gently bend her fingers. The knuckles that had hit the floor directly were a bit swollen, but they all seemed functional. [I think I’m all right, yeah.] Now that the pain was fading, she was aware that the seat of her pants was soaking up liquid. [Ugh, what am I sitting in?] Vania put her palms on the ground and lifted herself out of the puddle, crab-walk style.

“Is that blood?” Olsen asked quietly. Vania had slipped in a puddle of dark red that coated the floor from wall to wall. The walls themselves were also splattered.

Vania got back up to her feet, awkwardly. [Uh. Could be. It’s a little too dark for human blood, but there are lots of different kinds of people in the PPC, and that means different kinds of blood, too. Um, Backer street, IIIIIII . . . actually, I have no idea what sort of dog you are, but the original Hound had, like, crazy sense of smell, right? So, why not make like a sniffer dog and sniff, yeah?]

221b Backer street stared at her.

[Think of it as . . . solving a mystery?]

The mini’s ears perked up at the bases. It immediately lowered its head to sniff at the edge of the puddle.

As the mini-hound followed its nose across the concrit, Vania glanced at the kids and pointed to the dog with a thumb. [Professional.] Millie and Olsen giggled.

221b Backer street followed a particular trail of liquid until it ended at the edge where the floor met the wall. There were two oddly shaped red handprints at the bottom of the wall, just above the trail.

The mini planted all four legs solidly and tossed back its head, letting out that famous howl. Vania flinched a bit and felt goosebumps break out on the back of her neck. The children, still being a bit on the glittery side, had to hold their ears against the sound.

Then the mini pushed its muzzle against the wall, and a three foot by three foot section of the wall swung inwards, hanging by a hinge at the top. 221b Backer street crept in, the bottom of the panel sliding along its back until it made it all the way in. The panel noiselessly flapped back and forth a few times before settling into place, vanishing completely against the rest of the wall.

“A hidden passage?”

“Cool!”

[Talia Nightsong in the Escher Room with a spork!]

The kids looked at each other. “What?”

[Nothing, never mind. Just. Just go through the hole.]

The humans were standing in a narrow space between two dusty shelves, loaded with sponges, wands, and soap. Backer was sniffing around some buckets and mops in a back corner. The floor was sticky with more red liquid.

Olsen frowned. “It’s just a janitor’s closet.”

“Lame.”

[Ugh, it’s rank!] Vania complained, covering her nose. [Guess that's why they hide the door?]

The mini had focused on one particular bucket. It gave a short, deep bark before shoving it, knocking the bucket over. Out tumbled something maroon that crashed into some mops leaning against the wall and knocked them down. It peeked at the humans through strands of mop yarn that had fallen around its head.

“It’s one of our mini-Spatters,” said Olsen.

“Where did it get that little maid outfit?” Millie asked, squinting at it.

The mini-Spatter started making a weird, throaty chittering noise. It leaped, clearing the distance from the wall to Millie’s head with cartoonish speed.

“Ack!” Millie yelped as the mini began to gnaw ineffectually on her scalp.

“What's it doing?” asked Olsen. “What do we do, Vania?”

[Yeah, funny thing about minis: they don’t really like Suvian folks much. It’s just a part of their unnature. Some of them especially have it in for their creator.]

Olsen had crept up behind the mini, and was about to grab it when it whipped its head around and blabbered angrily in his face, making the boy flinch back.

[Or creators.]

221b Backer street was panting loudly, with its mouth wide open and its tongue hanging way out.

[What are you grinning about?] Vania admonished, hiding her own smile behind her hand. [To the Nursery, then?]

Once outside, the mini seemed content to stop chewing on Millie, merely remaining latched tightly to her head with its arms wrapped around it. They had only moved on a few yards when Millie blurted out, “bolt.”

[What?]

“This mini’s name is Bolt.”

“Like, ‘Shadow Bolt’ instead of ‘Shadow Blot’?” Olsen squinted at the mini. “How can you tell?”

“I . . . I’m not sure how, honestly. I just can.”

Bolt seemed pleased by this development. It gibbered quietly, and loosened its grip on Millie's head. Just a little.

[Oh.] Vania grimaced. [Uh. Speaking of . . . names . . .] She glanced at Olsen, but quickly looked away. [I’ve, uh . . . I’ve wanted to bring this up, but only in the politest way possible . . .]

Olsen had picked up on her glances. When Vania trailed off, he finally said, “What?”

She grimaced again and quickly blurted out, [Olsen, your name is like an old man’s name, kind of? Like, feels 1920s-ish or something? . . . Sorry.]

Now Olsen was the one grimacing. “It kind of is, isn’t it?”

Millie looked away from the others. “I wanted us to have ‘M’ and ‘O’ names, like Mickey and Oswald.”

Vania made a scoffing noise, but turned it into a cough when she saw Millie look worriedly at the text box.

[Ahem. So, anyway, we often change characters’ names after we bring them here, so it’s an easy fix. Not a big deal.]

“There’s nothing wrong with the names I picked.” Millie pouted, earning a nip from Bolt.

[But there are better ‘O’ names for a young boy! Like, um . . . well, Oscar . . .]

“Sounds grouchy,” Olsen complained.

[Or, uh, Ogden, like that actor on M*A*S*H . . .]

“That sounds even older than ‘Olsen’!” Millie said sharply.

[Augh! Um, Orville? Orson? Orwell?] Vania hung her head. [I’m sorry, little boy. There are no names starting with ‘O’ that don't make you sound like an old man.]

“See?” Millie said, a little harshly. “It’s harder than it sounds.”

“Can't I just use a nickname? Like ‘Ollie,’ or something?”

Millie and Vania froze and stared at him.

“Ollie?”

[Ollie?]

“That—”

[—sounds—]

“ADORABLE!”

“Hey!” Ollie protested as the girls suddenly crushed him between them in a hug, Vania’s text box perfectly synchronized with Millie’s singsong “Oooooo-lliiiieeee!”

As Ollie struggled to escape, Millie said, “Hmm . . . well, if you're Ollie, then I’m going to be Mollie. That way, we rhyme!”

Vania shrugged. [Works for me. I know there’s at least one Molly already, but I don't think anyone will mix you up. You don't strike me as much of a biter. Also, what are you thinking about right now?]

“Names?” said Mollie, confused.

“Biting?” said Ollie, concerned.

[Welcome to the PPC Nursery!] Vania was leaning against a doorframe that had suddenly appeared in the wall to the left. Through the door, the kids could see wallpaper in multiple colors across the walls.

Just inside and to the side of the door was the Nursery’s reception desk, where a middle-aged Hispanic man was seated. He wore a shining, silvery suit with two bands crossed over the front in an “x” shape. Removing a pair of sunglasses, he said, “Hello.” His voice was quiet and gentle. “Are you returning from a visit, or new friends of the Nursery?”

“We’re new,” said Mollie.

221b Backer street put its nose to the ground and began following a scent further into the room.

“Excellent. Well then, welcome home!” The man held his left hand cupped with the palm upwards, and pinched the thumb and index finger of his right hand together before circling that hand through the air in front of him.

Vania and the children looked at each other, then awkwardly returned the gesture.

The man smiled. “There will be some paperwork to fill out, but we don’t have to do it all right away. For now, can I just get your names and home world?”

“Mollie.”

“And Ollie.”

The receptionist grinned as he typed into a computer.

Ollie added, “And we’re from Epic Mickey.”

“Ah, a rare fandom. How cool! And do you dudes have last names?”

Mollie hesitated. She had written herself as Yen Sid’s daughter, but . . . that wasn’t really true. Would it be right to say “Mollie Sid”?

Before the silence could stretch any further, Ollie answered, “No,” and Mollie kept quiet.

The receptionist addressed Vania next. “And are you their rescuer?”

Vania was a bit taken aback at his word choice. [Uh. Yeah, I . . . suppose I am.]

The man glanced up when the text box appeared in his visual field. “Oh! You haven’t even gotten the cure yet, and you took the time to escort the little dudes here? How excellent of you!”

Vania’s eyes widened. [You know what’s going on? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Medical must have cracked the problem while we were in the mission.]

The receptionist nodded. “Some dude put Poison Joke into the ventilation system.”

[We have a ventilation system?]

“Apparently. Poison Joke comes from My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, so the Royal Fanfiction Academy of Equestria has been treating agents all day.”

Incredulously, Ollie asked, “My little pony?”

[♪My Little Pony♪]

“Keep an open mind, Ollie,” the man said. “That’s one of the first canons you’ll be studying in school.”

Ollie frowned. “Speaking of which, exactly how soon is that going to start?”

“We’ll give you time to get settled. You’ll have a tour of the Nursery areas, and get to know some of the other dudes in your age group.”

[Also, if it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping to see Miss MacKinnon before I left?]

The receptionist smiled brightly. “Oh, Miss MacKinnon will make a most excellent guide for Mollie and Ollie. I’ll call her over.” He talked into a phone for a moment, then hung up and said, “She’s on the way!”

Within a few minutes, Miss MacKinnon arrived. She smiled when she saw Vania, but addressed the kids first. “New faces! Hello, children. I’m Miss MacKinnon. What are your names?”

“We’re Mollie and Ollie,” said the kids in unison. Vania had a sudden feeling it wouldn’t be the last time they spoke that way.

“And how have you been, Vania? Are you the rescuer?”

[Yep. I’m . . . good. Fine.]

Miss MacKinnon blanched. “Oh, Vania, your voice? Haven’t you been to the RFAE yet?”

[Haven’t had the chance. We only just made it back from this mission, and I didn’t really know what was going on until I got here.] Vania nodded to the receptionist, who smiled and nodded back.

“Well, I won’t keep you, then,” said Miss MacKinnon. “Go get yourself and Doc better, and we can talk some other time.”

Vania sighed. [*sigh* Doc is. Off somewhere. Out.] Part of Vania did feel responsible for helping her newbie partner, but she still felt confused and somewhat sore over what had happened earlier. The prospect of confronting him didn’t sound very appealing right now. [Honestly, I’m not in any rush. Do you mind if I tag along with you guys? I don’t think I’ve ever seen much of the Nursery.]

Reading the ambivalence in Vania’s text, Miss MacKinnon nodded and put an arm around each child’s shoulders. “That would be wonderful! And I think you—Oh!” She pulled her arm away from Mollie and blinked at the pair of eyes that adorned the top of the girl’s head, which blinked back. “Mollie, I . . . I thought you were wearing some kind of headband. What . . . ?”

“Oh. Um, this is a mini-Spatter, Bolt. I . . . kind of . . . made it. I guess it . . . probably isn’t allowed in here, right?” she asked hopefully.

“Ah, a mini. Yes, minis are welcome here.”

Mollie noticed that Miss MacKinnon wore a cold stare, and got scared for a moment, until the woman continued.

“Welcome, as long as they mind their manners and respect the children.” Her face slowly began to creep closer to Bolt, who flattened itself fully against Mollie’s scalp under the force of that stare. “I understand the feelings of minis towards their creators. But minis must understand that any Suvian children here are learning to work past their natures, and will become proper, upstanding fans as they grow. And you will get off Mollie’s head, now.”

Bolt dutifully dripped, en masse, off of Mollie and collected into a puddle on the floor. It then resolidified into its bipedal body and stared at the Nursery worker.

“Wonderful!” said Miss MacKinnon brightly. Mollie peeled the left-behind maid outfit off the back of her neck and tossed it away.

[Oh! Speaking of minis, I brought you a present.] Vania glanced around the room. [Somewhere. It should be glowing . . .]

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the receptionist. “It wandered back here, and I’ve been petting it.” He shooed the canine mini back out into the main walkway.

Miss MacKinnon’s eyes lit up with the pink glow. “Oh, how beautiful!” She kneeled down and scratched behind the mini’s ears.

[This is 221b Backer street.]

The receptionist said, “Now, aren’t the Baskerville minis normally green?”

[I’m pretty sure this guy inhaled the Poison Joke, too. And I think the pink may be permanent, because we weren’t even bothering to feed it that mushroom stuff in the first place. Miss MacKinnon, I realize you probably can’t have a mini following you around the daycare all the time, but . . .]

“Actually,” the receptionist chimed in, “a cuddly mini in a shape most little dudes are already familiar with could be a good, calm way to introduce them to the concept.”

“And they will certainly need to know of minis, living in HQ.” Miss MacKinnon gently tapped 221b’s nose a few times with a fingertip. “But you will need to ignore your OFU tendencies as well. No harassing the Sue children. Understood?”

The mini-Hound let out a long, long sigh. It sprawled down on the ground with a single, quick motion that made an audible “whumph” noise, prompting all the humans present to laugh.

* * *

Normally, Doc would have been reading as he walked. There’s little better for navigating HQ than having one’s conscious thought occupied with an entirely separate world.

But Doc’s eyes were no good for reading, and he couldn't stop thinking about that, which meant he couldn't stop thinking about fixing it, which meant he was thinking about Medical, which meant he could never get there.

He kept stewing over his predicament as he trudged on, hands in pockets, furrow on brow, eyes on the floor in front of his feet. The agents he passed were too pleased at being restored to (relative) normalcy to pay Doc’s foul mood any mind—except for one Department of Angst agent who briefly assumed he was a loose canon.

The worst part, he thought, is that I was starting to think Vania understood. But even in the PPC, I guess I’m always going to be—

A scent caught Doc’s nose. A certain scent he had been familiar with since a very young age. Out loud, he quoted, “‘Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy.’”

Doc sniffed at the air, eventually following the scent to a door-shaped panel, set into the wall, but lacking a knob. He prodded at it, but it didn't wiggle. Jostling it, he found that it slid to one side, given a good enough grip.

Once the doorway was open, the smell became overwhelming, and Doc crept into the room on all fours. The entire room was in black shadow. Nonetheless, he sniffed at the air some more, focused his sight in one particular direction, and hissed, “Myyy Preciousss . . .”

He started to clamber forward, but was immediately arrested by someone grabbing the back of his collar and lifting him off the ground.

A voice from the darkness: “How did you get in?”

“We finds the hidey-hole, we does! We smells them, many sweetses, many treatses!”

“Ugh. Another of these?”

Doc was suddenly pushed backwards—it wasn't the grip on his collar throwing him, but some other force from the front—straight back out the door. He impacted the wall and bounced off onto the floor.

Doc snarled as he rose to all fours. “It tries to takes the Precious from us!” He leaped for the doorway, hands making a throat-grasping gesture as he soared through yards of air.

Only to crash against the outside boundary of the darkness, as though the shadows Doc had been standing inside moments ago had now turned solid.

“Don’t bother speaking ‘friend’ to enter, either, because that doesn’t work here.”

Doc scrabbled at the wall of shadow. “Please!” he pleaded. “So many tasties, we NEEDS them!”

“The only thing you need is to get back to work. You need canon material, you get it. But I’m not handing out my collection to a junkie who’s just after another fix.” The door panel slammed shut, nearly catching Doc’s fingers.

“But . . . but . . . the Precious!”

The voice continued from behind the door. “You think you’re the first agent to try the Gollum act around here? Seriously. You’re nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Doc quirked his head. “Act, Precious?”

“And not a very good one, at that. Why don’t you get out of here and go cry to FicPsych? Here, I’ll even show you the way.”

The usual blue portal opened underneath Doc’s kneeling figure, and he hit a new generic surface floor after a short drop. He glared up at the already closing portal and raged, “Stupid fat HOBBIT!”

From somewhere nearby, Doc heard a male voice say, “Sméagol, how did you get over here? You need to stay in bed if you’re going to get better.”

Doc looked around. He seemed to be in some kind of linen closet, with lots of white bed sheets folded in hampers and sticking out of cupboards. A rack to one side held a collection of straitjackets on shirt hangers. As he took in his surroundings, a blond man with a scar line under his left eye appeared in the doorway. He wore grey pants and a green jacket, which sported a flash patch Doc hadn’t seen yet: a golden shield.

The man stopped short when he saw Doc and narrowed his eyes. “Oh. Just another agent who likes to make fun of Sméagol’s voice. Of course.”

In his normal voice again, Doc said, “Not making fun.” He tiredly got to his feet.

The man gave a sad smile. “It’s just that, even outside of badfic, Sméagol suffers so much from the One Ring’s influence. His speech impediment is the result of centuries—literally, centuries—of psychological torture! So you can understand that it bothers me when agents imitate him like that.”

Doc nodded slightly. “Wow. Gollum fanboy, huh.”

“Fan—? Oh, to be sure. More importantly, though, I’m his caseworker.” The man tapped his flash patch. “Character Protective Services. I’m Jon.” He held out a hand.

“Doc, Floaters.” He shook Jon’s hand.

“Ah! A fellow three-letter name. I hope I didn’t come off as too argumentative just now,” Jon continued. “It’s just that, well. Considering my position . . .”

“No, I get it. I wasn’t mocking him, though. I just . . . get that way around books, sometimes. I can’t really help it . . .”

“Oh.” Jon put a hand over his mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ve never met someone with TLGS before. You must think I’m awful, chastising you for a medical condition.”

“Wait, wait.” Doc shook his head and backed away a bit. “What's TLGS?”

“Talking Like Gollum Syndrome—ack, like Sméagol, I mean.” Jon frowned to himself. “But don't worry. I’ve heard the FicPsych staff has handled cases before. I can find you someone right now.”

“No, I don’t—look. I’m just stressed out right now because the Poison Joke has mucked with my eyesight, and I can't read anymore. I was trying to get to Medical, but I got lost.”

“Oh, I see now! Yes, that Poison Joke is terrible stuff; had me talking like Sméagol! FicPsych has a portal, too! It’s right this way.”

* * *

After a hushed tour through the daycare area, and a brief peek at the cribs and life support units where the PPC’s youngest slept, Miss MacKinnon brought the group to the living areas for the older kids. She referred to this section of the Nursery as “the Bunks,” although this seemed to be slang she had picked up from the kids themselves.

The Bunks somewhat reminded Vania of the house common rooms in Hogwarts, at least as far as floor layout was concerned. There was a main, center room for a social area, with two hallways leading out at each corner of the room. At least two (but realistically, probably more) led to bedroom suites. Vania’s group had just exited the one that led to the Daycare, and its paired hallway in the same corner led back to the entrance foyer.

But the biggest difference between this place and a Hogwarts common room was the size. The social area was a single, massive room, spacious enough to rival the Large Auditorium. Vania could barely make out the far corner from the one her group had just entered through.

The walls of both the hallways and the social area were plastered with papers. Some were posters, or other official imagery from various canons, but the majority was fanart. Drawings ranged from crayon scribbles to impressively neat sketches and paintings. Fanfiction and poems were in multiple locations, clustered around quietly vibrating wall-mounted devices with soft lights, which Vania assumed to be short-range creativity shields.

The near half of the room was filled with a haphazard array of chairs, tables, couches, bookshelves and screens, while the further half was dedicated to wildly shaped playground equipment. Children in endless numbers, and a variety of sizes, shapes and colors, filled the room, running, reading, gaming, singing, writing, watching videos, dancing, drawing, playing sports. Members of the staff were scattered throughout, monitoring, but generally not interfering much.

The combination of two new faces and two minis—one cute, one bizarre—soon attracted a small crowd around Mollie and Ollie. Miss MacKinnon quietly backed Vania away to give the kids a chance to socialize. They watched the action from against the wall.

[The Nursery is pretty incredible!]

“Yes, it is. I need to thank you and Doc for bringing me here.”

[No worries.]

“. . . No, Vania, really.” Miss MacKinnon took Vania’s hand and clasped it in both of her own. “Thank you so much for rescuing me from my old story. I had nothing—literally, nothing—and now, I have everything I ever wanted, my greatest dream come true. And only because of you and Doc. I owe you so much.”

[Uh. Well.] Vania gently squeezed MacKinnon’s hands in return. [I mean, I’m glad you’re happy, for sure. But, you certainly don’t owe me anything. Agents bring folks in from fics all the time. Right after you, we brought in a baseball player, and now the kids.]

“Who?”

Vania frowned and pointed. [Mollie and Ollie, remember?]

“I mean your baseball player. His name was Who, correct?”

Vania squinted for a long moment, then said, [Ooooooooooh. Yes. His name is Who. His name is Who. I geddit.]

“You found him a good home, too. He is a physical education teacher here, now. You see? You’ve done so much good for the Nursery. You should be proud of what you and Doc have done for us.”

Vania grimaced and rested her head against the wall. [Not . . . terribly proud of my partner, at the moment.]

“Ah. I had a feeling you were trying to avoid him.” Miss MacKinnon put a hand on Vania’s shoulder. “Are you having a fight?”

[Yes,] Vania admitted, [and honestly, I’m not entirely sure why. I knew he was upset about the Poison Joke thing, but it seemed like he just . . . well, no. He didn’t just blow up. There was other stuff, too.]

“I’m listening.”

Vania huffed. [*huff* Well, firstly, the Poison Joke. It made Doc go farsighted, so he couldn’t read anymore. I . . . didn’t really consider that such a big thing, I mean, look what happened to me! Plus, we usually don’t have time for reading on missions, but . . . well, it was bothering him. More than I realized. We could have just gotten him new glasses later, if it had turned out to be permanent . . .]

“But it’s hard to think of putting off a solution when there’s a problem now,” Miss MacKinnon said gently.

[. . . Yeah. There’s that, I guess. And then . . . *sigh* I understand why he’s upset about this one, but I didn’t have a choice. Doc and me and all the mini-Spatters were falling to our deaths, and I saved the minis first, but then we almost ran out of time before I could move the portal—It’s hard!] Vania said in response to Miss MacKinnon’s stare. [It takes forever to widen those portals with the RA. Takes too many buttons at once.]

Miss MacKinnon put a hand to her own cheek. “Well, I suppose you made the best decision you could in the time you had.”

[Exactly! Anyway, at the end of the mission, I wanted to bring the kids back to HQ, but Doc was all, ‘They’re Sues, we can’t trust them.’ Like, the badfic was descriptive-bad, it wasn’t the characters screwing things up so much. They . . . kind of weren’t very good at being Sues, honestly? But Doc still wanted to . . .] She trailed off, thinking. [Oh my gosh, I am a terrible partner.]

Miss MacKinnon frowned. “Don’t say that.”

Vania shook her head. [It’s true. Doc would have assassinated those two harmless proto-Sues. And he would have let the minis die—hell, he tried to attack them in our RC for getting ink on his books. I . . . I’ve been explaining how to do our job, but not why we do it.]

“Vania.” Miss MacKinnon returned her hand to Vania’s shoulder and squeezed. “Doc is still very new. The PPC takes getting used to, believe me.” She frowned a bit. “He was scared today.”

[Scared? No, you didn’t see him. Doc was furious. Over a bunch of books. I mean, can you imagine? Getting so angry over books that you attack minis, and then yell at kids?]

Miss MacKinnon’s hand slipped away, and she turned a bit to hide her face from Vania. “Some of the Nursery staff were very . . . emotional . . . over books when I came here.”

Vania cocked her head. [How do you mean?]

“You remember where I came from, yes? How books were illegal?”

[Oh, that’s right. Must be nice having access to them now, huh?]

Miss MacKinnon turned to look into Vania’s eyes, an odd expression on her face. After a moment, she admitted tonelessly, “I am growing used to the idea of them.”

Vania stared back. [Books require . . . growing used to?]

Miss MacKinnon looked away again. “It’s how . . . It’s my culture. Books have bad ideas that make people unhappy.”

[But . . . that’s wrong, Miss MacKinnon. You know that now. That’s what the bad guys in your world say!]

“That’s what nearly everyone in my world says, aside from a scant few. I try to tell myself a book is just a screen with a different shape, but . . . it’s hard. Hard to look at that—” She motioned with her chin to a salarian boy seated against the wall a couple yards away, who was reading something in Gallifreyan. “—and not feel like he is endangering himself, that I should do something!”

Vania rubbed her cheeks. [This is very alien to me.]

“We are aliens to each other, if you want to be technical.”

[Still, though, my point is that it’s easy enough to get more books in HQ. They’re everywhere, and they’re practically work material. It was childish of Doc to yell at the kids over it.]

“I can’t say I like hearing that, no. But . . . Vania, when I first got here, they gave me a tour of the agent training classrooms. The teacher guiding me was delayed, and asked me to step into one of the rooms without them for a moment. Inside, I found an entire shelf case filled with books. In a classroom! For children!”

Vania pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose. [Yyyyyyyyyyyyyyou didn’t. Please tell me you absolutely didn’t.]

“I found a lighter in a cupboard.” Miss MacKinnon shrugged. “It’s what we’re trained to do in case of literature.”

[You set a fire. Inside a children’s classroom.]

“There were no children at the time!” Miss MacKinnon said, glaring. “And in my world, all the buildings are flame retardant. That was the first, and most immediate, of three things I learned from that fire. I still find it odd that generic surface burns.”

[Legal insists on it.]

“Next, I got a lecture on how important books, and other canon materials, are to the PPC’s functioning. That there are entire worlds inside of books. It was shockingly scandalous, at the time.”

[And now?]

Miss MacKinnon smirked. “Just scandalous. No adverb.”

[‘Just’ is an adverb.]

“Not a descriptive one.”

[All right. What was the third thing you learned?]

Miss MacKinnon’s smile vanished. “The third came the next day, when I saw an old man crying. He had been a teacher in the Nursery as long as the PPC has had a Nursery. And in all that time, he had been using the same set of canon materials for every class he had taught.” She hugged her arms around herself. “The books I had burned the day before.”

Vania put an arm around the other woman’s shoulders. [I’m sorry.]

“That was my adjustment period, Vania. I couldn’t understand caring that much for books . . . Even today, I’m still not sure I do. As you said, it is just so alien to me!” She rested her head against Vania’s shoulder. “But I do know that I never want to make anyone feel that way, ever again.”

[Jeez.] Vania squeezed her tighter. [It didn’t even occur to me that Doc could be sentimental for books that way.]

“I guess we have something in common.”

[Yup.] Vania slowly pulled out of the hug. [I need to go find him and have a grown-up sit-down talk.] She looked at Mollie and Ollie, deep in conversation with a large group of other kids. [I don’t want to interrupt. Tell them ‘bye and sorry’ for me?]

“Of course,” said Miss MacKinnon, sweetly. “But get to Medical to have that voice taken care of first, please?”

[Oh, right. Medical. Maybe I’ll run into Doc on the way!]

“And I’ll have the adoption papers ready to fill out on your next visit.”

Vania smiled thinly. [Ah hah. Hah.] She turned and power-walked out of the Bunks.

* * *

Doc leaned his upper torso through the portal, watching as FicPsych’s disguise generator replaced his hands and arms with hooves and legs covered in dull blue fur. He scrambled forward to get the rest of his body through, getting a feel for moving around on four limbs for the first time. He glanced back at his body as he took a few steps forward. His legs were a bit short and somewhat broad, and his tail was a scraggly tuft the same color brown as his human hair. Shaking his head, Doc found that he barely had a mane; it seemed short-cropped like his usual haircut.

Doc took in the sight of the distant tower ahead of him. It was aesthetically out of place in the brightly colored surroundings: a tall, grey castle with many towers. Even the fluffy white clouds in the sky above seemed more vibrant and colorful than the stone of the building.

“That has to be the Fanfiction University. There’s no way that building is canon.” Doc started a slow, weaving trot down the dirt path that led to the castle.

He hadn’t made it far before the sound of creaking wheels made him turn his head. A wooden cart was coming up a side road, from the direction of a small town Doc could make out. A pink pony with a picture of balloons on her rump sat in the driver’s seat, while the cart was drawn by a pair of other ponies, one grey and one orange.

“Hiya!” said the pink pony, as the cart ground to a halt beside Doc. The ponies on the ground were dirty and sweaty, but gave Doc a tired smile. The seated pony continued, “I’ve never seen you before! Are you lost?”

“Uh, maybe . . .” Doc motioned to the tower with his muzzle. “That is the, uh . . . the Royal Academy, right?” He lowered his voice, not sure if everyone in the world was aware of the school.

“It sure is! You must be another PPC agent, right? There sure are a lot of you guys!”

“Oh. Uh, yes, I’m from the PPC. I was—”

“YAY!” The pink pony jumped up with her legs all outstretched, and confetti from . . . somewhere . . . showered down around her and Doc. “I’m Pinkie Pie! What’s your name, agent?”

“I’m Doc. I, uh—”

“Nice to meet you, Agent Doc! I bet you need Zecora’s cure too, huh?”

“Yes, I—”

“Awesome! Come on!” Pinkie Pie grabbed Doc and pulled him into the seat beside her before he had time to wonder how hooves could work that way. “I was just bringing more ingredients from Ponyville! Come on, students! We need to get this agent all better for the party later!”

“All right,” said the orange pony, getting back to his feet.

“Copy that, boss,” said the other, straining against the straps with her shoulder muscles.

The cart again surged forward towards the OFU.

* * *

[Come ooooon.] In this world, the text boxes looked like signs with pink wooden frames, while the words were purple letters on a yellow background inside.

Vania drummed a hoof on the ground. She was sitting in what amounted to the RFAE’s medical ward, which contained a large jacuzzi for treating the various plant-based maladies that afflicted Equestria’s rural setting. Other agents in pony form milled around the room, gazing out the windows or looking at the hilarious states the hospitalized students had gotten themselves in by going after canon characters.

She glanced back at her own thin, bright yellow body. She had failed to consider the disguises everypony would be wearing at the school. Doc could be in this very room right now, with no way to recognize him. Vania had considered asking around the room, but most of the agents seemed pretty irritable as they waited for their Poison Joke pranks, still active in the pony disguise, to be removed. Better not to get anypony more upset.

A zebra wearing gold jewelry entered the room, followed by a blue earth pony with a small sack in their mouth. The zebra said, “I bring you agents a new batch of ingredients, brought here quickly through Pinkie Pie’s expedience.”

Some of the agents blinked at Zecora’s rhyme. “Finally,” muttered a shivering agent who had a constantly snowing cloud floating above her head.

Zecora looked at the blue pony. “Into the bathwater, the herbs must pour; and then agent ailments will be no more!” She motioned to the jacuzzi with her muzzle.

The other pony dutifully moved to stand over the pool and roughly shook the bag, letting the crushed herbs drift down to the water, where they began to dissolve.

“Woo hoo!” yelled one of the agents as they cannon-balled (or perhaps canon-balled?) into the water. Vania and the other agents, as well as the pony who had helped Zecora, all hurried down into the water. The shivering pony with the snow cloud was last, marching in awkwardly on hind legs while her front legs were wrapped around her torso.

As Vania entered the water, she said, [Boy, I hope this doesn’t take long. Oh. Eaugh!” She immediately started hacking phlegm out of her throat, which had been unused now for several hours. After looking around and finding nowhere to spit, she gulped the phlegm down, ignoring the disgusted looks most of the other ponies were giving her.

Except, that is, for one: the blue pony who had entered the room with Zecora. That one had moved from across the pool after Vania spoke, dissipating the last wisps of the other agent’s snow cloud as he passed through it. He stopped to sit next to Vania, looking down into the water.

“Heya!” said Vania. “What’s up?”

“Hi, Vania.”

“Oh.” Vania lowered her eyes as well, gulping. “Hi, Doc.”

“Your voice is back.”

“Yeah! That it is . . . That’s a nice thing.” She looked to the side away from Doc. “I assume your eyes are . . . right again?”

“Yes.” Doc looked at the ponies opposite them in the pool. With no glasses on, they looked blurry, as they should have. “I’m better now.”

“Well, um.” Vania glanced around the jacuzzi to see how much attention was being paid. Most of the other agents were talking quietly to each other as well, with some just sitting with their eyes closed. Vania lowered her voice and continued. “Doc, listen. Um. First off, I . . . I didn’t mean to scare you. On our mission.”

Doc glanced at her for a second, then looked downwards again.

She continued, “It’s just, I saw the minis falling, and I reacted. Split second decision. Minis are—We’re kind of responsible for them, you know? The badfics create them, the OFUs house them, but we’re the ones who find them in the field—” She stopped herself. She was talking too fast, getting defensive; that wasn’t what Vania wanted to do here.

Doc spoke into the pause. “We could have died. I’ve never almost died before. Other than the guy who tried to run me over as a kid, but I don’t really remember that.”

“Our job is dangerous, Doc. It’s fun, and we get to be heroes, and travel, and see amazing things . . . but it is still dangerous. There are no guarantees. But if I had just saved us, and let those minis dissolve in the Thinner . . . do you understand that I would have a hard time even coming home, just . . . living with myself? I had to try, Doc. I had to. It’s . . . it’s my job. If I couldn’t save them, there wasn’t any point in my going out there.”

Doc looked at her, confused lines on his brows. “It was a mission . . . We still stopped the badfic. We didn’t even know there would be minis when we started out!”

Vania shook her head. “It’s still part of it, Doc. Part of the job. We’re responsible. BUT.” She took a deep breath, then let her shoulders drop. “I’m also responsible for my partner. And I got used to spending time around you so quickly, that I was already thinking of you more as a friend than as a newbie.”

Doc shifted a bit and looked away.

“And that isn’t fair to you. I can’t . . . I obviously can’t always know when we’re about to get thrust into a crazy situation like that, but . . . I’m going to put in an effort to keep you in on any unexpected plan changes, and to keep training you for all the weird circumstances I can think of.” She looked at his turned-away head. “That way, the next time we have an awful, dangerous decision to make, the results will partly be your fault, too!” She watched him for a reaction, and after a couple of seconds, nudged his shoulder lightly with her own. He didn’t react, though, and Vania slumped back against the edge of the jacuzzi.

“I . . . I know I shouldn’t be as obsessed with books as I am. But it . . .” Doc sighed. “I really don’t know how to say this without it coming off like an angsty backstory.”

“Hey, better an angsty backstory than none at all.”

Doc thought for a moment. “Maybe. But—all right. When I was in school, I . . . was not popular. Every day was pretty much a long string of teasing for me. I would force my way through, and finally get home. Do homework, then read. That’s how words pretty much became my closest friends. I always associated them with my calmest moments; my bookshelves became my safe zone. As I got older, I . . . turned into quite a materialist. Kind of unavoidable, when things treat you better than people. I became protective of them, started . . . the Gollum thing.”

Vania shrugged. “Imitating Gollum can be fun.”

Doc stayed quiet a while. “I started it before I knew who Gollum was, back before I read any Tolkien.”

Vania stared back. “How is that possible?”

Doc shrugged. “It’s just how I am. I thought I would seem more normal living in Headquarters, but I realized today that’s just never going to be true. Books are just . . . they’re everything about me. I need them around me, I need to feel that they’re safe, and organized, in good condition, and—”

Pink streamers of light unfolded in the air above Doc and began falling over him in ripples.

“Oh, please, no, what the hay is this?” he asked.

The lights turned brown and wrapped around him, lifting Doc into the air before producing a bright flash of light that forced everyone else in the room to look away. Once the light faded, Doc was standing on all fours in the water, eyes wide and heart pumping. “What’s happening?”

Vania giggled a bit. “Well, Doc, your fondness for books may not make you normal, but it’s definitely an important part of you if it gives you your cutie mark!”

“‘Cutie mark’?” Doc had seen markings on the flanks of some of the ponies, and on Zecora, as he had walked through the school. He turned his head one way and the other to see his own. On his left flank, the fur now had an image of a book sitting atop the turret of a castle, sort of like the rook piece in chess.

From somewhere out in the hallway, a voice Doc recognized echoed, “Cutie mark!?”

Zecora called from across the room. “You, agent blue, may now wish to vacate the area, unless you wish to sit through a Pinkie Pie cute-ceañera.”

“But, but I already had a Pinkie party today,” Doc stammered, his eyes wide and haunted-looking.

“Here, I’ve got my RA with me,” one of the other agents in the jacuzzi said, digging into their bag at the side of the pool.

* * *

“But, yeah.” Back in HQ, Vania and Doc trudged down the hall on two legs once again. “I am sorry for scaring you on the mission, and not being more observant of how bad you were feeling.”

“And I’m sorry for freaking out as badly as I did.”

“. . . Not to end on a low note, but . . . I’m not the only one you owe an apology to.”

“What? . . . The Sue kids? I still don’t get that. Isn’t our job to fight against Sues?”

Vania’s face wrinkled up. “It’s not that simple, okay? Like, it’s my fault for not really sitting you down and explaining, but . . . there are degrees of bad writing, and even degrees of Sue. The kids are good kids, and they deserve to be treated respectfully.”

Doc kept his expression neutral. “. . . Okay. If you want me to talk to them, I will—but not right now. I think we’ve been up more than twenty-four hours at this point, and I need some sleep.”

“Agreed. The kids need some time to get settled in, anyway. No need to drop emotional bombs on night one.”

Arriving at their RC door, Doc smiled. “Bedtime it is then. And now that my vision is back to normal, I know just the way to fall asleep.”

Vania turned the knob and opened the door.

“I’ll curl up with a nice, thick—oh right, I forgot.” Walking inside, Doc had seen his bookshelf. Still splattered with ink, the pages had soaked up the black liquid and were entirely unreadable.

* * *

Author’s Note: Agents Gurgan and Derwin belong to Mister Shoebox, and the scenes including them were co-written with him. The dialogue Doc quotes is taken from Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. The Canon Librarian was created by Kaitlyn and is available to write through Huinesoron’s permission. Agent Jon belongs to aoe_knight, and his description in this story is based on aoe_knight’s Suvian description in the Sue’t Yourself RP, since no description of the actual character survives. The Royal Fanfiction Academy of Equestria belongs to JulyFlame and WarriorJoe, and appears with July’s permission.