Title: The Wanderer's Wandering Daughter
Author: Red Wasabi
Disclaimer: Kitta belongs to meh, but everyone else belongs to…you know…those owning type people…
Notes: This bunny was developed while washing dishes at work. It is the first bit in a series of loosely connected vignettes that I am developing centered around the idea that too many fics have TF's raising humans, and hardly any(well none that I've found) have humans raising a TF.
Chapter 1: Of Ducklings and Ducks
Reginald Simmons or Reggie as only his mother called him; was bored. Not just your run of the mill will watch infomercials kind of bored but the deep seeded and desperate kind of bored. The kind of bored that no agent left on night duty at sector seven should ever feel because it was the kind of feeling that made a person want to do something—anything. And for Simmons that usually spelled trouble.
"Come on you hunk of space rock, do something already!" Simmons whispered under his breath as he fiddled with the stasis controls which he was definitely not supposed to even be breathing on let alone adjusting. Spitefully he kicked a box of spare parts that some workers had left nearby while they were repairing the cube's support beams.
Simmons winced and looked around quickly as they hit the side of the alien cube and banged loudly. He really didn't need anyone here to see what he was doing. He wasn't even supposed to know that this thing existed, let alone be alone with it in the middle of the night when he was supposed to be watching the other side of the complex. He just couldn't let it be though, not when he has been so close to his Father's life long obsession for the first time.
Simmons sighed tiredly; he didn't want to get in trouble with the old man. He knew that while this job had been passed down from generation to generation of the Simmons' men his Father wouldn't hesitate to quietly oust him if he made a mistake—especially one involving such a highly classified and mysterious piece of alien paraphernalia.
This rock, this gigantic hunk of alien—whatever it was—was the key to everything, he could feel it. If he could just understand what it was then maybe—Slowly Simmons reached out stretching his limber frame to its limits as he brushed his fingers against the carved foreign rock. The carvings were warm against his fingertips, and he could almost feel a kind of powerful energy pulsing gently through his body as he traced a finger along the edges of a particularly curvy hieroglyph.
"Please," Simmons's murmured almost reverently as his fingers memorized the carvings. "Give me something—anything." Without warning a painful jolt of electricity jarred Simmons body; before he could even scream the brilliant flash of light had blinded him, and then there was nothing.
Consciousness came in layers as it often does when one has been forcibly separated form it in the first place. Simmons rolled over on his stomach with a low groan and proceeded to empty his still twisting stomach out all over the floor.
The regular hum of the cube and the stench of his bile seemed magnified by ten. "What the Hell just happened?" He painfully eased himself away from the mess he'd made, his body felt like it was on fire. What had happened? How much time had passed? Simmons breath hitched as he realized he could have been out for hours, in a labored flash he was upright, trying to ignore the sickening dizziness in his head.
He had to get out of here and report to his station, there was no telling how much time had passed while he lay passed out on the floor. Quickly he made a start for the door, he had to hurry it could almost be time for the main shift agents to come in and—Simmons paused in his frantic rush towards the door.
Something wasn't right in the room, something was different. Simmons blinked his eyes trying to will away the bleariness that had settled in them; what had changed? Simmons squinted his eyes and stared hard at the area around the cube. Ok, sure there was now a big puddle of throw-up that hadn't been there before, but something else—some small and seemingly insignificant thing was gone…
His eye widened in realization, the box that he'd kicked—it was gone. Simmons darted a look over shoulder, had some night workman come in for the parts and seen him? And if they had, had they told anyone? Or had they respected the don't ask, don't tell policy that was strictly enforced?
A slight scratching noise coming from behind the cube's main ground supports drew Simmons attention. Instantly he whipped out his gun, and held it ready; who ever that was they would have a lot of explaining and covering up to do when he got through with them!
Simmons stealthily stalked towards the rocky supports area; his gun aimed and ready to fire. Slowly he eased himself against the cold rock and slid around to the corner. In one quick movement he darted around the corner and aimed—only to find air.
With a frown Simmons lowered his weapon, he had been sure that there was a sound coming from behind this support column. He let out a loud sigh as his shoulders sagged down in frustration. Not only had he broken into a highly classified area of S7, but he had messed up their big alien rock to boot. And to top it off the alien rock had messed with him right back--and now he was going crazy hearing things!
Out of the corner of his eye Simmons saw a flash of silver hurtling towards him. Before Simmons could turn around what seemed like a tiny metal vice clasped around his calves causing him to fall over in an undignified heap.
Stunned Simmons could only stare at the bright blue eyes of what he could only hope was a happy alien wrapped around his calf…cooing? Carefully Simmons eased his torso up, trying hard to not disturb the alien life form who was very obviously enthralled with his pants.
The movement seemed to attract the alien's attention and it quickly climbed over his knees to sit gazing up at him in his lap. 'Oh shit.' He was in for it now. There was no way he could cover this one up from the old man. Slowly the wheels in Simmons shocked mind began turning, wasn't there some kind of procedure for something like this? What had his grandpa told him…?
"I—uhh," Simmons voice froze again when the creature curled up against him and began to hum like a kind of freaky space cat. "I'm not authorized to talk to you, except to tell you that I'm not authorized to talk to you." He finally spit out in a rush.
Blue eyes flickered curiously up at him, and Simmons found himself disturbed by the innocence that radiated from the glowing eyes. They seemed almost—childlike. 'Maybe I said it too fast…' Simmons reasoned silently as he debated what to do.
Gingerly he picked the humming little alien up and set it on the ground next to him. "I am not authorized to speak to you," he said again, stressing a loud emphasis on each word as he spoke. "Except to tell you that I am not authorized to speak to you."
Slowly as to not startle the alien Simmons arose from his sitting position on the ground, "In fact little guy lets make a deal. I never found you and you're just going to stay here and look recent when the morning workers come in, ok?"
"Kitta?" the little mechanoid clicked at him.
Simmons nodded, "Yeah that's right, 'kitta' or whatever. Just stay here." He turned away and began to hurry towards the door once more, but was stopped when he heard the soft, but unmistakable sound of metal feet scrapping quietly against the rock floor following behind him.
Simmons glanced over his shoulder to see the little alien less then a foot behind him, and still staring up at him with those impossibly trusting blue eyes. Simmons stopped and turned around to face the alien, "No, you don't seem to understand. You have to stay here, I have to leave and pretend that I've never seen you." He tried to reason with it.
"Kitta?" the little alien intoned at him again, but this time lifting it's arms and making the universal gesture for 'up'. Simmons felt his resolve crumble as the silver mechanoid stood like any human child would, just begging to be held. With a sigh that was one of more hopelessness then annoyance Simmons bent over and picked the alien up.
He had just broken at least six protocols that he could think of right off hand; and when they found out about this in the morning he was sure that the Old Man would be able to think of more. So why did he suddenly feel like a mother duck?