78, Mondays

“Jesus, Doc, did you get run over by a fuckin’ lawn mower or something?”  Special agent Emerald Blitz stared at Dale O’Connor’s back from ten feet away.  The red inflammation and scratch rashes looked like he’d been torn to shreds by some sort of wild animal that tried to claw through his back.  “Seriously, did someone whip you, dude?”

Shrugging, O’Connor muttered, “All good, Em.”  He normally didn’t feel embarrassed, ever, but this time was very different.  Blitz had walked into O’Connor’s open office door as he was changing a shirt.  Upon seeing his back, she assumed he’d been injured.  Quite the contrary, O’Connor had been engaged in insane sex with special agent Alexi Blacktide, and she had clawed his back to pieces in the process.  O’Connor still hadn’t figured out how to tell the crew about his newly formed relationship with Blacktide, and this wasn’t how he’d intended to break the news.

“All good?  Fuck, Doc!  You need medical attention!”  Blitz was genuinely concerned for her friend as she watched him gingerly put on a t-shirt.  O’Connor winced in pain as the shirt slipped over his rock solid muscular rail thin frame.  “For real, Doc, you need a damn doctor!”

“I need a nap and a drink, in either order,” O’Connor said calmly.  He made eye contact with Blitz and saw her eyes get huge as she saw his face.  Big blue bags were under his crazy red blood shot eyes and it was clear he hadn’t slept in days.  “Em?”

“Doc,” she paused as she took in the scene before her, “you seriously look like something the cat dragged in.”

Without knowing why, he answered honestly.  “I promise you, I’m better than I’ve been in years.”  He gave the sentiment some thought and it dawned on him that he really was the happiest he’d ever been.  “Like, ever.”  O’Connor could tell that Blitz wasn’t buying it as she looked into his bloodshot eyes.  “I’ll fill you in at the briefing.”

Skeptically, Blitz simply said, “Fuck these dumb fucking morning briefings.  I’m worried about you.”  

“I’m not lying to you.  I’m good,” O’Connor pleaded in his stereotypical emotionless tone.

“Swear to me on the aliens you believe in that built the pyramids,” Blitz said seriously.

“They were built by humans, Blitz.  And not by slaves, but by masters of engineering and architecture with stone cutting and moving technologies that have been lost to time.”

His dry answer and seriousness let Blitz know that he was indeed good.  He was still passionate about shit she didn’t care about, he simply looked like shit.  “Fuck Mondays,” she said plainly.  She nodded politely with concern on her face, then left his office.

“Fuck,” O’Connor muttered to himself as he exhaled.  He was exhausted, his body ached, his head hurt, but he couldn’t stop smiling.  He noted how good it felt to let himself be attracted to his coworker and teammate, Alexi Blacktide.

While in his reverie, special agent Trent Murdock popped in the doorway.  The look on Murdocks’ face was the same as Blitz’s when he saw O’Connor’s blood shot eyes on top of deep, blue bags, but since they were best friends, their communication style was very different.  “Doc, you’ve never looked more rested.  What’s your secret?” he joked with thick sarcasm.

“Run hard, lift like a mule, sip Irish whiskey all day while always rooting for Irish rugby but never getting your hopes up too high.”

Murdock grinned.  “You know, if you take away this whole,” Murdock lifted his fingers and made the quote sign, “dead guy look,” then dropped his fingers, “and if you were talking about the Cubs, I’d think you were McVandalay.”

“Someone call my name?” Bradley McVandalay asked as he appeared in the doorway of O’Connor’s office.  One look at Doc’s face made McVanaday’s eyes bug out.  “God damn, Doc,” he said, but then paused to think of something clever to say.  “Clearly you saw the Cubs piss last night’s game down their leg and you’ve been crying all night.”  

“I guard my mental health like Fort Knox, Bradley.  I could never be a Cubs fan.”  O’Connor grinned.

“Well I respect you for not choosing the same self torture I’ve chosen.”  He balled his fist up and pounded it over his chest in a sign of respect.  “Hey, and crying your eyes out for whatever reason is  a very healthy thing to do.”  McVandalay cared deeply for his friends but didn’t have the emotional intelligence to communicate his concern.  “If you need to grab a drink later, let me know, ok?”

“I’ll take you up on that as soon as this briefing is done, brother.”  

Murdock snorted.  “I don’t wanna be here.  Fuck Mondays.”

McVandalay grinned and said, “I second the motion your excellency, fuck Mondays, boys.”

With a big smile, Murdock put his hand on McVandalay’s shoulder.  “Excellency. Nice! It’s about time I got some respect from you, Bradley.”

O’Connor loved his friends and his current mood was so high from having feelings for his new girlfriend that he should’ve been shouting at the top of his lungs about his happiness.  Instead, all he could say was, “I can’t wait for that drink.”

“Sounds good, buddy,” McVandalay said.

“I want in on that action,” Murdock added.

“You’re buying the first round, fucker,” O’Connor said in his normal dry tone to Murdock.  “I’ll buy the second.  McV gets the third or I walk.”

“Deal,” McVandalay said.  “See you in five, and I hear there’s still donuts in the conference room if you hurry.”

“I gotta send a few texts and I’ll be right down,” O’Connor said.

Murdock and McVandalay exited the room and O’Connor closed his eyes.  The memory of Blacktide in his arms filled him with pure happiness.  A huge smile crossed his face and he let the memory consume all of his brain power.  He was dangerously low on sleep at a biological level, but all he could think about was kissing her skin as soon as possible.

A voice in his office brought him back to reality.  “Hey Doc, where’ve you been, man?”

Master Thief Owens was in O’Connor’s office doorway.  His perfectly chipper smile and innocent demeanor was all O’Connor could see on his face.  If Owens had any concern for O’Connor’s appearance, he didn’t show it.  O’Connor had a little pep to his voice as he answered, “Blacktide and I had something come up that we had to take immediate care of.  I feel like an asshole that I didn’t text you.”

Owens was jolly as he answered, “Hey brother, no big deal.”  As if his friend hadn’t even brought up the fact that he’d ditched him days earlier, Owens pushed on with his normal enthusiasm.  “I still wanna get wings with you though!  What’re you doing after the briefing?  I’m buying!”  O’Connor’s face looked like it was moments from death at any time, but Owens either didn’t notice, didn’t care, or didn’t register that O’Connor ever looked any differently.

“Ah, actually I’m gonna grab drinks with Murdock and McV.  Wanna join us?”  Owens’ enthusiasm to be alive was a breath of fresh air for O’Connor, and he was grateful Owens hadn’t cursed about it being a Monday.

“Hell yes!” Owens answered enthusiastically.  “I can’t wait to tell you about a little side project I did yesterday when I broke into the White House.  It was fun!”  Owens turned to walk out of the office.  “See you at the briefing!”  With that, he disappeared as quietly as one would expect of a ghost.

The briefing was scheduled to start in a few minutes and O’Connor didn’t feel prepared to talk to the crew.  He wasn’t ashamed of his feelings for Blacktide, but work place romances were highly discouraged in the world of undercover agents.  Any attachments could be liabilities and the powers that be kept close eyes on agents who were in relationships.  Compromised intelligence meant the death of good guys.

“Christ have mercy, Doc!  What in the fuck?!”  The voice of agent Death brought O’Connor back to reality.  Her face was half concerned, half smiling.  “You’ve either died and come back to life or you’re getting ready for a photo shoot as a zombie.”

Her joke made O’Connor laugh.  “Let’s go with zombie photo shoot.”  He exhaled through pursed lips and instantly calmed himself.  “That’s such a good joke,” he said as he returned to his normal emotionless self.

Death appreciated the praise.  “You look like how I feel on a fucking Monday.”  Agent Death had to torture her friend a little more before she asked what in the fuck was going on.  “Are you paying all the pretty girls to pee in your eyes or something?  They’re redder than the fucking terminator.”

O’Connor grabbed a manila envelope from his desk and slipped in a few papers.  In his best Arnold impression, he said, “It’s nodda toomah.”

“Well, Doc, your face looks like a fucking tumor beat you senseless.  Besides, that’s Kindergarten Cop you’re quoting, not Terminator.  Get your Arnie movies straight, you douche.”

In his exhaustion, O’Connor had gotten his movie quotes mixed up.  “Fuck,” he said.

Without expressing her concern, Death simply asked, “Wanna grab a drink later?  I wanna know what in the fuck is going on in your life that you’d show up to work looking like…”  Death couldn’t find the words.

“Like I’m doing a zombie photo shoot?” O’Connor said to finish her sentence for her.

“Yeah, or literally like you’ve been resurrected.”  Death spread her fingers out and extended her hand out as if she was cleaning what she was seeing with an imaginary wash cloth.  “This… this is a mess, and that’s saying something cuz I’ve never known you to not be a train wreck anyway.  Let’s get through this fucking briefing and then I’m serious about that drink afterwards.”  Death exited his office with no fan fare.

A feeling of gratitude went through O’Connor at the thought of the concern that his friends had shown him.  Again, he closed his eyes and smiled.  To no one, he said to an empty room, “I have the best friends in the world.”

Yet again, a voice brought him out of his revelry.  “Imaginary friends maybe, Doc.”  Sergeant Schuman was standing in the open doorway to his office as if she materialized out of thin air.  Her eyes got big as she took in O’Connor’s face, then she started smiling from ear to ear.  “Please tell me you’ve gotten into bare knuckles boxing?!”

Schuman was a hundred thirty five pounds soaking wet with change in her pockets, but she was a champion bare knuckles boxer, often beating men and women twice her size with ease.  All she could think about was boxing, so seeing O’Connor’s face so gaunt with bags under his eyes got her hopeful that he may have picked up her hobby.

“Not necessarily, but there was a lot of punching and kicking involved,” O’Connor answered half honestly.  “I’ll fill you in at the briefing, which,” he looked at his watch, “fuck!  We’ve gotta be there in two minutes.”

“I heard fifteen minutes ago that there were still donuts in the conference room,” Schuman said as she exited his office.  “I’ll save you one unless those savages crushed them all.”  With pure disgust at the thought of there being no more donuts, Schuman defeatedly said, “Fucking Mondays.”

“Thanks, Sarge!” he called back as she disappeared from his doorway.  He then thought about it.  Despite feeling wiped out, he muttered to himself, “This is the best Monday of my life.”  He meant it.

O’Connor grabbed his phone off of his desk and instinctively opened the text messages app.  He wanted to text Blacktide, then realized he didn’t have anything specific to say, so he clicked the screen closed and headed to the meeting.

The conference room was dead silent as he walked in.  The smell of coffee and donuts filled his nostrils, but his attention was quickly diverted to the quiet faces all staring back at him.  He got the creepy feeling that everyone had been chatting about him only moments earlier, but now the place was dead silent upon his arrival.

Most of Team Whiskey was in attendance except for General Rice and Alexi Blacktide.  Miller and Lorenz sat side by side, both with concerned looks on their faces.  Expert hacker/programmer Yen Roar was at the end of the table with her trusty laptop and she too looked concerned.  Pilot Porter was normally always smiling, but not today.  Her concern for O’Connor was evident, and she didn’t take her eyes off of him.  Sergeant Schuman was quietly gnawing on a donut while Owens sat next to her and sipped coffee.  He was smiling and oblivious to anyone else’s concern.

“Hey gang,” O’Connor said.  “Might as well get right down to it.  I’m guessing you’re all wondering what in the fuck is going on.”

“Damn straight!” Blitz blurted out.

“What the fuck, Doc!  You look like hell, man.  Shoot,” Murdock said.

“You do look rough, brother,” McVandalay added.

“Did you eat the nuclear curry again and forgot what happened last time?” Miller asked innocently.

Lorenz added, “Please tell me you ordered curry and that you’re not secretly hooked to heroin.”

Agent Death spoke firmly, “Or meth.”

“Fucking meth?!” Lorenz said.  “Doc, are you on meth!?”

“Jesus, no, you guys!  You know me!  I’m a drinker.  Fuck weed, or pills, or whatever.  I don’t do drugs.  I’m the guy that blows up drug dealers for fuck sake!” O’Connor pleaded.

Schuman was indignant.  “You really do look like you’re on drugs, Doc.  Or you’re sleepless cuz you’ve been boxing?” she added hopefully.

Blitz chimed in on top of that, “And your back is all fucked up like you hired a dominatrix to whip the fuck out of you which, the more I think about it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“His back is fucked up?” Miller asked with concern.

“Crazy fucked up, like he’s been tortured in a Turkish prison,” Blitz answered.

Lorenz was now curious beyond belief.  “For real, Doc, what the fuck?”

At that moment, special agent Alexi Blacktide walked into the conference room.  She had make up on, but anyone who looked more deeply at her could tell that she too was sleep deprived and physically exhausted.  She paused and saw that the chatter that was previously filling the room had stopped.  Everyone seated was now looking at her in pure silence, taking in the fact that she also looked like shit, despite trying to hide it.

It was awkward as fuck.

Years of insecurity seemed to come to the surface and Blacktide all of a sudden felt nervous.  Her heart was pounding and she could feel a bead of sweat on her temple.  She looked over to see O’Connor’s beat up face, and somehow every fear of rejection she’d ever felt was gone.  Her heart warmed and she felt an impulse to throw her arms around O’Connor.  She found herself involuntarily smiling.

O’Connor was also smiling.  The smile got bigger and bigger, from ear to ear, slowly revealing his whiskey stained teeth.  She couldn’t help getting lost in how handsome he was despite the fact that he looked like complete shit.

The agents in the room all looked from him to her, back and forth, seeing their smiles. As two and two started adding up for each of them, the cognitive dissonance in their brains started the overload process. O’Connor and Blacktide, smiling at each other like they’re attracted to each other? The thought went through all of their brains with the exception of Owens. He was thinking about fishing, completely oblivious to the fact that both Blacktide and O’Connor didn’t look normal.

Blacktide felt her heart start pounding hard as O’Connor walked over to her in the dead silent conference room.  He tossed the manila envelope on the conference table like it was no big deal and strolled up to Blacktide as comfortably as one would take a Sunday morning stroll through a peaceful neighborhood.  She froze and couldn’t react as he put his arms around her.  He pulled her in and put his lips to hers.

In that moment, she came back alive.  No one in the room mattered, her fear didn’t matter, all that mattered was that she could put her arms around Dale O’Connor and kiss him back.  Their tongues intertwined in their familiar dance and electricity surged through them both.  Moments passed but it may as well have been an eternity.

“Hell yeah!” Owens said enthusiastically, not processing that what they were all seeing was out of character for their two friends.

General Rice walked into the room as their kiss ended.  “You two sit the fuck down and shut up or I’ll beat your asses into a pulp and piss on your bloody carcasses.  It’s a fucking Monday I want this briefing over as soon as possible.”  She made no comment to the fact that they were making out upon her arrival. She simply threw her briefcase unceremoniously on the large ass conference table and grunted, “There’d better be a donut left for me or you’re all fired.”

Everyone in the room was shocked.  No one had any idea that O’Connor and Blacktide were now kissing, which all of them were processing the implications of this new information. The team was even more shocked when the general had ignored the whole scene as she walked in.  Each agent was trying to process the information with the exception of Owens.  He just smiled and nodded while muttering under his breath, “nice work, Doc!”

When O’Connor pulled away from the kiss, he gave Blacktide a small nod with a big smile, then he grabbed her hand and walked her to two opens seats.  He pulled out a chair for Blacktide and she nodded politely as she took her seat, then he pushed it in and said to the room, “Lex and I are dating.  If anyone has a problem with that, I’ll blow you up.  Don’t test me.  I’m not bluffing.”

“So does this mean you’re not bare knuckle boxing?” Schuman asked disappointedly.

“Nope.  All you, sister,” O’Connor said as he took his own seat.

“What in the fuck happened to your god damned back, then?” Blitz asked heatedly, but then she gasped as she put two and two together.  “Lex?”

As dry as a bone, O’Connor said, “My girlfriend is a god damned honey badger in the sack.”

Blacktide had regained her killer confidence and added, “And Doc has hips like a jackhammer that never stops.”

Girlfriend? Hips that never stop? The crew now understood. Their friends were banging each other, and being freaks of nature to begin with, clearly they both looked like hell because they weren’t sleeping. The team was witnessing the greatest bangover anyone had ever witnessed.

“Enough!” Rice blurted out.  “Let’s get the fuck on with this!”  She sighed and defeatedly said, “Fucking Mondays.”

In the distance, seismologists debated heatedly about the elevated readings of subtle seismic waves detected in Washington D.C. as to what the source might be, never once considering that it may have been generated by two insanely horny secret agents releasing years of pent up attraction, frustration, excitement and desire as they humped the living daylights out of each other.