FRANCIS pouted angrily.

"It's not fair," he muttered for the millionth time.

"Nothing ever is," Magenta mused.

"Yeah, but this isn't nothing."

"That makes no sense, France."

"So does making us bring a backup squad, Mags."

"Hey, don't act like it was my idea, I like it even less than you do."

"I doubt that."

"Of course you do."

The dull-grey Ford was filled with a stagnant silence as Francis and Magenta both eyed the highway ahead of them. In the backseat a trio of agents shifted uncomfortably, well aware that their presence was not at all appreciated by the two seasoned agents.

"We're right here you know," one of them, slightly bolder than the other two, ventured to speak, "it's not like we can't hear you."

"Do you hear that, Mags?" Francis asked with a straight face, inclining his head as though listening to a soft sound, "that little buzzing sound in the back of the car?"

"Stop being such a jerk, France. It's not like they volunteered to come either."

"Actually, I did," the same agent spoke up again.

"If you value your life, shut up right now," Magenta advised, seeing Francis's hands clench into fists.

"Fine," the agent grumbled angrily, lapsing into a sulky silence much like Francis's.

Magenta let out a soft sigh, shaking her head.

Boys will be boys.

"What are your names?" she enquired after a few moments' silence, looking into the rearview mirror to catch a glance of their faces.

"I'm Will," the one sitting in the middle replied, a warm smile on his face despite his obvious nervosity, "that's Jake, and the grumpy one who was stupid enough to volunteer is Ian."

No other ladies this time? Pity.

"I'm Magenta Redwood and that's Francis White, which you probably already knew," Magenta replied, returning her gaze to the road, "you may refer to us as Redwood and White."

"Or preferably just don't refer to us at all," Francis mumbled under his breath.

Magenta let out another sigh of exasperation.

"Cut them some slack, Francis, we're almost in Westton."

Francis sat up slightly straighter at the prospect of arriving at their destination, turning in his seat to face Magenta.

"I guess we'd better come up with a plan, then. We need to figure out when the gang meets so we can listen in to one of their meetings."

"I can figure that out," Magenta replied, "I'm sure the owner of the pizza tent will know his regulars well enough. You hang back with these guys until I return, and then the two of us will join them on one of their little meetings."

Her iron gaze flickered to the occupants of the backseat.

"You lot stay in the car unless we need you, which I doubt we will."

"Yes ma'am," Will mumbled in reply, and Magenta nodded to herself.

"Right then, let's get a move on, shall we?" Francis suggested, "I'd like to make it to Westton before nightfall."

--

"I feel like Tony Stark, honestly."

Magenta shot Francis an irritable look as he slowly took a bite of his pizza, continuing his contemplation after having swallowed.

"I mean, free pizza! That's the billionaire's life right there. Everything is basically free, because compared to your income it's nothing. Zilch. Must be nice. Although Barton was more of a pizza fan than Stark was, so a crossover of Stark and Barton I guess." His eyes lit up with realization. "Oliver Queen! Billionaire with a bow and arrow, BOOM!"

"Francis, please keep your head in the game," Magenta instructed, and Francis rolled his eyes.

"Fine, of course your majesty. Has the gang arrived yet?"

He lowered his voice for the second sentence, instantly sounding a lot more serious. Magenta gave a small nod of approval, and answered Francis's question.

"The first few have arrived, they're waiting for the rest at their table. Table 12, back there in the corner."

"Do we know why they've picked this place for their rendezvous yet?" Francis asked, "I mean, why not meet up in some place... cheaper?"

He allowed his gaze to run over their surroundings much like he'd done when he'd first entered the building. It was designed to look nothing like the cheapskate pizza place he'd expected, furnished more like a four-star restaurant than a fast-food establishment. Most people in the building were extremely well-dressed too, and if Magenta hadn't gone scouting beforehand they probably would've stuck out like a sore thumb. Luckily for them, she'd realized they'd need neater clothes when she'd gone to get intel, and now they were dressed to the nines themselves, and blending in with the other customers seamlessly.

Unless they can smell how uncomfortable I am, Francis thought to himself sourly, is a tie supposed to make you feel like you're suffocating?

"The boss's brother runs this place or something like that," Magenta answered, her gaze trained on the slowly growing group of gang members.

Francis took another bite of the Hawaiian pizza, determined to enjoy the free pizza while he had the chance.

Magenta shot a glance sideways to Francis, before scrunching up her nose in disapproval.

"Is that pineapple on your pizza?"

"Yes it is," Francis answered, "do you have a problem with that?"

"Yes, I do," Magenta replied, "it's disgusting."

"Hmm, I might have to re-think our engagement, then."

"We're not engaged, France," Magenta deadpanned.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you that?" Francis replied in mock-surprise, "oops, my bad."

Magenta rolled her eyes, her gaze flickering back to the small gang.

"They're looking around, act natural," she hissed softly, and Francis leaned in a little closer.

"I say we pretend to be deeply in love, that always works, right?"

Magenta gave him a disapproving look.

"Just play along, Mags!" Francis begged.

"Fine," Magenta hissed softly, before allowed a sweet smile to cross her features, "I love you a ton, Francisco."

"Awww, I love you 3000, Magenta," Francis replied in the same sweet tone of voice.

"Well then I love you 10,000."

"And I love you 96,000."

"Why not just 90,000?-- you know what, I don't what to know."

"References, honey, it's always the references."

"They're done looking around, you can stop hitting on me now."

Francis leaned back, a half-smirk crossing his face.

"Don't tell me someone as strikingly beautiful as you isn't used to a bit of flirting-- surely you've encountered plenty of men who've taken a liking to you?"

"Most of them were chased off by my overprotective sandy-haired best friend," Magenta stated bluntly.

"Ouch, friendzoned," Francis mumbled. 

Their attention was pulled towards the conspiratorial whispers of the gang that had gathered around the table.

"We'll finish this conversation later," he promised, and Magenta shook her head.

"No we won't."

"Maybe."

"Nuh-uh."

"Pleaaaase?"

"We'll see."

"Yessss."

"Now focus."

Francis turned his gaze to the gang, although he couldn't help but shoot one more glance at Magenta.

One day, Francis, he told himself, just you wait -- and I'm not throwing away my shot.

He sighed softly.

When my shot comes, that is. Because right now, I don't stand a chance.