Christmas was a time for family.
Ever since he had become Nigel, the spy hadn't spent a single Christmas alone or unwanted as harry always did. When he was young, he would spend his day helping his Father cook a feast fit for a king then listen to 'make believe' stories that he knew was solely meant to distract him from eating the deserts while they worked on creating them. When there was nothing left to do but wait, he would sit at his Father's feet in front of the fireplace while the Dylan read from whatever story he chose that year.
When he had gotten older, Nigel had held onto this tradition and fulfilled it diligently with both his Father and his beloved nephew. Unfortunately Young Private had a sweet tooth not even stories could distract him from, so the spy would slave over the deserts himself while his Father worked on distracting the blue eyed wonder.
This year was different though.
While Mr. Tux was no more, young Private would not be coming home for Christmas. Instead the younger would be away on a Team Building exercise set forward by the Young Skipper that would last for months. Nigel had accepted the fact his nephew would be out of reach with grace, slightly thankfully the Lad would be well out of anyone's reach for some time.
Then there was his Father, who was still away on some Classified mission conserving the massive death rate surrounding the Count as he cleaned up a 'past mistake'. God have mercy on that 'mistake' as Nigel very much doubted The Count would. The Spy had no doubt, he wouldn't see either of the two for some time.
He was alone.
Christmas was in two days and he was alone. The cottage- while still warm and homely- was hollow and empty; a mockery of what if should be...
Well he would just have to rectify that now wouldn't he?
Standing, Nigel slipped on his coat before heading out the door.
After all, it was tradition.
The White Widow.
An albino beauty who used her looks and charm to prey upon any unfortunate soul that drew her attention wither by their money, power or just plain interest. Once she slept with them she would carve out their hearts only to devour them.
He wasn't sure what the woman was doing in New York and to be honest, Buck Rockgut didn't really care. Widow was here, prancing around his city liked she owned it. No one, not even Red, was confident enough to literally sit in his lap, steal his drink and then honestly believe he would permit them to waltz away and wreck havoc upon his city...
Well almost no one,Widow obviously didn't get the Memo or possibly believed her looks alone made her God's Gift to the World.
Which was why the American Agent fount himself racing down the backstreets while giving chase to the overconfident woman. She was quick on her feet, that Rockgut would acknowledge as he almost lost sight of the albino serval times but thankfully caught a glimpse of her overflowing hair as she quickly rounded another corner.
Not wasting anytime the American followed, only to run head first into a crimson light.
A moment later, there was a heavy thud as a body hits the brick paved street.
He doesn't celebrate Christmas, at least not since Fred had finally deemed himself old enough to live on his own.
The only reason he had celebrating the American or Russian version of the holiday before had been to grant his nephew a chance at as normal a childhood as possible- including all the silly traditions the rouge didn't even hold to. Now that Fred had moved out there was no real point of holding the charade.
And while the rouge would have loved nothing more than to spend his holiday in his office, an unexpected 'episode'- as Margret had become to call them- had confined him solely to 'Bedrest'- which the Russian was quite certain was some form of twisted torture- until such a time he was fit enough to move around without feeling as though every breath his took was stripping his lungs bare and every beat of his heart wasn't compressing the vital organ into a microscopic matchbox
Of course once that happened he would have to pass Margret's personal expectations itself...
If he had the breath to do so, Red have sighed in despair. Instead the rouge allowed his eyes to slip close and his head to hit the pillow a bit harder in frustration.
He was so screwed it wasn't even funny.
As though Fate herself had been waiting for that very moment, the soft creaking of the door being reached the rouge's ears, causing his golden eye to shot open as a hand darted under his pillow for his knife. The rouge had just tightened his grip upon the handle before his instincts started to scream causing the Russian to reflexively push himself off the bed.
His body hit the wooden floor right as a crimson light hits his mattress.
It was official, the rouge couldn't help but think as he attempted to come up with a feasible plan, someone up there obviously hated his guts- if not his very existence.
If he's said it once, he's said it a thousand times:
Nigel was either an outright savage or an idiot. Honestly, Red wasn't sure which one was worse.
What type of nimrod attacked someone in their bed when they where so obviously ill the devil himself would have noticed?
Ignoring the hand rubbing circles on his back and the spy's rambling the rouge haired villain chose instead to focus on breathing, which was rather difficult when a mother hen of a spy was all but suffocating him due to the elder's panicked worry. Did Nigel even know what Personal Space was?
A growl tore itself from the younger's throat as he caught sight of emerald eyes slipping to that damnable stick. Sick or not, if the spy reached for that thing one more time Red swore he was personally see it incinerated then feed the ashes to the smug bastard.
Red was going to kill him.
If nothing else, Nigel clearly recognized the gleam to the younger's eyes as they bore into him- all but daring him to reach for the wand- if only to grant the younger another reason to show exactly how stab happy he was truly was... In that case, the younger was just going to have to keep waiting. The emerald eyed Brit would admit he was a lot of things; some good and some not so much; but stupid wasn't one of them. Its not like he needed the wand anyway.
After all, he had a lot of spare time within his youth and wandless magic wasn't as difficult to master as one might originally suspect- or maybe he just had a natural talent for it?...Well that was something to think about later.
The Younger never saw the hand, rubbing smoothing circles upon his back glow a soft crimson; though unlike with Rockgut, the spy didn't allow the body to hit the ground. Instead allowing it to relax into his chest as fingers threaded through rouge locks.
He should have done more research before targeting the younger. Sure, Nigel knew Red was staying home more often but had just labeled it as Margret being her overbearing self again- honestly you would think that woman was Red's mother instead of his Sectary. He had expected the rouge to be buried in his lab, the thought of the rouge going through an 'episode' never crossed his mind.
It didn't seem natural. Red was a cocky, stubborn bastard with questionable morals but always seemed to be out of reach despite their best efforts. They knew he wasn't invincible but the rouge wasn't exactly the sort of person one thought about and pictured as someone fragile and sickly. It was unnatural.
Then again, so was that damn poison which caused these 'Episodes'.
When he wakes tucked within a warm cozy bed instead of on the cold pavement, he distantly recalls falling to, Buck Rockgut blames Nigel.
Of course he would blame the Nancy Cat for anything given the chance but this time, the American could honestly say with a hundred percent certainty:
This was all Nigel's fault.
After all, the damnable spy was just across the room with a familiar rouge thrown over his shoulder and an all too pleased grin upon his face.
"Good Morning, Love. "
God it was too early for whatever nonsense - for what else could that insane bastard want- the Nancy Cat was obviously attempting to drag them into now. Crimson eyes followed the emerald eyed brit as the younger deposited the youngest of them upon the couch before heading into the kitchen.
Knowing his luck, the Nancy Cat was probably making tea- sometimes the eldest wondered if the Brit even knew what coffee was- as a wake up call... Again. Which was why, the crimson eyed man wasted no time and throwing himself out of the warm bed and onto the had wooden floors. The Nancy Cat could posion himself all he wanted- as far as Rockgut was concerned- but there was no way in hell he was drinking it as well.
Red would no doubt thank him when the rouge finally woke from whatever Nigel had done to him.
With a soft groan- much resembling a zombie rising from the grave- the ebony haired agent began to drag himself to the kitchen.
There was nothing quite like Buck Rockgut in the morning.
Emerald eyes watched in amusement as the ebony haired agent dragged himself into the kitchen- groaning softly with every other move- his mind sucked within its one sided fixation. His off and on- they never could quite decided where they stood with one another- lover looked about ready to devour his leg once the elder finally managed to drag himself to the counter.
He really had to do something about Rockgut's addiction, Nigel decided as he watched the elder tear apart his cabinet in such for the liquid poison the American called 'Coffee'... Shame the snowy haired man had ensured to throw it all out before retrieving the American. A glass of tea would do the trick just as well as that sludge the crimson eyed man insisted upon drinking.
Pouring himself a glass of said tea, Nigel never allowed his emerald eyes to slip from the older as the American seemed to become more and more frantic in his search while the spy made his way to the table.
"Where the hells the coffee?!"
Nigel wisely decided to hide his smile by taking a sip of his tea as he continued to observe the frantic agent desperately dancing around his kitchen.
The moment he sets foot into the kitchen, Red couldn't help but feel as though he had just walked into another World War.
The place is a wreck.
Almost everything in sight is either overturned or shattered. There's bullet holes in the wall and ringing through the air as Nigel ducked behind the overturned table when Rockgut darts above a counter while open firing only for the American to duck down a moment later when Nigel returns fire. A knife goes flying through the air, embedding itself into a wall not too far from the rouge's head followed quickly by a fork, yet never seem to realize they have an audience- both Agents too focused upon one another.
A lone dull golden eye watched the two for another moment before its owner begins to make his way across the battlefield and towards the fridge. Not caring in the least when bullets and whatever else those two idiots could get their hands on barely misses him on several occasions.
Its far too early for this bullshit.
The rouge opens the fridge door and leans inside, staring blankly as the metal bends upon impact of a bullet that should have landed between his eyes before focusing back on the contents inside. He was hungry but he really didn't feel like cooking in these conditions so something he could just eat would be good enough. After a moment of consideration, the rouge grabs the package of strawberries and the bottle of chocolate milk before making his way back out of the war zone and into the living room.
Since the two nimrods are too busy trying to kill each other for whatever reason, Red drags a blanket from the bedroom and makes himself comfortable on Nigel's favorite recliner.
He officially had everything he needed for a lazy morning- though wither or not it would stay that way was the true question... Probably not.
Its almost noon before the two finally reach a cease fire.
Its past noon when the two finally finishes tidying up their little war zone and finally manage to step into the living room. The rouge spares the two a quick once over- if only to insure himself nothings broken- as the two quickly makes their way towards Nigel's room and in turn the Master Bath. A lone golden eye watches the now empty hallway for a moment longer before darting back towards the television and in turn the News.
He was either more tired then he first suspected or had defiantly allowed himself to relax a bit too quick, for not a moment later, the rouge finds himself thrown over Rockgut's shoulder like a bag of potatoes as the other makes his way back down the hallway and towards the Master Bedroom.
Its going to be one of those days.