Falling rain created a blanket of noise that obscured the near-nonexistent sound of footsteps.

It was the midst of night, and the midst of a storm on top of that. Lightning speared and thunder crackled; each flash of light cast illumination on the figure streaking through the sheets of rain. A tall and slender frame, red hair drenched the color of dark blood, a phantom grin and a face that wasn’t quite clear.

Ducky’s sprint left not a ripple in his wake.

Like a fish slipping downstream, he ghosted through the night and arrived at his destination, and not a soul was the wiser.

He passed the threshold and a cloud of steam billowed off him. The rugs in the entry hall were dampened only slightly, and the vibrant red of his hair was revealed anew. He took off his hat and tossed it onto the rack, then proceeded with ease up the stairwell.

Past portraits, past tapestries. These things had held no interest for him when he entered their owner’s employment, and they held less now. Indeed, they only served to compel him forward—the old air of the hallway gave him chills.

He reached the entrance to the study and stopped there, leaning silently against the doorframe with a lazy grin.

Ducky had only had one full-time job before, and his prior employer was now deceased. He preferred his work to be one-and-done, virtually untraceable. But this man was rich, stubborn, and more than that, he was an enigma.

Exactly the sort of character Ducky couldn’t resist.

Of course, that hadn’t been the only driving factor of Ducky’s long-term working relationship with him.

Castiel was fiddling with some sort of mechanism. He showed no sign that he’d noticed Ducky’s presence, but sure enough, only a second later, he said, “You’re back. Do you have what I need?”

Ducky pushed off the doorframe and let out a silent sigh. “Have I ever come back without it? ‘Course I have it. Cass, you still won’t tell me why you’re using a professional spy like a common thief.”

“Castiel,” Castiel said. “And I am not using you ‘like a common thief’. What common thief could wriggle his way into the places you go?”

“Ey, I’m not saying names, but I know plenty of guys,” Ducky said. He took a seat on Castiel’s desk, then pulled a small sachet from his coat. “Here. Don’t know why you need this thing anyway.”

Only now did Castiel set down his tools and spare a glance for Ducky. “And you don’t need to know, so I won’t be telling you. You can quit asking.”

Ducky gave a wry smile, looking up at the cobweb-covered ceiling. “This is why I hate working for rich people. So stuffy.”

Castiel cast a glance at him, brow slightly raised. “You only work for rich people.”

“Different degrees of rich,” Ducky replied. “You’re high-caliber rich, the kinda guy who could buy his way into all sorts of different stuff. Most of the people I work for are the baby elites, the guys with small fortunes. Anyway, what’s my next mission? Your house creeps me out, I want outta here.”

A faint smile curled Castiel’s lips. “Well, I think you’ll be delighted to hear that this one is more in-line with your preferred category of work.”

“Spill.”

“I need you to infiltrate Avalon and recover a set of blueprints,” Castiel said.

Ducky’s brows rose. “Avalon? Cass, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not a scientist, and my old forger got busted. You want me to get in there, I’m gonna need credentials. And what are these blueprints you speak of? I need a good idea of what I’m looking for here.”

“It’s Castiel.” Castiel sat back in his seat and pulled a ring from his left hand. He handed it over to Ducky. “They’ll be marked with this crest, dated from 1968. You likely won’t be able to discern what the object shown on the plans is supposed to be. As for the credentials, there’s a forger in Tenfog who will fix you up. He’s due to meet you on the third floor of the local saloon, the table in the western corner, at seven forty-eight tomorrow night. Hand him this letter when you meet.”

Ducky took the letter and grinned. “You’re fishin’ deep waters here, Cass. Avalon. . .you’re really making me curious about you, you know.”

Castiel seemed to hold in a sigh. “It’s Castiel. Well, go on then. Once you’ve made it into the organization, give me bi-weekly reports. If your mission is endangered—”

“Relax, relax,” Ducky said. “Castiel, you underestimate me. I’ve been doing this stuff since I was seven. Trained for it all my life. My mission won’t be endangered, and if it were, it would only be for a week or two. I’ve got this.”

“. . .Alright,” Castiel said. “Be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ducky got up and made to leave. As he passed the threshold, he said over his shoulder, “But you’re definitely gonna tell me what that thingamabob is when I get those blueprints.”

Castiel didn’t answer, but another soft smile graced his lips.

—=—

Tenfog’s saloon was as busy as ever despite the downpour. Ducky donned his coat and hat and slipped inside, completely unnoticed.

What a feeling of power there was in being one with the shadows.

An easy smile rose on Ducky’s face.

His features were too dashing; in his younger years, he’d often had to wear masks or bandages—anything that would obscure his face enough that people wouldn’t recognize him. But over time, he’d learned a very simple and effective trick—heat mirages.

Using just a little hot air, he could blend into any crowd.

It was seven forty-five now. Ducky moved through the mingling groups of tavern-goers and climbed the steps, reaching the third floor with barely half a minute to spare. He slid into the vacant seat at the table in the western corner right on time.

Castiel’s forger wasn’t at all conspicuous in a setting such as this. Like Ducky, he wore dark clothing, a hat and a coat with several lighter patches covering old holes. His hair and eyes were both steel-grey, the latter holding a hard glint. Right away, Ducky had an impression of this man as a cynic.

Ducky removed the letter from his pocket and tossed it over. The old man read over it, then spoke up.

“So, you’re Castiel’s spy, huh?” The old man’s voice was raspy. “Little young to be a scientist. Not to mention they’d find you out in half a second if you ain’t got real experience. You ever done maintenance, kid?”

Ducky smiled. “Eh, here and there. I’m good with electrical work.”

The old man grunted. “You got a name and photo?”

“Zenyi Aniiya.” Ducky tossed over a picture. “As for photos, this should work.”

“You got a preferred background?”

“Whatever you can whip up,” Ducky replied. “Something mundane.”

“Alright.” The old man took the picture and put his hat back on. “I’ll drop the docs at Castiel’s. Pick them up in a week.”

Ducky tipped his hat to the old man as he left.