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averagewriter-inthedark · 3 months

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The Factory & Pie 🥧 | Agent K imagine P.2

Part 1 | Masterlist Directory

Characters & Pairings: Agent K x MiB agent!reader (romantic)

Content warnings: fluff, profanity, angst, mentions of death, violence, blood & injury, age gape (read the note in part 1), cannon divergence, suggestive themes, shitty realities women & queer had to go through in the 60s, friends/strangers-to-lovers | female!reader (she/her) | wc 10k

Premise: Getting stuck in 1969 was not ideal. Especially when it means having to be navigate through clues to stop a homicidal manic all while keeping a clueless agent in the dark of what possible future might occur if they fail. And with feelings brewing causing her mind to question everything she's ever known about her relationship with K, Agent Y/I had her work cut out for her.

Note: dialogue and scenes from mib are credit to the original creators, I did add dialogue to the scenes for Y/I's character.

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1969

The 12th of July

The sweet aroma of coffee and cigarettes woke Y/I the next morning. Eyes opening to a blur of glowing light from the sun entering through the blinds. A long yawn released, Y/I’s arms stretching over her head to comb fingers through her damp hair. Too exhausted to blow-dry it the night before after her shower. It was when her vision cleared that Y/I sat up in a haste, the memory of the previous day coming back to her. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Boris escaped prison. Went back in time to kill K. Her K ceased to exist and now she’s in 1969 to prevent Boris from succeeding. All in the span in 24 hours.

God she was going to need a fat margarita when this was over.

Throwing back the covers, Y/I flung herself out of the bed and into the bathroom. Cold water splashed her face, letting out a deep breath before looking at herself in the mirror. The exhaustion was evident in her features, hair wild and untamed, crinkles more pronounced, but hey, that came with aging.

It took a moment to register that the clothes she wore were not her own. A Rolling Stones shirt and sweatpants belonging to K. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ she scolded herself when the heat returned to her chest, ‘Get it together, Y/I. Stop acting like a giddy school girl--You’re in your 40s for Christ’s sake, not your 20s.’ This was the first time Y/I slept over at K’s, only ever stopping by briefly when they needed weapons or Y/I bringing dinner to make sure the man ate.

Even the times Y/I was drunk off her ass K made sure to get her home safely. Just another example of him being the best partner in the world. If there was one thing he knew about his partner is she loved her bed more than anything in the world.

And she was really missing it now.

Grabbing a comb, mentally praying it was one K used for his hair, Y/I tackled her own as best she could and pulled it into a tidy bun. White-gray sections bright now that the dirt had been washed away from K tackling her at Coney Island. It pained her to not have her hair products but she made do. Come to think of it, she didn’t have anything. Toothbrush, skincare, makeup. What the fuck was she going to do for the next four days? It’s not like she can buy anything. Her credit card was a lost cause.

Exiting the bathroom the smell grew stronger. Bringing a wave of nostalgia as she breathed it in and so she followed it, glancing at the clock to find it was 7:30am. ‘God, you’d think the time travel jet lag would’ve let me get a few extra hours of sleep,’ she frowned.

Walking into the kitchen connected to the living space, Y/I came to an abrupt stop at the scene in front of her. Eyes bulging as they landed on K’s back, clad in a white t-shirt and plaid sweatpants. Toned arms and muscle, flexing each time he moved across the kitchen to grab something. A lone cigarette on an ashtray, releasing smoke from the filter each time K took a drag before putting it back to continue his work.

On the radio the soft tune of The Ronettes played, and Y/I felt herself itching further into the room, eyes still on K as she fought against the weird thoughts she was having.

“Coffee?” His voice snapped her out, the woman clearing her throat before taking claim to a barstool.

“Yes, thank you.”

“How do you take it?”

“Black, two sugars,” the words flew out naturally, considering it’d been her stable for the last ten years. Any time K got their coffee he tended to get her the same as him, and after a while she became used to it. Occasionally Y/I treated herself to a latte or cappuccino, but nothing kept her energy going like simply black coffee with two sugars.

She noticed K’s surprised reaction before replacing it with something unreadable. Busy himself by pouring the coffee into two mugs and dropping the sugar cubes in before mixing it up and passing Y/I hers. Thanking him again, she brought the steaming cup to her lips, letting out a sound of content, missing K’s strange expression when he took in her state. Seeing her in his clothes emerged a tingling sensation in his chest. Hiding the blush threatening to paint his cheeks. Y/I gestured to the ashtray, “Got another you can spare for a lady?”

In a flash K produced a cigarette and a lighter, the agent giving an appreciative smile as she took them. Lighting the filter, Y/I let the tobacco enter her system as she took in the apartment, then raised a brow, “Where’s my suit?” She hadn’t seen it since K gave her the spare clothes to sleep in.

“In the dryer,” he pointed to an ancient machine that made Y/I do a double take. Of course her family had the same growing up, but it still was a shock to see after all these years. “Thought it could use a clean after yesterday.”

His words had Y/I narrowing her brows, albeit playfully. “I wonder why.” K hid his smirk behind his mug, Y/I mirroring it. “I should be offended you tackled me, but I did ruffle you up so….” She shrugged, blowing out smoke. “I guess we’re even.”

“I guess so,” K agreed with a chuckle. Reaching over to turn the music down, K leaned against the counter, now looking at Y/I with curiosity. “Where’d you learn how to fight like that anyway?”

She hadn’t expected that question, placing her mug down while tapping away the ash on the cigarette, “What, trying to get some pointers, cowboy?” The comment made his eyes roll, but smirk still on his lips. “I did martial arts growing up,” she explained, propping an arm on the counter to rest her chin on her knuckles. “Then I had a personal trainer who specialized in hand-to-hand. Came in handy both with MiB and the job I had prior.” That piqued K’s interest, but he decided not to ask. Y/I took another puff, “So, I hate to be that girl….but I need a huge favor.”

K’s face became concerned, clicking his tongue, “Depends on the favor, slick.”

“You can relax, K, I’m not asking you to steal a galaxy,” her hand waved, “but when I woke up yesterday it was not my plan to be in 1969 nearly a week so I’m gonna need to acquire some,” she waves again, “personal necessities if you will. Like a toothbrush for starters,” Y/I nods for emphasis and continues, “deodorant, perfume, and call me vain if you must, but I need face sunscreen. And some face powder and mascara.”

K thought for a moment, finishing his coffee and cigarette first before saying, “sure thing, slick. Get dressed and we’ll go.”

Y/I straightened her posture, giving him a look before pointing to the dryer, “with what clothes?” Twenty minutes later the two were in his car, Y/I tugging at the collar of her black & white polka dot dress. “Well this isn’t what I had in mind. I haven’t worn a dress since your 65th birthday party.” The comment resulted in a baffled look from K, not wanting to picture himself at 65 just yet. Y/I held back a laugh, “Sorry, pretty boy. I forgot the most frightening thing for young people is growing up.” She looked at her attire before raising a brow, “Also whose dress was this? If you don’t mind me asking.”

K’s attention remained on the road, a distant look in his eyes Y/I picked up on, making her regret the question. “A friend of mine left it,” was all he said. And it didn’t take a genius to know it wasn’t exactly a ‘friend’ he was referring to. Y/I understood, leaning back in her seat to stare out the window.

They arrived at a shopping mall, K moving at a quick pace to open Y/I’s door, making her look at him aghast but accepting his hand. Careful not to trip on the pavement in her heels as she stepped out.

The outdoor shopping mall was pretty busy for a Wednesday morning. Buzzing with young ladies and college kids. K, the generous man he was--not to mention the circumstances--paid for Y/I’s items. Since it was the 60s all the brands Y/I enjoyed didn’t exist. However she was excited to see Revlon and Besame, grabbing a red lipstick, powder, and mascara. When K questioned her whistle, staring wide-eyed at the prices she said, “Let’s just say the prices for these things in the future are not as sweet. Just these three alone cost me $30.” K returned her expression, making note to not complain anymore about the cost of items.

Small bag in hand, the two headed to the food court for a bite to eat. “Unfortunately, I can’t pay you back till 2012,” her tone was teasing as he handed her a bagel with cream cheese and coffee, but serious nonetheless. “Hope you can understand.” All K did was chuckle, nodding as he bit into his own bagel. Escorting her to a table, the two sat and enjoyed their breakfast in silence. All while keeping watch for any suspicious activity.

When they finished, they returned to K’s place just before 10 allowing Y/I time to freshen up. Applying the products instantly made her feel better. Once her teeth were brushed she doused herself in perfume and deodorant before going to retrieve her suit. It was then she remembered the important object in her pocket. Heart dropping slightly at the fear it was gone. Her pace increased.

“K,” Y/I called out, catching him at the bartop reading the morning paper. His head turned to her as she strolled up to where he sat. “Quick question. I know you said you confiscated everything on me at HQ and well, did you happen to find a pocket watch? If so,” she leaned against the counter, a thin pressed smile plastered on her, “may I have it back, please?”

Her eyes were laser focused on K as he reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out the item igniting a breath of relief from the agent. Happy the watch was safe and back in her hands. Unfortunately the time jump must’ve been too much for the old gadget. The hands frozen in place. Y/I pressed it close to her chest, closing her eyes.

Inside she was exploding. Heart aching with grief for what life would've been if her dad had stayed. She’d been so young Y/I forgot what he looked like. But she remembered how it felt to be with him. Carefree, happy. Warm like the sun’s rays or the joys of seeing a rainbow.

She missed that feeling. Deeply.

When her eyes opened she was met with K’s, watching her gingerly. As if reading his mind Y/I answered his unspoken question, “It was my father’s.” He made an ‘ah’ sound. Soft and empathetic. Brushing a finger over the smooth surface, Y/I’s sighed again. Letting her shoulders drop as she admired the watch. “I’m sorry if I came off harsh I was worried I’d lost it,” she held it up, closer to her face, “It’s the only thing I have left of him.”

“I take it he passed?” K gently asked, holding back his shocked reaction when she shook her head.

“No, uh,” her throat cleared, the lump forming being forced back where it came. Praying her eyes didn’t show her feelings as she didn’t want to breach this aspect of her personal life with this K just yet. She put on a brave face, “I actually don’t know. He’s just been out of the picture for a while.” What more could she say? It was the truth and all she had.

Excusing herself, leaving K to his thoughts, Y/I picked up her clean and ironed suit--she made a note to thank him later--and went to the bathroom to change.

Honestly she should’ve just stayed in the comfortable clothes, because when she re-entered the room K put her on house arrest. Stating, “X is under the impression you were neuralized. If he sees you we’re both screwed.” Okay he had a point there. “I’m trusting you to stay here while I go and try to get as much info as I can. Can you do that?”

Defeated and out of options, Y/I agreed and gave a two-finger salute, watching silently as K left the apartment. Leaving her alone. For the rest of the day she entertained herself with magazines, books from his vast collection, and people watching from the terrace. At one point in her search for a book, Y/I stumbled upon a photo album dated 1960. Covered in dust which she blew off and examined with interest.

Was it a good idea? Probably not, it felt like an invasion of privacy. K’s past was a mystery despite their long partnership. Each time Y/I attempted to learn more about him the response was, “I promised you the secrets of the universe, Y/I. Not my own.” That same voice was breaching her mind now.

Curiosity got the better of her, however, and Y/I checked her surroundings before settling on the chair beside the bookcase. Opening the album to get a glimpse at K’s life before MiB.

With each page turn Y/I’s smile widened. Admiring the young man just entering his 20s, not having a clue what lay in store for him. Carefree and optimistic. In a year’s time he’d be stumbling on a scene unworldly, when got lost on the wrong back road.

As she closed the album shut, Y/I felt an overwhelming sense of grief consume her. So sudden it gave her whiplash, hand coming to her chest where her heart pounded against her ribs. A volcanic eruption of turmoil she’d been holding since discovering K died. Now alone to her thoughts, the agony begging to release finally snapped. Groaning as the tears began to flow.

She sat there crying for what felt like ages but was only ten minutes. Sniffing as she pulled herself together. Her eyes now puffy and red, mascara ruined as the product of the time had yet to discover the wonders of waterproof makeup. Wiping furiously at the tears that dripped onto the album’s cover, destroying any evidence in case K were to go down memory lane in the future.

Oh, K. How he came to be the most important person in Y/I’s life was one of history’s greatest mysteries. They were complete opposites yet fit together. K kept her grounded, and Y/I brought out a warm side of him. Agents referred to them as an old married couple with how much they bickered and took care of each other. “We’re just great partners,” Y/I always responded with, finding humor in the suggestion and brushing it off as a funny joke. Missing how the agents were actually surprised, having been fully convinced the two were a thing.

Now, with a deep, unfamiliar, emotion swarming inside, Y/I questioned that exact statement. But there was one thing for sure she knew: failure was not an option. She was going to fix the damn timeline and save K.

Placing the album back in its right place, the agent spent the rest of the day reading 2001: A Space Odyssey, occasionally stepping out on the terrace to smoke so the smell didn’t overpower the apartment. When it got closer to five she explored what K had to offer food wise. As a 29-year-old bachelor working for a secret agency sometimes involving sixteen-hour days, his fridge and pantry definitely showed for it.

“Gotta make the most of it,” Y/I said to herself, reaching for whatever she could find. Thankfully K had enough to make fettuccine alfredo. Y/I brought a pot of water to a boil, adding the noodles in before getting to work on the sauce. Heating the oil, butter, garlic, and cheese into a pan until it reached the perfect consistency to toss the cooked noodles in. “Thank God,” she cheered upon finding a frozen bag of broccoli in the tiny freezer, quickly steaming it to include in the pasta.

The agent was in the middle of plating the food right as K walked through the door. Exhaustion painting his features, soon replaced with confusion as he smelled a delicious aroma in the kitchen.

“Right on time,” Y/I chuckled, shutting off the stove.

“Right on time for what?” K’s question was answered with a plate of pasta shoved in his hands. Brows furrowed causing the wrinkles in his forehead to become pronounced.

“Eat,” the order came, spatula waving around but careful not to get any sauce on the man. “If there’s one thing I know about future K is he likes to skip dinner when a case becomes overwhelming. That ain’t happening on my watch.”

Stunned and at a loss for words, K accepted the fork Y/I presented and sat at the bartop. Silently eating the meal while Y/I stood at the counter facing him. The scene was rather domestic, and both agents were battling thoughts in their head at what it meant. For Y/I it was nostalgic. Thinking back to all the times she forced her way into K’s apartment with take out or bags of groceries to cook after long days at the agency. In the beginning he argued with her, told her it wasn’t necessary, but soon learned to enjoy the routine as it went on.

For the young agent with years ahead of him until he recruits the mysterious yet vibrant woman, K was getting a glimpse into his future. An adventurous, exciting--and sometimes unorthodox--life he’ll live. So far he liked what he saw, confirmed with the feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

‘Wait, what? Butterflies? Oh no.’

Y/I’s voice brought K out of his daydream, “So…learn anything interesting?” Too immersed in her food, she missed how a blush appeared on his cheeks. K adjusting his suit collar and giving a nod.

“We’ve got an agent currently stationed at the Factory. I’ll make contact with him once we’re there and see what he knows.” she hummed to show she was listening. K continued, “X is still in the dark, I had O type up what we know to go over tonight. No news on Boris and where he’s hiding,” He trailed off, watching Y/I’s grip on her fork tighten. “Other than that there’s not much else. What did you do with your day?”

“Read your books--or re-read them as I should say,” her smile lit up the room, igniting a warmth in K’s chest. “Your collection in the future is much more impressive, but It’s nice to see what your taste in literature was at this time.”

The small talk continued over dishes. Sticking to the case mostly and Y/I doing her damn best not to let anything slip about the main reason she was in 1969. Not ready to climb that hill yet. Of course she felt guilty keeping it from K, but she kept telling herself it was for the best.

For the sake of the future and all.

Already the mission screwed up the second he caught her so telling K posed a greater risk. All she had to do was wait it out. Buy more time.

That should be easy…right?

Whatever happens, Y/I didn't let the fear consume her. Today, albeit boring for the most part, had no alien attacks or the agents running in circles to find clues. They had their next to the puzzle, and it was waiting for them at the Factory.

Tomorrow, they’ll be one step closer to Boris.

The 13th of July

“There’s an event this afternoon at the Factory,” K announced the next morning, Y/I already dressed with her coffee in hand. Passing K a mug she’d already prepared, smirking at his shocked expression before he thanked her.

“What time?”

“Just after six.” Y/I hummed, sipping her drink as her lip jutted into a pout.

“And what the hell are we to do in the meantime? I can’t just sit here all day while you’re at headquarters, K. I need to be working on this case. After all, I’m the one who traveled from the future to do it,” She’ll be damned if she got left behind for a second time.

K buttoned his blazer, moving to check himself in the mirror. “I haven’t forgotten, slick. Which is why…” He trailed off, approaching with a smirk. Reaching beside her to grab an apple from the basket where a loud crunch echoed as he sank his teeth into the fruit. “We’re goin’ on patrol to pass time.” Y/I choked on her coffee, thinking she misheard him.

“Patrol?” She repeated, tone incredulous. “You mean we’re gonna sit in your car for almost twelve hours prowling the streets of New York in hope Boris or another clue just magically appears out of thin air? That type of patrol?”

K’s face lit up, eyes sparkling like diamonds, making him ten times more attractive and Y/I bit the inside of her cheek. It was so unlike his regular stoic demeanor. Made her wonder what changed him. “Exactly,” K gestured for her to follow. “Let’s get a move on.”

They pulled up to the Factory after a long day of sitting around--at which point Y/I took a bomb ass nap, waking up to the glorious sight of K singing along to The Who---and gave the exterior a once over before Y/I turned to K. “Alright, if Boris is here I’m going to kill him,” her tone was serious, “I need my gun.”

K shook his head, “No deal,” He was exiting the car before she could respond. Y/I groaned, pushing open her own door and closing it with a slam. Not in the mood to be tested.

“Pretty boy, I hate to pull rank but I’ve been an agent for fourteen years and if I recall MiB hasn’t even hit their ten year mark so that makes me the senior agent in this case,” she stepped up to K, who was silent and stoic. “So as senior agent I am instructing you, my junior agent, to give me my gun. And if there’s one trait I took from future you is I don’t like asking a second time,” she put her hand out open-palmed, making a grabby motion. “Gun. Now. That’s an order.”

K’s expression was full of amusement, eyes sparkling as he reached into his pocket to produce a weapon, placing it in Y/I’s palm. Only when she looked down it wasn’t the blaster.

“No, no, I don’t think so. Space gun, K.”

K smirked, walking past his partner, “You’re welcome.” Y/I exhaled, holstering the pistol in defeat and followed after him, “Didn’t say thank you, asshole.”

Entering the building, the two raced up the stairs where they passed two beautiful women. “For such an ungainly species, they’ve really thrived on Earth.” Y/I hummed in agreement.

“Yeah I’d been an agent for a few years before I realized all models were aliens,” they reached the top of the stairs, Y/I clicked her tongue at the memory, “Found out the hard way, but it was still a great time.” K snapped his head to her wide-eyed, confirming the suspicions he had ever since he caught her checking out O and flirting with the male store clerk.

Yes, K was surprised by the revelation, but it didn’t change the way he looked at Y/I. She was his partner and someone he grew to care for in the short time they’ve known each other. Not to mention she’ll be a big part of his future. What mattered to K was getting the job done and surviving to tell it.

Giving the password to the bouncer, K led Y/I into the Factory, which turned out to be a big party in the middle of a fashion show. Y/I scanned the place in awe before settling on a man that made her jaw drop. “Is that Andy Warhol?”

K followed her eyesight, then shocked her by approaching the photographer. “Yep.”

“Holy shit,” Y/I walked behind him, stunned but kept her guard up nonetheless. Watching for any unusual persons. Holding back from winking at the attractive people eyeing her up. Her patience began to thin when Andy kept refusing K’s request to come with him to answer a few questions.

She finally snapped when he said, “Why don’t you come back next week, after the happening has happened,” in his slow, monotone voice which had her move beside K to take over. Hand coming to his shoulder while the other reached to grab Andy’s forearm, “I’m sorry, Mr. Warhol, you’re talking real slow and my patience is thin. We’ve got important stuff to do and I’ve got a planet to save.”

He struggled against her hold, Y/I dragging the renowned artist away from the party until they were away from prying eyes. Complaining the entire way. Once in the dressing room K shut the curtains and joined the two.

Y/I’s jaw slacked as Andy’s hand raised, removing what actually was a wig on his head. “Now that’s something.”

“Dammit, K, you tryin’ to blow my cover!” the wig flew into K’s chest, dropping onto the floor by Y/I’s feet. The glasses were removed next, K holding a hand up to calm the situation.

“Agent W, your cover is safe.”

Y/I blinked, “you mean to tell me Andy Warhol is one of us?” Now she wanted to know what other celebrities past and present secretly were MiB agents. Micheal Jackson tried once but didn’t make the cut.

“Safe,” Andy scoffed angrily. “Are you out of your mind? I’m so out of ideas--I’m painting soup cans and bananas for Christ’s sake.”

A few minutes later, after Y/I and W butt heads and were seconds away from fist fighting causing K to step in, the agent busied herself by surveying the place. Exchanging glances with beautiful people, humans and aliens, but unlike before none caught her attention to have a second look. Smiling instead of a flirtatious wink she usually threw to those she found attractive.

As she migrated to the middle of the factory, a short man wearing winter clothes--severely out of place in comparison to the attendees, caught her attention. Mostly because he was grinning like a mad man at her. Still, she politely greeted him, “Hello. How’s it going?”

“Going? How’s it going? That depends,” he replied at a record speed. “For me, personally, good, things are good--.”

Y/I was about to cut him off gently to depart but then he started rambling, “Unless, of course, we’re in the possible future we’re the muscle boy near the door argues with his girlfriend,” Y/I followed the direction his finger pointed, landing on the scene he was describing. “Which causes her to storm away and bump into the guy carrying the stuffed mushrooms, who then dumps the tray on the sailors on leave. And a shoving match breaks out and they crash into the coffee table here,” Y/I watched it all play out as the man spoke, eyes widening in disbelief and turning back to see his distressed face. “In which case, I gotta move my plate. Like right now.” He grabs it in the knick of time as the sailor flashes by Y/I and falls straight onto the table. Glass shattering as the crowd watching gasps.

Y/I stared at the now unconscious sailor in a daze, the man coming beside her. “Or if it’s the possible future in which the pastrami sandwich I’m eating causes me gastric distress,” Eyes go back and forth between him and the sailor, processing what the hell just happened while her heart starts to beat out of her chest. “But thankfully, your friend, ma’am, will offer some of the antacids he carries in his right pocket…so good.” He offers her a smile despite her staring at him like he had two heads. “I’ll be good.”

What the actual fuck? Who was this guy, and where the fuck was K? This was above her pay grade.

He just kept going, stunning her even more “Except in the case of the possible future where I have to leave in two and a half minutes just before he has a chance to offer me the antacids. So, on the whole I’d have to say not good. I am not good.”

Yeah Y/I had no fucking clue what to say to that. This dude was spitting possible futures like nobody’s business. Frankly, it was making her worrisome. Trying not to panic in the middle of a crowd.

“But that depends,” he spoke again, then fell silent as the agent remained dumbfounded.

“K!!!” Her shout was useless. K was nowhere in sight, still talking to the Warhol dude.

Suddenly the man in front of her asked, “May I see your watch?”

Y/I hummed, pulling back her sleeve to check the time, “Oh, it’s 7:18--.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, nodding his head to her pant pocket. “Your other watch, the one your father gave you.”

Her blood ran cold. A sickening feeling in her stomach as the noise around her became muffled. “How….how do you know about my father’s watch?” Now Y/I was really concerned. The future trick was one thing but him having knowledge of the one thing Y/I possessed from her father was another. Still, she removed the pocket watch from its place, presenting it to the man whose face drained of color.

“Oh dear.” He sounded like one does when they're five seconds away from shitting their pants. Anxiety seeping through his words, “This is the one where Roman is dead and the gentleman at the bowling alley. So much death,” the nameless alien’s wide-eyes met Y/I’s. “Such an infinitesimally small chance for success.”

Now was the time to panic. “K!!!!”

Speaking of the devil. He finally shows his face, and he’s calm as ever. “Griffin, right?” Seeing Y/I’s alarmed face had K go, “Hey, we’re here--.”

“Because of Boris the Animal.”

“Correct. We believe he may be coming--.” Giffin cut him off again.

“To kill me. Yes, he’ll be here in two minutes--.” Y/I’s hand went to her holster, panning a hard look to K, who held his hand up to calm her. “--unless of course we’re in the possible future where he made all the lights on Bowery and got here early and is just about to discharge a weapon from the doorway in which case, we’re all dead in two seconds.”

Sweat coated Y/I’s forehead, staring at the door as they waited. When Boris didn’t appear they all let out a breath of relief. Griffin smiled, “Ah, good, that was a close one.” Still the threat remained, and there’s no way in hell a pistol would do damage to a ravaging alien on a homicidal rampage.

“Alright, K, darling, now's the time. I need my space gun,” her request was ignored, the woman glaring daggers into his profile while he listened to Griffin. She was going to kick his ass.

The alien sounded in distress, “The Boglodites consume any planet in their path. Mine, Roman’s, the Parlaxians. I tried to stop them, but if we can stop them here--if we can deny them Earth,” he paused, looking hopeful, “we can stop them forever. They’ll starve before they reach the next planet.” Suddenly they were interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling. “Pfft. Sixty-three seconds.”

“Well, how do we do that?” K cut in, right as the alien took a bite of his sandwich, “Stop them?”

“What? Oh!” Griffin placed his food back on the plate, passing it to K. “Sorry. I have something for you. A gift,” he specified, still chewing. And before Y/I had the chance to laugh at K’s reaction to being handed the plate, the smirk on her face disappeared when he shoved it towards her. “It can protect you. I had to hide it from Boris, but if you find me again, I’ll give it to you.” Griffin took back the plate from Y/I with a grin. “Thank you. What a game! Amazing! It’s a real miracle!”

He started to leave but Y/I’s hand shot out, clutching his arm in a firm grip. “Hold on, buddy. What do you mean by a miracle?”

“Thirty seconds. I have to go.”

“Wait, no, no, no. We got you, okay,” she assured.

“Negative possibilities are multiplying as we speak,” his voice trembled, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Twenty seconds.”

Cursing at herself, Y/I placed her hands on his shoulders to guide away from the direction he was originally going. Moving him behind the agents. “Okay, relax. I got it.”

Griffin did not relax. “If your watch is broken and I have gastric---.”

“Fly,” a man’s voice shouted in the distance. “Find your place in the world!”

“Oh dear.” The group turns to find a swarm of butterflies around the man in question. Unlike the rest of the party guests, however, Griffin wanted to vomit. “This is the one where Boris is coming through that door in twelve, eleven, ten--.” K reached into his pocket for a gun. A second later Griffin shouted, “Wait!” drawing his gaze to Y/I. “Did you have chocolate milk this morning?”

The agent was flabbergasted, her face depicting it, “Wha--yeah I did.” Griffin winced, attention focused on behind her shoulder.

“Cindy…” Screams erupted as the name left Griffin’s mouth. Y/I spun around, gun in hand as the adrenaline kicked in upon seeing Boris standing on the windowsill. Party guests shoved passed one another to escape, and Boris shot another spike in their direction. Missing embedding into a large balloon.

“K, follow Griffin!” she yelled, watching the alien take his chance to run. People ducked to avoid the spikes, Boris aiming at both Griffin and K, but thankfully his aim was off each time. Charging toward the Boglodite, Y/I raised the pistol and fired two shots. “Dammit!” Boris leaped from the window, landing on the streets below. Without thinking she followed after, hauling herself onto the ledge. Traveling down each platform to save herself from breaking her heels.

Huffing once on the ground Y/I launched into a sprint, climbing onto the hood of an empty car before aiming her gun. As soon as Boris got in her sights she fired. Shot after shot. The alien dodged each bullet while pedestrians seeked shelter.

Then suddenly Y/I felt a searing pain in her right cheek. The flesh ripped open as a spike sliced across the agent's face. “Gaaah!!” It was like hot metal branding her skin. The entire right side of her face throbbing it made Y/I’s head spin. Jaw completely numb. The bitter smell of iron filled her nostrils, gun dropping to apply pressure as blood poured from the gaping wound. Staining the collar of her white dress shirt. The agent moaned, struggling to maintain her balance on the car but the sting traveled down her spine until her knees buckled. Sliding down the car, expecting to hit the harsh pavement but instead arms caught her.

“Hey, hey, I got ya,” K’s gentle tone became alarmed when he processed her state. Locking on the red color coating her face, neck and hands. Horror struck him. “Woah, woah, what the hell happened?”

“Spike,” she stuttered out, wincing as K guided her to the stairs of the building to sit. “I didn’t see him shoot.” Based on the position of her hand, K jumped to the worst conclusion. Thinking it was her neck that’d been hit.

“Fuck,” he cursed, eyes darting around to find something that could help them. “Okay, just--just stay here and keep pressure. I’ll be right back.” He was gone in a flash, racing to the car to retrieve the first aid kit he keeps in the back seat. “Hey!” he spotted an onlooker from the party, watching the scene unfold with a frightened stance. “Get me some napkins--or towels if you can find!” They nodded, running back inside while K went back to Y/I. Sweat beading along his hairline. “Alright darlin’, where exactly are you bleedin’? I need to know.”

Y/I hissed, barely moving her palm off so he could see underneath. “Bastard got me on the cheek.” Relief washed over K. Happy it wasn’t her neck or anywhere close to her aorta.

The good samaritan arrived seconds later with towels. K grabbed them as he thanked the person and with a tender hand, moved Y/I’s hand to replace it with a towel. Putting pressure as best as possible without harming her. While he did that, Y/I snatched the first aid kit and rummaged through to find everything she needed. Aware she needed stitches despite not seeing the damn rip in her face. Luckily applying her own stitches was something Y/I became a pro at over the years. First learning during her time as a detective.

Fuck she still remembered the agony in her shoulder the first time a bullet was lodged. This, however, was ten times worse. Rivaling that of the alien stinger she took to the stomach 9 years prior.

“What are you doin’,” K eyed her wearily as she ripped open a sterilized needle and cut a piece of thread with her teeth.

“I don’t need a doctor to know my face needs stitches, K. I can feel it.”

“You’re not about to do that her’ are ya?” Y/I uncapping a bottle of distilled water before proceeding to flush out the wound made him gawk. Wincing when she let out a hiss, eyes snapping shut. “We need to get ya to the hospital.”

“We can’t call an ambulance or we'll compromise the mission, and I refuse to get blood all over your car. This is the only option,” Y/I repeated the action once more.

“I can call O,” K suggested, noting how the blood flow was starting to slow. A sign of clotting. “She’ll send someone over--.”

“No, we can’t involve anyone from MiB, K, you know that. I’ll be fine once I get this cleaned. Now, please go find me a mirror.” K was hesitant but left Y/I to retrieve the item while she continued the process of cleaning the injury. Then she doused it in rubbing alcohol and was unable to contain the scream. Automatically stinging her eyes with tears. “Fuck! Fucking A, man!”

K returned with the mirror he stole from the makeup department and set it in front of Y/I. For the next twenty minutes or so they sat in silence, with the occasional whimper from the woman, as she sutured her cheek. Racing against whatever daylight they had left.

K had to admit, he was amazed. It’s not every day one gets their cheek nearly blown off by an alien spike and manages to maintain self-control. Sure she was cursing and audibly reacting, but that’s fucking normal to the pain she was feeling. He’s seen agents with tiny injuries acting completely over the top.

By 8pm Y/I finished the stitches, cleaning the area once more and popped a couple ibuprofen in her mouth, swallowing without a chaser. Again, the act left K floored. With a clean towel Y/I doused it with water to start rubbing away the blood on her neck. It didn’t do much, but enough to not make her look straight out of a horror film.

“You good, slick?” K patted shoulder before helping her up. Y/I stumbled but K caught her, waiting until she got her balance to let go. nodding her head while swiping at the sweat.

“Yeah, I’m fine. A little doozy but just give me a minute.” Y/ nodded her head while swiping at the sweat. Body still trembling, but at least the numbness was starting to fade. She bit the inside of her left cheek, pinching her face. “Damn it hurts to talk. I’m gonna need something stronger than ibuprofen.” Unfortunately that wouldn’t be available. As much as Y/I desired morphine they were on the clock. And that meant not being drugged up.

Soon anger replaced her demeanor. Pissed off they lost Boris, and Griffin since the latter was not with K. “Dammit--we had him!”

“Relax, peach. We’ll find him.” That was the last thing she wanted to hear, Y/I moving to pick up her gun before turning back to him with scorned eyes.

“First of all, my name is Y/I. Alright, it’s not ‘sweetheart,’, it’s not ‘slick,’, and it sure as hell ain’t ‘peach’. Look, I’m not going to relax,” She stood beside the agent, breathing heavily. “Do you not understand, we are running out of time. We are running out of clues, and there’s an invasion on its way. I need you to get that through your head,” her hands waved frantically while K sighed. Then she pointed a finger, “we did have one guy who could help. Where is he--Griffin!” Her shouting echoed, calling for the alien who was nowhere in sight. “Griffin! Where’s Griffin, K? Oh, that’s right, He’s gone! And if Boris gets to him before us that is no bueno.”

“We need pie.”

“Excuse me?” was it the blood loss, or did she just hear K say the needed pie after the rant she just unleashed. Of all fucking things.

K, by the grace of God, explained, “My granddaddy always said ‘if you got a problem that you can’t solve,” a finger taps his temple. “It helps to get out of your head.’ Pie. It’s good.”

“Pie,” Y/I nods, following along despite the urge to strangle K where he stood. If she weren’t so lightheaded she’d follow through on her promise of kicking his ass.

“Yeah.”

“My cheek almost got torn off, and you’re suggesting we have pie?” Even saying the words aloud Y/I was in disbelief. Before he answered she lifted a hand, “You know what, we’ve been doing smart stuff these last few days. Real police work like following clues,” the sarcasm was strong, ignoring K shaking his head. “It might be time we do something stupid. Something that has nothing to do with what we need--you know what? Now, I want some pie, K. I want some pie.”

She did not want pie, but needed to get the hell away from the Factory and clear her head before doing something irrational. Plus she desperately craved a cigarette. “C’mon, let’s go get some dumb ass pie.” Not waiting, Y/I turned on her heel towards the car, leaving K standing on the sidewalk. Oblivious to the smirk he bore that his plan worked out.

“Sounds good.”

Sitting in the diner was odd, even with the comforting atmosphere. Yes it was the same diner Y/I frequented with K, but there’s the fact it wasn’t as outdated being it had just opened a few years prior. Unlike in 2012 where the establishment was reaching its 50th anniversary.

A menu in hand, K was deep in thought reading over the food it had to offer. Unsure which pie was more appealing. To his left, Y/I stared at his profile while the waitress’s eyes darted between the two. Unsettled and impatience coating her face by the state of Y/I and because K couldn’t decide.

The blood stained shirt Y/I wore on full display. She kept catching the woman’s gaze flickering between the shirt and her cheek, to which Y/I offered a hesitant smile. Hoping to appease the situation. It didn’t help that the agent promised a nice tip if she refrained from calling the cops.

That was the last thing they needed.

Before K had the chance to ask the specials, Y/I snatched the menu out of his hands, giving it back to the waitress, “My associate will have the same thing he always has after he looks at the menu for ten minutes and asks about the specials twice. He’s gonna have a slice of apple pie with a nasty piece of cheddar on the side.” K scratched his chin, lips curling up while Y/I beamed up at the woman. “I’m gonna have the lemon-cream and since it’s my last meal I’m gonna splurge a bit,” she ended with a wink.

It was as if the waitress couldn’t leave faster. Grimacing as she left the two agents at the countertop. Y/I chuckled, massaging her jaw to relax the muscle. “Word-class serial killer out there…and we’re having pie. I cannot wait to put this in my report.”

As she removed her hair from its bun, letting it fall into waves on her shoulders, K smirked and said, “So what do you do in your spare time, stretch?”

“Oh!” he laughed, pleased with her reaction. At that moment two plates of pie were presented, K thanking the waitress as she turned to leave. After the first few bites, K broke the silence, “You say we don’t talk right.”

“That’s right,” she muttered, savoring the desert as she brought a forkful to her lips. Sweet taste of lemon and cream. Shrugging as she pans him a glance, Y/I adds, “Or at least, I talk and you listen.” That really was the best description of their relationship.

“Alright, ask me a question. Anythin’ that don’t pertain to the case, I’ll answer whatever question you have.” A tempting offer. One Y/I did not want to lose after a decade of walls built up by K in which he never spoke about his past. Here was the opportunity to find out more.

Setting down the fork Y/I turned in the seat, “How’d you recruit O?” It may have been an odd question, but Y/I was curious to know how her closest friend, besides K, got involved in alien business.

He proceeds to relay the story of his time in London surveilling Mick Jagger--yeah Y/I almost lost her damn mind--and how he and O ended the night at a pub playing darts. With each word K lit up, his personality came through causing a heartwarming feeling in Y/I. Watching K was like watching a stranger. Making her wonder what caused such a drastic change in the man in front of her.

When K finished, Y/I whispered under her breath, “What the hell happened to you.” He wasn’t meant to hear, but he did. Shrugging his shoulders in response, “I don’t know, it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Part of me wishes it won’t,” a sad smile appeared, scolding herself for even thinking such. Still, she couldn’t help but add, “I like you like this.”

“Like what?” His voice turned soft, setting his own fork down.

“Just…..” the words failed to come out, Y/I shaking her head and turning back to her pie. “Nevermind.”

Sensing her dejection, K switched the subject. “You know, I’ve never seen someone get their cheek nearly ripped off and suture the damn thing like it was nothin’.” She snickered, mumbling how she was pissed off at the scar it would leave. “Where’d you learn that skill anyway?”

“Well,” she cleared her throat with a sip of water, soothing the dryness she hadn’t realized earlier. “I was a detective for ten years prior to joining MiB--and a patrol officer for five before that. Learned early on how to stitch flesh together when you’re dodging bullets left and right for fifteen years.” Since her eyes were on the pie, Y/I missed the way the gears were shifting in K’s face. “Then rolling with MiB this long has really perfected it. Gotta say, I know how to stitch some skin.”

K’s mouth opened and closed, bewilderment splashed across his complexion. He debated whether asking the question he had was the right call, but he needed to know because the entire time he assumed Y/I was in her mid-to late thirties. She certainly looked it, and the makeup she wore was so light her actual skin was on display. And while a good part of her hair was gray/white, he thought it was just hair dye and she was following a trend popular with her time. Five or six years was what K better she had on him. Yet apparently she’s got thirty years of experience in the field.

“I know this is a very ungentlemanly thing to ask,” his tone was apologetic, hand out in front of him as he grasped his thoughts. This could either go really good or really bad. “And please forgive me, I don’t mean any offense…but how old are you, Y/I?” K regretted asking the second the words left his mouth as Y/I started to choke on the water. Jumping from the stool to pat her back while she struggled to catch her breath. Then her laughter replaced the heaving, sending relief in the man.

“Oh my god, that was not the question I thought you’d follow up with,” calming down, Y/I cleared her throat as she gave one last pat to the chest. “I appreciate your concern, K, but you don’t gotta worry about offending me. Especially when it comes to my age.” He relaxed his shoulders, sighing in relief as moved back to his stool. Smirking, Y/I perched her elbow on the counter to lay her good cheek on her palm. “I’m curious though, before I answer, just how old do you think I am?”

He flushed red, “Well, my guess was 35, 37. You said we’d been partners for 14 years so I assumed you were recruited in your twenties. But after hearin’ you say you’d been an officer long before….,” he made a sound, “I was completely wrong.”

“Well I’m flattered,” Y/I teased, nudging his arm to show she wasn’t upset at all. Y/I was used to people assuming she was younger than her actual age. And each time it boosted her confidence, and ego. “Now you understand why I had to get my face products. I have not gone a day without sunscreen since I was sixteen. I’ve worked so hard to keep this face young,” she let out a disappointed sigh, “now that’s fucked up thanks to Boris.” Crossing her arms Y/l leaned both elbows on the countertop, beaming, “I’m 48, by the way.”

“You’re lying,” K shakes his head even though he knows she’s telling the truth. And Y/I knew too.

“You know I’m not,” her laugh made him grin. It was like physically hearing sunshine. Making K want to hear it again and again to soothe the addiction simmering in him.

“Well I sure need to start following in ya steps.”

Again she laughed, “Like I said the other day, cowboy, you’re still a looker in the future,” she said with a wink. The flirty banter came naturally. Only this time Y/I had a weird sensation in her chest she didn’t understand. Affection, intrigue, endearment.

Things she already felt for K, but were breaching a whole new concept than the appropriate way to view a friend.

Oh, wait a minute.

“So you were a youngin when you joined the boys in blue,” K commented, brow raised and unaware of the battle going on in his partner’s mind. And heart.

“Oh yeah,” she recovered quickly, distracting herself with a bite of pie. “Freshly eighteen and out of high school. College was the plan,” another piece of pie, “but after my family kicked me out and left me with nothing my options were limited.” Oh boy, that wasn’t supposed to slip out. She couldn’t stop now, “but it was a fun ride at the NYPD while it lasted. I like the uniform we wear more.”

Instead of a laugh from K, she was met with silence. An eerie silence. And when the agent looked up, she found him unsettled. Before she could question it, K beat her by saying, “Your parents disowned you?” A roughness laced his tone, surprising Y/I by how it matched his demeanor. As if it deeply upset K to hear it, which in turn sparked something in Y/I.

“Yeah,” the whisper was met with the final bite of pie. Chewing it slowly before swallowing with a sip of water to chase it down. Letting the fork clank onto the plate and push to the side. “My mom and step dad didn’t approve of my….affections to the all the beauty life has to offer.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what she referred to. K already had confirmation. But still, he stayed silent. Listening to Y/I speak. What pained him was the fact her family sought to kick her out instead of accepting her like they should have. It angered him.

“They didn’t hesitate the second they caught me in a compromising position with a girl they were under the assumption was only there to work on a school project,” she continued, after signaling for the waitress to bring her a cup of coffee. “Really it was my step dad who wanted me out, and my mom did whatever he said. He never liked,” Y/I pointed out, hands wrapping around the hot mug. “I often think he was just waiting to get rid of me. My half-siblings didn’t talk to me after--or extended family once the word got out.” The bitter taste hit her lips, Y/I sighing.

“And since my father had left ages ago it left me with no one. I did try to find him,” she admitted, stirring the coffee with the spoon as she placed it back on the counter. “The second I became a detective I---and I don’t condone it--did use the resources to my advantage. But found nothing….it was like he didn’t even exist. I know he did.” The watch poked her thigh in its pocket. “I have his watch, his military medals, and a vague memory from when I was young that is all but a blur now.” A pregnant pause occurred, then her voice lowered, “I just wish I knew why…..”

K clenched his jaw. Everything screamed at him to do or say something, but he only had one thing to really say, “I’m sorry that happened to you, Y/I.” Something flared in the woman hearing K say her name. Her actual name and not ‘slick’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘ace’. It sent heat down her spine.

Shaking her head, the woman gave a small smile, “Thank you. I accepted it a long time ago. Doesn’t bother me anymore--I have all I need now,” she attempts to lighten the atmosphere with another ink, “No need to worry about little ole’ me.”

After making sure Y/I was okay the conversation continued. They talked about K’s life before MiB, which was of great interest. Y/I learned more about K in three days than in ten years. They laughed, they teased. Told shocking stories leaving the other dumbfounded.

Somehow the topic of past relationships came up. Y/I wasn’t sure what to make of it but found it entertaining nonetheless. Watching K skew his brows listening to her talk about the most outrageous dates and partners she’d accumulated was fascinating.

“And now?” K asked, nursing his own cup of coffee, “You got someone waiting for you when you get home?” Y/I let out a lighthearted scoff, shaking her head.

“No. Haven’t in a long time really,” It’d been three years since her last relationship. “Last one was an agent, but they broke it off after a few months.”

“Did they say why?”

They did say why. And what Y/I once laughed at, panning it to be her ex upset Y/I wasn’t giving them enough attention. But thinking back, along with the unnamed feelings Y/I battled, she was beginning to think there was truth to what her ex said. Simply thinking about it made her stomach flutter.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Y/I pondered before answering, “They said it was because they were tired of feeling like a third wheel in the relationship.” Saying it out loud really put it into perspective, as did her next words, “They didn’t like how I was more devoted to being your partner, than to being theirs.”

Silence filled the space as the revelation hung in the air. Neither knowing how to follow up. Suddenly it became hot, and it wasn’t the coffee. Almost like a lightning bolt struck with how much electricity flowed between the two. Indescribable.

Fuck K was right. Pie does make things clear.

#agent k x reader #agent k imagine #agent!reader #agent kay #agent kay x reader #agent k x you #men in black #josh brolin #tommy lee jones #men in black imagine #men in black 3 #mib

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