#addi is ho - wait no she's assassinating

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (7)

Phase 1: Collection Phase 2: Construction (this one!)

There's a bit of a time jump in this one, so if you find yourself wondering, "Wait, what's Stan doing here?" then that's your answer. It's only, like, a day, so don't freak out. This will only make sense after you finish reading the chapter, but, when we get to Ford's perspective right at the end, it's like we're going back in time a day to see what happened to him when the bros parted ways. Before that, it’s focused on what happened with the others. Things are going to be slightly out of sync until Chapter 9. :)

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s OC, and I love her. So much. Honestly.

The Addiford ship belongs to @scipunk63 (not much of that in this one, sorry!)

Madeline McGucket a fun character from @missinspi.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Chapter 7: A Dream Come True

Chicago, Illinois (USA)    ∆

No matter what Ford did, he could not seem to move fast enough. It was the ice on the road, the people in the way, the very air in front of him that slowed him down. Something unspeakable was happening to his brother, he could practically feel it, and if Addi was with him . . .

He and Fiddleford burst into the bar, barrelling past the doorman like he was non-existent. They stopped.

Too slow, too slow!

Back room. Ford saw it instantly.

Move!

People blocked his path. Drawing his gun solved that problem.

Faster!

His ears were roaring and he did not think it was all to do with the blood rushing through his veins. The look on his face cleared the crowd quicker than his weapon. Ten steps to the door, five, zero, Fiddleford slammed it open before him, two men, backs exposed, blocking the view beyond, God help them if either of their captives were hurt, strike that, not taking any chances. Or prisoners.

He fired two silent gunshots and he saw the bodies fall to the floor. There was no need to worry about them anymore, so they dissipated. The only important thing was that Stan and Addi were safe now –

On the floor. Shape on the floor. Lying.

Blood on his shoes.

He was too late.

There was already a round little hole in Stan’s head, and his skin was cold, so cold, colder than the outside air. Red trickled down his face, pooled on the floor, lapped against Ford’s knees as he fell, fisting his hands into his brother’s shirt and yelling into his chest while that same muted sensation continued to crash down, muffling everything.

There was another bloodless hand lying next to Stan’s – smaller. Addi’s. The hair splayed underneath her elbow was matted with darkness. He could not bear to look any further and reached out to touch her.

Footsteps. He looked up. Bill stood above him, looking viciously delighted at the shining memory gun in his hand.

“ALRIGHT SIXER, LET’S GET TO WORK!”

Everything flashed yellow.

∆

It was an hour past midnight. Stan really shouldn’t be awake. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he was going to get to sleep anyway, so he might as well do something productive.

The apartment lights cast a soft glow on the scene. He had been rooting carefully through Ford’s bags, looking for some evidence of whatever all these machines and materials were going to be used for. It wasn’t like he could stop Ford: they were at the end of their collaboration, as he would put it. He was just trying to settle his own fears about his brother going back to whatever situation he was in.

“STAN!”

The door on the left side of the entrance hallway banged open, Ford hurtling out in his shirt and boxers, ruffle-haired and wild-eyed, half-asleep. He crashed into the door opposite, knocked frantically for a fraction of a second, then fell through into Stan’s room. There was a moment of silence, then –

“STAN!”

“Whoa, I’m right here bro,” Stan said from the living room, hurriedly shutting a bag full of machinery. He stood and went to see what was wrong.

Ford stumbled out again, letting out a shuddering breath when he saw him.

“Just a dream, just a dream,” he muttered. Stan winced in understanding, patting his brother’s shoulder soothingly. He didn’t think it would be too far out of field to think Russia was no longer part of either of their preferred holiday destinations.

Ford raised both hands to rub his face tiredly. One had a gun in it.

“Okay, whoa, no, let’s get you back to bed.” Stan said, snatching the firearm away as Ford looked at it in bleary confusion. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m not tired,” Ford protested, swaying.

“Load of crap,”

He steered Ford back into his room, the man falling asleep as soon as he flopped on top of the sheets. Good enough, Stan supposed.

His search was getting nowhere. He should head back to his own bed and try to sleep, unlikely as it was to happen. He was turning to go when a shine caught his eye.

That journal of Ford’s was lying on his bedside table, hallway light bouncing off the gold six-fingered hand on the cover. He hesitated before sitting down on the edge of the bed, picking it up, and flipping through. Starting with the most recent entry, he began to translate and read the code inside.

Russia was . . . not ideal. B changed the plans so that S and I would be split up, which was only the start of the problems we would eventually face. Quite apart from anything else, I do not have much time with my brother left before we part ways, and I am feeling now more urgently than ever how every second counts.

I cannot help but feel as though B was wrong to set up the meeting with the Mafia, regardless of how beneficial it was – we did retrieve the filament. Far be it from me to second-guess him, nevertheless, I am unable to say with any sort of confidence that I have complete faith in his wisdom now. On the other hand, I expect that the incident would not have rattled me so badly had I been alone. Alone, I do not stand to lose the people close to me, and nor can anyone be tempted to take them. Perhaps this is why B is so adamant about having solitary operatives.

One of the agents we have encountered on previous missions, F, proved to be a great help in refining the design for the device. Conversely, A and S found themselves in a situation no one should ever have to face. I swear I have never been more scared in my life. I cannot understand why either of them were able to look me in the eye afterwards. After all, I was responsible for what they had to endure. That being said, I am also immensely grateful that they seemed to place not even the slightest blame on me. They deserve a much better friend than myself. Hopefully I will be able to live up to that one day.

The writing continued, detailing the events of the night. Stan didn’t read any further.

“Sixer, you knucklehead . . .” he said softly, shaking his head at Ford’s lightly snoring form.

∆

Chicago DuPage County Airport was busy. An unbelievable amount of people crowded the waiting area.

“Must be winter holidays,” Stan said.

“What?” called Ford.

“I said it must be winter holidays!”

“What?!”

Stan waved a hand, dismissing the comment. They attempted to move further away from the crowds. At this rate, they wouldn’t hear the calls for their flights.

Not flight. Flights. Here was where they parted ways. Stan to California, Ford to Oregon. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen to them after this. Would it be another five years of silence? Longer? Would he never get another postcard in the mail? He could always drive up to Gravity Falls. He knew where Ford lived now. But would Ford want to stay in contact? Would he decide that his work was too important again, or – especially after Russia – would he decide it was too dangerous for anyone else?

A three-tone dial sounded loudly over the speakers. Ford’s flight was boarding.

“I guess this is it,” Ford said, distinctly dispirited.

“Yeah,” Stan said, trying to convince himself that no, his throat was not closing up.

“I’ll, um, have someone get the Stanmobile back to you,”

“Oh yeah! Right.” He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about his car.

A silence bloomed, where neither of them were sure what to say. Ford cleared his throat and frowned at the ground.

“Goodbye, Stan,”

Stan looked at the ceiling. “Seeya rou – I mean, bye, Ford.”

Ford nodded shortly, then spun on his heel and left. Stan sighed. Good one. He looked for somewhere to sit down –

- and Ford crashed into him, hugging him tightly. Stan responded gladly.

“Don’t get too caught up in your work, nerd,” he said thickly.

“I won’t. Would it – would it be okay if I came to see you after it’s finished?”

He did not sniff, he did not just sniff. “Yeah. Yeah that would be – be good,”

With a lot more throat-clearing and gruff pats on the back, they both pulled away and gave each other smiles that were definitely not watery. Then Ford went off to find his plane for real.

Another announcement was made over the speaker.

“-to Sacramento, California has been delayed. Approximate waiting time is thirty hours. The next available flight to Sacramento is in twenty hours. We are not that sorry for the inconvenience. It’s not our flight, after all,”

Unbelievable.

He might as well head back to the hotel, then. Glumly, he realised that this time he’d have to pay for a room himself, since Ford had taken all his money with him. Well, it had only been two flipping weeks without seeing Carla, what was one more day? A damn mess, that’s what.

A jewellery store caught his eye as he passed.

He supposed if he was going to do this, he might as well do it properly.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

“Agent Marks, come in,”

Addi entered Jheselbraum’s office, still stretching out her muscles after the flight from Atlanta and the drive from LaGuardia. It was very early in the morning, and she was still recovering from the jet lag hanging around after the Russia flight.

“How are you?”

“Happy to be back,” Addi said firmly, approaching the desk and sitting in the chair opposite the director.

Jheselbraum examined her closely. “You don’t look like you slept well,”

From past experience, Addi knew that deflecting the question or outright lying would not do her any favours. Once, Jheselbraum had gone so far as to drive her home herself when she had kept insisting she was fine after a particularly rough mission.

Russia had been a new kind of rough. Things had never gotten that close before. Addi didn’t want to admit it to anyone, even herself, but at the moment fieldwork . . . didn’t seem as fun as it used to. She bet that the most danger the building’s analysts had been in lately was of a stapler fight if someone forgot to unjam the printer.

“We had a couple close calls on this one,” she eventually said, avoiding Jheselbraum’s eyes.

The other woman stood up and walked around to her side, signalling that it wasn’t necessary for Addi to stand. She leaned against the desk and placed her hand lightly on Addi’s shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” she said plainly, “and you’ll have a rest from dangerous missions for a few weeks.”

Her tone brooked no argument, and frankly, Addi wouldn’t have protested anyway.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Jheselbraum added, “have a warm bath, do what you want for a change. Put high-stakes chance games out of your mind.”

Addi started. She hadn’t included Russia in her report or debrief, for the obvious reason that it hadn’t been a sanctioned operation, and the not-so-obvious reason that there were only a few people she was willing to talk about it with – four, to be exact, including the woman in front of her.

“How did you know about that?”

“About what?” Jheselbraum smiled. Then she sat back down behind her desk as Addi took her leave.

San Jose, California (USA)    ∆

“It’s about dang time,” Fiddleford sighed longingly, when he had retrieved his luggage from the baggage claim. He was finally getting to go home. It had been far too long since he’d seen Tate’s drawings stuck on the fridge, heard Madeline singing as she moved around the house, and held them both in his arms as they settled down to watch TV. Just a few more hours, and after that a few more months, and then he wouldn’t have to leave home at all.

His phone rang.

“I sure hope this isn’t Jheselbraum about to tell me Ah can’t go home yet.” He looked at the caller ID. “That ain’t a good sign. Yes ma’am?”

“Agent McGucket, I’m sorry to do this to you, but you can’t go home yet,”

It wasn’t a surprise, but it still chafed. However, it was not like he was going to ignore whatever assignment Jheselbraum had for him; the work they did was important, even if he was tiring of it.

“What is it? And is it at all nearby?”

“Indeed it is. If there was anyone else in the area, I would have asked them, but unfortunately you are the only agent in several organisations who is close,” Jheselbraum said, genuine regret in her voice.

“Aren’t I lucky,”

“Do you recall our FBI contact, Carla McCorkle? I’ve decided it’s time to unite our investigations. I need you to head over there immediately and give her a copy of our findings. She’s at the FBI field office in Sacramento,”

Fiddleford sighed again. Nothing like a few hours driving after a few hours flying.

“You got it,”

“I promise that you’re free to spend a few days off as soon as you’re done. Again, I am so sorry,”

“Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” Fiddleford said with only the barest trace of acerbity, which he simultaneously regretted and did not.

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

Carla tried not to feel like she was being watched. It was something she was fighting more and more lately.

There was a spy in the FBI, specifically assigned to her and her work. She couldn’t tell anyone about it, because that would draw their attention. She didn’t know who it was, and she couldn’t investigate, because the spy might find out. Everyone was a suspect. The janitor had surprised her the other day and she’d almost punched him in the face.

When she received a text from Jheselbraum, she breathed more easily than she had in days. With no word from her, no one to confide in, and no one to take her mind off the situation, she’d been feeling extremely cut-off and isolated, not to mention simultaneously anxious and bored. She’d swept her office for bugs four times.

Carla’s fingers were busy tapping a tattoo on the desk until the office phone rang. She scrambled to pick it up.

“Agent McCorkle, there’s someone here to see you. Says his director sent him here for a meeting with you?”

“Send him up!” She tried not to sound too eager.

A minute later, a weary-looking man with glasses and a green suit stepped into her office and closed the door behind him.

“Hi, I’m Senior Special Agent Carla McCorkle,” Carla said, holding out her hand.

“Agent Fiddleford McGucket. Jheselbraum sent me,” Fiddleford said, shaking it.

“Please,” Carla beseeched as they sat, “tell me you have something good. Our case has gone so stale that yesterday Agent Wexler tried to get the Special Agent-in-Charge to tell me to give it up.”

Fiddleford frowned slightly and handed over a thumb drive. “Ah can’t say whether this’ll do ya much good, but it’s worth a try. That there’s everything we’ve managed to collect on the Cipher Wheel,”

Anticipation stirred in her as she took the drive and inserted it into her computer. It contained a single file. Okay, so that’s a little unexpected, but this is the work of an entire agency here. It must be good.

She downloaded the document.

“Symbols?” she said blankly, scrolling through. The document contained pictures of maybe ten symbols, the locations said symbols had been found, and underneath each a detailed report of any unlawful, suspicious or just plain unusual activity in the area at the time it had been discovered.

Fiddleford grimaced. “Yep. Just symbols. Ah expect it doesn’t help much?”

“Oh no, no,” said Carla hurriedly.

“It’s alright if ya say so,”

“No, no, I’m sure it will be . . . of some use . . . maybe. I’ll have to go over what we have again, see if any crop up,”

“Good luck.” Fiddleford said. “We think those symbols are a kind of signature for Cipher Wheel operatives. If they contact someone, this is how they show they’re workin’ for Bill Cipher, or maybe it’s just to show who they are without giving away their names. We’ve only managed to get these from reconstructin’ burned documents. They’re thorough, whoever they are,”

“Tell me about it,” Carla muttered. She ejected the USB and put it safely in a pocket. “I suppose all that’s left now is to-”

The door banged open.

“Hey darl’, guess who’s back!”

Stan practically leapt into the room, motormouth running at full speed. “We are finally in the same place after two weeks and three days, so grab your coat because I’m taking you out-” He spotted Fiddleford and slammed on the figurative brakes, an astonished look on his face. Fiddleford’s mouth dropped open. Carla noticed everything.

Funnily enough, the first question she voiced was not “How do you two know each other?” because something more surprising had occurred to her.

“Did you cut your hair?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stan touched his shortened locks quite vulnerably, looking more like a deer in headlights with every passing moment.

Not only had Stan foregone the mullet, he looked like he was wearing some new clothes, too. He’d really neatened up while he was away.

Wait.

A thrill went through her.

He was back! He was finally back!

“You work for the FBI?” asked Fiddleford finally, looking baffled, but there was a faint grin appearing on his face which showed he was pleased to see Stan. Not enemies then.

“With the FBI,” Carla and Stan corrected at the same time.

“So what were ya doin’ overseas?”

“Actually, I’d quite like to know that as well. And why you two have met,” added Carla.

“Can’t say,” said Stan and Fiddleford quickly.

“Mission secrecy,” elaborated Fiddleford.

Stan addressed the Oracle agent. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s classified,” responded Carla and Fiddleford together. A strange mixture of emotions swirled around inside her. There was irritation and curiosity about what these two had gotten up to overseas, but they were quickly dissipating in an onslaught of sheer joy – she might just refrain from interrogating the men! For a maximum of two hours and thirty minutes!

Fiddleford suppressed a laugh at the way their inquiries were going. “Well, nice ta meet ya, Agent McCorkle, and it was good seein’ ya again, Stan.” He said, getting up to leave. “I doubt this’s the last time, either.”

“At the rate this is going, we’ll probably end up working together,” agreed Stan, shaking Fiddleford’s hand.

The agent went to the door, with a last amazed look in Stan’s direction.

“Oh! Wait!” Carla exclaimed before he could leave, her responsibility to her job shining through despite her excitement to spend some time with Stan. “Don’t you need the FBI’s informa-”

“Lalalala!” said Fiddleford loudly, sticking his fingers in his ears. “NolalalalalaI’mgoin’homelalalalahere’smanumberifyaneeditandonlyifyouneeditmindyoulalala!”

He tossed her a card that was blank except from a phone number in the centre, then hurried away, presumably before anyone could call him back and delay his departure.

“I like him,” Carla decided. Then she vaulted over her desk and flung herself at Stan, wrapping him in her arms and not wanting to let go.

“Whoa!” Stan laughed as he caught her and hugged her tightly. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Missed you too,”

Stan let go. “Do you have work to do?”

Carla’s answer was a frown.

“Well, not anymore! We’re going out!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her out the door, snagging her coat and bag on the way. Carla didn’t complain.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

Addi could feel tension that she hadn’t even been aware of draining out of her. She was curled up in a blanket, sitting in her pyjamas, watching her favourite movie, and eating snacks. She was free to do what she liked for the first time in a long, long while, and as a result her head was beginning to droop with the peace of it all. She felt completely safe.

The phone seemed to blare into the silence, shocking her out of drowsiness. She tripped over her blanket as she shot off the couch towards the kitchen, stumbling over it and using an athletic manoeuvre to roll when she hit the ground and come up right where the phone was.

“Yes? Hello?” she said through uneven breaths.

“Agent Marks,” said an unfamiliar voice, “these are your superiors,”

Addi was quiet. “You mean . . . as in Jheselbraum’s overseers?”

“Yes,”

“The in-charge people?”

"Yes,”

“The head honchos?”

“Yes,”

“The-”

“Yes. We are contacting you for a very important reason,”

“Why directly? Why not through Jheselbraum? That’s how missions are usually assigned,”

“This is a one-time scenario. Rest assured, it will not happen again. To you, or any of Oracle Division, for that matter. It is for the best that we . . . shake things up. For good,”

Addi decided not to press any of her questions yet. The person on the other end of the line seemed rather preoccupied.

“We are giving you a mission. It is essential that you start immediately,”

The last of Addi’s good mood evaporated. “Understood,” she said, containing her frustration.

“At the FBI field office in Sacramento, an investigation is being undertaken to an unacceptable end. Efforts to derail it have failed.”

“What’s being investigated?”

There was a pause, during which Addi became certain that she was asking questions the other person did not know the answers to. She wondered if the superiors had superiors.

“That is not of your concern,” was the eventual reply. “All you need to know is that drastic action is required. Something that will put all investigations on hold while the case in question is altered to reflect more suitable facts.”

Something was knotting in the pit of Addi’s stomach.

“An assassination,”

“Who?” she managed.

“Start with the Special Agent-in-Charge. The Senior Special Agent leading the investigation may also be necessary if she continues to pursue this. You are expected in Sacramento immediately,”

The only thing able to permeate Addi’s numb mind was the thought that this flight would be a muscle-cramping six hours long. It was only eight in the morning, so plenty of time to get there.

She would be thankful for that, but really it depended on whose perspective it was considered from.

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

Ford sighed and dumped his bags in his living room. Over two weeks away, and the only thing different about the place was the fine layer of dust covering everything.

Although . . .

Perhaps it was just the strangeness of actually being at home. Yes, it must be. It was bordering on superstitious to think that abiotic surroundings could be imbibed with emotional qualities.

Nevertheless . . .

It did seem to be missing a certain vibrancy he had become accustomed to of late. He surely had not felt this alone when he had left Gravity Falls.

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the basement door opening.

“Welcome back, smart guy!” Bill grinned, spreading his arms grandly as he walked into the living room.

“Bill,” Ford greeted, shoving away thoughts about how alike the smile of the man in front of him was to the one he had seen in last night’s dream.

“Got everything we need, I see. Alright Sixer, let’s get to work!”