#pelayo

~

“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Edgar Ramirez, United States Air Force.” He clears his throat, and puts on his best Mid-Western accent. “Lieutenant Colonel Edgar Ramirez, United States Air Force.”

Over on the couch, ZaZa snickers. Ward shoots a thumbs up. Nehal has headphones in, studying intensely - doesn’t react at all. Pelayo shakes his head and looks over to Clarity - hunched over a laptop, clicking through files. She’s distracted, still giving instructions, “Second one was getting there. Mix it up. Use different words, don’t just worry about the sound. You have to like, create this person in your mind. You’ve met people like him, just be like them.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, you do this shit a lot?”

She doesn’t look up, “I’m doing it right now.” Of course she is. The boss was like that.

“Look. You’re the boss, I like your plans. Most of the time.” Ward looks a little skeptical of Pelayo, “Okay, some of the time, I like your plans. But they’re never going to believe that I’m…” He looks down at the folder in front of him, reading aloud, “...Lieutenant Colonel Edgar Ramirez.”

She looks up from the laptop and spins around on the swivel chair to face him, “Why not, none of them will know Ramirez. You don’t have to be him, exactly - you just have to be what they think a Lieutenant Colonel Edgar Ramirez would maybe be like.”

“Never done shit like this, I’m a gun for hire, not an actor.” He slaps down the folder.

She smirks, “What you are, Hector Pelayo, is a Hispanic male somewhere between the ages of thirty and sixty, between 5’8” and 6’4” in height, dark hair, average build, clean shaven, with visible cybernetic modifications, and no visible tattoos - not with a little makeup anyway. In other words, you’re...” The boss gestures, coaxing it out of him.

He sits up straight, trying to get a little more control, “Lieutenant Colonel Edgar Ramirez, US Air Force. I gotta shave for this shit too? Not getting paid enough.”

“My man, that’s what I’m always saying.” ZaZa chuckles to himself, flipping channels on the television.

“Ay, fuck you, you don’t even have to go inside.” Pelayo curses, “I want half of his share too.”

“The money’ll be enough,” Clarity pushes back. “I’ve never been cheap with you, have I? Have I?” It isn’t about the money at this point, though. This job is different. They all know.

His leg bounces in his seat, shaking his head, “S’good.”

“I take him at the hotel. We’ll get the biometrics, and the code then. My specialist gets you the contact lenses and fingerprint gloves at noon. That’s your go time. You hit the base and from there, you’re…”

Pelayo, nodding along, sighs, “Edgar Ramirez. I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”

Clarity sits on the edge of the table, scooping up the folder thoughtfully, “ We’re actually doing this.”

“I must be insane, that’s the only answer. Or maybe you fucked with my head.” Pelayo puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t see the frown creep across Clarity’s face. “Ward, are we insane?”

They simply nod, watching TV with ZaZa now, “Absolutely.”

ZaZa follows up, “Insanely well-paid, and with bragging rights.”

“There are no bragging rights, pendejo, you can’t brag about seizing a United States Air Force base.” He stands up and begins to pace, “Forget the Guardians, forget the Rangers - Hollow Ground’ll turn you in just to avoid having that kind of heat in her city. That sort of thing gets you put on a list with the DoD, fuck, with the Special Directive.”

ZaZa’s confidence wanes a little, “..what's a Special Directive?” Ward shifts their weight, a little less amused.

Clarity’s trying not to smile now. That’s the whole point after all. Cookie for Pelayo. “Let me worry about the Special Directive. It’s my heat, and that’s why you get the masks. It’s just Clarity and her henchmen.” It’s all a show, after all, this is a performance piece. Like the gala, just… scaled up. Massively scaled up. “Now relax. Who are you?”

Pelayo goes for it again, “Edgar Ramirez, lieutenant colonel. Air Force.”

~

Ward leans and straightens the tie. They raise up their good hand, brushing over Pelayo’s freshly smooth shaven cheek, mumbling low, “Doesn’t look half bad.” Hector leans into their touch, searching for any sort of reassurance. Ward reaches over and hands him the jacket, helping finish putting the uniform together. “Well?”

“Little tight.”

“You’re just stiff.” Ward’s prosthetic hand clicks on the desk, looking over the ‘Lieutenant Colonel.’ “Boss did a good job on the makeup - can hardly tell what an ugly fucker you were.”

Pelayo blinks, then squints, trying to get used to the contact lenses, and the face in the mirror, “Ay, thought you liked my scars.”

“I do,” Ward admits.

Hector frowns, trying on the glasses Clarity had offered him. Taking them on, taking them off. Sometimes props help, she said. “Ward, what are we doing?” The glasses don’t help.

“It’s part of the plan. You want out?” It’s hard to read Ward’s expression, even after all these years. “Not like you.”

“Dunno, this whole mission is fucked. Jacking trucks, heists, playing tag with cops, we do that.” He starts to reach up to rub his stubble - but it’s been shaved, and he’s afraid to touch his face with this makeup. “Esta es la Mission: Impossible mierda. Terrorista mierda. Clarity’s gonna get us fuckin’ killed.”

“Don’t think so.” Ward looks out the hotel window, watching the cars below, reflecting. “Maybe herself. Not us.”

“Yeah?” Hector sits on the edge of the bed, watching Ward watching cars.

“Yeah. She thinks she’s a hero, like a Ranger or something. You ever work for anyone like that?”

“...no.” Ward makes a little bit of sense.

“Me either.” They smirk. “Besides, she’s got a plan, right?”

“Yeah. Right.” Hector shakes his head. He stands up and checks his tie again, straightening the bars on his breast. “We’re on the clock now. You should get your suit on.” Hard not to be a little jealous.

Ward puts a hand on Hector’s shoulder and locks eyes. Looking through the contacts is strange for the both of them. They lean in for their kiss and one last reassurance, “Good luck, you ugly fucker.”

His nerves unwind, Pelayo finally, at last, relaxing just a little, “Yeah. Don’t get shot this time, imbécil.”

Ward simply grunts and grins wide.