Coffee For Two (FioLee)

Carajillo

The car pulled to a stop in front of the coffee shop, agents milling around in front of it. 
Marshall opened one eye, before opening the other and sitting up. "What year is it?" 
"Are you drunk?" Gumball snapped. 
Marshall shook his head sleepily. "Nah. I just want to find out if your driving took a decade or a century." 
Fionna tugged on his sleeve. "We don't have time for this. Let's see if Penelope's in the building." 
"Where would she be?" Marshall sighed, though he followed her out of the car. "She was gone while we were fighting, and if she was still here, she would have been found by now." 

On the sidewalk, clutching his nose, was the agent Fionna had knocked unconscious. He leapt to his feet upon seeing her, and hissed. "So you've come back to the scene of the crime... where is the missing agent?!" Fionna looked back to see Marshall had fallen back to the front of the car, arguing with Gumball.
"What is he talking about, anyway?" Fionna muttered to Cake, who had already exited the car. "We had you declared missing when you didn't radio in on time. That's part of why we were given the go-ahead for the raid." 

"Ma'am, this is a dangerous--" The agent tried to protest. 
Cake crossed her arms. "This is my sister, and the missing agent." 
The agent glanced between them, trying to decide if she was lying. "But you're... ma'am, she's white...?" 
"I was adopted." Fionna pointed out, before Cake steered her sister towards the large mass of agents milling around, Marshall and Gumball in tow. 

"Penelope's long gone, but you and Abadeer are our only leads." Gumball pointed out. "There are no safe rooms on the premises, et cetera... but you two might know where she's headed." 
"So why bring us all the way back here?!" Fionna demanded. 
"Because we're turning over the case to Mitchell and Hardy." Gumball pointed out. "They need help." 

Two average-looking men raised their hands in greeting. 
"Do they come with first names?" Marshall murmured. "Or just their winning personalities?" 
Gumball glared at him. "Not that it's relevant, but their names are Mitchell and Richard respectively." 
"So, Mitchell Mitchell and Di--" Fionna began. 
"My friends call me Rick." Hardy piped up. 

Marshall snickered. "That's probably wise." 

Fionna shot him a look, before looking at Gumball. "But why take us off of the case?! We destroyed the drug, we were doing well!" 
"Yes. Besides the near casualties of two agents, the investigations you both launched into our respective organizations on circumstantial evidence, the destruction of possibly decades of research that the United States government could have used, the fact that you both basically let your feelings come in the way of the mission --though that's more Marshall's fault than yours, Fionna. He had training for this-- and injured government property." 

"How'd we do the last one?" Marshall scoffed. "It's not like we chipped the paint on Capital Hill." 
Cake pointed to Fionna's side. "Cracked ribs?" 
"Are you saying we are government property?" Fionna asked, scandalized. 
"Basically." Mitchell agreed. 

Marshall glared at him. "No one asked you, Moon Moon." 
"Don't be mean to Mitchell Mitchell!" Gumball argued. "He's trying his best. And the point is, you're both banged-up, so we're sending in fresh agents to apprehend Penelope Rosser." 
"You'll never find her." Fionna sighed. "Unless... Marshall, do you remember that woman she was with?" 

"The middle-class one?" He asked. 
"Yeah, that's the one. Maybe she took refuge with her." Fionna suggested. "All her other contacts are too dangerous, and she's not on the grid." 
"Thank you. For your help, you may now receive medical care." Gumball said. 
"How generous." Cake muttered. Gumball shot her a look, and Fionna sighed. "It might be a long shot, but also check around the social circle of the last cop Penelope killed." 

"Why the hell would they help her?" Hardy exclaimed in surprise. 
"Why are they a part of this conversation?" Marshall asked. 
Gumball glared at him, before turning to Fionna. "Why indeed?" 

"Because Margaret is the widow of the cop." 
"So she's complicit?" Cake inquired. 
Fionna shook her head. "No. She doesn't know that Penelope did it." 
"Not exactly the kind of thing you tell a girl you're interested in." Marshall added. 
"Oh, right. Well, I doubt that this 'Margaret' will hold her tongue. It sounds like a vulnerable enough relationship." 

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"Madam, are you aware of the activities that Penelope Rosser has engaged in?" The interrogator asked. 
Margaret placed her shackled hands on the table in front of her, before answering in Spanish. <I am aware that she brushes her teeth in the morning. Be more specific.> 
"Madam, please, speak English." 

<Leave Penny alone, and I will.> 
"Madam, please. We all know you can speak another language. I'd really rather not be rough with you." 
Margaret narrowed her eyes. <You won't get a word out of me until you I know that Penelope will walk free. I don't care if I have to go to jail, if you torture me... she won't die by my hand. And I've been speaking English my entire adult life because your culture is somehow superior to you than anyone else's.> 

"Ma'am..." The interrogator scowled. "I understand that this is a form of social protest. But the CIA doesn't always play nice when it comes to the withholding of information." 
Margaret raised her chin. "And? I don't care. Just don't let my children see me like this." 

Marshall and Fionna, now bandaged, watched from the other side of a two-way mirror. "Think she'll talk?" Marshall muttered. 
Fionna shook her head. "Doubtful. She really cares about Penelope." 
Marshall looked back at Margaret. "We're gonna have to let her go soon." 
"Don't worry." Fionna grimaced. "She'll lead us right to Penelope." 

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Penelope paced around the small, tacky room. "Where is she... where is she...?" For what must have been the fiftieth time, she checked her phone. There was nothing. Down the hall, Margaret's children slept fitfully in sleeping bags underneath a dining room table. Penelope's heart hurt just thinking about it. What if Margaret never came back? It was all her fault... Penelope crumpled to the floor, clutching her head. The large shipment had likely been destroyed by then... she'd seen the smoke rising across town all afternoon. 

But there was still a small amount that she had been saving for a special occasion... and she still had the formula... Penelope raised her head, leaning back against the guest bed of... Steve? Stan? Dave's friend who had taken her in after Margaret's begging. She'd heard him and his soccer mom of a wife (named Debbie, naturally) whispering about her and Margaret and Dave. They didn't approve. 

Penelope suspected that he had never liked Margaret anyway. In any case, now she was beginning to make a new plan. She had a helicopter, if she could get to it. She had the formula. She had a dose big enough for 30 or so people... that was definitely enough for her. And come hell or high water, she was going to have her Margaret back.