Halloween Fic-a-thon: Men In Caps

Title: Men In Caps
Author: keenoled
Rating: Really really PG. Sorry.
Summary: "Pete was actually offered a position as a field agent, at first, but then they said they would have to erase his tats, and, yeah. That was pretty much it."
Disclaimer: Yeah, I think Patrick owns me rather than the other way around.
AN: Happy Halloweeeen! Prompt Aliens. And warning: schmoop.





Pete was actually offered a position as a field agent, at first, but then they said they would have to erase his tats, and, yeah. That was pretty much it. So they offered him a desk job instead. As Pete’s last attempt at a successful band had just failed spectacularly, and seeing as Andy already worked there and still seemed to have time to drum for like, six different bands, Pete said yes. Also, his mom had threatened to kick him out if he didn’t get a job.

It was an alright job, for a desk job, really. Cooler clothes than McDonald’s, more than decent pay, and, well. Aliens never stopped being the fucking coolest thing ever. Extra-terrestrial life-forms, on earth. It was awesome just on paper, and then, to have one standing or oozing or whatever in front of you? Pete basically spent his days grinning like an idiot.
Andy and Joe were professional, they were neat and helpful and calm and shit, handed out forms and helped pick out disguises and figure out which Beginner’s Guide To Earth to stick the immigrants with. But Pete couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t.

“You’re from where? Uh, that would be in which galaxy? Oh, wow, man, that is so fucking cool!”

There was only one thing cooler, maybe, than the aliens, and well, maybe his clothes, because, seriously. He was forced, forced, to wear black pants and a white dress shirt and a skinny black tie everyday?

“Jesus, Pete, this is an immigration bureau, roll down your sleeves and button up and, tie your tie, and what’s that, cigarettes? You don’t even smoke! What if Zed sees you like that? You look like a White Stripes reject!”

He got rid of the cigarettes. They kept falling out of his rolled up left sleeve, and James Dean was the only one who could pull that look off anyway.

But the thing that was cooler than the clothes and the aliens. The really short redhead three rows ahead. Patrick. It took a while for Pete to notice him, but once he had, he started noticing everything about the dude. It was like high school all over again, Pete had to keep a tight reign on himself not to start throwing scrunched up notes at the back of Patrick’s head.

Patrick had this voice that was out of this world. Joe had brought his guitar one day, and during lunch, he’d entertained the worm guys in the lunch room, and Pete had left for five minutes, and when he came back, this redhead guy who was even shorter than Pete had borrowed Joe’s guitar, and was in the middle of an acoustic Red House. Somewhere around Wait a minute, something’s wrong, Pete’s heart had left his body. If he’d been able to tear his eyes away from the dude with the guitar, he would’ve tried to locate it so he could place it at the dude’s feet. Like, for a sacrifice or something.

And then Pete had blinked and started breathing, and Andy was looking at him funnily, asking if he was alright, and the redhead was gone. Joe was explaining about steel strings and nylon strings, the worm guys wanting to play his guitar, Joe keeping it out of their reach.

“Where did he go? Where is he?”
“Huh? Who, Patrick?” Andy asked, looking like he was thinking of containing Pete. Pete did feel a little strange, but he was sure he’d feel better once the redhead was back.

“The guy! With Joe’s guitar, with the, the, the baseball hat and uh, the voice! Did you hear him sing?”
Pete was pretty sure his voice wasn’t usually that squeaky.

“Yeah, that’s Patrick. Dude, how can you not know his name? He’s been working here for three months.”

“Has not!”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Really?” Pete frowned.

“Yeah, he started here in the middle of your purple nail polish phase.”

And that was it. Patrick was sort of shy and withdrawn but turned out to have a temper like whoah, and could be surprisingly snarky for someone with cheeks and mouth like that. And his skin was really pale and he had eyes that were this incredible green. Except for sometimes when they looked almost blue. Went great with his hair, and he had sideburns that were just. Pete wanted to pet them so badly.
Patrick didn’t seem to mind when Pete started following him everywhere. Except for when he did, and that was when the snarkiness appeared. Patrick was awesome when he was pissed off, he came up with the bitchiest lines ever. And he didn’t seem to mind when Pete bitched back. As far as Pete was concerned, they were a match made in heaven.

Except for where Patrick seemed to be the most dense human being on Earth when it came to taking hints. He’d complimented Pete on his tattoos, and Pete had said Dude, you should see the ones my clothes cover, and Patrick had laughed politely. Politely! Like it wasn’t the most obvious come-on in the world. And okay, Pete forgot to get upset, because Patrick’s laugh was. It did things to his stomach and to his cheek muscles. Making them clench and stuff.

Patrick’s hats were awesome. He always wore them, just like he always wore his glasses, sort of square-ish with thick dark rims. He’d duck his head, and you’d catch his lips quirking into a tiny smile, and Pete would frantically run through the last thirty seconds in his head to figure out what he’d done so he could do it all over again.

Turned out Patrick had special permission to always wear baseball hats, and was that the coolest thing ever? Second to Patrick, of course. Special permit to wear hats! Pete had tried to get special permit for his eyeliner, but Zed had just sneered at him. Pete wore it anyway, but a permit would have been cool.

Pete kept throwing super obvious pick-up lines at Patrick, but they just fell flat to the ground. It was like they didn’t compute whatsoever.
Joe had tried to get Pete to back off. For real. Get in the way of true love. The guy was a tool.
“Come on, Pete, leave him be. He’s only been here four months! Wanna let him settle in before you run him over with the Wentz Experience?”

Pete had given him his best Zed sneer. Because Patrick and he had been in the middle of a deep discussion on the subject of Morrissey, and if Pete hadn’t loved him already? Yeah. Because Patrick knew about music, like scary much, like an encyclopedia, and it turned out guitar wasn’t the only instrument he played, and he even wrote songs. Pete was starting to suspect Patrick was probably too good for him. Not that he’d take Joe’s word for it, thank you very much.



The worm guys were unusually quiet. They were drinking coffee, a couple of them with cigarettes dangling in their digits, watching Pete like he was prime time TV.

“Pete, open the door already!”

“Go. Away.”

Could have something to do with the drama that was Pete Wentz’s life. And how he’d barricaded himself in the lunch room with them.
Andy banged the door from the other side.

“Pete. You little twerp. I can’t believe you didn’t know!”

Pete bared his teeth a little and hugged his knees tighter to his chest. It felt like something was chewing at his heart.

“Joe told you to back off.”

Pete leaned harder against the door.

“It’s in his file, for fuck’s sake! You’re telling me you never once looked at his file? You hacked into my file, and you’ve known me for like fifteen years!”

Pete felt like he was too dried out to even blink.

“Pete. You come out and you find Patrick and you fucking make this right.”

After Andy left, it was silent for a long time. The worm guys were still watching him, and talking in their language in hushed voices. One of them had asked him if he wanted some coffee, but Pete hadn’t been able to answer.

“Pete?”

Not Andy. A little deeper, more melodious.

“Pete, open the door.”

Pete’s eyes were stinging.
“So,” he said. “Is it like. A suit? Or do you ride in style, the whole droid deal?”

“Huh?” Pete could see the perplexed look on Patrick’s face, just from hearing his tone of voice. He swallowed, willing the tears away.

“I mean. What do you look like under there?”

There was silence, and then there was an amused huff of Patrick laughter.

“Pete. Open the door.”

Patrick could always make him do anything anyway. Pete made his legs stretch out, his joints creaking a bit. He fumbled with the lock on the door, and Patrick turned the doorknob from the other side and slowly pushed the door open. Seeing Pete on the floor, he got down as well, sat next to Pete.
Pete didn’t want to look at Patrick, look into those eyes and know they weren’t even real, but he couldn’t look away. Patrick was grinning a little.

“Oh, this is funny to you, is it,” Pete hissed, his tears springing up from nowhere. “Of course, you haven’t had proper time to acclimatize to human society yet-“

“Pete, shut the fuck up. Jesus. You’re such a melodramatic little bitch, you know that?”

Pete knew this, but for once, he thought he was entitled to it, seeing as how his future husband turned out to be an alien from outer space.

“Pete. Pete, look at me. This?” Patrick waved a hand vaguely up and down himself. “We’re humanoid, alright? My home planet. We look like this. This is me. Our sun is a little different, I had some gene therapy, my glasses are UV-proof, the hat shades my eyes, that’s it. Pete? Are you getting this? I came here because you have music. That is the single most brilliant thing about this place, you know? Really your best invention. That and pumpkin squares.”

Pete was looking at him now. Patrick, strawberry red strands of hair peeking out from under his hat, sideburns a little scruffy-looking, like he’d scrubbed his hands over his face. Eyes a little weary and red-rimmed. Silently pleading, tiny grin getting more nervous by the minute.
Pete reached out a hand that shook a little and smoothed the ruffle of a side-burn. Patrick let him, held still, didn’t even blink.

“Pete? I’m. I’m sorry for freaking out, man. I. It’s. I’m. Um. I’ve done like, all the reading. I’m a fucking expert on this planet, I love it so much. Just. I haven’t had that much actual experience? Like, uh. Kissing. Mostly read about it and watched a lot of TV, you know.”

“You don’t kiss?” Pete asked, feeling a little shell shocked still. And also, a planet full of people that didn’t kiss? How did they survive?
Patrick shrugged.

“There’s something like it. Not too much feeling in it. Everything’s really clinical, and. It’s not. I don’t like it there.”

Pete frowned, shifting around to face Patrick, their knees touching.

“So. What you’re saying. You’re an alien, but not really a giant cockroach or a squid or a blob of jello. Like, you’re this cute redhead who wears hats a lot, only you’re from the Andromeda galaxy. And you have a voice that’s like a gift from god and you’re. Planning on staying. Here.”

“Yup. That’s basically it.”

“Aww, xforwa chreza!” one of the worm guys exclaimed. “Would you shut up and kiss already!”

Pete started grinning, one of the huge grins that made his mouth look too big, but he couldn’t hold it back. Because Patrick was grinning right back at him.

“Well,” Pete said. “At least I have pretty good instincts.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I knew from the start you were out of this world.”





End.

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