from the cross_my_heart ficathon
Title: Fit Up
Author: greenovalfruit
Rating: M/NC-17 (borderline, not really)
Fandoms: Bad Girls/The Long Kiss Goodnight
Pairings/Characters: Karen Betts/Charly Baltimore
Seasons/Spoilers: Basically, the movie (though doesn't make specific reference to many plot points) and up to S5E13 in Bad Girls
Summary: Charly Baltimore is in London on a job. That job would be Karen.
Author's Notes: AU/slightly cracky. Go from - the scene in Karen's office when Jim threatens to kill her. From there, let's say it was a Friday and Karen was planning on taking the files in to Area on Monday, thereby giving Jim some time to not so much frame Karen for murder as skip the middle man and get rid of her completely.
And here's Charly for anyone who needs help with the visual.
"Call me Charly. Since I know everything about you, down to your cup size, I guess it's fair that you know my name."
This remark was punctuated by an altogether unsubtle glance at Karen's chest, which prompted the wing governor to cross her arms, despite the relatively modest cut of her blue v-neck top, and shoot a dirty look in Charly's direction. The other woman smiled cockily in response and stretched in her seat, giving Karen the possibly inadvertent chance to look her over in return. The movement pulled her black leather jacket up and open to expose her plain white wifebeater and an inch of smooth taut skin above her stunningly tight black leather pants and matching boots.
Karen felt underdressed for her own contract killing.
"I'm still a little confused as to why anyone would want you dead," Charly wondered to the ceiling, spinning a curved six inch blade lazily with a couple of fingers. She dropped her head to look sideways at Karen. "You may have figured that out, on account of you still being alive." Karen sat back on the couch and crossed her legs, rubbing her palms across the denim of her jeans. Having been threatened by a psychopath with something sharp previously, this wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Or, rather, she preferred this illusion of calm to actually acknowledging that there was a hitwoman sitting in an armchair four feet away from her, in her apartment, playing with a hunting knife and discussing why she was hired to finish her off before morning unlock.
"Surely that's something that comes up when you interview for the job?" Karen managed to ask, admirably fighting off a tremor in her voice. Charly slid down in the armchair, legs folded over one side and head resting against the other. She began to toss the knife casually up into the air, catching it as if she were throwing nothing more dangerous than a rubber ball.
“You know, not so much. Apart from learning your location and your habits, and that payment has cleared, I don’t tend to know much more than that before I get to work. And this was a rush job.” This time Charly threw the weapon almost clear to the ceiling and caught it midway up the blade without blinking. Karen started to wonder how many people would show up to her funeral. “Although my employer seemed to want to share his reasons, I wasn’t interested at the time.” Charly shook her short, almost white blonde hair out of her dark eyes and regarded Karen with an intense curiosity. “But I am now.”
Karen found herself hit by several strong flashes of carnal desire looking into those heavily kohl rimmed eyes. Was this part of the grieving process? Wanting to jump the bones of the person about to kill you? Maybe there was a special set for murder victims who’d been let in on the joke before it was pulled. Dragging her mind away from all that leather the American was wearing, she ran her fingers through her hair and leaned an elbow on the arm on the couch.
“Your employer wouldn’t happen to be a Jim Fenner, by any chance?” Karen looked decidedly resigned, which interested Charly even more. The spy turned contract killer unfolded herself smartly and set her feet on the living room carpet, elbows on knees, watching the English woman across from her who should, by all laws of probability and her trade, be decidedly dead by now.
“Well, how many people have expressed a desire to see you disappear, Karen?” Charly rotated the blade in her hand, going for her usual inscrutable assassin look, knowing she was missing the mark by an inch or two. She wasn’t enjoying her cat and mouse with this target. Usually, she’d either get the job over and done with quickly or taunt a mark she thought particularly deserving. But she found herself genuinely interested in this woman, and not just because she had a body Charly would like to get to know a lot better, minus the cement, trash bags and inevitable deadness. Going against her code of ethics (yes, hitmen had ethics - they’d have a union if it wasn’t so counter productive in their line of work), Charly decided to release a little information. And have a cigarette.
“Slimy bastard. Thought I was a man until my voice gave me away. Couldn’t fathom a woman in my line of work. Spoke to me like I was incompetant, calling me ‘darling’ all the time. Given a little more time, I would have liked to meet face to face - then I could’ve given him something to think about.” She gestured discretely with her weapon and curled her pink lips back into a shark smile, white teeth flashing like the steel in her hand. She began to search for her cigarettes in the number of pockets in and outside of her jacket.
Karen let out a mirthless laugh and rubbed the tips of her fingers across her forehead defeatedly. She always knew Fenner would finish her off.
“It wasn’t enough for him to make me love him, defend him, believe that every instance of abuse he was involved in was a lie, then rape me himself - as soon as I’m close to finally dumping him in the shit he deserves, he hires someone to kill me. Christ…” Karen slumped, dropped her head into her hands. “Bastard.”
Charly paused as she located the pack of cigarettes in her inner left jacket pocket. She watched Karen struggle between letting herself cry and just plain giving up the will to live. Pain and anger came off her in waves but Charly felt the hopelessness most. In a fit of what could only be described as human decency, she set down the knife on the coffee table in front of her, slightly to the side.
Charly noticed Karen tense and then slowly relax as she recognised an act of mercy rather than a threat. The taller blonde pulled out her cigarettes and offered Karen one. As she looked up, Charly saw teardrops hanging just underneath the dark lashes at the corners of the other woman’s eyes. She chose to say nothing.
Karen leaned forward and took a cigarette with some hesitation. Charly produced a lighter and proceeded to light Karen’s, and then her own. She sat back and Karen watched her take in a lungful of smoke, looking thoughtful. She held the cigarette in her mouth and pulled off her jacket, revealing her unsurprisingly toned arms, draping it over one side of the chair. She plucked the cylinder from her lips and exhaled the smoke though her nostrils, studying Karen.
The wing governor endured the scrutiny, even managed to look back at Charly while she smoked, extremely thankful for the nicotine. Suddenly, the other woman stood and made her way out into the hall. Karen sat for a moment, unsure of what to do, when Charly returned with the bottle of whisky Karen had dropped when she was unceremoniously shoved up against a wall and disabled upon entering her apartment. Thank god she had a carpeted hallway. Then again, a broken bottle could be an extremely useful weapon, as Shell Dockley and Nikki Wade had demonstrated.
Charly casually opened the cabinet against the far wall and procured two glasses, like she had done it a thousand times. Karen found this disturbing but also, in a strange way, vaguely comforting. This probably meant that she was going mad, as it was entirely too early for her to be developing Stockholm Syndrome (and she probably wouldn’t have the time, anyway), but she didn’t really mind. Charly skirted the table, sat down again and poured them both generous helpings of scotch.
“So this guy is a rapist as well as a murderer?” Charly screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it down beside the knife and their glasses. Karen picked up the glass, looked at it for a moment and then took a large swallow.
“Seems like you’re the one who does the actual murdering.” She gave a small sarcastic smile and Charly’s lips twitched in response. She sipped her drink and took another drag of her cigarette, before leaning forward and looking Karen directly in the eyes.
“I may be the one who kills people but he’s the one paying for it, pulling the strings.” Karen snorted and stubbed out her cigarette in a glass ashtray, taking another drink.
“Too bloody right.” Charly discarded her own butt with a whisp of smoke curling up from it like a meeting signal. The two women watched each other from across the table, Charly sipping and admiring Karen’s long straightened hair, still in vague disarray from their initial meeting in the entryway. She allowed herself to remember the feel of pushing the shorter woman against the wall with her body, making her gasp with surprise. She abruptly jumped another train of thought.
“I gather you were going to take him down, hence my employment.” Karen eyed Charly with an unreadable expression.
“Yes. I compiled a dossier on him, with photos, witness statements, everything Area - the establishment - could possibly want to prove he’s a danger to women. Even with his friends in high places, his freedom wouldn’t have survived, let alone his job.” Karen knocked back the last of her scotch and landed the glass on the table hard. She indicated a thin leather briefcase on the sideboard with a jerk of her head and gave Charly a look of pure venom. “He may have only gotten a few years inside, knowing him. Always managing to weasel his way out of trouble. But the women would be safe and he would be punished for what he’s done!”
Charly observed the fire in Karen’s eyes, which she hadn’t seen all night, even when the other woman had tried to bring her down with an interesting combination of tae kwon do and street fighting (either prison officer training was more vigorous than she imagined or Karen Betts was tougher than Charly’s current employer let on - she wouldn’t be surprised). Karen’s righteous anger outweighed even her will to live, by way of intensity. Charly was fascinated.
“That’s the file I was meant to collect.” The American opened the bottle beside her again and inclined it in Karen’s direction, silently asking if she wanted more. Karen nodded almost without hesitation, but definitely not without fresh rage waiting just behind her features as she glared at Charly. The hitwoman changed tack as she poured. “So what’s in this dossier of yours?” Karen picked up the glass as Charly topped up her own. She was obviously still pissed as hell but she answered the question quite civilly.
“Photographs of Fenner abusing one of the younger prisoners, sexually, my original rape statement, a signed affidavit from another officer saying that Fenner was pimping out one of the prisoners and that he lied about her trying to suffocate her baby so she would be carted off to an asylum and he wouldn’t have to deal with her accusations. For separating a mother and child alone, he should swing.” Charly’s face darkened as she listened and she took a large gulp of her drink, wincing at the burn. Karen watched, nursing her own glass, her anger lingering but tempered by the alcohol. And perhaps the other woman’s presence.
“You have a son, don’t you? Ross?” Charly’s voice was gravelly and her eyes skated around the edge of her glass before she looked up at Karen again. The wing governor nodded, completely accepting that Charly knew this about her, but with a wariness around her eyes, telling of her worry for his safety. Charly made a light dismissive motion with her hand and Karen took it to mean her worries were unfounded. It’s funny how she trusted that. Charly dipped her shoulder, rotating it to work a kink out of a muscle, and Karen saw a splash of creamy skin under the neckline of the white vest.
“I have a daughter. Her name’s Caitie. She’s 17. And if anyone even dared to suggest taking her from me, I’d gut them. Pure and simple.” She stared into her drink a moment longer, then downed the rest in one. Karen watched as the other woman placed the glass on the table and picked up the knife. She closed her eyes momentarily in defeat, thinking of Ross and his father, who did make her happy for a time, and Ritchie and Mark, enjoyable mistakes, and Jim bloody Fenner… the biggest mistake of all… who was about to get her killed. She would fight, of course she would, but if the woman across from her wanted her dead, she didn’t fancy her chances.
“Hey…”
Karen opened her eyes and looked up. Charly was reaching behind her, to the small of her back, looking at her with gentle sympathy. Bewildered, by the look in Charly’s eyes and the fact that she wasn’t receiving defence wounds as she sat there, Karen watched as the other woman pulled a matte black sheath from the back of her belt and slid the knife into it before placing it on the table. She pushed it towards Karen with her fingertips so it was an equal distance from both of them, then spun it around so the blade faced away from Karen. Then she shook her head, short blonde hair sifting forward.
“I’ve done a lot of fucked up things in my life. More than I can list in one night and more than I can actually remember, owing to some bitching memory loss. But I am not going to be guilty of killing a good woman and a mother because she stood up to misogynist bastard.” Charly gave Karen a sideways smile. “Even if I happen to be employed by said misogynist bastard.” She received a faint smile in return.
Karen was in a daze. She was completely disoriented by her change in position, from condemned victim to free woman. And hearing Helen’s words come out of Charly’s mouth only added to her sense of unreality. The reprieve she’d been granted seemed to go straight to her head. Everything sounded muted, apart from a strange, low crackle in her ears. She slid the almost empty glass onto the coffee table and tried to steady herself. She felt, rather than heard, Charly say her name and was dimly aware of her rounding the table with smooth agility. Cool, delicate fingers slid across her face, then carefully behind her head to lower her back against the couch, a cushion finding its way below her neck.
“Fuck me… remind me never to mix severe emotional stress, estrogen and alcohol. I thought you could drink, Karen!” The wing governor watched distractedly as Charly hovered over her, two fingers at her carotid, dark eyes examining hers with a level of care Karen found amusing. She smiled up at Charly, enjoying a mild euphoria, as her hearing cleared and she came back to earth. Once Charly determined Karen was fine, she noticed the smile and smacked the shorter blonde on the arm.
“Fuck you! I thought you were going into shock. I would have been really fucking pissed if I ended up killing you by accident.” Karen rolled her eyes and slid her hands up Charly’s thighs by way of reassurance.
“I was not going into shock. I just haven’t eaten enough to be drinking this much. I had an early dinner.” Her eyes widened and she pushed gently at Charly’s legs. “What? I’m a trained nurse! I’m fine!” She smiled again and almost giggled up at the other woman’s critical look. Then she noticed how they were placed.
Charly had knelt with her legs either side of Karen’s to look her over. And Karen had slid her hands up Charly’s thighs in a simple gesture of reassurance and comfort but now they were resting there, burning at each point of contact. One of Charly’s hands was resting on the back of the couch behind Karen’s head, the other was on her arm. And their faces were only inches apart. And as much as Karen had defended her heterosexuality to the hilt, she was feeling a distinct warmth spreading low through her stomach and high in her chest, making her breath hitch.
“This… this is something I didn’t know about you.” Charly ground out, shifting in Karen’s lap but simultaneously trying to contain her movements. She closed her eyes and concentrated. You are not taking advantage of the freaked out, semi-sober mark, you are not taking advantage of the freaked out, semi-sober mark, you are not… then she felt Karen’s hands move to her hips, then her waist, and she moaned heavily. She opened her eyes to find Karen’s blue ones clouded with lust, more than a drop of alcohol and a few other mixed up emotions. And then she realised what a perfect angle she was at to view Karen’s extremely well formed breasts. What the fuck, who ever heard of a moral assassin…
Charly dipped her head to capture Karen’s lips just as the wing governor surged up to meet her. Karen moaned low in her throat at how soft Charly’s lips were, even softer than they looked. Charly growled and bit, soothing each mark with her tongue before making another. She slid her hands into Karen’s hair, twisting it through her fingers. Then she managed to pull away, breathing heavily.
“Okay, ignoring the fact that you are so not in any position to be wanting this, because I’ve been drinking too and I don’t care… I just need to check you’re okay with what’s happening.” Charly’s voice shook with the effort it took not to attack Karen’s mouth, or neck, or chest but she flicked the hair out of her eyes and concentrated. “Because I’m not like him, despite what I do.”
Karen paused, regarding Charly with flushed skin and bruised lips. She thought for a moment, her breathing slowing and her eyes becoming clearer. Then those lips curved into a smile and she pushed up to kiss Charly hard, eliciting an immediate response. The contract killer twisted her fingers deeper into Karen’s hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. Karen hissed at the lack of contact and then gasped as Charly bent to bite and lick her way to Karen’s pulse point, scraping her teeth across the soft skin there. Karen’s nails scratched at Charly’s back through the white cotton of her singlet.
As Charly’s mouth slid lower, she let out a frustrated breath as Karen’s neckline blocked her progress. She quickly untangled her hands from Karen’s hair and stripped the soft blue fabric from her body in two seconds flat. Karen laughed in surprise and dragged Charly in for a kiss before she could be distracted by the much more readily available expanse of Karen’s chest. She moaned and arched into Charly’s touch as she bit the swell of her left breast hard and soothed it again with her lips and tongue.
Feeling Charly’s hand snake underneath her towards her the clasp of her bra, Karen decided she owed Jim a couple of phone cards once he’d made himself at home in Strangeways or Pentonville…
And it didn’t even take one bloody pill.
Author: greenovalfruit
Rating: M/NC-17 (borderline, not really)
Fandoms: Bad Girls/The Long Kiss Goodnight
Pairings/Characters: Karen Betts/Charly Baltimore
Seasons/Spoilers: Basically, the movie (though doesn't make specific reference to many plot points) and up to S5E13 in Bad Girls
Summary: Charly Baltimore is in London on a job. That job would be Karen.
Author's Notes: AU/slightly cracky. Go from - the scene in Karen's office when Jim threatens to kill her. From there, let's say it was a Friday and Karen was planning on taking the files in to Area on Monday, thereby giving Jim some time to not so much frame Karen for murder as skip the middle man and get rid of her completely.
And here's Charly for anyone who needs help with the visual.
"Call me Charly. Since I know everything about you, down to your cup size, I guess it's fair that you know my name."
This remark was punctuated by an altogether unsubtle glance at Karen's chest, which prompted the wing governor to cross her arms, despite the relatively modest cut of her blue v-neck top, and shoot a dirty look in Charly's direction. The other woman smiled cockily in response and stretched in her seat, giving Karen the possibly inadvertent chance to look her over in return. The movement pulled her black leather jacket up and open to expose her plain white wifebeater and an inch of smooth taut skin above her stunningly tight black leather pants and matching boots.
Karen felt underdressed for her own contract killing.
"I'm still a little confused as to why anyone would want you dead," Charly wondered to the ceiling, spinning a curved six inch blade lazily with a couple of fingers. She dropped her head to look sideways at Karen. "You may have figured that out, on account of you still being alive." Karen sat back on the couch and crossed her legs, rubbing her palms across the denim of her jeans. Having been threatened by a psychopath with something sharp previously, this wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Or, rather, she preferred this illusion of calm to actually acknowledging that there was a hitwoman sitting in an armchair four feet away from her, in her apartment, playing with a hunting knife and discussing why she was hired to finish her off before morning unlock.
"Surely that's something that comes up when you interview for the job?" Karen managed to ask, admirably fighting off a tremor in her voice. Charly slid down in the armchair, legs folded over one side and head resting against the other. She began to toss the knife casually up into the air, catching it as if she were throwing nothing more dangerous than a rubber ball.
“You know, not so much. Apart from learning your location and your habits, and that payment has cleared, I don’t tend to know much more than that before I get to work. And this was a rush job.” This time Charly threw the weapon almost clear to the ceiling and caught it midway up the blade without blinking. Karen started to wonder how many people would show up to her funeral. “Although my employer seemed to want to share his reasons, I wasn’t interested at the time.” Charly shook her short, almost white blonde hair out of her dark eyes and regarded Karen with an intense curiosity. “But I am now.”
Karen found herself hit by several strong flashes of carnal desire looking into those heavily kohl rimmed eyes. Was this part of the grieving process? Wanting to jump the bones of the person about to kill you? Maybe there was a special set for murder victims who’d been let in on the joke before it was pulled. Dragging her mind away from all that leather the American was wearing, she ran her fingers through her hair and leaned an elbow on the arm on the couch.
“Your employer wouldn’t happen to be a Jim Fenner, by any chance?” Karen looked decidedly resigned, which interested Charly even more. The spy turned contract killer unfolded herself smartly and set her feet on the living room carpet, elbows on knees, watching the English woman across from her who should, by all laws of probability and her trade, be decidedly dead by now.
“Well, how many people have expressed a desire to see you disappear, Karen?” Charly rotated the blade in her hand, going for her usual inscrutable assassin look, knowing she was missing the mark by an inch or two. She wasn’t enjoying her cat and mouse with this target. Usually, she’d either get the job over and done with quickly or taunt a mark she thought particularly deserving. But she found herself genuinely interested in this woman, and not just because she had a body Charly would like to get to know a lot better, minus the cement, trash bags and inevitable deadness. Going against her code of ethics (yes, hitmen had ethics - they’d have a union if it wasn’t so counter productive in their line of work), Charly decided to release a little information. And have a cigarette.
“Slimy bastard. Thought I was a man until my voice gave me away. Couldn’t fathom a woman in my line of work. Spoke to me like I was incompetant, calling me ‘darling’ all the time. Given a little more time, I would have liked to meet face to face - then I could’ve given him something to think about.” She gestured discretely with her weapon and curled her pink lips back into a shark smile, white teeth flashing like the steel in her hand. She began to search for her cigarettes in the number of pockets in and outside of her jacket.
Karen let out a mirthless laugh and rubbed the tips of her fingers across her forehead defeatedly. She always knew Fenner would finish her off.
“It wasn’t enough for him to make me love him, defend him, believe that every instance of abuse he was involved in was a lie, then rape me himself - as soon as I’m close to finally dumping him in the shit he deserves, he hires someone to kill me. Christ…” Karen slumped, dropped her head into her hands. “Bastard.”
Charly paused as she located the pack of cigarettes in her inner left jacket pocket. She watched Karen struggle between letting herself cry and just plain giving up the will to live. Pain and anger came off her in waves but Charly felt the hopelessness most. In a fit of what could only be described as human decency, she set down the knife on the coffee table in front of her, slightly to the side.
Charly noticed Karen tense and then slowly relax as she recognised an act of mercy rather than a threat. The taller blonde pulled out her cigarettes and offered Karen one. As she looked up, Charly saw teardrops hanging just underneath the dark lashes at the corners of the other woman’s eyes. She chose to say nothing.
Karen leaned forward and took a cigarette with some hesitation. Charly produced a lighter and proceeded to light Karen’s, and then her own. She sat back and Karen watched her take in a lungful of smoke, looking thoughtful. She held the cigarette in her mouth and pulled off her jacket, revealing her unsurprisingly toned arms, draping it over one side of the chair. She plucked the cylinder from her lips and exhaled the smoke though her nostrils, studying Karen.
The wing governor endured the scrutiny, even managed to look back at Charly while she smoked, extremely thankful for the nicotine. Suddenly, the other woman stood and made her way out into the hall. Karen sat for a moment, unsure of what to do, when Charly returned with the bottle of whisky Karen had dropped when she was unceremoniously shoved up against a wall and disabled upon entering her apartment. Thank god she had a carpeted hallway. Then again, a broken bottle could be an extremely useful weapon, as Shell Dockley and Nikki Wade had demonstrated.
Charly casually opened the cabinet against the far wall and procured two glasses, like she had done it a thousand times. Karen found this disturbing but also, in a strange way, vaguely comforting. This probably meant that she was going mad, as it was entirely too early for her to be developing Stockholm Syndrome (and she probably wouldn’t have the time, anyway), but she didn’t really mind. Charly skirted the table, sat down again and poured them both generous helpings of scotch.
“So this guy is a rapist as well as a murderer?” Charly screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it down beside the knife and their glasses. Karen picked up the glass, looked at it for a moment and then took a large swallow.
“Seems like you’re the one who does the actual murdering.” She gave a small sarcastic smile and Charly’s lips twitched in response. She sipped her drink and took another drag of her cigarette, before leaning forward and looking Karen directly in the eyes.
“I may be the one who kills people but he’s the one paying for it, pulling the strings.” Karen snorted and stubbed out her cigarette in a glass ashtray, taking another drink.
“Too bloody right.” Charly discarded her own butt with a whisp of smoke curling up from it like a meeting signal. The two women watched each other from across the table, Charly sipping and admiring Karen’s long straightened hair, still in vague disarray from their initial meeting in the entryway. She allowed herself to remember the feel of pushing the shorter woman against the wall with her body, making her gasp with surprise. She abruptly jumped another train of thought.
“I gather you were going to take him down, hence my employment.” Karen eyed Charly with an unreadable expression.
“Yes. I compiled a dossier on him, with photos, witness statements, everything Area - the establishment - could possibly want to prove he’s a danger to women. Even with his friends in high places, his freedom wouldn’t have survived, let alone his job.” Karen knocked back the last of her scotch and landed the glass on the table hard. She indicated a thin leather briefcase on the sideboard with a jerk of her head and gave Charly a look of pure venom. “He may have only gotten a few years inside, knowing him. Always managing to weasel his way out of trouble. But the women would be safe and he would be punished for what he’s done!”
Charly observed the fire in Karen’s eyes, which she hadn’t seen all night, even when the other woman had tried to bring her down with an interesting combination of tae kwon do and street fighting (either prison officer training was more vigorous than she imagined or Karen Betts was tougher than Charly’s current employer let on - she wouldn’t be surprised). Karen’s righteous anger outweighed even her will to live, by way of intensity. Charly was fascinated.
“That’s the file I was meant to collect.” The American opened the bottle beside her again and inclined it in Karen’s direction, silently asking if she wanted more. Karen nodded almost without hesitation, but definitely not without fresh rage waiting just behind her features as she glared at Charly. The hitwoman changed tack as she poured. “So what’s in this dossier of yours?” Karen picked up the glass as Charly topped up her own. She was obviously still pissed as hell but she answered the question quite civilly.
“Photographs of Fenner abusing one of the younger prisoners, sexually, my original rape statement, a signed affidavit from another officer saying that Fenner was pimping out one of the prisoners and that he lied about her trying to suffocate her baby so she would be carted off to an asylum and he wouldn’t have to deal with her accusations. For separating a mother and child alone, he should swing.” Charly’s face darkened as she listened and she took a large gulp of her drink, wincing at the burn. Karen watched, nursing her own glass, her anger lingering but tempered by the alcohol. And perhaps the other woman’s presence.
“You have a son, don’t you? Ross?” Charly’s voice was gravelly and her eyes skated around the edge of her glass before she looked up at Karen again. The wing governor nodded, completely accepting that Charly knew this about her, but with a wariness around her eyes, telling of her worry for his safety. Charly made a light dismissive motion with her hand and Karen took it to mean her worries were unfounded. It’s funny how she trusted that. Charly dipped her shoulder, rotating it to work a kink out of a muscle, and Karen saw a splash of creamy skin under the neckline of the white vest.
“I have a daughter. Her name’s Caitie. She’s 17. And if anyone even dared to suggest taking her from me, I’d gut them. Pure and simple.” She stared into her drink a moment longer, then downed the rest in one. Karen watched as the other woman placed the glass on the table and picked up the knife. She closed her eyes momentarily in defeat, thinking of Ross and his father, who did make her happy for a time, and Ritchie and Mark, enjoyable mistakes, and Jim bloody Fenner… the biggest mistake of all… who was about to get her killed. She would fight, of course she would, but if the woman across from her wanted her dead, she didn’t fancy her chances.
“Hey…”
Karen opened her eyes and looked up. Charly was reaching behind her, to the small of her back, looking at her with gentle sympathy. Bewildered, by the look in Charly’s eyes and the fact that she wasn’t receiving defence wounds as she sat there, Karen watched as the other woman pulled a matte black sheath from the back of her belt and slid the knife into it before placing it on the table. She pushed it towards Karen with her fingertips so it was an equal distance from both of them, then spun it around so the blade faced away from Karen. Then she shook her head, short blonde hair sifting forward.
“I’ve done a lot of fucked up things in my life. More than I can list in one night and more than I can actually remember, owing to some bitching memory loss. But I am not going to be guilty of killing a good woman and a mother because she stood up to misogynist bastard.” Charly gave Karen a sideways smile. “Even if I happen to be employed by said misogynist bastard.” She received a faint smile in return.
Karen was in a daze. She was completely disoriented by her change in position, from condemned victim to free woman. And hearing Helen’s words come out of Charly’s mouth only added to her sense of unreality. The reprieve she’d been granted seemed to go straight to her head. Everything sounded muted, apart from a strange, low crackle in her ears. She slid the almost empty glass onto the coffee table and tried to steady herself. She felt, rather than heard, Charly say her name and was dimly aware of her rounding the table with smooth agility. Cool, delicate fingers slid across her face, then carefully behind her head to lower her back against the couch, a cushion finding its way below her neck.
“Fuck me… remind me never to mix severe emotional stress, estrogen and alcohol. I thought you could drink, Karen!” The wing governor watched distractedly as Charly hovered over her, two fingers at her carotid, dark eyes examining hers with a level of care Karen found amusing. She smiled up at Charly, enjoying a mild euphoria, as her hearing cleared and she came back to earth. Once Charly determined Karen was fine, she noticed the smile and smacked the shorter blonde on the arm.
“Fuck you! I thought you were going into shock. I would have been really fucking pissed if I ended up killing you by accident.” Karen rolled her eyes and slid her hands up Charly’s thighs by way of reassurance.
“I was not going into shock. I just haven’t eaten enough to be drinking this much. I had an early dinner.” Her eyes widened and she pushed gently at Charly’s legs. “What? I’m a trained nurse! I’m fine!” She smiled again and almost giggled up at the other woman’s critical look. Then she noticed how they were placed.
Charly had knelt with her legs either side of Karen’s to look her over. And Karen had slid her hands up Charly’s thighs in a simple gesture of reassurance and comfort but now they were resting there, burning at each point of contact. One of Charly’s hands was resting on the back of the couch behind Karen’s head, the other was on her arm. And their faces were only inches apart. And as much as Karen had defended her heterosexuality to the hilt, she was feeling a distinct warmth spreading low through her stomach and high in her chest, making her breath hitch.
“This… this is something I didn’t know about you.” Charly ground out, shifting in Karen’s lap but simultaneously trying to contain her movements. She closed her eyes and concentrated. You are not taking advantage of the freaked out, semi-sober mark, you are not taking advantage of the freaked out, semi-sober mark, you are not… then she felt Karen’s hands move to her hips, then her waist, and she moaned heavily. She opened her eyes to find Karen’s blue ones clouded with lust, more than a drop of alcohol and a few other mixed up emotions. And then she realised what a perfect angle she was at to view Karen’s extremely well formed breasts. What the fuck, who ever heard of a moral assassin…
Charly dipped her head to capture Karen’s lips just as the wing governor surged up to meet her. Karen moaned low in her throat at how soft Charly’s lips were, even softer than they looked. Charly growled and bit, soothing each mark with her tongue before making another. She slid her hands into Karen’s hair, twisting it through her fingers. Then she managed to pull away, breathing heavily.
“Okay, ignoring the fact that you are so not in any position to be wanting this, because I’ve been drinking too and I don’t care… I just need to check you’re okay with what’s happening.” Charly’s voice shook with the effort it took not to attack Karen’s mouth, or neck, or chest but she flicked the hair out of her eyes and concentrated. “Because I’m not like him, despite what I do.”
Karen paused, regarding Charly with flushed skin and bruised lips. She thought for a moment, her breathing slowing and her eyes becoming clearer. Then those lips curved into a smile and she pushed up to kiss Charly hard, eliciting an immediate response. The contract killer twisted her fingers deeper into Karen’s hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. Karen hissed at the lack of contact and then gasped as Charly bent to bite and lick her way to Karen’s pulse point, scraping her teeth across the soft skin there. Karen’s nails scratched at Charly’s back through the white cotton of her singlet.
As Charly’s mouth slid lower, she let out a frustrated breath as Karen’s neckline blocked her progress. She quickly untangled her hands from Karen’s hair and stripped the soft blue fabric from her body in two seconds flat. Karen laughed in surprise and dragged Charly in for a kiss before she could be distracted by the much more readily available expanse of Karen’s chest. She moaned and arched into Charly’s touch as she bit the swell of her left breast hard and soothed it again with her lips and tongue.
Feeling Charly’s hand snake underneath her towards her the clasp of her bra, Karen decided she owed Jim a couple of phone cards once he’d made himself at home in Strangeways or Pentonville…
And it didn’t even take one bloody pill.