FIC: Hijink (DWP, Miranda/Andy, Get Smart 99/Max) 2/?
Title: Hijink
Author: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada / Get Smart Movie (Cross-over)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy, 99/Max, 99/Miranda
Spoilers: Both movies
Archiving: ralst is welcome to it.
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Summary: Worlds collide when Agent 99 and Maxwell Smart chase Rogue Agent 23 to a charity auction, and discover the inspiration for Agent 99's new face: Andy. Now, a case of mistaken identity has Andrea kidnapped, Max befuddled, and Miranda Priestly pissed off.
Notes: I'm going to be really busy this weekend, so no new chapter until next week, unfortunately. But here's hoping you enjoy chapter 2! Special thanks to mercurychkita for the inspiration and the beta!
--
CHAPTERS
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen
--
Chapter Two: The Devil Wears John Galliano
"Max, come in. I think we have a very big problem."
The world was skittering slightly, and Maxwell Smart was seeing stars.
He had a concussion. That had to be the only explanation.
There was no other reason for him to be sprawled out on his back surrounded by people, with a mutely horrified 99 looking down at him, and yet somehow still radioing static in his ear.
"Is he okay?"
Definitely a concussion. Pushing to his feet, he winced, taking a moment to reach up and press tentatively to the side of his head, hoping for no blood.
"I’m so, so sorry," said the 99 looking down at him.
"Max?" said the 99 in his ear. "Can you hear me?"
He cleared his throat, opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Swallowed for good measure.
Which caused a choking fit, as the tooth mike, jarred loose from his fall, sank down his esophagus.
Not good.
"Oh, my God! What if he's having a seizure!"
A large man in a suit reached down and helped him up, and he closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.
He winced.
"Is he okay?" he heard again.
"I'm not sure," came another voice. The 99 that attacked him. "I think he might have a concussion. He keeps calling for 99."
"99 what?"
"Should we call someone?"
"No, no," he managed, trying to stay upright. "I'm okay." Carefully, he let go of the burly Good Samaritan. "Please, just go about your business. I deserved that knock on the head." He nodded emphatically, and grimaced at the ringing it produced. "I called her uterus dusty."
"He what? Her Taurus was rusty?" asked another curious bystander.
99 regarded him with that same strange, unfamiliar expression. "I really think you need to see someone."
"Just fine," he growled, trying hard to smile through the pain. "Let's not draw attention to ourselves. I think you've done enough. What was that for?"
"I think you're bleeding," pointed out a spectator cheerfully.
"Oh, God you are!" 99 bit her lip, reaching up tentatively to the side of his head. He quickly smacked it away.
"No, no, no! I'm fine. Just a little drippy. But I'm fine. Please. Go about your business."
Grabbing hold of 99's elbow, he hobbled fast into a corner, away from the crowd. "99, seriously! If I've done something wrong, perhaps you might want to be a little more direct about it! I thought we discussed the fact that I don't like getting hit on the head. And when did you learn to throw your voice? Because that's very impressive!"
The elbow in his grasp jerked away, and Max reeled a little. He blinked, put his hand up to his head, and came away with a smear of red.
"Look, I know for a fact that you were calling me 99 before I hit you, so I'm going to think you're either delusional or think I’m someone else." Trying hard to clear his thoughts, Max straightened, focused on the figure in front of him, and felt something tighten inside of him. Because 99... never looked at him quite like that. And she had not been wearing that dress. And her posture was never this slouchy.
And 99 had never hit him upside the head with an empty champagne glass.
"Oh, no." He inhaled sharply.
"So, I'm going to get you someone from the hotel, and then I'm going to leave. For some reason I have this massive headache now... But again, I’m really, really sorry."
"No, please-" he began, but the stranger wearing 99's face was already hobbling away from him, toward the ballroom. He took a step, and then the world started spinning. Sucking in a deep breath, he leaned heavily against the wall. When his phone started ringing, he fumbled for it.
"Smart."
"Max," came a familiar, aggravated voice. "Did you swallow your mike again?"
... that sounded very much like 99. Knees nearly buckling, he clutched the wall for support, relieved beyond belief. "Yes," he managed, but protested feebly, "It wasn't my fault. It was yours."
"How was it mine?"
"You hit me in the head with a champagne glass."
There was a moment of silence. "We have a problem, 99," he said, before his 99 could start in on a befuddled rant.
"You're telling me," she breathed. Max held the phone to his ear, palming the wall with the other arm for support as he struggled to keep his eyes on 99's double as she closed in on the ballroom entrance.
"A HUGE problem, Max. Apparently there's a woman running around New York wearing my face."
"I know," he answered, blinking past the pain.
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm staring right at her."
--
And there she was. Miranda absolutely did not notice.
Her gaze was merely one of casual interest; that was all. No, casual disinterest, because as of this moment, Andrea Sachs was dead to her.
Well she would be, when the passive-aggressive twit cared to venture a glance in her direction.
"Well, there she is," he chuckled, and Miranda felt suddenly caught, as her eyes drifted back to her companion to discover he was now staring in Andrea's direction. "Lovely woman, wouldn't you say?"
Miranda felt a sudden shiver of unexplainable rage jitter up her spine. "Of a plain sort, I would think."
The look he gave her was amused. "A little unfeminine, I would agree."
Apparently. Andrea seemed barely able to stay upright on her heels. Clumsier than usual, today.
Miranda's posture tightened, as well as her smile.
Andrea seemed very clumsy today.
"Had a little too much champagne," Dwayne noted, when Andrea literally veered into the wall, clutching it for support.
Could Andrea really have the audacity to show up to an event like this drunk?
It was not like her. It was infuriating, if it was true. But it was just simply not like her.
Not even Andrea had the stupidity to do such a thing.
Unable to help herself, Miranda took an unconscious step forward, hampered only when the man beside her gently blocked her with a smile and a finger on her forearm.
"I'll take care of her," he said, unruffled by the scathing glare she threw in his direction. "I know her."
The blood rushed from her face at the insinuation he presented, and she felt deathly cold. "Do you?" she asked sharply.
"Could have been my champagne that did the trick," he noted, and with a small bow, nodded in her direction. "Can't have her making a scene, can we?" Before she could respond, he was already walking away, heading to Andrea, who now seemed to be struggling for the exit.
And when on earth did she change her clothing?
Something was inexcusably wrong with this picture.
"Miranda," she heard dimly. "The car is here?"
"It can wait," she hissed. When Beth made a noise, Miranda shot her a murderous glance. Beth shut up immediately.
Squaring her shoulders, Miranda moved forward, letting the crowds part for her as she headed after Mr. Dwayne Johnson and the door through which he had disappeared.
--
The screechy woman named Emily continued to make muffled noises, but thanks to the duct tape 99 had found in the closet and stretched over her mouth, she wasn't nearly as annoying.
She even looked frightened. Which 99 would admit, was a small comfort.
She really needed that small comfort because another woman had her face. There was another woman. With her face. At this party.
"Okay," she breathed into the cell phone, closing her eyes and tilting her head back to face the ceiling. "Okay, let's just think. She's a civilian. I'm sure of it. A reporter for a newspaper here in New York, but I've already been confused for her once, and if it keeps happening this is going to turn into some sort of Shakespearean comedy, so..."
"99, I think something's wrong with her."
Her head snapped back into position. "What do you mean, Max?"
"She's wobbling. She disappeared into the ballroom, but she's come back out. She looks sick. Then again, I have had a glass smashed against my head, and it's possible I have a concussion."
"Oh, Max," she whispered, torn out of the moment when concern for her lover overrode her agent's instincts.
"I'm all right. There's two of everything, but I'm okay. She looks intoxicated. Then again, so do I."
In any other profession, the logical conclusion would have been that Andy Sachs was drunk.
In their line of work, there was another very real, very terrifying possibility. "Max, if I was confused for her, then-"
"-Then if 23 is here, he could very easily mistake her for you."
A ball of tension sank low into her stomach. "Okay, then you need to catch her, and get her out of the way. Chances are, if she's wobbling..."
"She's already drugged," he replied grimly. There was a breathless weakness in his voice, and it worried her.
Gently, she began, "Max, you're hurt."
"99, I'm fine. I've got my eye on her. I’m going to grab her and convince her to come with me."
"The woman who smashed a glass against your head."
"That was a miscommunication. I kissed her."
Her concern dissolved immediately in favor of a quite different reaction. "Excuse me? You what?"
"99, at the time I thought she was you."
"You kissed a complete stranger?"
"No, I kissed you."
"No, Max. You kissed a woman who was NOT me."
"99 right now is not the time for you to get jealous."
"I'm not jealous," she snapped. "God-dammit, Max." Pressing her palm against her forehead, 99 closed her eyes, and told herself to breathe. "Just get Andy Sachs and put her out of harm's way. I'll track down 23 myself. And then we'll regroup, and you'll be lucky if I don't break another glass over your head for not realizing immediately that wasn't me."
With a growl, she disconnected.
Her fingers were already on the door when she heard an agonized muffled whine from the corner of the closet.
"Oh." Emily stared up at her, wide-eyed and struggling. "Right." Teeth digging into her lower lip, 99 shrugged slightly. "Look, I'm sorry, you're just going to have to stay here until we get this sorted out. Just... relax. I'll be back."
She opened the door, and chose to ignore the undignified snort that followed.
--
Her vision seemed to be fogging over, and these heels, sensible and still high, felt like planks attached to her feet.
This was so very not good.
Feeling hot and clammy, Andy fumbled for the latch of the bathroom door, stumbling through when the door unlocked and her weight pushed it open.
Thankfully, the posh bathroom was remarkably deserted.
God. What was the matter with her?
She managed to make it to the sink, fingers slipping against the faucet until water began to eek out in little pearl size drips.
But the nausea was building.
A creak alerted her to another bathroom occupant, but Andy couldn't look. Not when she was too busy trying hard not to throw up.
"Andy Sachs?"
Her eyes rose blearily, and she discovered a fuzzy version of the man who she had accidentally assaulted.
"What are you doing here?" Her tongue felt double its normal size, and it felt dry and cottony to boot. Seriously, what the hell? "This is a ladies' bathroom."
"I'm aware of that. My name is Maxwell Smart." He sounded like he was speaking from inside a bubble.
She blinked, and then lowered her head, splashing her face feebly with drops of water.
"Hiya, Max," she muttered. "I hit you on the head with a glass."
"Yes, you did. I'm glad you remember. You need to come with me now."
Too dizzy to do much other than sigh heavily, Andy shook her head. "Max, even if I wasn't this close to puking all over your suit, I would not go with you, because you're clearly insane. Also? There's two of you. And the second one is much bigger. And you're still bleeding."
She shut off the water, and then turned carefully on her heel, ready to push past him, when her knees suddenly gave out.
Seconds before her forehead smashed against the porcelain, she was caught, barely, by the insane man she clocked on the head. Relieved, she flopped against his chest, smiled dreamily up at him. "Bless you, crazy Maxwell Smart."
"We're not out of the woods yet."
The low, dark tone seemed out of place. Lifting her head, Andy shook it side to side, a misguided attempt to sort out the fogginess.
It didn't help.
Nor was it particularly comforting when she blearily realized that the person Andy had seen and inferred was Max's dizzy double was actually not a double at all, but the guy from before who had given her the champagne.
Maxwell Smart's arms tightened around her, and Andy's smile froze, when the burly man reached behind him and locked the door. The charming smile was gone, and in its place was a gleam in his eyes and a smirk that could only be defined as wicked.
"Well, what do you know?" he said, pointing a gun. "Don't mind me. Don't want to interrupt the private moment, but as long as I'm here… Long time no see, Max-y."
--
"Chief, this isn't a game," 99 spat, keeping her voice low as she walked quietly down the hallway. "They didn't just give me an original face, they gave me someone else's face, and that person is here."
She could hear cursing on the other end of the phone, before the Chief sighed audibly in her ear. "Call it off," he said, sounding exhausted. "Find Max, find that girl, and get the hell out of there. And tell Max no heroics this time. We can't risk a civilian getting caught up in all of this."
She shut her eyes, warring within herself. "But this is our best chance of catching 23, Chief. You know that."
"And you're no good to us with your cover compromised and Max barely standing. Get out of there. We'll track him."
"Max said he patched you into the camera system."
"He did. We're going through the feeds to see if we can locate them… stand by, 99."
Inhaling deeply, 99 willed her heartbeat to slow.
There was no easy way out of this.
Max was hurt. Her doppelganger was drugged, and littering this silent auction was not only the very dangerous Agent 23, but also quite a few people who could feasibly recognize her as Andrea Sachs.
Logically, she should have stayed in the closet until she heard from Max.
But when it came down to it, 99 was never very good at listening to logic. She went with her gut, and her gut told her that Max's weak voice and confession to seeing two of everything meant he was in a world of trouble if 23 found Andy Sachs before she did.
And thanks to Max swallowing the damned tooth mike AGAIN, she couldn't know if he was all right. If he got to Andy Sachs in time. If 23 had gotten to them first.
The sounds of the band drifting weakly from the ballroom told her the cocktail hour was over and the dancing had officially begun, which was good. It meant more people inside, fewer witnesses, less of a chance of running into any one of these fashion giants and being mistaken for the 'traitor' Andy Sachs, which, judging by Emily's reaction, was a very good thing.
"Chief?" she whispered harshly into the phone, losing patience. "I don't have much time."
"Stand by, 99, we're working with what we got."
Cursing silently, she edged slowly down the hallway, turning a corner and nearly colliding with a gray-haired woman in immaculate couture she recognized immediately as Miranda Priestly, Editor-In-Chief of Runway Magazine, and fashion icon.
Shit.
For half a second, she was met with intense silence, as the other woman looked her up and down, pursing her thin lips and staring down at her over the elegant, but long nose.
"Miranda," she began, mind now working a mile a minute as she tried hard to remember what she had extracted from Emily before she had lost patience with her blubbering and gagged her. Andy was Miranda's former assistant. She had walked out on her in Paris. Miranda Priestly HATED Andrea Sachs.
That was why it was quite a surprise when without hesitation, the aforementioned 'Dragon Lady' grabbed hold of her shoulders, and cupped her chin with long slender fingers, bringing her in close. "Are you sick?" she demanded. "What happened in there?"
But before she could answer, the flash of familiarity in Miranda's face, the easy way she touched her faded. Hawk eyes met hers, and then the hands dropped as if her skin had scorched her.
Miranda Priestly looked at her with a hard, furious expression, and those eyes glittered with unspoken warning.
"Who are you?" came the shocked, quiet whisper.
Her phone, frozen to her ear, suddenly spat with life. "We've found them, 99. They're in the ladies room, and you'd better hurry. A large man just went in there behind them, and the face may be different, but he's kept up with the weightlifting."
23.
"I'm on my way," she said, and lowered the phone.
"Answer me." 99's head lifted to find Miranda Priestly glaring at her with an expression that was both dangerous and intimidating. "You will tell me where Andrea is."
How on earth-
Sucking in a deep breath, 99 shook her head immediately. There was no time. "I can't explain this to you right now."
"Try."
Ignoring her, 99 was already turning, when a hand grabbed hold of her shoulders, fingers digging into her sharply.
"Tell me where Andrea is."
There was no time for this. Quickly, her hand jutted out and grabbed hold of Miranda's throat. Ignoring the way a hand came up to clamp at her wrist fiercely, she shoved hard, twisting until she had Miranda Priestly flush against the wall.
But instead of being frightened, the other woman simply looked furious.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" The statement was croaked, thanks to the placement of 99's fingers, but the meaning behind it was clear.
"I don’t CARE," she snapped back in a harsh whisper. "I just care about the fact that Andrea Sachs is in a lot of trouble if you don't let me go and let me DO MY JOB."
"Let me go or I will scream."
There were steps, the sound of a hum indicating a person coming down the hallway. 99's grip tightened as she saw the look in Miranda's eyes. She would scream. And 99 would be arrested because she had physically assaulted Miranda Priestly.
There was no other option.
Fingers still wrapped around her throat, she pulled, smashing her lips harshly against Miranda's in a passionate embrace.
Underneath her mouth, Miranda uttered an affronted mumble, which thankfully came off like a moan. Fingers slipped fast to bury into the short hairs at Miranda's nape. 99 shoved her tongue into those thin lips and prayed the acerbic woman would not bite it off.
Behind her, she heard the humming stop, the steps falter.
"Good GOD!" she heard, and though her eyes were closed, she immediately knew it was her intruder from before. "You REALLY NEED CHRIST!"
The steps became a stomp, and died away.
Fingers dug into her hair and with a sharp jerk, Miranda yanked her head back. 99 grimaced as a searing burst of pain exploded along her scalp.
"How dare you?!"
Immediately her palm lifted to cover Miranda's. "Listen to me," she began through gritted teeth. "I am a government agent."
"And you used Andrea's likeness to attempt to seduce me? Who told you that she and I-"
... Okay. Wow.
Her surprise must have registered, because the rage in Miranda's face suddenly died, and was immediately replaced with a hot flush of color splashing along those strong cheeks.
"Right," 99 said abruptly, oddly embarrassed. "Look, that's... that's not - look, if you want to help her, you need to let me go. She's in a lot of danger right now and I need to go to the bathroom!"
That came out severely wrong. Miranda's brow arched in contempt.
"Not because I have to pee," she elaborated. "She's been drugged, and there's a rogue agent who wants to kill me and my partner- can I let go?"
It was a tense moment until Miranda nodded. 99 sighed in relief when the fingers clenching her hair loosened their clutch, and she was able to pull back from the other woman. Bending over, she smoothed her hand up the slit of her dress and slid out the small pistol she had stashed.
When Miranda fell into step behind her, she froze. Whirling back, she once again faced the imposing woman. "What are you doing?"
"You said Andrea was in trouble."
"So?"
"Lead the way."
"Oh, God, really?! Look, I don't have time for-"
The older woman pursed her lips, and impatiently indicated that 99 get moving.
Rolling her eyes, 99 felt suddenly like stomping her feet and throwing a tantrum before she threw her hands up and flung her arm in the desired direction. "Fine! Whatever. Let's go!"
Looking satisfied and smug, the infuriating Editor-In-Chief moved down the hallway.
--
End chapter two.
Author: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada / Get Smart Movie (Cross-over)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy, 99/Max, 99/Miranda
Spoilers: Both movies
Archiving: ralst is welcome to it.
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Summary: Worlds collide when Agent 99 and Maxwell Smart chase Rogue Agent 23 to a charity auction, and discover the inspiration for Agent 99's new face: Andy. Now, a case of mistaken identity has Andrea kidnapped, Max befuddled, and Miranda Priestly pissed off.
Notes: I'm going to be really busy this weekend, so no new chapter until next week, unfortunately. But here's hoping you enjoy chapter 2! Special thanks to mercurychkita for the inspiration and the beta!
--
CHAPTERS
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen
--
Chapter Two: The Devil Wears John Galliano
"Max, come in. I think we have a very big problem."
The world was skittering slightly, and Maxwell Smart was seeing stars.
He had a concussion. That had to be the only explanation.
There was no other reason for him to be sprawled out on his back surrounded by people, with a mutely horrified 99 looking down at him, and yet somehow still radioing static in his ear.
"Is he okay?"
Definitely a concussion. Pushing to his feet, he winced, taking a moment to reach up and press tentatively to the side of his head, hoping for no blood.
"I’m so, so sorry," said the 99 looking down at him.
"Max?" said the 99 in his ear. "Can you hear me?"
He cleared his throat, opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Swallowed for good measure.
Which caused a choking fit, as the tooth mike, jarred loose from his fall, sank down his esophagus.
Not good.
"Oh, my God! What if he's having a seizure!"
A large man in a suit reached down and helped him up, and he closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.
He winced.
"Is he okay?" he heard again.
"I'm not sure," came another voice. The 99 that attacked him. "I think he might have a concussion. He keeps calling for 99."
"99 what?"
"Should we call someone?"
"No, no," he managed, trying to stay upright. "I'm okay." Carefully, he let go of the burly Good Samaritan. "Please, just go about your business. I deserved that knock on the head." He nodded emphatically, and grimaced at the ringing it produced. "I called her uterus dusty."
"He what? Her Taurus was rusty?" asked another curious bystander.
99 regarded him with that same strange, unfamiliar expression. "I really think you need to see someone."
"Just fine," he growled, trying hard to smile through the pain. "Let's not draw attention to ourselves. I think you've done enough. What was that for?"
"I think you're bleeding," pointed out a spectator cheerfully.
"Oh, God you are!" 99 bit her lip, reaching up tentatively to the side of his head. He quickly smacked it away.
"No, no, no! I'm fine. Just a little drippy. But I'm fine. Please. Go about your business."
Grabbing hold of 99's elbow, he hobbled fast into a corner, away from the crowd. "99, seriously! If I've done something wrong, perhaps you might want to be a little more direct about it! I thought we discussed the fact that I don't like getting hit on the head. And when did you learn to throw your voice? Because that's very impressive!"
The elbow in his grasp jerked away, and Max reeled a little. He blinked, put his hand up to his head, and came away with a smear of red.
"Look, I know for a fact that you were calling me 99 before I hit you, so I'm going to think you're either delusional or think I’m someone else." Trying hard to clear his thoughts, Max straightened, focused on the figure in front of him, and felt something tighten inside of him. Because 99... never looked at him quite like that. And she had not been wearing that dress. And her posture was never this slouchy.
And 99 had never hit him upside the head with an empty champagne glass.
"Oh, no." He inhaled sharply.
"So, I'm going to get you someone from the hotel, and then I'm going to leave. For some reason I have this massive headache now... But again, I’m really, really sorry."
"No, please-" he began, but the stranger wearing 99's face was already hobbling away from him, toward the ballroom. He took a step, and then the world started spinning. Sucking in a deep breath, he leaned heavily against the wall. When his phone started ringing, he fumbled for it.
"Smart."
"Max," came a familiar, aggravated voice. "Did you swallow your mike again?"
... that sounded very much like 99. Knees nearly buckling, he clutched the wall for support, relieved beyond belief. "Yes," he managed, but protested feebly, "It wasn't my fault. It was yours."
"How was it mine?"
"You hit me in the head with a champagne glass."
There was a moment of silence. "We have a problem, 99," he said, before his 99 could start in on a befuddled rant.
"You're telling me," she breathed. Max held the phone to his ear, palming the wall with the other arm for support as he struggled to keep his eyes on 99's double as she closed in on the ballroom entrance.
"A HUGE problem, Max. Apparently there's a woman running around New York wearing my face."
"I know," he answered, blinking past the pain.
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm staring right at her."
--
And there she was. Miranda absolutely did not notice.
Her gaze was merely one of casual interest; that was all. No, casual disinterest, because as of this moment, Andrea Sachs was dead to her.
Well she would be, when the passive-aggressive twit cared to venture a glance in her direction.
"Well, there she is," he chuckled, and Miranda felt suddenly caught, as her eyes drifted back to her companion to discover he was now staring in Andrea's direction. "Lovely woman, wouldn't you say?"
Miranda felt a sudden shiver of unexplainable rage jitter up her spine. "Of a plain sort, I would think."
The look he gave her was amused. "A little unfeminine, I would agree."
Apparently. Andrea seemed barely able to stay upright on her heels. Clumsier than usual, today.
Miranda's posture tightened, as well as her smile.
Andrea seemed very clumsy today.
"Had a little too much champagne," Dwayne noted, when Andrea literally veered into the wall, clutching it for support.
Could Andrea really have the audacity to show up to an event like this drunk?
It was not like her. It was infuriating, if it was true. But it was just simply not like her.
Not even Andrea had the stupidity to do such a thing.
Unable to help herself, Miranda took an unconscious step forward, hampered only when the man beside her gently blocked her with a smile and a finger on her forearm.
"I'll take care of her," he said, unruffled by the scathing glare she threw in his direction. "I know her."
The blood rushed from her face at the insinuation he presented, and she felt deathly cold. "Do you?" she asked sharply.
"Could have been my champagne that did the trick," he noted, and with a small bow, nodded in her direction. "Can't have her making a scene, can we?" Before she could respond, he was already walking away, heading to Andrea, who now seemed to be struggling for the exit.
And when on earth did she change her clothing?
Something was inexcusably wrong with this picture.
"Miranda," she heard dimly. "The car is here?"
"It can wait," she hissed. When Beth made a noise, Miranda shot her a murderous glance. Beth shut up immediately.
Squaring her shoulders, Miranda moved forward, letting the crowds part for her as she headed after Mr. Dwayne Johnson and the door through which he had disappeared.
--
The screechy woman named Emily continued to make muffled noises, but thanks to the duct tape 99 had found in the closet and stretched over her mouth, she wasn't nearly as annoying.
She even looked frightened. Which 99 would admit, was a small comfort.
She really needed that small comfort because another woman had her face. There was another woman. With her face. At this party.
"Okay," she breathed into the cell phone, closing her eyes and tilting her head back to face the ceiling. "Okay, let's just think. She's a civilian. I'm sure of it. A reporter for a newspaper here in New York, but I've already been confused for her once, and if it keeps happening this is going to turn into some sort of Shakespearean comedy, so..."
"99, I think something's wrong with her."
Her head snapped back into position. "What do you mean, Max?"
"She's wobbling. She disappeared into the ballroom, but she's come back out. She looks sick. Then again, I have had a glass smashed against my head, and it's possible I have a concussion."
"Oh, Max," she whispered, torn out of the moment when concern for her lover overrode her agent's instincts.
"I'm all right. There's two of everything, but I'm okay. She looks intoxicated. Then again, so do I."
In any other profession, the logical conclusion would have been that Andy Sachs was drunk.
In their line of work, there was another very real, very terrifying possibility. "Max, if I was confused for her, then-"
"-Then if 23 is here, he could very easily mistake her for you."
A ball of tension sank low into her stomach. "Okay, then you need to catch her, and get her out of the way. Chances are, if she's wobbling..."
"She's already drugged," he replied grimly. There was a breathless weakness in his voice, and it worried her.
Gently, she began, "Max, you're hurt."
"99, I'm fine. I've got my eye on her. I’m going to grab her and convince her to come with me."
"The woman who smashed a glass against your head."
"That was a miscommunication. I kissed her."
Her concern dissolved immediately in favor of a quite different reaction. "Excuse me? You what?"
"99, at the time I thought she was you."
"You kissed a complete stranger?"
"No, I kissed you."
"No, Max. You kissed a woman who was NOT me."
"99 right now is not the time for you to get jealous."
"I'm not jealous," she snapped. "God-dammit, Max." Pressing her palm against her forehead, 99 closed her eyes, and told herself to breathe. "Just get Andy Sachs and put her out of harm's way. I'll track down 23 myself. And then we'll regroup, and you'll be lucky if I don't break another glass over your head for not realizing immediately that wasn't me."
With a growl, she disconnected.
Her fingers were already on the door when she heard an agonized muffled whine from the corner of the closet.
"Oh." Emily stared up at her, wide-eyed and struggling. "Right." Teeth digging into her lower lip, 99 shrugged slightly. "Look, I'm sorry, you're just going to have to stay here until we get this sorted out. Just... relax. I'll be back."
She opened the door, and chose to ignore the undignified snort that followed.
--
Her vision seemed to be fogging over, and these heels, sensible and still high, felt like planks attached to her feet.
This was so very not good.
Feeling hot and clammy, Andy fumbled for the latch of the bathroom door, stumbling through when the door unlocked and her weight pushed it open.
Thankfully, the posh bathroom was remarkably deserted.
God. What was the matter with her?
She managed to make it to the sink, fingers slipping against the faucet until water began to eek out in little pearl size drips.
But the nausea was building.
A creak alerted her to another bathroom occupant, but Andy couldn't look. Not when she was too busy trying hard not to throw up.
"Andy Sachs?"
Her eyes rose blearily, and she discovered a fuzzy version of the man who she had accidentally assaulted.
"What are you doing here?" Her tongue felt double its normal size, and it felt dry and cottony to boot. Seriously, what the hell? "This is a ladies' bathroom."
"I'm aware of that. My name is Maxwell Smart." He sounded like he was speaking from inside a bubble.
She blinked, and then lowered her head, splashing her face feebly with drops of water.
"Hiya, Max," she muttered. "I hit you on the head with a glass."
"Yes, you did. I'm glad you remember. You need to come with me now."
Too dizzy to do much other than sigh heavily, Andy shook her head. "Max, even if I wasn't this close to puking all over your suit, I would not go with you, because you're clearly insane. Also? There's two of you. And the second one is much bigger. And you're still bleeding."
She shut off the water, and then turned carefully on her heel, ready to push past him, when her knees suddenly gave out.
Seconds before her forehead smashed against the porcelain, she was caught, barely, by the insane man she clocked on the head. Relieved, she flopped against his chest, smiled dreamily up at him. "Bless you, crazy Maxwell Smart."
"We're not out of the woods yet."
The low, dark tone seemed out of place. Lifting her head, Andy shook it side to side, a misguided attempt to sort out the fogginess.
It didn't help.
Nor was it particularly comforting when she blearily realized that the person Andy had seen and inferred was Max's dizzy double was actually not a double at all, but the guy from before who had given her the champagne.
Maxwell Smart's arms tightened around her, and Andy's smile froze, when the burly man reached behind him and locked the door. The charming smile was gone, and in its place was a gleam in his eyes and a smirk that could only be defined as wicked.
"Well, what do you know?" he said, pointing a gun. "Don't mind me. Don't want to interrupt the private moment, but as long as I'm here… Long time no see, Max-y."
--
"Chief, this isn't a game," 99 spat, keeping her voice low as she walked quietly down the hallway. "They didn't just give me an original face, they gave me someone else's face, and that person is here."
She could hear cursing on the other end of the phone, before the Chief sighed audibly in her ear. "Call it off," he said, sounding exhausted. "Find Max, find that girl, and get the hell out of there. And tell Max no heroics this time. We can't risk a civilian getting caught up in all of this."
She shut her eyes, warring within herself. "But this is our best chance of catching 23, Chief. You know that."
"And you're no good to us with your cover compromised and Max barely standing. Get out of there. We'll track him."
"Max said he patched you into the camera system."
"He did. We're going through the feeds to see if we can locate them… stand by, 99."
Inhaling deeply, 99 willed her heartbeat to slow.
There was no easy way out of this.
Max was hurt. Her doppelganger was drugged, and littering this silent auction was not only the very dangerous Agent 23, but also quite a few people who could feasibly recognize her as Andrea Sachs.
Logically, she should have stayed in the closet until she heard from Max.
But when it came down to it, 99 was never very good at listening to logic. She went with her gut, and her gut told her that Max's weak voice and confession to seeing two of everything meant he was in a world of trouble if 23 found Andy Sachs before she did.
And thanks to Max swallowing the damned tooth mike AGAIN, she couldn't know if he was all right. If he got to Andy Sachs in time. If 23 had gotten to them first.
The sounds of the band drifting weakly from the ballroom told her the cocktail hour was over and the dancing had officially begun, which was good. It meant more people inside, fewer witnesses, less of a chance of running into any one of these fashion giants and being mistaken for the 'traitor' Andy Sachs, which, judging by Emily's reaction, was a very good thing.
"Chief?" she whispered harshly into the phone, losing patience. "I don't have much time."
"Stand by, 99, we're working with what we got."
Cursing silently, she edged slowly down the hallway, turning a corner and nearly colliding with a gray-haired woman in immaculate couture she recognized immediately as Miranda Priestly, Editor-In-Chief of Runway Magazine, and fashion icon.
Shit.
For half a second, she was met with intense silence, as the other woman looked her up and down, pursing her thin lips and staring down at her over the elegant, but long nose.
"Miranda," she began, mind now working a mile a minute as she tried hard to remember what she had extracted from Emily before she had lost patience with her blubbering and gagged her. Andy was Miranda's former assistant. She had walked out on her in Paris. Miranda Priestly HATED Andrea Sachs.
That was why it was quite a surprise when without hesitation, the aforementioned 'Dragon Lady' grabbed hold of her shoulders, and cupped her chin with long slender fingers, bringing her in close. "Are you sick?" she demanded. "What happened in there?"
But before she could answer, the flash of familiarity in Miranda's face, the easy way she touched her faded. Hawk eyes met hers, and then the hands dropped as if her skin had scorched her.
Miranda Priestly looked at her with a hard, furious expression, and those eyes glittered with unspoken warning.
"Who are you?" came the shocked, quiet whisper.
Her phone, frozen to her ear, suddenly spat with life. "We've found them, 99. They're in the ladies room, and you'd better hurry. A large man just went in there behind them, and the face may be different, but he's kept up with the weightlifting."
23.
"I'm on my way," she said, and lowered the phone.
"Answer me." 99's head lifted to find Miranda Priestly glaring at her with an expression that was both dangerous and intimidating. "You will tell me where Andrea is."
How on earth-
Sucking in a deep breath, 99 shook her head immediately. There was no time. "I can't explain this to you right now."
"Try."
Ignoring her, 99 was already turning, when a hand grabbed hold of her shoulders, fingers digging into her sharply.
"Tell me where Andrea is."
There was no time for this. Quickly, her hand jutted out and grabbed hold of Miranda's throat. Ignoring the way a hand came up to clamp at her wrist fiercely, she shoved hard, twisting until she had Miranda Priestly flush against the wall.
But instead of being frightened, the other woman simply looked furious.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" The statement was croaked, thanks to the placement of 99's fingers, but the meaning behind it was clear.
"I don’t CARE," she snapped back in a harsh whisper. "I just care about the fact that Andrea Sachs is in a lot of trouble if you don't let me go and let me DO MY JOB."
"Let me go or I will scream."
There were steps, the sound of a hum indicating a person coming down the hallway. 99's grip tightened as she saw the look in Miranda's eyes. She would scream. And 99 would be arrested because she had physically assaulted Miranda Priestly.
There was no other option.
Fingers still wrapped around her throat, she pulled, smashing her lips harshly against Miranda's in a passionate embrace.
Underneath her mouth, Miranda uttered an affronted mumble, which thankfully came off like a moan. Fingers slipped fast to bury into the short hairs at Miranda's nape. 99 shoved her tongue into those thin lips and prayed the acerbic woman would not bite it off.
Behind her, she heard the humming stop, the steps falter.
"Good GOD!" she heard, and though her eyes were closed, she immediately knew it was her intruder from before. "You REALLY NEED CHRIST!"
The steps became a stomp, and died away.
Fingers dug into her hair and with a sharp jerk, Miranda yanked her head back. 99 grimaced as a searing burst of pain exploded along her scalp.
"How dare you?!"
Immediately her palm lifted to cover Miranda's. "Listen to me," she began through gritted teeth. "I am a government agent."
"And you used Andrea's likeness to attempt to seduce me? Who told you that she and I-"
... Okay. Wow.
Her surprise must have registered, because the rage in Miranda's face suddenly died, and was immediately replaced with a hot flush of color splashing along those strong cheeks.
"Right," 99 said abruptly, oddly embarrassed. "Look, that's... that's not - look, if you want to help her, you need to let me go. She's in a lot of danger right now and I need to go to the bathroom!"
That came out severely wrong. Miranda's brow arched in contempt.
"Not because I have to pee," she elaborated. "She's been drugged, and there's a rogue agent who wants to kill me and my partner- can I let go?"
It was a tense moment until Miranda nodded. 99 sighed in relief when the fingers clenching her hair loosened their clutch, and she was able to pull back from the other woman. Bending over, she smoothed her hand up the slit of her dress and slid out the small pistol she had stashed.
When Miranda fell into step behind her, she froze. Whirling back, she once again faced the imposing woman. "What are you doing?"
"You said Andrea was in trouble."
"So?"
"Lead the way."
"Oh, God, really?! Look, I don't have time for-"
The older woman pursed her lips, and impatiently indicated that 99 get moving.
Rolling her eyes, 99 felt suddenly like stomping her feet and throwing a tantrum before she threw her hands up and flung her arm in the desired direction. "Fine! Whatever. Let's go!"
Looking satisfied and smug, the infuriating Editor-In-Chief moved down the hallway.
--
End chapter two.