FIC: Hijink (DWP, Miranda/Andy, Get Smart 99/Max) 7/?
Title: Hijink 7/?
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.
--
CHAPTERS
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen
--
Chapter Seven: Heather & The Evil Slut-Mother
No matter how many times she had been here, Andy Sachs told herself she would never feel comfortable in Miranda Priestly's home.
Pavlovian response forbid it. She had been trained entirely too well. It was all she could do whenever she entered the grand hallway not to immediately put whatever she had in her hands on the desk, open the cabinet, toss in a coat and get the hell out of there.
Luckily, or unluckily, as misfortune would have it, Andy never had much time to ponder her mental freeze. The twins dragged her everywhere she needed to go. The minute she rang the doorbell, the door would eek open, one of two sets of identical green eyes would peek through the crack, and suddenly little pale hands would shoot out like a striking python, and grab hold of her wrist, dragging her inside and through the hallway, talking a mile a minute.
Andy felt like she had been dragged through the entire house at one point or another.
Today, she had been yanked into the living room, and there was no time to ponder the very breakable looking crystal vases with the very expensive fresh flowers artfully arranged on every surface. She was too busy trying to listen to Caroline's advice.
The little redhead, still dressed in her school uniform, accessorized to a hilt, knelt on the floor and held a treat between her manicured fingers.
"Cesar says that you have to exhibit calm energy." Caroline paused to stare judgmentally in the direction of Andy and Heathcliff. "Calm assertive energy, Andy," she ordered again.
Feeling like a chastised five year old, Andy resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. "I'm assertive," she insisted, straightening up. "And we're just clipping his nails."
Which, she would admit, was not as easy as it sounded. Heathcliff, usually happy and affectionate, now kept his ears down close to his forehead, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the clippers in Andy's hand. He had edged away slowly, and despite having only three legs, exhibited an impressive strength as he tugged hard at the leash, nearly flopping Andy over.
Caroline thrust the treat forward and waved underneath the dog's nose. He immediately jerked his head away, uttering a low growl. A frown pursed on Caroline's lips. "He's not taking the treats," she said, and straightened. "That's a bad sign."
Well, it certainly wasn't a good one. "Doesn't the groomer usually do this?"
"Not since Heathcliff bit him and he threatened to sue. Now Mom says you have to do it."
Right. This was going to be fun.
Sucking in her breath in an unspoken supplication for strength, Andy squared her shoulders and put down the clippers, working instead on inching the stiffening dog back toward her side. Once again, a low growl worked its way up his throat, and despite the urge to shudder, Andy hoisted her arms around his middle, taking care to avoid the bandage that stretched over where the amputated foot would have been.
Clearly, Heathcliff was on to her. The minute she reached with her free hand toward the clippers, he whimpered loudly and began to shuffle.
"Okay…" Heathcliff skidded with his back paws, slipping with his too-long nails on the slippery polished wood. Andy tightened her hold and kept him close. "Hand me the clippers."
At the mention of the word, Heathcliff yelped and dug his feet into Andy's thighs. The nails scratched even through her jeans, and she grimaced at the welt she knew she would have later. "How the hell did they do this at the doctors?!"
"They sedated him," Caroline said, watching the proceedings with what looked like morbid fascination.
Without the fourth leg to act as an anchor, Heathcliff was proving slippery as an eel, and Andy was growing embarrassingly sweaty.
When Heathcliff slipped out of her grasp the fourth time, Andy took a deep breath and tossed an impatient smile to her spectator. "Here's an idea. Why don't I hold him, and you use the clippers?"
"No way." Caroline's curly tendrils trembled as she shook her head expressively. "I don't want to hurt him. I'll cut the quick. I know I will."
"Okay, so why don't you hold the dog?"
"I'm in my uniform!" Yeap. This was Miranda's daughter all right. Exhaling loudly through her nose, Andy wiped at a black bang plastered to her face and re-examined her predicament.
Heathcliff, tail between his legs, had slipped underneath the lounging chair, and now had his head between his paws, obviously trying to make himself invisible.
His black snout peaked at her like a turtle inching out of his shell.
"So Cassidy's like… gay now. With this girl named Heather." Caroline announced this as she plucked at her knee length socks, making sure they stayed perfectly in place. "They're together all the time."
"I may have heard something about that," Andy admitted, not wanting to see Caroline's expression as she began to crawl across the wooden floor, inching down to peer underneath the lounging chair and at Heathcliff''s trembling frame.
"I think she's doing it to get attention."
Pausing momentarily, Andy blew a bang out of her face and arched a delicate brow at the twin. "Why do you think that?"
Caroline shrugged, once again working to arrange her socks, before moving on to pluck at a piece of lint on her pleated skirt. "Why wouldn’t she?"
Angling on her belly like a worm, Andy reached under the seat and grunted, dragging Heathcliff forward only a half inch. "Maybe she actually really likes Heather."
"But Heather looks like a boy," Caroline stated flatly, and Andy muted a hesitant smile at the sudden memory of Cassidy frank view of lesbian couples.
"Well one of them has to be the boy," she repeated, before she could stop herself. Caroline didn't respond, and when Andy finally tossed her a sweaty glance, the girl was glaring.
"That is so stupid," Caroline said simply. "And ignorant."
"Sorry," Andy replied, and sat up. "I really don't think that. Do you really have a problem if Cassidy really was gay?"
Still fixated on her clothes, Caroline offered a carefully uncaring shrug. "She wasn't supposed to be gay." Andy bit her lip. The always present demand of expectation. "We were supposed to do all this stuff together."
"What kind of stuff?" Andy asked gently.
"I don't know." Caroline shrugged. "We're twins, you know? We should be like… like inseparable. We used to be like that."
"But not anymore."
Bringing her knees up to her chest, Caroline rested her cheek against them, and said nothing, retreating into her sullen incorrigible self.
Great. One twin was gay and wanted her to be gay with her mother and the other one was … lonely.
How on earth did she get mixed up in all this? As if to remind her, Heathcliff tried to make an escape. Immediately, Andy grabbed hold of his paw, sending him skittering back underneath his chair.
"You know she'll always be your sister, right?" The moment she said it, she knew how stupid it was. From the glare Caroline sent her way, she thought so too.
"You don’t know what its like," Caroline told her flatly. "You don't have anyone that looks just like you."
True. "Maybe," she acknowledged, "But I do have a sister."
"She's not your twin though."
Andy opened her mouth to respond, thought better of it, and snapped it shut. Maneuvering Heathcliff's paws, she tried a different tactic, bracing herself against the chair and tugging. "Seriously, can you help me get the dog?"
This time, Caroline actually came forward, flattening herself along the floor beside Andy and peering under the sofa.
"What on earth are you two doing?"
Andy was so startled by the sudden demanding question she nearly yelped, dropping Heathcliff's paw and whirling around to face the doorway. There stood Miranda, palm lightly resting atop the doorknob, staring down at the two of them through her spectacles with a look that would have been defined as bewildered on anyone else. On Miranda, it simply looked like another glare.
As always the case in the presence of Miranda, Andy felt her heart drop, and her temperature rise. Plastering on a smile that even felt idiotic, she blinked and quickly brushed at the bangs that fell into her eyes.
"Miranda! Hi!"
Miranda's brow rose a barely discernable centimeter, and then the eyes went rolling, head shaking in ill-disguised impatience.
"We're clipping the dog's nails," Caroline chirped, not at all perturbed.
"And that requires prostrating yourself in front of the mutt on a dirty floor in your school uniform?"
"He's being difficult," Andy responded stiffly.
"No, Andrea. This is a dog." The statement caused a befuddled frown, and this time Miranda exhaled loudly. "Caroline get up off that floor immediately and change into proper attire."
Proper attire? What was the proper attire for crawling around on the floor?
"Oh, relax Mom, geez." Still, Caroline scrambled to her feet, and after a quick smile to Andy, skipped out of the room. The thundering sounds of shoes running up the steps followed. Andy discovered herself hiding a smirk at the look of quiet resigned misery on Miranda's face.
And then Miranda settled that hawk gaze on her, and the smile froze.
"Well?"
Andy blinked, suddenly insecure. "Well, what?"
"Are we going to be here all night or are you going to clip that dog's nails?"
"I'm trying."
"No, you're perspiring."
"The dog won't come out from under the chair!"
"Oh for goodness' sake." Miranda strode into the room, heels clicking on the wood and quirked a finger at the dog. "Heathcliff, here."
Of course, the dog WOULD immediately crawl out of his hiding space and do Miranda's bidding.
"Sit." The dog sat. Traitor, Andy thought. "Andrea, the clippers."
Red-faced and simultaneously awed and cowed, Andrea got to her feet and reached for the clippers, handing them to a waiting Miranda.
"Heathcliff?" Though he whimpered, the dog immediately lifted his paw, and sat silently while Miranda worked. "That's all," she said when it was over, and Heathcliff wagged his tail and lolled his tongue and received a pat on the head as a reward. The look Miranda reserved for Andy was not nearly as charitable. "What on earth was so difficult about that?"
Unexpectedly, Andrea smiled. It seemed to catch Miranda by surprise, and yet the befuddled look on the attractive face just broadened Andy's expression.
"May I ask what the joke is?"
"No joke," Andrea said, and brought her knees forward, settling comfortably against the wood as Heathcliff came and settled down beside her. "I just finally get what Caroline means by calm, assertive energy."
Another look, this one annoyed, and yet Andrea just shrugged, oddly content to be quiet with the great and imposing Miranda Priestly. She discovered, as their eyes met and the silence grew, that she liked looking at her.
Miranda soon lost her patience, and held out the clippers, allowing her to take them. "I expect you to do this from now on," she said crisply.
"Yes, Miranda," she answered obediently. Unable to help herself, she smiled again.
The older woman stared down at her, meeting her eyes as if it were some sort of challenge. But Andrea, oddly enough, was not threatened or frightened. She just… liked looking.
Andy had been so afraid of looking directly at Miranda Priestly it never occurred to her to really look, and now she could. And Miranda Priestly just had a beautiful face.
The jolt of dreamy affection caught her by surprise, and suddenly Andy stiffened, no longer comfortable, no longer happy, just confused. She wiped again at her bangs, and began to quickly get to her feet, cheeks suddenly flaming with heat. "Well, I should go."
"If you must," replied the other woman in that same calm, assertive tone.
Oh I must, Andy thought to herself, jittery and unsure. I really must. "Thanks for your help with… you know… this-"
She waved the clippers and ducked her head, moving past Miranda Priestly and running smack into her daughter.
"Where are you going?" Caroline asked, tugging at the expensive sweats she had deemed 'proper attitre'.
"Home."
To her surprise, little eyes widened with disappointment. "You can't go. We have to watch 'The Dog Whisperer'."
"We do?"
"Yeah. And then Dogtown."
"Caroline, I suspect Andy has many things she needs to do today."
"No, Mom, she can't go yet." Caroline reached forward, tangling their fingers, and the touch of the little girl was enough to remind Andy… that the girl was lonely. "She can stay for dinner, right?"
Suddenly torn, Andy glanced back at Miranda. Her former boss wore a puckered frown. Her glasses were now held delicately by a stem between elegant fingertips. "I suppose she can have Cassidy's portion tonight, now that she's staying with her friend Heather for the evening."
"See? You can stay, can't you?" There were a million reasons why she couldn't.
Wordlessly, Miranda slipped past her, but Andy didn't miss the quiet look given to her over Caroline's head.
A smile forced itself onto Andy's face, and she gently squeezed Caroline's fingers. "Tonight, I can stay."
The grin that lit up the girl's features was unbearably sweet. Unwillingly, Andy's eyes once again rose to meet Miranda's.
Then she yanked, the stare was broken and Andy was dragged upstairs.
--
"Can I ask why you're barefoot?"
To anyone else, the question might have come out of left field, particularly because she and Max were at the moment flopped over the bed, huffing and puffing after another failed attempt to get the plastic ties off of their hands and feet.
But it really bothered her; the fact that Maxwell Smart was currently in possession of one shiny black shoe, while on the left foot, his feet remained curiously bare.
Psychology warned Andy that it was her way of coping, focusing on the small and inconsequential in order to not completely freak out about the fact that at the moment she was in the clutches of a mad man.
She went with it. It was much better than a panic attack, and at the very least, concentrating on a missing shoe would be exactly the type of detail that would keep her sane.
Calm assertive energy, came the mantra, and she blew out an exhalation and tried to calm her breathing.
Max wiggled his big toe. "Ah well, I would assume that Agent 23 would have recognized that I kept a special device on my shoe that acts as a communication device in my shoe for emergencies, and removed it from my person."
Andy considered that. "A shoe phone?"
"A shoe phone, yes."
"Agents are very odd people."
"Come again?"
"Well, if you wanted to talk to someone, why would you put the communication device on your foot?" Blowing out fiercely in an attempt to dislodge a fallen bang that tickled her nose, she gave him an inquisitive stare. "Wouldn't that be a trifle inefficient?"
Max stared at her. "It wasn't my idea. The shoe was old; it has special significance for me."
"And wouldn't it smell? And it's dirty. Why would you want to hold that up to your face?"
She stopped asking when she realized Max Smart was simply staring at her in a way that, on any one else, could very easily be mistaken for irritation. "Andy Sachs, I take it the drugs starting to wear off."
Good observation. The nausea had faded in favor of the quieter, more consuming fear, and now that she did not have that to focus on, she became aware of the abuse her body had taken on this little adventure. The muscles in her neck cramped, plastic ties dug into her wrists, cutting maliciously into her skin when she tried to shimmy them over her palms, and her legs tingled from lack of circulation.
She almost wished for the fog of not knowing. At least in her drugged state she hadn't been aware of what it was that was happening to her. Of how dim the situation really was.
Lying side by side with an agent who wore a furrowed brow on her kind expression, Andy could not help being overwhelmed with memories and feelings.
"He's going to kill us, isn't he?"
The quiet question was greeted with another moment of silence. Turning her head, she studied the face of the man beside her, watched how his mouth barely frowned, and his eyes averted hers. Looking for anything to say but the truth. When he opened his mouth, she gently shook her head. "Don't lie."
The mouth closed again. Eyes tore from hers to once again stare at the ceiling. "I suspect he will."
For no other reason that she was suddenly a twin.
Like Cassidy and Caroline.
A picture perfect memory of the two little girls who dragged her deeper into Miranda's life than she had ever anticipated caused a sharp pain in her chest so massive she found herself breathless.
"Miss Sachs." He was concerned. Unable to wipe at the tears suddenly stinging in her eyes, Andy just smiled grimly.
"Do you have any kids?"
"No," he answered after a moment. "But I would like to."
"Does your girlfriend want kids?"
Another hesitation. Touchy subject, then. "Eventually. At the moment she'd like to concentrate on her career."
"I guess in your field it would be hard to do both," she admitted, suddenly caught in a visual of Miranda Priestly with a gun, slinking around corners. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. "Miranda has twins."
"Twins are nice."
"They're holy terrors." As she turned her head to meet his gaze, she smiled. "One just came out and has this little butch girlfriend and the other one is not taking that well at all. She acts like she hates the fact that she's gay, but really… she just misses her sister, thought they'd be joined at the hip forever. They've got me on their speed dial, you know? Call me all the time. Cassidy called me this morning - just to tell me that Heather was furious because she was being dragged to her Dad's house. Even if they don't know about Miranda and me… they still call me. They think I'm their friend."
Max eyed her. "You love them."
The tears slipped down silently. With a harsh swallow, she nodded. "I really do, Max. I love them. I love Miranda. God." She closed her eyes, battled the lump in her throat. "I never even let myself admit it, but I wanted… I wanted to be with them, you know? Like with Miranda and with them."
"Miss Sachs." The bed bobbed, and Max huffed, shuffling until he had enough room to gently and awkwardly pat at her side. "I promise you, we will get out of this. You'll see them again."
He sounded so convinced. It was almost easy to believe.
To smile wasn't nearly as painful as it could be. "So what do you want me to do?"
Before he could answer, before he could even open his mouth, a deafening crash sounded. Andy jerked, and the cramp in her neck became a spasm.
"YOU LOVE HER?!"
The surprise at the familiar screeching voice was enough to distract her from the pain, force her to lift her head up and discover that it was indeed Emily that had burst into the room, face even more red than usual, nearly bleeding into her hair.
"Emily?" Overtaken, Andy blinked back her tears. "What are you doing-"
Fingers became claws that grabbed hold of her arms and with a wince-inducing strength Andy didn't even know the skinny girl had, she was yanked to a sitting position, inches away from a furious face.
"Em?" she managed, before the fingers dug in deeper. "Ow- Max?"
"You. And MIRANDA." Oh no. This was bad. The former first-assistant's eyes were wide and round; every syllable coming out of the firm mouth was clipped and laced with spit. This was very bad. "It was on the news, but I didn't believe it-"
"EMILY!" Andy's eyes immediately averted from Emily's face at the appearance of Mr. Dwayne Johnson, who skidded into the room with a pistol pointed at them both. "Stop."
But Emily only held tighter. "I didn't believe it!" Emily said again, never missing a beat. "I thought, 'this must be some sort of sick joke! They invented this to escape! It must be a clever ruse and Miranda will deny it all when she rescues me but… but… but you LOVE HER?!"
"Oh boy," she heard Max say.
Throat dry, head ringing, Andy found herself at a loss. Emily's hold was bruisingly painful, but Andy dared not look away from Emily's face.
"Emily, I'm not kidding. You do not get to kill my hostage."
"SHUT IT, YOU IMPOTENT PRICK!" Emily hollered, and brought her so close that Andy could count every single freckle on the emotional face. "Say it. Say it again."
Swallowing an uncomfortable lump down her throat, Andy did her best to sound calm and careful. "Emily, you're hurting me."
"Agent 23, would you please-"
"Shut it, Max. Let the lady express her anger."
The way he said it, almost… admiringly, cause a shiver of revulsion to crawl up Andy's back. "Oh this is turning you on, isn't it?"
"Chick fight. Totally."
"Andy Sachs, you will SAY IT TO MY FACE." Emily's fingers dug deeper, fingernails breaking skin.
"Emily, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh no? There's CAMERAS in here, you fool! You didn't think I could hear you?!"
Oh. Crap. "Emily, it's been a very traumatic day and I think you might be overreacting a little bit. If you could just calm down-"
"No. I want you to say it. Just SAY it." Every sentence was emphasized with a shake of Andy's arms.
"Say what exactly?!"
"God-dammit, Andy!"
"Miss Emily! If you do not release Miss Sachs I will be forced to…" Max began to shuffle, but unfortunately, with his hands tied behind his back and his legs bound together, he just looked like an unattractive mermaid.
"What will you do, Max-y, bite her?"
"Agent 23, if you allow Miss Emily to kill Miss Sachs-"
"She'd be doing me a favor. She's not the one I want and you know it."
Okay, this was bad. This was really really bad. Breathing in audibly through her nose, Andy focused on Emily's confused, furious face. The wide, tear-filled eyes, the wild expression of anger…
This couldn't be happening.
"Just say it," Emily whispered. "Be honest for just once, Andy bloody Sachs, and let me hear the truth."
The truth. Before today she had never said the truth. Not out loud. Not to anyone.
And here they were.
Her heartbeat slowed, her pants became quieter, and even the numbing sensation of Emily's fingers digging tracks in her biceps.
"Emily-"
She hissed when the fingers clenched again in warning.
"You owe me that much."
Her lips were dry, close to chapping. Andy moistened them. "Okay, Emily. Okay. Yes. You heard me say it. I love Miranda." Emily's face did not move.
"Does she love you?"
"I don't know," she remarked honestly. "But I'm pretty sure she does."
The stony expression on Emily's face finally broke, into the look of a scared girl - young, love sick, insecure.
Had this been any other situation, Andy would have felt sorry for her. But not here. Not now. Not about this. "You couldn't know that."
"I've been sleeping with her for months, Emily. I do know that-"
"Stop it-"
"Did you really think you had a chance, Emily?" she asked. The tension that flooded her insides, squeezed around her ribs and made her breathless jolted her. The possession was unexpected. The need to stake her claim almost primal. She had kept silent for months, and where had it gotten her? "She's never looked at you twice-"
"Stop it-"
"Did you think by groveling you were going to get her attention?"
"STOP IT."
"She loves me, Emily."
And that did it. The squeal erupted from the back of Emily's throat like a furious panther, and then the girl was on top of her. Bound and tied, Andy could only thrust her fisted hands up between them, shoving knees into Emily's stomach and lunging for the strands of hair that floated above her.
"Hey now!"
Fists pounded on her face, on her body. Male voices shouted deafening orders, and then suddenly, as hands closed around her throat, the weight on top of her lifted.
Gasping for breath, Andy angled her neck to see Dwayne Johnson with his large hands wrapped around Emily's middle, dragging the thrashing hellion back away from the bed.
"Excuse us," he muttered, in between Emily's screeching. "We have a matter we need to settle."
The door slammed shut.
Heaving deep breaths in and out, Andy closed her eyes and flopped back on the bed. Her heart pounded, the adrenaline was nearly overwhelming.
"Miss Sachs? Are you okay?"
Eyes closed, she smiled grimly. "She's been waiting years to do that."
"She has a lot of internalized rage."
"Definitely."
"I have to admit, she scared me more than Agent 23."
The breathless statement caused a sudden laugh to burst from her throat. The tears came with it, but the release was desperate and needed.
"Oh, God," she whispered, and opened her eyes. "I'm so gonna have a black eye. I'm going to die and Emily is going to kill me."
"I don't think so." Eyes opening, she turned her head. Max smiled, shuffling to a sitting position, letting his white teeth gleam at her. "In the scuffle I managed to get this."
Between his molars gleamed a silver earring.
Andy blinked. "Congratulations?"
"Thank you," he said. "But there isn't much time. Give me your hands. We're going to cut the bindings."
"With an earring," she said, drawing the conclusion. "That's… that's quite a leap of faith, Max."
"Come on."
She lifted up her hands, and watched as Max carefully futzed with the plastic, sawing at her bindings with Emily's jagged edged earring.
Long minutes later, she heard a pop. Her wrists sprang free.
Wow. Rubbing lightly at her wrists found herself too surprised to be relieved. "Lookit you, Secret Agent Man."
She had never seen a man so handsome as the one before her when he smiled sincerely. "I told you you'd see them again."
The burst of hope that filled her nearly brought her again to tears. Until she remembered something.
"Did Emily say something about the news?"
--
"God-dammit!NO!"
She fought harder than she had fought for anything in her life. The arms around her waist did not budge.
"No, you stop it. You're acting like an immature little bitch-"
"EXCUSEME?!"
Dragging her down the hallway, the evil agent only hissed in annoyance when she batted at his arms.
"LET ME GO!"
"Do you want me to shoot you?!"
She didn't bloody care. She didn't care at all. Years of sacrifice and servitude and for what? For the blasted blogs and every station on television declare to the world that Miranda Priestly was involved with a torrid affair with Andy Sachs.
ANDY SACHS of all people!
In an expression of rage, she brought a heel down hard on his foot.
"OW! Bitch!"
And just like that, the arms jerked away. The only problem was that she wasn't expecting it just then. She fell like a rock, landing hard on her bum, and feeling the jolt of pain trickle all the way up her back and knock into her teeth, biting into her tongue. The burst of copper flooded her mouth.
"OW!"
Glaring up at the man staring down at her, she lifted her fingers to her lips and came away with blood.
"Serves you right." Panting, he stepped around her, hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. "What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?"
Sprawled on the floor, Emily stayed miserably silent, mind whirling with thoughts, none of them good. The fight had bled out of her, and now she simply felt what she always felt - tired and weak.
Bringing her knees together, she hugged them to her chest, eyes filling with tears as she shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know."
"Well, I do. You're a crazy dyke who has a hell of a left hook."
"I'm not though." Sniffling, Emily glanced up, wiping at her red nose.
He laughed disbelievingly. "Oh. Right."
"No, really." Chewing gently on her lower lip, Emily grimaced at the blood, speaking carefully with her swelling tongue. "I don't like women. Miranda Priestly is more than that. She's not an ordinary woman."
"Yes she is." The tone was hard. Black shoes creaked on expensive wood flooring as the man who kept her hostage knelt down before her, and looked her in the eyes. "She's just a woman. An old woman at that, and not worth your time. Now get up, clean yourself off, and finish my bills."
Grabbing hold of her hand in a strong grip, he yanked her up, with no regard for her well being. Nothing but casual indifference. And this was the man who would kill them all. A sociopatch hellbent on revenge. With no regard for anything else.
GOD, he'd be good at it.
"What are you looking at?" he asked suspiciously.
Impulse overrode any sense of self-preservation, and she lunged. Attacked his mouth with hers. Grabbed hold of his shoulders and used them to crawl up his body with her legs, until her thighs pressed on his hips and her breasts flushed tight against his chest.
"MMMPF?!" He jerked his head away, hands clutching tight at hers. "What are you doing?!"
"Shut up," she growled, and with both hands planted on his cheeks, leaned in again, sliding her tongue into his mouth for a sloppy, fevered kiss.
"HEY!" he snapped, feet skidding until they landed with a harsh crash against his front door. Emily immediately lowered her head, determined and horribly turned on, pressing full lips against his scruffy jaw and his temple, his cheeks, his ear. "Okay, I've heard about Stockholm Syndrome, but don't you think this is a little ridiculous-HEY?!" The grind against his hardening erection did not go unnoticed then.
And Emily would not take no for an answer. Not right now. Right now it was too important to feel wanted. To feel invaded. To feel dominated. To think of anything else but the very idea of Miranda Priestly in love with Andrea Sachs.
"Shut up," she ordered, when he began another round of protesting. Her legs tightened hard around his waist, trapping him. "I'm completely aware that you're evil, blah blah. You're going to kill us all, fine. Enjoy your pathetic little quest for revenge against the girl that dumped you for a middle-aged boyscout, but you WILL let me have this, and you WILL be good at this. You want me to do your receipts? You will FUCK me sore. Do you understand?"
His eyes had glazed over, his jaw was slack, but at the very least, he nodded. "Okay."
She lunged, and this time, he kissed her back, tongue tangling with hers as he began to roughly jerk up her dress, nearly dropping her in the process.
"Yes," she breathed, panting hard. "YES. Now."
And it would have happened. Right there. They would have had tawdry, torrid, passionate hate-sex against the hallway had the front door not opened right at that moment.
They froze, he with his hand on her breast and she with her hand in his pants, brain gone too far south to really process who was standing in the doorway until he squeaked in a very feminine voice, "Irene?!"
Two figures stood stiffly in the doorway, taking in the scene. An older woman, blonde and immaculately tailored. Beside her was a shorter, very well dressed little boy. Both wore identical unreadable expressions. "I see you didn't get my text," said the woman stiffly.
Emily had the breath sucked out of her when Dwayne shoved her hard enough to crash into the other wall.
"What are you doing here?!" he hissed, and Emily could only stare, too stunned to even speak.
"Visitation. Remember?"
"Irene? Not a good time."
"I don't care, you schmuck. You're spending time with your child." Irene merely glared, and then Emily gulped when twin-sets of murderous stares were directed her way. "Who's this?"
When Dwayne only seemed to stare at her blankly, Emily forced herself to straighten her dress and smile as pleasantly as she could, under the circumstances. "Hello there. My name is Emily." The beautifully dressed little boy scowled. "What a charming child. What's his name?"
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Irene stiffened, Dwayne sighed, and the little boy rolled his eyes and nearly spat, "I hate you so much, Dad." The voice was surprisingly effeminate. "Evil Slut-Mother."
Irene's cool eyes grew colder. "What charming manners. Heather, I'd like you to meet Emily."
--
End chapter
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.
--
CHAPTERS
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen
--
Chapter Seven: Heather & The Evil Slut-Mother
No matter how many times she had been here, Andy Sachs told herself she would never feel comfortable in Miranda Priestly's home.
Pavlovian response forbid it. She had been trained entirely too well. It was all she could do whenever she entered the grand hallway not to immediately put whatever she had in her hands on the desk, open the cabinet, toss in a coat and get the hell out of there.
Luckily, or unluckily, as misfortune would have it, Andy never had much time to ponder her mental freeze. The twins dragged her everywhere she needed to go. The minute she rang the doorbell, the door would eek open, one of two sets of identical green eyes would peek through the crack, and suddenly little pale hands would shoot out like a striking python, and grab hold of her wrist, dragging her inside and through the hallway, talking a mile a minute.
Andy felt like she had been dragged through the entire house at one point or another.
Today, she had been yanked into the living room, and there was no time to ponder the very breakable looking crystal vases with the very expensive fresh flowers artfully arranged on every surface. She was too busy trying to listen to Caroline's advice.
The little redhead, still dressed in her school uniform, accessorized to a hilt, knelt on the floor and held a treat between her manicured fingers.
"Cesar says that you have to exhibit calm energy." Caroline paused to stare judgmentally in the direction of Andy and Heathcliff. "Calm assertive energy, Andy," she ordered again.
Feeling like a chastised five year old, Andy resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. "I'm assertive," she insisted, straightening up. "And we're just clipping his nails."
Which, she would admit, was not as easy as it sounded. Heathcliff, usually happy and affectionate, now kept his ears down close to his forehead, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the clippers in Andy's hand. He had edged away slowly, and despite having only three legs, exhibited an impressive strength as he tugged hard at the leash, nearly flopping Andy over.
Caroline thrust the treat forward and waved underneath the dog's nose. He immediately jerked his head away, uttering a low growl. A frown pursed on Caroline's lips. "He's not taking the treats," she said, and straightened. "That's a bad sign."
Well, it certainly wasn't a good one. "Doesn't the groomer usually do this?"
"Not since Heathcliff bit him and he threatened to sue. Now Mom says you have to do it."
Right. This was going to be fun.
Sucking in her breath in an unspoken supplication for strength, Andy squared her shoulders and put down the clippers, working instead on inching the stiffening dog back toward her side. Once again, a low growl worked its way up his throat, and despite the urge to shudder, Andy hoisted her arms around his middle, taking care to avoid the bandage that stretched over where the amputated foot would have been.
Clearly, Heathcliff was on to her. The minute she reached with her free hand toward the clippers, he whimpered loudly and began to shuffle.
"Okay…" Heathcliff skidded with his back paws, slipping with his too-long nails on the slippery polished wood. Andy tightened her hold and kept him close. "Hand me the clippers."
At the mention of the word, Heathcliff yelped and dug his feet into Andy's thighs. The nails scratched even through her jeans, and she grimaced at the welt she knew she would have later. "How the hell did they do this at the doctors?!"
"They sedated him," Caroline said, watching the proceedings with what looked like morbid fascination.
Without the fourth leg to act as an anchor, Heathcliff was proving slippery as an eel, and Andy was growing embarrassingly sweaty.
When Heathcliff slipped out of her grasp the fourth time, Andy took a deep breath and tossed an impatient smile to her spectator. "Here's an idea. Why don't I hold him, and you use the clippers?"
"No way." Caroline's curly tendrils trembled as she shook her head expressively. "I don't want to hurt him. I'll cut the quick. I know I will."
"Okay, so why don't you hold the dog?"
"I'm in my uniform!" Yeap. This was Miranda's daughter all right. Exhaling loudly through her nose, Andy wiped at a black bang plastered to her face and re-examined her predicament.
Heathcliff, tail between his legs, had slipped underneath the lounging chair, and now had his head between his paws, obviously trying to make himself invisible.
His black snout peaked at her like a turtle inching out of his shell.
"So Cassidy's like… gay now. With this girl named Heather." Caroline announced this as she plucked at her knee length socks, making sure they stayed perfectly in place. "They're together all the time."
"I may have heard something about that," Andy admitted, not wanting to see Caroline's expression as she began to crawl across the wooden floor, inching down to peer underneath the lounging chair and at Heathcliff''s trembling frame.
"I think she's doing it to get attention."
Pausing momentarily, Andy blew a bang out of her face and arched a delicate brow at the twin. "Why do you think that?"
Caroline shrugged, once again working to arrange her socks, before moving on to pluck at a piece of lint on her pleated skirt. "Why wouldn’t she?"
Angling on her belly like a worm, Andy reached under the seat and grunted, dragging Heathcliff forward only a half inch. "Maybe she actually really likes Heather."
"But Heather looks like a boy," Caroline stated flatly, and Andy muted a hesitant smile at the sudden memory of Cassidy frank view of lesbian couples.
"Well one of them has to be the boy," she repeated, before she could stop herself. Caroline didn't respond, and when Andy finally tossed her a sweaty glance, the girl was glaring.
"That is so stupid," Caroline said simply. "And ignorant."
"Sorry," Andy replied, and sat up. "I really don't think that. Do you really have a problem if Cassidy really was gay?"
Still fixated on her clothes, Caroline offered a carefully uncaring shrug. "She wasn't supposed to be gay." Andy bit her lip. The always present demand of expectation. "We were supposed to do all this stuff together."
"What kind of stuff?" Andy asked gently.
"I don't know." Caroline shrugged. "We're twins, you know? We should be like… like inseparable. We used to be like that."
"But not anymore."
Bringing her knees up to her chest, Caroline rested her cheek against them, and said nothing, retreating into her sullen incorrigible self.
Great. One twin was gay and wanted her to be gay with her mother and the other one was … lonely.
How on earth did she get mixed up in all this? As if to remind her, Heathcliff tried to make an escape. Immediately, Andy grabbed hold of his paw, sending him skittering back underneath his chair.
"You know she'll always be your sister, right?" The moment she said it, she knew how stupid it was. From the glare Caroline sent her way, she thought so too.
"You don’t know what its like," Caroline told her flatly. "You don't have anyone that looks just like you."
True. "Maybe," she acknowledged, "But I do have a sister."
"She's not your twin though."
Andy opened her mouth to respond, thought better of it, and snapped it shut. Maneuvering Heathcliff's paws, she tried a different tactic, bracing herself against the chair and tugging. "Seriously, can you help me get the dog?"
This time, Caroline actually came forward, flattening herself along the floor beside Andy and peering under the sofa.
"What on earth are you two doing?"
Andy was so startled by the sudden demanding question she nearly yelped, dropping Heathcliff's paw and whirling around to face the doorway. There stood Miranda, palm lightly resting atop the doorknob, staring down at the two of them through her spectacles with a look that would have been defined as bewildered on anyone else. On Miranda, it simply looked like another glare.
As always the case in the presence of Miranda, Andy felt her heart drop, and her temperature rise. Plastering on a smile that even felt idiotic, she blinked and quickly brushed at the bangs that fell into her eyes.
"Miranda! Hi!"
Miranda's brow rose a barely discernable centimeter, and then the eyes went rolling, head shaking in ill-disguised impatience.
"We're clipping the dog's nails," Caroline chirped, not at all perturbed.
"And that requires prostrating yourself in front of the mutt on a dirty floor in your school uniform?"
"He's being difficult," Andy responded stiffly.
"No, Andrea. This is a dog." The statement caused a befuddled frown, and this time Miranda exhaled loudly. "Caroline get up off that floor immediately and change into proper attire."
Proper attire? What was the proper attire for crawling around on the floor?
"Oh, relax Mom, geez." Still, Caroline scrambled to her feet, and after a quick smile to Andy, skipped out of the room. The thundering sounds of shoes running up the steps followed. Andy discovered herself hiding a smirk at the look of quiet resigned misery on Miranda's face.
And then Miranda settled that hawk gaze on her, and the smile froze.
"Well?"
Andy blinked, suddenly insecure. "Well, what?"
"Are we going to be here all night or are you going to clip that dog's nails?"
"I'm trying."
"No, you're perspiring."
"The dog won't come out from under the chair!"
"Oh for goodness' sake." Miranda strode into the room, heels clicking on the wood and quirked a finger at the dog. "Heathcliff, here."
Of course, the dog WOULD immediately crawl out of his hiding space and do Miranda's bidding.
"Sit." The dog sat. Traitor, Andy thought. "Andrea, the clippers."
Red-faced and simultaneously awed and cowed, Andrea got to her feet and reached for the clippers, handing them to a waiting Miranda.
"Heathcliff?" Though he whimpered, the dog immediately lifted his paw, and sat silently while Miranda worked. "That's all," she said when it was over, and Heathcliff wagged his tail and lolled his tongue and received a pat on the head as a reward. The look Miranda reserved for Andy was not nearly as charitable. "What on earth was so difficult about that?"
Unexpectedly, Andrea smiled. It seemed to catch Miranda by surprise, and yet the befuddled look on the attractive face just broadened Andy's expression.
"May I ask what the joke is?"
"No joke," Andrea said, and brought her knees forward, settling comfortably against the wood as Heathcliff came and settled down beside her. "I just finally get what Caroline means by calm, assertive energy."
Another look, this one annoyed, and yet Andrea just shrugged, oddly content to be quiet with the great and imposing Miranda Priestly. She discovered, as their eyes met and the silence grew, that she liked looking at her.
Miranda soon lost her patience, and held out the clippers, allowing her to take them. "I expect you to do this from now on," she said crisply.
"Yes, Miranda," she answered obediently. Unable to help herself, she smiled again.
The older woman stared down at her, meeting her eyes as if it were some sort of challenge. But Andrea, oddly enough, was not threatened or frightened. She just… liked looking.
Andy had been so afraid of looking directly at Miranda Priestly it never occurred to her to really look, and now she could. And Miranda Priestly just had a beautiful face.
The jolt of dreamy affection caught her by surprise, and suddenly Andy stiffened, no longer comfortable, no longer happy, just confused. She wiped again at her bangs, and began to quickly get to her feet, cheeks suddenly flaming with heat. "Well, I should go."
"If you must," replied the other woman in that same calm, assertive tone.
Oh I must, Andy thought to herself, jittery and unsure. I really must. "Thanks for your help with… you know… this-"
She waved the clippers and ducked her head, moving past Miranda Priestly and running smack into her daughter.
"Where are you going?" Caroline asked, tugging at the expensive sweats she had deemed 'proper attitre'.
"Home."
To her surprise, little eyes widened with disappointment. "You can't go. We have to watch 'The Dog Whisperer'."
"We do?"
"Yeah. And then Dogtown."
"Caroline, I suspect Andy has many things she needs to do today."
"No, Mom, she can't go yet." Caroline reached forward, tangling their fingers, and the touch of the little girl was enough to remind Andy… that the girl was lonely. "She can stay for dinner, right?"
Suddenly torn, Andy glanced back at Miranda. Her former boss wore a puckered frown. Her glasses were now held delicately by a stem between elegant fingertips. "I suppose she can have Cassidy's portion tonight, now that she's staying with her friend Heather for the evening."
"See? You can stay, can't you?" There were a million reasons why she couldn't.
Wordlessly, Miranda slipped past her, but Andy didn't miss the quiet look given to her over Caroline's head.
A smile forced itself onto Andy's face, and she gently squeezed Caroline's fingers. "Tonight, I can stay."
The grin that lit up the girl's features was unbearably sweet. Unwillingly, Andy's eyes once again rose to meet Miranda's.
Then she yanked, the stare was broken and Andy was dragged upstairs.
--
"Can I ask why you're barefoot?"
To anyone else, the question might have come out of left field, particularly because she and Max were at the moment flopped over the bed, huffing and puffing after another failed attempt to get the plastic ties off of their hands and feet.
But it really bothered her; the fact that Maxwell Smart was currently in possession of one shiny black shoe, while on the left foot, his feet remained curiously bare.
Psychology warned Andy that it was her way of coping, focusing on the small and inconsequential in order to not completely freak out about the fact that at the moment she was in the clutches of a mad man.
She went with it. It was much better than a panic attack, and at the very least, concentrating on a missing shoe would be exactly the type of detail that would keep her sane.
Calm assertive energy, came the mantra, and she blew out an exhalation and tried to calm her breathing.
Max wiggled his big toe. "Ah well, I would assume that Agent 23 would have recognized that I kept a special device on my shoe that acts as a communication device in my shoe for emergencies, and removed it from my person."
Andy considered that. "A shoe phone?"
"A shoe phone, yes."
"Agents are very odd people."
"Come again?"
"Well, if you wanted to talk to someone, why would you put the communication device on your foot?" Blowing out fiercely in an attempt to dislodge a fallen bang that tickled her nose, she gave him an inquisitive stare. "Wouldn't that be a trifle inefficient?"
Max stared at her. "It wasn't my idea. The shoe was old; it has special significance for me."
"And wouldn't it smell? And it's dirty. Why would you want to hold that up to your face?"
She stopped asking when she realized Max Smart was simply staring at her in a way that, on any one else, could very easily be mistaken for irritation. "Andy Sachs, I take it the drugs starting to wear off."
Good observation. The nausea had faded in favor of the quieter, more consuming fear, and now that she did not have that to focus on, she became aware of the abuse her body had taken on this little adventure. The muscles in her neck cramped, plastic ties dug into her wrists, cutting maliciously into her skin when she tried to shimmy them over her palms, and her legs tingled from lack of circulation.
She almost wished for the fog of not knowing. At least in her drugged state she hadn't been aware of what it was that was happening to her. Of how dim the situation really was.
Lying side by side with an agent who wore a furrowed brow on her kind expression, Andy could not help being overwhelmed with memories and feelings.
"He's going to kill us, isn't he?"
The quiet question was greeted with another moment of silence. Turning her head, she studied the face of the man beside her, watched how his mouth barely frowned, and his eyes averted hers. Looking for anything to say but the truth. When he opened his mouth, she gently shook her head. "Don't lie."
The mouth closed again. Eyes tore from hers to once again stare at the ceiling. "I suspect he will."
For no other reason that she was suddenly a twin.
Like Cassidy and Caroline.
A picture perfect memory of the two little girls who dragged her deeper into Miranda's life than she had ever anticipated caused a sharp pain in her chest so massive she found herself breathless.
"Miss Sachs." He was concerned. Unable to wipe at the tears suddenly stinging in her eyes, Andy just smiled grimly.
"Do you have any kids?"
"No," he answered after a moment. "But I would like to."
"Does your girlfriend want kids?"
Another hesitation. Touchy subject, then. "Eventually. At the moment she'd like to concentrate on her career."
"I guess in your field it would be hard to do both," she admitted, suddenly caught in a visual of Miranda Priestly with a gun, slinking around corners. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. "Miranda has twins."
"Twins are nice."
"They're holy terrors." As she turned her head to meet his gaze, she smiled. "One just came out and has this little butch girlfriend and the other one is not taking that well at all. She acts like she hates the fact that she's gay, but really… she just misses her sister, thought they'd be joined at the hip forever. They've got me on their speed dial, you know? Call me all the time. Cassidy called me this morning - just to tell me that Heather was furious because she was being dragged to her Dad's house. Even if they don't know about Miranda and me… they still call me. They think I'm their friend."
Max eyed her. "You love them."
The tears slipped down silently. With a harsh swallow, she nodded. "I really do, Max. I love them. I love Miranda. God." She closed her eyes, battled the lump in her throat. "I never even let myself admit it, but I wanted… I wanted to be with them, you know? Like with Miranda and with them."
"Miss Sachs." The bed bobbed, and Max huffed, shuffling until he had enough room to gently and awkwardly pat at her side. "I promise you, we will get out of this. You'll see them again."
He sounded so convinced. It was almost easy to believe.
To smile wasn't nearly as painful as it could be. "So what do you want me to do?"
Before he could answer, before he could even open his mouth, a deafening crash sounded. Andy jerked, and the cramp in her neck became a spasm.
"YOU LOVE HER?!"
The surprise at the familiar screeching voice was enough to distract her from the pain, force her to lift her head up and discover that it was indeed Emily that had burst into the room, face even more red than usual, nearly bleeding into her hair.
"Emily?" Overtaken, Andy blinked back her tears. "What are you doing-"
Fingers became claws that grabbed hold of her arms and with a wince-inducing strength Andy didn't even know the skinny girl had, she was yanked to a sitting position, inches away from a furious face.
"Em?" she managed, before the fingers dug in deeper. "Ow- Max?"
"You. And MIRANDA." Oh no. This was bad. The former first-assistant's eyes were wide and round; every syllable coming out of the firm mouth was clipped and laced with spit. This was very bad. "It was on the news, but I didn't believe it-"
"EMILY!" Andy's eyes immediately averted from Emily's face at the appearance of Mr. Dwayne Johnson, who skidded into the room with a pistol pointed at them both. "Stop."
But Emily only held tighter. "I didn't believe it!" Emily said again, never missing a beat. "I thought, 'this must be some sort of sick joke! They invented this to escape! It must be a clever ruse and Miranda will deny it all when she rescues me but… but… but you LOVE HER?!"
"Oh boy," she heard Max say.
Throat dry, head ringing, Andy found herself at a loss. Emily's hold was bruisingly painful, but Andy dared not look away from Emily's face.
"Emily, I'm not kidding. You do not get to kill my hostage."
"SHUT IT, YOU IMPOTENT PRICK!" Emily hollered, and brought her so close that Andy could count every single freckle on the emotional face. "Say it. Say it again."
Swallowing an uncomfortable lump down her throat, Andy did her best to sound calm and careful. "Emily, you're hurting me."
"Agent 23, would you please-"
"Shut it, Max. Let the lady express her anger."
The way he said it, almost… admiringly, cause a shiver of revulsion to crawl up Andy's back. "Oh this is turning you on, isn't it?"
"Chick fight. Totally."
"Andy Sachs, you will SAY IT TO MY FACE." Emily's fingers dug deeper, fingernails breaking skin.
"Emily, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh no? There's CAMERAS in here, you fool! You didn't think I could hear you?!"
Oh. Crap. "Emily, it's been a very traumatic day and I think you might be overreacting a little bit. If you could just calm down-"
"No. I want you to say it. Just SAY it." Every sentence was emphasized with a shake of Andy's arms.
"Say what exactly?!"
"God-dammit, Andy!"
"Miss Emily! If you do not release Miss Sachs I will be forced to…" Max began to shuffle, but unfortunately, with his hands tied behind his back and his legs bound together, he just looked like an unattractive mermaid.
"What will you do, Max-y, bite her?"
"Agent 23, if you allow Miss Emily to kill Miss Sachs-"
"She'd be doing me a favor. She's not the one I want and you know it."
Okay, this was bad. This was really really bad. Breathing in audibly through her nose, Andy focused on Emily's confused, furious face. The wide, tear-filled eyes, the wild expression of anger…
This couldn't be happening.
"Just say it," Emily whispered. "Be honest for just once, Andy bloody Sachs, and let me hear the truth."
The truth. Before today she had never said the truth. Not out loud. Not to anyone.
And here they were.
Her heartbeat slowed, her pants became quieter, and even the numbing sensation of Emily's fingers digging tracks in her biceps.
"Emily-"
She hissed when the fingers clenched again in warning.
"You owe me that much."
Her lips were dry, close to chapping. Andy moistened them. "Okay, Emily. Okay. Yes. You heard me say it. I love Miranda." Emily's face did not move.
"Does she love you?"
"I don't know," she remarked honestly. "But I'm pretty sure she does."
The stony expression on Emily's face finally broke, into the look of a scared girl - young, love sick, insecure.
Had this been any other situation, Andy would have felt sorry for her. But not here. Not now. Not about this. "You couldn't know that."
"I've been sleeping with her for months, Emily. I do know that-"
"Stop it-"
"Did you really think you had a chance, Emily?" she asked. The tension that flooded her insides, squeezed around her ribs and made her breathless jolted her. The possession was unexpected. The need to stake her claim almost primal. She had kept silent for months, and where had it gotten her? "She's never looked at you twice-"
"Stop it-"
"Did you think by groveling you were going to get her attention?"
"STOP IT."
"She loves me, Emily."
And that did it. The squeal erupted from the back of Emily's throat like a furious panther, and then the girl was on top of her. Bound and tied, Andy could only thrust her fisted hands up between them, shoving knees into Emily's stomach and lunging for the strands of hair that floated above her.
"Hey now!"
Fists pounded on her face, on her body. Male voices shouted deafening orders, and then suddenly, as hands closed around her throat, the weight on top of her lifted.
Gasping for breath, Andy angled her neck to see Dwayne Johnson with his large hands wrapped around Emily's middle, dragging the thrashing hellion back away from the bed.
"Excuse us," he muttered, in between Emily's screeching. "We have a matter we need to settle."
The door slammed shut.
Heaving deep breaths in and out, Andy closed her eyes and flopped back on the bed. Her heart pounded, the adrenaline was nearly overwhelming.
"Miss Sachs? Are you okay?"
Eyes closed, she smiled grimly. "She's been waiting years to do that."
"She has a lot of internalized rage."
"Definitely."
"I have to admit, she scared me more than Agent 23."
The breathless statement caused a sudden laugh to burst from her throat. The tears came with it, but the release was desperate and needed.
"Oh, God," she whispered, and opened her eyes. "I'm so gonna have a black eye. I'm going to die and Emily is going to kill me."
"I don't think so." Eyes opening, she turned her head. Max smiled, shuffling to a sitting position, letting his white teeth gleam at her. "In the scuffle I managed to get this."
Between his molars gleamed a silver earring.
Andy blinked. "Congratulations?"
"Thank you," he said. "But there isn't much time. Give me your hands. We're going to cut the bindings."
"With an earring," she said, drawing the conclusion. "That's… that's quite a leap of faith, Max."
"Come on."
She lifted up her hands, and watched as Max carefully futzed with the plastic, sawing at her bindings with Emily's jagged edged earring.
Long minutes later, she heard a pop. Her wrists sprang free.
Wow. Rubbing lightly at her wrists found herself too surprised to be relieved. "Lookit you, Secret Agent Man."
She had never seen a man so handsome as the one before her when he smiled sincerely. "I told you you'd see them again."
The burst of hope that filled her nearly brought her again to tears. Until she remembered something.
"Did Emily say something about the news?"
--
"God-dammit!NO!"
She fought harder than she had fought for anything in her life. The arms around her waist did not budge.
"No, you stop it. You're acting like an immature little bitch-"
"EXCUSEME?!"
Dragging her down the hallway, the evil agent only hissed in annoyance when she batted at his arms.
"LET ME GO!"
"Do you want me to shoot you?!"
She didn't bloody care. She didn't care at all. Years of sacrifice and servitude and for what? For the blasted blogs and every station on television declare to the world that Miranda Priestly was involved with a torrid affair with Andy Sachs.
ANDY SACHS of all people!
In an expression of rage, she brought a heel down hard on his foot.
"OW! Bitch!"
And just like that, the arms jerked away. The only problem was that she wasn't expecting it just then. She fell like a rock, landing hard on her bum, and feeling the jolt of pain trickle all the way up her back and knock into her teeth, biting into her tongue. The burst of copper flooded her mouth.
"OW!"
Glaring up at the man staring down at her, she lifted her fingers to her lips and came away with blood.
"Serves you right." Panting, he stepped around her, hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. "What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?"
Sprawled on the floor, Emily stayed miserably silent, mind whirling with thoughts, none of them good. The fight had bled out of her, and now she simply felt what she always felt - tired and weak.
Bringing her knees together, she hugged them to her chest, eyes filling with tears as she shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know."
"Well, I do. You're a crazy dyke who has a hell of a left hook."
"I'm not though." Sniffling, Emily glanced up, wiping at her red nose.
He laughed disbelievingly. "Oh. Right."
"No, really." Chewing gently on her lower lip, Emily grimaced at the blood, speaking carefully with her swelling tongue. "I don't like women. Miranda Priestly is more than that. She's not an ordinary woman."
"Yes she is." The tone was hard. Black shoes creaked on expensive wood flooring as the man who kept her hostage knelt down before her, and looked her in the eyes. "She's just a woman. An old woman at that, and not worth your time. Now get up, clean yourself off, and finish my bills."
Grabbing hold of her hand in a strong grip, he yanked her up, with no regard for her well being. Nothing but casual indifference. And this was the man who would kill them all. A sociopatch hellbent on revenge. With no regard for anything else.
GOD, he'd be good at it.
"What are you looking at?" he asked suspiciously.
Impulse overrode any sense of self-preservation, and she lunged. Attacked his mouth with hers. Grabbed hold of his shoulders and used them to crawl up his body with her legs, until her thighs pressed on his hips and her breasts flushed tight against his chest.
"MMMPF?!" He jerked his head away, hands clutching tight at hers. "What are you doing?!"
"Shut up," she growled, and with both hands planted on his cheeks, leaned in again, sliding her tongue into his mouth for a sloppy, fevered kiss.
"HEY!" he snapped, feet skidding until they landed with a harsh crash against his front door. Emily immediately lowered her head, determined and horribly turned on, pressing full lips against his scruffy jaw and his temple, his cheeks, his ear. "Okay, I've heard about Stockholm Syndrome, but don't you think this is a little ridiculous-HEY?!" The grind against his hardening erection did not go unnoticed then.
And Emily would not take no for an answer. Not right now. Right now it was too important to feel wanted. To feel invaded. To feel dominated. To think of anything else but the very idea of Miranda Priestly in love with Andrea Sachs.
"Shut up," she ordered, when he began another round of protesting. Her legs tightened hard around his waist, trapping him. "I'm completely aware that you're evil, blah blah. You're going to kill us all, fine. Enjoy your pathetic little quest for revenge against the girl that dumped you for a middle-aged boyscout, but you WILL let me have this, and you WILL be good at this. You want me to do your receipts? You will FUCK me sore. Do you understand?"
His eyes had glazed over, his jaw was slack, but at the very least, he nodded. "Okay."
She lunged, and this time, he kissed her back, tongue tangling with hers as he began to roughly jerk up her dress, nearly dropping her in the process.
"Yes," she breathed, panting hard. "YES. Now."
And it would have happened. Right there. They would have had tawdry, torrid, passionate hate-sex against the hallway had the front door not opened right at that moment.
They froze, he with his hand on her breast and she with her hand in his pants, brain gone too far south to really process who was standing in the doorway until he squeaked in a very feminine voice, "Irene?!"
Two figures stood stiffly in the doorway, taking in the scene. An older woman, blonde and immaculately tailored. Beside her was a shorter, very well dressed little boy. Both wore identical unreadable expressions. "I see you didn't get my text," said the woman stiffly.
Emily had the breath sucked out of her when Dwayne shoved her hard enough to crash into the other wall.
"What are you doing here?!" he hissed, and Emily could only stare, too stunned to even speak.
"Visitation. Remember?"
"Irene? Not a good time."
"I don't care, you schmuck. You're spending time with your child." Irene merely glared, and then Emily gulped when twin-sets of murderous stares were directed her way. "Who's this?"
When Dwayne only seemed to stare at her blankly, Emily forced herself to straighten her dress and smile as pleasantly as she could, under the circumstances. "Hello there. My name is Emily." The beautifully dressed little boy scowled. "What a charming child. What's his name?"
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Irene stiffened, Dwayne sighed, and the little boy rolled his eyes and nearly spat, "I hate you so much, Dad." The voice was surprisingly effeminate. "Evil Slut-Mother."
Irene's cool eyes grew colder. "What charming manners. Heather, I'd like you to meet Emily."
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End chapter