FIC: Hijink (DWP, Miranda/Andy, Get Smart 99/Max) 10/?
Title: Hijink 10/?
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Archiving: Eventually it'll show up at my own woefully outdated archive
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
--
PART TEN: Two-Face
The down mattress of Miranda Priestly's enormous bed was so comfortable, lying down on it felt like a decadent treat.
And yet it was almost amusing if Andy Sachs really took the time to think about it, because she was almost positive that the entire scene she was presenting belonged in one of those 'one of these things doesn't belong' story books.
Nestled against a 500 thread count silk sheet, in her out of season (and wrinkled) designer duds, with a three-legged mutt pressed up against her on one side and an enormous Saint Bernhard sandwiching her on the other, Andy's eyelids flickered and her breathing slowed, but her exhausted mind remained active, and so it caused a bit of an unintended shock when she heard Miranda speak, low and to the point, just below she succumbed to sleep.
"This is wrong."
The sentence, hitting her in a particularly vulnerable spot, caused an unexpected jolt inside of her, and Andy's eyes shot open, and she sat up self consciously, blinking blearily and with alarm at the woman who had just entered the room.
"What?"
But Miranda wasn't looking at her. Instead her focus was on the book. Glasses fixed on her face, Miranda's expression was thoroughly annoyed, as she flipped through the pages with a rapid twitch that would have ripped them clear out of the spine had Miranda not been … well… Miranda.
The realization that Miranda was not talking about her, but rather her precious book was such a relief, Andy felt stupid about it. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she pushed against the bed, scooting up, which caused Heathcliff to whine a bit, and Patricia to sigh in resignation and readjust herself to place her massive chin against Andy's shin.
"The entire book…" Miranda continued, soft and exhausted, but still audibly furious. "I'll be up all night fixing this. I specifically told Nigel I did not want the Valentino shoot shot with a soft focus - it ruins the lines-" Miranda glanced up, and suddenly saw her.
Andy looked a mess, probably. She hadn't meant to flop down on the bed like she had. Her … affair with Miranda, though it had been months, had not progressed to anything but quickies when the two of them had the time. It didn't mean Andy felt comfortable flopping over Miranda's snow white blankets and sheets in dirty clothes that smelled like subway.
But the day HAD been exhausting. She had been all over the city on less than two hours of sleep, and had Miranda not texted her to tell her the children had been taken to their father's for an unexpected overnight sleepover, she would have already staggered into her home and zonked out on her less than pretty mattress.
Her original intention had been to shower. Scrub the grime off of her and wake up long enough to give Miranda what they both wanted, before she collapsed and zonked out and after some hours of sleep, snuck out of the house before the help came and realized the family friend had become an overnight visitor.
Temptation had been overwhelming, however, when Andy walked in and looked at the bed.
Before she had known what she was doing, she was crawling over a forgiving mattress and plastering herself across the soft, soft sheets…
And somehow or other five minutes became much more than that, because Miranda had apparently gotten the book and was now staring at her like she had found a squatter in her house.
"Sorry," she said immediately, voice rough and betraying her exhaustion.
"You look like hell." No one would ever accuse Miranda of mincing words.
"Yeah, I know…" Andy said, too tired to take offense. "I'm sorry. I had this story and it wouldn't… I mean I couldn't… I didn't get much sleep and I had this deadline and… I'm really sorry…"
She eased her way carefully to the end of the bed, easing her feet down to the floor.
"Stop."
The command caused her to freeze up immediately, glance up with wide brown eyes as Miranda practically tossed the book on a nearby chair and headed for her, expression unreadable. Breath catching, Andy blinked when the other woman settled down beside her, and with palms smoothing on either side of her cheeks, began to study her as carefully as she would study one of her pages.
"I didn't realize you were so exhausted," Miranda began quietly. "Had I known, I would not have asked you to come over."
The meaning behind it stung. Already, Andy was battling the fear that Miranda only used her for sex or babysitting. To have actual confirmation was a little more than her rapidly shrinking heart could take.
"I wouldn't have come over it I didn't want to," she said, stiffer than she meant, unable to mask the hurt. "Just let me take a shower and I can wake up again. I really didn't mean to just fall asleep like that."
Miranda's eyes shifted to meet with hers. "Andrea, it's quite obvious you need rest. You should not have come if you are this exhausted."
"Don't tell me what I need." She said it angrily, like a teenage girl on a pout, but it hid a disarming truth. As much as Andrea wanted to sleep… she had wanted to see Miranda more.
God.
The gaze held.
Without a word Miranda shifted beside her, and suddenly her fingers had descended between Andy's breasts and were working nimbly at her buttons, pulling them free.
Andy was relieved of the vest, and then her white button down shirt followed, leaving behind a sensible black bra that was neither overtly sexy or designer.
Miranda eyed it for a moment before she smoothed her palm against Andy's ribs, causing immediate goose bumps over the skin she skimmed, before she journeyed around her back. With a flick, the support around Andy's breasts loosened, the strapped sliding down her shoulders.
And yet, when Andy's head dipped, ready to capture Miranda's lips in a kiss, the other woman jerked her head away with an angry hiss.
"None of that," Miranda snapped. Andy's brow furrowed, her mouth pulled down in a confused frown. But Miranda only continued undressing her, color deepening on her cheeks as Miranda took in the naked chest, and with purpose latched onto Andy's palms and pulled firmly.
"Up." Shakily, Andy did as she was commanded, standing still at the edge of the bed as Miranda handled her, undressed her, sliding her palm against her ribs and drifted to her waist.
Her slacks were buttoned, and they fell away, leaving Andrea in nothing but her underwear.
Breathless, Andrea waited.
Miranda wore no expression, but her eyes were darker than Andy had ever seen them, and so intense Andy could scarcely breathe.
Fingers tangled with hers, and then Miranda was moving, pulling her up onto the bed. Dumbstruck, Andy followed her lead, until she was spooned by her lover. Miranda Priestly, in her ridiculously expensive work clothes, had crawled in behind her, was holding her against her for a quiet moment, before she shifted and suddenly those magical fingers were against her temples, kneading slowly.
The sensation was overwhelming. Andy's lips parted, a grateful groan erupted before she could help it.
The sound caused her eyes to open immediately. "Miranda."
"Get some rest." Miranda's tone was low, but there was no room for argument. "You obviously have no problem napping in this bed. Use it, then."
But there was no recrimination.
Just the feel of Miranda holding her. Massaging her.
Just because she was tired.
"Your clothes…"
"I do employ a reputable dry cleaning service."
Her eyes drifted closed, and she inhaled the sweet, intoxicating scent of Miranda. "I'll just take a short nap-"
"You'll spend the night."
Fingers drifted from her temple to her own hands, and Andy tangled their digits firmly, keeping Miranda with her.
*I love you*. The words clogged in her throat. She dared not say them.
"Yes Miranda," she breathed instead, and pressed her dry lips to the hands she was holding, drifting away.
--
"This is wrong."
Andy had long ago discarded her heels. She walked through the dusty tunnels in bare feet, and with her dress dirty and in tatters. Thanks to her unfortunate fall, she was limping.
The fact that Super Spy Man was stating the obvious only caused irritation.
He paused, glancing back and forth as he listened, studying a dimming maze of tunnels that looked behind them exactly the same as what lay before them.
All Andy heard was water dripping. Slumping to the floor, she sighed heavily, feeling the roughness of the wood against her shoulders as she closed her eyes.
"I agree," she snapped, running fingers through dirty hair. "This is so very wrong. I should be at my place, with Miranda. I shouldn't be in a stupid tunnel running for my life, thinking about Lewis Carroll and his stupid high ramblings about rabbit holes and mushrooms. This is so very wrong."
Max shot her a look that could only be exasperation.
"No, I mean this is wrong," he said, swinging his arms out wide, staring up into the dark corners of the tunnels. "We're moving around, completely unmolested."
"And that's a bad thing because?"
"It's a bad thing because we shouldn't be. Why hasn't 23 come down here for us? He must have figured out we were gone by now. He must know these tunnels like the back of his hand."
Andy's headache pulsed. Gritting her teeth, she shut her eyes, and smiled grimly. "So our problem is NOT that we're this close to passing out and wandering around these tunnels with no end in sight, but that the crazy assassin man out to get us hasn’t come down to kill us for escaping?"
Max furrowed his brow, stock still. "Something's wrong," he murmured. "Something has gone wrong, or we're heading into a trap."
"At least we're moving."
"Yes, but into what?" Max shook his head. "I could be leading us further into danger."
"Or to freedom."
"I don’t like our odds."
"Are all spies such cheery people?" she asked dryly. "I mean, James Bond usually has a fun quip or some insanely inflated sense of security that keeps up the moral. You could try that you know."
"At the moment, I'm most interested in keeping you and Miss Emily alive," he muttered, and sank to his haunches, lost in thought. "I still have to figure out how to get her out."
Oh, right. Emily. A stab of regret pricked Andy in her already tight chest. Emily, who hated her now because of Miranda.
"If I had any sort of leverage I could wait out 23. Try to take him by surprise…"
"But you don't. Max, you're stumbling. I'm stumbling. We're not exactly at full strength right now. And we've waited long enough for your girlfriend to show up."
His eyes jerked up, met hers with a vicious indignation that could have only meant he was thinking the same thing.
"Listen to me." He rubbed his hands together, handsome face etched with dust. "I made you a promise. You will get back to Ms. Priestly and her family. You'll help me. And if you do that, then I can get back to 99 and Fang."
"Fang?"
"My dog."
Fair was fair, she supposed. A grim, tight smile emerged on her exhausted face. "Deal," she told him, and held out her hand. He took it, and she was helped up, until they were standing together, with a clasped handshake. "So what do you suggest? We can go forward blindly or back blindly."
He didn't hesitate. "Forward, Ms. Sachs. Always forward. Never return to where you've already been."
"Are you being philosophical?"
"Well it's not a quip but it seemed fitting."
The statement made her chuckle, and she couldn’t deny it: she needed the release badly.
The look Max gave her when she did that, was different somehow. The quiet smile on his face had frozen for something else. Something… bittersweet.
And it transformed him.
Standing in front of her was a dusty older man, who looked at her like he was in love.
It was then, she realized, with a quickening breath that caused a stutter of her heartbeat, that he was suddenly seeing his girlfriend.
At her stiffening, he blinked, flushed, and suddenly seemed himself again, shaking his head as if to rattle the cobwebs out.
"I’m sorry," he said, taking a step back, sounding genuinely apologetic. "You just… you smile just like her."
Swallowing hard, she glanced away. There it was. The knowledge, the idea…
Another woman. With her face. A face just like hers. A whole other life.
No, it was't the time to think about it. To think about it would probably result in freaking out and she couldn't freak out right now. Everything hinged on not freaking out.
"I'm going to have to meet her," she said quietly, managing as comforting a smile as she could under the circumstances.
At that, his kind mouth creased into a good natured grin. When Max kept going, she gladly followed.
--
Considering the situation she found herself in, Heather Johnson discovered herself oddly calm.
It wasn't everyday, after all, that a girlfriend told her that her father had accidentally taken her mother's girlfriend hostage.
In the wake of that revelation, and the knowledge that Miranda Priestly knew that a) her parents were crooks, and b) her dad had Andy, Heather found herself ridiculously glad that the first feeling was numb disbelief.
The second overwhelming response was the pressure that built upon her chest, and set her heart beating so fast she wondered if this was what a heart attack was.
"Heather?" The woman on the other end of the phone sound raspy, careful. "Heather, I realize what we're asking is an extremely difficult thing to do-"
"-no it's not," she blurted, blinking and rubbing at the stinging tears that had come upon her without her even realizing it. And once they started, they wouldn't stop. The numbness faded and the pressure built, and Heather Johnson, thirteen years old, found her knees giving out on her, crumpling to the floor in her dad's hallway, sobbing like a … like a girl.
"… Heather. Honey."
No. Fuck no.
She clutched the phone to her ear, and scrambled to her feet, sucking in a huge breath and wiping furiously at the drops on her cheeks. "No, listen. I'm going to help you. I'm going to help you find them, and then I'm going to help you get my dad. And when you do? I want you to arrest him and lock him up forever! Do you understand me! You GET me the fuck away from him."
The fervent emotion behind her request must have startled the woman on the phone, but Heather didn't care.
Nothing mattered anymore, because Heather was just tired. She was tired of all of it.
And Cassidy knew now, and her mother knew, and it was all gonna go to hell because of her fucking Dad-
"Heather, honey…"
"NO, you PROMISE me," she hissed, back of her hand rubbing against her eyes, because the silent tears kept coming even if she wasn't sobbing anymore. "You promise me you're going to get me away from him, and you're going to tell Cassidy I helped you. You're going to tell her mom I helped you."
"Heather-"
"PROMISE me, fucker."
The line was quiet, but she heard a soft indrawn breath. "Of course, Heather. Of course. We'll do whatever you want."
The hiccups had come, wracking her skinny body with unintentional shivers, the emotion so fierce and raw she felt weak. But her eyes were drier now, even if they were still stinging, and the adrenaline began to sink in, as she tiptoed to the top of the stairs and peeked down.
"Allright," she mumbled, and opened her mouth to suck in another lungful of air. "I'll call you back in five minutes."
"Heather."
"Five minutes," she snapped, and shut the phone. Carefully, with her sneakers stepping purposefully and lightly, she made her way down the stairs, listening for any movement.
At first there was nothing. And then she heard it. Banging from the kitchen.
God.
"I hate him," she whispered, the emotion flaring from deep inside of her. "I hate him. I hate him."
She moved fast, sneaking past the kitchen, stopping only to point a middle finger at the banging and groaning inside, and stopping at the unassuming door next door.
There was a fingerprint scanner.
Licking her lips, Heather carefully pressed her finger on the access pad.
The door unlocked.
Her heart jumped in her throat, and Heather glanced furtively again at the closed kitchen door, before she ducked inside.
Her father's security room was state of the art, but she didn't take any time to admire the gadgetry.
Instead, feet moved forward and she slipped into the seat built large enough to accommodate her father as she began to type fast at the keyboard, working through the program with the speed of the promising hacker she was trained to be.
A few false starts, and she found the trick, flipping through the cameras her father had installed all over the house, room by room.
Buttons clicked rapidly, and Heather's eyes stung, felt swollen, but they processed the information, orbs flashing over commands and codes, sifting through each room and still… nothing.
One minute. Two minutes.
Heather stopped typing, heart jackknifed in her throat, a shred of hope emerging that this was all wrong…
The button clicked again, and then she saw tunnels - her dad's underground railroad tunnels…
And she saw people.
A man, and a woman. Andy. Staggering through the dark in Dad's tunnels.
They were there. Trying to get out.
Mice in a maze.
She bit the fat of her palm to keep from crying again. Sucking in another hard pant, Heather sat and considered her options.
Quickly, she began to type, working fast until she had pulled up a blue print of the house, and a schematic of her dad's tunnels.
With one eye on the pair, she began to trace their route to a possible exit.
--
The wait was agonizing.
"If she doesn't call back in another minute I'm taking Hymie and we're going in," she whispered to the Chief over her radio, eyeing the blueprints that were spread out over the only open table in the mobile unit.
"99, I'm telling you to wait. You know the only reason 23 has taken Max is because he's got a vendetta against you."
"The longer we wait, the less time we have," she snapped. "There's a kid in there, Chief, and she's freaking out. She's emotionally traumatized and at this point, there is no way of knowing if she's going to follow through with helping us or she's-"
"Heather said she'd help!"
The indignant shout came from Cassidy, who jerked away from her mother's grasp and glared at her with the kind of fierce loyalty only a child could own.
99 met Miranda's gaze, pressed her lips together silently.
"Cassidy," the mother began calmly. "You need to sit here, and be quiet."
"NO." The girl jerked away from her mother. "She said she would help. She said she was going to help us get Andy and she's gonna. You don't know her like I do." Wild eyes fell on Caroline, her twin sister, at the moment deadly silent. "Tell them, Caroline."
Her sister only stared. "I don’t know her, Cassidy."
"You do too!"
"Girls," Miranda began, but the little girl was close to crying now.
"She's gonna help. She has to. And you can't blame her for this. You don’t know her."
No, she didn't know Heather.
99 hadn't known her father either. She had been his lover. They had been intimate, and that had been a devastating mistake.
It had cost her her face. Her identity, and now, it might have cost her two innocent lives, the happiness of the family in this van, and Max.
She lifted her finger to her ear. "Chief, we've got to secure the area, get 23 in custody. And we're getting that girl away from him." Slowly, she met the eyes of the crying girl staring at her. "We going to do everything we can to keep her safe, I promise that. Whether or not she helps us."
Cassidy's phone began to ring and with it, 99's body flushed with emotion. Before Cassidy could move, she picked up, and held it to her ear.
"Heather?"
"I've hacked into my dad's security system," came the strained voice of a girl who was achingly young. "The guy and Andy are in Dad's tunnels, trying to get out."
Until that moment, 99 had told herself not to even entertain the idea that they would not be alive.
But the relief that struck her was overwhelming, as her eyes shut and she clenched her fists, trying to keep herself calm. "Okay."
"It's a total maze. They'll never find their way out without help. I've traced the routes, and I've disabled the booby traps. In a minute, you'll get the access codes to enter the tunnels from behind the house."
The information came so fast it was disorienting, and 99 struggled to keep up. "Okay," she said simply. "And what about the third hostage? Emily?"
"Emily?" said the girl. "Fuck Emily. Right now she's in the kitchen banging my Dad."
--
"Oh my fucking God."
Dwayne Johnson, fly open and sweaty as all hell, had not felt so incredibly awesome in a really, really long time.
"Do you like that?" he asked, and flicked his finger, driving it deeper into her mouth. "Take it bitch."
The sandwich disappeared between Emily's lips and she bit into it with relish. "Oh, GOD," she mumbled, chewing so happily it looked like she was this close to coming yet again. "I forgot how much I LOVE eating."
"You could stand to eat something," he grumbled, and she shook her head happily, smacking his hand away from the smooshed concoction of ham, cheese and bread he had thrown together less than a minute before.
"I think I will now," Emily said, after a large swallow. "Fuck Miranda Priestly."
"No, fuck me," he corrected, and damn, she had. And damn, he needed it. He needed fantastic sex. He had forgotten what that felt like.
"What, again?"
He grinned. "Keeps me from killing you."
Her eyes opened, latched onto his for a loaded stare that had his dick twitching once again. But the redhead only shook her head, a smile sneaking onto her fact that actually seemed charming.
It was disturbing that he thought that.
"Ah. There you are."
The statement was met with confusion. Dwayne blinked, and then watched as Emily sat up against the counter, smoothing down the wild hair and chomping down the last of the sandwich.
"Excuse me?"
Slender hands pushed lightly at his torso, just enough to allow her to get to the floor and smooth her skirt down. Oddly, he found himself helping her, keeping her steady as she slipped her heels back on.
"I mean, the bad ass ruthless killer is back." The girl smiled at him, freckles buried into the flushed face thanks to the added color on her cheeks. "The one who could kill me in a heartbeat." She crossed her arms and studied him. "Why on earth can't you be that way with your daughter?"
"You want me to threaten to kill my kid?"
"Not quite," she allowed, and Dwayne watched with narrowed eyes as Emily reached for the gun that had been thrown against the refrigerator. Pointedly, he jerked it out of her grasp. Again, she got a disagreeable annoyed expression. "I just mean that children need authority. Like anyone else. They like being told what to do. It keeps them feeling safe."
"My kid is safe."
"From what? You?"
"She knows I'm not going to kill her."
"Of course she does. She walks all over you."
The annoyance prickled inside of him, and on reflex, he placed the muzzle of the gun directly against her heart. "Do I need to remind you of your place?"
But she only smacked it away.
"Would you stop with that and listen to me?" she asked, sounding only mildly irritated. "I've worked in fashion all my life. Facing the consequences for dropping a call for Miranda Priestly is much more frightening than anything you can give me, I assure you."
Again, fucking Miranda Priestly.
"You're turning me off."
"I've already gotten what I want, what do I care?"
The statement threw him, forced him to reel back and regard her again.
Emily only grinned smugly, grabbing another slice of bread and tearing off a piece to pop into her mouth. "Listen, you've given me a fantastic orgasm and I'm not hungry for the first time in… since I can remember actually. I'm feeling remarkably sated on all levels. So, even though you are a killer, and have kidnapped me and inconvenienced me greatly, I am simply trying to return the favor by offering you some simple advice about your child. You love her don't you?"
The question was so confusing, it nearly struck him dumb. "Are you kidding?"
"Well, are you a true sociopath or do you love your daughter?" Emily arched an eyebrow. "You are obviously capable of SOME emotion if you've gone to such great lengths to enact this kidnapping scam. Revenge smacks of jilted pride. Some part of you obviously liked this 99, to which I say? WHY? Andy's not even that good looking!"
"We're not talking about 99."
"Good. Then let's talk about torturing Andy."
The statement was said with such glee and happiness, it was like looking in a mirror. And then she smiled again, and Dwayne groaned, snarling as he lunged forward and plunged a tongue into her mouth.
The beep at his watch jerked him away, just as she was smoothing her palm down his chest and toward his pants.
"What?" she asked thickly.
"Someone's in the security room," he breathed.
--
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: Eventually it'll show up at my own woefully outdated archive
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
--
PART TEN: Two-Face
The down mattress of Miranda Priestly's enormous bed was so comfortable, lying down on it felt like a decadent treat.
And yet it was almost amusing if Andy Sachs really took the time to think about it, because she was almost positive that the entire scene she was presenting belonged in one of those 'one of these things doesn't belong' story books.
Nestled against a 500 thread count silk sheet, in her out of season (and wrinkled) designer duds, with a three-legged mutt pressed up against her on one side and an enormous Saint Bernhard sandwiching her on the other, Andy's eyelids flickered and her breathing slowed, but her exhausted mind remained active, and so it caused a bit of an unintended shock when she heard Miranda speak, low and to the point, just below she succumbed to sleep.
"This is wrong."
The sentence, hitting her in a particularly vulnerable spot, caused an unexpected jolt inside of her, and Andy's eyes shot open, and she sat up self consciously, blinking blearily and with alarm at the woman who had just entered the room.
"What?"
But Miranda wasn't looking at her. Instead her focus was on the book. Glasses fixed on her face, Miranda's expression was thoroughly annoyed, as she flipped through the pages with a rapid twitch that would have ripped them clear out of the spine had Miranda not been … well… Miranda.
The realization that Miranda was not talking about her, but rather her precious book was such a relief, Andy felt stupid about it. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she pushed against the bed, scooting up, which caused Heathcliff to whine a bit, and Patricia to sigh in resignation and readjust herself to place her massive chin against Andy's shin.
"The entire book…" Miranda continued, soft and exhausted, but still audibly furious. "I'll be up all night fixing this. I specifically told Nigel I did not want the Valentino shoot shot with a soft focus - it ruins the lines-" Miranda glanced up, and suddenly saw her.
Andy looked a mess, probably. She hadn't meant to flop down on the bed like she had. Her … affair with Miranda, though it had been months, had not progressed to anything but quickies when the two of them had the time. It didn't mean Andy felt comfortable flopping over Miranda's snow white blankets and sheets in dirty clothes that smelled like subway.
But the day HAD been exhausting. She had been all over the city on less than two hours of sleep, and had Miranda not texted her to tell her the children had been taken to their father's for an unexpected overnight sleepover, she would have already staggered into her home and zonked out on her less than pretty mattress.
Her original intention had been to shower. Scrub the grime off of her and wake up long enough to give Miranda what they both wanted, before she collapsed and zonked out and after some hours of sleep, snuck out of the house before the help came and realized the family friend had become an overnight visitor.
Temptation had been overwhelming, however, when Andy walked in and looked at the bed.
Before she had known what she was doing, she was crawling over a forgiving mattress and plastering herself across the soft, soft sheets…
And somehow or other five minutes became much more than that, because Miranda had apparently gotten the book and was now staring at her like she had found a squatter in her house.
"Sorry," she said immediately, voice rough and betraying her exhaustion.
"You look like hell." No one would ever accuse Miranda of mincing words.
"Yeah, I know…" Andy said, too tired to take offense. "I'm sorry. I had this story and it wouldn't… I mean I couldn't… I didn't get much sleep and I had this deadline and… I'm really sorry…"
She eased her way carefully to the end of the bed, easing her feet down to the floor.
"Stop."
The command caused her to freeze up immediately, glance up with wide brown eyes as Miranda practically tossed the book on a nearby chair and headed for her, expression unreadable. Breath catching, Andy blinked when the other woman settled down beside her, and with palms smoothing on either side of her cheeks, began to study her as carefully as she would study one of her pages.
"I didn't realize you were so exhausted," Miranda began quietly. "Had I known, I would not have asked you to come over."
The meaning behind it stung. Already, Andy was battling the fear that Miranda only used her for sex or babysitting. To have actual confirmation was a little more than her rapidly shrinking heart could take.
"I wouldn't have come over it I didn't want to," she said, stiffer than she meant, unable to mask the hurt. "Just let me take a shower and I can wake up again. I really didn't mean to just fall asleep like that."
Miranda's eyes shifted to meet with hers. "Andrea, it's quite obvious you need rest. You should not have come if you are this exhausted."
"Don't tell me what I need." She said it angrily, like a teenage girl on a pout, but it hid a disarming truth. As much as Andrea wanted to sleep… she had wanted to see Miranda more.
God.
The gaze held.
Without a word Miranda shifted beside her, and suddenly her fingers had descended between Andy's breasts and were working nimbly at her buttons, pulling them free.
Andy was relieved of the vest, and then her white button down shirt followed, leaving behind a sensible black bra that was neither overtly sexy or designer.
Miranda eyed it for a moment before she smoothed her palm against Andy's ribs, causing immediate goose bumps over the skin she skimmed, before she journeyed around her back. With a flick, the support around Andy's breasts loosened, the strapped sliding down her shoulders.
And yet, when Andy's head dipped, ready to capture Miranda's lips in a kiss, the other woman jerked her head away with an angry hiss.
"None of that," Miranda snapped. Andy's brow furrowed, her mouth pulled down in a confused frown. But Miranda only continued undressing her, color deepening on her cheeks as Miranda took in the naked chest, and with purpose latched onto Andy's palms and pulled firmly.
"Up." Shakily, Andy did as she was commanded, standing still at the edge of the bed as Miranda handled her, undressed her, sliding her palm against her ribs and drifted to her waist.
Her slacks were buttoned, and they fell away, leaving Andrea in nothing but her underwear.
Breathless, Andrea waited.
Miranda wore no expression, but her eyes were darker than Andy had ever seen them, and so intense Andy could scarcely breathe.
Fingers tangled with hers, and then Miranda was moving, pulling her up onto the bed. Dumbstruck, Andy followed her lead, until she was spooned by her lover. Miranda Priestly, in her ridiculously expensive work clothes, had crawled in behind her, was holding her against her for a quiet moment, before she shifted and suddenly those magical fingers were against her temples, kneading slowly.
The sensation was overwhelming. Andy's lips parted, a grateful groan erupted before she could help it.
The sound caused her eyes to open immediately. "Miranda."
"Get some rest." Miranda's tone was low, but there was no room for argument. "You obviously have no problem napping in this bed. Use it, then."
But there was no recrimination.
Just the feel of Miranda holding her. Massaging her.
Just because she was tired.
"Your clothes…"
"I do employ a reputable dry cleaning service."
Her eyes drifted closed, and she inhaled the sweet, intoxicating scent of Miranda. "I'll just take a short nap-"
"You'll spend the night."
Fingers drifted from her temple to her own hands, and Andy tangled their digits firmly, keeping Miranda with her.
*I love you*. The words clogged in her throat. She dared not say them.
"Yes Miranda," she breathed instead, and pressed her dry lips to the hands she was holding, drifting away.
--
"This is wrong."
Andy had long ago discarded her heels. She walked through the dusty tunnels in bare feet, and with her dress dirty and in tatters. Thanks to her unfortunate fall, she was limping.
The fact that Super Spy Man was stating the obvious only caused irritation.
He paused, glancing back and forth as he listened, studying a dimming maze of tunnels that looked behind them exactly the same as what lay before them.
All Andy heard was water dripping. Slumping to the floor, she sighed heavily, feeling the roughness of the wood against her shoulders as she closed her eyes.
"I agree," she snapped, running fingers through dirty hair. "This is so very wrong. I should be at my place, with Miranda. I shouldn't be in a stupid tunnel running for my life, thinking about Lewis Carroll and his stupid high ramblings about rabbit holes and mushrooms. This is so very wrong."
Max shot her a look that could only be exasperation.
"No, I mean this is wrong," he said, swinging his arms out wide, staring up into the dark corners of the tunnels. "We're moving around, completely unmolested."
"And that's a bad thing because?"
"It's a bad thing because we shouldn't be. Why hasn't 23 come down here for us? He must have figured out we were gone by now. He must know these tunnels like the back of his hand."
Andy's headache pulsed. Gritting her teeth, she shut her eyes, and smiled grimly. "So our problem is NOT that we're this close to passing out and wandering around these tunnels with no end in sight, but that the crazy assassin man out to get us hasn’t come down to kill us for escaping?"
Max furrowed his brow, stock still. "Something's wrong," he murmured. "Something has gone wrong, or we're heading into a trap."
"At least we're moving."
"Yes, but into what?" Max shook his head. "I could be leading us further into danger."
"Or to freedom."
"I don’t like our odds."
"Are all spies such cheery people?" she asked dryly. "I mean, James Bond usually has a fun quip or some insanely inflated sense of security that keeps up the moral. You could try that you know."
"At the moment, I'm most interested in keeping you and Miss Emily alive," he muttered, and sank to his haunches, lost in thought. "I still have to figure out how to get her out."
Oh, right. Emily. A stab of regret pricked Andy in her already tight chest. Emily, who hated her now because of Miranda.
"If I had any sort of leverage I could wait out 23. Try to take him by surprise…"
"But you don't. Max, you're stumbling. I'm stumbling. We're not exactly at full strength right now. And we've waited long enough for your girlfriend to show up."
His eyes jerked up, met hers with a vicious indignation that could have only meant he was thinking the same thing.
"Listen to me." He rubbed his hands together, handsome face etched with dust. "I made you a promise. You will get back to Ms. Priestly and her family. You'll help me. And if you do that, then I can get back to 99 and Fang."
"Fang?"
"My dog."
Fair was fair, she supposed. A grim, tight smile emerged on her exhausted face. "Deal," she told him, and held out her hand. He took it, and she was helped up, until they were standing together, with a clasped handshake. "So what do you suggest? We can go forward blindly or back blindly."
He didn't hesitate. "Forward, Ms. Sachs. Always forward. Never return to where you've already been."
"Are you being philosophical?"
"Well it's not a quip but it seemed fitting."
The statement made her chuckle, and she couldn’t deny it: she needed the release badly.
The look Max gave her when she did that, was different somehow. The quiet smile on his face had frozen for something else. Something… bittersweet.
And it transformed him.
Standing in front of her was a dusty older man, who looked at her like he was in love.
It was then, she realized, with a quickening breath that caused a stutter of her heartbeat, that he was suddenly seeing his girlfriend.
At her stiffening, he blinked, flushed, and suddenly seemed himself again, shaking his head as if to rattle the cobwebs out.
"I’m sorry," he said, taking a step back, sounding genuinely apologetic. "You just… you smile just like her."
Swallowing hard, she glanced away. There it was. The knowledge, the idea…
Another woman. With her face. A face just like hers. A whole other life.
No, it was't the time to think about it. To think about it would probably result in freaking out and she couldn't freak out right now. Everything hinged on not freaking out.
"I'm going to have to meet her," she said quietly, managing as comforting a smile as she could under the circumstances.
At that, his kind mouth creased into a good natured grin. When Max kept going, she gladly followed.
--
Considering the situation she found herself in, Heather Johnson discovered herself oddly calm.
It wasn't everyday, after all, that a girlfriend told her that her father had accidentally taken her mother's girlfriend hostage.
In the wake of that revelation, and the knowledge that Miranda Priestly knew that a) her parents were crooks, and b) her dad had Andy, Heather found herself ridiculously glad that the first feeling was numb disbelief.
The second overwhelming response was the pressure that built upon her chest, and set her heart beating so fast she wondered if this was what a heart attack was.
"Heather?" The woman on the other end of the phone sound raspy, careful. "Heather, I realize what we're asking is an extremely difficult thing to do-"
"-no it's not," she blurted, blinking and rubbing at the stinging tears that had come upon her without her even realizing it. And once they started, they wouldn't stop. The numbness faded and the pressure built, and Heather Johnson, thirteen years old, found her knees giving out on her, crumpling to the floor in her dad's hallway, sobbing like a … like a girl.
"… Heather. Honey."
No. Fuck no.
She clutched the phone to her ear, and scrambled to her feet, sucking in a huge breath and wiping furiously at the drops on her cheeks. "No, listen. I'm going to help you. I'm going to help you find them, and then I'm going to help you get my dad. And when you do? I want you to arrest him and lock him up forever! Do you understand me! You GET me the fuck away from him."
The fervent emotion behind her request must have startled the woman on the phone, but Heather didn't care.
Nothing mattered anymore, because Heather was just tired. She was tired of all of it.
And Cassidy knew now, and her mother knew, and it was all gonna go to hell because of her fucking Dad-
"Heather, honey…"
"NO, you PROMISE me," she hissed, back of her hand rubbing against her eyes, because the silent tears kept coming even if she wasn't sobbing anymore. "You promise me you're going to get me away from him, and you're going to tell Cassidy I helped you. You're going to tell her mom I helped you."
"Heather-"
"PROMISE me, fucker."
The line was quiet, but she heard a soft indrawn breath. "Of course, Heather. Of course. We'll do whatever you want."
The hiccups had come, wracking her skinny body with unintentional shivers, the emotion so fierce and raw she felt weak. But her eyes were drier now, even if they were still stinging, and the adrenaline began to sink in, as she tiptoed to the top of the stairs and peeked down.
"Allright," she mumbled, and opened her mouth to suck in another lungful of air. "I'll call you back in five minutes."
"Heather."
"Five minutes," she snapped, and shut the phone. Carefully, with her sneakers stepping purposefully and lightly, she made her way down the stairs, listening for any movement.
At first there was nothing. And then she heard it. Banging from the kitchen.
God.
"I hate him," she whispered, the emotion flaring from deep inside of her. "I hate him. I hate him."
She moved fast, sneaking past the kitchen, stopping only to point a middle finger at the banging and groaning inside, and stopping at the unassuming door next door.
There was a fingerprint scanner.
Licking her lips, Heather carefully pressed her finger on the access pad.
The door unlocked.
Her heart jumped in her throat, and Heather glanced furtively again at the closed kitchen door, before she ducked inside.
Her father's security room was state of the art, but she didn't take any time to admire the gadgetry.
Instead, feet moved forward and she slipped into the seat built large enough to accommodate her father as she began to type fast at the keyboard, working through the program with the speed of the promising hacker she was trained to be.
A few false starts, and she found the trick, flipping through the cameras her father had installed all over the house, room by room.
Buttons clicked rapidly, and Heather's eyes stung, felt swollen, but they processed the information, orbs flashing over commands and codes, sifting through each room and still… nothing.
One minute. Two minutes.
Heather stopped typing, heart jackknifed in her throat, a shred of hope emerging that this was all wrong…
The button clicked again, and then she saw tunnels - her dad's underground railroad tunnels…
And she saw people.
A man, and a woman. Andy. Staggering through the dark in Dad's tunnels.
They were there. Trying to get out.
Mice in a maze.
She bit the fat of her palm to keep from crying again. Sucking in another hard pant, Heather sat and considered her options.
Quickly, she began to type, working fast until she had pulled up a blue print of the house, and a schematic of her dad's tunnels.
With one eye on the pair, she began to trace their route to a possible exit.
--
The wait was agonizing.
"If she doesn't call back in another minute I'm taking Hymie and we're going in," she whispered to the Chief over her radio, eyeing the blueprints that were spread out over the only open table in the mobile unit.
"99, I'm telling you to wait. You know the only reason 23 has taken Max is because he's got a vendetta against you."
"The longer we wait, the less time we have," she snapped. "There's a kid in there, Chief, and she's freaking out. She's emotionally traumatized and at this point, there is no way of knowing if she's going to follow through with helping us or she's-"
"Heather said she'd help!"
The indignant shout came from Cassidy, who jerked away from her mother's grasp and glared at her with the kind of fierce loyalty only a child could own.
99 met Miranda's gaze, pressed her lips together silently.
"Cassidy," the mother began calmly. "You need to sit here, and be quiet."
"NO." The girl jerked away from her mother. "She said she would help. She said she was going to help us get Andy and she's gonna. You don't know her like I do." Wild eyes fell on Caroline, her twin sister, at the moment deadly silent. "Tell them, Caroline."
Her sister only stared. "I don’t know her, Cassidy."
"You do too!"
"Girls," Miranda began, but the little girl was close to crying now.
"She's gonna help. She has to. And you can't blame her for this. You don’t know her."
No, she didn't know Heather.
99 hadn't known her father either. She had been his lover. They had been intimate, and that had been a devastating mistake.
It had cost her her face. Her identity, and now, it might have cost her two innocent lives, the happiness of the family in this van, and Max.
She lifted her finger to her ear. "Chief, we've got to secure the area, get 23 in custody. And we're getting that girl away from him." Slowly, she met the eyes of the crying girl staring at her. "We going to do everything we can to keep her safe, I promise that. Whether or not she helps us."
Cassidy's phone began to ring and with it, 99's body flushed with emotion. Before Cassidy could move, she picked up, and held it to her ear.
"Heather?"
"I've hacked into my dad's security system," came the strained voice of a girl who was achingly young. "The guy and Andy are in Dad's tunnels, trying to get out."
Until that moment, 99 had told herself not to even entertain the idea that they would not be alive.
But the relief that struck her was overwhelming, as her eyes shut and she clenched her fists, trying to keep herself calm. "Okay."
"It's a total maze. They'll never find their way out without help. I've traced the routes, and I've disabled the booby traps. In a minute, you'll get the access codes to enter the tunnels from behind the house."
The information came so fast it was disorienting, and 99 struggled to keep up. "Okay," she said simply. "And what about the third hostage? Emily?"
"Emily?" said the girl. "Fuck Emily. Right now she's in the kitchen banging my Dad."
--
"Oh my fucking God."
Dwayne Johnson, fly open and sweaty as all hell, had not felt so incredibly awesome in a really, really long time.
"Do you like that?" he asked, and flicked his finger, driving it deeper into her mouth. "Take it bitch."
The sandwich disappeared between Emily's lips and she bit into it with relish. "Oh, GOD," she mumbled, chewing so happily it looked like she was this close to coming yet again. "I forgot how much I LOVE eating."
"You could stand to eat something," he grumbled, and she shook her head happily, smacking his hand away from the smooshed concoction of ham, cheese and bread he had thrown together less than a minute before.
"I think I will now," Emily said, after a large swallow. "Fuck Miranda Priestly."
"No, fuck me," he corrected, and damn, she had. And damn, he needed it. He needed fantastic sex. He had forgotten what that felt like.
"What, again?"
He grinned. "Keeps me from killing you."
Her eyes opened, latched onto his for a loaded stare that had his dick twitching once again. But the redhead only shook her head, a smile sneaking onto her fact that actually seemed charming.
It was disturbing that he thought that.
"Ah. There you are."
The statement was met with confusion. Dwayne blinked, and then watched as Emily sat up against the counter, smoothing down the wild hair and chomping down the last of the sandwich.
"Excuse me?"
Slender hands pushed lightly at his torso, just enough to allow her to get to the floor and smooth her skirt down. Oddly, he found himself helping her, keeping her steady as she slipped her heels back on.
"I mean, the bad ass ruthless killer is back." The girl smiled at him, freckles buried into the flushed face thanks to the added color on her cheeks. "The one who could kill me in a heartbeat." She crossed her arms and studied him. "Why on earth can't you be that way with your daughter?"
"You want me to threaten to kill my kid?"
"Not quite," she allowed, and Dwayne watched with narrowed eyes as Emily reached for the gun that had been thrown against the refrigerator. Pointedly, he jerked it out of her grasp. Again, she got a disagreeable annoyed expression. "I just mean that children need authority. Like anyone else. They like being told what to do. It keeps them feeling safe."
"My kid is safe."
"From what? You?"
"She knows I'm not going to kill her."
"Of course she does. She walks all over you."
The annoyance prickled inside of him, and on reflex, he placed the muzzle of the gun directly against her heart. "Do I need to remind you of your place?"
But she only smacked it away.
"Would you stop with that and listen to me?" she asked, sounding only mildly irritated. "I've worked in fashion all my life. Facing the consequences for dropping a call for Miranda Priestly is much more frightening than anything you can give me, I assure you."
Again, fucking Miranda Priestly.
"You're turning me off."
"I've already gotten what I want, what do I care?"
The statement threw him, forced him to reel back and regard her again.
Emily only grinned smugly, grabbing another slice of bread and tearing off a piece to pop into her mouth. "Listen, you've given me a fantastic orgasm and I'm not hungry for the first time in… since I can remember actually. I'm feeling remarkably sated on all levels. So, even though you are a killer, and have kidnapped me and inconvenienced me greatly, I am simply trying to return the favor by offering you some simple advice about your child. You love her don't you?"
The question was so confusing, it nearly struck him dumb. "Are you kidding?"
"Well, are you a true sociopath or do you love your daughter?" Emily arched an eyebrow. "You are obviously capable of SOME emotion if you've gone to such great lengths to enact this kidnapping scam. Revenge smacks of jilted pride. Some part of you obviously liked this 99, to which I say? WHY? Andy's not even that good looking!"
"We're not talking about 99."
"Good. Then let's talk about torturing Andy."
The statement was said with such glee and happiness, it was like looking in a mirror. And then she smiled again, and Dwayne groaned, snarling as he lunged forward and plunged a tongue into her mouth.
The beep at his watch jerked him away, just as she was smoothing her palm down his chest and toward his pants.
"What?" she asked thickly.
"Someone's in the security room," he breathed.
--
END CHAPTER.