Archive of Our Own

Miranda Croft steps into her small apartment, dropping her travel bag next to the door and shrugging off her coat, hanging it over the back of her sitting chair. She sighs as she rolls the tension out of her shoulders and walks to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard and the bottle of scotch next to it, she pours herself a decent drink before dropping onto her couch.

She had just gotten back to London after a rather successful, yet almost too easy job in Paris. Why does she end up with all the shit jobs, she thinks, cursing Victor in her head. For weeks now she hasn’t been asked to do anything interesting, and interesting by Miranda’s standards is actually interacting with people. Not just being invisible and breaking into people’s apartments to find any information she can. It bores her, and she gets irritated when she’s bored, and she hates being irritated. 

After a slow sip of her scotch, Miranda takes her boots off and pushes them under her coffee table. She’s not one for drinking during a job but she always has at least one good drink when she returns home. And if it helps her shake off the tension to get to sleep, well, that’s her concern.

She finishes her drink, takes a long shower, and throws on the only pyjamas she has in her relatively empty apartment; an old grey t-shirt, because really, she’s just lazy about buying anything but day-to-day outfits for herself. She sleeps deeply through the night but is woken up by her phone ringing. She rolls over, shoving a pillow over her head, yelling at the phone to “shut the fuck up!” It stops ringing, but only for a minute as the annoying ringtone picks up again. Miranda grabs her phone, yanking out the charging cord and answers.

“What is it?” she grumbles.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Victor chuckles lightly on the other end. “I have a job for you.”

“You woke me up and now I’m in a bad mood. It is, so far, not a good morning,” she huffs. “What job?”

“There’s been a situation in Copenhagen.”

“Denmark?” she questions, now interested and listening, sitting up in her bed, rubbing the sleep out her eyes.

“A woman has acquired some… proprietary information. As far as we know she’s still in the city.”

“A woman?” she asks.

“That won’t be a problem, will it?” Miranda knows by the tone in his voice that no matter how she personally feels, it will not be a problem. It’s not that she really has a problem following and potentially threatening and terrorizing a woman, but most of the time it’s just not as enjoyable as doing the same to men. 

“Absolutely not, nothing wrong with it,” she replies. “When do I go?”

“There’s a flight booked for you tonight.”

Miranda would love to protest and say she had just gotten home and would like some more time alone but Victor would have none of it, and she would also be lying to herself anyway. Miranda enjoys the job she has and does not like being alone for too long to think about anything in her real life. Not that there is much of one, but that’s why she likes being the one Victor calls for last minute assignments because this is her life. 

Victor informs her that an email will be sent with her ticket information and advises her to be quick about it all, just like he does every time. As if she doesn’t know already after all the years she’s worked for him.

She spends the day getting ready, which doesn’t take much effort. She never unpacks her bag, and she almost always gets her clothes dry cleaned before she has to fly home. Though sometimes she doesn’t remember what shop she used and has to leave her things behind. There have been more than a few favourite items she’s loved and lost this way. Not that she cares that much, she has enough money to buy more clothes, but some things were very nice. 

By early evening a car has arrived to take Miranda to the airport and within a couple of hours she’s flying to Denmark. She’s only ever been once before, and it was only during the night for something that needed to be done in a matter of hours. She barely remembers what anything looked like. 

As she sits down in business class (thank you, Victor) and straps herself in, Miranda hopes that this trip will go as easy as the last one in Denmark had. It’s not like she has to go after a brute of a man, or someone known to be sneaky and slippery. It was a woman, who probably has no idea what she has gotten herself into, and it would turn out to be an easy fix. That’s what Miranda tells herself as she settles in her seat and relaxes for the short flight.

There’s a general protocol in place for the international jobs Miranda does. Victor calls, tells her where she needs to go, but gives no real details on the phone. When she arrives at a certain destination, the driver, who is also employed by Victor, picks her up and takes her to a hotel, and the driver also just so happens to leave a little envelope of information on the backseat. Clean and uncomplicated, just the way Miranda likes it.

They get to the hotel by nightfall and she checks in, but only to leave her travel bag in her room, and then she’s off again, envelope in her pocket.

As she gets out onto the street, light from the giant hotel windows spilling out on the pavement, she opens the envelope to find the little scrap of paper that has the target's last known location. Miranda doesn’t recognize the street or the name of the hotel, but there is the name of the woman scrawled in messy handwriting at the bottom; Angela Collins. Miranda suspects it’s most likely a fake name because who in their right mind would steal sensitive information about a criminal organization and use their real name to stay in a hotel, but Miranda also suspects that this woman is just a pawn in a bigger game and she’s just being used. So many people usually are. A shame, really, but either Miranda deals with her or Victor will just send somebody worse and it won’t be pleasant for the woman, she thinks to herself and grimaces as she shoves the envelope back into her coat and walks to find a taxi. 

Fifteen minutes later the driver pulls up to a hotel, one almost as nice as Miranda has. She’s surprised for a moment over the fact that it’s not some filthy, run-down place halfway outside of the city. Either this woman is important to the people she is working for, or she has no clue she should be lying low. She suspects it’s the latter. This will be easy. Miranda already feels bored again.

She walks up to the concierge, ready to put her charm on. “Hello, hi,” she smiles at the man behind the desk. “I’m supposed to be meeting a friend for some drinks and was wondering if you could tell me what room she’s in. Angela Collins?”

The young man smiles back but his eyes are sympathetic. Fuck. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Miss Collins has just left the hotel. I saw her leave about ten minutes ago.” Fuck. 

Miranda purses her lips then smiles tensely, “Oh, she must have thought we were meeting at the bar. Thank you for your help.” She turns around and walks out without waiting for the concierge to say anything more. She hates it even when small things don’t go her way because now this means she’ll have to find somewhere to sit and wait for the woman to come back. 

Across the street from the hotel she spots a small but relatively busy bistro, noticing there’s a single empty bar stool at the window that directly looks at the hotel doors. Perfect. Miranda enters the bistro and occupies the empty seat. She orders a soda water with lemon and once again reaches for the envelope in her pocket. She had glanced at the other papers inside before, but only took out the money and looked for the information she needed to immediately find the woman. She flicks through the few papers there are, noting that there are no copies of the information the woman supposedly took, but she does come across a paper with an obvious photo. 

It’s only a screenshot of a security camera from the hotel lobby, but the woman’s face is clear and Miranda can’t help but stare. The woman has long, strawberry blonde hair, a very light complexion, and a strong look on her face. She looks determined, and there’s something about that Miranda immediately likes but she’s not sure why. If anything she should be thinking about why the woman doesn’t look scared or worried, but that thought doesn’t come. She just sits there studying the image, studying the attractive woman in it. 

Miranda stays at the bistro for about an hour, having ordered something to eat so she doesn't look suspicious to the staff, nevermind the fact that it was dinner time and she had barely eaten all day, when she sees a flash of strawberry blonde hair in front of the hotel. It’s her, Angela, she knows, and she has a man following her into the hotel. Miranda can see the pleased look he has on his face, rolling her eyes as she pieces together what the situation is and doesn’t bother to get up to follow the woman. She sighs, irked by the fact that she’ll have to wait longer now as she does not want to see that business and pulls her phone out of her pocket to check the time. It’s not late, so Miranda decides to stay until she sees the man come back out of the hotel. There’s just something that tells her he will, that this Angela woman won’t let him stay. She looks like she gets what she wants and doesn’t want to linger for anything. 

Miranda isn’t sure why she assumes this, but she finds it out to be true when forty minutes later he exits the hotel with his suit jacket draping over his shoulder, looking satisfied. Miranda almost laughs because forty minutes would be good enough for him. She watches him get into a taxi and leave as she thinks of what to do next. 

It wouldn’t be unusual if she were to ask the concierge for the room number again, telling him that her friend needed some time “alone” for an hour and didn’t bother to tell her the room number first. She could also just wait for the overnight concierge to come in for the next shift and start fresh. Perhaps both plans? If her first idea doesn’t work, that is. But as Miranda is still busy deciding on what strategy would work best or if maybe she should just return in the morning, she sees that same flash of strawberry blonde hair in the hotel lobby and the woman is stepping through the hotel doors, looking right at the bistro where Miranda sits. The woman crosses the street and comes into the bistro, smiling at the woman behind the bar, mumbling something, and takes a seat there. 

Miranda doesn’t scare or stress easily, she wouldn’t be in this field of work if she did, but there is something in this situation that makes her feel a bit uneasy. She didn’t think of the possibility that her target would step into the establishment where Miranda is currently watching her from, and she silently chastises herself for not thinking through every possibility, knowing she should have. 

She waits ten or so minutes, trying to think of a plan before deciding on the most reckless one, not really understanding why she’s going through with it, as reckless isn’t what she normally goes for first. But there’s a voice in her brain that is telling her this is the best thing to do. So she stands up and walks to the bar. It’s true she doesn’t normally drink while actively working but sometimes you have to break the rules, be a little reckless . 

“Scotch, neat,” she tells the bartender when the young girl asks what Miranda would like, and she casually glances at the strawberry blonde, Angela, who also has a glass of scotch in front of her. The bartender slides Miranda her drink and leaves to serve someone else down the other end of the bar. She knows that what she is about to do is out of the ordinary for her, and for normal protocol within her job but there is a pulling feeling inside her saying this is the right call, and Miranda always trusts her instincts. 

“I can’t help but notice you’re drinking on your own,” Miranda says as she slides up next to the pale skinned woman, and gives a slight smile. The woman looks up to her, hair flicking over her shoulder and Miranda notices her eyes are a gorgeous blue that reminds her of the ocean. 

“What makes you think I’m not waiting for someone?” the woman smirks, but she sounds a little annoyed that someone has interrupted her alone time. Miranda likes it though, and likes her American accent too. 

“There’s just something about the way you’re sitting that doesn’t look like you’re waiting for someone else,” she says, eyes drifting around the room, making an attempt to seem nonchalant as she takes a sip of her scotch. 

“How can you tell?” the woman turns her body towards Miranda now, interested in where this conversation is going. Miranda notices that she doesn’t seem to be on edge about anything, like she doesn’t even know there’s a target on her back.

“You don’t look nervous, you’re not checking your phone or looking at the door every minute or two, and you sat at the bar when there are a few empty tables.”

“Impressive,” the woman concedes, resting her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the bar. Miranda tilts her head, almost saying that she knows she’s impressive but she bites it back. “I can only assume you’re on your own too.”

“Now, what would make you think that?” Miranda says playfully. 

“Why would someone approach another person sitting alone at the bar if they had a group of friends?”

“Maybe I wanted your number, people do things like that.”

“ Do you want my number?”

Miranda laughs then, tapping her fingers on the bar. “No, I just wanted someone to talk to, honestly.” The woman then gestures for Miranda to sit down beside her.

“Well, since I am all alone I suppose it’s okay if we talk for a while,” she smiles, her mouth opening a little as she brings her glass up to her lips. She holds out her hand, “I’m Allison.”

Allison. Another name, but is it her real one, Miranda wonders. This beautiful woman looks more like an Allison than an Angela, but that doesn’t mean anything. It would be wise to use a fake name after introducing herself to anyone after what she’s done. So when Miranda introduces herself, she’s mildly angry at her mouth not listening to her brain. 

“Miranda,” she says earnestly and shakes Allison’s hand. 

They talk for a while at the bar, having a couple drinks then moving to a booth that frees up as the place starts to empty out as the hour gets later and later. Miranda makes up a story of having to wait until the next day until her friends arrive from London to justify going out for a drink alone. Allison tells her that she’s doing the same, kind of . That she’s also waiting for someone to see her. Probably a lie, too. 

Miranda can’t get an accurate read on the other woman and why she has gotten a hold of some information Victor did not want taken, and maybe that’s the three drinks she’s had that are clouding up her head, but maybe Allison is just a lovely woman who has been used by someone as awful as Victor. Either way, the fact that she has to threaten (at the most) this woman does not leave her mind for a second, and with all the alcohol in her body right now it’s making it unlikely she’ll get to it tonight. 

The bistro staff informs the two women that they’ll close up at midnight and call for last drinks, and as Miranda is about to pay, Allison places her hand over Miranda’s and insists that she pays since Miranda had the courage to talk to her. Miranda just smiles and thanks her but is annoyed by the fact that she feels like she has to owe the woman now. 

They walk out onto the street where Allison tells Miranda her hotel is just across the road, and Miranda acts surprised, telling her how convenient that is. They linger there for an awkward moment, Miranda not knowing what to do next. 

“Would you like my number now?” Allison asks, a twinkle in her eye and a grin on her mouth. 

“Fuck it, why not,” Miranda laughs and sighs as she pulls her phone out of her coat pocket. She opens up contacts and Allison reaches for her phone, their hands briefly touch and Miranda catches a breath as she flinches slightly. This is getting out of hand now, but maybe it will be easier to lure the woman out somewhere quiet, away from prying eyes to question her about the information she acquired. 

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be around for. My friend should be arriving in a day or two, so if you’d like to talk again,” Allison grins, “I’ll be around tomorrow.”

Miranda purses her lips, thinking about that. “Okay,” is all she says. Allison clicks her tongue as she slips Miranda’s phone back into her coat. 

“Goodbye, Miranda.” Allison lets her handbag slide from the crook of her elbow in her hand and strides over the quiet street to her hotel. As she steps through the doors she looks back to Miranda and waves, a cheeky smile gracing her lips. 

“Fuck,” Miranda says as she pulls herself together and walks down the road to find a taxi. “This is so fucked. What the fuck am I doing?” She murmurs to herself as she drops into the back seat of the taxi and tells the driver what hotel she needs to get back to. 

It’s not often she only takes a small amount of time to finish a job but she could have with this one, if she hadn’t been so stupid and reckless and spoken to the women. Though it’s not like she could have planned that Allison would walk into her little stake-out hideaway, but even then she could have just left and watched her movements from further away. It’s not like the woman has anything that screams ‘dangerous’ about her. 

Miranda’s hand slides into her coat pocket, the tips of her fingers finding the warm metal as she closes her hand around her knife. It’s a strange comfort she developed long ago, to just hold the knife clears her mind. She particularly needs it now since the buzz from the alcohol is making her entire body feel hazy. As the taxi pulls up outside her hotel she leaves the knife in her pocket, pulling out some money for the driver. She makes her way up to her room and kicks her boots off, leaving them at the door. She strips off her clothes and lays them gently on the couch, careful not to cause wrinkles to form overnight, and climbs into bed. 

Her mind races before she finally gets to sleep. Victor will want an update when she wakes up and she doesn’t know what to tell him. He seems to know when she lies about something, so she decides she’ll have to partially tell him the truth, but she will definitely have to leave out the part where she had many drinks with her target. It will all be fine, she thinks as she drifts off to sleep. 

As Miranda begins to set off for the day, hoping to get to Allison’s hotel before the woman leaves, if and when she decides to do so, her phone rings. She knows it’ll be Victor, so she steels herself and answers. 

“Victor, hello.”

“Miranda,” he greets. “Everything going to plan?”

“Yes, of course,” she does her best to sound sure of herself.

“Tell me what you know.”

She informs him that she knows where she needs to go and that she’s doing more recon for the day before she decides on a clear plan. If he isn’t happy with her answer he doesn’t show it because he just tells her to keep going and to let him know if anything changes or if there’s a problem. The short conversation just makes her become more sure that she just needs to get this done. She simply needs to find out if Allison has given the information away, to whom, then make sure she won’t be more of a problem and inform Victor that she has handled it. That’s all. 

So Miranda finds herself once again near Allison’s hotel, standing outside a newsagent down the street a little, focusing on the doors. For half an hour she wanders up and down the street, pretending to look in various stores, waiting for Allison to exit the doors of the hotel. 

It’s just before lunch that the strawberry blonde woman strides gracefully out onto the street, sliding sunglasses onto her face, looking very determined to get somewhere. Miranda starts to follow her. 

They turn down side streets every once in a while, Allison sometimes stopping at a shop that has their goods on display out on the sidewalk. Miranda notices that she seems more interested in bags and shoes, and expensive ones at that. She finds it somewhat interesting, although not caring about such things as much herself. 

Eventually, Allison arrives at what seems to be her destination; a small café. The woman sits down outside, placing her bag beside her feet and her phone on the table. Miranda looks around to find a suitable spot nearby where she can keep eyes on Allison and not be seen. There’s an antique book shop that seems suitable and she quickly heads into it, being careful to stay out of a direct line of sight. She starts to look through the bookshelves, barely paying attention, as her eyes fix on Allison outside. 

A few minutes go by and someone approaches the woman’s table at the café. Miranda doesn’t recognize him but she takes a moment to lock the face into her memory, thinking it could only be helpful to remember the woman’s acquaintances. Allison seems to be friends with him. She stands to hug him and he seems to say something amusing as she laughs. Miranda briefly thinks she looks rather beautiful in the sunlight, her hair shining, her skin glowing. She shoves the thoughts into the back of her mind. The fact that she’s stunning has nothing to do with anything. 

Miranda hears footsteps coming up behind her and she instinctively reaches into her pocket, fingers wrapping around her butterfly knife. She flinches when the figure behind her starts talking to her. “Can I help you with something?” 

Miranda turns around to an older man, shorter than her, with grey, slicked-back hair. “No, thank you, just browsing,” she says with a forced smile. He just nods and walks to the back of the shop slowly. She rolls her eyes and turns to look out the front window again, searching for that head of hair she’s becoming to like a little too much. She sees Allison laughing with her friend and again Miranda thinks the woman is acting rather blasé for someone who managed to steal quite a few files from a computer that was used by one of Victor’s many associates. Not that Miranda had any definite information on how this woman actually did that. In fact, now that she thinks of it, she wasn’t told very much about this woman or the situation at all. It could very well be that Victor himself doesn’t know, but he always knows everything. No, something about it is all a bit off and Miranda needs to know more. 

Before she can properly think through what she’s about to do, she pulls her phone out of her coat pocket and finds Allison’s number, composing a message, asking her out for drinks later. Miranda sends the message and looks up to see Allison look down at her phone. She thinks she detects a smile on the woman’s face but she’s not sure, not that she should care if the woman was to smile over getting a text. They had just met, and it was all under false pretenses. Miranda has to keep reminding herself of that. Her phone buzzes in her hand and she looks down, opening the message. Allison has agreed, even told her what time and where would be best for them to meet. Wee bit bossy, Miranda thinks, but she finds that she likes it, too. 

It isn’t long after that Allison says goodbye to her friend and seemingly makes her way back to the hotel. Miranda crosses over the road near the hotel so she can see Allison walk inside, and just as she does she’s approached by yet another man. Tall, with black hair, in a nice suit. Miranda can just make out his face, and he doesn’t appear to be happy like the other one had been at the café, but this man also doesn’t look exactly cross. His face is rather blank, almost as if he’s bored. He hands something to Allison and she is quick to stuff it inside her handbag, without even looking to see what it is. Maybe it’s a payment of sorts, Miranda thinks. Then just like that the man disappears into the crowd and Allison walks into a hallway where the elevators must be. Miranda sighs to herself, tired of all this following and watching. She just wants some action now. She’s patient, but up to a certain point. Then her anger starts to come out. Victor tells her constantly that she needs to keep that anger in check, try some calming techniques, like meditation or an anger management audiobook she can take on the go with her. She brushes it all off, knowing she could never be that docile woman who has to keep her emotions in check. 

Miranda decides she’s had enough of the watchdog act for the day, thinking she’s done what was minimally required at least, and walks around for a while, finding somewhere to eat before she goes back to her hotel. 

As she prepares to get ready for her drinks with Allison she makes a conscious effort to think about how to handle the woman tonight. If she should ask questions as to why she’s here in Denmark, even though it would mean Miranda would have to give similar information in return, as that’s how conversations naturally occur. She has to get something that will help her overall task though, to maybe catch the woman in a lie. She has to get useful information. That’s the point of all this. 

When the time comes for Miranda to leave, she calls down to reception to order her a taxi and ten minutes later it arrives. Another ten minutes after that the driver informs her that she’s at her destination. She climbs out of the car and looks around. It’s a quiet area, with only a few street lamps lighting up the sidewalk. The area doesn’t look too flash but it’s not the worst, and she begins to wonder why a woman who likes expensive things would come here. 

Miranda turns to look behind her to see she is in fact in front of the bar that Allison had suggested, and it doesn’t look like the type of place she would have chosen for the woman either. The few tables outside have drink stains and empty glasses, overflowing ashtrays and shabby chairs. Not that Miranda minds per se, she’s happy to have a drink anywhere, but something about this is definitely feeling a little off to her. She makes her way inside and looks for that smattering of red hair she’s beginning to see everywhere. 

When Miranda spots Allison at a table far away from anybody else in the bar, she has one leg draped over the other, a hand resting in her lap while the other one is slowly spinning a glass with a finger of amber liquid in it. It doesn’t look like she has seen Miranda walk in yet, but she must sense Miranda looking at her because Allison looks up, eyes connecting with Miranda’s, almost like she knew Miranda was staring even without Miranda making her presence clear. 

Allison smiles and waves at Miranda, gesturing for her to sit down. As the brunette woman walks over to the table she notices there is a second glass waiting, for her, of course. Miranda sits down, crossing one leg over the other, mirroring the way Allison is sitting. 

“Hello,” Allison greets cheerfully, and Miranda wonders how early the woman must have arrived considering Miranda herself is almost exactly on time. 

“Hello yourself,” Miranda half-smiles reaching for her glass, dragging it slowly across the table towards her. They take a sip of their drinks at the same time, keeping eye contact. Already Miranda feels something spark inside her, almost wary of the situation maybe.

“I’m glad you messaged me,” the other woman says.

“Really?” Miranda tilts her head.

“Really,” she grins. “I wasn’t sure you would. I thought you had friends coming into town tonight?”

“I do, they did. They wanted a low-key night to settle in,” Miranda lies, hoping the woman across from her believes her. 

“Lucky for me,” Allison smiles coyly and has a sip of her drink.

“Yes, lucky you,” Miranda mumbles, cautious of what this night could eventually lead to. Hopefully something useful for her task. “And your friend? Have they paid you a visit yet or are you still waiting?”

“Unfortunately no, they’ve been held up. Won’t arrive for another day or two.” Miranda wonders briefly whether it’s a contact of hers, and again wonders if Allison knows just how deep this situation runs now. 

“Well,” Miranda raises her drink. “I’m happy to keep you company for the night.” Allison raises her eyebrows and gives Miranda a slightly sinful look, smirking.

“I do appreciate the company of a beautiful woman,” Allison says as she brings her drink up to her mouth, hiding her grin. Miranda falters for a moment, not quite knowing what to say to that. From what Miranda has noticed in the last day she seems to appreciate any company, which is her right but all the same... 

“Not good on your own?” Miranda asks and Allison tilts her head from side to side, thinking. 

“I prefer to kill time with somebody rather than on my own, if that’s what you want to know.”

“I can’t relate to that,” she confesses. 

“No?”

“I like being on my own more than anything.”

“But you’re here with me now, so I can’t be that bad,” Allison chuckles. 

“I barely know you.”

“Exactly,” Allison says, leaning in towards Miranda. “You barely know me and yet you’re here with me, you asked me out for drinks. You’d rather be here with me than be alone.”

“Maybe you have a point,” Miranda breathes out, feeling more seen by the second. She downs the rest of her drink in one go. “Maybe I just don’t like drinking alone.” Allison raises an eyebrow and finishes her drink in turn, pushing herself up from the table.

“I had better get another round then.” And with that Allison walks away to the bar, swaying her hips enough, just enough for Miranda’s eyes to catch the movement, she’s sure. 

The rest of the night flows just as lighthearted and suggestive as the minutes tick by, and Miranda definitely knows now that she is getting in too deep, too close to this one. She is openly flirting with her target. Her only job was to find out what this woman knows, if she gave the information to anyone, find out who if so, and quiet her for good. Drinking and flirting was decidedly not part of the job description. If Victor were to find out he would have her head on a stick and then some.

It’s just that, Miranda finds Allison charming and beautiful and she likes the way one side of her mouth smirks upwards when she stops to think about something, and how she slowly, deliberately so, shifts her legs, and how her hair falls over her shoulders, covering her face until she flings it back over her shoulder. She also likes the way Allison’s shirt is unbuttoned enough that when she leans in Miranda can see the smooth, pale skin of her chest, and every time she notices that her eyes have lingered a little too long she shakes her head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. It doesn’t work the whole night. 

They have a few more drinks, talking about nothing that matters. Nothing that’s about them, really, and Miranda doesn’t find a moment to think if it’s strange or not that Allison doesn’t talk about herself. Doesn’t think if it’s suspicious that she doesn’t mention more than a single thing about her life, but then again they have only just met and she is slightly thankful as it means she doesn’t have to go into details about herself either. There’s something in Miranda’s mind that tells her she doesn’t want to lie to this woman she’s sitting with. She has to, of course, but she doesn’t exactly want to. She can’t explain that notion. It worries her.

“So, what brings a sophisticated woman like yourself to such a dive like this?” Miranda asks, finishing her third drink. 

“You think I’m sophisticated?” Allison laughs, her hair slightly messy from stroking her hands through it one too many times.

“The nice bag, the nice shirt, the good taste in scotch. One pieces these things together.”

“You seem to be noticing quite a lot about me,” Allison points out, squints her eyes at Miranda, but there’s a playful glint that Miranda detects.

“Would you believe me if I told you that there’s just something about you worth noticing?” Miranda knows now she’s a little bit drunk because that isn’t something she would just normally say, even if it is true. There’s an aura around Allison that makes Miranda want to figure her out, entirely separate from the fact that she has been tasked to find out more about this woman. 

“Wait!” Miranda laughs. “Don’t sidetrack me, I asked you a question,” she says to try and pull Allison back from that train of thought.

“Why would I be in a place like this ? Well,” the strawberry blonde woman looks around for a moment the bar then looks back to Miranda, nodding her head slowly. “There are times when I just don’t want to be noticed ,” she smirks. “Plus the scotch is cheaper,” she chuckles.

“You do make an excellent point, I’ll drink to that,” Miranda laughs again in agreement, raising her empty glass. “Bartender! Another round for me and this woman who does not want to be noticed.” They laugh together, and then Miranda feels Allison’s leg brush against hers under the table. As she looks up to the redhead, she watches how the woman’s tongue curls up and slides over her lip before disappearing behind a toothy grin, and Miranda feels something drop in her stomach. This assignment is not going to be as easy as she thought it would, or end as well as it should , she thinks as the bartender places two more drinks in front of them.

By the time they finish their fourth drink, they have progressed to more suggestive topics and are purposefully rubbing their legs together under the table, every other sentence spoken laced with innuendo. After their fifth drink, they’re discussing what they should do for the rest of the night. Allison says she has some ideas, and with that Miranda has the notion to forget all about why she is really here and just follow the woman’s lead, wherever that might take them. Reckless, her brain screams.

Allison leaves for the bathroom, giving Miranda an opportunity to pull herself together a little before she comes back to the table. She rests a hand on the table and leans down so she is face to face with Miranda, low enough for the brunette woman to feel the breath on her face when Allison says, “let’s get out of here,” and she pushes herself up from the table and struts out of the bar, high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Miranda blows a breath out from her pursed lips and looks back to look at Allison, who is standing at the door looking good enough to eat with her hair lightly tousled and cheeks flushed and Miranda thinks, maybe there’s no harm in one night. She might even have the opportunity later in the night or in the morning to finish the job she’s started now. So she stands up, placing her coat back on after she had taken it off earlier when she felt herself getting heated talking to Allison, flicking the ends of her hair out from getting stuck under the collar. She leaves a few banknotes on the table to pay for drinks and strides towards Allison, brushing against her body as the strawberry blonde woman opens the door for her, stepping outside.

“I have a car coming, just around the corner,” Allison informs Miranda as they step out onto the sidewalk. 

“Lead the way,” Miranda responds, blindly following the woman, noticing how her hair positively shines as they walk down the dark side street. 

Miranda relishes in the cool breeze on her face, not realizing until now just how warm she had been getting inside. She tries to steady her mind, feeling fairly drunk by now, tries to take in her surroundings as she has no clue where she is. She’s about to ask Allison where they are exactly when she feels something heavy push against her chest, her back hitting a hard brick wall that is now behind her, her head hitting the brick too, making her eyes blur for a few seconds. Miranda feels the heavy push of weight against her chest rise up and press against her neck as something grabs her right forearm and presses it hard beside her against the wall. As her eyes focus she realizes what has happened. Allison has pinned her to the wall, using all her weight and strength to hold her. Miranda thinks, what the fuck type of kinky bullshit is this .

“Allison, what the fuck,” she hisses, feeling the pressure on her neck get stronger. 

“Who are you?” Allison inquiries, all of a sudden sounding quite sober. Surely she wasn’t completely sober, Miranda thinks, there’s no way she could be. She had seen the bartender pour the drinks and bring them to the table, she couldn’t have seen a glass disappear for even a second. But then she realizes that Allison had picked the spot and shown up before Miranda had. It could have all been a trap, all planned.

“What?” Miranda gasps, trying to struggle against the other woman’s weight, struggling in her current drunk state to look for a weak point in her grip.

“Who the fuck are you and why have you been following me?” Allison demands, sounding fed up now.

“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Allison growls as the hand near Miranda’s shoulder grabs some of her coat. She pulls Miranda slightly off the wall and then shoves her against it, making Miranda hit her head again. “Who are you?”

“Miranda,” she coughs out, surrendering. “Miranda Croft.”

“And why have you been following me for the last day?” Miranda tries to take a deep breath in but the arm against her throat won’t let her get more than a little gasp of air into her lungs. This is so fucked, she thinks to herself. This is definitely a fucking trap, and she has no idea how to get out of it.

She splutters and coughs for a minute, trying to delay her answer as she thinks of something to do, thinks of a way out of this. Allison has an arm at her throat, and one by her right hand side holding her arm back, and with a grip so tight she’s sure it’ll bruise. “I, uh,” she breathes in, stalling.

“Just tell me,” Allison snaps. That’s when Miranda can finally smell her breath, which is all scotch, so she must be somewhat drunk. That’s good, that’s an advantage. One good hit and it will be easy to take control. She just needs to create a moment where Allison lets her guard fall, even if it is for a second. 

“You’re strong,” Miranda tells her, trying to distract her. Allison chuckles, a devious grin forming on her face. Miranda starts to move her left hand into her coat pocket, where her butterfly knife is, she remembers now. Stupid fucking drunk brain. This type of situation is exactly why she takes it everywhere. 

“Answer me now and I promise-” Before Allison can finish the sentence, Miranda pulls her knife out, opening it up, feeling it flutter into its locks and grips it tightly as she pulls a knee up as hard as she can, feeling it knock into Allison’s side. Miranda hears the woman groan and the arm against her neck falls away. The brunette uses the opportunity to shove Allison back, making the woman stumble. She then moves to quickly grab Allison, and in a bit of a clumsy way turns her around and pushes her against the wall instead, pressing a knee against her leg, her right hand against her shoulder, and her left forearm against the woman’s chest with the knife against her pale throat. 

“Fuck you,” Miranda spits out and takes a steady breath, trying to push the fuzziness in her head away. “Now, who the fuck are you ?”

“Alli-”

“Don’t fucking bullshit me, alright, okay, Angela Collins?” Miranda doesn’t see fear or panic flash through the other woman’s eyes, it’s more like confusion, but excited.

“How do you know that name?”

“Oh, I know more than you think I do,” Miranda grins, like a cat with a mouse trapped under its paw. “So, again, who are you?”

“My real name is Allison Carr.” Miranda rolls her eyes.

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid or something?”

“It was quite easy to catch you off-guard a minute ago,” the woman smirks. Miranda lets out a breath, looking up to the night sky, laughing a little manically before locking eyes with Allison once again.  

“You’re right, you did, but it wasn’t because I’m stupid, it’s because you got me drunk.” Miranda notices now that Allison isn’t struggling against her grip like she thought she would, like she did. Curious. She presses the edge of the knife’s blade to the woman’s throat. “I can stay here like this all night, so tell me who you are and maybe I’ll let you go.” Allison tilts her chin upwards, her mouth opening to speak.

“My name is Allison Carr, the other name is fake.” Miranda scoffs, eyes rolling.

“You told me your real name? Now who’s the stupid one.”

“You told me your real name, so maybe we’re both stupid right now,” Allison quips and Miranda can’t help but grin out of amusement. She presses her body heavier against Allison, steadying herself while trying to keep the intimidation at the level she hopes she’s projecting.

“Well then, Allison, I need some information from you.”

“I don’t know anything.” Miranda sighs, closing her eyes for a moment to centre herself before looking to Allison again, hand closing around the woman’s coat shoulder, pulling up then shoving her hard against the wall, just like what she did to Miranda. The woman winces before conceding through gritted teeth, “fine, what do you want to know?”

“You took some information from a computer and my boss is not too happy about that.”

“I get shit like that pretty often,” Allison reveals. “Tell me what you think it is I took.”

“Oh, gorgeous girl,” Miranda presses the knife harder against her throat. “I can’t just tell you what I’m looking for, that would reveal too much.”

“You called me gorgeous. You like me, huh?” She’s getting too cocky now, and Miranda doesn’t like that. She quickly moves the hand she has at Allison’s shoulder down to grab her wrist and twists it, straining the muscles to hurt the woman. Allison gasps but Miranda sees behind her eyes that she’s getting a bit of pleasure out of it, so she twists harder, not wanting to spur the woman on. That causes her to wince and softly groan in pain, definitely not getting anything good out of the move now. 

“My boss would like to know what the fuck it is that you’re up to. You, your boss, whoever you work for,” Miranda explains.

“Who is your boss?” Allison asks, an eyebrow raising.

“No, who is your boss?” the brunette presses.

“I asked you first,” the woman says with a smirk on her face. That look annoys Miranda and she groans, rolling her head on her shoulders, and once again she twists Allison’s wrist a little bit more. “Do not fucking test me.”

“Fuck!” Allison cries, scrunching her face up. “Ugh, okay, okay, I think I know what you want.”

“Pray tell.”

“The computer files, of all the money transfers for that stupid American company, I can’t remember the name.” Miranda presses the knife against Allison’s neck, nicking the skin, causing a drop of blood to fall down her neck. “I swear, I don’t know what my boss wants to do with it, all I did was get some numbers.” Allison is panting now, almost sounding scared, but she has this look in her eyes that almost tells Miranda that she’s thrilled by this. Miranda has to admit, she is a little bit too.

The woman doesn’t actually know much, or seems to know a lot less than Miranda had thought for a moment there. However, she is pretty sure that this woman isn’t far up the food chain, that she runs around doing shit jobs just for a little bit of extra cash and maybe a few days in a different country to get away from her boring life. 

Miranda leans in close to Allison, noses almost touching. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me, I’m going to find you and make you wish all I’d done is breaking your fucking wrist, got it?” Allison nods in agreement, squirming beneath Miranda’s grip. The brunette is satisfied enough. This isn’t the right place to deal with her anyway; too out in the open. She’s surprised someone hasn’t noticed them yet. Although from the way they’re standing someone could think what they’re up to is something else entirely. 

She pushes away from the redhead, stepping backwards while still making eye contact. She watches as Allison lifts a hand to her throat, swiping a finger across the small cut Miranda made with her knife. Watches as the woman moves her hand in front of her, looking at the smear of blood on her fingertip. She huffs, amused.

“Maybe I should start carrying a knife with me,” she says out loud, and looks at Miranda. 

“Maybe you should,” Miranda mutters, and with that she walks away, calling out behind her, “hope to never see you again, Allison Carr.”

“And what if you do?” The woman questions. Miranda turns, grinning.

“Then consider yourself unlucky.” Then Miranda walks away without looking back. 

She finds her way back to her hotel, once again kicking off her black boots and laying her clothes out just like any other day. She collapses on the bed, butterfly knife turning in her hand. It has to be cleaned but she finds she doesn’t want to just yet. She will in the morning, but there is something about the way it had so slightly cut into Allison’s throat that makes it hard for her to let go of, for now.

She lies back, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about her. Allison Carr. 

Miranda has no idea who this woman could really be, doesn’t even know if Victor knows her true name. She’ll have to check in with him in the morning again. Ask some questions about what she has been thrown into this time. None of this makes sense to her. For instance, why does Allison have close contact training, how did she know Miranda was following her, who exactly is she working for ? for a start. But no, she can’t ask Victor. Can’t let him know that she let that woman leave unharmed when she barely got any information. Well, almost. 

She places the knife still twirling in her hand on the end table next to her bed and stands up, walking to her coat and fishes out her phone. There’s one person she can call who will help her with finding information. Will probably help, anyway. As long as she just doesn’t tell Victor about it. Miranda dials the number, having no idea what time it is in New York but ultimately deciding it doesn’t matter as she needs this situation to be sorted out pretty fucking soon.

The phone rings three times before the person on the other end picks up.

“Miranda!” the female voice greets.

“Cecelia, how are you?” Miranda responds.

“I’m good, thank you for asking. You never normally do,” Cecelia scoffs.

“Well, maybe I’m trying to work on that,” Miranda lies, she’s honestly just trying to butter Cecelia up so she can get what she needs from the woman. “Anyway, I need something.” There’s a pause on the other end. “Cecelia?”

The younger woman sighs, “what do you need?”

“Here I thought you’d just want to help me while I’m away on a job.”

“I just asked what you need, is that not helping?” she scoffs. Miranda knows she has a point but she’s in a combative mood, still. That fucking crazy, beautiful woman has gotten inside her head.

“I need you to get me some information on a name. Allison Carr.”

“Is this the woman you’re there for?” Cecelia asks.

“It is, the other name was some sort of alias.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can get,” she says. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that was it. Thank you, Cecelia. I’m going to sleep now,” Miranda yawns.

“Wow, you asked how I was and you thanked me. You must be tired,” the woman laughs.

“Oh, fuck off,” Miranda jeers and hangs up just as she hears Cecelia begin to laugh. She drops her phone on the end table, beside her knife, and plugs it into the charger. Miranda slides into bed, turning to her side and looks out the window, her mind again drifting back to Allison. 

She has no idea what possessed her to just let the strawberry blonde woman walk away. Though there’s a tiny voice that suggests it’s because there’s something that isn’t right with the story she told. Miranda doesn’t ever give anyone the benefit of doubt except she did this time, but why? The way she had almost convinced herself that this woman had gotten caught up in something bad and it wasn’t her fault and that it’d be a shame for a woman so beautiful to be taken advantage of from, no doubt, some vicious criminal. Just what exactly had made her believe that narrative she created in her head? It was not like her to do something like this. It unsettles her.

Miranda rolls onto her back, once again staring at the ceiling, fingers almost twitching to reach for her knife. She repeats in her head that it will all work out, all she needs is for Cecelia to get back to her by morning, and it will clear up the picture and she’ll handle it. That’s all. 

When morning comes and Miranda checks her phone, she realizes that it will not be so fucking easy. As it turns out, Allison Carr is an ex-CIA agent and has been on the run for a year after being found out she was connected to the Russian crime circuit. Miranda immediately feels a headache coming on, letting out a stream of swearing, but holds herself together enough to not throw her knife at the wall and cause any damage, just.

Apparently Victor knew nothing about it either, having only been given the name Angela Collins. Along with the information from Cecelia, there is also a message from Victor explaining that if she needs help or back up then he will send somebody along with her. She thanks him sarcastically in her head. It would have fucking helped if he had found out this information before she got on the plane. Either way, she knows now she has to be more careful from here on out.

As she showers and gets ready for what will likely be a difficult day, Miranda forms a plan in her head. Allison knows Miranda is following her, or has been at least. She could by now think that since she gave Miranda information then she might back down, especially since at the time Miranda did not know that Allison was ex-CIA, and by the way their encounter had gone it was likely that Allison herself had figured out Miranda knew nothing. If there were a chance that Allison thought Miranda wouldn’t be on her tail anymore then the brunette might still have a chance to fix this mess. 

Miranda places a silk scarf around her neck and pulls her black boots on, as if they’re her armor, and slides her cleaned knife into her pocket. She makes her way down to the hotel reception and starts to walk down the street. She knows she has to be extra cautious now, pondering on whether this ex-CIA woman would actually follow her, or if she had told whoever she works for to put someone on Miranda’s tail. 

She makes her way to Allison’s hotel once again, having gone past a florist to buy quite a large bouquet of flowers, needing them for an idea that may get her into Allison’s hotel room, all the while looking back every few minutes in case anyone was following her. When she’s in the second taxi going towards the hotel, Miranda lets her mind wander a little. Is Allison still with the Russians? Is she working for someone else? Perhaps it’s all for her own gain, whatever that might be. Miranda knows it doesn’t matter what the reason is. Her job is to find out who has Victor’s money laundering business information and report back. Dealing with Allison is just to wrap up the loose end, which is fucking flying out of control right now.

Miranda arrives at the hotel just before midday, determined to get the job done. Instead of hanging back in the shadows, so to speak, Miranda strides into the hotel lobby and right up to reception, noting that the concierge is a different man today. Once again she prepares herself to lay on a bit of charm. She walks up to the man smiling, placing the ridiculously overpriced flowers on the front desk.

“Good morning,” she smirks.

“Good morning, madam,” he greets with an oddly large smile. She fucking hates it when she gets called madam but she hides the agitated look on her face and smiles through it.

“I was wondering if you could call up my friend in her room and see if she’s there for me. Her name is Al- uh,” she coughs to cover that almost fuck up. “Angela Collins.”

“Certainly,” the man grins and goes to dial the connection to her room. He waits for a few seconds before awkwardly grinning again at Miranda. He’s getting on her nerves, and she starts to tap her fingers on the front desk. He places the phone back on the receiver and looks to Miranda, a slight apologetic frown on his face. “I’m sorry, madam, but Miss Collins didn’t answer.”

“Oh, perfect,” Miranda chuckles. The man looks at her confused, brow furrowing. “You see, it’s Ange’s birthday today and some of her friends and I thought it would be just so nice if we could sneak these flowers up to her room.”

“We’re not allowed to do that, madam, I’m sorry,” he says sternly, but gently sorry too. “We’d be happy to keep the flowers here and pass them along when she answers her phone or comes to reception, however.” Not fucking good enough, Miranda thinks.

“Look, I have a small present for her too, a quite expensive bracelet that I’d like to leave with a little note,” she forces a grin, holding back her temper. “And not to be rude, but I would hate for it not to turn up on her wrist, you understand?”

The concierge is visibly annoyed but the smile stays put on his face, “No offence taken, but it simply is not allowed, I’m sorry, madam.” The ‘madam’ thing is really getting on her nerves now. Miranda leans her head over to one shoulder, sticking a hand into her coat pocket and pulling out quite a few banknotes, placing them on the bench, using two fingers to slide them directly at the concierge.

“If you could just give me a key to her room, I will be in and out, I promise,” she smirks. The man looks around his shoulders, obviously checking to see if anyone is watching him. He sighs and quickly pockets the money. He types something into the computer beside him as Miranda waits. 

Within a couple of minutes he’s sliding a room key card over the desk, just like Miranda had done with the money. “Room 503. In and out, I’ll be watching for you to come back down in ten minutes,” he insists, and she nods in return, grabbing the flowers and key card, making her way to the elevators.

Exiting on the fifth floor, Miranda locates room 503 and presses her ear up to the door. She doesn’t hear any movement at all inside and determines it should be safe to enter. She slides the key card into the door handle and the door clicks open. In and out, she reminds herself. That’s all she needs to do for now anyway. 

Miranda slips into Allison’s room, keeping herself alert in case Allison or someone else is waiting for her. She steadily steps into the centre of the room, carefully looking at her surroundings and it becomes clear to her that Allison is definitely not the clutter type of woman. There is nothing personal out in the open, no clothes lying around. Miranda can’t even find a suitcase.

After a small check of the small room and discovering it free of anybody, Miranda places the flowers (there was no bracelet, of course there wasn’t) in the centre of the desk that is by a window, directly in line with the door. She looks in the drawer of the desk to find a notepad and rip a few pages off. Then as Miranda slips back out of the room, she places the paper between the latch, checking that she can reopen the door without the keycard, and makes her way back down to reception. She approaches the concierge, smiling weakly as she slides the keycard on the bench, and waves goodbye as she exits through the doors.

Now, time to execute the second part of her plan, Miranda thinks and smirks as she finds her way to a back entrance of the hotel, through the kitchen doors, and locates the stairwell. Since she now knows what room Allison is in, she plans to wait inside until Allison gets back from wherever she has gone. If she comes back, but something tells Miranda that she wouldn’t flee just because of their little tussle. If Allison feels anything that Miranda is feeling then she’s sure the red-headed woman will be expecting her. 

Miranda pushes the door open, grateful that the paper trick worked and lets the room door click shut behind her, and then she starts her full inspection. She casually paces around the room, opening every drawer and cupboard trying to find anything that could be useful. For what, she isn’t sure but you never know what can be useful unless you uncover it. Having not found anything in the main area of the decent sized room, she proceeds to check through the closet beside the bed. Miranda finds a decent array of silk shirts in cream, blue, orange, and a few skirt suits hanging. Of course this woman would hang her clothes, Miranda thinks and almost has the inclination to take off her leather gloves just so she can feel the fabric on her fingertips. She shuts down that urge with a huff, closing the wardrobe door and moving towards the end tables beside the bed. There isn’t anything useful in those drawers either, only a phone charger and a blank notepad. 

Miranda moves into the bathroom, opening the drawers under the sink, and she chuckles, not at all surprised at what she finds. The drawers are full of hair, and face and body products. It’s not as if Miranda doesn’t take her usual basic makeup and moisturisers with her when she travels but this is a lot. Miranda picks them up, turning them in her hands. They don’t seem to be cheap judging by brands Miranda recognizes. Allison enjoys luxury, that is certain.

She places everything back into its spot and leaves the bathroom. She goes to sit on the couch, making sure she’s not in direct sight from the door in the main area, pulling her phone out of her pocket and sliding off her leather gloves. It’s not quite one o’clock yet which makes Miranda groan out of frustration as this looks like it could turn into a very long wait. She settles into the couch, taking a breath and letting it out evenly, waiting for Allison.

It’s been dark outside for a few hours by the time Miranda hears movement out in the hallway. She has spent hours looking up random information on her phone, getting up to walk around and stretch her legs, ignoring a couple messages from Cecelia asking for her to call Victor when she can, opening and shutting her knife, spinning it around in her hands, and of course, thinking about Allison. Thinking about her luscious hair and the way it moves around her face, the way she sighs and laughs, how her eyes sparkle when she says something suggestive. Remembering how she had pressed against Miranda’s body, how her breath had felt against Miranda’s cheek, how she seemed to enjoy their little sparring match. The woman has permeated into every part of Miranda’s mind, it getting worse as she’s been sitting all alone for hours now.

She snaps out of her thoughts, focusing back on the sounds on the other side of the door. Miranda hears the tell-tale click of the door and watches as a crack of light appears in the room. She can’t tell if it’s Allison but whoever it is takes their time entering the room, only slowly opening the door. They also don’t turn the room lights on, which Miranda internally pouts at because if it is Allison then she won’t get to truly appreciate the colourful, expensive flowers Miranda bought for her. Not that she necessarily wants Allison to, of course.

The person at the door slowly comes into Miranda’s view and judging by the small frame of the figure, she knows it must be Allison, and she admires that the woman is being so careful even though Miranda is already sitting inside the room having waited there for hours. Almost finds it endearing, cute even. 

Allison comes into clearer view, looking right ahead towards the flowers. Miranda can tell she has noticed them, which is nice, but there is no reaction on her face. She wants to roll her eyes at how unreadable this woman can be, but before she does Allison looks at her, smirking as their eyes make contact. How does she always know where Miranda is and that she’s staring? But is she impressed, annoyed, or alarmed that she has realized that Miranda has broken in? The brunette can’t figure it out.

“I thought I might find you here,” Allison grins, closing the door behind her, still not switching the lights on, but Miranda can still see her now that her eyes have focused on the woman. “Nice flowers.”

“They’re not for you,” Miranda teases. She was thinking about leaving them behind but she decides in the moment that no, the ex-CIA agent would probably think Miranda cares about her which was not true.

“Here I thought you were coming to apologize with gifts,” Allison says as she steps closer to Miranda on the couch, dropping her handbag on the coffee table. Miranda stands, making sure that Allison does not gain the upper hand yet again.

“Now, what would I have to apologize for when you were the one that attacked me first?” Miranda smirks and tilts her head, waiting for an answer.

“Maybe for this nice little mark you left,” Allison quips as she lifts her chin and drags a finger over the small cut on her neck. “People have been asking about it all day,” she steps closer to Miranda, smirking. “I’ve been saying that the person I was with last night lost a little control.”

“You haven’t seen me lose control,” Miranda retorts, eyes narrowing at Allison. “But you might soon because guess who found out you’ve been keeping some nice little secrets from them?” Allison rolls her eyes and turns around, bending down and reaching into her handbag. She pulls out a small bottle of vodka, twists the cap open and takes a swig.

“What are you talking about? I told you everything I know,” Allison argues.

“See, I don’t think you have, miss ex-CIA,” Miranda counters, and that gets a reaction from the other woman. She turns on her heels, eyes meeting Miranda’s. She’s startled now, her big secret revealed.

“That has nothing to do with-”

“Enough!” Miranda shouts. “I’m getting frustrated now and when I get frustrated things don’t usually end well.” Allison takes another drink, squeezing her eyes shut as she swallows.

“What is it you want, exactly?” Allison asks strongly. “I was told to put some data on a drive and handed it over to someone else. That’s what I did, and then suddenly I’m being followed by some Scottish woman and being questioned about it.” She takes another swig from the bottle.

“Did you give the information to some Russians?” Miranda interrogates, moving closer to Allison, like a wolf and its prey. “I was told that you got caught by the CIA for helping them.”

“No, not them,” she admits sighing, looking down at the ground. “They helped me escape to Russia but I left six months ago.”

“Then who do you work for?” Miranda asks, yet again, sliding her hand into her pocket and grabbing the knife. If she has to threaten the woman with violence again then so be it. Allison moves towards the desk with the flowers sitting on top, placing down the bottle she was holding. She turns back to Miranda, leaning against the table, her hands gripping the desk beside her hips. Miranda can see the flame in her eyes, this isn’t going to be easy, she determines.

“Why won’t you tell me who sent you here first?” The brunette rolls her eyes, storming towards Allison, ready to hold her down and interrogate her properly but before she gets the chance Allison is pushing herself off the desk and coming towards her. She grabs Miranda’s wrist and pulls it up, having to somehow know that she is holding her knife in her pocket. Allison eyes the knife, being held by Miranda’s tightened fist. “That’s not playing fair,” Allison murmurs. “Drop it.”

Miranda laughs, knowing she’d never give it up without a fight. It’s the one thing that can make her feel in control, but once again she’s been captured first and is definitely not in control here, but she could be. “Make me,” Miranda challenges and smirks. Allison releases a breathy laugh, eyes narrowing as she twists Miranda’s wrist, just as she had done to Allison the night before. The brunette doesn’t let go of her knife but groans a little in pain as her wrist turns. She grabs the arm Allison has raised with her free hand and yanks it down as hard as she can, then shoves her elbow into Allison’s side, causing the strawberry blonde woman to stumble backwards.

“Seems like you’re having trouble blocking me there, miss ex-CIA,” Miranda taunts, dropping her knife back into her pocket and pushing Allison back up against the desk, a hand gripping around her neck. Allison lands a hand on the desk, holding herself up while her other is placed over Miranda’s hand on her neck, holding it but not actively trying to pull Miranda’s hand away. 

“Don’t call me that,” Allison warns.

“Oh, poor thing,” Miranda mocks as she presses Allison into the desk harder. “Still a wee bit sad we got caught, are we?”

“Fuck you,” Allison grits out, nails digging into the hand Miranda has around her neck, but Miranda notices that she’s still not trying to pull her hand away at all. She looks into the eyes of the woman beneath her. There’s fire there, she can see it in the dark, something challenging Miranda to not back down. It’s a bad idea, Miranda knows it is, but God, if bad ideas aren’t the best sometimes.

“Make me,” Miranda grins. She can make out in the dark that Allison’s eyes almost spark with excitement, and then the woman’s mouth opens with a grin, her tongue coming out to lick her lips. She wants this too.

Miranda presses hard against Allison, lips crashing down to meet hers. She bites the woman’s lip and a groan escapes the woman beneath her. It spurs Miranda on, using her free hand to pull Allison’s shirt out from her skirt as she slides her tongue into Allison’s mouth. As Miranda tries to undo the buttons on the strawberry blonde’s shirt she feels a hand brush against her own. She pulls her lips away, looking down at Allison. She watches the woman smirk and bring her hands up to her shirt buttons, undoing them and pulling her shirt open. Miranda is about to lean back in for another kiss when she notices Allison’s hands reaching for the hem of her skirt, pulling it up slowly, revealing her pale thighs. Miranda goes to take her hand from Allison’s throat, desperately wanting to touch her legs but a hand stops her, holding the hand she has to her throat.

“If you want to fuck me then do it,” Allison breathes. Miranda doesn’t need more encouragement. She grips the woman's throat tighter than before, while her other hand grips Allison’s thigh, pushing her up onto the desk. Miranda closes her eyes and kisses Allison again, tongue teasing and teeth biting. The hand on her thigh slides around to Allison’s ass, grabbing hard as she hears the woman groan and pull her lips away for a breath. 

Miranda presses a leg between Allison’s thighs and drags her fingers back from her ass to the inside of her thigh, pressing her nails in, leaving red marks in their wake. Miranda presses her lips lightly to Allison’s before quickly nipping her bottom lip. “Be a good girl for me and take these off,” she says as she slides a fingertip under the band of Allison’s underwear and makes the lacy elastic snap against the skin of her hip. The woman responds quickly, lifting her hips and wiggling the underwear off little by little as Miranda keeps a firm grip on her neck. She kicks off her heels and lets the item of clothing fall to the ground, spreading her legs open a little wider. Miranda fills the space, her hand resting at the apex of the woman’s thighs. She can feel heat radiating from the woman, can feel her heartbeat under the palm that is pressed to her neck. 

It’s intoxicating, having this woman fill her senses. She can smell her perfume, see the excitement in her eyes, hear her heavy breathes in her ear, taste the vodka on her lips, and feel the anticipation thrumming through her body. Miranda pushes her lips against Allison’s once again, pressing hard enough to make the woman lean back a little. Then Miranda is touching her, feeling Allison’s wetness against her fingertips. She hums into Allison’s mouth, biting her lip and pulling it before releasing. She locks eyes with the pale woman as she slides a finger into her.

Allison lets out a deep moan, her eyes closing, her head rolling back as she tries to push herself onto Miranda’s finger, seeking for more. Miranda can feel how aroused she is. Judging by how wet she is it feels as though she’s been in this state for the last day, like their confrontation the night before was all foreplay. Allison moans again as Miranda starts to move her finger slowly in and out. “ More, ” she whimpers. Miranda chuckles, watching as Allison’s face twists into frustrated pleasure. She pulls her finger out, just to hear Allison whine, thinking she has stopped, before pushing two fingers into her roughly, working at a steady pace.

“Fu- fuck, ” Allison groans, one of her hands slamming on the desk for balance as Miranda uses the force of her body between Allison’s legs to press her fingers in and out, building up her rhythm. As they start to rock together, already in sync, Allison brings her free hand between her and Miranda, two fingers on her clit, rubbing in even circles.

The sounds she makes are deep and often, making Miranda lose her pace as she fucks Allison with her fingers. She sounds gorgeous , feels even better around her fingers, she can’t get enough of her. She wants to lose herself in the woman, feel the tension roll off her back as she kisses Allison forcefully, pressing her fingers tighter around the woman's throat. The ways she responds to that action makes Miranda grunt, Allison breathing out a “ please ”, but she knows it’s not to loosen her grip; it’s to give her more, fuck her harder, hold her tighter and make her come around her fingers.

Allison’s fingers move furiously against her clit, working in time with the way Miranda is pushing into her, curling her fingers up. Miranda can feel the way Allison’s walls flutter around her fingers, telling her she must be close, just a little more and she’ll be gone. She pulls her fingers out and she can physically feel the way Allison’s thighs tremble, how her body shakes, before slamming back into her with three fingers. Allison screams , wrapping her legs around Miranda’s hips.

Miranda bites the woman’s bottom lip again, relishing in the way it feels between her teeth, then moves her head so they’re cheek to cheek, her mouth at Allison’s ear. “You like that?” she whispers, teasing, as the hand around the woman’s throat tightens, almost certainly causing a slight restriction to her breathing now but Allison just groans from deep in her chest and nods against Miranda’s face. Miranda grabs her earlobe between her teeth, biting before pulling back and watching as complete and utter pleasure flushes across Allison’s face.

She speeds up the movement of her fingers, curling her fingers in and up on every thrust, and then she feels it. Feels Allison’s breath hitch, feels her thighs shake furiously, feels her whole body shudder as she squeezes around Miranda’s fingers. Allison whimpers in a high-pitched tone as she rides out the waves of her climax, the fingers at her clit losing rhythm. 

Miranda feels the tension release from her body, hears Allison let out a heavy breath, trying to gain air back into her lungs, and she slowly pulls her fingers out of the woman, removes the hand from around her neck. She looks down at the woman, feeling almost proud at how flushed and disheveled she looks. Her handiwork. 

She takes a deep breath and steps back, wanting to go to the bathroom and wash her hands now that she notices how sticky her fingers feel, but as she goes to turn around and walk she’s being tackled to the ground. Allison climbs on top of her, still breathing heavy and shirt open, skirt bunched up around her hips. She’s pressing Miranda into the carpet, trapping her, and she’s holding a knife to her neck.

“Is that-” Miranda attempts to ask but Allison cuts her off.

“Too busy fucking me to notice your precious knife had slipped from your pockets, huh?” Allison smirks. 

“You fucker,” Miranda spits, trying to push against Allison but even in her fucked out state the woman is strong, holding her down forcefully. She presses the knife against Miranda’s throat, almost exactly the way Miranda had done it to her the night before, and presses in, the sharp metal very nearly cutting into her skin.

“Listen to me,” Allison starts to say and leans down so her lips are almost touching Miranda’s ear. “You go back to your boss and tell him that your little investigation led to nothing.” Miranda scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“No fucking way.”

“You will, otherwise I’m going to tell my boss that you’re a big problem for him and then we’ll see where we end up,” Allison threatens and pulls up to look into Miranda’s eyes. “Got it?”

Miranda doesn’t know what to think. It might not be worth the time to follow up on whatever this situation seems to be. Allison’s involvement might just be the tip of the iceberg. There could be so much more out there that Victor should be worried about. He’d understand if she went back home and explained to him that there was something major going on here. But was it something major? Allison is ex-CIA and ex-Russian affiliate, sure, but she could still be working small time right now. And it’s not like what she had taken was all that serious. It was more of a nuisance, right? There was so much to think about, but she just did not have the energy right now.

“Fine,” she concedes. “But this isn’t the end of this, and you know it.” Allison smiles sardonically, huffs out a small laugh.

“Maybe it’s not, but that just makes it more exciting,” she says, head tilting to the side, as though she's thinking about how it all might turn out. She presses Miranda’s knife into the brunette’s throat, gently slicing into the first layers of skin. Miranda hisses, it’s not fucking pleasant, she knows that. “To remember me by,” Allison says. Then the strawberry blonde woman lets go of Miranda, dropping the knife beside her then stands up and backs away from her. She smiles, almost longingly at Miranda before she walks in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Goodbye, Miranda Croft,” she says and then disappears behind the bathroom door, not even looking back. Miranda lies on the floor for a moment, reaching out for her knife. She turns it in her hands, her own blood on the blade.

She doesn’t bother thinking about it yet, knowing she should just leave. So she stands up, placing her knife back into her pocket, feeling stronger with it there. She walks to the couch and picks up the leather gloves she had left there earlier in the day and pulls them on. She supposes that she’ll just have to wash her hands when she gets back to her hotel.

Before she leaves she looks to the bunch of flowers on the desk. It was just a silly ruse to get into the room, and she was going to take them when she left, thinking this night was going to happen just a little bit differently. But now that she’s thinking about it, she decides to leave them. Just something for Allison Carr to remember her by, just in case they do meet each other again, one day.

Miranda makes her way back to her hotel and calls Victor. She explains to him that she didn’t have the opportunity to learn any more about whose hands his information is in now, that this woman had worked for the CIA and Russians and seemed to be quite skilled so Miranda couldn’t get close. Victor yells and grumbles about her not being able to finish a simple task and Miranda shoves down the feeling to yell back at him. It’s not like she can tell him what had happened in the last few days, he’d probably have someone come and kill her. But he was right about one thing, she thinks as she steps into the shower, the task isn’t finished. Which has never happened for her before. She always finishes what she starts, and the fact that whatever it is she has going with Allison is definitely not finished feels wrong. It frustrates her, makes her tetchy. 

Except, as exasperated as it makes her feel, she can’t deny that she now has some feelings for the woman. Even though she knows it’s totally fucked up that all she’s done with this is flirt, fight, and fuck. She’s gorgeous, fun, dangerous , and so fucking sexy when she’s in the throes of passion. Of course, Miranda has become attached. She doesn’t know what happens next, what she’s supposed to do now, but she knows she has to see this woman again, somehow. It just feels like they’re meant to see each other again. 

Miranda slides into the bed, over-tired. Victor has told her to get back to London while he figures out what he needs to do. So she settles in for her last night, traces over the scab forming on her neck, thinking about Allison. Remembering her.