Authors' Forward
Welcome to the fic! This is a collaboration between Neo the Saiyan Angel and kgs-wy. It takes place approximately one hundred years before the Kim Possible series, following a path that explains, at least in part, what happened to Miriam Possible after she disappeared following Bartholomew Lipsky's attempted theft of the Electrostatic Illuminator.
It is also a prologue to another fic we're currently working on, which will take place during the time between the episodes "Larry's Birthday" and "Graduation". We hope you enjoy the fic, and please let us know what you think! Constructive criticism is appreciated.
Disclaimer is at the bottom...
MP MP MP MP
December 17, 1905
Bartholomew's breathing was erratic as he ran for the safety of the crowds in Naples, Italy. Things had gone very, very wrong in his plan. His failure to obtain the steel formula a few months prior was just the beginning of misfortune for him. It wasn't that his plans were flawed. No, most certainly not! The problem came in the form of a variable which he was unable to account for, no matter his scheme.
His initial attempts at theft were not simply for the new type of steel which never corroded. It was also for everything related to it, including the furnaces and the ideal temperatures. Those attempts were foiled out of what he thought was carelessness. Now he had simply been after the formula itself, thinking he had accounted for everything possible. That one variable still evaded computation.
Said variable had sent her second after his bodyguard after the plot fell apart. A strange move to him when she made it as the fool detective couldn't keep up with Miss Go in a fight! Granted, the small man could, surprisingly, take more punishment than a maddened cape buffalo, but it seemed madness. Unfortunately, now he saw the method to her madness, and far too late to do anything about it!
She was skipping the grand fight between his bodyguard, instead going straight to trying to apprehend him. Not a very sporting move, but he had to admit that she was dangerously close to being able to capture him red-handed. After all, even if the message had been written by an Italian trained in the workings of a spy for the purpose of espionage, it had been written with an ink used specifically by British secret services. It had been a deliciously clever ploy on the man's part, as it would point to a British spy as the thief. Unfortunately for Bart, it would implicate him as well, and it would not do to be caught with such on his hands instead of the Italian who still eluded him!
Very reckless on his part. It was the proper villain etiquette to do as such, but he really had been much too foolish.
Now he was a mere dozen steps from disaster. He could hear Miriam behind him doing her best to try and cover the distance. If he were a decade younger he could have maintained the distance indefinitely. But as he was not, she was gaining.
"You won't escape!" Bart heard her gasp out as she followed. He smirked at that; she was clearly not a runner by trade or tradition. Or by clothing style, considering her high heeled boots and the dress she wore. Otherwise she would not have wasted the breath to say that. In fact...
The idea, while a tad shameful, would at least help to ensure his escape. His mental map of the area confirmed that he was but a few back alleys away from the main marketplace. He just had to keep her off of him for that much longer.
"Oh?" he said with an exhale.
"You doubt my word?" Mim huffed, her footfalls sounding nearly right behind him. "I...will stop you!"
"But you have," the escaping villain stated, once again in one exhaling breath.
"You are still...free. Justice must...be served! Scoundrels...like you need stopped," she growled behind him. Her footsteps sounded a bit farther behind, a rewarding sound to Bart's ears.
"And you will do so?"
"If I must! You will...not win. I will see to that!" With the last sentence the lady seemed to gain spirit and charged forward. He could feel her starting to grasp at his coat.
In a desperate attempt to distract her Bart cried, "So you are Justice?"
The outrageousness of the statement served its purpose. "I am not Justice! I...am not even a represen...tative. My reasons for trying...to catch you...are my own. You are a foul...man who has only his...own desires in mind. Selfishness...should not...be rewarded!"
With each breath she took Bart heard the loss of air and, in relation, a loss of speed. Soon he found himself once again a dozen steps ahead of her. To his own burst of relief he also saw the bazaar just a few buildings ahead.
"Yet you seek me out for your own ends! As such, my goals are no more selfish than your own!" the villain protested.
"I see your game!" Miriam yelled to him. He took that as her ignoring his point, though it served to end the discussion. Shame she had caught on so fast. It also piqued his interest; who was this girl? He had only known a few women of such fortitude and quick wit, and truly hadn't met a woman as intelligent and grounded since his introduction to Miss Go!
She pulled a valiant effort to catch him, but it was in vain. He smiled in triumph as he found his escape clear in front of crowds ahead seemed to invite him as he made his way in.
"My apologies, but goodbye!" he called behind him before melding into the crowd. Bart did his best to control his speed and breathing as he walked into the ebbing and flowing traffic. Slowing and matching the others around him made him less conspicuous, and his controlled breathing kept him from being noticeable by sound. He only hoped that his sweaty face was not as obvious as he felt it was.
His escape route would lead him to the harbor where Miss Go would hopefully be waiting for him with a chartered boat. His favored alias, Sherlock Adler, had rented it the day before to take them to the secret cove he'd hidden his new airship in. His eyes glazed over slightly as he thought of the beautifully designed ship he had purchased back home. And, of course, modified himself! The beautiful lines, the exceptional craftsmanship… Everything about it was enough to set the heart of any man of science aflutter. Ah, yes, my airship. It is so much better than that balloon I used in the United Stat-...
His thoughts were cut off quite painfully as, in his distraction, he ran smack into another man about halfway down the block. Both he and the man fell on their rumps, and he found himself blinking away the painful blow. He quickly stood to his feet, dusting himself off and extending his hand to the man, who seemed to have come out the worse for the collision.
"I'm terribly sorry," Bart began in fluent Italian as the man stared at his hand and accepted it without a second thought, "I am a bit distracted, an-... You!"
"You!" the man parroted back, his eyes widening as he realized Bart's clenched fist was barreling straight at his jaw.
"That was my wife you slept with!" Bart ad-libbed, allowing an angry scowl that had nothing to do with his words to cross his face. He smirked as his punch landed flush with the angle of the man's jaw, sending him easily into unconsciousness. He glanced around and growled in a heated tone, "Private business..." He quickly dragged the man into an alley, earning a few understanding growls from some men that had overheard the brief conversation.
"Now, Mr. Giordano," Bart chuckled, "Let's see what you have here..." He opened the satchel pouch that had been around the man's shoulder and rifled through the contents, almost crowing aloud when he realized what he'd found.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Giordano," the villain all but cooed, a huge smile crossing his features, "So thoughtful of you to carry your work around with you. In full, no less!"
He was about to let loose with a devious laugh when a voice from the street made his breath catch in his throat.
"Damn you, Lipsky!" Slowly, Bart looked back and spied Mim just at the entrance to the alleyway, leaning back against the corner to catch her breath. With as much care as he could, he secured the satchel around his own shoulder and stood, then dashed off down the alleyway, toward its intersection with another.
"Lipsky!" he heard from behind him, and the stomp of heavy, tired feet trying to follow him, but he had caught his breath, unlike his pursuer. He allowed himself a triumphant chuckle as he heard her stumble and curse his name again, and only slowed his pace when he was safely ensconced within another crowd. Well, this changes everything... I will have to arrange rail travel for Miss Go, and send the satchel, with blank papers, along with her... She should be able to avoid Miss Possible and Mr. Stoppable, and the circuitous route will give me time to take the plans via airship to Le Mans, and meet with Prince Dakkar there...He walked on, making plans and paying more attention to his path.
Back at the alley, Mim was left in a quandary. She could leave the man Bart had been chasing, and possibly have something bad happening to him on her conscience, or she could stay here and await his waking, and help him. Her conscience won out quickly, and she bent over his still, but breathing, form to slap his face lightly. "Come on, wake up!"
After a moment of this, and progressively harsher words from Mim, the man sat up with a start, almost slamming his head into Mim's. Her quick reflexes saved them both from an ironic collision, and she quickly covered his mouth with her hand. "He's gone, and we're going to have a long talk about what he was after!" she growled before catching herself and sighing slightly. "My apologies, but I am under a bit of stress."
"It is quite alright, Miss Possible..." Mim's eyes narrowed dangerously, and the realized he'd made three mistakes. First was the fact that he'd been caught off guard enough by Lipsky to be knocked unconscious. Second was that he'd kept the satchel with him. And, worst, he'd let his home accent slip, and the dangerous glint deep in her eyes made him swallow involuntarily. "I... Remember reading about you and your friend Jonathon Stoppable helping Hercule Poirot..."
"Fine," Mim said, standing but not offering the man a hand up and addressing him in surprisingly fluent French, "But we will discuss this in a civilized manner. As I believe you would not like me becoming uncivilized, no?"
"Very true, mademoiselle..." he muttered back in his native tongue. He stood swiftly after she backed off slightly, rubbing his sore jaw with a rueful grin, "Ah, the things I do for my family."
MP MP MP MP
She woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and clutching the bedding to her form. She quickly looked around the cramped, private sleeping quarters, as if expecting… Someone to jump out and attack her. She blinked a couple times at the bright light filtering in through the drawn curtains, glancing around her. The room was Spartan, but the few items that were there were of a luxury bent. It had a small bar, which she had used with abandon the prior night, as well as a small partitioned area for changing. There was also a key wound wall clock, and it indicated it was almost a quarter to eight in the morning.
After looking around, she began to take in the creaking and clacking from underneath the bed, as well as the distant chugging of a powerful steam engine and relaxed slightly. We are still on the train, then…The thought gave her pause, the plurality of her statement taking her aback.
When she felt a stirring to her left and the prior day's activities of chasing Bartholmew Lipsky, and then the prior night's activities, hit her full force. She blushed slightly, sighing in a strange mix of contentment and anxiety as she thought back to a half drunken conversation with him the night before. Her bedmate muttered incoherently after a moment of glancing around himself, and she took in the bleary eyed, blond headed face of her best friend. And now, apparently, occasional lover, if their conversation - not to mention actions - from the prior night was any indication. "G'mornin', Mim…" he muttered, smacking his mouth to try and clear the gumminess from his tongue.
She didn't say anything for a long moment, only stared at his face and the sleep filled eyes trying desperately to focus on her, so different from the clear, sure gaze of the prior night. She remembered it clearly, and thought back, running the conversation back and forth in her mind.
"Jon… I…" She'd leaned in, tears falling from her eyes as the stress of the past months took over, "I desperately need to release this… This tension within me… Before it destroys me."
"Mim, I love you," Jon had whispered, "But you do realize not in this way."
"I know, Jon," she had whispered just as softly, "But… I do not want to become some harlot, or sell myself as Rockwaller and her ladies do to men to release their tensions. Such a silly concept, I'd thought once, but now?" She'd sighed, "I… Wish only to do this with someone I trust, and love, but I am not ready to love like I loved my Albert. I am only recently able to talk about his loss, and… You are far from unattractive, and I know that I am comely. And I know you desire me, at least physically, if not romantically."
"I guess it'd be a lie if I said otherwise," Jon had laughed at his own self-depreciation, before his tone sobered significantly, "Are you sure about this? I know you haven't slept well, and if this... Situation is bothering you so strongly, perhaps you do need it, but I have to know, are you truly su-..."
"Yes!" she'd nodded firmly, a gentle smile of apology for interrupting him lighting her face, "And... I am unable to conceive children, Jon. You know my Albert and I tried for a few years before he died..." Her smile had brightened as he'd nodded and reached out to touch her face gently, cupping his hand to her face and kissing his palm in a manner that was anything but coy, "And frankly, you're right about my sleeping, and the stress. I desperately need good sex."
"Good morning, Jon," Miriam Possible sighed, shaking herself from her memories and dropping the bedsheets. When his attention turned to her bare bosom, she reached over to ruffle his hair fondly, "Sleep well?"
"More impor'an'ly," Jonathon Stoppable slurred, blinking slowly and rubbing at his sleep fogged eyes to clear them, "Did you?"
"Quite well, thank you." Mim stretched unabashedly, her slight breasts lying enticingly along her athletic frame. She leaned forward and glanced back at Jon, a rueful, yet hesitant smile upon her face, "Are you alright with…" she gestured between him and herself, not agitated, but obviously concerned, "All this? Being a lover of occasion to me, but no promises of more than our friendship?"
"Miriam..." Jon sat up fully, sleep forgotten by the words and the concern, even worry he heard in her voice. He reached over and enfolded her in a hug, ignoring the stirring such proximity engendered, "As I said last night, I care for you, love you even, as a friend. And if I can help you, in any way, you have ever had but to ask."
"As I feel for you, Jon," Mim sighed slightly, "I know you, though, and know there is more left unsaid with such a bold statement."
He pulled back and waited for her to nod in agreement, and continued with a slightly melancholic smile, "Would I like more? I… I must admit that, yes, the idea is appealing." He held up a finger when she opened her mouth, the suddenly stern look in his eyes belied by the expansive smile that came upon his face, "But it is, and always will be, for you to decide if it'll ever be more than friendship and, how'd you say it… 'Occasional physical dalliances to help both of us with pent up pressures and desires!', I believe?"
Mim's smile relaxed, and she let out a girlish giggle despite her own, personal revulsion at how she sounded when she did, "That is exactly what I said, Jon." She compulsively leaned over and planted a gentle, friendly kiss on his cheek, "Now, I do not know about you, but I feel rather famished." She gently rested a hand on his still covered leg, an eyebrow climbing towards her disheveled hairline as she realized he was more awake than his appearance led her to believe. A smirk slowly crossed her shapely lips, and her voice dropped slightly, "Or would you rather earn the break to our nightly fast?"
"You're insatiable, Mim!" Jon groaned in a melodramatic manner, before smirking himself, "No wonder Albert was always so tired looking in the morning." The comment earned a fond, reminiscent chuckle from Mim as she leaned down and began planting intense kisses down his fit, surprisingly muscular body…
MP MP MP MP
December 24, 1905
"Come, Miss Go!" Bartholomew Lipsky piped in an enthusiastic, even happy tone, "There is much we must do today!"
"Ugh, must you always be so foolishly happy in the mornings?" Aglaya Go growled at the well dressed German aristocrat before taking a long sip at the small cup held daintily between her thumb and forefinger.
"Was your sleep restless, Miss Go?" Bart asked in a seemingly concerned tone, before his tone became serious, "Perhaps your restless sleep is why you did not realize that woman, the reporter, what was her name?" He pondered for a moment before nodding, "Oh, yes, Miriam Possible! Not to mention her lapdog detective, Jonathon Stoppable… You remember them, the ones who foiled my plans in America? The ones who have become such a nuisance even here in Europe?"
"Yes," Miss Go grimaced as her right hand unconsciously went to her cheek, gently rubbing the spot where she'd had a bruise for almost two weeks following the fight atop the giant Ferris wheel in Middleton, "I remember them, why?"
"Why, according to the passenger manifests of the steam ship I thoughtfully booked you passage on when we had to go our separate ways in Maryland," he held up a telegram, where he had supposedly gleaned the information, "They were on the same ship as you! Which, reasonably, explains how they found us in London when I began following Mr. Giordano."
"Interesting," Miss Go drawled lazily, as if awaiting his point.
"Similar manifest checking showed they also followed you from London to Naples. I had wondered how they had kept up, considering I had left London to France to pick up my airship, and picked you up in Gibraltar. And, according to the train's passenger manifest, they followed you not only from New York to London to Naples – while catching up to us after an airship voyage for over two thirds of that leg of our journey, mind you - but from there to Paris, and, somehow, managed to get on the same train as you from Naples to Paris!"
"I don't kno-..." Miss Go began sharply, but Bart interrupted her just as sharply.
"Ah, ah, Miss Go, I am not finished!" His gaze darkened slightly, a mix of anger, frustration and curiosity easily discernible, "I am curious as to how you could explain how you managed to miss a beautiful red-head and a prim, stylish presented young detective from that American agency you detest, hmmm?"
"My apologies, Lipsky!" Aglaya snapped. Her tone angry, but Bart let it slide, as the woman's tone held a strong note of sincerity, "But you know I was on the run from the blasted Pinkertons that Possible's lapdog sicced on me to New York. I stayed in my cabin until I was in London!"
"And why-…" Bart began, but a frustrated harrumph from Miss Go stopped him.
"It was in case they had international warrants!" She paused and took a deep breath, calming herself before continuing. "And you're quite right, my sleep from Rome to here was restless."
"And why so?" Bart's skeptical gaze drew a grunt of annoyance from the woman.
"Because the newlyweds in the next car kept me up most of the night, and sometimes half of the morning!" She smirked evilly as the aristocrat blushed slightly, and nodded, "Yes, the woman seemed quite insatiable…" She glanced at her drink and drew it to her lips, downing the strong, bitter black liquid within in a single gulp, "That's why I've had four of these Italian coffees."
"You do mean, of course, espresso?" He sneered slightly as he continued, his tone falling into the one he reserved when speaking about the autocrats bent on ruining the world, "Or caffè crema, as those slavish to snobbery would say." He considered her words as they left the cafe, finally nodding as he accepted her story, albeit grudgingly.
Of course, his snide comments had granted him time to consider her explanations and reactions. Bart had worried at the possibility of Miss Go becoming a secret agent for group, or possibly the reporter and her lapdog, what with the ease she was followed. But she seemed sincere enough, and his checking into their travels told him that it was one of the more comfortable travels to take. It could even be that one of their opponents had a fear of heights, which necessitated a non-mountainous route. Or, more disturbingly, that they had a friend in Italy that had informed them of Miss Go's route to Paris.
He pondered a moment as Miss Go managed, somehow, to both relax and appear more attentive and awake at once. With a minute nod, he decided to accept that it was simple coincidence all-around. "Perhaps that does indeed explain why you have been out of sorts… My apologies as well, Miss Go."
Miss Go nodded and sighed as she felt the first tingling of caffeine buzzing within her system, "So what are we doing today, Lipsky?"
"Why, my dear…" Bartholomew grinned in a decidedly maniacal fashion, "You are going to distract a certain Pinkerton agent for me, by implying you have the documents detailing a new steel formulation and mass production process, and I am going to attempt surveillance on Ms. Possible and hopefully her lapdog as well!"
MP MP MP MP
Miriam sighed as she made her way towards the Arc de Triomphe. She was certain that, to locals, it was obvious that she was at least an expatriate, if not a pure tourist. Although, as she looked around, she guessed she blended in better than she might have during a warmer time of year. Her greatcoat - which she had pulled tightly about her lithe form to keep the cold winter wind from further chilling her - was rather stylish and in keeping with most of those she saw walking along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées.
At least the directions she had obtained from the concierge were clear enough for her to follow! The problem came with the use of monuments for directions. Especially a nuisance considering that a few inches of snow had fallen over the evening. But some monuments, such as the Arc de Triomphe, would be unmistakable, even with feet of snow burying the city.
Granted, it wasn't much of a problem for Mim, simply annoying. It was - as he had complained in his familiar, jocular manner - more of a problem for Jon, as he did not understand French. It hadn't seemed a bad idea at the time to split up; they could cover more ground, and could easily recognize the bigger landmarks by sight.
There was also the fact that, if he was indeed coming to Paris to handle the blueprints, there were two possible areas which Bartholomew and Miss Go could have taken them. Splitting up would cover them both. But now that they had done so Mim worried that, perhaps, Jon may get himself into trouble. The industrial section was a rough and tumble place, and as strong and resilient as the man was, he was not a fighter of particularly high caliber.
That observation made Mim doubly worried, especially considering the ghastly affairs which had gone on just getting to Europe. Yes, she concluded to herself with a moue of worry, I think it is a definite, well-founded fear. How in the world do we continue to find ourselves in these situations?
Oh. Right. Hunting down Lipsky and forcing a confession from him. That man seemed to exude trouble like some type of poison, and was greasy enough to get out of it at a moment's notice! A surprise Miss Go hadn't discovered a way to use it for her own purposes. Shaking her head, Mim looked to the directions again. The paper said to look for the collection of cafés which were clustered at a three-way intersection…
"Over here, Miriam." Mim crumpled the paper in an angry fist. There was only one person whose voice could be so charming, yet repulsively confident at once.
"Bartholomew Lipsky!" she hissed under her breath. Mim clenched a fist as she rounded gracefully in the direction he had called from. Sure enough, the man in question was standing just outside the entrance to a stylish looking café.
It took her aback to see him looking so expectant, as if he had actually been waiting on her. He wasn't looking at her, his attention focused on a pocketwatch, but his verbal invitation and posture said enough. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that there was a scheduled lunch date which he was waiting on.
That lunch date being me…she thought with a deep ire that managed to surprise her. Forcing herself to calm her anger, she took stilted steps toward him until she was standing just down the steps from him.
"I had wondered when you would arrive. I had set aside a window of fifteen minutes for you." He put his watch away in the front breast pocket and gave her a grand smile – a painfully theatric one in Mim's opinion - as he beckoned to the door. "Come in, sit with me for some coffee and a light brunch."
It took her a few moments to process his request. Once she had, it was almost too ludicrous to even consider. "You can't be serious!" she gaped. "Why should I bother to drink tea with you? For all I know, it may be poisoned, or filled with foul medicines! And that is without mention the wrongs you have committed against me."
Bart's expression screamed surprise, which, Mim felt confident, was a sham, as well as a small amount of hurt. "Miss Possible, you think so little of me? I, as a proper gentleman, would not stoop to such pitiful attempts to defeat so worthy a foe!"
"It may not be you who does the deed," Mim responded in a low voice, remembering the rather cruel turn of events Miss Go had thrown at poor Jon in New York City. Who know how debilitating a light digestif mixed with a colon cleanser could be?
He hummed in recognition of her comment. "I can assure you that Miss Go is not here," he said earnestly, motioning to the café once again. "I merely wish to spend some time with my foe." When she did not move, he sighed. "What must I do to prove that my intentions are not foul?"
Miriam huffed, barely resisting stamping a foot like an impatient horse as she took the time to think on his offer.
You are in a precarious situation, Miriam… she counseled herself. You cannot do anything until he makes a move. As we found out in Italy, he has his family's rather powerful reputation supporting him, even in France. You are only an American reporter, one wanted in your own country, although Mr. Poirot did assure you that you were not wanted anywhere in Europe for the theft…
She narrowed her eyes as he stood patiently awaiting her decision, and pursed her lips as a realization struck her, He could sit here all day if he wanted, just waiting for you to tire. He could possibly even call the police right now to report you following him, and with his family connections, it would be taken seriously… She sighed as unobtrusively as she could before nodding minutely, At least if you are here you have a chance to thwart his scheme, whatever it may be… And you can get out of the chill for a few moments!
"I suppose," she began slowly, watching him carefully, "I must admit, however, that my worries would be assuaged if you were to partake of the same foodstuffs I will."
Mim was rewarded for her observation; not for any slip-up in villainy, as it were, but in his surprising expression of delight. Instead of the grandiose, rather death's head like affectations she had seen in Middleton and later in Naples, it was instead a small upturn of the lips. She barely kept her expression sober as his eyes twinkled in some hidden merriment and a light chuckle snuck out of him. It didn't last more than a few seconds as he reassumed the façade of a villain, but it was enough for her to grasp at just what he was truly like.
The awareness surprised her so that she had a sudden urge to research his past, wanting to understand how a man who could have such warmth hidden within could turn to villainy so easily. "I see," he said with a knowing tone, not realizing the sudden change in Mim's posture as a large, toothy grin overtook his face. "Then that is what we shall do."
Miriam stood awkwardly for a few seconds as Bart opened the door and stood aside with a bow. Mim noticed that, despite being nearly forty years old, he was a powerfully built man as muscles bulged and stretched some portions of his suit's jacket. "Our seat is straight back, the last on the left; my coat is draped over my chair, I am sure you will recognize it?"
She nodded and made her way toward the empty table. She got there before him, and pulled her seat out by herself, first checking it over. Satisfied that he had not stooped so low as to leave poisoned tacks or similarly low form of attack, she removed her coat and set it over the back of her chair. She then sat with an air that mixed dignity and propriety that indicated she was a progressive woman who did not expect to be coddled. She pulled her seat close to the table and straightened, just caught a look of concern flash across his face.
"Is something the matter with you now, Bartholomew?" she asked, as if without a care.
Realizing he'd been caught, Bart put on a genuinely charming smile. "My apologies, but I was wondering which beverage you were going to order."
"Tea," Mim answered curtly as Bart sat, almost causing him to fall from his seat. He cringed at her blunt response; an expression she felt was as overinflated as that of any stage performer. She took a tentative sniff of the air and allowed a bare smirk to grace her features, "Chamomile, specifically."
"Would you be amenable to coffee?" he asked tentatively, "I would rather not drink tea at the moment, and drinking tea at the same time as coffee is not a pleasant thought."
It only took her a moment to decide her response. "No I would not. You are the one who desires this meeting. The least you could do is allow me my drink of choice."
"As I thought you would answer," he sighed before waving a waiter over.
They sat in silence for a minute as they waited for the order of tea to arrive. The air was thick enough to have made a pleasant soup as Mim eyed Bart suspiciously. Her suspicion redoubled when he became much too intently focused on a chip in the table. Thankfully, the waiter did nothing more than bring them their order and leave. Either he was an intuitive lad or their shift was nearing its end, she concluded.
Miriam waited but a moment for the tea to cool before pouring a cup for herself. Bartholomew mimicked the action, distaste clear on his face. It was Earl Grey, but had a healthy addition of chamomile. She guessed she should have allowed her foe to pick at his leisure, but she had been drinking alcohol a bit more than she preferred, having lacked her favored tea. Nonetheless, the choice was unusual; to her knowledge he wasn't of any English descent, his family instead being Germanic.
Her urge to research his past solidified into determination in that moment. She didn't actually know anything about Bartholomew Lipsky save for what she had discovered from her contacts on this side of the Atlantic. Looking at him over her hot cup of tea, she thought on him. Mannerisms, quirks, plots, personality... They provided a picture for her, but as to the history behind the man she hadn't a clue. Perhaps I can gain a starting point during this conversation? She lowered her tea after taking a healthy sip of the hot liquid just after he had taken a sip as a show of good sport, and asked, "What is it you wanted this meeting for, Lipsky?"
"What do I want out of this meeting?" Bart breathed out slowly, leaning back and considering the question with steeped fingers. After several seconds of silence save for a light sip from Mim, he answered, "I want to know some things… About the wrongs which you say I have committed against you. Pray tell, what could I have done to earn your scorn, and such dogged pursuit?"
Mim pursed her lips, carefully lowering the tea to the saucer and setting both back to the tabletop. She folded her hands in front of her and favored the man across from her with a stern gaze, before biting out a quiet, "Surely you heard that I am now a wanted woman due to your actions?"
Bart blinked in shock and Mim was surprised that it was unfeigned. She cocked her head slightly as the man reached up to smooth his pencil thin moustache in thought, before he took a deep breath and shook his head, "I had not, Miriam. Though I have no idea as to why you would have been considered the guilty party, what with the number of witnesses to the event, I must say that you have my sincere apologies."
Miriam opened her mouth to reply hotly to his comment, but he raised a finger, "I must also say that I can do nothing for you, my dear. As I did not steal the dingus that I was after, claiming guilt would be most… Problematic. Especially considering my lineage…" He surprised Mim once again by grimacing, "My family, most especially my mother, would be quite… Put out, were any claim of guilt to be made against my person. And she would put much pressure via diplomatic channels to bury any accusations, even with a written and signed confession from me."
"Really…" Mim's voice was cold, but her gaze hot with anger. Bart raised his hands in a gesture that seemed designed both to ward her aggressive attitude off and apologize at once.
"Overall," Bart drew out after Mim's glare cooled slightly, "I have to assert that it would cause more problems for both of us, and quite probably result in a worse punishment for you than any you could receive for the failed thef-…"
"If it failed, then where is the Electrostatic Illuminator, hmmm?" Mim asked sharply, and Bart's eyebrows rose towards his hairline.
"It must be at the site of the fair!" he protested, his voice as sharp as Mim's, "It dropped from my hand before Miss Go and myself were carried away by the wind."
"I…" Mim took a deep breath and calmed herself, reaching out to pick up the tea and take another sip. "I see…" Mim took another long sip of her tea, and glanced down into the cup. Seeing it was essentially empty, she poured another cup and then returned her gaze to Bart. "Now allow me a question, Bartholomew." Her attempts to prevent the heated argument from affecting her quickly began to fail her, thus she asked in one breath, "Why do you act as an imbecile as often as you do when you are clearly more intelligent than you let on?"
Bart flinched at 'imbecile', but confusion quickly took place of dismay. "I am not quite sure I understand."
"Oh yes, because I certainly believe that!" She let some anger seep into her voice along with a touch of sarcasm. "Stop playing me for a fool. I know you are pretending to be a villain. It was never more obvious than it has been simply sitting here talking with you. What I want to know is why you would make a fabrication of such villainous actions?"
"My intentions are anything but a fabrication, Miriam!" He sniffed disdainfully at the entire concept, and smirked slightly at Mim's disbelieving snort. So much like an angered lioness…he thought, forcibly keeping his smirk in place lest a true smile at his thoughts shine through, "I am merely going by the Book of Villainy. You cannot join, or be a member in standing of The Guild of Calamity and Villainy, without following code. They have very strict guidelines, and have been known to offer assistance to the authorities when a member has gone rogue, or when a freelancer begins to make a bad name for the guild."
"Villainy implies malicious intent. You would think that those involved in the career of villainy would be incapable of even gathering with no bloodshed," she observed. "I certainly do not see you as a villain, no matter how well you look the part. It is not the costume that makes a person truly good or evil in character; it is the person themselves who determines what path they take."
"Perhaps…" Bart conceded with another of his brief grins, "And perhaps I should add that the guild is a group of reasonable, gentleman villains? And any gentleman would try to avoid unnecessary troublemaking." He sobered slightly and speared Mim with an intense stare, "Now Miriam, you were correct in saying I had an ulterior motive in this. My motive was to learn of you as a person. What makes you, you? I have found the version of yourself which, I admit startlingly, to be one of the most fascinating women I have ever encountered. I find myself wishing to know more…"
He let Mim digest that for a moment, drinking the last dregs of coffee in his cup, before signaling for another, "And that, my dear, is why I wished to talk with you today. No scheme. No plot. No thefts." Smirking, he added, "I am sure your friend, the clown, has gotten himself in trouble by now trying to preempt what you two thought would be my plan. You may wish to cut your teatime short to save him from his own foolishness."
"I'm sure he could handle anything you could send his way," Mim scoffed, her nose upturning slightly, "He is a gentleman himself, after all, and as you said yourself, a reasonable gentleman tries to avoid unnecessary troublemaking." She smirked slightly as Bart nodded, as if he'd walked into a trap, "Though with that established, I wonder why you find yourself in so much trouble… As such a reasonable gentleman, of course."
"Astute in reason and blessed with a rapier wit," Bart nodded at her, holding his hand before him as if holding a foil to acknowledge a point, "Touché, my dear. And to answer your question, I am a reasonable gentleman, of both upbringing and of bearing. I am also, however, a man of science, and a man with powerful anti-imperialist beliefs!" Mim's eyes widened slightly at such a bold statement.
The red-head took a sip of her tea to keep herself from exclaiming in shock, and Bart continued into the growing silence, "As such, it is not only my duty, but my honor to pursue any avenue I might to stop such actions. That is why I joined the Guild. I gain some minor protections from the law in many countries, so long as I keep my actions within certain, reasonable levels.
"As well," he continued in a manner that easily identified him as a scientist, "I, being a Guild member, am forced to keep in mind my own actions at all times; while I may commit some small violence in pursuit of my goals, it will always be lesser than the violence of those such as the son of Prince Dakkar. And even if I embraced that worthy gentleman's methods, they would be far, far short of the kinds of excesses that the imperialist autocrats of the world use now!"
"What do you mean?" Mim asked, shaken by the intensity of his gaze, as well as the implications of his words.
"I have seen what the imperialist autocracies have done in Africa, my dear Miriam." Bart's voice had an edge of heat to it as he continued, "I led men in German South-West Africa. I watched as men under my command were ordered to massacre men, women, and children! I saw some of those men break, mentally, and turned in my own commission in disgust!"
Mim was taken aback, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Bart plowed on, an ironic twist to his lips that resembled anything but a smile. "As an example closer to home for you," Bart's voice was now calm, and rather cold, "I suggest you look to your own American military's actions during the Philippine Insurrection, all on the orders of their government controllers… The atrocities, the hundreds and thousands of civilians killed each day because of some vague suspicion that they supported General Aguinaldo or tha-…"
"I see your point…" Mim groused in distaste, cutting the man off with a curt wave of her hand. She knew of the actions taken there all too well. She had been asked by the Middleton Daily, since she had been in the area of the world, to cover the situation for the paper. And, unfortunately for her, she had, and quite truthfully. Her editor had pulled her after the fifth report, and relegated her to reporting on happenings in and around Middleton, or on fashion.
The distasteful actions the military had taken in quelling the insurrection, actions she had sometimes witnessed, still made her stomach churn. Especially when she considered that her late husband may have been a part of the military actions had he not already been in China. "I was briefly stationed in Manila by the Middleton Daily in the middle phases of the war, right after I left China…"
"You were in China during the Boxer Rebellion?" Bart asked in a logical jump that startled Mim into a brief silence.
"Yes," she said simply, not wanting to reveal to her nemesis the pain she had suffered upon receiving word that her husband had been killed in action. Instead she shrugged, setting her tea down to partake of the cheese and bread that Bart was already eating from. She smeared a sharp smelling soft cheese shot through with various herbs on some hard bread and nibbled at it. After swallowing, she glanced away from her tablemate as she continued, "I see your point, Bartholomew… But surely it would be better to pursue more peaceful, political mean-…"
"My apologies for interrupting you," Bart said softly, but firmly. "I have already tried that. Both my position as a man among that aristocracy and my standing as a man of science should have given me headway, but alas, my pleas and declarations fell upon deaf ears in government, and all too open ears in academia. And as you can guess, the academics tend to be ignored until the problem has reared its head in a manner unavoidable to the governments of the world."
Mim felt slightly put out by his interruption, and was about to ask a further question when Bart held up his hand and favored her with an honestly apologetic glance, before looking towards the entrance of the café, "Good afternoon, Eduardo! You have a message for me, I presume?"
"Indeed, Mr. Lipsky!" the young man, perhaps seventeen years of age, said in English with a light, rather fetching Spanish accent, "From a Miss Go?"
"Thank you, and hold here for a moment, if you please?" Eduardo smiled gratefully and nodded, taking what was apparently a much needed breather. He unbuttoned his greatcoat in the heat of the café, revealing a well tailored tan and grey suit underneath.
Mim looked the young man over, wondering if he was somehow part of Lipsky's scheming. It was quite possible, considering the young man's age and his stylish fashion of dress, despite being what seemed to be a courier. He was a rather attractive young man, tall and lanky, with sharp, steel grey eyes, a hooked, but attractively proportioned nose and thin lips. His hair was short and of a no-nonsense cut, adding an air of sophistication to the young man's visage.
Eduardo seemed to have caught her sizing him up and gave a jaunty bow, holding his hand out, "My name, mademoiselle, is Eduardo Manuel Mauricio Senior, of Senior and Partners Courier Service."
"Miriam," Mim answered shortly, a mildly charmed smile taking any sting from her brevity as she held her hand out to shake his.
"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, indeed," Eduardo murmured as he drew her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.
"Thank you…" She paused a moment and cocked her head slightly, "Considering how much a mouthful your name is, I hope you don't mind me calling you Eduardo?"
"Not at all, mademoiselle!" Eduardo enthused, "As for my name, yes, it is a mouthful, but I'd have it no other way. My first name I share with my father, and my middle names are from my grandfathers!"
Mim smiled at the bright smile that was on the young man's face. She drew her hand back with a smile, grabbing up her cup of tea and managing a sip before her curiosity got the better of her, "If you don't mind me saying, you're quite fluent in English, Eduardo, though you seem Spanish? And being the apparent senior partner in a courier business in Paris at such a young age?"
"Ah, therein lies my secret!" he boasted grandiosely, "I may be young, but have traveled extensively, and picked up some small of fluency in several languages, as well as rather more fluency in English, Spanish – which is my home language, as you so noticed – as well as French, German and Russian. As for the business, my sisters, and two friends of mine are all equal partners in our enterprise, and all of them have similarly broad language skills to myself, with a variety of different languages, with French, English and Spanish as mutual languages…"
"Interesting…" Mim pondered for a moment, concluding that he seemed to be on the up and up. Considering his apparent language skills, if he and his partners were able to hold their tongues they would be useful for carrying diplomatic communiqués when discretion required someone not easily identified as connected to a given consulate. Not to mention international business transactions.
"Quite," Bart agreed as he finished scribbling a note, the paper folded such that Mim could not see what was being written, "And he's very efficient. Perhaps you would like to use Eduardo's services to send a message to your partner?"
"I might," Mim agreed with surprising ease, "Depending, of course, on the price?"
"It's based on distance, and we take the shortest route practical." Eduardo answered with a smile, "We also guarantee the privacy of anything sent via our service. As to price, it's four centimes per mile for letters and small packages or packages under a pound. For packages from one to ten pounds, it's eight centimes per mile, and for packages ten to twenty pounds, it's twelve centimes per mile. Larger packages are determined by a combination of size, weight and the form of transportation required… And we guarantee reception of the package."
"That…" Mim did a few figures in her head, blinking a few times, "Sounds very reasonable."
"Indeed!" Bart said with firm agreement, "And he has yet to fail any courier task I have given him."
"Then, yes, I do wish to make use of your service, Eduardo." She glanced at Bart, who was holding a pencil and a piece of paper out to her, "Thank you, Bartholomew." She quickly scribbled a note to Jon to meet her at the café, and handed the paper to Eduardo, "I may have to pay a little extra, but he was supposed to be at…" She reached into her coat's inner pocket and pulled out the paper with the address one of her contacts had given her, then grabbed a small pocket watch and opened it. She held the paper to the young man, and then held the open face of the pocket watch towards him, "My friend, Jon, should be at or in the area of that address."
"I shall make sure he gets your message." Eduardo handed the note with the address back to her and did some mental calculations, "That will be about fourteen centimes, plus an additional two if I have to search for him for a bit. I will return to you with your message and eighty percent of your costs if I am unable to find him, with the remaining twenty percent as payment for time used."
"That is reasonable." Mim murmured, and reached into her bodice to remove a coin purse, counting out the sixteen centimes and handing it to him. "Thank you very much." Mim was about to bid the young man goodbye, when a thought struck her, "What would be the best way to contact you if I have need of your services in the future?"
"I have cards made up for just such an occasion!" Eduardo said happily, reaching into his coat and pulling one out, "You may sometimes find me here, but will always find my youngest sister at our offices. I do hope to do business with you again, my lady!" He bowed at Mim, then turned and bowed at Bart, "Adieu, and thank you both for your business!"
"A surprisingly pleasant fellow," Mim murmured as she watched the man leave.
"Yes, and thank you for trusting him despite the fact that I use his services." Mim glanced at Bart, quirking an eyebrow at his considering gaze. Bart chuckled lightly, "My dear Miriam, it is reasonable to presume you were suspicious of him because I employ his services, even though he is a respectable entrepreneur. And I thank you for trusting him as he is, as they say, above board."
"I trust my instincts," Mim said, ignoring a niggling in the back of her brain that said she sometimes ignored them, "And besides, I plan on staying here to finish my tea and meal…"
"And I must take my leave shortly," Bart mused, again smoothing his moustache, "I must thank you again, by the by…"
"For?" Mim asked casually, leaning back in her chair to nibble on another piece of bread and a slice of harder cheese.
"I am thanking you for trusting my honor as a gentleman not to act in an untoward manner. Especially considering the day it is?" Bart declared, then started as if just remembering something, "Also, I know it is only Christmas Eve, but I felt that my favorite foe deserves a present equal to the esteem in which I hold her."
"I keep forgetting we are ahead of the Americas, timewise," Mim sighed, before quirking an eyebrow when the rest of his statement struck her, "And what present could you possibly offer that I could accept, Bartholomew?"
"Why, only this…" Bart allowed an honest smile to grace his features, and reached down underneath the table, grabbing a familiar satchel from the floor and setting it in the chair to his left. "As well as my promise that I did nothing to the originals that were in Britain. That would be Mr. Giordano's doing."
"I see…" Mim barely contained herself from laughing. So you never realized that 'Mr. Giuseppe Giordano' was actually a Frenchman named Jean-Paul Sauvage? Instead of laughing, she reached over to carefully grab the satchel and look inside. Her mouth dropped open slightly as she realized that all of the plans seemed to be within the satchel, and she glanced sharply across the table at him. "Why would you give me this?" she asked suspiciously, then narrowed her eyes, "Unless you've already gotten your use of it?"
"Guilty, as charged…" Bart admitted with seemingly honest contrition, "And, as you will note, I have put a few additional papers in there that I am sure the inventor of such a brilliant form of steel might find useful."
"Why?" Mim boggled at him, and was surprised as he leaned back and spoke contemplatively.
"Because, Miriam…" he didn't realize he'd dropped the 'my dear' he normally used, "I am a man of science. If I can help a fellow scientist in any way, I'll do so… Even at the risk of improving the weaponry of war, as this material has so many practical uses." He shook himself, then glanced back at her, "And… Considering your dogged pursuit, I felt it only honorable to assist you in recovering something of such importance."
"You are a strange man, Mr. Lipsky," Mim intoned, but silently admitted that, if her close friendship with Jonathon was any yardstick, she liked weird. If he wasn't on the wrong side of things, she could easily see him being a good friend, but alas… She shook herself and smiled, the first truly honest expression of such she had graced him with, and held out her hand, "Thank you, then, Bartholomew. And I think a Christmas truce between you and Miss Go in respect to myself and Jon is… A very agreeable situation?"
"Yes, and…" Bart took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something, "Upon my honor, I shall do no villainy between now and the second day of the new year, from this year and into perpetuity."
Mim's eyes widened, and she found herself smiling in agreement, "Very well! Perhaps…" She paused, realizing what she was about to say, and felt a tremor of shock run through her system.
"Perhaps?" Bart asked leadingly, and Mim shook herself, taking a long sip of her tea before answering.
"Perhaps, if our seconds are busy with other duties, and we're in Paris together, we should share tea again." Mim felt her cheeks color slightly, but forced it aside and pushed on stubbornly, "You are a fascinating man, and I'd like to know more of you. And, as a gentleman, if you agree to this, we shall not bear ill will between us during the entirety of such… Meetings. Agreeable?"
Bart considered this. He had hoped to learn something of Mim, and had, instead, told her more of himself than he'd gleaned of her. However, he'd also enjoyed the back and forth, and the less hostile exposure to her sharp wit and tongue. He could find himself enjoying such meetings, and, perhaps over time, he could bring her around to his point of view. A very enticing proposition indeed, but it would be untoward to be blatant about it. "My dear Miriam, I find this agreeable to the utmost degree. To sit across the table from a witty and intelligent wo-… Rather, gentlewoman, and share philosophy and general discussion over tea and breakfast? I would be a fool to do otherwise!"
"Charming," Mim declared in a droll tone at his somewhat grandiose declaration. But, she admitted, he seemed sincere at least. "When are you expecting to leave to meet up with Miss Go?"
He took his pocket watch out and glanced at it. "In about fifteen minutes I must take my leave. I had allowed time for any possible escape as I was unsure of how you would react to my proposition."
"Very well," Mim nodded, smirking at his odd preparations. He is such an odd fellow! she thought, then smiled at him and held up her tea in salute, "I think, then, that I shall enjoy the time before we go our separate ways…"
"As shall I," Bart agreed, holding his coffee cup up to gently clink it with her teacup, "As shall I…"
Authors' Notes
Well, there's the first chapter! Miriam and Jon are fighting the good fight, and poor Bartholomew was taken completely off guard... Yet, as luck would have it, Karma smiled upon him.
As for Mim and Jon, well... Quite the interesting little development, non? Mim is shown to be a very progressive woman, and Jon seems to support this attitude quite handily... Well, for obvious reasons, but nonetheless...
And then there's that intriguing meeting for breakfast... Why would Mim think she could get information out of a crafty villain like Bart Lipsky so easily? Only time will tell...
A very special thanks for SirSebastian, Pharaoh Rutin' Tootin', and Sven Endori for looking this over for glaringly obvious mistakes and flow. :3
Remember, readers: stay happy, stay safe, review and don't support generation Xerox! As always, remember, there are a lot of fics out there, and a lot that deserve your attention, so keep on reading!
Neo's tiny side note: Writing in Victorian era speech is fun! \o/
EDIT: Fixing/editing some small things on 4/15/12.
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EDIT 04/16/2015: Fixed some wording and punctuation and stuff. Sprucing it up to look its best!