So, this fic may seem a bit odd and out of nowhere, but I actually had a similar (and quite jarring) dream like this last night. There was more going on, but none of it made enough sense to add it. But apparently Joan can scale building with her bare hands? I don't know.
Please let me know what you think, and keep in mind how weird this was to write. But I just couldn't get it out of my head.
Annie set the files on Joan's desk and smiled triumphantly.
"Done!"
Joan was amused, but tried not to let it show. "Well, you're determined."
"I really think that I am the perfect person for that mission in Rome, Joan."
Joan held up her hand.
"Save it. I was always planning on sending you."
Annie didn't even bother contained her grin as Joan handed her the envelope with her plane ticket and protocol.
"Have a good trip, Annie."
"Okay!," Annie said, practically skipping out of Joan's office.
Joan sat back in her chair and laughed. She told Annie that she needed something done, let it slip that she was working on a mission in Rome that required a female operative, and Annie had every bit of paperwork done in under 3 hours.
It had been a good week. Joan was kicking ass at work, Arthur didn't have anything huge on his plate, and alone time had been more frequent than usual for the two of them. Joan just had one meeting to get to, with the new head of the OSP, and then she could go home, maybe even be able to cook dinner for her and Arthur…
She straightened her black pencil skirt and wine-colored blouse, grabbed her phone and a folder, and made her way down the hall and took the elevator up 3 floors.
She had only met the new OSP head, Carl Rosenfield, a few times, but from what she remembered, he was a kind and fair man. He and Joan had to liaise on an upcoming project, and she was glad to have a good relationship forming between the DPD and OSP.
She knocked on the door and was promptly let into Carl's office. Jai's former office. Joan got chills for a moment, remembering Jai sitting in that exact same chair, with a smug smile on his face as they bartered over money from the Santorini op.
"Hi, Joan, nice to see you."
She blinked and saw Carl standing in front of the desk, holding his hand out. She smiled, as if she had been tuned in the whole time, and shook his hand.
"Hello, Carl."
Carl was tall, fair-skinned, and had light brownish-gray hair. He was handsome, but not sexy. The typical nice-guy look.
"Shall we?," he asked, gesturing to a chair across the desk from his. She nodded and sat down, handing him her proposal. They talked for about 45 minutes before finding a good breaking point.
"Well, Carl, it has been a pleasure starting a new initiative with you," Joan said, standing up. He smiled and stood to walk her to the office door.
"Joan?"
She turned around and saw Carl smiling at her awkwardly.
"Yes, Carl?"
"I was just wondering…" He took a few steps closer to her. And then a few more, just a little too close for comfort. "Do you think you could do something for me?," he asked, lowering his voice.
"Um, sure," Joan said, forcing a smile. He smiled again, his face showing a mixture of relief and something Joan couldn't place. He reached his hand behind her, extending his arm out and locking the door.
Joan froze, and Carl stepped even closer, putting his face next to hers.
"Kiss me," he whispered into her ear, gripping her forearms. He pushed his lips onto hers, and she immediately struggled to fight him off. She pushed him off and wiped her mouth.
"Excuse me?!"
Carl laughed, a slightly darker laugh than she remembered. "Joan, come on. We're just closing a deal, right? I felt like this was more… fun than a toast."
Joan shook her head, horrified. "I'm married."
Carl grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him and pushing her up against the wall. "Wasn't your husband married to someone else when you first hooked up?"
She gaped. "How dare you imply that I'm some sort of…"
"Homewrecker? Whore? Slut? Baby, I don't care," Carl said, kissing her again. Joan's heart started thumping audibly, and she squirmed.
Carl just laughed and slid his hand up her thigh. He looked at her and whispered, "Do you want this deal to pan out or not? It's just one time, Joanie. No one will ever know."
Joan's eyes widened and she shook her head.
"No. I love my husband."
"I don't give a damn," Carl said, kissing her again. He used his free hand to undo the buttons on Joan's blouse, giving her black lace bra a nauseating look of approval.
Joan felt sick. "I'm going to tell everyone how disgusting you are," she seethed, trying again to wrench herself free. "You'll be out of here by tomorrow, you pathetic asshole."
"Here's the deal, sugar. We don't do it, I tell people you did. We do this, it stays our little secret." He grinned wickedly and placed a kiss on her neck.
"So, what do you say?"
xxxx
When Joan got home, she closed the door softly behind her, heart still racing. She felt dirty as she walked down the hall in a daze, placing her purse on the coffee table. She made her way up to the bedroom.
"Hey, baby."
She jumped, clapping her hand to her heart. Arthur was sitting on the bed in his pajamas.
"Holy shit, Arthur, you scared me."
He smiled. "Sorry, honey. How was your day? You stayed later than I expected you to."
"Um, yeah.. I had a lot of work to do," Joan said, going into their walk-in closet. "One sec, let me just change."
She kicked off her heels, unzipped her skirt, and unbuttoned her blouse. She looked at her arm and noticed that there were slightly visible bruises from Carl's hands. She pulled on a long-sleeve Penn State shirt and slipped on a pair of red plaid pajama pants. If it were any other night, she might have put on something sexier, but she just wasn't in the mood.
Joan rejoined Arthur in the bedroom, sitting down beside him on the bed. He kissed her hair, and she automatically flinched. Arthur noticed.
"Joan, are you alright?" He paused. "Your heart is racing."
Joan gulped. "I'm… f-fine."
Arthur sat up, facing her. "No, you're not," he said, concerned. "Honey, what is it?"
Joan took a deep, shaky breath.
"Arthur, I am so sorry." She held it together until the end of her sentence, then fell apart, sobbing and leaning into his arms. He held her close, rubbing her back.
"Shh, it's okay," he murmured. "Whatever it is, we will work it out. Together."
Joan shook her head and pulled away.
"No," she whispered. "You're going to hate me."
"Joan, you're scaring me. Please, just tell me what's wrong."
Joan had no choice, she couldn't hold it in. She couldn't lie to Arthur.
"I had my meeting with Carl Rosenfield today," she said, her voice raspy. Saying his name made her feel filthy. "And he… Arthur, he tried to…" Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Arthur's eyes widened. "He what? Joan, what did he do?"
She wiped her eyes and rolled up her sleeve to show him the bruises. Arthur gasped.
"He wanted to have sex with me," Joan whispered. "He pushed me up against a wall and kissed me, undid my blouse and called me a 'whore.' Threatened to tell everyone that I slept with him, even if I didn't."
Arthur was furious. "Did he…"
Joan shook her head. "No."
"Oh, thank God." Arthur pulled Joan into his arms and squeezed her. "Honey, I am so sorry that he tried to… first thing tomorrow, I'm getting that dickhead fired for sexual harassment."
Joan started to cry again.
"Joan?" Arthur looked worried. She gasped for air, choking out her words.
"Arthur, he wasn't wrong to call me a homewrecker. It may have been an unhappy one, but I ruined a marriage. I never thought about it before… but what if all this time, all the male operatives have been whispering about me, saying I'll close any business deal with sex and that I'm a slut?"
Arthur hugged his wife. "Oh, sweetheart, no. That was a long time ago, and no one thinks you're a slut. All the men I know respect you. Except for Bill, and he's just sore because he thinks he should have your job. Which he would be awful at, by the way."
Under any other circumstance, Joan would have laughed.
"Really?," she asked, unconvinced. He nodded.
"Absolutely."
Arthur pulled back the covers and pulled Joan close to him again once they were under the blankets.
"You're right here, in bed, with me, and that's all that matters," he whispered. "And if any creep comes near you again, you kick him in the crotch and tell him to go to hell, okay?"
"Okay," Joan whispered. Cuddled up next to her husband, she finally felt safe. But it was still eating at her, what Carl said. She helped Arthur cheat, so of course others would assume she was a cheater. A bad person, a bitch, a whore. Despite Arthur's words of comfort, there were probably a few people at the Agency who thought she was heartless and had slept her way to where she was. And that nagged at the corner of her mind, refusing to go away and let her sleep, hours after she felt Arthur fall asleep.