[This is a cross-posted from Ao3. It is a gift for leapylion3 ( sithkylorens on tumblr) - my offering for the JA Secret Santa Challenge on tumblr. The prompt was spy/secret agent AU.]
[I'd like to note that while I did my level best to edit for errors, they exist. I'm not proud of it.]
Jupiter Jones' head hurt. Really hurt, like she'd been on a three-day bender.
The last thing she remembered, she was saying good-bye at Katherine Dunlevy's apartment. Katherine was a high school friend who'd studied design in college and wanted her own line of clothing the way Jupiter wanted to be able to afford to move out of her uncle's basement. Katherine would commonly use Jupiter as a model for her designs, dressing her up and photographing her. Then Katherine would post them to Instagram and tag the designers and fashion houses whose attention she wanted.
Today, it had been purple – she'd been dressed in a lavender evening gown with a slit in the front cut up to her hipbone, which appeared to be fashioned from one single enormous length of ribbon. Katherine had put glitter in her hair – she could still feel it sticking to her scalp – and there had been so much mascara on her lashes, she could feel the weight of it when she blinked.
Thankfully, it had all come off. But what happened after she'd kissed Katherine good-bye? She struggled to remember as she groaned and shifted, and realized she was also cold.
Then she realized she was cold because she was laying on a bare wood floor. And then she realized that there was a gun laying within her reach.
Which she realized might come in handy, since there was a man standing in the middle of the darkened room she was in – a kitchen, maybe? – fiddling with her phone and rummaging through her wallet.
Trying to be stealthy, she reached for it, and backed herself against the wall as she sat up. She leveled the gun, clasped in both hands, at the man. She started to speak, but her cut her off.
"Works better if you take the safety off."
Jupiter had no idea how to take the safety off a handgun; she'd never held one in her life. Even if she did, she couldn't see properly in the dim light, or through the pounding in her head. But he didn't need to know that.
"Turn around," she commanded.
He put down her phone and put his hands up in surrender before turning around slowly.
He was tall, and she couldn't quite see in the darkened room, but he had a long face and a goatee, with short spiked hair.
He nodded at her. "Careful. You've been out for a few hours."
"Where am I?" She hated that her voice was shaky, but she was terrified and her head was killing her.
"In a secure location. You know, you really shouldn't point a gun you don't intend to shoot."
She tilted her head, irritated that he was altogether collected. He clearly had the upper hand, and knew it. "You think I won't shoot you?"
His eyebrows shot up. "I know you won't, the way you're holding that. Besides, it's not loaded."
Jupiter forgot her fear a moment in a burst of anger. "Oh – what, this is funny?" She shook the apparently useless gun at him. "You think this is funny? Are you some kind of fucked up comedian? I have no idea where I am or who you are or what's going on and you're getting a laugh out of this?"
He remained irritatingly calm. "I'm sorry, Miss Jones," he said, his chin tucked down a little. "I don't find this funny at all. I'm just not stupid enough to arm a civilian with no firearms experience. I just thought it might make you feel better to have some kind of weapon in your hands."
"And what are you, some kind of a cop?" she snapped.
He shook his head gently and put his hands down. "No. My name is Caine Wise. I'm here to help you."
Jupiter lowered her hands, since it seemed the gun was of no use anyway, but she didn't let go of the weapon. If nothing else, she could hit him with it. "Okay," she said, closing her eyes for a moment against the pain in her head. "First things first. Where am I?"
"You're still in Chicago," the man, Caine apparently, replied. "We're in an abandoned house, not far from downtown."
"And what happened?" she demanded, a little more forcefully. "The last thing I remember, I was leaving Katherine's apartment."
Caine nodded. "You were attacked," he said, and ignored the sardonic look she shot him. "He disoriented you with a blow to the head, and then incapacitated you with chloroform. I imagine your head hurts quite a bit."
She winced, remembering a sharp burst of pain and then a vaguely sweet, chemical smell. "Yeah, it's killing me – do you have anything I can take? Even some water?" Although, she thought belatedly, she probably couldn't trust anything he gave her.
He shook his head – and was that softness in his eyes? "No," said Caine. "I'm sorry; Titus didn't give me expenses for a first aid kit."
"Who the fuck is Titus?" At this point, Jupiter didn't care who she offended, even if he did appear concerned. "Did he do this to me?"
"Titus Abrasax," Caine supplied. "He didn't hurt you; neither did I. He hired me to find you, I'm a private investigator. I was just going to follow you home so I'd know how to approach you without scaring you. It's his brother's lackeys, I imagine, who hurt you."
"Wait – Titus Abrasax? Like, as in, the House of Abrasax?"
Caine nodded patiently. "You've heard of them, then."
Jupiter put the gun between her feet on the floor and rubbed her temples with her fingers. "Yeah, everyone has, but . . . they like, make clothes and makeup and shit."
"They also make a lot of enemies – usually within their own family," said Caine. "I don't know why Titus or his brother want you. Titus would only tell me it was personal, and all he wanted was for me to find you and arrange a meeting. I wouldn't have taken the job if I thought he wanted to hurt you."
Her heart started thudding in her chest. "What about his brother?"
"I don't know, Miss Jones." Caine's eyes were apologetic.
Panic started to rise in her throat, and so did bile. "Do you think . . . he wants to kill me?" Her eyes were wide, and her voice cracked.
"Considering what those two guys almost did to you. . . ." He looked at her, into her terrified eyes, and could only nod in response.
"But why does he want to kill me?" she asked, fear crackling in her throat. "I don't know anyone, I didn't see anything – Katherine harasses them a lot but she really just wants her own clothing line. This has to be some kind of mistake."
Caine shook his head. "These people don't make those kinds of mistakes," he said. "If they went to the trouble of hiring someone to find you, they know who and what they want."
"I can't go to the police," she whispered. "Please – please don't take me to the police. Please, just let me go home."
"I've already figured out you're not legal – literally have never seen a less authentic-looking ID," he said, in that low, calm voice, gesturing to Jupiter's wallet. "But if you go home, they'll follow you there. If they want to hurt you, they will, and they'll also hurt anyone you live with. Do you have a family?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. Mama and Nino. . . . and. . . ."
He watched her a minute, as she tried to collect her thoughts and understand what was happening to her. "I won't take you to the police, Miss Jones, I promise. But I can't take you to Titus – I don't know why he wants you and the fact that his brother's got someone after you, too, is highly suspicious."
Her hand tightened on the gun. "What are you gonna do to me?"
"I'm not going to hurt you," he replied. His hands were up again, and there was a hint of desperation in his voice. "Please, Miss Jones-"
"Just call me Jupiter."
"Jupiter. Please; I have no desire to hurt you." Caine considered her for a moment, and then put his hands down again. "I know someone in the FBI-"
She looked on the verge of tears as she slammed the gun back down, and held her hands out, palms up, in supplication. "Dumbass! That's the police! That's worse than the police!"
He put his hands back up, as though she were pointing the gun at him again. "He can help me find out what's going on. He can maybe help with immigration, too, when all is said and done."
"That is a big fat maybe," she spat, angry all over again. And goddammit, her head hurt.
"Better deported than dead," he replied. Caine tucked something away in his pocket before walking over to her and crouching down, with his hands up. He slid her phone and wallet over to her, and kept eye contact with her as he retrieved his gun. "Whenever you're ready," he said gently. "It's almost dawn though, so the sooner the better."
She put her phone and her wallet away in pockets with shaky hands. She steadied herself on the floor a moment, before trying to rise to her feet. "My head really hurts."
His expression softened again. "I'm sorry about that. We'll stop somewhere along the way and get you some ibuprofen or something," he offered.
"Could you help me up?" she asked, holding out her hands.
He hesitated, and wouldn't look at her. "Um . . . I guess I . . . could."
Jupiter scowled in irritation. "Look, I don't mean to put you out. It's just that I do have a little blunt force trauma going on in the back of my head, everything still smells like chemicals, and oh – you're kind of kidnapping me!"
His eyes went wide as she berated him, and he put his hands up again. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . I don't . . . touch people."
Her scowl didn't budge. "Your germophobia is the least of my concerns right now."
He sighed in resignation. "I'm not afraid of germs." Then, effortlessly, he gathered her into his arms, bridal-style, and stood. Her nose and his were inches apart, and in the dark it was really hard to see much of anything. But Jupiter thought his look was of genuine concern, which she thought remarkable since they'd met with a gun between them a mere five minutes prior, and she'd done more than a little yelling.
For Caine's part, he held himself has still as possible, his fingers curled gently around Jupiter's ribs and the backs of her knees. "Is this okay?"
It was a moment before she responded. The chemical smell was still in her nose, but whatever Caine wore for cologne masked it a little. "Yeah," she whispered, looking away. "This works."
He nodded. "Rest your head on my chest. Keep your head down and your eyes closed," he advised. "I'm not parked far away."