Title: The Moon Shone Full
Pairing/Characters: November/Adelle
Spoilers: The Target, Spy In the House of Love, and general ones for season one.
AN:Written for the Livejournal comm femslash_minis using signs of Mellie or Madeleine, beachfront, confusion. Pre-series but post-Alpha. Title taken from a fragmented Sappho poem because clearly I couldn't resist. Any and all mistakes are mine.
Beatrice settled in the patio chair on the balcony of her clients house, adjusting the surveillance feed on her laptop. Nothing cropped up on the perimeter, so she switched over to the internal feeds, every room dim in fading twilight, including the one Ms. DeWitt curled up in, working her way through a bottle of something alcoholic.
Such scenes chipped at her resolve, tempting her to tap on the window and ask Ms. DeWitt if she'd eaten anything; only those kinds of questions lead to the kind of trouble she just got out of. Regardless of whether the client ate or needed a shoulder to cry one or hadn't had an orgasm in six years, it all fell under the category of Not Her Job.
He job was to protect Ms. DeWitt from an estranged ex-employee. After the debacle with Mrs. Michels, Mr. Dominic could have fired her. Probably would have fired her after her treatment; everyone knew becoming entangled with the clients put a black mark on your record in the close protection field. The key is to maintain professional distance.
Which she needed work on. When Ms. DeWitt stepped onto the balcony, glass in hand, still wearing the dress she'd came home in, starring out into the ocean, Beatrice wanted to smooth the worry lines from her face.
"Ms. DeWitt? Are you alright?" She didn't answer. Beatrice ignored the tiny vice chanting Not Her Job and approached Ms. DeWitt .
"You're very fortunate," Ms. DeWitt said. "Had you returned thirty minutes earlier, you would have been right in the line of fire."
So she knew. "I know, ma'am."
"What a shame it would be to lose you," Ms. DeWitt continued, starring out into the dark velvety sprawl of the ocean, the full moon a pearl broach.
"It's my job to look after you," Beatrice said, studying Ms. DeWitt's face. Her expression softened to, not exactly a smile, but more open then before.
"Of that I have no doubt," Ms. DeWitt said. Then: "I'll make sure of it," almost inaudible over the whoosh of the ocean. Beatrice almost almost asked Ms. DeWitt what she talking about because she wasn't sure anymore when she reached over to brush a tendril of hair from Beatrice's face, her fingers cool from the ice filled glass.
Instead of pulling away from Ms DeWitt's touch she leaned in like a cat, insistent, only to pull back in the next moment as Ms. DeWitt starred as if she didn't expect such a response. Professional distance, she reminded herself.
"We shouldn't," Ms. DeWitt said. "If you knew what I've done, what I've allowed to happen-"
"Ms. Dewitt," It was stupid of her to misinterpreted Ms. DeWitt's intentions. " I don't need to know the why. I'm here as long as you'll have me. "
They still weren't having the same conversation, because confusion crossed Ms. DeWitt's face before it smoothed away. "Perhaps I underestimated you too," she murmured, which didn't exactly make sense to Beatrice, but she forgot as Ms. DeWitt leaned closer and dragging her fingers over Beatrice's nose and lips.
Beatrice took hold of her wrist, professional distance be dammed and kissed DeWitt's palm, watched as her eyes fluttered close as Beatrice pressed more kisses along the center crease.
"So lovely," Ms. Dewitt said, carding her other hand through Beatrice's hair. A though flitted across Beatrice's mind: what if DeWitt was just like Mrs. Michael's, that the psycho ex-employee was a lie, a set up for an elaborate expensive fantasy?
Beatrice dismissed the though as DeWitt pulled her close and kissing her with demanding lips. DeWitt didn't seem the type.
Beatrice trusted her instincts.