A/N: Being an avid fan of Mia Kirshner, I've followed her roles and she played a certain villain in 24 (notably the only one that was never killed or captured; at least not for long). So here's a dark little crossover with the L Word Universe. Post S4 of 24 and Post-Finale of TLW. Currently a One-shot, but who knows. As always, I don't own anything. Cheers (:
After being interrogated for hours, Shane McCutcheon was finally on her way home. Except that it wasn't home anymore, now was it? Not without Jenny. It took her about an hour to summon the courage to open the door and cross the threshold of the doorway.
Flicking on the light, she heard the pitter patter of footsteps and half-expected Jenny to jump into her arms. Instead, Shane was greeted by the sight of a small ball of fur pawing insistently at her pant legs, not ceasing until she relented and picked him up off of the floor. Sounder II whined a bit, until he settled into her arms and peered around curiously, wondering where his beloved owner was.
Shane absentmindedly stroked his fur as she walked through the house that was now hers. Jenny had given her everything she had, and in the end, she left her with everything else; including a heavy sense of guilt. She put Sounder back on the floor when she reached her—well, their—room and leaned her head against the door frame. The coolness of the wood soothed the throbbing in her temples and Shane suddenly felt the vile rising in her throat.
Rushing to the bathroom, the hairdresser sunk to her knees and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.
"Of course. You know I'll always be there for you."
Jenny's voice echoed in her head, lingering in her subconscious like the devil turned angel on her shoulder. The one that pushed and pushed and pushed her out of her comfort zone… and consequently, in between the legs of someone else. The voice no longer attached to the warm pair of hands that always pulled her hair out of her face.
Pulling away from her filth, Shane grabbed her toothbrush and spit out the aftertaste of her regret. For all the things she never said more than for the ones she did. Walking back into the bedroom, Shane's expression softened when she spotted Sounder's new whereabouts: he was curled up on the foot of the bed. She walked around to Jenny's side of the bed, though sometimes Jenny would find her taking a nap there and smile.
Her lithe, slender form bent over to pick up one of her plaid shirts, chuckling at the sight of the top button missing from one of their heated moments. Shane took in a long drag of the lingering scent, parting her lips to let it out like cigarette smoke. She'd started up again after the funeral, although she still felt like she had to look over her shoulder to do it when she remembered how much Jenny would nag her for it later.
She could say, "fuck it, Jenny Schecter is six feet underground."
But it was more than that. A part of her was still holding her in her arms when she found her at the very bottom in that bathroom. A part of her would never let her go, or leave her alone to be consumed by the darkness.
Shane shuffled over to the closet with the shirt in hand, smoothing out the wrinkles as she hung it up on a hanger with no intention of washing it. She reached out to run her fingers through the fabrics, furrowing her brows when Sounder started barking. "Shh," the androgynous woman whispered, growing irritated when he wouldn't stop.
Turning around slowly to see what the problem was, Shane found herself staring into very familiar eyes. But these were a shade darker and narrowed. Before Shane could speak, a hand with a cloth was placed over her mouth and she didn't struggle as she passed out into oblivion.
Maybe then she would wake up from this cruel dream that felt a little too real.
Her mouth was dry by the time Shane began to come to again. There was an unpleasant taste in her mouth, which muffled her voice and she discovered to be a gag. What the fuck? was all she could think as she tried to move her hands and legs, to no avail.
Shane was tied up to a chair in the middle of the living room. Her vision finally blurred back into focus when a dark figure stepped into her view, shaking those luscious black ribbons of hair that the hairdresser swore she could remember working on. But it seemed longer and even this time, plus the beauty mark by her lip that she couldn't miss.
The familiar stranger wore black, tight-fitting clothes void of the young, cute femme vibe…
Not to mention the shiny object resting on her side: a gun.
The captor watched Shane carefully and it was clear that the gears were turning in her head. There was something highly attractive about this whole situation, appealing to a darker side of Shane that she didn't know she had. But it wasn't so much Stockholm Syndrome as the shock of facing someone that she presumed dead.
Something else suddenly caught her attention, but it was different this time; very different, judging by the blade of the knife resting on the expanse of her throat.
"If you scream, I'll slit your throat," came the whispered, sultry edged warning that made a chill crawl down Shane's spine as it tickled her ear. Much to her surprise, the gag was loosened and the red cloth pooled around her neck. Her green eyes peered through her unkempt, messy brown locks at the other woman, before her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
"Jenny, please," Shane's husky voice cracked from lack of use. It wasn't until then that she realized how sore she felt and the very possibility of having been there for hours. "Where's Sounder?"
No flash of recognition crossed the opposite pair of eyes and that scared Shane more than anything.
Fortunately, her fears were quenched when the dog walked up beside her captor and shook his tail. "You called me Jenny," the stranger spoke again as her black finger nailed hands examined the knife. Shane stared at her carefully, her gaze slowly drifting down the short sleeves of the other woman and over exposed skin, before stopping at her wrists. The faint marks of Jenny's old habit were gone, making Shane's eyes grow twice their size.
"Very good, you finally get it. It almost took you less than Jack Bauer," the raven-haired femme fatale took the liberty to piece the scene together. She almost missed the simplicity of working with terrorists, as opposed to explaining herself to civilians.
"I saw you at the funeral," Shane finally said after a pause. "I thought you were—"
Mandy laughed sadistically, shaking her head as she circled the tied woman like prey. "Jenny? I can be on any given day," Mandy said as she stopped stalking and leaned down to be level with Shane McCutcheon. "I can be whoever I want to be. I can be her." She grabbed a photograph sitting on the coffee table, sliding her index finger down the glass over Jenny's cheek.
"Or you," she added as she grabbed Shane's face in her hand, cradling it in her palm to turn it from side to side. When she pulled away forcefully, Mandy smirked and straddled the other woman's lap. "But mostly, I'm just me. You can call me Mandy."
Shane tried to keep the lust out of her hooded eyes, made particularly difficult when Mandy closed the distance between them, until it was no longer safe to breathe through her mouth without the risk of lips touching when they parted for an intake of air.
"What do you want?" Shane whispered with narrowed eyes at the imposter playing with her head.
Mandy didn't break eye contact as she moved off of the other woman, seeing something that reminded her of Bridget for a moment. It was a second of weakness that Mandy did her best to hide, but Shane knew the planes of that familiar face well enough to notice the creases of distress on the bridge of her nose.
"Mandy?" Shane tried, though the new name felt odd coming from her lips.
Mandy knew that she was risking everything by being here. She had been given immunity, but it wasn't unconditional. She had been exiled from here, but she had returned for the funeral of one Jennifer Schecter. Mandy had observed the entire ceremony and its attendees, making a mental profile of each of the mourners in turn. Some of them looked genuinely distressed, but others almost looked from pleased to even relieved somehow.
She wondered what heinous acts Jenny had done to make them feel that way. How many people had she killed for self-profit? How many times did she betray her country, or even herself?
Yet, even Mandy hadn't seen such a large group of people directing so much anger towards her… okay, well, she did. But she deserved it. Mandy liked it rough. Her curiosity remained peaked as she stared down the charmer that had known Jenny the best.
"What was she like?"
That question caught Shane by surprise, while also avoiding giving a response to her own question. Mandy's tone seemed less aggressive and more pensive. "Jenny is… she was my best friend," Shane corrected herself, furrowing her brows at the new use of past tense.
Mandy noticed the lapse and nodded, knowing that she was treading high tides, but she was used to living on the edge. "You broke her heart," Mandy stated as she disappeared into the kitchen, before returning with Jenny's laptop. She sat down on the couch and opened the screen with gloved hands, a little sway of her black tresses catching Shane's eye.
When her statement wasn't disputed, Mandy opened a word document with a couple of pages in script form. Jenny had written during her fight with Shane, trying to work out different outcomes to salvage their friendship somehow. That, or just completely destroy each other.
Shane simply wondered how the police hadn't confiscated it, but Mandy cleared her doubts as if on cue. "I've been around a lot longer than you think." That seemed to suffice, for Shane kept quiet.
Mandy's face was illuminated by the glow of the monitor, better showing the other woman all of the misplaced imperfections that differentiated her from her ex girlfriend. This quiet exchange went on for a few more minutes, before Mandy slammed the laptop closed and approached Shane with renewed vigor.
"You didn't answer my question," Mandy stated as she pressed the blade against Shane's cheek. Although the initial fear had faded away into a quiet contemplation, Shane knew better than to play with this stranger like she played everyone else. Mandy's gaze seemed to seer their mark on her soul as Shane parted her lips to speak once more.
"She was a writer. And she gave too much of herself to others. They let her down… I let her down too. I didn't see the signs. I should have. I fucked up, Mandy. I left her in the dark, alright?"
Her brutal honesty made Mandy look away, shaking something within her. She remembered going with Bridget to finish the job, knowing what was going to happen. She knew how things were going to end. But when their hands connected and their fingers entwined, Mandy wanted it to be a lie; just a beautiful lie. She let herself care too much and in the end, it had cost her a small fragment of herself too. It was a part of herself that she could never get back. "Some of us belong in the dark," Mandy said cryptically as she disappeared behind Shane again.
This time, it was a couple of hours before she saw any movement again. Shane struggled against her restraints, whistling gently for Sounder. He bounded back into the living room, peering up at Shane expectantly, apparently not phased by the 'games' being played in the house.
Then again, that dog had seen his fair share of kink.
Shane managed a small, reassuring smile towards the small animal, though she didn't feel any of it herself. She struggled against the bonds that were rubbing raw against her skin as discreetly as she could, before closing her eyes with a sharp intake of air as the cool metal of the mouth of a gun pressed against her temple.
Click.
"I'm not quite finished with you, Shane," the huskier toned voice stated, placing emphasis on her name without the tenderness of her ex.
"What is it you want?" Shane asked carefully, knowing better than to sound demanding.
At this, the metal moved down her cheek, crossing over her slender neck and stopping briefly at Shane's pulse point. The normally promiscuous woman had to bite her lower lip to suppress the instinctual groan at the sensation, blaming her abstinence after Jenny's death for her lack of control. It was just a second, but it was guttural and Mandy felt the light vibration of the other woman's throat against the mouth of her gun.
The conspiring and opportunistic 'terrorist on leave' enjoyed being in control, finding this turn of events… well, entertaining. Deciding to see how far she could push the damaged stranger, Mandy lowered her aim down further, placing it right over a beating heart.
"Are you scared?" the raven-haired captor asked cryptically, falling just short of a resemblance to Jenny by the lack of unshed tears in her eyes.
Towards the end, Shane had seen Jenny in particularly vulnerable states without warning. At Max's baby shower in the kitchen, later when she was given her studio, and even on the very last day, when she was putting the footage together for Tina and Bette's farwell video. Instinctively, Shane wanted to peg it as overbearing or jealousy, but she had failed to see it for what it really was: loneliness. She was never alone, but she was alone all the time. Shane knew the feeling well, but she chose to indulge in drugs and sex to numb the pain. Instead of remembering, she found it safer and easier to forget.
Mandy noticed the lapse and parted her lips to repeat the question, but the other voice cut her off.
"I was," Shane admitted with an uncommitted shrug of her broad shoulders, some of her hair falling into her eyes as she remembered going to church for a confessional. "Everyone always wants something from me. Jenny… she just wanted someone to be there. She wanted someone to see her. People see me all the time… they think they can see right through me. That they can change me." A self-depreciating chuckle left her lips then, before her green eyes flickered to Mandy.
"And in the end… the only one I wish I could have changed for was Jenny."
Mandy stared at her for a long moment, her piercing icy blues challenging Shane to lie for her benefit. They searched the worn, tired canvas of the other woman's face for any indication of an act of deceit, but found none. Trailing the cool metal down the valley of Shane's chest, the dangerously curved lips finally eased into a half-smile.
"You don't remember me, do you?" Mandy finally spoke, her smooth voice near Shane's ear causing pinpricks to rise on her skin. It wasn't from arousal, however, but rather from the sinister and almost belittling edge in those simple words. Shane tried frantically to catch on to Mandy's implication, wracking her brain for any clues. That was the bad thing about being a womanizer; it was hard to remember a face.
Seeing that her captive was edging dangerously close to defeat—a quality that she only humored in certain situations—Mandy expertly loosened her hands and stepped back, shamelessly admiring the bewildered androgynous woman. Then she turned on her heel and disappeared from the room again.
Shane was left rubbing her sore wrists and trying to catch her breath from the overstimulation, undoing the bounds around her legs before moving into the kitchen to grab a beer. She knew that she couldn't run. Hell, a part of her wasn't so sure that she even wanted to.
For here was a living replica of the person that she lost, and however selfish the desire, Shane wanted to make amends: to both the living and the dead. Twisting off the bottle cap and taking a swig of the amber, bittersweet liquid that burned down her throat, she paused to consider something.
Did Mandy drink?
It was a rather misplaced thought, but she contemplated grabbing another, before she heard some noises coming from the backyard.
Wiping her sleeve across her face, Shane put down her beer and cautiously paced outside, with Sounder II on her heels. It was relatively dark outside, but she could make out a pair of blue orbs peering over the fence towards their neighbor's place. It took the hairdresser less than two minutes to realize what Mandy was looking at: the crime scene.
The pool had been closed off by yellow police tape, certain areas marked off in some way or another. It was hard to believe that where it all began was where it ended. It was even harder to believe that it took a petite, demanding little raven-haired beauty to help her put her head on straight.
Blinking away her memories, Mandy remained unmoving and transfixed on a certain spot. After a few moments of silence, Shane crossed her arms over her chest and took a tentative step forward, careful not to crowd the volatile stranger. "Mandy?" she asked gently, letting the cool breeze carry her words instead of force. "You asked if I…" She paused, not sure if it was meant rhetorically or it all of this was more intricate than she thought.
Finally, Mandy turned towards Shane with an unreadable expression. The gun cocked and ready, she raised it once more and fired. A strangled gasp left Shane's mouth as she fell to the floor in shock, before another body dropped just fractions of a second later.
Mandy stepped over Shane, whose shoulder had just barely been grazed by the bullet that took out the person coming up behind her. Pointing the fuming gun at the intruder's chest, Mandy fired a couple more rounds for good measure, before moving back to Shane. "My location has been compromised. We need to get out of here," Mandy stated, moving over to collect a cowering Sounder II in the corner and tucking him under her arm.
Shane knew that was as much of an explanation as she would get. "Fuck," was all she could mutter, reaching up to slip her slender fingers through the new hole in her plaid shirt and moving her other hand through her messy locks in exasperation.
Turning on her heel, Mandy headed back inside, but she stopped to add, "Relax. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already." And then she left Shane to contemplate how she had managed to get this deep in shit. It was a whole new level of fucked up.
Owing her life to this certain Mandy, however, Shane finally dusted herself off and got up on to her feet. She hoped her converse would be good enough to run. She had a feeling that she'd be doing a lot of it…
Not that she hadn't been practicing her whole life.