Summary: A new woman arrives at Westworld, but she isn't a visitor. And Stubbs has his hands full trying to keep track of her. Ashley Stubbs/OC
A/N: I'm hoping this will be my only author's note for this story. This story kind of came out of nowhere for me, but Stubbs' character was pretty intriguing to me, even before the Season 2 Finale. And now, of course, he is even more so. I apologize for the OC, but for me, it is absolutely necessary. I could have tried a Stubbs/Elsie fic, but I'm not sure I'd be able to get Elsie's character as spot on as I would like, and I wasn't really a big fan of her, anyway. Some notes: this story has a plot, but I'm trying to focus on the developing relationship between Stubbs and the OC. There will be four parts, and each part should contain roughly three chapters. I'll update based on reviews, probably. If it's not that popular, I may just keep the rest on my computer.
Anyway, enough of that. On with the show.
Disclaimer: I do not own Westworld.
PART ONE
One.
The Empathizers
As head of security, it was his job to know each and every face that passed in and out of the Mesa's Hub. It also meant that any new faces that wanted in to the Mesa's non-visitor sector needed to get cleared with him, first. So while he stood behind Bernard as the man regretfully declared Clementine to be placed out of commission, Ashley Stubbs sensed something in his immediate environs was off. Very off.
As a former Marine, he had learned to trust his instincts.
When something in his subconscious urged him to glance up, Stubbs did so. His eyes immediately landed on an unusually beautiful woman who was a massive breach of security.
He didn't even register Bernard's questioning gaze or the queries that died on the older man's lips as he shoved open the glass door and started walking, quickly, over to the security breach. Questions flitted through his mind rapidly: how had she gotten in and why was she here? How much information had already been compromised? If she'd made it this deep into the Hub – into Behavior and Diagnostics – she'd clearly seen too much. Fuck, corporate was going to have his job for this.
She was standing outside one of the glass rooms, arms crossed over her chest, studying the technician and the host inside the room as they interacted. The knee-length dress was corporate-esque, but he knew she couldn't have been one of the higher ups – he had memorized all their faces in case a situation like this should ever occur.
There was something eerily familiar about the set of her shoulders, the careful mask on her face that revealed no emotion. He almost thought the dress seemed out of place on her, which was a strange thought to even have, considering a.) he did not know her and b.) she was just a security threat that needed to be dealt with as quickly and as quietly as possible. That's all.
"Ma'am'," Stubbs said, using what his brother too often had called his Military Voice. She didn't even flinch at his presence; he had stopped a respectful distance away, true, but in his experience, most people who were in places they didn't belong showed some signs of distress or nervousness, especially when being addressed. The woman just blinked. Like he hadn't said anything at all.
Taking half a step closer to her, and extremely aware that he only had a small time frame in which he could contain this problem and keep it as quiet as he could, Stubbs tried a firm and no-nonsense, "Ma'am. You're not authorized to be here."
Still, she just blinked, watching the technician and host interact with one another carefully, but a small smile had quirked on her lips. He tried very hard to not stare at her lips, which were also on the cusp of being a security threat. Unusually beautiful was probably an understatement for a woman like the one before him.
Focus, he thought.
Before he could open his mouth a third time to get the woman's attention, she responded without deigning to turn towards him. "You all treat them so… clinically," she said, distaste hiding underneath an otherwise casual tone. Momentarily thrown, Stubbs followed her gaze. He watched as the technician broke the pinkie of the host's right hand to test the host's pain receptors, and Stubbs' brows furrowed at the action. The host winced but had been commanded to stay silent. The technician didn't bat an eye.
The woman finally faced him, her eyes probing him up and down, as if in a single look, she could understand everything there was to know about Ashley Stubbs. He clenched his jaw and held her challenging stare when it finally stopped at his eyes. One dark eyebrow cocked. "Do you really think that you can make them look like us, feel like us, hurt like us… and not eventually make them want freedom like us, too?"
His mouth opened. Wavered. Closed. Focus. "I'm head of security," he said, as if that was answer enough to her question. And besides: I'm not qualified to answer that, really. "And like I said, you're not authorized to be here."
Another smile stretched over her lips, small and amused. She had the deepest green eyes he had ever seen. "Are you sure about that, Mr. Stubbs?"
He tried not to show any surprise at her familiarity with him. "I am. And I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."
Eyes as green as the forests that dotted Shogun World. He hadn't thought it possible for someone to have eyes like that.
The woman gestured towards the hallway. "Then, by all means. Lead the way."
000
Something about the woman's green eyes and the sharp intelligence they hinted at deeply unsettled Stubbs. He felt like she was laughing at some private joke, amused at his expense. On their way to his office, she'd suggested he call his superiors. She was authorized to be anywhere she wanted in the park, she had told him. The confidence that did not waver in her voice forced self-doubt into his mind. So he had led her into his office, offered her a seat, and tried running her credentials.
"Name?" he asked pointedly, his fingers poised over the keyboard, prepared to type onto the glass.
The woman's green eyes danced. "Like I said, I suggest you call your superiors."
Frustration bubbled in his gut. He didn't want to get Theresa or Ford involved until he had more information to go off of. He didn't need to seem any more incompetent than he did, considering the woman had managed to get past security at all.
"If you could just give me a name," he said, "we can settle this between us." Not necessarily true. Theresa would have to be notified. She would, in turn, notify Ford. Call it pathetic, but he loved his job, even if he was the head of security for a glorified amusement park. He really didn't want to lose it. But this was going to look bad no matter how he tried to spin it, and honestly, the truth had always suited him best.
The woman leaned forward and grabbed the pitcher of water off his desk, pouring herself a glass. She sipped on it. "Mr. Stubbs," she said kindly. Patiently. As if he were the outsider rather than her. "I must insist you call your superiors at once."
What other choice did he have? And why was she so set on meeting with his superiors?
One thing was certain: he couldn't, in any good conscience, call Theresa or Ford in here without ensuring the woman was weaponless. It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried going after Ford, of course. And no one was getting hurt on Stubbs' watch.
The woman seemed to read as much in his eyes. She sighed, resigned. "I'm going to guess you want to search me." Then she gestured at herself, the sleek dress she wore, hugging every goddamn curve. "Not really any room to hide a weapon here, is there?"
No, he half wanted to agree. "Standard protocol, ma'am."
He stood, stiff, and walked around his glass desk, gesturing for the woman to stand as well. Now, her smile was strained.
Was she uncomfortable because she didn't want to be searched by a man, or because she was hiding something?
Propriety aside, he needed to do his job.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he offered apologetically. "My female officer is out in the park…"
"It's fine," the woman interjected. She stood, and her grace still seemed out of place with the dress. He just couldn't place why.
Brushing the thought aside, he stepped up to her, offering another apologetic look as he gestured for her to hold her arms out. For once, she followed his directions and complied.
He tried to touch her as little as possible while being as thorough as possible – a difficult line to walk. As his fingertips brushed over her arms, starting from the sleeves of her dress and moving towards her torso, he couldn't help but notice the lean muscle that seemed hidden beneath the gauzy garment. His eyes flickered towards hers, which were steadily – and unnervingly – settled on him in return.
Clearing his throat to push away the cotton-ball dryness of his mouth, he began skimming his fingers over her torso lightly – this was why a female officer would have been so much better for the job – fingertips ghosting over her breasts, then down over her waist, before he finally dropped to one knee and patted down her legs. That proved to be the most difficult. He couldn't very well stick his hands up this woman's dress – not only was it not proper and not protocol, it was horribly inappropriate. So he had to awkwardly pat at the sides of her dress and then down to her ankles… but wait.
His eyes flickered up to hers again. Finally, he felt more on his game. It was acceptable protocol if he found a weapon, so his hand trailed back up her right leg, just beneath the hem of her dress, and he tried to ignore the stunning smoothness of her skin until he came to a thigh holster. A gun.
He unholstered the weapon and backed away from her before she could try anything. He had his own weapon out and trained on her a second later, a frown marring his lips.
"I don't know how you even got in here in the first place, but to come in armed – "
"Your superiors can explain that," the woman said calmly, slowly – almost lazily – raising her hands, as if having a gun pointed at her was an every day occurrence. Who the fuck was this? "Which is why I really insist you call them, Mr. Stubbs. It'll make your day and mine go much better if you do. Besides, I'm not personally authorized to give you my information."
What? "The hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. I'm not authorized to give you my information. So please call your superiors and we can get this all straightened out. Then you can be on your way, and I can be on mine."
God. It was only Monday. How could all this shit happen on a Monday? And how could a woman who looked like that be the cause of his headache, right now?
000
"Agent Haque," Theresa breathed out in a sigh as soon as she entered Stubbs' office and glanced at the stranger sitting handcuffed in one of Stubbs' chairs. Theresa frowned at the woman the way Stubbs imagined you might frown about your recurring nightmare. "What an unpleasant surprise."
"Theresa," the apparent Agent Haque greeted with far more warmth than the head of Quality Assurance had bothered. "It's been, what? Three years?"
"It's not been long enough," the Danish woman replied wearily. She rubbed at her temples and glanced at Stubbs, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and thoroughly confused.
"You know this woman?" he asked the department head, the disbelief evident in his tone.
Theresa nodded regretfully. "I have had the misfortune of running into Agent Haque before. Is there a reason she's handcuffed to your desk, Stubbs?"
He grunted. "I found this on her." He waved the unloaded Glock 27, but it didn't seem to surprise Theresa. "And found her wandering around Behavior and Diagnostics."
Theresa pinched the bridge of her nose. Looking to Agent Haque, she said, "I don't suppose you'll just tell me who on the Board hired you."
The agent smiled. "Where's the fun in that?"
"Typical." Theresa waved a dismissive hand at Stubbs. "Uncuff her. Give her full access… whatever she asks for." Then the woman settled a glare that would have made someone lesser than Agent Haque melt in their chair from fear alone. "But one fuck-up from you, and you're gone. And trust me, Haque. I eagerly await the day that happens."
Then Theresa was gone, leaving Stubbs alone with the mysterious Agent Haque again.
She looked over at him and jangled her handcuff, giving him a look that said well?
Stubbs exhaled loudly. He fished the key out of his pocket and released her. She stood, brushing out her dress, and held her hand out expectantly. Another sigh, and Stubbs handed her the gun back.
Before she could leave, too, he stopped her. "So, Agent Haque, is it?"
She just smiled back at him. He was beginning to realize that a smile, to this woman, wasn't meant to convey the same thing it did for others. Her smile was her weapon. And god, it was a deadly weapon. "It is. See you around, Stubbs."
