Lynn had been working for Cruella for three months when the first seeds of friendship were sown. She had the reputation for being the only one in the whole company able to go into Cruella's office uninvited and not come out verbally scarred. What confused everyone was that she was more often in their boss' office than not, something that caused most of the staff to wet their pants just thinking about it. On her part, Lynn didn't understand why her coworkers were so afraid of the diva. In the three months she had been working there, Cruella had been nothing but kind to her.

She supposed that was because she didn't tremble in fear every time she talked to her and looked her in the eye when she spoke. Apparently that earned her some respect from the woman. In return she found herself being friendlier to her boss, working tirelessly to please her and making sure the fashion house was running smoothly. Occasionally, when business was slow, she would take tea with Cruella and they would talk and laugh like old friends. On this day that was not the case. Cruella had stormed in like a whirlwind early in the morning and had locked herself in her office, refusing even Olonzo entrance.

Lynn tolerated this until three-thirty, but when the woman refused tea she knew something was seriously wrong. Cautiously, she entered the proverbial lion's den armed with a box of tissues and tea. All the lights were off, the only light provided by the large oval window behind the desk.

"Cruella?" Lynn called out tentatively.

"Whoever that is, get out."

Lynn could tell from the way her voice sounded that Cruella had been crying. This surprised her because generally emotions and Cruella didn't mix. Instead of leaving, she reached over and pressed a button on the office's control panel, causing the room to be flooded with florescent light. She almost dropped the tea tray when she saw her boss.

The woman was curled up in her large office chair, face protectively hidden in her garish red coat. Lynn approached slowly, making a lot more noise than necessary to let the woman know she was there. Wordlessly, she sat the tea tray on the desk top, walked around the desk and, without thinking, wrapped the smaller woman in a hug. She didn't react at first, but then she tensed and pushed against Lynn as if pushing her away would make her forget the whole thing. But the young woman held on, refusing to budge.

After a few minutes, Cruella went limp, and soon after Lynn felt warm tears soaking into her shirt. She held her and let her cry, vowing that whoever caused the powerful fashion mogul to cry like that would pay dearly. After about twenty minutes, the sobs turned into sniffles and Lynn sat back, allowing her employer some air. Cruella's makeup was streaming down her face and without a second thought, Lynn reached over, snagged a tissue, and began cleaning it away.

"Thank you, Lynn," Cruella whispered, eyes downcast.

"No problem."

"I knew it was you, you know."

"How?" Lynn asked, genuinely puzzled.

She was sure she hadn't identified herself after she entered. Cruella gave a strangled laugh.

"Because anyone else would have immediately vacated the room. Besides, no one but you has ever had the courage to touch me."

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes before Lynn remembered the tea. Upon touching the pot she discovered it had grown cold and buzzed for Olonzo to bring some fresh. She gently stood from Cruella's chair and turned it around so that Olonzo wouldn't see Cruella in her state of weakness. He brought in the pot and left quickly, sensing the tension in the air. She poured for both of them, and after forcing Cruella to take it, settled herself in the chair she had dragged around the desk.

"So, what or who has caused you to be in such a snit? Kindly point them out and I'll rip them limb from limb."

Cruella smiled before sighing heavily. "I'm afraid there's nothing you can do."

"Of course there is. You point out the jerk that made you cry, I beat him to a pulp, and he never speaks to you again. It's a win-win situation for everyone."

Her attempt at humor fell flat when the older woman whimpered. Lynn slid out of her chair and crouched on the floor in front of her.

"Hey, hey, I was just kidding. Well, mostly. Come on, what's made you so upset that you're crying?"

Cruella exhaled shakily. "My mother died this morning." Lynn gasped and took Cruella's hands in her own. They felt icy, and she absentmindedly massaged them to get some warmth into them."I didn't particularly care for her, or love her, but she was my mother."

"I was sitting there, taking in the news, when it hit me: I'm alone in the world now. She was my last living relative you see, so now I have no one."

A single tear slid down her cheek. Lynn reached up and wiped it away.

"I'm sorry, Cruella. I know how it feels to lose someone you love." At her quizzical look, she elaborated. "My mother died shortly after I moved to New York. Bone cancer."

"I'm sorry."

Lynn sighed. "It's okay, I've accepted it and moved on." She shook her head as if clearing it. "Look at us," she said with a smile. "Locked away in here drowning in sadness when we could be terrorizing the staff."

Cruella offered her a smile, and Lynn forced herself into a standing position.

"Come on, I'll accompany you home. You look worn out."

She turned to relay the instructions to Olonzo. In a flash, her hand was grasped in a black clawed opera glove. She turned to face its owner.

"Thank you," Cruella said sincerely.

"You're welcome."

There was definitely a shift in their relationship after that. Within a month they were the best of friends. You never found one without the other.

…...

"Ms. Smith, Ms. Smith..."

"Hmm, oh yes, the question. Well, I hardly think she would appreciate me giving all the details. Let's just say I was there when she needed me and we've been close ever since."

"But that's hardly fair!"

"I think," Lynn says with an icy tone, "it's quite fair, considering I should be at Inferno Hall right now. Given my condition at the moment, you're lucky she's not here with me raking her clawed gloves down your face."

The reporter visibly pales at the vivid picture that's now emblazoned in his mind.

"O-of c-course." He clears his throat to regain his composure. "So, you never addressed her as Ms. De Vil? Didn't she flay you with her tongue?"

"It never occurred to me that I never addressed formalities. But as I've said before, I wasn't afraid of her."

"Interesting. So, what's she like in private? I bet she's vicious."

"Mr. Johnson, if you're going to insult Cruella I will simply have to leave."

She struggles to stand, and the newly identified Mr. Johnson hurries to keep her in place.

"No, no, I apologize. Too long in the circuit I suppose."

This seems to appease her, as she lowers herself back into her seat.

"Well, that's an easy question. She's very kind, warm, loving. She is the best friend one could ask for."

"Begging your pardon, but I find that hard to believe. Can you give us an example to back your claim?"

"I suppose I could..."