A/N: Ah, it felt nice to write something light and slightly comedic for these characters! All the mystery and angst was starting to get to me...time to inject some of that Gossip Girl flair. Obvious and numerous Top Gun references and quotes used throughout.

All of your feedback is LOVED and APPRECIATED like you wouldn't believe! Thank you and enjoy.

xoxo

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Devil Wears Last Season Prada

CLASSIFIED INFORMATION!

Operation:
Top Gun

Callsigns:
Me (Maverick)
Teddy (Goose)
Lux (Hollywood)
Maverick (Jester)
Scarlett (Viper)

Grounds for Mission:
Debt owed to one THEODORE BASS, heretofore referred to as "Goose" for unnamed favors he has paid/will pay ME, heretofore referred to as "Maverick". SCARLETT KENNEDY, heretofore referred to as "Viper" and MAVERICK NOT-SURE-WHAT-HIS-LAST-NAME-IS-BUT-I-WILL-OF-COURSE-FIND-OUT, heretofore referred to as "Jester" have complicated former plans to repay this debt; situation must be rectified BC (before cotillion).

Objective:
Observe and examine subjects Jester and Viper and ascertain the severity of their association. If a 'relationship' of a romantic nature is discovered, terminate at first available opportunity without breaking the rules of engagement*. If such a relationship is determined, ensnare subject Jester with girlish charm, snappy wit, and physical attractiveness (low-cut tops and tight, short skirts are recommended, but never at the same time! It's called The Feminine Mystique for a reason. Though many women have forgotten this, I have not) while convincing subject Viper of Goose's many excellent qualities. If association is found to be platonic, still must convince subject Viper of Goose's many excellent qualities, though the lack of romantic entanglement with subject Jester will make this assignment, conceivably, less problematic.

*When, where, and how force shall be used

A. You have the right to use force to defend yourself against attacks or threats of attack; after all, a famous 5'8" fashion model used to fighting off hordes of starving runway darlings for the last crew donut after an exhausting show or editorial shoot is more than capable of dragging me into the street by my hair and scarring me permanently with her fabulous nails!

B. Hostile fire may be returned effectively and promptly to stop a hostile act. I'm not going to say that will use her own chic handbag against her, but if it's heavy enough and will provide enough force to knock her over...it is definitely an option, along with my own – which shall always be fully stocked with books in case of this eventuality!

C. When attacked by unarmed hostile elements, mobs and/or fashion models, you should use the minimum force necessary under the circumstances and proportional to the threat. Her hair is insured by Lloyd's of London for $5.5 million. I would rather spend $5.5 million on my own hair, thank you very much. Therefore, no hair pulling! Just violent jerking and lots of slapping and possibly tripping.

D. You may not seize the property of others to accomplish your mission; so, no stealing her phone to send dirty text messages to other people and get her in trouble with her (alleged) beau! That trick can only work once in a lifetime, after all, and this is not that time... that time has passed, let it go.

E. Detention of civilians is authorized for security reasons or in self-defense, but make sure she's locked somewhere comfortable, like a penthouse suite in some hotel room that only I have the key to. That way when I let her out, she will be relaxed and pampered, probably by the masseuse I'll hire to seduce her...and therefore her interest in Jester will be nil.

REMEMBER:
1. The United States is not at war (yeah! Wait, what?)
2. Treat all persons with dignity and respect (Again, no hair pulling!)
3. Use minimum force to carry out mission (Didn't I already read that?)
4. Always be prepared to act in self-defense (Nails will be kept manicured and sharp at all times)

Deadline:
The week of cotillion

Attire:
Civilian clothes for face-to-face interactions
Head scarf of a nondescript pattern, black trenchcoat, black leather gloves, and big sunglasses for incognito operations

RULES:
1. The first rule of Operation: Top Gun – do not talk about Operation: Top Gun.
2. You don't have time to think up there. If you think, you're dead.
3. Do not fire until fired upon.
4. And if you screw up just this much, you'll be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog shit out of Hong Kong!
5. Top Gun rules of engagement are written for your safety and for that of your team. They are not flexible, nor am I. Either obey them or you are history. Is that clear?
6. Come on, Mav, do some of that pilot shit!
7. The seventh rule of Operation: Top Gun – do NOT talk about Operation: Top Gun.

I feel the need – the need for speed!

"I think you watched the wrong Tom Cruise movie." Teddy snatched the paper out of my hands and read it before I could protest. "And you started mixing metaphors near the end, there."

"Give that back," I snapped, trying and failing to snatch my game plan out of his grasp.

"Why is your codename Maverick, and Maverick's Jester?" He kept me at bay by holding it above my reach. "Won't that get confusing?"

"It is a callsign," I corrected impatiently, locking my bicycle into place on the empty bike rack. "And no, not if you pay attention."

"Why am I Goose?" Teddy demanded, finally dropping his arms and allowing me to reclaim my classified document.

I folded it carefully and locked it safely in the front pocket of my Prada bag. "Because you are my wingman. Obviously."

He seemed to take offense at this, but I silenced him with one look. Operation: Top Gun was my mission, after all; my name was first on the list of callsigns, and I had spent that morning typing up the itinerary on my computer in the kitchen as I watched Nate and Aunt Jenny do an intricate dance I liked to call 'never being in the kitchen at the same time but somehow always managing to maintain a full mug of coffee'. Plus, I was the key to its success, since Teddy was utterly hopeless around Scar—Viper...and since, of the five involved in its fulfillment, only two were actually aware of said involvement.

Lux—Hollywood would be more of a silent helper. Ignorant to her importance, but no less imperative to the mission's success!

We were at the school's back entrance, a quietly modest and less crowded way to enter the buildings, given there wasn't an assembly being held in the auditorium that day. The unadorned back doors were much nearer to the joint lecture hall than the ornate front ones, separating Teddy and I from the majority of the school, which had gathered as usual on the front steps. The wrought iron gates that sprung from the tall, brick walls, made me feel protected from listening ears as Teddy and I stood beneath the shade of an old, distinguished school tree, and expanded on the finer points of my brilliant plan.

"I just don't feel right about breaking them up..." Teddy ruffled his hair, undoing his work in front of the mirror.

"You are not devious enough to be my wingman," I sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't have any other choice. Look, do you like Viper or not?"

"Like her!" He bristled and I rubbed my forehead at my poor choice of words. "I love her. I'd do anything for her. I'd – "

"Walk over a pile of burning coals barefoot and invent a bicycle to fly you both to the moon, blah blah blah." I waved his lovesick proclamation off with a disinterested hand. "Teddy, listen to me. Carefully. Oui?" He nodded, and I straightened his off-kilter tie as I continued. "Do not think of it as breaking them up; think of it as grabbing life with your bare hands and shaking it hard by its shoulders and looking it square in the eye, and saying, 'Life! I am through being pushed around by you, and I am taking what I want from you and I am not giving it back!'"

Teddy coughed for air and grabbed my wrists so I would stop shaking him by his shoulders. "Okay."

"Besides, they might not even be together!" I smiled cheerfully and dusted off the shoulders of his blazer. "That is what Operation: Top Gun is all about. First of all, we observe them today; get a handle on their habits and mannerisms. And if, by the end of the day, it seems like they are indeed romantically involved, we proceed with phase two and then we break them up."

"I thought you said it wasn't breaking them up, it was – "

My wingman started miming 'shaking life by the shoulders', but I talked over him.

"Either way, you have got to work on your confidence around her!" His hands froze in mid-air, clenched on life's invisible arms. "No matter how much hard work I do, it is all going to be in vain if you do not...what's the phrase? Get your act together and start acting like a man!"

Teddy shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and slumped his way up the back stairs behind me. "You sound like my dad."

This pleased me more than my resolute poker face let him know.

Lux met us at in the empty foyer, wearing a black trenchcoat, big sunglasses, and a scarf over her golden hair, just as I had instructed her to. The rest of the student body was still gathered on brick benches and stone tables in the magnificent front courtyard, so the three of us stood alone under the elegant antique chandelier (French Baroque, I idly noticed) in the security-camera free front entrance hall.

"Hollywood!" I clapped my hands together and beamed at her confusion. "Did you get what I asked for?"

"Yes..." she untied the Juicy Couture scarf from under her chin and folded the sunglasses into her bag. From the bag, she withdrew two manila folders and passed them into my eager hands. "But you can't tell anyone I did this, okay? If Saffron found out I was using her student body president powers for evil other than her own, she would be really, really mad."

I had yet to actually see the infamous Saffron, but doubted I would be impressed when I did. She sounded utterly uninteresting.

"Speaking of, I really have to get her office key back to her, or she'll start asking questions..."

I opened the first manila folder, labeled Kennedy, Scarlett Rose and nodded. "You are dismissed, Hollywood. Speak of this to no one."

Teddy peered over my shoulder as I found Scarlett's class schedule. "What are you doing?"

He looked surprised at my crisp tone, and held both his hands up in bewildered surrender. I handed him the pen and paper he had requested in his limo the night before, and nodded at the schedule in my hands.

"Start copying. We cannot keep these forever or the office secretary will notice they are gone."

"Oh..." He fumbled with the pen and started writing. I took a picture of the page with my cell phone, as my own copy.

The folder underneath read Sparks, Maverick Jude which answered two of my burning questions. Maverick Sparks. I had wondered if perhaps his first name was a nickname for something very plain, like John or maybe even Pete, something that warranted Maverick as a nickname due perhaps to his extreme love of Top Gun or tendency to be reckless and irresponsible – but it was written plainly on his school records. Maverick Sparks. Sparks sounded distantly familiar, but I didn't dwell on it. More important than his surname or his parents' obsession with Top Gun was his schedule for that semester, which told me he too was in his 11th year, and that he had the same free period on Fridays that I did.

"Got that?"

I checked Teddy's progress and saw why he liked writing so much more than using technology. His penmanship was excellent and he had managed to copy, word for word, the two sheets of paper I had shown him on one single sheaf of Legal Pad.

"Good."

I handed him Scarlett's folder and instructed him to read through the rest of it for anything interesting.

I flicked through Maverick's file, which was rather thick with disciplinary notes and detention slips, and learned only that he had a younger sister named Delilah, had been suspended three times over the course of his freshman and sophomore years, and had come close to expulsion a grand total of six times. He wasn't considering any Ivy League schools, was not involved in any extracurricular activities, sports, or clubs, had never been on the dean's list or received any scholastic rewards, and had only managed to keep his place at St. Jude's School for Boys due to numerous family donations and because none of his suspensions had been related to federally illegal activities.

He was just the kind of boy I had vowed to stay away from. But I was in debt, and my debt had to be repaid.

Teddy handed me his manila folder when he finished perusing, and I bound both of them together and hid them in my Prada bag behind the Operation: Top Gun instructions, so I could get them back to Lux before the school day let out.

"I can't believe you're doing this for me," Teddy admitted as the two of us sneaked out a side door to join the rest of the school.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "A Waldorf always repays her debt."

"I thought you weren't a Waldorf?" He wrapped his silk scarf around his neck and grinned good-naturedly. "Isn't that your whole point?"

"Mais oui..." I shrugged and spotted Maverick's tall, dark figure across the courtyard. "Until I find out who I am, I can't very well just go by Elle. I hate that whole pretentious one-name thing, for one. And it is hardly as impressive as the notoriety being a Waldorf affords me, especially in this town."

"I know what you mean..." A look passed over my wingman's face then, something dark and entitled and burdened; it sent a shudder through his eyes and prompted his shoulders to square and his toes to point forward and the creases and wrinkles in his clothes to worriedly straighten themselves out. "It's kind of exhausting."

Then I saw the way nearby girls eyed him – not him, but his dark hair and eyes, the money he had invested in his Gucci shoes and the hard shadows on his face. He was not the most popular boy in school, or the most athletic, or even the best looking, but I realized for the first time in that moment that he was a Bass, and that being a Bass must be grueling. Not only did his father own more than half of Manhattan, but Bass Industries probably, in some way or another, employed most of our classmates' parents or siblings or distant twice-removed relatives.

It was a terrifying realization. As a Waldorf, I had status and a famous pedigree; the same old money privileges allotted Lex and Lux for being Archibalds, and therefore Van der Bilts, were given to me wherever I went. Whether in Paris where ma mère was known and respected for her charity work, being a world-class hostess and ruling most of popular society with an iron well-manicured fist, or in New York City where grandmamma's flagship store was a beacon for sophisticated socialites and politicians' wives, the name Waldorf was untarnished platinum.

Bearing the name Bass, I imagined, was something akin to Atlas's job holding up the sky.

So, I smiled genuinely at Teddy and nodded in understanding, "It is."

When Lex waved to him from the pavement below us, we parted ways and I scanned the multitude again for my prey: Maverick.

...Jester, rather. Jester.

I vowed to remember that better on future missions.

As I drew nearer, I got a better picture of my intended target and realized he was engaged in informal-looking dialogue with a tall, leggy blonde. Of course. I doubted there was any other kind of blonde in the world who would chat on front school steps with marginally handsome, cigarette-laden, black coat-wearing, brown haired boys with beautiful cheekbones and full, kissable—or, at least, fairly okay to look at—smirking lips.

Unfortunately for her, I had tangoed with tall, leggy blondes before, and knew exactly how to trounce their special brand of treachery.

"Too close for missiles," I whispered, shedding my winter coat to reveal my carefully selected breezy white blouse (which showed just the faintest outline of my La Perla push-up bra and hinted very slightly at the shadow of my bellybutton) and the tight, navy blue pencil skirt it was tucked into. I had paired the classic look with very dangerous Yves Saint Laurent patent leather 3 ½" peek-a-boo heels. "I'm switching to guns."

His maelstrom eyes—for that was the only way to describe the swirling, dark blue irises that penetrated my thin shirt and stripped me of any modesty I had been pretending to have—caught mine over Blondie's shoulder, and I quirked my red lips automatically. I hadn't intended to smile so freely and instantly, but it worked and who was I to complain about capturing his attention? Whatever conversation Blondie had been taxing him through ground to a halt, and suddenly her steel gaze clashed with mine and I saw the cherubic face of Constance's Queen Bee, the infamous and utterly uninteresting-sounding Saffron No-Last-Name, for the very first time.

As I had predicted I would be, I was unimpressed.

She was angelically and unimaginatively pretty. Soft flaxen locks surrounded her body like a cloud blocking a streaming beam of sunlight, but there was nothing unique in her upturned chin or the slim contours of her nose (which I suspected had been altered by a plastic surgeon's knife at least once), and I knew hers was a face I would memorize then forget as soon as she left my sight.

"New girl."

It was not a question. Her pale eyebrows curved and she judged my outfit with a pathetically untrained eye for detail—I saw her pause to examine the cut of my skirt, not the way it perfectly hugged the outsides of my thighs and made my slim hips seem a bit wider, and she all but ignored the genius of my stylish peak-shouldered double-breasted button front blouse, which created the illusion of a Victorian ingénue. Her eyes settled instead on my slim Valentino signature belt, merely a nice-looking accessory and nowhere near the crux of my ensemble.

"Last season Valentino?" she tutted self-importantly, raising her voice so nearby gaggles of her mindless followers could hear her dress me down. "Try harder next time. I'm afraid your outfit isn't quite up to scratch, sweetie."

A twittering arose around us, but before I could retort that my belt was not 'last season', but rather a timeless vintage piece Valentino had recreated the year before, which rooted my outfit in the classic elegance it was meant to invoke, Maverick flicked his cigarette over the balcony we stood on and eyed me up and down again. A luxurious, concentrated stare that settled all too casually on my calves and noticeably appreciated the cut of my collarbone.

Then, my lips felt the burn from those eyes and he leaned against the stone balustrade. "Looks fine to me."

Saffron whirled around, and all I saw before that cloud of hair overtook my vision was the flashing of pearly white teeth. I couldn't see those rosy cheeks or the slant of her head from my position, but I imagined a disgustingly sweet simpering sag on her puckered pink lips as she bleated coquettishly, "Maverick, weren't you about to suggest I let you walk me to class?"

"No."

He was bored with her, and that made me laugh.

"If I were you," Her hard, cold eyes were on me again, and I imagined her fingernails lengthening into talons as her nose sharpened into a beak and wings uncoiled from her back. "I would watch yourself. Just because you're new doesn't mean I'll forgive disrespect."

I fluttered my eyelashes and slid my right foot behind my left to grant her a mocking curtsy. "Next time, tell me a laugh will displease your highness and I will, of course..." Her subjects closed in, eye shapes varying between widened and narrowed, and one of the younger ones looked like she was about to faint at my sign of insubordination. "...Laugh louder."

The repeated intakes of breath told me she had found a bag to breath into or an inhaler to calm herself with.

Saffron drew herself up to her full height and gave me her best contemptuous frown. I faked a polite yawn.

Teddy had not been exaggerating in ma mère's old bedroom when he'd told me of Constance Billard's social hierarchy. 'Set in stone, no challenging it' was the phrase he had used, and I learned in that short exchange how very apt this description was. Saffron was very clearly not used to insurrection, and this made her very weak, even with her huddle of minions standing nearby to offer support.

I remembered Sophie standing up at the top of the steps and shaking her head very slowly at me where I stood on the ground below. Even then, in my defeat, I had respected the freezing, honest, naked emotion in her eyes—the unspoken conversation between us on those crowded steps that told me I was finished, I had lost, that I was at her mercy. As a newly crowned queen, my friend was nothing short of magnificent and unforgiving, and I quickly retreated through a side door to let her hold her court, accepting my fate and knowing with dread that my life could only get worse from there.

I had been right, of course.

But Saffron stood across from me in silence that was not definitive, just a noiseless scramble for witty words.

I examined her clothing the way she had done mine, appreciating her ability to match blacks, but finding her pleated skirt uninspired and ill-fitting—its high waist made her willowy frame seem waspish and sickly. Ma mère's shrewd eye for detail crackled at the base of my skull and I heard her voice whisper her shoes, Ellie, her shoes. And when I saw them, I couldn't help but laugh again.

"Last season Prada?" More gasps arose from the thick throng of onlookers. "Adorable."

I felt the shiver go through her court. And when the bell rang and no one moved, I took the few steps required to pass their queen to Maverick, who looked uninterested just behind her, and leaned against the rampart beside him. A teacher called out from an upper-level window, and an explosion of whispers and nervous chirrups peppered the sound of shoes clicking and scuffing against the flagstone.

I sensed rather than witnessed Saffron take her leave, but I was glad when her presence no longer choked my sanity. What a piece of work.

"I have been thinking," I said innocuously, as if a showdown had not just taken place three paces away from him, "and you owe me an apology."

"Do I?" He barely inclined his chin towards me. "What makes you think so?"

"It takes two to cause a collision." I leaned my chin on my fist and never took my eyes off his profile. "Je suis désolé. Now, you go."

A string tugged and lifted the corner of his lips, and I noticed a dimple appeared beneath his cheek. "I'm sorry you're unobservant."

Bingo.

He was amused at me, which put me far above Saffron. If he and Scarlett were some kind of couple, he was either too flirtatious for their own good or they were on the verge of becoming non-exclusive; and it was easy to tell that his one admirer I might have been afraid to go up against was no one to worry about. It would be all too easy to deliver the death blow to their (hopefully) floundering relationship and open Scar—Viper up to a world of blissful happiness with someone who truly adored her: my wingman, Goose.

Of course, the swiftness with I could imagine her becoming a free agent meant Teddy would need to face her sooner rather than later. I would confirm my suspicions later, either by finding Scarlett in the girls' hallway and casually inquiring about her love life, or by making a non-threatening move on him in front of her and gauging her reaction.

Oh how much fun it was to have something to take my mind off my family predicament!

I was less grateful when Maverick pushed himself away from the stonework and checked the lingering crowds. "I've got to find Scarlett and take her to class," he swiped a hand through his dark hair and I silently cursed myself for not working faster. Why had I given him that long pause!? I had hoped it would be companionable, not effectively end the conversation and simultaneously dash my flourishing plans. "Hope I don't read about you in the obits tomorrow."

Long strides carried him away before I could retort.

Merde. Merde, merde, merde, merde. Merde!

"Merde..."

Shorter, more pensive steps took me in the direction of the front double-doors. A hand darted out from beside the railing just as I reached the bottom step that led up into the school, and I was yanked rather roughly into the shadows by a frantic looking Lux.

"What have you done?!" I thought she was about to pull clumps of her hair out of her skull, but was more concerned for my less sturdy brand-new extensions when she started waving her shaking hands around like a mad street corner fortune teller. "Are you complete and utterly completely out of her mind? I thought you were smart. Saffron is going to kill me." Then, Lux began pacing and running her fingers repeatedly through her hair while speaking in a lilting, panicky voice, and she reminded me so markedly of both her parents in a crisis situation that I couldn't help grinning. "This isn't funny, Elle! You don't talk to her like that. You don't talk to her! She's...she's...she's...she's the queen and her word is law, and if this was Alice in Wonderland you'd have your head chopped off right now!"

She drew a forefinger across her throat to illustrate.

"Oh, please," I rested my weight against the side of the stairs. "Saffron would look horrendous in red."

Lux's eyes practically popped out of her head. "So not the bloody point!"

"Did you just say 'bloody'?" I smiled affectionately. "Are we in England, all of a sudden? If so, mon Dieu, please get me out of here."

"No we are not in England!" Her Coach heel broke on the masonry when she stamped her foot impatiently.

"I have flats to bicycle home in," I offered graciously, but Lux's meltdown continued.

"If we were in England, I wouldn't be so afraid for your immortal soul because England is a constitutional monarchy and the monarch doesn't hold the power! This is Constance and this is an absolute monarchy! Divine right of queens! No mercy! Off with your head, total social destruction, torture and cannibalization and humiliation. Do you understand what you've done?"

I pulled my file out of my purse and scrubbed obsessively at a tiny imperfection in my nails. "I do. I stood up to someone who hasn't ever been stood up to before, and it was priceless. Did you see her face?" I gaped like a fish for a moment to recreate the scene for Lux, who might not have been close enough to fully appreciate my uprising. "Her? A queen? Please."

"No, no, no." Lux paced even faster, shaking her head hysterically. "You have to apologize. Make peace with her! I'm already on the bottom of the heap, here, Elle. If she finds out how close we are and that I helped you, using her office key, then my reputation will never recover. She'll utterly ruin me and I'll just...I'll just be absolutely nothing, okay?"

This gave me pause. 'Absolutely nothing' sounded very hopeless from her shaking lips, and the desperation that distorted her normally smooth face into a rather Picasso-esque reproduction of itself made me think that perhaps Saffron wasn't quite as harmless as I thought. It was possible that I had merely taken her off-guard and her full strength would rise up in a swell of calculated anger once she stopped reeling at my outrageous candor.

Then again, it was also probable that Lux, bless her well-intentioned heart, was overreacting.

A lot.

"You just...you just can't really expect to get away with this." She collapsed against the stairs next to me and buried her face in her hands. Through her fingers, she mumbled, "She is going to be so mad, she's going to be absolutely furious...end of me...so embarrassing... God, Elle!" Her eyes peered from over the tops of her nails. "What are you trying to do to me? Are you just messing with her? Are you trying to make things like they were at your old school? Do you think you can just trade off the throne every week with shocking displays of dominance?"

I wrapped my arms around her and patted her back comfortingly. "Oh, chéri, of course I am not going to share the throne with her."

The utter relief that fluttered through Lux's body at hearing that cannot be described by the sigh she released, or by the way she went completely slack in my embrace. I smiled and ran smoothing fingers through her haphazard blonde tresses, soothing her stress by gently rubbing circles into the top of her scalp.

"I am going to steal it."

Lux promptly fainted.