Evidently, I've lost my mind.
Luckily, this fact won't affect my WotDs, because I'm still more than capable of writing for CA, but I decided it would be a good idea to submit a pitch for a contest this writing website, Authonomy is hosting (check it out. It's a pretty neat website, I just have no time to use it when I spend 98% of my free time on ). The pitch is for a novel I've been tossing around in my head for the last several months, and as promising as it sounds (to me) I have no delusions whatsoever that I'll win this thing. It was just fun to try my hand at writing a pitch, something I'll have to do eventually if I ever want to turn this into something resembling a career.
Or I can just hang out on forever. Both options are pretty likely.
Spoilers for Bang and Blame (2.03). Yes, I too am shocked it took me this long to get around to it.
$4$
Feign: (n.) to invent fictitiously or deceptively, as a story or an excuse.
Shit shit shit shit shit—Annie had been cursing up a storm for the last thirty seconds, rushing to finish the files as quickly as possible. If the files had been computerized, there wouldn't have been a problem. Thirty seconds with one of Auggie's tech toys and she would've been out of there in a flash. But these were hardcopy files, and the most efficient and accurate method of transfer involved a digital camera and a lot of patience.
Patience wasn't her thing, which was half the reason why her classy dress heel was going a mile a minute. The longer she took, the more likely someone would come into the office to investigate. Her job was dangerous enough on its own; throwing in a top secret undercover FBI investigation at an extremely important Governor's Ball in D.C. was just adding insult to injury.
It was pretty cool to see so many of her coworkers dressed their finest. Arthur and Joan were there, but for actual official business with real invitations and everything. The rest of the agents were expected to slip by unnoticed—Auggie and his tech people may or may not have hacked the guest list and faked a dozen or so covers to get people in.
Annie was one such person, and given the illustrious task of gathering the intel required to discern who among the FBI happened to be a mole. Any other day this might have been at very least passably entertaining, but she had been fighting a migraine for the last half hour and she really wanted to go home and take a nice long bath. Photocopying files page by page was taking way too long.
She was down to her last file when she heard it. That metallic little click that signified someone unlocking a door. A door that she was on the other side of.
"Shit shit shit shit," Annie cursed some more, unaware her repetitive inner monologue was now being spoken aloud. She scrambled, hastily arranging the papers into the file as neatly as she could before throwing them back in their original spot in the cherry wood filing cabinet. She then slid her tiny camera back into her equally miniscule clutch.
"Annie? You okay?" That was Auggie, over her comlink, but she was busy scanning the expansive room for any escape routes to formulate a coherent response.
"Someone's coming," she growled, growing even more frustrated with every passing second. She had mere seconds, and despite the size of the room there was no where big enough to hide. Apparently, the governor's aide wasn't a big fan of clutter.
That left one other option. The bathroom. It was connected to the aide's office. Once in, there were no other doors out, but maybe if she was quiet and timed it right no one would check out the bathroom and then she could slip back out unnoticed.
"I'm assuming you're heading for the bathroom."
He had to stop reading her mind so well. Now wasn't the time to argue about that, so she made a quiet noise of assent and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her about a half-second before whoever was on the other side opened the office door.
She squinted in the darkness, pressing her back against the wall watching as the light flickered on in the office. Something that sounded suspiciously like too girlish giggles was coming from the other side of it, followed by the low baritone of someone decidedly male.
Oh, for Christ's…
She had been had by two idiots trying to get laid. And she called herself a damned CIA agent.
Annie narrowed her eyes but held her breath all the same. This wasn't going to be fun (especially depending on how long it took them to wrap things up) but it could always be worse.
That was the thought that had just flitted through her mind when the woman said something that ended with "the little girls' room."
As much as she wanted to snicker at the "little girls' room" phrase, she was too busy cursing again, backing up from the door. Shit. She had no way out. And it was all going to end because two dumbasses couldn't keep it in their pants.
Behind her, the linen closet door, a door that she hadn't noticed in the pitch black room, opened without a sound and arm snuck out, colliding with her shoulder. Annie let out a strangled gasp and caught the wrist, but before she could do much else his other arm was around her waist, tugging her backwards until she was backed up against the wall.
She realized it was Auggie that was, in fact, attacking her about a moment before the door opened (again, because this night was never going to end) and someone flipped the light switch. The world was bathed in bright white and yellow, and it took Annie a few seconds to blink past the purple spots blooming in front of her eyes.
"Ohmigosh!"
Somehow, during the span of their brief scuffle, Auggie covered her body with his, hiding her mostly from view. He couldn't really do much about her nails still digging into his collarbone or her viselike grip on his bicep that was sure to leave a bruise tomorrow morning. She didn't know how or when, but at some point he had managed to lose his jacket, bowtie, and shirt. Which meant, to anyone who didn't know better, it looked like they were…
Her night could not get better.
"Oopsie," the ditz said, her big blue eyes comically wide. Her blouse was half undone and coming out of her ridiculously expensive skirt but she still had the presence of mind to stare, riveted, at Auggie's back. Because Annie's night wasn't fucked up enough.
Her date for the night, who just so happened to be the aide whose office this belonged to, stumbled into the bathroom after her. Unfortunately, Annie was still trying to get her wits together after the last thirty seconds of pure confusion, so she mostly gaped at the two of them and blushed deeply. Which, luckily, worked pretty well with Auggie's last-minute plan.
Just as the aide demanded, "What the hell?" Auggie turned half around, 'glancing' at them over his shoulder with a shit eating grin. She wanted so desperately to roll her eyes at his antics, but tamped it down. That probably wouldn't be the appropriate reaction of someone so willing to hook up with him in someone else's bathroom.
"Sorry," he apologized, but the grin pretty much demolished the sincerity. "Thought no one was in here." Annie noticed he still hadn't loosened his grip around her wrist or waist, and it was making her antsy.
"This is my office!" the aide bleated pathetically, his voice breaking on the word. For a second, Annie felt pity for the dumb bottle blonde. Okay, she hadn't actually hooked up with Auggie, but at least he looked hot and sure as hell wasn't a pansy.
"Sorry, man," Auggie repeated, still not managing to sound the slightest bit apologetic. "It was empty and we figured no one would be the wiser."
She made a silent prayer that the aide wouldn't remember that he wouldn't remember that in order for them to have gotten into his office they would've had to pick the lock. Finally finding her voice, she nudged Auggie until he made room for her and loosened his grip around her wrist some. "Sorry," she said lamely, "We really didn't mean you make you guys angry. We're just, uh, gonna be going."
"Works for me, sugarplum," Auggie replied cheekily, intentionally throwing the first time he saved her ass using almost this exact same situation in her face. She dug her nails harder into his arm as punishment. She was going to murder him the second there were no witnesses around.
As fast as she humanly could, she scooped Auggie's shirt and jacket off the floor (ohh, he was just the worst kind of person…) and grabbed him by the arm, all but dragging him out of the bathroom before the aide could ask anything else—like their names.
Of course, that didn't stop the bottle blonde from catching her eye and winking, only to mouth, "Good for you," like what she was 'doing' with Auggie was some kind of accomplishment.
She was aware she wasn't correctly leading her blind best friend as they headed for the door, but she was blushing like crazy and embarrassed out of her mind. She pushed him out the door, shoving his clothing into his chest as she grit through her teeth, "I cannot believe you."
"What?" Auggie said too earnestly. "I was just helping you. You clearly needed it."
She narrowed her eyes at the barb and switched topics. "How the hell did you get into the bathroom?"
"Servant quarters," he explained, pulling on his shirt over wide shoulders. "This place has been around since the 18th century. I told you to read up on the building's layout."
Unable to argue with that (because he had told her, like eight or nine times) she settled for punching his side hard enough that he was knocked off balance for a second. Not quite a witty response, but pretty satisfying.
"Anything to take your shirt off, huh, Anderson?" she quipped, folding her arms across her chest.
"Like you're complaining, Walker."