The Fine Print: DK and HBO own them; we just take them out to play.

Note: With the impending Armageddon, we thought Iris, Justin, and Sofie could use a little fun. So from the seeds of Dana's brilliant idea at the chat the other night, grows this collaborative fanfic. Dana has written Chapters 1, 2, and 5. I wrote 3 and 4.

Red Red Wine

Chapter Three

By Julie (ellisbelle)

The song on the radio changed once again. This time to a seedy jazz tune that Sofie recognized from one of Libby's numbers. Sofie laughed wickedly and looked over at Iris, who was still preoccupied with the refracted light from the broken glass.

"Put that down and come up here with me."

Iris looked up at her expectantly. She leaned forward off the couch. "What are we going to do?"

Sofie held out her hands to Iris and explained, "I'm going to show you how to dance."

"Hmmm . . . I don't dance, dear," Iris answered and tried to lean back down against the couch, but Sofie maintained her grip on her hands.

"But you were just dancing," Sofie offered as she leaned back on her heels and pulled Iris up, causing both of them to stumble unsteadily.

"When?" asked Iris incredulously.

Sofie laughed at her and shook her head. She pushed Iris over into the middle of the room. "Right about there." She positioned them a few feet away from each other, dramatically measuring out the distance with her arm.

Horns from the radio blared out provocatively across the room.

Iris narrowed her eyes at Sofie and tilted her chin down to fix her in a stare. "Just what kind of a dance are we going to do to this music?"

Sofie laughed again then shook her head, making her face very serious for a moment. Then she wildly flung out one arm towards Iris while lifting an imaginary hat from her head with the other. "Why the finest European muscle dancin' this side of Ol' Gay Paree," she barked out in her best Stumpy impression.

Iris laughed at her and asked, "That soundswhat kind of dance is that?"

Sofie leaned in like she was about to tell Iris a secret, and then explained, "Not quite the cooch"—she grabbed at Iris's hips and shook them until Iris swatted her hands away—"but it's gettin' pretty darn close, if you know what I mean."

"I can imagine. And you've done this before?"

"Sure. Libby taught me. Nothin' to it."

Iris smiled widely at her and asked excitedly, "What do I do first?"

Sofie surveyed Iris critically. Despite being completely pissed drunk, Iris still managed to look like a school marm somehow. "Well, first you need to loosen up a bit." Sofie moved in front of Iris. "Take your hair down, for starters. Undo a few of those buttons—just relax." Her voice sounded strange, as she exaggerated her pronunciation, trying not to sound drunk.

Iris hurried to comply, pulling the pins out of her hair and letting it fall to her shoulders.

"Bet—ter," Sofie drug out the word, "but still not quiet . . ." Iris still looked awkward.

"Have another drink," Sofie commanded. Iris staggered over to the table then looked back at Sofie, frowning.

"But I broke my glass," she whined.

"Just drink from the bottle." Iris threw her head back like a pro and took a long swallow of the wine, stumbling back a step as she did. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and tried to set the bottle pack down on the table but it was too close to the edge and it started to wobble.

Sofie took the bottle from Iris and righted it on the table. Then she took Iris by the shoulders and shook her soundly. "Loosen up," she squeaked at her.

When she let her go, Iris kept swaying. She grabbed at her head, leaning it towards her body. "SofSofie, do you see the room spinning?" She sounded slightly panicked.

"Sometimes," Sofie laughed. "But you should see the stuff you'll see drinkin' Mescal . . ." Sofie cut herself off abruptly. Even in her current state she realized that Miss Crowe was most certainly not ready to hear about her and Libby and the . . . nipples.

Iris brought her hand to her lips and stopped moving, her eyes wide with concern.

"Whatsa matter?"

"I can't feel my lips," Iris said poking at them with her fingers.

"Good, then I'd say you're loosened up enough." Sofie turned the radio up even louder and moved back to the carpet. "Now just do what I do."

Sofie started to rotate her hips slowly and seductively, or at least she tried. Iris laughed.

"You look like you're trying to hula-hoop," she snickered.

"Do you want to learn how to do this or not?"

"Yes. Sorry—please go on," Iris barely got the words out before she started to laugh again.

Sofie ignored her and started to sway her hips again. She ran her hands down her neck and across her stomach.

Iris took all of this in and tried to mirror Sofie's movements. She felt awkward for a moment but she soon let the music sweep her along. She arched her shoulders and moved her hips in slow circles, running her hands from her hips to her chest.

"I want a cigarette." The words slipped out of Sofie's mouth and she realized she was staring. She threw herself into dancing again to cover.

"I want . . ." Iris trailed her hand down her hips then turned bright red for the millionth time that night as she realized what she wanted. "My brother to come home."

Sofie didn't hear her as she was caught up in twirling her arms above her head. "What did you say?" she yelled over at her.

"Nothing."

Sofie stopped dancing and looked over at Iris again. "Who are you thinking about while you're doing that?" Sofie knew she was walking a thin line, but hadn't Iris just told her about losing her virginity and some other stuff that was kinda blurry now?

"My, aren't we full of impertinent questions tonight, young lady."

"It's just that when I danced that time, I was thinkin' about somebody—that's all."

Iris continued dancing and giggled at Sofie. She covered her face with her hand as she started to blush. She had been thinking of Justin. "Mmmm . . . I was thinking about someone." She uncovered her face and smiled. She ran her hands up her thighs pulling her dress up slightly with the movement. "His hands. His hands—are so—big."

Sofie snorted. "I thought you had somebody in mind," she teased.

Sofie turned her back to Iris and put her hands on her hips. "Do tell." She looked coyly back over her shoulder, raising her eyebrow—then froze.

"What's going on in here!" Justin's booming voice echoed through the living room.

Justin stood in the doorway taking in the scene before him. The room was a mess—the table was shoved over against the wall, the carpet was all bunched up, and something was broken all over the floor. And Sofie and Iris were dancing. Not just dancing, but—they way she was moving. And then his eyes narrowed on the two wine bottles.

"Justin," Iris said, happily turning to face him. "I'm sooo glad you're home," she said sweetly, stumbling over in his direction. She lifted her head towards his for her accustomed kiss hello, standing up on her tiptoes to reach him. Without thinking, he leaned to kiss her on the cheek but realized too late that she meant to kiss him on the lips. As her lips brushed against his, he turned his head sharply and pushed her a step back from him.

Painfully aware of Sofie's presence in the room, he glared at her over Iris's shoulder. "Have you been drinking?"

Sofie smiled at him and ventured, "Could be."

He turned his attention back to Iris who was still swaying a bit from foot to foot to the music, as she stood right in front of him. Taking her by the shoulders, he asked, "Are you drunk?"

"Nooo," she said shaking her head—then started to nod her head in the other direction, "Yes."

"Yeah, I'm pretty tight," Sofie added to the confession, "and Miss Iris is drunker than a fiddler's bitch."

He exhaled loudly. "Sofie, you will not use that kind of ungodly language in our house."

Before she could stop herself, Sofie blurted out, "What—we can say shit—but not bitch?"

Justin's mouth fell open in shock.

"When did we say shit?" Iris asked, confused. She hadn't really been paying attention to their conversation because she had been watching Justin's fists clenching and unclenching next to his thighs.

"We were just talking about you, dear," she said stepping closer to him again and changing the subject.

"We were?" Sofie asked confused. She thought back over the last couple of hours to Iris's talk of their childhood and figured that must be what she was referring to. "Yeah, we were."

"Really," Justin answered dryly. He shook his head at them. "I want an explanation for all of this—this shameful behavior. What if I had been one of the guards or one of the migrants? What if they had seen the two of you like this?"

Looking back over her shoulder at Sofie, Iris explained, "Brother Justin wasn't always this uptight, you know." He looked down at her in disbelief. He had never seen his sister behave this way.

"You need to loosen up, but I'm afraid we drank all the wine." Iris looked at her brother contemplatively for a second then grabbed his forearms and tried to shake him. She didn't move him at all and he just looked down at her like she had gone insane. All she did was succeed in making herself a little dizzy again.

"It didn't work on him," she explained to no one in particular. "But I know what does," she added with a wicked little grin, reaching out to stroke the collar of his jacket.

"Iris," he warned. He turned his attention back to Sofie, hoping to distract his sister. "Sofie, I'm ashamed of you. I bring you into our house, make you a part of our family, and this is how you repay me?"

Sofie looked down at her feet, like a scolded child.

"Where did this alcohol come from? Did you bring it into the house?"

Sofie looked up at him about to speak when Iris cut in, "No, it was in our icebox."

"Why would we have liqueur in our icebox? Don't you think I would have known about that? Surely, you don't think I would have allowed it."

Sofie felt braver again with Iris on her side. "Well, you don't exactly spend a lot of time in the kitchen."

"What?" he asked in disbelief.

"Well, I don't know about that," Iris began with a smirk. "He's been quite handy in the kitchen with me before." His eyes shot back to Iris in warning.

She huffed at him. "One of the bottles was from your radio friend and the other was from my first—date—with Tommy Dolan."

Justin's eyes narrowed at her.

She smiled at him smugly, perching herself on the arm of the couch and moving to cross her legs. She promptly fell backwards with a shriek. She started laughing hysterically, dangling her legs over the arm of the chair.

Justin watched her fall ungracefully to the sofa, still not quite believing this was his Iris acting in such a way. His eyes fell onto her legs draped over the arm—to his growing discomfort, he realized that her dress had ridden up over her knees. He swallowed hard, following the lines of her calves. Despite her behavior, it was definitely his Iris.

He put his hand to his forehead and rubbed at his temple. "Do you two realize what you have done? I have three very important men—influential men from Washington—coming over here to meet with me. In 15 minutes. How is this going to look to them? This place looks like the back room at a speak easy."

"I can clean it up," Sofie said enthusiastically and started to clear up the table. In her haste, she knocked over the bottle of wine and spilled the rest of it onto the carpet. "Sorry."

"Sofie! Just go upstairs to your room."

She stared at him for a moment, her lips thinning in annoyance. But she turned and headed for the stairs, mumbling under her breath, "Huhh, you'd think he was my father or something."

A strange squeak escaped Iris's mouth before she could stop it.

"Upstairs!"

"Goodnight, Sofie dear," Iris called from the couch.

Sofie looked down at her from the stairwell. "Nite, Miss Iris."

"You will have to tell me more about that red pig one day." Sofie grinned down at her new friend's words before disappearing up the stairs.

Iris giggled. "Porked."

Justin turned his attention back to Iris. "I just don't know what to say to you right now, Iris."

She looked up at him glumly. He shook his head at her again then looked at the room behind her. He would just have to have the meeting on the porch. His thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt as he felt something running up his thigh towards—

"Irina!" he yelped as he caught her foot in his hand and moved it away from him.

He stared down at her, at a loss, as she smiled up at him. "Get up."

"Help me," she asked innocently, holding out her hand.

He stepped towards her but she didn't take his hand. Instead she grabbed his lapels in both of hers and pulled herself up until she was sitting on the arm of the sofa again, her legs falling open around him. He looked down at her exposed thighs tightening around his own. Her skirt was pulled up to the top of her thighs giving him a clear view of not only where the darker material of her stockings met her creamy skin, but also of what was hidden inside the shadow of her skirt. "When did she start wearing those?" he thought.

"Shit."

Before she had time to react, he took her face in his hands and kissed her, making her head spin again with its force. He tangled his hand in her hair to hold her against him.

Her hands were clutching at his neck as his arms finally wrapped around her waist. He stood up bringing her with him, so that her feet didn't quite touch the ground. He drew his lips away from hers, just enough to whisper against them, "You taste like wine." Then he dropped her to her feet unceremoniously, leaving her standing unsteadily against him.

"I don't have time for this, 'Ira. I have a meeting in a matter of minutes."

"Can't you get rid of them?" she pouted.

"No."

Her hands where at neck again, her fingers sliding under his collar and then around to the back of his neck to graze her fingernails across his skin.

"I've been telling Sofie about the time we went to the Carnivale. You remember that night don't you, Alexsei," she asked softly staring up at him. "When you stopped the car afterwards and we were laying in the grass. When I finally let you . . ." she whispered the rest needlessly in his ear, for he groaned at the memory before he could stop himself. Iris took this as a sign and moved her hands from his neck to his belt. "Let's go for a drive, Alexsei—out past the camps."

Without warning he bent and grabbed her around her thighs, lifting her up and tossing her over his shoulder.

She gasped. "Alexsei, what are you doing?" He walked quickly across the room and towards the stairs with her.

"I'm taking you to bed."

"Praise the Lord."

He laughed despite himself. "Not for that."

She stared upside down into the dark fabric of his jacket. "Why not?"

"My guests will be here in less than 10 minutes."

"Then you have 8 minutes to make me"

"Irina."

"Alexsei."

"I don't have time for this now." He put one hand against the rail as he started up the stairs.

He froze on the third step at the sound of someone clearing his throat. "Uhm, Brother Justin? I'm afraid we are a little early."

Justin swore under his breath in Russian. He took a moment to collect himself before turning to face them.

Iris on the other hand, still draped over his shoulder, lost no time in sticking out her hand and playing hostess.

"Hello, gentlemen. I'm Iris Crowe. Welcome to our home."

The men stared at her hand and made no move to shake it.

"We were just going to bed," she stated matter-of-factly.

Justin swore again. What a scene. It must look exactly like what it almost was. As he finally turned to face them, he saw it written across the men's faces. He followed their eyes to Iris's legs, where his hand had unwittingly bunched up her skirt and was laying across the back of her naked thigh.

He smiled at them and took a breath. "Yes, welcome. I'm glad you could stop by. However, as you can see, you've come at a bit of an awkward moment. My sister isn't feeling well."

"I would be feeling much better if you three weren't here," Iris stated. Luckily she had slipped back into Russian and they couldn't understand her. "You are very tall," she said glancing around from her perch on his shoulder. That came out in English.

"Excuse me for a moment, won't you gentlemen?" Justin turned from them and marched up the stairs with Iris in tow. Just before they reached the landing, he called her the Russian name for a woman of decidedly ill reputation.

She slapped at what happened to be closest to her hand—his backside. Justin bit his lip to keep from yelling at her. The men downstairs had to have seen that.

"My dear sister, you are going to pay for that."

"I'm counting on it, brother dear."

Once inside her bedroom, he dropped her to the bed and stood looming over her.

She wasted no time in unfastening the buttons of her skirt and wiggling out of it. Next her shirt went over her head and landed somewhere near Justin's feet. Despite his meeting downstairs, he couldn't help but watch as she stripped.

Her slip joined her shirt by his feet.

Despite his irritation, he looked at her, a huge grin creeping across his face.

"Those are new."

She followed his gaze, looking down at herself then smiled back up at him.

She frowned.

"That Stroud man said that I smelled and then he put his hands all over my underwear."

"He did what?" Justin asked, sure he hadn't heard her correctly.

"Well, I wasn't wearing them at the time. But I could have been."

"You aren't making any sense, dear," he said trying to humor her and keep his rising anger at the thought of Stroud touching Iris in check. "But if he's bothered you—"

"He has," she cut in.

Justin nodded. "Rest assured, I'll deal with him later," he said through slightly clenched teeth.

"Do you know what else that man said to me?" she asked, rising to her knees on the bed, waving her hands animatedly, in her growing anger.

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"He said that I needed a good—" she paused at the word and motioned for Justin to come closer to her. She whispered it in his ear. "And not some pansy—" She pulled him in again to finish her sentence.

His eyes widen in shock and he pulled back from her to stare her in the face. "'Ira."

"You're not going to let him get away with saying things like that about you, are you?" she asked seriously. "But as much as I hate that man, I do agree about that first part."

"Please, just behave." He pealed her arms from around his neck where they had snaked as he spoke. "I need to go down stairs. Now, be a good girl and stay up here—quietly—and I'll come up as soon as I'm done."

He walked to the door but then turned as if changing his mind, quickly making his way to the bed. He leaned over her and whispered in her ear, "When I come back, you can show me that little dance you were doing downstairs." He kissed her on the cheek then left the room.

Before heading downstairs to finesse his way out of this situation with a little smooth talk and quite a lot of mind control, Justin paused at the top of the stairs considering the very strange turn his day had taken. And then he wandered who was going to clean up the mess in the living room.

On a random Tuesday in 1938, the Junior Senator from California will find himself putting down the newspaper he had been reading over breakfast and staring off into space for a moment. He will think about the time he visited the Crowe household and have a sudden flash of the preacher with his sister flung half-naked over his shoulder. He will shake his head and go back to his paper thinking, "Surely not."